A sigh escapes my lips. I really need to get a move on. I’m burning daylight hours here and quests ain’t gonna complete themselves.

With a swing I down the last of mead from the tankard. I love this stuff, normally I’m not partial to sweet alcohols but mead just ticks off all right boxes for me. Tankard hits the table and I utter a wet burp. It’s time to go. On my way back I nod to the bartender, a big ogre of a guy with weird trumpet-like ears and sporting a leather vest. He’s a bit weird but good people, and definitely knows what he’s doing in relation to brewing. I will definitely be back.

I navigate down the streets, dodging a multitude of people and creatures. I guess it’s the height of day traffic now. Oh well.

My visit to the post office was expected to be a harrowing experience but thankfully the line moves quickly and soon I find myself at the counter. Documents are signed, parcels packaged and letters inserted into mailing tubes. Then they were tossed into a big cauldron and with a poof of smoke, send to its recipient. When I waited for the clerk to be done with my stuff, I listened to a nearby TV set. The presenter, a suited huge red-skinned guy with majestic horns, was giving a report on advancing soul inflation and risks it posed for the future of the stocks related to the businesses that traded in the stuff. Huh, I would never guess. Since I’m not in soul-related business I flagged it as not requiring my imminent attention and got a move on.

My day was spent running around and talking with people. I don’t know if this is some kind of scheme but I swear every next person I have to visit to return my quest items is on the other side of town than the last one.

Which finally ended with me here at the Steamworks. My bag of holding has a serious amount of mined coal and I can’t wait for the goodies I will get in exchange. With a brisk step, I enter a huge, foundry-like area and make a beeline to the foreman in charge. Our deal is swiftly concluded but when I ask for my stuff he just gives me this annoyed look that just says that you’re an idiot. He directs me to a multitude of pulleys, levers, and valves and we get to work. To be honest jumping around and controlling the steam flow is in hindsight a rather boring experience, but I want my goodies.

Then, suddenly, there is a shift. The world feels just a bit different, I feel my body being just a bit weirder and somehow I feel this rolling, advancing feeling of dread.

The feeling gets even more pronounced when a small, gnarly green creature in a mining helmet enters the area in haste, screaming loudly.

“Boss! BOSS!! We have a spike in the occipital lobe, it’s small but it is there!”

I stare in shock at the creature and just can’t comprehend what is it talking about. Not that I had any chance, a loud bellow from the foreman shakes me to the bone.

“About damn time! We should have enough steam now to turn this wreck back on! I’m sure ol’ lady will whistle merry tune again.”

I don’t know why but this comment offends me on so many levels that I almost choke on my saliva. Hacking, coughing, and spurned by shouting foreman, I dash around in controlled panic. Levers are pulled, latches closed and buttons pushed. But with mounting dread I know I will not make it. There is just too much to do and I have only two hands. The small green guy is of no help whatsoever, he just jumps in place while screaming ‘it’s gonna blow!’. Well, excuse the fuck me, I’m doing all I can here. But I know he’s right, the steam is rising but not in the right way.

Fuck it, gotta call boys to help me. With fury and rage of infinite metal albums, I blew my hunting horn and I can already hear my salvation coming. Doors blow open and a literal tsunami of industry workers in bright yellow-green jackets flood the foundry. The cacophony of swears, questions about break time, and inane talk about girls is like music to my ears. I laugh as I feel the feeling of dread receding, leaving in its wake a nice warm glow. That’s when I feel everyone looking at me with annoyance. Chastised I return to work but can’t help smiling. Our work progresses and soon the forge is shaking with compressed power. Workers congratulate themselves and already are making plans to have a grill meet during the weekend.

Everything is nice and dandy but I suddenly find myself in a brawl with the foreman. We pummel each other under the last lever left to push and apparently this whacko don’t get it that THIS IS MY LEVER AND I WILL BE THE ONE TO PUSH IT!

Then one of the windows open and hear my grandma calling me for dinner. Her gentle voice is stopped by a sharp intake of breath and I hear words that can only be described as ‘Oh my lawd’.

I reckon this is enough and just uppercut the foreman to oblivion and without any fanfare flip the switch. Like a broken balloon, the power of the forge disappears but in its place appears a nice low constant hum. I nod at the work well done while having my boot on the foreman’s rotund form. I’m done for now and it’s about time to sample grandmas delicacies.

Grandma does not live far away but suddenly there is a traffic jam and I just can’t contain my irritance. We are speaking of the delicious feast that awaits me! Angrily I move out of a line that follows down the street and check what the heck is going on out there. A richly garbed young man, surrounded by armed guards, is screaming expletives at another young man. Something about barring his way, courting death, and don’t knowing the immensity of heaven and earth. I eye the line of people going down the street and I can’t but wonder why can’t they just pass them, and why are they waiting in line?

No matter, the police are here. The rich young man and his guards get spanked with police batons for making a scene and the other young man gets fined for jamming the traffic. Umm, that’s how it’s supposed to happen, right? No matter, dinner awaits.

Not too soon I find myself at my grandmas’ and let me tell you. There is just something that screams grandmotherly love in this simple dinner of mashed potatoes, cutlet with golden crispy skin, and aromatic boiled cabbage with spices. I water it down with delicious fruity compote but I do not belch as I do normally. Grandmas’ house is a sacred place.

I give her my best, thousand-watt smile which she returns. And I just know I gave her a year’s worth of energy so she can play matchmaker for her friend’s children. My culinary afterglow is cut short by a cough from my Grandad. Yup, it’s time to hunt.

I follow him out and drink in his image as hard as I can. I was afraid I would never remember his face again, he died when I was but a young man. But I am buoyed by the thought I can still so vividly recall him. He was a hardy old school man, a no-nonsense man, and always working hard for his family. And most importantly he was a hunter and when mood stroked him, he reveled in his tales of forests and struggle therein. By this point, I know what’s going on and with this realization, the world starts to shift. Buildings get blurry, air fills with fog, sounds get duller and duller. I look at Grandpa and he meets my eyes with his, full of challenge.

“What now? Getting too tired? Take a nap and I will do it, sonny.”

This line from him that in past almost always flung me into an uncontrollable rage now rings as the sweetest of sounds. I still remember his voice.

With my best cheeky grin, I respond, “Nah, I’m gonna bag such a big one you are not gonna believe, and then, I’m going to drink in your name till I flip. I’m going to continue your trade!”

A sharp nod and huff give me all the blessings I could ask for, just like I remember him.

I wake up.