Play it Right!

A dying world has no need for trousers, thus I spurn them.

I let the acid rain burn my bare skin. It would probably hurt my eyes were it not for my long hair.

“A pilgrim of penitence wan’dring naked through this land. A silent requiem for a land dying but not allowed to rot.” - Oh that's good, I should write that one down.

Others laugh at my nakedness, they mock my pacifism. They 'optimize' their way through The Crysomme Moor. But for a melancholic soul like me, it was the only way to travel.

𝕹𝖔𝖜 𝕬𝖞𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌:

𝕬𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝕮𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓

A campspawn? In this cave? We are only 2 Miles from the Past Spawn point. Sigh. Its disgusting how The Foundation is dumbing this world down for casual tourists.

I smiled to myself just thinking of those mouth breathing fools, grinding and squabbling over baubles while I managed to sneak away with one of the greatest treasures of The Carrion World.

I sat by the soft orange glow of the campspawn and let my hands warm on the cool flame. But I’ll allow myself to indulge in the one Rorsmontis I brought with me.

And why shouldn’t I? I deserve a healing draught, after this excursion. I’ll activate the campsite later.

I listened to the crack of the canteen echo in the empty cavern. I sipped the effervescent green ichor, and as I did the burns and sores across fell off my bare skin. Relieved by the potion. I  opened my journal, and updated my profile.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖗
Level 1(234 upgrades pending) | Disheveled | Kills 0 | Deaths 20
Wandering without purpose,
but not aimlessly.
A Pilgrim of Penitence -

*cough*

*cough*

*cough*

My precious silence was broken by a fit of coughing. I scrambled away from the flame while placing my diary in my left hand and reached for the sheathed dagger on my leg.

The cough echoed around a corner of the dark cavern.

I searched the cavern now. The brown floor softly shined with the reflections of dull grey armor and rusted weapons.

*cough*

*bluek*

The coughing intensified and I heard a clang as several rusted plates of armor smashed into each other near a chest and 3 broken pots.

I looked for source of the sound, past the chests and towards the black cave mouth. A moment of stillness. I could hear the slime drop from the stalactites.

“Hey!” Cried a hoarse feminine voice. “Why won't you look at my chest?”

I looked around for the source of the voice. But saw only loose objects, a chest, some armor, and some urns.

“I'm sorry?”

“What's your problem, eh? Are you broken or something? No paranoid strikes? No rolling into urns, searching for loot? You've been here for over 10 minutes, and you haven't even looked at me!”

I looked back to the containers near the spawncamp. And there was the chest, glaring at me with large eyes. The chest snapped angrily sputtering out coins as she talked. I looked at the angry chest, and picked up one of the coins it spat at me.

𝕮𝖔𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕲𝖔𝖑𝖉
Gold | Object
In the time before the ash, such were these coveted.
Now death masks for long forgotten kings.

“I'm afraid I’m not really a treasure hunter, but -”

“Of course you are! You are an adventurer, adventurers go crazy for these shiny discs!”

“Perhaps they do, but I have greater needs. Besides this is a high skill area. It would take hundreds of these just to purchase a RubriCola flask.”

A large prehensile tongue shot out from the chest. It snatched the coin from my hand, and as it did so the chest began to change shape.

“What’s a mimic doing out in The Moor?” I moved the fringe of my hair to see. Large eye turrets moved to the top of the chest and the bottom began to shrink and cylinderize.

“Because this is my dungeon? What’s an adventurer doing without clothes, huh?”

What was once a chest sat a young green and red scale clad woman wrapped in a wooden corset with brass hinge buttons, and a velvet skirt. She pushed her bangs-like dorsal crest to the side as each of her eyes moved around to focus on the coin.

“What would you know about valuables? You don’t even have a shirt!”

“Ah! Well I will have you know I am on the run from every adventurer in this Ashen Land. All because I found this!”

𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖆 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖆
Purified Bakanite | Cursed Dagger
Chance of infecting “Naked Rage” on hit.
A relic of ancient bacchic duels
fought for the love of Despaircita Mia.
The face of the blade is gilded with spintria,
and embossed with one phrase:
'Take it off. You can't take it with you.'

The mimic looked at the dagger with wide eyes and almost reverent awe.

“Oooo. So that’s what a real treasure looks like.”

She reached her slender fingers over to touch it; fingers which I promptly slapped.

“DO NOT TOUCH! It's dangerous. A cursed item.” I asked, hoping she would inquire about the curse.

“Woah, how many kills have you gotten with that?”

“How many, ki -None! I’m a pacifist.”

“Then why do you carry a sword?”

“Because I wish to study it, and because it’s too dangerous for others to carry.”

“Well, if you aren’t going to attack me, tourist, then what do you want?”

“I wish to be left alone, and you can call me Traveler… everyone else does.”

“Pfft.”

“Oh? And who do you believe you are?”

The mimic woman stood up on long slender legs so as to be a head taller than me.

I am known as …

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖆 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖆
Level 10 | Mimic | Kills 77 | Deaths: 1054
If you can read this, I failed to trap you.
So just finish it up already.

“But you can call me Strep!”

I’ll admit I let my mouth drop as I looked at her paltry stats.

“Oh! Now you stare at my chest?”

“You are only ranked at 10-here?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I chose that. Everything here is rated 55 or higher, where are you from?”

“The Isle of Handleiding.”

The Tutorial Archipelago?

“The Isle of... What are you doing this far away from home?

“It's not safe anymore. Used to be able to get a good adventurer with friends, but now there are a bunch of giant knights with Zeldzaamite armor that will show up and clear out my dungeon. I die, they take what they want, then do it again.”

Strepsia didn't make eye contact as she spoke, instead letting one of her crests fall over her eye, which she absently brushed aside, the stripes on her skin fading.

“I figured, I'll go somewhere really dangerous, eat some elite adventurers, then I can go back and -GLACK!”

Strepsia's large round eyes bulged as she hawked and gagged, the colors on her body spiked in hue as she placed her hands on her knees until a basic mail shirt clattered onto the stone floor.

“Darn. I was really hoping for at least steel. The Smith of Sobbing Souls would at least trade some chicken for that…”

She looked back up to me in seeming better spirits.

“Anyways, that was why I was so excited to see you! You show up, naked and unobservant - just like home - I could use a nostalgic meal.”

“I’m not sure how to take that statement.”

“Don’t worry, tourist. You're armed with a pretty high level weapon. So I’m not going to try to eat you now. My traps will catch other adventurers!”

“Adventurers more powerful and dangerous than me?”

“YEP!”

“Do you….have a plan for that? Any lures?”

“Lures? Miles ahead of you, Traveler! See I've got a plan to lure more adventurers like you into my snare!”

Strep climbed onto my back and with her arms and feet on his shoulders bent over my head to meet me eye to eye. I flinched, but it was clear she wouldn’t eat me.

“Surely you can catch a *glimmer* of my plan already. Hmm?”

She stared at me expectantly with her lips tight in an upside down smile. I tried to see past her through my peripheral vision.

“I don't, sorry.”

“THE COINS, SILLY!!”

“COINS?”

Strep, pointing at the trail of coins with her three limbs, loosened her tail from The Traveler's neck and scurried towards the acid rain cave entrance.

“See all of these coins? I leave one really nice one every five coins or so. Then they follow the trail in.”

“You think a single adventurer is going to let his guard down to follow a trail of coins into the dark?”

“Uh huh! And when he does he will see this restoration fire. And when he sees the fire he'll think 'By the Might of Dust, a campspawn!! You know what I should do, I should rest awhile.'

Strep exaggerated a deep voice. With a sway of her elbows , arms and hips, she squatted on the log next to the burning sword.

“And then -while our hero is smoking his green herbs and leveling his poise - SNAP!
Hahahahahaa ack.”

I only stared as Strepsia hacked up a Wrought Iron Greave.

“That's your plan?”

“So there are some minor issues to work out.”

“Minor? When was the last time you caught someone?”

She said nothing, her stomach spoke for her.

“Listen you useless mimic!”

“That’s Strep-”

“Whatever! No one desperate enough to get out of the acid rain is going to notice your little coin lure. Second, even if they do, they are going to assume it's a trap.”

“But it is a trap.”

“YOU DON'T WANT THEM TO THINK IT'S A TRAP!”

“And why not?”

“Because, you see - bah! never mind- You want to trap an adventurer? Give me some mopestone!”

“Those orange rocks that I can't trade for anything? Here!”

Strep took my hand and spat a pile of glowing orange stones into it.

I tried not to wince as I spoke.

“These stones can be used by adventurers to name things, or to leave messages. We help signal each other if a place is worth exploring.”

I crouched down at the foot of the cave and rubbed the soap stone on the lichen covered floor, and wrote.

𝔄𝔪𝔞𝔷𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔄𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡!

“I don't see anything.” Strep remarked.

“You aren't allowed to - Now, earlier your little setup looked like a cruel joke by the environment, but this cavern is larger than this room. Now some adventurers will think there is something worth checking out.”

“So that means they'll notice me now right?”

“I didn't say that, I just said there is a smaller chance they will -”

“Quick! someone's approaching!”