“Wait—the Gondel? Are you sure?” he managed between ragged breaths.
The legendary High Wizard loomed large in their memories—a wise mentor figure from countless questlines, staff raised in victory against evil. Yet the man standing unsteadily in the Boar & Brew looked nothing like that grand mage. Instead, he was an unkempt drunk in tattered robes, a shadow of some past glory.
“I—I can’t be mistaken,” Jack said under his breath, gaze fixed on the man’s half-lidded eyes and grime-streaked cheeks. “Those features… they match the artwork from ER3. It has to be him.”
Observing their obvious distress, Trevor, the barkeep, wandered over. He wiped his hands on a stained rag, eyeing the pair.
“Something wrong, lads? You both look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Jack forced a shaky laugh. “Uh, no, nothing like that. It’s just that he…” He nodded toward the man swaying in the corner. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.”
“Ah, that old sot,” Trevor said with sympathy and exasperation. “Calls himself Gondel or something along those lines. Showed up in Pendle about a month ago, half-starved and raving. We let him run a tab for a bit, but…” He shrugged. “Seems he’s all talk—never saw him do anything wizardly.”
Jack and Petros exchanged a silent look, hearts thrumming with excitement. If this man indeed was Gondel the High Wizard from their favorite game lore, how on earth had he ended up in such a nondescript village tavern?
While they struggled for words, Gondel wobbled upright, glaring at a pair of local men who’d insulted him. His hand drifted to his belt as though searching for a staff, but he came up empty. Shoulders sagging, he collapsed back into his seat, gripping an empty mug as if it were his last thread of dignity.
This can’t be real, Jack’s mind screamed, even as the boar stew in his stomach felt heavy and very real indeed. Petros, equally overwhelmed, pulled a handful of coins from his pouch, eyes darting around as if seeking a plan.
“Jack,” he whispered urgently, “do we talk to him?”
Jack shot a glance at Trevor, who was returning behind the bar. Then he nodded, jaw set with determination. “We have to, either tonight—if he sobers up a little—or tomorrow morning. If he’s truly the Gondel we know, we can’t ignore him.”
His sentence trailed off, a whirlwind of questions swirling through his thoughts. A quiet voice inside him insisted this world was more than just some advanced VR sim—but he clung stubbornly to his original conviction, refusing to let reality slip completely.
As the hearth fire crackled, Jack caught sight of Petros slipping away from his seat. The boy sidled up to Gondel’s table, setting down his mug of milk with a decisive thud. Jack cursed softly under his breath and hurried after him, trying to remain inconspicuous.
He arrived just in time to see Petros prodding the wizard’s arm.
“G-Gondel… sir,” Petros half-whispered, his voice tinged with both awe and nerves. “Mister Wizard?”
Jack quickly halted Petros’s next poke, gripping the younger boy’s wrist. Petros turned, eyes flashing with stubborn resolve.
“We should try speaking to him now,” Petros insisted. “It can’t be a coincidence that a High Wizard is here, in the same village tavern we walked into.”
Before Jack could respond, his pouch vibrated. Petros did as well. They exchanged looks, each pulling out their journals with cautious haste.
New Quest: “Sober Up the Wizard?”
Accept quest? Yes / No
Jack blinked at the line of text, baffled.
“This is the first time the journal’s asked us to… accept a quest,” he muttered.
Petros shrugged and whipped out his quill, drawing a neat circle around Yes in his journal. Jack, not wanting to be left behind, quickly did the same.
Just then, Raven—Trevor’s daughter—glided from the back room, balancing a fresh mug of mead on a wooden tray. She made her way to Gondel’s table, presumably to replace his drained drink. Jack lifted a hand to intercept.
“I think he’s had enough,” Jack said, pushing a few coppers toward her. “Could you bring him… a cup of coffee?”
Raven’s brow furrowed, repeating the unfamiliar word with a strange lilt. “Caw-fee?”
Jack cleared his throat, trying to correct himself. “It’s, uh… a type of tea from where we come from—something strong that might help sober him.” He handed over an additional copper.
Nodding, Raven turned to fetch a mug of strong brew from the small cauldron over the fire, leaving the mead untouched on her tray. Petros peered worriedly at the drunken wizard, who now had his head slumped against his chest, eyes glazed.
“Jack,” Petros whispered, “you don’t think he’s just some random drunk, do you? I mean, if this quest truly says—”
Jack shook his head, adopting a hushed tone. “I have no clue yet. But this is too perfect—the game-lore wizard, out of nowhere, in the exact tavern we stumble into? We’ve got to see what he knows.”
Petros exhaled, half-nodding, his excitement laced with dread. If this man proved to be the real Gondel, they might glean vital information about how this world works or even how to return home—if there was a return at all.
The tavern’s lamps cast a warm glow that flickered across the worn wood beams overhead. The pair of locals who’d exchanged words with Gondel earlier had resumed their quiet conversation, occasionally tossing glances at the shabby wizard. Trevor busied himself polishing mugs behind the bar, trying not to eavesdrop yet clearly curious about the foreigners’ interest in his down-and-out patron.
Meanwhile, Petros tapped his foot against the leg of Gondel’s table, nerves eating at him. Jack studied the wizard’s face, noting the regal bone structure beneath dirt and disheveled hair layers. Even now, he could sense a flicker of dormant power—like an ember buried under ash.
“If he’s not the real deal,” Jack whispered, “then at least we can say we tried.”
Petros lowered his gaze, voice wavering slightly. “And if he is…?”
Jack swallowed, goosebumps rising on his arms. “Then we might learn more than we bargained for.”
A gust of wind rattled the tavern door. The night felt heavy with unanswered questions—about Gondel’s past, about why they were here, and what quest might unfold once the old man sobered. Raven’s return with steaming tea signaled the first step in unraveling the mystery.
“We need him to drink, right?” Jack guessed, eyeing the half-asleep wizard with uncertainty. Their journals’ directive—Sober up the wizard—offered no further instructions.
Petros gently slid the mug of tea closer to the old man’s face, going as far as nudging the wizard’s limp hand to coax him into taking a swig. But the man didn’t stir, only exhaling a soft snore. Petros gave a helpless shrug.
“This might be trickier than it sounds…” he muttered, glancing around the Boar & Brew to ensure no one was watching.
Jack shifted to the chair beside Gondel, brow knitted in frustration. For a moment, he tapped the older man’s head with a flick of his finger. The drunk let out a mild grunt, batting at the air as though shooing away a mosquito.
“He’s really out of it,” Jack hissed, preparing to flick him again.
Suddenly, Petros waved a hand. “Wait, I have an idea.” He glanced meaningfully at Jack, then at the room around them, silently asking Jack to block curious eyes.
Jack nodded, shifting his body and leaning forward as though engaged in conversation. In reality, he was shielding Petros from the other patrons’ view. Petros hovered both hands over the wizard’s slumped shoulders, a gentle glow emanating from his palms.
The soft aura around Petros’s hands was weaker than the brilliant light he’d used to heal Jack during their goblin fight—like a faint echo of that power. His fingers traced invisible patterns along Gondel’s spine, searching for the source of intoxication. Suddenly, Petros froze, his hands hovering over a spot beneath the wizard’s shoulder blades. The glow intensified with a quick flash, then winked out.
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“Nggh!” Jack grunted, startled by the brightness. He shot a look at the tavern’s two other patrons, who had briefly halted their game to glare at the pair. After a tense second, they returned to their board, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to intervene.
Both Jack and Petros let out a shared sigh of relief, turning their attention back to Gondel. The wizard’s features had softened—no longer stuck in that drunken grimace. He still appeared fast asleep, but his breathing had changed from the ragged snore to a quieter, more restful rhythm.
“What did you do?” Jack whispered, eyes flicking from Gondel’s face to Petros’s dimmed hands.
Petros retracted his palms, shoving them nervously into his lap. “I, uh… tried my healing ability,” he admitted, cheeks flushing. “Alcohol’s basically poison, right? So I cleansed him of any toxins.”
Jack felt a surge of pride—Petros could be surprisingly resourceful. “That’s… genius,” he said, clapping the younger boy on the back just as a subtle vibration thrummed at both their sides.
They glanced down to see their journals glowing with new text:
Quest: Sober Up the Wizard (Updated)
Hear the wizard's story.
Jack exhaled, a cautious grin forming. “So it’s not over yet… we need to talk to him?”
Before Petros could answer, they heard a low groan from the old man. He blinked blearily, like someone surfacing from a deep sleep. In a sudden move, Gondel straightened, lips moving as if to clear the dryness in his mouth. Spotting the mug beside him, he lifted it to take a long gulp—only to spit it out immediately in a splatter of tea that doused Petros’s front.
“Gah!” Petros sputtered, stepping back from the table and glaring at Jack, who snorted with a suppressed laugh.
Gondel wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, grimacing. “What in the blazes is this?” he demanded, turning a bloodshot stare toward the barkeep, Trevor. Trevor merely shrugged from across the bar and went back to wiping mugs.
Seizing the moment, Petros leaned in, offering a placating smile. “Sir, we wanted to—”
But Gondel’s attention snapped onto them, dark eyes narrowing. “What do you want?” he barked, then, after a beat, softened. “Unless you’re kind enough to buy an old man a real drink…”
Petros opened his mouth to speak again, but Jack preempted him. “Gondel, sir…” he began.
Instantly, the old wizard’s hand snaked out, clamping onto Jack’s forearm with startling strength. Jack felt his bones grind against the wooden table as Gondel’s brows drew together in an expression of pure menace.
“Where,” the wizard hissed in a low voice, “did you come by that name?”
Fear jolted through the pair. Petros swallowed, momentarily too startled to form words. Jack tried to tug his arm free, but Gondel’s grip held firm.
From behind the bar, Raven—Trevor’s daughter—rolled her eyes at the sight. “They likely heard you spouting that name in your drunken sleep, you old fool,” she said, striding over with a fresh mug of tea. She smacked the wizard’s hand with a practiced flick, forcing him to release Jack. “We’re all tired of hearing ‘Gondel this, Gondel that,’ but if you wanna keep drinkin’, Gondel pay your tab.”
The wizard yanked his arms protectively against his chest, shooting Raven a wounded look. “Ow… that hurt,” he whined, rubbing the back of his hand.
Jack flexed his wrist, grateful Raven’s intervention saved him from a potential fracture. Petros hurriedly wiped the remnants of tea from his clothes, cheeks ablaze with a mixture of humiliation and anger.
“Sir,” Petros tried again, more tentatively this time. “We didn’t mean to… upset you. We just have some questions.”
Gondel eyed them both warily. His once-glorious robes looked threadbare in the lantern light; frayed edges caked with dirt and stains. There was no staff at his side, no air of majestic authority—yet a faint hint of arcane power lingered around him, detectable even by the untrained.
“Hmph.” The old man snorted, eyeing the tea. “Since you’re obviously not bringing me ale… what do you want?”
Jack inhaled slowly, gathering his courage. “To hear your story,” he said, recalling the latest quest update. “They say… you’re a wizard. We’ve heard of your deeds—maybe we can help you.”
The final words hung in the air, thick with curiosity and the tension of an unspoken secret. Gondel stared at them, eyes flicking between Jack and Petros, as though weighing whether they were worth his time or just another pair of wide-eyed fools.
Yet, behind his shadowed, hollow gaze, there was a glimmer—perhaps a faded memory of the hero he might once have been. And in that flicker, Jack saw a spark of hope that this drunkard could indeed be Gondel the High Wizard. All that remained was to coax his story out of hiding.
Jack discreetly slid a hand beneath the table, letting tiny static arcs dance between his fingers. He kept his palm low to avoid catching the attention of the other patrons in the Boar & Brew, but it was enough for the old wizard to see.
“See?” Jack said quietly. “I can channel some magic… not much, but it’s real.”
Gondel peered at the sparks with dull eyes, lips curling in disapproval. “Parlor tricks,” he scoffed, his voice a rasp. “Cheap illusions you’ve picked up. Bah.”
Suppressing a sigh, Jack resisted the urge to demonstrate chain lightning in a crowded tavern. Before he could push further, Petros, perched at the edge of his seat, noticed a nasty gash on Gondel’s hand—half-healed, crusted with dried blood.
“Sir,” Petros ventured softly, taking hold of Gondel’s wrist with gentle insistence. “Let me try something.”
Before the wizard could protest, Petros summoned his healing ability. A soft glow enveloped the wound, mending the ragged edges until they looked like they had never existed. Gondel gasped, jerking his hand away, alarmed eyes darting around the tavern to ensure no one had witnessed the miraculous act.
“Wh-what…?” he breathed, voice trembling with sudden urgency. “How did you—?”
Relieved that no one else in the bar seemed to care, Gondel inhaled sharply, then stood with surprising agility. “We can’t speak here,” he muttered, casting a furtive glance toward Trevor, who observed them from across the bar. Then, with a curt jerk of his head to Jack and Petros, he snapped, “Follow me.”
Moonlight bathed the forest path just beyond Pendle Village, illuminating soft patches of mist that swirled around their feet. Gondel moved far more briskly than a man so recently intoxicated had any right to, making swift progress through the dense woods. Petros exchanged a quick look with Jack, the two remembering how Petros had cleansed the wizard of his drunkenness and residual alcohol poisoning earlier.
After half an hour of silent walking, Gondel finally stopped in a small clearing, exhaling with a note of relief. Huddled beneath a canopy of gnarled branches lay a crude shelter—branches and logs lashed together to form a makeshift cabin. Leaves and brush offered poor camouflage but enough to suggest the wizard intended to keep it hidden.
“More than a mere camp,” Jack observed softly, eyebrows raised.
Indeed, scattered crates, a half-collapsed bench, and tattered blankets gave the impression that Gondel had lived here for some time—perhaps in hiding.
“Welcome,” the wizard said with a hint of bitterness, waving them through a rough doorway flap. “I haven’t had proper shelter in years, so this will have to do.”
Inside, the air smelled of damp earth and cold ash, hinting at a long-dead fire. With a final glance over his shoulder, Gondel pulled the door-like covering into place. Then, turning to Jack with intense eyes, he spoke:
“Show me again.”
Jack hesitated, sparing Petros a look. The boy nodded, encouraging him to proceed. Jack stepped back into the moonlit clearing just outside the ramshackle cabin. With a determined breath, he arced lightning between two nearby trees. A bright crackle lit the night, leaving faint scorch marks on one trunk. Then, with a careful twist of his wrist, he conjured a tiny spark of Fire Rain, directing it onto the damp remains of a campfire. Flames burst in a small shower of embers, reigniting the pit.
Gondel flinched at the flash of light, instinctively shielding his face. “By the gods…” he murmured, crouching near the newly lit fire to warm his hands. “You truly wield magic. But how?”
Once his shock ebbed, Gondel’s voice grew hoarse, filled with old sorrow. He motioned for them to sit on an overturned log near the flames. Reflections danced across his worn features.
“A few hundred years ago, this kingdom—Aerothane—was at war with a Dark Force,” he began. “Evil nearly overran us. Our most powerful mages enacted a desperate measure, severing the Source of magic from the land. That was the lynchpin. Stripped of magic, the Dark Force’s armies withered, and we imprisoned them in a temple deep in the Dark Woods.”
His voice thickened with regret. “But that ritual also cut us off. We lost our spells overnight. The centuries I had lived… undone.” He gestured to his ragged robe and weathered face. “I’m an old man clinging to scraps of magic that no longer flow here. Yet you—” he pointed a trembling finger at Jack and Petros, “you tap into the Source, though it should remain sealed.”
Jack hesitated, carefully choosing his words. “We come from… far beyond Aerothane’s borders,” he said. “Our realm wasn’t affected by this… ‘great cutoff.’ So we’ve still got some magic.”
Gondel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You discovered how to preserve it or never lost it at all. Either way, it confounds me.”
Petros swallowed, nodding. “We have friends who traveled with us but got separated. We’re trying to find them.”
A bitter laugh escaped the wizard’s lips. “Then you share a common plight with many in this land—searching for lost kin or allies, stumbling through a kingdom robbed of its birthright.”
His gaze flickered, a haunted look crossing his face. “If your power truly remains intact, you might restore… or destroy… what’s left. But we’ll talk more in the morning. My head reels still from your friend’s healing.” In truth, the old man craved a stiff drink—he’d long used alcohol to escape the painful reality of his magicless existence—but for now, necessity trumped indulgence.
Agreeing to meet Gondel at dawn, Jack and Petros left the makeshift shelter, returning to the forest path. Neither spoke for the first few minutes, each consumed by the wizard’s revelations.
“So we’re basically outsiders who can use magic in a land where it’s been cut off for centuries,” Petros mused. He rummaged in his pouch, half-expecting another quest update. “He must see us as some kind of miracle—or threat.”
Jack nodded, scanning the moonlit treeline. “This quest might be bigger than we thought. Or maybe it’s exactly what the devs planned—newcomers with special access to magic.” He exhaled, voice subdued with excitement. “We could be vital to whatever endgame is scripted here.”
Before Petros could respond, shadows shifted behind a gnarled oak. In a blink, two figures lunged at them, arms outstretched.
“Huh—!” Jack cried out as a burly thug slammed him face-first into the ground, driving a knee into his back. Petros tried to summon a healing glow or a minor flame, but another assailant twisted his arm painfully behind him, forcing him onto his knees.
Pain exploded in Jack’s shoulder. He scrambled for a spark of electricity, but a third individual seized his arms, binding them with coarse rope. Petros gasped as he, too, was pinned, hands immobilized to prevent any form of casting.
“Wh—who are you?” Jack demanded voice muffled against the dirt. He received only a brutal shove in reply.
A coarse voice hissed near his ear: “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”
Shoulders straining, wrists lashed tight, Jack and Petros found themselves utterly trapped. Their magic, so powerful moments earlier, was now out of reach—helpless as they realized their fight might have only just begun.