“Certainly!” the barkeeper said with delight. “Penny! Go and fetch the mutton,” he yelled towards a young, strawberry-haired girl in an apron who had been idly chatting to customers.
Dakkon wasn’t sure, but the grin on the barkeeper’s face suggested he might be left with plenty of leftover food.
The bald barkeeper filled a pint-sized wooden mug up to the brim with a frothy liquid and set it before Dakkon with a contented smile. “Your food will take a little time, but will be well worth the wait.”
The tankard smelled sweet and delicious, but Dakkon’s mood soured a bit as he watched the young Penny guide a fully-grown sheep into the back.
After a brief stop by the kitchen, the proprietor returned to Dakkon. “That’ll come to 30 silver, sir.”
Dakkon squinted at the bartender but, with the realization that leaving or haggling would at best hurt the information he received and at worse bar him from the quest completely, he acquiesced with his shiny gold coin. “If you’d be so kind,” Dakkon began, “I’d like to know about the monsters attacking your village.”
The bartender’s face grew somewhat sullen and he nodded. “For a while now there have been rumors that there were goats walking upright in the woods near here. No one sensible paid them any mind, of course. However, six days back, three of the damned things showed up out of the blue and dragged old Shep Finnigan off into the trees.” The bartender shook his head.
“They just showed up and dragged him off?” Dakkon asked.
“That they did. If it weren’t for Jane and Tenner setting off to visit the man, no one would have known what happened. He lived a little past the edge of town, you see,” the bartender relayed, “but that was just the beginning of it. Since then, every night a few of the goat bastards poke around town. Now and then they make off with supplies.”
“Any idea where they’re coming from?” asked Dakkon.
“No one knows. Groups of adventurers head out to try and find the damned things every day. If you ask me, I think we just need to set up a perimeter around the town, but Barrcus—the town’s head—demands that the creatures be dead or driven off,” the bartender shrugged. “He sent word to Correndin about the town’s problem, but was told that their forces were stretched too thin to help out. They did promise a bounty of 300 gold to any group that managed to solve our problem, though.”
300 gold was quite the sum for a level 4 player. Even if he grouped up with five other players he’d make off with a tidy 50 gold. There might even be additional rewards! Since Dakkon’s game plan was to level up, the offer was just too good to refuse. “I’ll take care of the beasts,” he said.
[You have accepted the quest: Get the Goatmen]
A few minutes later, Dakkon was brought a leg of mutton bigger than his head. Before digging into the beautiful, brown meat that smelled of seared rosemary, Dakkon had to confirm something. “Hey barkeep, this here mutton…” Dakkon paused, trying to find a way to phrase his query, “It’s not goatman meat, is it?”
Appalled, the barkeeper spat, “That’s disgusting! What sort of savages do you take us for?”
“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that,” Dakkon relaxed. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure someone served me rat stew under similar circumstances…” he trailed off, and muttered under his breath, “I mean, there are definitely some parallels here.”
The insulted bartender left Dakkon to his feast, and Dakkon spent the next hour trying to think of hot and cold, without tying them to locations, while eating bite after bite of what probably wasn’t goatman.
As twilight approached, the players in the bar began to leave in groups, and Dakkon followed suit with a new Thermoregulate rank of seven plus six percent. As he walked out into the center of town, a tall, hazel-haired man in his early 20s, with a wiry goatee and dark eyes, approached Dakkon with a faint smile.
“Hello there, Dakkon” the stranger said Dakkon’s name in a manner that didn’t sound altogether respectful.
Inside a town, the names of players hung suspended in the air by default in order to make interaction between them easier. It wasn’t strange for someone to know his name, but Dakkon wasn’t sure he cared to be addressed in that manner. The name ‘Brett’ hung above the player’s head in blue.
“Want to hunt some goatmen with us?” Brett asked, “We’re the group that found them the last two nights. We’re down one man. Interested?”
Dakkon nodded and the two walked back towards three other players.
“Nice to meet you all,” Dakkon said.
“Found us a new guy, huh Brett? A player named Savior chuckled. “Well, welcome aboard.”
“Let’s get going already,” Arden, appearing of similar age to Brett and Savior, said impatiently. “I’m tired of grinding this stupid quest. A goatman or two once a day is ridiculously slow progress and the hunting here sucks.”
The final member of the foursome remained silent. He was an older man, with black hair that stood up above his already tall figure. Above that, his name, Suresh, floated translucent in the fading light of the evening. Suresh did not make eye contact nor acknowledge Dakkon’s presence.
|You have been invited to a group by: Brett
|Do you accept?
|Yes No
As soon as Dakkon accepted the party invitation, a compact box displaying each member’s remaining and maximum health appeared. The same information could be gleaned by glancing at another member of the party, and both methods showed all members to be at full health not only numerically, but through a healthy green tone he suspected would change color depending on the severity of one’s situation. While Dakkon explored the party interface for the first time, the group turned in a common direction and headed off into the woods to the northeast of the village.
“How’d you come to find yourself here?” Brett asked, turning backwards to face Dakkon from ahead, implying the new member should move up to his side.
Dakkon stepped forward and answered honestly, “I heard about the quest on ChronCast.”
“Tch!” the irritable Arden spat, “Great. This place is going to be swarming with noobs.”
Dakkon didn’t miss the implication, but he was new after all.
“Leaving now would be a waste,” Savior chimed in. “We must be close to completing the quest by now.”
“Never mind our hotheaded rogue,” Brett said to Dakkon. “He’s tired of wasting away in such a low-level area. We all are.”
Curious, Dakkon asked, “What level are you guys?”
“Judging by your clothes and bag alone, I’d have guessed we’re around the same as you.” Savior said. “Brett’s the highest at 36 and the rest of us are between 28 and that. You must be some sort of wizard to have such a low amount of health.”
“Some sort of wizard…” Dakkon was unsure whether or not he wanted to break their presumptions. Brett’s HP was a staggering 2,210, while Suresh totaled over 3,000. Compared to Dakkon’s paltry 80 hit points there was an ocean of difference. “I’m currently a thermomancer.”
“Fire wizard?” Arden suggested.
Dakkon was embarrassed about his class and didn’t really want to explain.
“He’s no fire wizard,” Brett grinned. “I’ve talked to that class trainer. They warm and cool things.” The dark eyed man began to chuckle. “Gotta be about the most useless class I’ve ever heard of. What’s your level, then, master microwave oven?”
The truth of the matter would have likely come up in combat. Dakkon shrugged then came clean, “Four.”
The group exchanged glances and, just as Savior was about to say something, Brett interjected, “Hah! No worries. This area is about the right level for you. We just outclass it a bit.” He shot a glance towards Savior and Dakkon just managed to see a wink. “We’ll take good care of you, friend.”