The Trouble with being too much alive.

Initializing. . . 

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Setup Complete.

It happened suddenly; without the slightest whisper of warning. It felt as if the world began to Shift. There wasn’t an earthquake shaking the mountain, or an avalanche crashing from the sky, or even a strong gale begging the building to sway. It was a glaring, imperceptible change; Not great, or terrible, but frighteningly, Wrong.

In a daze, Wyndi steadied herself on the tavern bar, streaks of her long black hair falling over her eyes. She stared across the cozy room, her frazzled thoughts floundering for an explanation.

The old hearth sat at the back wall, burning through an ashen log. Three boisterous adventurers conversed around the fire, laughing, and arguing in the same breath. Mountain men sat along the many dining tables, either taking stock of sprawled supplies, or simply waiting to be fed.

Don’t they feel it?

The fragrance of bubbling stew wafted from the kitchen, and the soft morning light filtered into the tavern through glass and snow. What should have been a peaceful calm, was permeated by unease. For all her efforts, she couldn’t find anything out of place; Nothing that could seem to explain why her knees felt weak, or why her grip on a bottle of gin felt so tight it might shatter.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes

 “I’m fine. Totally fine.” She whispered.

Thinking positive was something father had taught her to do. It didn’t always work. In actuality, speaking the words aloud made her feel like a fool more often than not. It was silly, she knew, but as long as no one saw her play the fool, feeling silly was better than feeling scared for no apparent reason.

She took another calming breath. “I’m feeling great.”

She laughed, thinking of a funny little quirk her little sister had.

“Wyndi Is Feeling Great!” she said with more enthusiasm. 

“. . . i'ah need another drink to stave off the cold” Lynch responded.

Wyndi nearly jumped out of her wool socks in surprise. Right in front of her sat Lynch Potemkin. The wrinkly, long-nosed man who’d asked for a drink right before her world was metaphorically uprooted. He was staring at her from opposite the counter, a glare half between annoyance and drunken stupor.

 “I, ah. . .” She flushed, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’ve quite woken up yet.” 

“i'ah need another drink to stave off the cold” Lynch repeated. His tone was remarkably consistent. She couldn’t tell whether he was grumpily making himself clear, or if he’d just forgotten what he said.

“Right!” I have a job to do. Wyndi shook the hair from her face, and poured the man a cup from the bottle in hand.

“Another round of Fire-Gin for you.”

“I’m a simple man who enjoys simple things.”

She gave him a smile. “My father used to-” She paused. “He often says that you can’t go wrong with a drink or two.” 

“I’m a simple man who enjoys simple things,” he repeated.

Huh. . . A drink or two. . . but how many have you had? Wyndi couldn’t remember. This guy needs something else in his stomach.

“I don’t doubt it, Lynch.” She replied, “So I’m sure you’ll be happy to know breakfast is almost ready.”

“It’s mighty cold on this side of the mountain.”

“What?”

“It’s mighty cold on-” 

“Of course!” 

he’s just rambling now. She thought. 

“You’re Mighty right! I’ll get that fire burning bright right away.” 

He was mumbling something as she turned to leave. Probably a scrambled thought related to the cold, or the alcohol, or rather, Definitely related to the alcohol. Sorry Lynch, I’ve got work to do. I’ll play the audience to your drunken performance once I’ve got the time.

The door behind the bar led to a long, narrow hall. It was a ramshackle path with warped wooden boards and an ever so shallow arch in the middle. There were storage rooms on either side with the bedroom on the far left, and the kitchen on the right. There was a slight, comforting sway in the hall as she walked

The back half of the tavern hung over the mountain, supported by long stilts that were buried down deep through the snow. Father had often joked that it made him feel like a sailor on the high seas. Wyndi hadn’t ever seen the sea, - let alone a body of water that wasn’t frozen over - but the fantastical way he described it made the scene come alive. 

Thinking about his marvelous stories always came with a bit of melancholy. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite separate them from his absence. What amazing thing made you decide to leave? Where did you go? When are you coming back?

Wyndi heard a little song humming from the kitchen, and she peeked in to find Cherri. The little girl had big fur boots and a small muted-red dress that was bowed by a white ribbon. She stood on a box next to the breakfast cauldron, stirring a little wooden spoon, and watching the steaming stew slowly gurgle up bubbles. 

“You’re up early,” Wyndi said from the doorway

Cherri looked up with an infectious smile “Cherri is helping!”

“I see that. Whatever did I do to deserve such an industrious little sister?”

Cherri looked at her, almost blankly, “Cherri has a lot to do!” 

Right, I think we have to work on your vocabulary. 

Cherri had a tendency to brush over words she didn’t know, which, at times, made for amusing conversations. 

The soup was done, and though Wyndi could watch her little sister do cute things for hours, there was, unfortunately, work to do. Got to focus. The strange unease from before hadn’t gone away yet. She was trying to ignore it, but doing so made any distraction much too welcome.

“I’ve got a lot to do too Cherri! I’m going to take stock, and feed the fire, could you start serving up bowls? The folks outside are mighty hungry.”

“Cherri is on the job!” Cherri exclaimed, scampering to the long kitchen cabinets and pulling out tall stacks of wobbling bowls.

Wyndi pried herself from the kitchen and came to the storage room. Lined with sparse shelves, It was cold and dark. Let's take a gander. There was plenty of ashwood, - it was always wise to stock more than needed - but other supplies were running low. A shipment cart ought to have come a day ago. Delays were to be expected of course, but there had been more mountaineers than usual, and more stomachs to fill. 

Better put together a larger food order. She thought. She pushed aside sacks of grain and took a hefty box from the back of the shelf. Gold coins. She estimated the cost of various goods and scooped out two handfuls. It made a dent in the sizable pile, but there was still more than enough.

I’ve been doing this a long time. Maybe too long. . . Maybe, once dad comes back, we’ll go on an adventure all together. I’d love to finally see a sea.

***************

Wyndi had taken a break outside. Not her brightest idea, but certainly not her worst. The more she thought about it, the more it became clear that the uneasiness she felt was some kind of head cold; A little sickness dragged into her tavern by a mountain man, or maybe a bad potato. Nothing to be worried about.

The cold wind cascaded against her face and nipped at her nose. She didn’t have a phenomenal tolerance to the frigidness like the mountaineers, or even Cherri, but the fresh air, she thought, was doing her good. That, or it was difficult to think and shiver at the same time. 

She’d been almost ready to go back in when something caught her eye. A silhouette out in the perpetual blizzard. There was someone out in the snow, clutching themselves tight, and slowly ascending the slope of the mountain.

It was a measure off the beaten path; a dangerous trek for the unwary, or the unprepared. The poor fellow looked like he needed some help, so naturally, Wyndi trudged out to meet him. She knew the snow-covered landscape like the back of her hand.

When she came close, she found Malcolm - The merchant who usually brought the shipments - hobbling through the snow. His bare arms were frozen around himself.

She had to yell to be heard over the howling wind. 

“What happened to you!?”

“G-g-g Goblins,” Malcolm said. “Stole the cart and attacked.”

“Goblins don’t live this high up.” she hollered. 

“They had blue skin. Skin made of ice”

“Ice goblins? This far south!?”

“G-g-g Goblins Stole the cart and attacked.”

“You’ve been out in the cold for too long Malcolm, We need to get you inside and warmed through”

She helped the icy Malcolm into the tavern and put him by the -now open- fire. He had a blank look on his face, just staring straight ahead with vacant eyes. Stories involving goblins always painted them as nasty creatures, and they rarely ended well.

They must have stolen his coat, and forced him into the cold. . .

But here? She thought. Why here? Why now? The path was already treacherous; The cold and the terrain were two dangers deadly enough. Toss in a third, and my only patrons are going to be virtual monsters of men. And who’s going to bring up supplies? I wouldn’t! I’ve got to take care of this. Quickly.

She couldn’t do anything herself, but manpower wasn’t something in short supply. She looked around the tavern. The mountain men were tough, undoubtedly, but they weren't exactly monster hunters. She looked for the adventurers, the intrepid souls with swords who did this type of thing for a living.

Luckily they were still in the tavern. She zeroed in on one of them at the bar. He was a tall man in a slimming black trench coat, and a knight's helmet over his head. An odd wardrobe, but adventures could be odd. Cherri was with him, standing on her toes to lean over the counter and hand him a bottle.  

“I see you’ve met my sister” Wyndi said.

He turned to her, his voice echoing through the helmet.

“Hello! You must be the tavern keeper! For a minute there, I thought it was this little cupcake.”

“Cherri is helping!” 

Wyndi nodded. “I actually need your help”

“Oooh. A Quest?” He raised his visor, a handsome face underneath. “I didn’t think anything happened in this corner of the world.”

“Not a lot usually does, But. . .” she glanced at Cherri, who was obliviously cleaning a cup with a rag.

“Could we talk over there?” she gestured further down the bar.

He moved with her, as requested. “Ohh, a secret mission. Nice.”

“Not secret. Well. Not so much. I just don’t think the little one needs to know” She leaned in close and whispered “It looks like there’s been a goblin attack”

“Now This is getting interesting”

“I don’t know where you’re from, but Interesting isn’t a word I’d use for ice goblins ambushing people on the slopes.”

The adventurer paused. A fraction of. . . awe, growing on his face “Woah.”

“Woah what?”

“My pals have got to see this.” he looked to a table nearby. “Violet, Dirty Max! Come over here.”

Looks like they make decisions as a group.

Wyndi glanced down the bar. Lynch was nearby, still in his drunken stupor, and Cherri was further down, her attention still diverted.

The two at the table came over. Dirty Max in robes and a stained-gray wizard hat, and Violet in form-fitting leather. Not winter appropriate but to each their own.

“What is it Skarr? I’ve gotta go in like a minute” said Violet.

“Check this out, She’s got a quest”

“So?” The dirty wizard asked. 

The first adventurer, Skarr, looked at Wyndi with a smile, like he had just built a snowman and was expecting it to come alive.

“What? What are you Gawking at? I just told you my friend was attacked. Are you going to help me or not?”

The wizard's mouth dropped. “Oh, man.”

“Right!?”

Growing enthusiasm echoed between Max and Scarr.

“Kingslayer has got to see this,”

“King- Who!?” Wyndi tried to interject,

Scarr shook his head. "He might be out of commission for a while."

"What happened?"

“His laptop fell into his kitchen sink”

“Darn.”

“Yeah, it's a crying shame.”

“Hold on, What was it doing in the kitchen?” Violet asked.

“What are you all talking about!?”

“He had to do the dishes,” Scarr said with a smile. “My man is committed to the grind.”

Max laughed “Dang! such a legend!”

“It doesn’t matter WHAT fell in the sink!” Wyndi burst. She was sick of being spoken over. ”Ice goblins attacked on the route between here and Shamyern.” she hissed in a whisper “I’ll give you fifty gold, each if you take care of them, and get my supplies back.”

“Ooh, you’ve made the NPC mad,” Max laughed.

“N.p, what?”

“Non-Player Character,” Max said. “You’re in a game!”

“What? like a game of cards, or dice? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It’s not that type of game,” Violet corrected.

“Oh.” Wyndi laughed bitterly. “You must mean a jest! A practical joke of some kind, where you make light of my problems, and ridicule me. Very amusing!”

She’d said the last part with a little too much intensity. There was a moment of silence as their enthusiasm partly died. Max put his head down, staring at the floor.

“. . . i'ah need another drink to stave off the cold” lynch muttered.

She softened her tone “Can you please take this seriously?”

Thankfully, Violet seemed to put it into consideration.

“That’s a tundra biome. Fighting there is gonna be tough.”

Skarr nodded, “The cold is the real killer.”

Wyndi got an idea. She hopped onto the bar, rolling to the other side. A little undignified, but she sort-of owned the place.

“All the mountaineers drink this.” she said, taking a bottle from under the counter and proffering it to Skarr “It helps them stave off the cold. They call it Fi-” 

 “Fire Burning Gin. . .” Skarr said. “It's got great status effects.” 

How did you know that?

“Wasn’t Kingslayer Min-Maxing a firemancer?” Violet asked.

“Yeah, He’s been looking for a heat booster for forever.” 

For a moment Wyndi was afraid they’d go on another tangent, but Violet brought it back.

“How much of this can you give us to do the quest?” 

“Ten bottles. Another ten if you manage to retrieve my shipment.”

Violet and Scarr exchanged a look, and Scarr put out his hand. 

Wyndi was about to shake it when Max’s head popped back up. “Hey I went AFK for a second, I was looking at the wiki for secrets and stuff, But I think it’s out of date. It says a guy named Howard runs the tavern.”

Wyndi stopped. “How do you know my father?”

***************

Adam crossed his fingers as he watched the loading bar stutter forward. He’d sunk the laptop in a bucket of rice, hoping the fix was universal. So far, results were promising. Once it hit one hundred percent, the fan got loud, and the screen went dark.

Please please please! The title of the game flashed onto the loading screen and he did a celebratory fist pump.

MOUNTAIN QUEST 3! The Final Ascension. Open beta, ver 1.7

Ever since the new update, He’d been dying to get back into the game. Procedurally generated quests, and rumored A.I overhauls. He’d been told by Dirty Max to find a tavern girl who had a stat booster and a "Baller Surprise"

Eager to start playing, he logged into his main account. Kingslayer9965. 

He used a teleportation scroll to fast-travel to the tavern, and go inside. Pretty quickly he found a little girl serving the tables, but she obviously wasn’t the one he was supposed to find. All she had was a simple dialogue loop. “Cherri is Helping!” and “Cherri is on the job!”

Where is she? He wondered.

 He waited, and then waited a little longer, but the NPC of the hour wasn’t showing up. He circled the room a few times until he heard a soft sniffling. He came up to the bar, and when he leaned over he found part of someone hiding behind it; pulled together in a little ball. 

“Hey, uh, tavern keeper?”

There was a long pause. He saw her feet shift, and heard what sounded like someone whipping tears

“Yeah?” a voice responded.

“Are you all good?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

There was a long pause.

“I. . . heard there was Fire Gin here?”

“Yeah. . .but, it’s weird, because I take a bottle out, and every time I look down, there are still ten bottles. Isn’t that weird?”

“Uh, sure. . .”

“And, Isn’t it weird?” She continued, “How an adventurer can know more about my father than I do? Where he was born. . . Where he died.”

“I mean, I guess it could be.”

“But that’s not the weirdest thing. No. Everyone repeats themselves. Like they’re all under a curse. Not just Lynch, but the mountaineers, and even-” Her voice caught in her throat.

“I just wanted the drink, miss.”

There was a sniffle behind the counter. “Yeah. Real people want things.” She paused, catching her breath. “Am I real? if I just want it all to make sense again?” 

“. . .”

“Just come and take the gin.” she broke, sobbing. “Take as much as you want. Take all my gold too. It’s not like it matters.”

Adam thought there might be something interesting here, but this was just a downer. He entered the game menu and navigated through the settings to submit a bug report.

Minor Issue - Far East Tavern: The Tavernkeeper doesn’t have any quests. She’s having a mental breakdown or something. Not very fun. Plz fix.