Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAMIE
I collapse into my gaming chair, desperate to escape into Highland Legacy and forget about my day. The familiar loading screen illuminates my shadowy room, its soft glow soothing my frayed nerves. Gaming is my sanctuary, the perfect way to shut out the world. Tonight I need it more than ever.
After slogging through endless paperwork and mind-numbing budget spreadsheets for the beer garden—because apparently dreams come with a whole load of soul-sucking admin—the distillery event was meant to be a bit of light relief. A fun break. And it had been fun—at first. Maisie and I were on fire, locked in a ridiculous battle of whisky trivia, each trying to outdo the other with our knowledge. Then things took an interesting turn when we were leaving together and she fell, her arse somehow landing perfectly against my crotch in a way that made my brain short-circuit and my lungs forget how to function.
Wow , that had been hot. But things only got hotter. In the car, after that bump in the road, her hand landed square on my dick. Like, right on it. By accident... I think? No, definitely an accident. Her eyes went huge, her cheeks flushed pink, and her mouth made that tiny “o” of mortified shock. There’s no way she meant to do it. And yet... for whatever reason—maybe she was frozen in shock or something—she didn’t move her hand straight away. Nope. There were definitely a few seconds of hand-on-dick contact before she finally snatched it back.
Was it shock, I wonder. Or did she think to herself: well, seeing as my hand is here anyway, I may as well cop a wee feel. Because let’s be honest, if my hand had accidentally landed on her boob, I wouldn’t have been in any rush to move it either.
A rough breath escapes me. God, just thinking about it has me half-hard again. Brilliant. I scrub a hand over my face and try to pull myself out of the memory because this really isn’t helpful right now. Not given what happened next—me chucking her out into that storm like an absolute bastard.
Outside, the rain picks up again, lashing against my window like a hundred tiny fists demanding answers. Unease prickles in my chest, and I twist the dial on my headphones, cranking the volume higher—probably too high—until the game’s soundtrack drowns out the noise entirely.
Fucking rain.
I only wish I could drown out the guilt so easily. If I’d ever had even a fraction of a chance with Maisie—and let’s be honest, I probably didn’t—I’ve ruined it now. Completely bollocksed it up. What sort of man throws someone out of their car in a storm? Only a complete knobhead would do something like that. Not just a knobhead—a dickhead of the highest order. Top-tier arsehole energy right here. Well done, Jamie. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.
These waves of shame are, of course, the ultimate cold shower. The situation down there de-escalates in record time.
My avatar materialises on-screen: the kilt-clad hulking Highland warrior with muscles rippling beneath fur-lined armour. He stands in his usual battle-ready stance, unyielding gaze fixed ahead. LochNLoad, the epitome of rugged masculinity. If only I were half as put together as him in real life. Or even a quarter.
Right then. Time to lose myself in this world and forget everything else. For a little while, at least, I can be bold and indestructible.
I check my quest log. Rescue this. Slay that. Retrieve some lost heirloom for an NPC who couldn’t be arsed to keep track of their own belongings. Classic stuff. But tonight calls for something meatier—something distracting enough to drown out both guilt and accidental gropes.
Having spawned near the tavern in Torlannach, I make my way to the square, which is bustling with activity: townsfolk haggling at market stalls, children chasing chickens through the mud, and one particularly angry goat harassing a flustered blacksmith. The details never fail to impress me.
Near a well stands a crooked wooden noticeboard, plastered with yellowed parchments curling at the edges. I review them until one catches my attention: A forgotten village calls for vengeance! Clear out the bogborn horde plaguing its ruins.
Ah yes, the bogborn, Highland Legacy ’s favourite swamp-dwelling nuisances. I can’t quite remember their lore—something about ancient curses and mud magic or whatever nonsense some overzealous developer cooked up at three in the morning. There’s even a cheeky handwritten scrawl at the bottom of the poster: Warning: they reek worse than yer da’s feet after a ceilidh.
Charming.
Venting my frustrations on some mucky monsters sounds like exactly what I need right now, so I open the map and fast travel to the quest location—because who has time to hike when you can teleport?
I appear at the edge of the ruins. Cottages that were once homes are now just piles of stone draped in ivy and moss. Thick mist swirls across the ground like something straight out of a cheesy horror film. Man, do the game devs love a bit of mist.
And then they shamble into view: the bogborn, mud-caked monstrosities with half-melted faces that drip black sludge from empty eye sockets. Their limbs end in claws that make Edward Scissorhands look amateur. Definitely not something you’d want sneaking up on you in the dark—or at all, really.
The closest bogborn lurches towards me with an ungodly gurgle, and I waste no time pulling out LochNLoad’s broadsword, its blade gleaming impossibly bright against all this murkiness.
“Right then,” I mutter under my breath. “Let’s do this.”
LochNLoad’s blade slices clean through the first creature, its body giving way like week-old jelly, and that’s the signal for the rest to charge. They swarm me but I’m ready for them. I hack and slash at them, timing my dodges perfectly, claws swiping inches from my face but finding nothing but air. One by one they collapse into filthy heaps at my feet, splattering mud everywhere.
There’s a strange satisfaction in the madness of it all—sidestepping claws and striking with precision—but no matter how many bogborn fall, the guilt remains, a constant hum beneath the clamour of the skirmish.
Focus, Jamie! Lose yourself in the fight!
I take a couple of hits and my health bar dips—it wouldn’t be fun if there weren’t some stakes—but it shoots back to full after I chug one of those violently purple potions every fantasy RPG seems to think counts as medicine.
Eventually—after what feels like twenty minutes but is probably closer to seven—the last bogborn dissolves into a sticky pile of sludge. A triumphant note blares through my headphones and bold text flashes across the screen: Quest complete! Return for your reward.
The victory music fades and... it doesn’t leave behind the satisfaction I’d hoped for. The thing about games is how simple they make everything—clear quests, claim rewards. Real life just isn’t like that. There’s no objective marker guiding you to fix the stupid mistakes you’ve made.
Before I can decide whether or not to bother collecting the bounty (spoiler alert: it’ll probably be disappointing), a notification appears in the top-left corner of my screen: SassyLassie has logged in.
I can’t help but remember Maisie’s comment earlier about Big Davie in his vest and boxers, but I know I can trust Sass. She’s been my partner-in-crime in Highland Legacy these past few months, always ready with a cheeky quip or a daring strategy. I type out a quick message.
LochNLoad
The monsters wail, they’re out of luck—Sass is back to run amok!
There’s a longer pause than usual before her reply appears.
SassyLassie
Hey.
Just hey ? Well, that’s a bit disappointing. Maybe she’s just warming up. She usually riffs off my greeting with something equally ridiculous.
LochNLoad
Up for slaying some beasties together? We never did do the Dun Speir quest. How about it?
She pauses again before replying.
SassyLassie
That’s the keep on the clifftop above Loch Dread, right?
LochNLoad
That’s the one. Word is the boss is a nightmare, and I’ve not fancied going in solo without your spells to back me up.
SassyLassie
Fine. But no chatting tonight. I just want to play.
LochNLoad
Oh . . . okay. Sure.
No chatting? That’s unusual. Sass is usually the queen of banter, and her playful quips are a big part of the reason I enjoy playing with her. Well, that, and the fact she’s saved my arse from certain doom more times than I can count. Without her spells, I’d just be a reckless idiot charging into battle like a kilt-wearing kamikaze. No chatting feels... off, like putting a shoe on the wrong foot.
Still, if that’s what she needs tonight, fine. I fast travel to Dun Speir, appearing just beyond the shadow of the crumbling fortress. Moments later Sass materialises beside me, her scarlet mage robes fluttering in the wind. I would ask if she’s ready, but... no chatting... so I just head towards the entrance, and she follows.
As we approach the rusted portcullis, it creaks open, seemingly of its own accord. Sass and I go through it and into the courtyard beyond, where cracked flagstones are scattered with bones and weeds, while ivy snakes up walls that seem ready to topple under their own weight.
It doesn’t take long for dark shapes to emerge, lurching into sight from behind chunks of fallen masonry and overturned carts. Wretchlings: gaunt, skeletal figures draped in shrivelled strips of flesh that flap around them like tattered sails in a storm. I’ve fought these guys before. Their right forearms are grotesquely warped into jagged blades that they swing in sweeping, vicious arcs. They’ve also got a very nasty habit of snapping off fragments of bone from their own bodies to hurl as improvised projectiles.
The first wave staggers towards us, disturbingly quiet—no snarls, no roars, just the unsettling clatter of bone against stone. Sass ducks behind a cart for cover, her scarlet robes blending surprisingly well with the blood stains on its wood. She fights with cool efficiency, fire magic streaking from her staff in searing bursts, each one slamming right into a wretchling’s ribcage. Meanwhile, I charge straight in, broadsword gleaming as it cleaves through brittle skeletons with satisfying crunches, fragmented bones raining around me like confetti at some deeply unsettling party.
Normally Sass would poke fun at my complete lack of tactics. Something along the lines of: Wow, top marks for subtlety! Straight in with no plan. Why not close your eyes next time for extra chaos? But tonight? Nothing.
The silence feels heavier than any blow a wretchling could land.
I try to lighten the mood because clearly I’m incapable of just leaving things alone. After cleaving a wretchling’s skull from his body, I type out one of my classic dad jokes.
LochNLoad
Why didn’t the skeleton join the fight? He didn’t have the guts!
And... nothing. Not even one of Sass’s signature eye-roll emojis.
Fine then—round two. After hacking down two wretchlings who’d been trying (and failing) to flank me, I send her another.
LochNLoad
What do skeletons say to each other before a meal? Bone appétit!
Still nothing. You know that sinking feeling when a joke bombs so badly you worry even imaginary video game monsters might start heckling you? No? Just me then? Luckily, rather than throwing a tomato at me, Sass shoots a fireball past me to incinerate a wretchling that was about to slice my back.
“Thanks,” I mutter aloud. Hey, if I can’t talk to her, I can at least talk to myself, right?
The final cluster of wretchlings seems to sense their days are numbered because they hit us all at once—a coordinated swarm from multiple directions. One of them leaps from an overhead balcony (nice touch there, devs), but I manage to slice it clean in two in midair. Meanwhile, Sass sends out a swirling inferno that engulfs half the courtyard and reduces four fiends to smouldering piles of ash.
“Nice one,” I murmur. Yep, still talking to myself.
We clear out what remains without much trouble—well, unless you count my health bar dipping dangerously low after I mistime another dodge because I’m too busy glancing at the chat in the corner for any signs of life from Sass.
Finally, with the courtyard secure and no new horrors emerging from the shadows (yet), I down a health potion then we approach the massive oak doors leading into Dun Speir’s central tower. They groan open dramatically—because why wouldn’t they?—revealing shadowy corridors lit by flickering green torches whose flames sputter unnaturally against invisible drafts.
Here we go again.
Inside is exactly what you’d expect from a cursed fortress: ancient staircases spiralling upwards towards God knows what; tattered tapestries hanging limply, their faded patterns barely visible; and an ambient hum that sounds suspiciously like someone whispering ominous obscenities directly into your soul.
More wretchlings spawn as we ascend, now with armour pieces strapped haphazardly across their fragile frames, but their strategy isn’t any different from before, and they’re no match for me and Sass.
I try another joke as we climb the tower because clearly I haven’t learned my lesson yet.
LochNLoad
What’s a skeleton’s favourite musical instrument? The trombone!
Still nothing from Sass. Damn it, I thought that one would have at least got a groan—it was truly awful. She was being serious when she said no chatting.
We advance through Dun Speir’s endless maze of stairs and hallways until finally we reach what must be the boss chamber: enormous double doors etched with glowing runes that pulse faintly like a heartbeat.
Before heading in, I try one last time to chat with Sass. Silent treatment or not, we need a game plan. This isn’t going to be some minor scrap with a few wretchlings. This is a boss fight, and Highland Legacy boss fights are always brutal.
LochNLoad
Look, I know you don’t want to chat today, but we need to discuss strategy. I think I should use the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs. That’ll leave me exposed, though.
The weapon Sass won after we defeated the Cù Sìth, and which she gifted to me after I admitted my interest in a bit of power play, is a massive two-handed sword. It’s practically guaranteed to inflict devastating melee damage on the boss, but using it means no shield, no pistol, and—worst of all—no health potions. Yes, for some sadistic reason the game doesn’t let you heal yourself when you’re using a two-handed weapon, and there’s rarely a chance to switch gear in the middle of a boss battle.
LochNLoad
I’ll need you to watch my back, Sass. Keep those healing spells coming, all right?
After an uncomfortably long pause that makes me wonder if she’s gone AFK entirely, a reply pops up.
SassyLassie
k
Just “k”? Not “Don’t worry”, not “Got your back”, just... “k”? Wow, she’s really sticking with this whole “no chatting” thing. Usually we’d spend ages hashing out our approach. She’d poke holes in my harebrained plans, I’d try (and fail) to defend them, then we’d inevitably go with her idea.
There’s no opportunity to dwell on her uncharacteristic coldness because she sprints ahead and opens the massive double doors.
“Right then,” I mutter, once again to myself, as I follow after her.
The chamber beyond is vast, and more green torches line its stone walls, casting shadows that dance across the floor. In the very centre of the room stands our opponent, lit by moonlight that spills from a crack in the far wall.
The thing is enormous, easily three times my avatar’s size, with twisted antlers that curl out from a cracked skull. Its body is translucent and vaguely humanoid, but it shifts and flickers like smoke trapped within an outline of armour. One of the wraith’s hands grips a wickedly curved glaive that glows with a sinister green light, while the other holds spectral chains that drag noiselessly across the floor as it takes a menacing step towards us. The monster lets out a bone-rattling howl.
LochNLoad
All right, big guy. Let’s dance.
No response from Sass, not even a sarcastic “Wow, original” like she’d usually throw at me for such clichéd bravado. She simply takes position behind me and charges her staff with fiery energy.
I edge closer to the wraith, for once resisting the urge to rush in without thinking. A crucial part of any Highland Legacy boss fight is figuring out the thing’s attack patterns. Skip that step and you don’t stand a chance. The key to survival in the opening minutes is observation, not unloading every attack in your arsenal.
The wraith and I circle each other cautiously as I wait for an opening. When Sass sends a series of fireballs its way, I see my chance and lunge towards it, but it darts sideways with surprising speed for something so massive, then lashes out with a wide swing of its glaive. I just manage to dodge the weapon itself, but it sends green shock waves outwards that chip away at my health bar. Great start.
Crap, I need to be more careful. I move further away from it, trying to stay just outside its reach while studying its movements, like how it feints left before striking right. I’m also acutely aware that I’ve yet to see those chains come into play. Knowing this game, there’s zero chance they’re just for show.
Sass casts another fiery barrage at the wraith that lights up the chamber like a miniature fireworks display. One fireball slams into the monster’s chest plate, momentarily dispersing some of the smoke from its body. But, like fog drawn into a vacuum, it re-forms. The wraith lets out a piercing shriek and turns towards Sass, brandishing its chains with a menacing air.
Not today! I dart forwards, drawing its attention back to me, then roll under a swipe of its glaive, but the pulsing shock waves again catch me, dropping my health bar even further. Shit! But at least it gives Sass an opening. She unleashes a crackling inferno that sends flames licking up the wraith’s antlers.
The blast draws the fiend’s focus back to Sass, which in turn gives me the perfect chance to strike. I swing the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs in a wide arc that carves straight through its smoky midsection. For a moment it looks like it’s had no effect, then crimson damage numbers flash above its head: 1200... 1400... 1600. Hell yes!
Confidence surges through me. We’ve got this in the bag! Or so I think. Those spectral chains whip forward and coil around my legs like a cursed lasso. They yank me off my feet and slam me to the ground, taking a massive chunk out of my health bar.
“Oh, come on!” I complain to my screen as LochNLoad scrambles back to his feet, the flashing red warning at the bottom of my display screaming danger.
I wait for Sass to cast a healing spell, but instead she lobs another volley of offensive spells at the boss. What is she playing at?
LochNLoad
Heal!
I dodge another devastating glaive attack by sheer luck rather than skill—that would have been the end of me—but again I’m caught by those bloody shock waves, knocking my health down ludicrously low.
LochNLoad
HEAL!!!
Still nothing! What is she doing?
And then: another swing of the glaive—another desperate dodge—but the shock wave slams into my anyway, draining the last of my health. LochNLoad staggers and drops to one knee, the claymore slipping from his grasp. Then... he crumples forwards, faceplanting onto the stone floor.
My screen fades to black, and bold white letters declare: You Have Died . A moment later the game really twists the knife in: Experience Lost: 9450 EXP .
“Brilliant,” I groan, leaning back in my chair and rubbing both hands through my hair. “Just bloody brilliant. Nearly ten thousand EXP gone, just like that.” That’s everything I’d earned since I last levelled up.
Admittedly, it is possible to disable the lose-EXP-on-death setting for a less brutal gaming experience, but any self-respecting gamer knows that’s just not how it’s done. Dying is supposed to sting. And sting it does, because everything I’ve accomplished today—clearing out the bogborn infestation in the ruined village and taking down wave after wave of wretchlings in Dun Speir’s courtyard and tower—has been for nothing. Every bit of experience I earned? Gone.
I respawn all the way back at Torlannach Tavern. Sighing, I type out a simple message.
LochNLoad
WTF, Sass?!
Naturally, she doesn’t reply because why would she? Tonight she’s not doing chatting—or healing spells, apparently. And she’s not sticking around either. A notification pops up in the top-left corner of my screen: SassyLassie has logged off .
I rip off my headphones and toss them down on my desk, muttering a string of curses under my breath. Outside, the relentless rain continues its assault on my window.
My gaze shifts to the Highland Legacy figurine perched on my shelf, the one with the uncanny resemblance to SassyLassie. I narrow my eyes at it and grumble, “What had your knickers in a twist tonight?”
But then, closing my eyes, I press my fingers to my temples and take a deep breath. As frustrating as that was, I hope everything is okay with Sass.