The village ahead was one that Connor instantly found familiar, before realizing that it was almost the same as the one in the cut-scene that Ari had sent him.

There were the same peaked wooden roofs, like a cross between something Old Scandinavian and traditional Japanese, over buildings who had cream stone walls. It was fantasy medieval, for sure, but Connor also saw taller bell-towers, vaguely shining with glowing magical crystals. Here, just as in the scene that Arianna had sent him, it appeared that magic was ubiquitous and treated almost like another energy source.

I need to get my hands on some cool spells! Connor thought as he left the wooded path and started across a pleasant meadow, heading toward a small stone bridge over a meandering creek. On the other side was the village itself which appeared to be little more than a couple of cross streets of small quaint buildings, clustered around a central square.

“Mr. Grey said he would contact me as soon as I was in the game.” Connor was already thinking about the job as he crossed the bridge, pausing only for a second by the scintillating water below.

He could feel the fresh coolness against his skin as moisture was carried up from the water. He could see the reflecting glints of the sunlight on the fast-moving stream, the slight bubbles and spray. Out in the middle where the water was clearer, he could see through its clarity to the rounded, green and brown pebbles of the riverbed.

If anything, Connor thought, this place didn’t just feel real. It felt hyperreal, as if everything before it—specifically his painful and cramped life in Tokyo—was the dulled, muted, make-believe world. This was far sharper and crisper than that.

“Ha!” He let out a laugh as he picked up his pace, his feet crunching on the gravel on the far side of the bridge. He walked up the main thoroughfare of the village, just a short distance until it got to the central square, where a collection of people—humans—were stooping to gather water from the central well.

On the other side of the well was the most prominent building in the entire village, a large, multi-winged Inn.

“Can’t start any decent adventure without going to the Inn, right?” Connor said to himself, noting that a couple of water-drawers at the well were already carrying their pails back to the open stables at the side of the inn, to the stamp and whinny of waiting horses.

“If I was going to set up a meeting with a thief at the start of an adventure, it would be there,” he mumbled to himself as he crossed the village plaza, seeing other figures down the cross streets, moving in and out of the shops. He was sure that at least a couple of the figures were small and squat with a lot of beard.

Dwarves! He thought with a chuckle, pausing to turn around, seeing that this little village was actually fairly busy. There was a range of shops, from a blacksmiths who appeared to sell armor displayed on racks outside to an herbalist, even a small stone chapel.

Healers, maybe? Or Clerics? Connor wondered.

“Hey!” He was disturbed by the sudden shout of a man’s voice behind him, which appeared to have been directed at him. When he turned, he saw a slightly older man with wisps of a moustache, and a long, green-grey cloak over leather and part-chain jerkin leaning against one of the porch pillars of the Inn. The man was currently packing a pipe as he glanced up inquisitively at Connor.

“You’re new in town, huh?” the man said, frowning at the pipe. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around Woodville before.”

“Woodville?” Connor murmured, unsure of the name.

“Yeah, Woodville. The name of our little slice of paradise here,” the rowdy-looking man said, finally finishing what he was doing and setting a match to the pipe. He took a long, satisfied puff as the smell of cherry and raisins filled the air.

“Not much happens here in Woodville, I’ll grant you. We keep to ourselves and stay out of harm’s way. Some strange folks wander in from the Wilds every now and then, heading for the Mountains of Mourn maybe, or Black Birch Forest…”

The man shrugged as if unconcerned with the activities of others, then looked Connor in the eyes, a suddenly serious look on his face.

“That seems to be changing somewhat these days, though. There’s talk of some goblin activity in the Wilds, and I heard someone had seen a Hill Troll up in the Mountains not a moon past…”

An ominous cloud passed before the sun, as if responding to the man’s words, bringing a spot of wintry chill to the Woodville plaza, and the conversation.

“Aye, some strange things seem to be happening recently, truth be told. There was that merchant who up and disappeared down the street there – and his family said they would pay handsomely to know where he went!”

Connor could see where this conversation was heading and had no interest in some random quest to find a missing person. “I’m not interested in any of that,” said said quickly, before suddenly wondering something.

“Unless, uh… Unless Mr. Grey sent you?”

“Mr who-now?” the man said, his brow furrowing.

Is this a test? Connor thought. What if this character doesn’t recognize who he is because of the fact he had changed his appearance?

“Mr. Grey? GhostEffect?” Connor hazarded, earning another frown from the man.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, son. But if you’ve found yourself in my village and looking for employment...” the man offered again, cocking his head to the side. He took one last drag from his pipe then knocked it out against the post. A cherry of charred tobacco fell out and scattered onto the road below.

When Connor didn’t say anything, the man shrugged and reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing the newcomer a small card. “Take it. I’m Gustav Fenwalker, I guess you could say I keep the roads safe around here.”

Connor took the card and looked down to see what was written on it.

Gustav H. Fenwalker, Ranger-Marshal for Mourn Wilds.

~ Ask for me at the Lucky Dragon Inn, Woodsville.

~ Present my card at Inns across Mourn Wilds for help.

As soon as he finished reading the card, a message appeared in front of him.

Do you accept a Quest from the Ranger-Marshal?

Connor chuckled, having been offered a quest no matter how hard he had tried to avoid it.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the card but refusing the offer of a starter quest. He didn’t have time for any of that, not if there were more people spawning into the game with every hour. How long would it take before one of them found the Ring of Tantor?

A Ranger-Marshal? Isn’t that some kind of sheriff? A watchman? Connor wondered, knowing he was there to meet Mr. Grey’s contact to get details about a job that couldn’t be described as anything other than thievery.

Doesn’t that make us sort of enemies?

Connor wasn’t sure that he was going to be the sort of character who would get along with Mr. Gustav H. Fenwalker, even if Connor did realize that the Ranger-Marshal was just trying to be friendly, offering a newcomer like him some work and a chance to get involved.

Connor made a show of pocketing the Ranger-Marshal’s card, all the same. “But, you know. If I get into any trouble, I’ll keep you in mind.”

Gustav half-turned, looked across at Connor for a long moment, his eyes shrewd and Connor got the sense that the man could see right through him.

“Mr Grey…” the Ranger-Marshal muttered to himself, clearly thinking on it before shaking his head. “Don’t get into any trouble now,” he said, then turned back toward the stables and disappeared into the gloom inside.

Wonderful, Connor thought. Did I just made my first enemy already? He shrugged then made his way into the Inn of the Lucky Dragon, Woodville.

***

Connor’s senses were immediately assaulted by the scent of wood polish and hops, baked bread and fire smoke, as well as the garrulous sounds of a working Inn. There was a large main common room, with benches and tables in the center, and more discrete booths by the pebbled-glass windows. A doorway opened out on either side of the central bar, to what Connor assumed were either other common rooms or accommodations. The other patrons in the Inn were mostly humans, swathed in cloaks or regular clothes, and enjoying their afternoon.

“What can I get you, fella?” a voice from behind the bar asked rather disconcertingly as he could see absolutely no one at the bar at all.

“Uhm…” Connor began to say, just as a small figure appeared, climbing onto a bench on the inside of the bar area.

“Ha! You’re a halfling!” Connor blurted out at the small figure with the curly hair and a dirty apron who was now glowering at him.

“Wonderful. Another joker,” the halfling bartender sighed, fixing Connor with a stern look as he blinked. “Ugh. Half-elf, too. You come in here for the comedy, or did you actually want something?”

A message popped up in his vision, offering helpful but unfortunate information.

Name: Connor Half-elf

Level: 1

Charisma: 5

With a human average of 8, your low score will cause unwanted effects in social situations!

Yeah, you don’t say? Connor suddenly realized that maybe there was a need for a higher charisma, especially since he’d decided to play as outcast Half-elf.

Well, too late to change it now!

The halfling glowered and nodded pointedly at the wall, where there was a chalkboard listing a range of drinks and meals, along with their price. There was also a price for rooms for the night.

“Oh, I’m meeting someone,” Connor said, and saw the halfling’s scowl deepen at the prospect of not making a sale. “Do you know of a Mr. Grey, by chance?”

“Do I look like the local tour guide?” The halfling rolled his eyes, before suddenly blinking, as if remembering something.

“Grey, you said? Was that it?” Yhe halfling looked at him suspiciously.

“Aye,” Connor nodded, hesitantly.

“Huh. Strangest thing ever. Wait right here,” the halfling barkeep jumped off the bench and disappeared into one of the back rooms, returning a moment later with what appeared to be a fairly large roll of parchment in his hands.

“Some fella named Grey dropped this off here this morning. Said some young buck would come looking for it, soon enough.” The halfling held up the rolled tube, but as Connor moved to take it, the halfling pulled it back out of his reach.

“Ah! There’s a holder’s fee.” The halfling grinned. “Two coppers.”

Connor groaned. I haven’t got much to spare! He handed over two coins, all the same.

The map—at least that’s what he presumed it was—was rolled up, secured by twine, and had a red wax seal where the end wrapped around on itself. Connor was certain that this was the information he needed to move on with his private quest.

“You want a drink with that?” the halfling grinned wider. “Another two coppers for Spiced Dragon Ale.”

Bandits! Connor thought but threw two more coins onto the counter with a flourish. “Fine,” he exclaimed and was rewarded with a frothing tankard of something amber and cold, smelling of cinnamon, ginger and apple.

“Blessings of the night for you!” the halfling crowed, his earlier resentment completely forgotten thanks to the application of money.

Connor grabbed his drink and made his way through the maze of tables to one of the more secluded booths at the back of the common room. He sat down and settled into relative obscurity then placed rolled parchment on the table and carefully broke the seal.

You have received Map of Mourn Province, First Realm!

“What, no experience points for that?” Connor complained glumly. That was how this was supposed to work, right? You got experience points for going on quests, killing monsters, and getting useful treasure—like this map!

“But this isn’t any official quest I’m on, is it?” Connor realized. It wasn’t one provided by the game, anyway.

He untied the twine and unrolled the paper to see a map of the region he was presumably in. There was a line of mountains and forests behind the small village of Woodville, with a long road going down, curving around the forests toward the edge of where the mountains tapered out.

After that, there was a sea or a canyon of some sorts and another land mass on the other side. The area between land masses wasn’t labeled so he had no way of knowing what exactly it was. Right where the mountains ended and the open area began, there was a dot labeled Skybridge Outpost.

On the other side of the mysterious open area, there was another blobby landmass, with a small walled city carefully inked.

Union City.

Next to the city was a red inked diagram of a tower with Aviatrix Tower written next to it, and an arrow pointing to the very top room.

I guess that’s where the Ring is, then, Connor intuited with a grin. Between the village of Woodville where he currently was and the Skybridge, there was a dotted red line.

“A shortcut,” he said softly, his grin widening into a full smile.

Following the dotted line through what was labeled as Black Birch Forest instead of the long and winding main road would cut the journey to Skybridge Outpost in half.

And that’s the path I’m going to take!