[SYSTEM] Dire Bear killed. 0 dropped items.
The dungeon kept its own calendar, three days of repetition arranged into indifferent, crushing hours. Adventurers passed through like weather, bright and brief. Their time in this cavernous hellhole had been too fleeting to leave an impression, but the smell of steel and tallow echoed throughout.
Venn had been here the whole time. A quest, given to him by the local butchery: 500 venison rumps, or "bear asses" as he had started calling them. The joke had seemed harmless to him at first, a twee bit of fun to maintain his sanity, but it had bitten back hard.
He started doing the maths again. Forty percent, allegedly. His sword rose and fell, his shoulders a metronome, his world a cube of destruction. His latest kill, like the two-something thousand prior, fell with a sound like wet burlap. It stained his patchworked brigandine a few shades of crimson deeper than should have been possible. And still, the counter did not tick.
Statistically, he should've been at 800 by now. Three days, 450 bear asses. He'd started counting the hours, he'd started naming the bears.
Most adventurers were in and out before they'd even noticed the spawn patterns, yet his bad luck held steady. All of this for a cooking recipe and a makeshift grill. Obvious trash to any half-competent adventurer, but transformative to the pile of rocks and lumber he called home.
Enough was enough. Venn sat, pondering whether to eat one of his hard-earned trophies for a much-needed boost to his stamina. Food was one of the few joys he still had in life, something to help him feel part of the universe, if only for a handful of minutes.
He daydreamed of rare steaks drenched in garlic butter; Grilled fish prepared on aromatic skewers. His choice of food shifted as quickly as his eyes did, examining the other poor souls stuck in this cavern with him.
At one end, a deceptively short elven mage, farming twenty–maybe even thirty of the bastards at a time with a flurry of icicles raining from the sky.
She was completely unbothered, relaxed, not even breaking a sweat. Her makeup held like glue, her hair remained pristine, and what could only be described as her rig hauler of a chestplate refused to budge too.
Venn had not been lucky with his draft of statistics. A sword and a shield. It got the job done, but he wasn't exactly going to win any forum-run costume contests, or break any DPS meters.
As his eyes surveyed the meat on display, his own averageness became fluorescent. He'd never died before, but the allure–just a slim chance the rumours were true and it might reroll his unseasoned poultry of a life, was starting to look like a worthwhile gamble.
It wasn't all bad though. He'd grown a level of attachment to locations like this. The unmistakable odour of steel and blood grounded him, and the distant shouts and screams of other adventurers… Enough to give him a sense of community, without the nagging upkeep of an *actual* community.
However, as if dictated by the rules of a divine comedy, his meditative background noise shattered as a voice chirped beside him.
"I'm all done! How about you?"
He flinched with such vigour that his sword clanged against the stone a foot away from him. A small figure, all smile and shine, without a drop of self-preservation in the mix, beamed up at him. Four foot something, flowing blonde hair, perfect features without any sign of a blemish, and an aura of incessant positivity that could power a small village.
Venn steadied himself with the kind of breath you take before expecting to be punched in the gut.
"Pozzo," he muttered under his breath.
The word had become his shorthand for the type: the endlessly cheerful ones. Put a floating stamina bar above their heads and they'd treat it as a challenge, not the countdown to dementia and social care he had long since recognised it as.
"Good for you." His voice carried little emotion as he readjusted his scabbard. "Mind giving me a buff before you leave?"
If Venn had to deal with one of these freaks, he was at least going to make it transactional.
"Leave? Don't think I'm leaving you here all by yourself!"
Her grin widened; Venns' frown deepened, as if two giants were battling it out in perfect balance.
"Really, it's fine." He gestured towards the tunnel mouth. "You can go back to farming compliments about your sliders."
"My what?" She blinked, head tilted.
"You know," he continued, examining her symmetrical face, "If I'd rolled a face and body like that, I wouldn't need to be down here in this blood-soaked shithole."
He spoke with the tired envy of a man who'd been out-DPS'd by prettier people his whole life, and not just when it came to his damage numbers.
"Thanks! The name is Issil," she said, still smiling. The insult ricocheted off her like a glancing blow. Whether due to her disposition, or her lack of understanding, Venn couldn't tell.
"Venn, solo queue," he muttered, desperately trying to salvage his peace.
"Not anymore!" She grabbed his arm and tugged. For someone the size of an overfed toadstool, she had the leverage of a forklift.
Venn sighed, surrendering himself to both Issil's momentum and to the inevitable direction of his day, and hauled himself upright. "Let's get this over with".
[SYSTEM] Venison Rump 495/500
Some hours had passed, and Venn had to admit it. The toadstool was efficient, at least in the way a hyperactive toddler might desecrate a room the instant you looked away.
He had never trusted magic users. Why put your life, however replenishable, in the hands of some half-remembered symbols and mumbled chants, when a spiky piece of metal could do the job?
He liked to think logic made him that way. Steel was simple, reliable, it didn't lie. Magic was exotic, mysterious. It had to be more trouble than it's worth.
Reservations aside, they were making real progress.
A crust of thick magical ice clung to his sword like dew on a morning blade of grass. Every slash felt crisper, more visceral.
Her constant encouragement, still grating at Venn with every word, had been transformed into a tsunami of rose-scented sewage, pouring into a slow, ticking aura of rejuvenation.
What really grated at him was how effortless Issil made it look.
Everything about her: Her stature, the relentless cheer, the empty‑headed optimism. A character like her belonged trading favours for coin under a dimly lit tavern table, not here.
Yet here she was, casting like it was breathing. Not the easy stuff either. Your run‑of‑the‑mill mage threw a couple of fireballs or zapped something for show. She'd managed to turn his rusty blade lethal, keep him topped up on health, and pin enemies with spines of ice.
Disdain bubbled, jealousy simmered, maybe a pinch of gratitude he refused to name. He kept his mouth shut. At least until the bear asses were out of his life.
[SYSTEM] Venison Rump 499/500
Venn's heart was racing, every blood-curdling wail resonating through his bones as he awaited the final drop.
Sweat bolted down Venn's face. His grip trembled on the hilt. He angled his face away from Issil the best he could, but the anticipation kept bleeding through.
She shot a soft smile in his direction. "Don't worry, we're bound to get it soon. You can relax".
Suddenly, the cavern went dark, the light swallowed away as if even it didn't want to witness what was about to occur.
A flurry of slashes lit up the area like fireflies on a concoction of stimulants, each spark vanishing as fast as it appeared. A cascade of thuds echoed around the room as bear after bear dropped.
"Shit". Venn tried to internalize the thought, but the words were too raw to be left unspoken.
Amongst the ashes stood a figure, eyes locked on Venn.
"Rare to see a knight of such bravery taking on such a dangerous quest," the hooded figure jibed.
A teenage boy stood before them, barely taller than Issil, but with a presence far heavier. Gem-studded leathers. A golden hood embossed with the crest of a crow. Two obsidian daggers catching every stray beam of light.
Behind him, two hired meatloafs in matching uniforms, adorned with the same crest.
"Loves2Spooge," Venn replied.
Venn couldn't even muster a chuckle. If Pozzos drained his constitution, this kid stripped it to the bone.
"How long have you been here? A few hours?" Spooge laughed.
Venn gritted his teeth and held his tongue. If his misfortune became public knowledge, he'd never hear the end of it.
"I'm one step away from completing this quest," Spooge bellowed. "Helps a lot to have two people funneling you the items. Not that I'd even need it."
He locked on to Venn with the kind of shit-eating grin that only a teenager could muster. "Wanna watch my final kill?"
"After all, it's probably gonna be the most impressive thing you see today, hell maybe even this week". It was apparent Spooge was just getting started.
"Maybe if you cry hard enough your girlfriend over there will leave you too, not that she's anything but a dog anyway".
Venn looked over at Issil, expecting her ditzy demeanour to have carried her through the verbal barrage of slop, but no. For the first time, her face held still, her emotions unreadable.
Spooge pointed one of his daggers at the singular remaining bear, positioned just far enough away that Venn was at a perfect viewing distance.
Venn was powerless. Not only was he about to endure another half-hour of gloating from this prepubescent wank stain, he'd be one step further away from the pitiful treasure that had brought him here in the first place.
His stomach rumbled violently enough to audibly clatter against the inside of his brigandine.
No. He wasn't going to lose out. Not again. Not today.
He sprang into action, sword dragging by his side as he advanced towards the bear. This was the most serious he'd looked since his favourite tavern, "The Jiggling Jugs" had shut down.
"Ha! Keep running like that and you might burn off some of that lard, fatso!"
One of the henchmen forced a laugh. Venn's stomach continued to grumble in response.
It didn't matter. Before Venn's next step had even reached the floor, Spooge's dagger was already inches away from the bear.
"Krrshk!"
Spooge slowed to a halt. For a few moments, he just stared.
The bear took a final step, and collapsed.
A wet fountain of blood flowed from the ruptured neck of the bear. Its head had been torn clean off, pinned into the nearby wall, with a spattering of gore solidifying its trajectory.
"An icicle?" Spooge's voice cracked, rage and disbelief fighting for space.
His shaking hand planted firmly on his dagger, and his eyes locked on Issil.
For Venn, the blood was just set dressing. Spooge's unblinking eyes were the real horror.
[SYSTEM] Venison Rump 500/500
One by one, the cavern took notice. Steel lowered, heads began to turn. The clattering of battle fell silent.
At the centre of it stood Issil, arms still outstretched. Her face was slick with sweat, her breathing heavy. Frost layered across her skin thick, cracking as a blue-white fog coiled around her.
Spooge stared at her, unfazed by what had stopped the rest of the cavern cold.
"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"
Issil's frozen skin grew thicker. As she took her first step towards Spooge, the ground froze, hiding from the monster that stood upon it.
"I WANT THAT BITCH CAMPED FOR THE NEXT HOUR!"
Spooge's bodyguards stood still. Venn couldn't tell if that was a choice, or their bodies simply refusing an order.
"Issil, forget about him. We did it, quest complete. Let's just get the hell out of here".
Venn's voice, while stuttering with tints of fear, was uncharacteristically diplomatic. He didn't fancy seeing the palmtop tiger prodded any further.
Spooge continued to yell, something about exploits and bad skill balance, but his voice had started to go hoarse, and his confidence had leaked out with it.
The bodyguards exchanged looks, and as if telepathically, decided their contracts didn't cover this. They turned and walked.
Issil's hands still shook, steam rising from her skin as her aura slowly subsided. As her emotions stabilized, she looked towards the wall where the bear's head had impacted, now lying on the ground in a pool of crimson water.
"I… might have overdone it". The words formed as if she was wrestling control of them. Her feet almost buckled under the strain.
Venn nodded. "A warning would have been nice".
Behind them, Spooge's tantrum continued. Guild names, empty threats that his relatives could have them banned, the usual patter from a boy who'd just been humiliated in front of strangers.
Venn adjusted his pack. "C'mon, let's cash this in before he remembers how to breathe".
The pair headed for the tunnel. The sounds of boots and a dagger clattering against the far wall followed them out like applause.
[SYSTEM] Hateful speech detected. User 'Loves2Spooge' has been muted for one hour.
Sun shafts broke through the clouds as the pair departed the blood and piss-soaked cavern. Spooge's puberty-infused tantrum echoed behind them.
A land of gentle rolling hills, with no points of interest to boot. People called Meadowmarch a poor man's adventuring spot. Venn figured that was too generous; poor men at least got weekends off.
For him, this was as far as his imagination dared to stretch. There were gnomish weightlifters with more ambition.
"Can't you just wait to get out there?" Issil beamed, the gored intestinal tract on her robes already ancient history.
"Hmm?"
"Out of Meadowmarch, silly! There's a whole world out there… adventure, loot, secrets to discover!" Issil's eyes drifted to the gargantuan glaciers far on the horizon, just begging for adventurers to die in new and imaginative ways.
"Yeah," Venn replied. "Can't wait to get back to Grimley and do absolutely fuck all".
"You'll see, Venn," she smirked, already plotting something unbearably cheerful. "As long as I'm around you'll be forced to see the world!"
They bickered all the way back – her about adventure and destiny, him about naps and the great philosophical value of not being roasted alive by a pissed off dragon.
By the time the pair had reached the outskirts of the village, the sky was bleeding red and orange as night began to creep in.
Grimley held no importance, economic, cultural, or otherwise. Its people were a dumping ground, and Venn was a shoo-in for the mascot.
To Issil, the charm of such an unassuming place was a novelty and joy all by itself, a nice change of pace from the financially over-endowed men usually chasing her.
For Venn, it was home. A bumbling grid square of crime, poverty, and mud, but the best he could hope for.
As they walked past the pig breeding pits at the edge of the village wall, Venn was hit with an odour reminiscent of a child coming home to a mother's home-baked pie.
"This is what it's all about". A smile briefly cracked its way through his usual gloom.
"Gods, I can't believe they just let them wallow in their own filth all day. Is it always like this?"
"The pigs or the people?" Venn snorted, already laughing at his own joke as Issil gave out a sensible chuckle. Her return joke was toothless, as expected.
The village butcher was in plain view now, giving his pre-programmed expressive wave to the pair as they began their final approach.
Venn had been through hell for this. Grilled venison wasn't just his motivation, for the past few days, it had been his whole reason for existence.
As they got closer, Venn's eyes drifted to the absurdities happening around him.
Pigs walking on hind legs came out of the tavern while a farmer repeatedly bashed his head trying to walk into the side of someone's house.
It wasn't exactly unusual for such things to sometimes occur. The world's stability ebbed and flowed, but it was never a good omen.
"Let's hurry and hand in this quest", Issil whispered, her idea of an indoor voice still audibly crisp a block away.
The glitches left her understandably perplexed; these kinds of things didn't happen often in the more "put together" areas of Questlandia.
"Venn..." The butcher paused for a few beats.
"And… party member… Issil!" The pauses were getting worse.
"Thank you for collecting my . Please hand them to me, and I will reward you with
The NPC was even more stunted than usual, but Venn didn't particularly care. He was moments from salvation.
He pulled each lump of meat one by one from his inventory as he drooled in anticipation, Issil cheering him on from the side.
[SYSTEM] Patch 1.10 fully deployed.
Following user complaints of balancing issues with quest "The Honest Grind", the requirement for 500 venison rumps has been adjusted to 50 turtle chunks.
Venn's eyes opened in the same moment they had closed, his hands now moving empty space out of his inventory where a mountain of meat had just been.
"They… They changed the item requirements?" Venn's voice remained flat, as if his emotions were swallowed whole with his bear asses.
"Venn… And… Party Member… Issil, you still need to collect <50 Turtle Chunks> before you can complete this quest".
Issil's hand landed firmly on Venn's shoulder as he dropped to his knees, shrinking to the size of a pea.
"Typical," he sighed.