Quest for Camlan: A LitRPG Adventure (Camlan Realm Book 1) by A.T. Gilbert

Author:A.T. Gilbert [Gilbert, A.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-25T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Charlie is working behind the bar and thanks me when I bring her my used dish.

“That’s a big help, SirAsh3r. Doesn’t earn you any extra coin, though,” she jokes. “I have your list of errands, if you’re ready.”

I nod. These low-level, easy conversation quests are a mindless way to earn XP. I’ll learn the layout of the town and level up by the end of the night.

“Wonderful.” She hands me a folded piece of paper. “Once you return I’ll have your room ready.”

I push my way through the growing crowd by the door and make my way back outside to the town square. My game clock tells me it’s just after 8 p.m., and it looks like I still have a few hours of sunlight left. This is so weird, but I guess people in Alaska or Scotland get days like this every summer.

Before I can look at Charlie’s list, I get a message from the game.

Attention: Rest Required

You must rest six of every twenty-four hour period while playing in total immersion. If you do not find a bed to rest in by 12 a.m., you will be logged out of the game.

Wow, they’re serious. Must be some safety issues with keeping your brain under total immersion virtual reality for so long. I’m pretty pleased with myself for already having found a room. I’ll be done with this quest long before midnight.

I open up Charlie’s note and formulate my strategy.

Please collect:

Apothecary: 6 ounces of wormwood

Bernadette: Four dozen eggs

Tailor: Repaired quilt

Blacksmith: Large cast iron pot

I look up and around the square. I still don’t have a map of any of this, so I’ll have to rely on good old-fashioned sign reading. The tailor appears to be directly across the square from me. I jog down the steps, weave between a handful of farmers and a cow and enter the shop opposite, under a sign that shows a simple drawing of scissors, a needle and thread. A bell dings above my head as I open the door.

“Good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

A tiny, wizened old man looks up at me from where he’s sitting at the counter to the right of the door.

“Good evening. I’m here on an errand for Charlie Connell. I understand you have a completed quilt I can pick up for her?

“Oh yes. Yes yes yes. That lovely bit of fabric was a joy to repair for her. Let me see, let me see.”

He hops down off his stool and seems even more tiny than he had before. I didn’t think that was possible. He fusses with a pile of small pieces of paper, checking his notes or his records. Once he has found the information he’s looking for, the old tailor shuffles back to the open shelves that line the wall behind the counter. Most seem to be filled with what I presume are completed orders, folded smoothly and wrapped tightly with twine. And nearly every one of those tailored jobs has been done in bright red fabric.

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