I emerged from the cave soaked to my knees, and still confused by how the old guy must have gotten out without my notice. My surprise eclipsed my mild concern for the old fart knocker when I found myself in a forest. Deciduous pine trees surrounded the cave mouth adjacent to an unpaved but still prominent path.

Ah doodoo, we’re surely not in New Mexico. If I wasn’t resigned to the idea that I had lost my mind and to just “go with the flow”, I might have been more confused or upset. But, once I saw a Douglas Fir, I felt a strange sense of comfort. I couldn’t have gone too far. Nothing exemplifies the Northwest U.S. like our unique plethora of pines and firs.

I considered heading down the trail immediately until an itchy feeling spreading from my right shoulder to my lower back distracted me. I was more interested in answers than anything when this stupid bag was pawned off on me, and I had neglected to look inside. The grand geezer back there mentioned something about supplies or gear, I think. It was apparent then that the best next move would be to evaluate what I had before I continued.

As I rifled through the contents of the bag, I didn’t even notice how uncharacteristically calm I was, all things considered. Perhaps it was because I distracted myself by reviewing the contents of the bag.

For being so heavy, the bag was rather empty. Other than a massive book the size of a damn Merriam-Webster unabridged, there were just a few notable supplies. Although calling this garbage “supplies” is technically a descriptive stretch of flattery.

Other than the giant book, I had a couple of reeds stuffed with charcoal and cotton, a sharp-looking rock and a bag of something that looked like dog biscuits. I wasn’t sure what any of this was supposed to be for, but I remembered the prompt about a “identification” skill. Now the question is, how do I use it? I think the old dude mentioned something about that as well. Said something about “will the skill” or some hippy dippy nonsense.

“Boy, I’m not sure how I’ll feel if this works.”

I said to myself before focusing on the pair of stuffed reeds. I stared at them muttering “identify… identify” over and over under my breath, while trying not to think of how embarrassed I’d be if someone found me right now. It felt like an hour, but after what was probably only a few minutes, I moved on to the next item.

Next, I attempted to use the “identification” skill on the sharp rock, all with little success. I hoped this was a sign that my trip was wearing off and that maybe I could trust my perception of reality again. My hopes were squandered when I made my final attempt to use the “general identification” skill on the dog biscuits.

I was squinting at hardened discs, once again muttering “identify darn it” to myself when I felt and heard a popping sound. It was kind of like an elevation change and the feeling you get in your ears when the pressure normalizes. It startled me so much that I blinked reflexively, and subsequently I was presented with another one of those damn giant text windows:

Hardtack Biscuit - Common Item

A survival ration made of a variety of grains, salt, and small amounts of purified water. The grains used in the recipe vary from region to region, but someone predominantly made this example from wheat and rolled oats.

*Satisfies hunger but increases thirst.

**Extended consumption applies the debuff “it’s food… sorta”.

Once I read the last line of the text block, it slowly faded, much like the last ones. Apparently, this was something like the rations they told us about in history class. I remember something about “Hardtack” from our study of pioneering the Oregon frontier.

I gave the “biscuit” a closer inspection, and after a quick sniff, the idea of dying of dysentery seemed more attractive than eating this thing. Tucking away the rations back into the sack, I turned back to the first item I tried to identify. Maybe closing my eyes for a brief moment was the key to this skill stuff?

I once again attempted to identify the other items, but the reeds and the book were still a mystery to me. I did have some luck with the sharp rock, though. The stone wedge took more concentration than the rations before it prompted me with:

Slate Knife - Common Item

A sharp piece of slate intended for use as a makeshift weapon or tool. Slate is a common mineral for “stone” knives, as it is widely available in many regions. Slate knives are also prized for being lightweight and easily craftable, with no need for sharpening tools.

*8-12 points of base piercing or slashing damage.

**”Brittle”: items with this status have severely decreased durability.

Great, I got a snack and shank. Fuck me running sideways. I think this is the worst set of starting gear I could imagine. Wait, I could just be in a loincloth with a spear. Nevermind, this is the second worst set of stuff I could think of, if they expected me to do some wilderness survival bullshit. Sure, if I was “Lion Rotisserray” the guy off TV, I’d probably be fine. That being said, I’m sure not him. Hell, technically, I had some survival training, but that was a long time ago. The goal of it was to grow weed in the national forest, and how to escape the feds, not “here’s a knife, good luck!”

I felt an involuntary shiver as a cold gust blew in. The breeze was a harsh reminder that the worst decision was often indecision. Seeing no other choice, I prepared to see where the trail lead.

As I made my way, I internally cursed these dang itchy clothes I found myself in. While they did great at preserving my modesty, the garments didn’t offer the same protection against the elements. I had a feeling these stupid prison sandals weren’t a good choice for hiking, either.

I headed north, or maybe south, down the trail. I wasn’t sure which direction, mainly because I wasn’t sure what time of day it was. The sun was over my right shoulder, so if it’s morning, that means I was going North. Or was it south before midday?

As I continued, I became more and more grateful that the path so far didn’t have a fork or break-away. Over the next several hours, I wandered with no end to the trail in sight, or even signs of other people in the distance. Other trees and bushes that were less familiar slowly replaced my strangely comforting grove of Douglas Fir. I recognized several of them and called them by name as I passed. I absently considered using general identification on the ones I didn’t recognize, but I found the activity a welcome distraction, and decided against “cheating”.

It wasn’t until I had almost passed a thicket predominantly formed of spiked blackberry vines that something else happened.

Skill “Identify Plants and Fungus”, granted.

Application of this skill is used to identify assorted varieties of plants and fungus. When applied, this skill can identify any plant or fungus, but will not show any details regarding the item unless there is sufficient skill level.

You really seem to love green stuff, don’t ya, nature boy? Good for you! Here’s another useless identification spell.

Useless? Well, that didn’t bode well. But it did make some sense. Why in the world would someone need two skills that are so similar? I already had “general identification” and barely knew how to use it. Now, I’ve got two identification skills that I could hardly use. If this is another metaphor from my subconscious, it wasn’t particularly appreciated.

A few hours had passed, and it was early dusk when I next stopped to sit down on the side of the trail. I was cold, tired, and whatever resolve I had earlier was quickly waning. The harsh reality of my situation was that it fucking sucked.

I don’t know if I spent the weekend in a sweat lodge and downed some peyote, or if I had died and hell was a video game. If the latter, I’d say it’s a lot like “Ebony Essence”, a game you supposedly played only if you liked dying… repeatedly.

Darkness filled my thoughts and creeped into the forest as I leaned against a nearby tree. I was considering weaving a makeshift blanket from some leaves and branches when I heard a gentle crunching sound. I was too busy looking for the source of the disturbance before I heard another much more shrill sound coming from several directions.

New Quest - Welcome to the neighborhood.

Survive the wild “Crotch Goblin” attack.

Reward: Additional experience, and the privilege of not being dead and all.

The piercing cry sounded like, “Whackacha! Nom-Nom!” but I couldn’t ascertain the source of the noise. I hardly had time to look before one of those damn text windows once again impaired my vision.

“Survive the what now!?” I grimaced, remembering how the last prompt said something about how I must like green stuff. Crap, goblins are green, right? Or was that just the villain from the “Arachnid Adolescent” comics?

If goblins really are green, then I suppose irony, thy name is death. Or in this case Crotch Goblin. I have to be high or crazy. Honestly, who the hell would want to play this?