The hilt felt different somehow. More familiar, an extension to his arm rather than a stranger to it. He swung it upwards. It came down with a whoosh that caused the bits of straw scattered on the ground to lift into the air and find a new place elsewhere.

The sword was still in Mythril’s hand.

Timothy let out a deep sigh, Mythril felt his chest puff out, and Audreg hissed at a mouse that scurried out from beneath a bale.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Timothy asked, glancing at the blade that Mythril continued to stare at.

The energy that Mythril felt flood through him still sizzled in his veins. He felt as though he was in an arcade and clinging on to one of the metal rods that promised to electrocute you – An Addams Family one comes to mind. Although this is a game, this isn’t an arcade, and the energy that he felt transferred from him to the sword as his own.

“I’m not sure if it was easy or hard, it just was,” Mythril said. Aware of what he said not making much sense, but given the situation he was just thankful he said words and not hrrrmmmmfum.

“You’ll get better from here onwards, as you begin to know yourself,” Timothy looked at Mythril’s arm, where another few icons flickered out. It was perhaps too obvious that this was because of him using the sword. “And whatever is wrong with your arm, I’m sure it will figure itself out.”

Mythril followed his gaze, and noticed what he had already seen. The path of blue lines and icons that reached past his elbow flickered out and ended at his elbow instead. A sudden urge to use whatever spell he could before they all went rushed through his mind, a fear of not being able to earn any back again daunting him.

“You seem to know a lot more than a guy I found in the ground who is supposed to only be a part of the quest should.”

“Yes, well, when you’re stuck in the ground for days and you see wanderer after wanderer you begin to know a thing or two. One thing I know is that Elder’s paths, don’t change. You’re an odd one.”

This neither pleased nor displeased Mythril. He knew he was an odd one in this world, he just wondered whether or not Timothy sensed that.

“Less talk and more work,” Timothy continued before he could question him any further. “Now you know how to use your sword again, less drunk I suppose, we can get on with the quest and get me back my farm.”

Not entirely sure what the next step on the quest was, Mythril lifted out his scroll and swiped to QUEST LOG. No sooner did he reach the page, and seen The Crow Mother quest, had Timothy reached out for the scroll.

“There’s no need to use that, you have me and I’m more than willing than usual to help, just so long as we can wrap this up.

Mythril’s eyes fell over where The Crow Mother quest was written. He turned the scroll for Timothy to see.

“It hasn’t updated,” Mythril said, pointing at where the title remained grey. “After I picked up the note shouldn’t it have updated telling me to follow you?”

Timothy lifted his hand to his chin and let out a long hmmmmm noise while looking at the scroll. “Like I said, you’re an odd one. I guess your scroll is drunk too.” He patted the sword at his hip. “Not to worry. It’s only an escort quest.”

“That’s not in here as a separate quest either,” Mythril said. He scrolled up and down the list of quests, none said NEW beside them and glancing over the titles none appeared to be anything to do with a Buckberry Farm escort quest. “I guess it’s bugged or something. Maybe because it took me so long to continue it?”

“That’s probably it,” Timothy said, already at the barn door waiting to leave. “We’ll head on over to the farm house and I’m sure something will happen.”

Without much of an idea of how to begin the quest, but reminding himself that wasn’t what he came for, after all how good could loot from what looked like levels ago be anyway, he set about following Timothy and hoping that the enemies would be a low enough level for him to practice using his sword. He hoped, just as he had been able to bring out his sword once he understood the magic behind his path, he’d be able to use more interesting spells. The thought of lightning buzzing around his hands before he thrust it towards his enemies made his heart flutter.

He was soon following Timothy out the door.

Outside the sky was slightly overcast, clouds drifting over the sun and casting a grey tinge over the fields. It was still relatively warm but after another glance at the icons on his arm Mythril remembered Timothy’s words and equipped a pair of mail bracers. He wanted to make easy work of the enemies that he was sure were about to attack them, not make himself an easy target.

They strode round the barn to where the farm house was only a short distance away.

“A weird place to have an escort quest,” he said, glancing around. “Aren’t they usually over a longer distance to allow for more combat?”

Again, Timothy lifted his hand to his chin. “I wouldn’t argue with you one that. But, the quest has broken, remember? Who knows where it might have taken us before? Instead, we’re just going to have to walk to the farm house and hope the crow mother is home.”

From the sight of crows still repeating the same motions of hopping in and out of the windows Mythril presumed that she was home.

They stopped short of the door where Timothy held up his hand, a warning that Mythril not speak.

From behind they could hear clattering, the sound of heavy items being placed on top of each other, ground against other such items, and even crashing against the floor. Above of all this, was the sound of shrill laughter.

“You sure you need the quest?” Timothy said, stepping back.

Their presence so far hadn’t alerted any of the crows that bounded around outside, but one, Mythril noted, was now watching them with interest.

It took a step forward, towards the window, its eye still upon Mythril and Timothy.

Mythril’s mouth began to open, his lips about to form some sort of warning. Before he could, the crow was gone, and following it the others flew with speed inside. The commotion from within grew louder, then the laughter stopped.

Timothy arched a brow at Mythril, Mythril pointed a finger towards the window where birds no longer hopped in and out.

The door swung open, behind it the same laughter they had heard before was now ebbed with high pitched screams. A woman, feathers matted in her long black hair, her hands sharp talons clutched around two blades, her clothes made of twigs and mud and straw, leapt out and struck Mythril in the chest before he could lift his sword.

A protective shield cast around him, causing his vision to be impaired slightly by the shimmer the sun cast upon it.

Swarming around them the crows flew high into the air and then dove back down to peck at their faces and hair, anything that was free from cover.

Mythril lifted his blade, swiped it through the air and sent them shrieking back. His strike landed a blow upon the crow mother. This only enraged her further, her eyes bright red she sprung at Mythril again.

This time Timothy was behind her, striking at her back with his sword. Audreg, ever in need of a fight, was brandishing her wings at the crows, swinging her long neck in any direction they tried to attack them from.

“Fall back!” Timothy yelled, panting as he struck his sword against the Crow Mother’s armour again. “Run back towards the barn!”

Mythril was not yet ready to give up, but with little ability other than swiping towards their enemies with his sword, he was not willing to argue.

He turned first, sprinting towards the barn as fast as the weight of his armour would allow him. Audreg came up behind him, and with a swoop of a neck between his legs lifted him onto her back. He guided her towards the barn, where once inside he held the door slightly ajar for Timothy to bundle in through. He did so within a matter of seconds and together they slammed it shut.

“Something isn’t right,” Timothy said, his back against the door.

They could hear banging upon the wood, the same shrill cries, cawing from the crows, until nothing. Silence. Mythril wondered if this meant that they had left, gone back to the farm house after combat had finally been dropped with him and Timothy.

“Do we need something?” he asked Timothy, who sunk down and sat upon the floor where Audreg pecked at his feet.

“Possibly,” Timothy replied. “We should walk around the fields, perhaps there was some place the escort quest was supposed to lead us. An item we were supposed to collect.”

“That could be likely,” Mythril replied. “I can’t help but feel like a boss of her level should have dropped within a few strikes. Unless…”

Timothy interrupted his thoughts, “Unless?”

“Perhaps we need an item to kill her. Something that we loot from an enemy we would have fought while I was escorting you. The quest might not be showing because we’re not in range. We might need to go back out to where I found you.”

“I’d say it was safe to do that now,” Timothy said, standing and patting Audreg on the head.

She spat at his feet.

“Okay, if they’re still out there though, we’ll just come back in and wait a few more minutes. It normally doesn’t take too long for them to reset.”

“Okay.”

Something about the way Timothy hadn’t questioned his use of these words, the terminology he had been using, how much he seemed to know, suddenly bothered him. That fear soon turned to hope, could he be like him?

“Timothy, are you…” he contemplated how to approach the subject and then decided simple was the best way forward. “Are you from here? From this world I mean?”

Timothy stared at him, and, Mythril was certain, a small smile crept onto his lips before they returned to a thin line. “From this world?” he asked, confused. “As opposed to there being another world? You really are an odd one.”

Mythril’s heartbeat quickened. “I just mean, you know a lot about, well, most things. Not only that, you understand some of the terms I use that I just wouldn’t expect you to know.”

“I told you. I’ve heard a lot of wanderers speak. It’s not so different as you think.”

Mythril nodded. He felt both relieved and disappointed. Part of him hoped he was from the same world as Mythril, but then he hadn’t thought of how he would feel knowing that someone just like him had been trapped here as long as Timothy. Mythril wanted to get home.

For now, he left the barn with Timothy and walked back round to where he had found the man with his hand poking out of the dirt. The soil was still disturbed and no new note could be seen. Although interesting to Mythril, given that he was used to quests resetting, he presumed it was only because he was currently on the quest and therefore wouldn’t see it again.

Timothy was fast to kneel down and scour the ground. He brushed his hands through the bits of straw and upturned leaves in search of something they may have missed.

“There’s nothing else here,” he said, but without much of a look of concern. “Read your quest again, there might be something in there. Other than that, all I can think of is wanderers cursing to the Elder’s before heading back into the city to complain, pick the quest back up anew, and then continue complaining. Wanderers complain a lot.”

Mythril nodded to this. He had played enough games and caused gamemasters enough grief to know that not only do, as Timothy was calling players here, wanderers complain, they can also disrupt the game where they see fit. He had done so enough. Despite swiping through his scroll his thoughts were soon on what mischief he could cause in this world, and this soon turned to just how much more he could cause if he were a guild master. Afterall, the Noxiri Knights had disrupted their guild’s grind for potions and buffs before a huge raid.

“All it says is his mortal life will be a sacrifice and he’ll be dead without his sword.”

Timothy nodded his head. “A sword.”

Mythril looked down to where the sword hung loosely at Timothy’s hip. “That sword?” he asked, pointing down to it.

“I doubt it’s that sword, I mean isn’t it the sword of the person the Crow Mother killed we need?”

Timothy looked at Mythril, an extra second added onto any innocent glance. Mythril watched him, wondering if he would comment on what he had just said or if he, too, was waiting to see who would make the first move.

It was Mythril.

“I thought you were the one the Crow Mother killed?” Mythril asked. His sword appeared in his hand, and he looked down at it at first with surprise, and then with a grim satisfaction. He took a step back from Timothy.

For a long moment, Timothy didn’t speak. He looked at the sword, patted his own at his hip, and then brought a hand to his mouth. “It is suspicious, isn’t it?” Another pause, longer this time.

Mythril readied his sword.

“I suppose it’s the bug. I could have sworn I was killed by the Crow Mother. Who put me in the ditch then?”

“I have no idea. You’re the one that said wanderers came by often. If you’re so observant I’m sure you’ll remember eventually.”

Mythril lifted his sword, the tip of it no more than a foot away from Timothy’s neck. The metal felt light in his grip, an ease at how it moved led Mythril to wonder if this was purely the mechanics of being in the game, or if he was in luck and it was part of his Elder’s Path.

“Put that down,” Timothy said, his hands up and at each side of his head. “I’m not the enemy here. I’m just a confused man you found in the dirt. If I was dangerous, I would have hurt you by now.”

“You led me to the Crow Mother…”

“And I told you to flee when I realized there was nothing that could be done about her. If I wanted you hurt, wouldn’t I have left you there?”

Mythril watched him for a moment longer. He lowered his sword.

Audreg cooed in disappointment.

“So, we need to find some other man’s sword, and then the man,” Timothy said, his voice far too at ease for someone who just had a sword at his neck. “Does it say where we start?”

Mythril pulled out his scroll, his sword vanishing as he did this. He quickly moved to The Crow Mother and after tapping on the quest saw that just as it had previously, the area that flashed white was the farmland that they stood within.

“It’s around here somewhere,” he said, waving his hand towards the farmland. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find given this is a beginner quest.”

“No clue to where it is in the quest?”

“None,” Mythril said. He read over the quest again. “For her wisdom he’ll pay the price… he must have been near here. If he ended up a sacrifice, because he was tricked by her or something, he must have at least been near here. Right?”

“Not necessarily, but it’s a start.”

Mythril looked over the farmland. The fields were barren of water and suffering for it, the scarecrows looked on, empty of life and alone without the crows who hopped at their feet. He walked towards the fencing of the field that lay just opposite of the barn and leaning against it looked back over to the house where they had battled the Crow Mother.

“You’re not thinking it’s in there?” Timothy stood beside him and was following the direction of his gaze.

“Where else?” Mythril asked, tapping a gloved hand against his cheek. “I doubt it’s inside because we can’t kill her, but perhaps there’s something on the other side of the farmhouse.”

“That’s no easier, the crows alerted her last time. How do we distract them?”

Audreg cooed quietly.