Achievement:
Sleeping Rough
Description:
You spent a night in the wilderness without any camping supplies or magical protection. You're either seriously hardcore or in desperate need of a hug. Either way, I bet you could do with a shower.
Reward:
- 1 Camping Pack
- 2 Weeks’ Rations
- Backpack of the Hoarder
The notification jolted me awake. Light filtered through the layers of leaf litter, branches, and detritus piled on top of me. The makeshift covering had done a remarkable job of trapping heat—and hiding me. By the sheer fact that I was still breathing, it deserved an A+. Good job, survival instincts.
I crawled out of the hole and stretched, my back letting out a loud, satisfying crack. Leaning forward to touch my toes, I heard another crunch. To my surprise, the dull ache that usually accompanied such stretches didn’t linger.
I prodded at the cut above my eye, bracing for a sting, but there was a thick scab that had formed that felt almost fully healed. My chin? Same.
“Well, okay then. That I don’t mind,” I muttered, dismissing the notification.
As I did, the reward items populated into my inventory.
The Camping Pack appeared first—a canvas tent with two telescoping rods. I spent the next ten minutes marvelling at how they transformed from a few centimetres long to a full six feet, trying to decipher the mechanics behind the spring-loaded ball bearings that activated them. The rods were sturdy and rigid, as if made of solid metal, but impossibly light.
The canvas was heavy-looking, nearly a centimetre thick, with reinforced stitching along the edges. When unfolded, it bore no crease marks, as though freshly pressed. Yet when I folded it back up, it compressed easily into a neat square, no bigger than a sandwich.
A knot tightened in my chest. My lip quivered as a memory surfaced—my dad giving me a similar kit for my 18th birthday.
He’d told me he was taking me hunting that weekend, but I’d refused, arguing that I had a Twitch stream to moderate. The fight that followed was loud, angry, and full of words I wished I could take back.
The weekend after, he dragged me out anyway, making me promise not to book anything. He spent hours barking instructions like I was a new recruit, calling me "Private" as he made me put the tent up and take it down repeatedly.
That night, he built a fire, pulled out a hip flask, and offered me a swig. I refused, still sulking about missing my Switch. He told me stories of his service, of how hard he had it compared to me, his tone softer than I expected.
I went to sleep that night wishing I was anywhere else.
The memory faded as I pushed the feeling down. There wasn’t time for regret now.
Next, I examined the Ration Packs.
There were two types: Morning and Night. They reminded me of cartoon army rations—plain brown boxes the size of a loaf of bread, with "RATION" printed on two sides and "MORNING" or "NIGHT" on the others. The ends had faint fold marks, suggesting they could be peeled open.
Clearing a small patch of ground, I sat and opened a Morning ration kit.
Inside, I found:
- Two 1L cardboard water containers,
- A cakey energy bar roughly the size of two fists,
- A disposable toothbrush,
- A tube of tooth-cleaning paste, and
- A pack of straight razors with cardboard handles.
I stared at the contents, my stomach rumbling at the sight of the energy bar. Practical. Straightforward. Efficient.
I slurped down the water so fast I choked, coughing and spluttering for several seconds before I could compose myself. Once the fit passed, I kept drinking. After draining the first container, I opened a second but sipped this one more conservatively.
The breakfast cake came next. The packaging crinkled as I tore it open, revealing a moist, dense bar that looked like it was made of oatmeal, nuts, and dried fruit. It tasted incredible—though I couldn’t tell if it was genuinely good or if I was just ravenous after what felt like 24 hours without food.
Once I’d taken a few bites, I pulled out my final reward: the Backpack of the Hoarder.
It was made of leather from some scaled animal, reminiscent of crocodile skin but patterned with striking shades of dark yellow, blue, and brown. The straps were of the same material, soft yet sturdy, and the top flap, made of something akin to the canvas from the tent, was fastened with a brass latch. Open pockets on either side offered easy access for small items—perfect for my phone, not that it was currently useful.
Curious, I slid the bag onto my shoulders.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Backpacker
Description:
You have found and equipped a magic backpack. Nice. You're all set for your walking trip across some country whose name you can't pronounce properly.
Reward:
Cardboard sign and marker kit.
I frowned. The incessant notifications were beginning to wear on me.
“Is there a way to disable these?” I muttered, then decided to leave the question for later. Better to wait until I was somewhere with walls—and no goblins—before messing with the interface.
Pulling up my Personal Storage, I noticed two square brackets had appeared next to the backpack’s name. Curious, I tapped on the entry.
The brackets flipped, and a new indented line appeared beneath it:
Personal Storage -Player 1209348-
- Hoodie - Equipped
- Slacks - Equipped
- Walkin’ boots* - Equipped
- Uncommon copper ring* - Equipped
- 13 Mornin’ hun Ration packs - 0.9Kg
- 14 Night Night Ration packs - 1Kg
- Backpack of the hoarder* - Equipped - Open
- {none}
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
I nodded in approval. It was intuitive enough. I stashed the remaining half of my breakfast cake, the canvas tent, one of the retractable poles, the rope, and the rest of the water inside the backpack. Each item popped up in the indented inventory line:
- Backpack of the hoarder* - Equipped - Open
- Half-eaten Mornin’ hun Ration pack
- Water ration - opened
- Canvas*
- Retractable pole*
- Rope
“Well, at least that works how I expected,” I muttered.
Items marked with an asterisk seemed to be special, possibly magical. The thought made my head spin, and I shook it off.
I slid the other pole into my hoodie pocket, noting absently that the interface didn’t recognize my pockets as inventory. Odd.
With my gear sorted, I crouched low and made my way back to the road, stopping every few steps to check for movement. The forest seemed tranquil now, its earlier hostility replaced by a serene quiet. The Get Home Before the Street Lights Turn On quest had hinted that the area was most dangerous after dark.
Still, I wasn’t taking chances.
When I reached the road, I saw that the man’s body was gone. In its place was a dark, dried stain where he had bled out.
“They must’ve taken the body,” I said quietly.
I turned and walked down the road in the opposite direction from where the goblins had emerged. The path stretched before me, the light filtering through the trees casting dappled patterns on the ground.
After walking for a while, a notification popped up:
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Kilometre Club
Description:
You walked 1km! Congratulations, future marathon runner!
Reward:
A can of foot deodorant.
I chuckled despite myself, tucking the deodorant into my new backpack.
Experimenting, I tried adding items to my inventory without the interface. Plucking a leaf from a nearby tree, I held it in both hands, then mimed the exaggerated Zelda-style pose where Link holds up an item. Nothing.
I tried pressing it to my chest, imagining it merging with me, but still, nothing happened.
“Alright, fine,” I muttered, letting the leaf fall to the ground.
After two hours of walking, doubt crept in. The notification had said the settlement was fifteen minutes away. I stopped in the middle of the path, muttered a quiet “fuck,” and turned back the way I’d come. I jogged to make up for lost time, the steady rhythm of my feet pounding against the dirt road.
A low growl shattered my focus.
Before I could react, something massive lunged out from the shadows. Pain exploded in my shoulder as it slammed into me. I stumbled, its teeth scraping through my hoodie, tearing fabric and grazing flesh. A snarl erupted in my ear as I spun around, heart hammering.
The wolf was enormous—grey and black fur rippling with muscle, yellow eyes glowing with a predatory gleam. Its lips curled back, revealing fangs as long as daggers. It stood nearly shoulder-high, a monstrous presence that froze me in place. My pulse thundered in my ears as we locked eyes.
I fumbled into my pocket, hands trembling, and grabbed the only thing I had: the collapsible tent pole. I barely got it halfway out before the beast lunged again. Its jaws opened wide—blackness gaping into a void.
Pain. Blinding pain.
Its teeth clamped onto my forearm with a sickening crunch. I screamed, collapsing backward under its weight. My vision blurred, a creeping red haze spilling over the edges as the world bled into chaos. The wolf snarled and shook its head violently, shredding the skin on my arm. Pain raced through me like wildfire, each shake sending fresh waves of agony.
Instinct took over. I kicked wildly, my foot connecting with an extremely 'sensitive' spot beneath the beast. It yelped, jaws releasing me as it staggered back. Blood poured from my arm, soaking my hoodie, adrenaline flooded me and I barely registered the pain . The tent pole had fallen—half-buried in the dirt between me and the wolf.
The wolf shook off the blow, snarling as it crouched to lunge again. I threw myself forward, scrabbling for the pole. My fingers closed around the cool metal just as the beast pounced. Its jaws snapped, inches from my face.
With a scream, I jammed my arm into its mouth.
The slick, hot interior made my stomach churn, but I shoved deeper, forcing its jaws open. Teeth scraped my arm, but I didn’t stop. My hand found the bump of the trigger on the pole. I pressed down.
A metallic snap echoed, followed by a wet, sickening crunch. The pole extended, punching through the roof of the wolf’s mouth and bursting out the top of its skull. Blood sprayed, hot and sticky, drenching my face and chest.
The beast spasmed, its massive body twitching violently before collapsing on top of me.
I gasped for air, shoving its limp form off with what strength I had left. Blood dripped from my ruined arm, pooling around me in the dirt. My vision swam as the red haze faded, leaving only the pounding of my heart and the mangled corpse of the wolf at my feet.
BA-DING.
Achievement:
Improv Assassin!
Description:
You have killed a hostile mob or person significantly more powerful than you in a single attack by using an environmental hazard, or defect in an item or structure, no less! Was it a poorly installed chandelier? Maybe one of Nobblehob's fantastic potions that should’ve been refrigerated but instead gave the poor sap Goblin Syphilis? One way or another, you can rest assured—they had no idea what hit them.
If you keep this up, your antics might be noticed by the Harlequin Consortium, which may or may not be a good thing.
Reward:
Reward withheld until induction is completed.
I dismissed the notification, focusing on my arm. Pain radiated from the shattered limb, every attempt to flex my hand sending lightning bolts of agony up to my shoulder. My vision pulsed with red as I cradled it against my chest, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t bleed out.
Minutes passed, the pain steady and unrelenting, but the bleeding finally stopped. The pulsing red haze in my vision receded, and my head cleared enough to act.
Using my good arm, I broke a branch from a nearby tree and pulled the rope from my inventory. I fashioned a crude sling, tying my arm tightly to my chest. The result was uncomfortable, but it would hold.
Retrieving my pole from the wolf’s mouth, I glanced at the carcass.
BA-DING.
Lootable container: Beast Carcass.
- Loot all
- Inspect
I didn’t hesitate, hitting Loot All. If another wolf showed up, I didn’t want to waste time.
SHHHLLLUURRPP.
The noise was revolting—like someone slurping the last bit of a milkshake through a straw, amplified directly into my ears. The wolf carcass vanished, leaving behind a pile of bones that quickly crumbled into dust.
A blue warning triangle appeared in my interface, a bag icon inside with shapes spilling out.
I staggered, my knees buckling as if a weight had dropped onto my back. I opened my inventory and saw the culprit.
Personal Storage -Player 1209348-
- Hoodie - Equipped
- Slacks - Equipped
- Walkin' boots* - Equipped
- Uncommon copper ring* - Equipped
- 13 Mornin’ hun Ration packs - 0.9kg
- 14 Night Night Ration packs – 1kg
- Can of foot deodorant - 0.01kg
- Wolf Meat - 30Kg
- Wolf Organs – 15kg
- Wolf Pelt - Raw – 5kg
- Backpack of the Hoarder – Equipped - Open
- Half-eaten Mornin’ hun Ration pack
- Water ration - opened
- Canvas*
- Retractable pole*
- Rope
Fifty kilos of wolf loot weighed me down like a boulder. Experimenting, I dragged the meat into the backpack using the interface. The change was instant—I could stand again, though the weight was still noticeable.
I moved the pelt into the backpack and deleted the organs from my inventory.
Shwomp.
A cardboard box with a cartoon wolf giving finger guns appeared at my feet. Inside were individually wrapped packages of organs, neatly tied with twine.
"Shit," I muttered. “How do I get this back in?”
The backpack's opening wasn’t large enough to fit the box. I discovered that unless an object could physically fit, it couldn’t be stored. The only workaround was to move items to my inventory through the interface, then back into the backpack.
I decided to leave the box behind. With my arm in its sling and my gear secured, I began jogging.
I had been jogging for about two hours, the effortlessness of my movements startled me. Despite the additional weight, I could jog for long stretches without tiring, though I kept my pace slow to avoid jarring my injured arm.
The forest grew quieter as I moved, the howls of wolves fading in the distance.
I reached the road, a dark stain marked where the body had been.
Within ten minutes, I reached the gates of a fortified settlement. Two tall watchtowers flanked the entrance, and smaller doors within the massive gate stood open.
Standing outside were two towering figures—7ft tall humanoid capybaras.
Their dark, scarred cuirasses gleamed faintly in the light, their halberds resting casually at their sides. Poofy red-and-blue hats adorned their heads, resembling the uniforms of Vatican guards.
They wore no pants.
I stood there, dumbstruck, drinking in the bizarre sight.
One of the guards noticed me. A wave of calm washed over me as they approached, their deep brown eyes exuding warmth and tranquillity.
"Hey, mate. You alright?" the capybara asked, its Australian accent breaking the surreal silence.
I blinked at the creature in disbelief.
Then, I felt my legs give way and everything went black.