Up on a hilltop far far from here…

John was surprised how easy it was to climb the fortress while sitting upon Bob. The guinea pig charged straight through quite a few orcs, taking bites out of one every so often, indicating that he indeed liked the taste of flesh quite a bit and that he was always hungry.

Before long John had gained quite a big chunk of extra experience, though he did not have the time to get any loot due to Bob racing along the street, jumping over rubble left and right like a well trained goat. Soon John found himself in front of the fortress on top of the hill. Knowing that his quest said he had to take down the boss by himself, John urged Bob to stop in front of the building.

He got off of the big, furry potato and scratched him between his big ears. “Thanks for bringing me up here, now go back down and have a good meal,” John told the trusty guinea pig.

Bob gave a soft squeak, nudging him with his snout once more, before dashing down the hill as fast as he got up here.

“Crazy animal,” John lamented as he let out a loud sigh. Why could nothing ever make sense since Monday. He got powers, and since then everything had either been a bad pun or trying to kill him, with sex on the side, but still!

With another, even deeper sigh, John approached the entrance to the building. It would have been a very beautiful place in its prime, John was sure of that, but right now it looked horribly neglected. The left of the giant doors was weathered and showed cracks, the right was missing the lower half and had mushrooms growing from the remaining wood. John tried to push open the left door, not getting it to budge an inch. He warrily looked at the rusted hinge on the right door, praying that it would hold for a little while longer at least.

Holding his hand in front of his mouth to prevent himself from inhaling spores John crouched down and carefully crawled through the hole, stumbling upon a collapsed pillar nigh instantly, realizing why the left door could not be opened.

John found himself in a large, dust filled room, a few footprints able to be seen on the thick layer of gray all around him. John slowly crept forward, following the footsteps while spying around for anything that might resemble loot, finding absolutely nothing.

John slowly crept further, keeping his eyes on the trial ahead of him. He tried to steady his breathing but went into a coughing fit when a breeze blew up the dust, blowing some of the dust into his face and disturbing the footsteps in front of him.

With tears in his eyes, John finally managed to rub the dust out of them and get it out of his lungs, taking a moment of rest before setting back on the trail, finding it to be harder to see the tracks, until, suddenly, it became easier again, a pop up notifying him why.

Skill unlocked: Tracking Lvl 1 (passive)
You learned the basics of tracking, making it easier to follow the tracks of your prey or anyone unlucky enough to be followed by you. If you use this to stalk girls, I will smite you. Just saying.

John let out a soft groan, looking at the stone ceiling as he mumbled. “I really could do without the snark, Gaia…”

Tough fucking luck.

John dismissed the interactive popup, focusing on what he was doing: finding the boss. With his new passive, having the unpleasant experience of getting knowledge directly implemented into his mind again, the tracking became a lot easier. He could now see the tracks were leading to the other end of the hallway and out a door.

Making his way to the other end, John found himself in a hall that looked to be leading to a closed off inner garden. The leaded windows that once adorned the hall crunched under his feet, shattered by wind, weather and whatever else might have happened to reduce the entire hill fort to its current state. John looked at the bottom of his soles, noticing that even though it was just leather, the glass did not stick to it. He made a mental note to thank Old Fred for the quality boots later on.

Finally reaching the inner garden, the footprints disappeared, the stone not conveying where the feet had gone. John crouched in the shadow of the arch, looking at the big square garden; it was a mess to say the least: bushes and brambles were everywhere, a scorched husk of a tree standing off to the side nearer to the castle’s walls. On top of the walls around the garden, even above the arch John was hiding under, were battlements making John warry for an ambush. John listened, and hearing nothing, he slowly crept into the garden, staying close to the ground as he took soft, slow steps through the minor jungle. John looked around, hand on his bowstring, trying to figure out where the boss had gone off to.

After scouring along the sides of the garden for a few minutes, John went deeper into the bushes, stumbling upon a cracked, overgrown fountain in the middle of a group of bushes. Where once a small, naked angel had been spewing water, John found a copper lined chest in the dry basin of the fountain.

John looked over the battlements, making sure that he was still alone. When nothing moved, he stepped over the edge of the fountain, crouching in front of the chest. John looked over the box, not sensing any danger from it; it was an odd thing, a box in the middle of nowhere. John knew that it was either a trap, or worse, a mimic, years of videogames had taught him that much.

John poked the chest with his short sword, not even being able to scratch it. He tried to strike it with the pommel, only managing to slightly numb his hand for a few seconds. When he was confident that it was at least not a mimic, John placed his hand on the lid, getting prompted by a pop up.

As John read the message, a mocking laugh came from the battlements. A voice with a thick french accent spoke: