Author: Charles Dean
Date: 2016-11-21 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Tiqpa, the first VRMMO to hit the markets, has become a world in and of itself with its own burgeoning political structure and growing strife between kingdoms and players. This unknown terrain, ripe with opportunities, becomes a new frontier which Locke, a blacksmith, tries to use to pay off real-world debts. But when he is betrayed by one of his business partners, he finds himself caught between his growing lust for revenge and his very real need for capital.

The Bathrobe Knight

Vol IV

The Merchant of Tiqpa

Written by: Charles Dean

Edited by: Joshua Swayne

Copyright © 2016 by Charles Dean

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Bonus Chapter: Memories of Eliza

Reliquary

(Monsters, Races, Characters, Random Drops, Cheat Codes, Bosses, & Gamer Lingo)

Chapter 1

There he is, Locke thought, the bringer of end times, the Demon King of Tiqpa. He couldn’t take his eyes off the image of a giant man with a golden crown. The mountain of a man, horned and maybe even hoofed, was standing in the back of a well-organized army, surrounded by fire and soldiers on all sides as he issued out orders. Locke loved each and every fresh report that came in on Darwin because, as the fear grew, so did his paycheck. For most people, it was just fun to follow the story of a villain rising to unprecedented power in their favorite game. For Locke, however, it wasn’t just fun: It was profitable. He often felt like a reporter from the early 1990s that woke up to find out that tragedy struck right next door. He knew he shouldn’t be so happy--the devil was constantly wiping towns full of his fellow gamers off the face of the map, after all--but it was just too lucrative of an opportunity.

“So, tell me what we’re seeing here,” Ryan asked his co-host.

A drastic boost in my weapon and armor sales! Locke answered silently before the G.O.R.N. co-host could even finish his sentence.

“What makes this particular offensive unique in the Demon Army’s campaign?” the news anchor went on.

It’s the first one that will net me a six-figure sale and finally make sure that Jess doesn’t have to spend her time at college eating ramen and working crappy, part-time jobs like I did. Locke couldn’t contain his elation at the news, and it worked its way out in the form of an ear-to-ear grin. He had done everything he could to take care of his sister and keep her life as normal as possible since they had lost their parents in the accident, but he had been hit with the sobering reality of what that was actually going to cost as soon as her college tuition reared its ugly head.

Jessica was eighteen, and about as smart as they came, but she was still incredibly naive about the harsh realities of being broke and trying to come up with the money to pay bills. Locke was proud of the fact that his hard work had kept her from ever having to worry about those things, but his bright little sister had decided to attend a university that was so expensive it managed to crush his heart and his bank account along with it in one fell swoop. He was fortunate that she had qualified for need-based aid and earned several academic scholarships to cover a large portion of the tuition, but peripheral costs were still staggering. Locke knew firsthand just how quickly unforeseen expenses could crop up, and he wanted to make sure that she was able to live as comfortably as possible without having to worry about balancing a job against having a social life and academics. Until Tiqpa came around, he had almost given up all hope of finding a way to finance her first year at college. No bank was ever going to let a credit-less part-timer be the cosigner on any type of loan, and he had been struggling with how to come up with the extra money she would need.

“Well, I’m glad you asked because this is a pretty important metamorphosis in the Demon King’s campaign to take over Tiqpa. Previously, he or one of the infamous Four Riders had always taken a personal role in leading their army and were heavily reliant on NPCs. They’ve been seen on multiple battlefronts wreaking havoc against their victims, but this offensive seems to be a bit different. This time, it’s a campaign being led by an entirely new face, and our intel suggests that it’s an actual player.”

Locke blinked. Led by a player? His mouth began to salivate as the little phrase left the newscaster’s mouth. Led by a player? The little wheels and cogs that operated his money-savvy brain started to whirl and quickly kicked into overdrive. Led . . . by . . . a . . . customer?

The rephrasing had a nice, golden ring to it. Locke briefly considered how much money he could make selling to the opposition instead of his usual clientele and whether or not it would be worth it. No, don’t even go there, Locke. They’re winning right now. Remember the lessons of good ole’ salesman Dad before he died: ‘Always supply the most desperate people. They’ll pay more upfront, and they’ll be more reliable when it comes time to sell to them again. It wasn’t his favorite bit of advice his father had left him with, but it was a hard lesson he had to take into account.

“Now, this is the second time today that you’ve used that term, ‘Four Riders.’ Can you elaborate on that name?” Daria, the other news caster, asked. She was playing dumb in order to set up Ryan’s exposition. “Is this an official rank discovered by our unnamed source from within the Demon Host?”

Locke realized what she was doing and sighed at how transparent it was. That’s her job, after all.  Everyone with half a brain knew that there was a teleprompter behind the camera feeding them lines like a sports star’s press agent after a sex scandal, yet she pretended that she didn’t know anything so she could be even more endearing to the male audience. So insulting. It’s like because I’m a guy, I’ll only be attracted to her if she’s dumb. But he didn’t knock the formula. It worked. The show had one handsome and arrogant guy for the girls who were watching and one seductive ditz for the guys. If only I had been born with a strong jaw, perfectly parted hair, and a sing-song baritone voice with the penchant for over-dramatizing the rate at which paint dries on a newly painted road, I could have landed that cushy job, he grumbled.

“No, not at all. This name, much like the moniker ‘Demon Host,’ is just a popular term that players use to describe four of the Demon Host’s eight known mini bosses. We speculate here at G.O.R.N. that the title manifested in part as a joke based on the four riders of the apocalypse because, wherever they go, death generally follows. In addition, they often start and even finish battles from atop their Drakes. So far, the Four Riders consist of two Lynx hybrids from the were-people and two red-eyed Demons from, well, your guess is as good as mine.”

“But, if my in-game lore serves me correctly, those aren’t the only mini bosses in the Demon Host, are they?”

“You can bet your bottom dollar the Holy Alliance wishes they were!” Ryan chuckled.

Locke’s mood couldn’t have been any better as he listened to the two put on their little piece of theater. Every fight, every battle, brought him just a little bit closer to being able to help support his sister the way he wanted.

“But yes, there are more,” Ryan continued, stiffening back up. “Sadly, given that no one has broken through the army itself since the day the quest was first laid out, we’re a little shy on information regarding exactly how many more there are. Currently, most people estimate that there are between eight and ten mini bosses, but no one is certain on the exact number. Our anonymous source from within the Demon Host has confirmed that this number seems about right. Unfortunately, our source, like every other player that has spoken to G.O.R.N. on the matter, is not a high enough rank to get the necessary permission needed to pass the red-eyed, multi-colored dragon that guards the stairs into the lower levels of Mt. Lawlheima’s dungeon.”

If Locke had been salivating at the idea of a potential new customer, he was downright drooling at the prospect of what might be underneath that floor. The only time the upper echelons of a group put that much effort into guarding a basement was if it had something valuable. In a game, things were only protected by a mini boss if there was a bigger boss with even better loot below. Either way, if the Holy Alliance ever made it to the bottom of that dungeon, they’d be richer than a quickly-regenerating mutant who figured out how to sell organs on the black market. That just meant that they’d be able to afford even better gear and be able to pay even higher prices--just as long as he could keep the quality of his gear above the competition.

“So there hasn’t been a single player that’s entered the lower levels of Mt. Lawlheima?”

“That’s right. Apparently, since players have only been recently introduced into the folds of the Demon Host, there still aren’t any who have proven themselves enough to be promoted further than the lowest two ranks of the faction. That’s why it’s all the more surprising to see a player leading the army in this recent campaign.”

“But--and pardon me for citing the conspiracy theories on Blueit since they did all the hard work without me--but how do we know that one of the head bosses of the Demon Army isn’t secretly a player? Ever since they removed the player versus NPC distinction tags in the 1.1 patch and the name tags in general in the big 1.4 mega patch, it’s been impossible to tell the difference. I’ve even heard speculation that Darwin himself might be a player, and his arrival on starter island was the main reason the game creators took down the differentiating tags?”

“Yeah, and JFK was actually assassinated by a giant Nixon look-a like robot from the future.”

Locke groaned. Where do these awful allusions come from? It’s almost like they are birthed from a sordid love affair between an elderberry-loving drunk and a hamster. They’re so ridiculous.

“Fine, I just thought I’d throw out the possibility. Blueit gets a lot of things right, after all. But, that said, do you think the switch from using NPCs to players is strategic? Will it give him an advantage in conquest over the other player factions?”

“Absolutely. And for good reason. NPCs in Tiqpa don’t regenerate as fast as they do in other MMOs or VRMMOs. In fact, it’s been a few weeks since a Human town on the starter islands was butchered, and the NPCs have yet to return to it. Being able to rely more heavily on players instead of the NPCs has so far will put the Demon Host in a far better position militarily and given them an obvious advantage in sieges against NPC-heavy castles and towns.”

“So you think this will speed up the rate at which they’re redrawing the political maps of the land in their favor? Let them march with less preparation?”

“Well, that would definitely be the case if they were the only group building heavier player-based armies. The Holy Alliance is just the largest military force that’s started to unite against the onslaught of Demons. Several smaller mercenary guilds have also taken up that same strategy.”

“Now, if memory serves me correctly, the Holy Alliance is very new to the political landscape of Tiqpa. Do you think they will have what it takes to stop this growing threat to peace?”

No, but with the size of their orders, they definitely have what it takes to make sure that I can meet Jess’s upcoming tuition deadline. Thank you, Anthony, for your brilliant choice to buy my wares.

Locke was simultaneously working through an excel sheet to come up with the best way to maximize the next three days of character growth and browsing through the forums for good deals or new scoops on information he wasn’t aware of. He spent most of his free time like this whenever he hit a plateau in the game or had to find a way to divert himself for a little while. Unfortunately, he had become so engrossed with the newscast that he had almost completely reached a whole new level of procrastination. He knew that if he wanted to stay ahead of his competition and remain relevant as the go-to source of weapons, he would have to log back in and start the grind again. It was far from the most exciting job he could think of, and it was generally boring and repetitious, but that was just the life of a smith in Tiqpa.

To date, there were less than a dozen dedicated smiths across the entire server--and with good reason. Everyone else got to charge into battle, waving a weapon or throwing around really cool spells, but a good smith didn’t. The job was just a day in and day out life of whacking metal like an idiot after prostituting yourself into awful groups for forty levels without a ‘real’ class or any battle skills just to get to the main town where your customers would be. Trying to level that high using just the smithing function was absolutely impossible for anyone who wasn’t so loaded with cash that he could afford to put the keys to a brand-new Edison car under the seats of everyone in the audience.

The other option, of course, was to be a smith sponsored by a guild, and as far as he knew, that’s what every other smith besides him chose. The problem, however, was that those guys didn’t get paid. All the work and none of the reward. Locke just couldn’t understand how someone could subject themselves to the type of mental torture that was blacksmithing in Tiqpa without having a serious source of motivation.

“You have to remember that the Demon Host itself is relatively new to the political landscape as well,” Ryan continued. “It hasn’t been around for even a month. Many speculate that if it wasn’t for the continuous and voluntary surrendering of most Human towns they come across, their growth wouldn’t have been nearly fast enough to survive in the harsh region they started.”

“Voluntary surrendering? That doesn’t sound right. What do you mean by that?”

“Well . . . Most, if not all, of the Human towns in regions surrounding the Demon Host have failed to do so much as even put up a fight. They immediately laid down their arms and surrendered before the Host even had time to raise an army against them.”

“If they’re volunteering, making their own choice without any pressure from the Demon Host, then why are you using the word surrender? It seems like the Humans are just flocking to the cause of the Demon King.”

“I’m using the word surrender because they’re being put in this position--their hands are being forced--by the ever-growing threat of annihilation.”

“You’re just being silly, Ryan. This isn’t a political news site. We don’t have to put a spin on anything. It’s just a game. Clearly, they aren’t surrendering. They’re just signing up to support a cause that they either believe in or think that they will somehow benefit from joining. Either way, all of this falls well within game lore. Humans are an oppressed race and often portrayed as the natural, farmable NPCs for players. There are dozens of quests that have been discovered in various different regions that the Demon Host has conquered which are specifically designed so that players have to kill Humans. It only makes sense that they would join up and band together with someone stronger for protection.”

For the region? Of course they’re the oppressed race! If what I’ve heard is correct, the Demon Host started smack-dab in the middle of the Were-Beast zone. Killing Humans is the objective of multiple quests for all the were-people in the region. Every single farmable zone is occupied by Humans in some form or another, so why wouldn’t they be oppressed? Every game needs its slimes! Locke shook his head in dismay. Anyone who had ever played an RPG before Tiqpa was probably used to the concept already, but there were always people trying out their first game who didn’t get it. If you didn’t have random cannon fodder around your town to farm up, then you wouldn’t have anything off of which to level. In this case, the game just happened to use racial NPCs and players as part of a bid to establish territorial control. Without learning how to fight, players would either just arrive at a boss fight still green as an ogre’s behind or be chunked out into the world without any real concept of how PVP worked.

That’s exactly why this ‘Darwin’ guy was so brilliant to absorb them all--players and NPCs alike. His competition was left without a choice: They could either they join his army and serve on the frontlines against non-Humans, or they would be forced to give up the best leveling zones in the game. It’s absolutely brilliant. He took away all the quests, so now everyone has to join him. Even if the NPCs are just following his lead to protect themselves, the players don’t really have a choice unless they want to waste all that time traveling all the way across the world map to another region. Even then, they would have to be able to grind solely off of mobs if they were still hoping to gain experience. There’s a good chance that all of the low-level quests would be racial-specific and not accessible to them.

“That can’t be the case at all. I still can’t unsee the massacre that occurred in the Animal Kingdom, and I doubt any of the neighboring regions can either. That’s why they’re signing up: so that the same fate doesn’t befall them. It’s the only logical reason. After all, there is no decent human on earth that would willingly resign himself to being the servant of a bloodthirsty dictator like the Demon King.”

“Luckily for the Demon Host, they aren’t on Earth. It’s Tiqpa, remember? Given their tendency to witness murder on a daily basis, they probably don’t have the same notions that you or I do. I imagine they have really upped the daily body count for our NPC citizens, especially with the new players arriving.”

“That’s a good point.” Ryan’s acting ability proved to be beyond Locke’s expectations when the anchor pretended to mull over the idea, though he had probably rehearsed the bit a few times before the show ever started. “That’s actually a very good point. I can only imagine what type of psyche I would have, and what I would consider morally acceptable, if my loved ones were being murdered on a day-to-day basis. But that still doesn’t excuse them from joining the enemy and further contributing to the problem! Violence doesn’t end violence!”

“Tell that to the defending side in any war.” Daria’s voice faltered, and she broke character with this smart aleck response.

“That’s not . . .” Ryan turn to Daria with a look of confusion, probably shocked by her off-script interruption.

While the quip might have annoyed Robot Ryan, the script-reading-monkey of primetime gaming TV, it made Locke a little happy. ‘Violence is never the answer’ is only something people say after they’ve won all their wars and are able to live in peace. It was rare to see that sentiment shared on television, where people only pushed pleasantly-soft ideas that didn’t offend anyone. You go, Daria. He mentally applauded her as he turned off the television and took one last second to savor the image of Ryan’s dumbfounded face. Sorry, buddy, I can’t spend all day watching G.O.R.N., or I won’t get anything done, he thought as he watched the talking head vanish from the screen.

Now, time to log in. He popped on the dive device and hopped into the simulation.

-----

Locke didn’t even manage to open his eyes before he was immediately struck in the chest by a giant green hand as he logged into the game.

“Get down!” the owner of the hand yelled as he pushed Locke onto his back, creating a beautiful ‘thump’ sound as Locke practically bounced off the grass like someone was trying to dribble a flat basketball.

What the-- Locke tried to cry out, but there was a clear lack of air preventing anything from escaping his mouth as he stared up in shock at burning arrows flying over his head.

The giant who had pressed Locke onto the ground charged one of the archer and tossed him into the air before he could notch another arrow onto his bow. No sooner had he reached the air than three White-Wings soared out like well-armed angels and slashed him in mid-air over and over again.

Another volley of the flaming arrows whizzed over his head accompanied by a bright streak of lighting that bounced off one man and struck another one before forking into the ground. Two targets of the attacks, people Locke struggled to catch any detail of, were incinerated before they had so much as a chance to dodge out of the way.

“There are a few more coming. Rob, have your squad root and boom them!” the large green man who had thrown him on the grown shouted to someone behind him.

“Yes, sir!” One of the other green men said, punching his fists into the dirt.

“What the heck was that?” Locke managed to ask from his position on the ground. He didn’t think standing up was a good idea if there were going to be more attacks.

Instead of an answer, he was greeted by four more opponents trickling in, two of which began chanting as soon as they reached eye level. Unfortunately for all four, they never got a chance to execute their spells as small thin vines sprung out of the ground around all four and started tugging on their legs and arms. It wasn’t much, and it was clear that with less than ten seconds of struggling they would easily have been able to break through the weak vines, but the aggressors didn’t have ten seconds. Before the only one with a sword could even hack himself free, a series of fireballs launched over Locke’s head and engulfed all four of them, burning them into nothing.

Locke waited on the ground, twisting his head back and forth between where the attackers had died and where the men who had killed them, and probably saved his life, were standing. He was surprised at how little anyone seemed to care. Not even thirty seconds after the fight ended, it seemed as if the attack had never happened.

Has it gotten to be that commonplace? Bandits assaulting the very heart of the Holy Alliance is so normal now that it seems as if it might as well have never happened as soon as it’s over? Locke frowned and he lay there on the grass. He would probably have stayed there a few more minutes if someone hadn’t kneeled next to him and extended a blue hand.

“Hey! Come on, Locke! Everyone is waiting on you!” A slender man, coated from head to toe in bark like it was plated armor, pulled Locke to his feet before clapping him on his back hard enough to shake loose any sense of bearing he had managed to recover.

“Easy there, Sal, you know Locke is lighter than your tax returns. If you hit him too hard, he’s bound to fly off like a house strapped to a million balloons,” a second Dryad warned. This one was more muscular than the first and wore nothing but a pair of bark pants that clung tighter than a hipster's dream pair of skinny jeans.

I’m not light. I’m just a Human without much in the vitality stat. Locke sighed to himself as he looked at the two light-blue-skinned dryads in front of him. Sal and Sol each stood a full eight feet tall with green hair spiked up in such a way that it almost gave them an entire extra foot of height. Since the 1.4 patch had majorly revamped all the stats and made vitality even less important to a smith, he hadn’t been dumping any points into it. As a result, any hits he took, which apparently included even pats on the back, were greatly exaggerated.

The third face that was waiting for Locke wasn’t one he recognized. He had never seen the Human girl before, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of her, he couldn’t even see the two Dryads anymore. She was about five foot six with long hair that transitioned slowly from a dark blue at the base to sharply bright red at the tips. She had a button nose, thin lips, and a chin that, when combined with her hair line, gave the whole face the shape of a heart. Yet, with all of her features, it was her exotic purple irises that he couldn’t help but look into.

“It’s really cool, isn’t it?” Sol, the brutishly large Dryad next to Sal, said as soon as he caught where Locke was staring. “Persephone here bought an eye kit online. She’s the only person in the whole camp” --Sol gestured with his arms towards the rest of the tents around them-- “that has it. I was just as shocked as you. I want to get a pair of green eyes! But the only way you can do that is by buying the new dev kit.”

“Micro transactions?” Locke gulped. “They’re already doing micro transactions in Tiqpa?” That’s not good at all. If they’re selling cosmetic stuff in Tiqpa, that means I’ll have less business than a luxury car maker in a depression. The number of potential customers will be the same, but for every person who decides that having fancy, colored hair or a little pink tutu is more important than winning in battle, the number of people who will spend their extra cash on a weapon that will last more than a few levels will go down. This is not good, not good at all. Locke panicked, and his chest seized up momentarily as his brain started to run the numbers on how many people would rather look good at their funeral than show up to a battle uglier than the soiled hind-side of a hippo after taco night but still be the best equipped on the field.

“Umm . . . No. It’s not what you’re thinking, Locke. It’s a quest reward that was sold on the same forum Anthony found your services,” Persephone explained.

Was my horror that evident? Oh no. I need to practice smiling more in front of the mirror. I can’t let that happen again or it could ruin a business deal faster than farting in a conference room, Locke chided himself, imagining his father wagging a finger at him as he lectured himself. ‘No matter what, son, just keep smiling. Smiles are infectious! People pick up on your body language, and you can smooth over a bad situation just by letting people know that you’re in good spirits.’ Wait, does she think that I’m just some money-grubbing merchant now? No, that is not in my best interest at all . . . I mean, I guess I kinda am, but that can’t be helped right now. It’s probably for the best if they just think that I’m just the kind and generous smith who wants to help out the Holy Alliance in the only way I can.

“I don’t think he heard you, Persephone,” Sol laughed. “I think you must have cast charm or stun on him because he’s out of it.”

“No, umm, I’m sorry,” Locke responded meekly, trying to make it sound like he had just spaced out for a moment. “I was just thinking about how cool I would look if I were able to get my hands on some gray eyes for my character.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color,” Persephone responded indifferently with a shrug. “It would probably be really expensive.”

Locke had to hold back a cringe when the word ‘expensive’ left Persephone’s lips. You shouldn’t swear in public. That type of bad language is unacceptable. He almost chuckled at his own joke. “Well, let’s not worry about it. What brings you three here so early? I still have to hit the forge and get to work if I’m going to finish the order you all put in.”

“Yeah, that’s nice and all, but Anthony wanted to see you ahead of time. He had a really exciting offer for you,” Sol said, Sal nodding in agreement. Locke often preferred hearing Sal talk over Sol. Sal had a bad habit of beating around the bush and never really getting around to saying exactly what he meant. If he ever got excited or wanted something, he had a bad tendency to over-exaggerate too. When he did, his words sounded like they were dipped in honey and served with salt to the point you often couldn’t tell what you were really hearing.

“Ah.” Locke looked at Sal, hoping the slender weed’s expression would give some indication of what the ‘exciting offer’ was going to be. “Is that so? Are you guys growing again? Going to need more weapons? I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a month at this rate.”

“We’re hoping to grow.” Sol scratched his head. “You know, one person at a time. But if we don’t, you know . . . It happens.”

“I wouldn’t turn down a new weapon though,” Persephone added as she looked at her blade. “It just doesn’t seem as impressive since the update. I might need a fresh one to make me feel better.” She turned and gave Locke a warm smile.

The update. Locke couldn’t contain his jubilation when he thought about it. Prior to the update, stat gains scaled exponentially. Weapons were doing ridiculously high amounts of damage because players were able to sink all their points into power and speed and turn fights into a one-hack, one-slash kill fest. Unless an opponent was carrying a shield or fortified with magic, damage radically out-scaled health percentages. Player versus player combat was almost cheapened to the point of 'whoever hits first wins,' and every monster except for bosses was killed almost instantly.

“Hey, I see where you’re looking. Don’t be thinking anything perverted about our Persephone! She’s too far up on the food chain. The other commanders will kill you if they see that smile of yours,” Sol whispered in Locke’s ears, clearly misunderstanding what was making him smile.

“Oh . . .” Locke felt annoyed at his absent-minded grin being so awkwardly misinterpreted.

“I’m right here!” Persephone stamped her foot. “If he wants to make googly-eyes at me, let him. It’s not anyone else’s business but mine.”

“I wasn’t making . . .” Locke started off as if he were going to protest, but after mentally weighing what would be in his best interest, he decided against it and left the thought unfinished instead. Maybe she’s egotistical and likes me because she thinks that I like her. She’ll probably ask for a discount, and if I pitch it as ‘this is the lowest I can do, and I really like you a lot,’ she’ll be way more likely to believe it.

“Ha ha ha! He can’t even deny it with a straight face. It’s okay, Locke. I think she’s pretty too,” Sal teased, and the two dryads both enjoyed a hearty laugh at Locke’s expense.

“Just . . . Just show me to the tent,” Locke said, doing his best to not sound arrogant. He could hear his dad again in every word that ran through his head: ‘Stutter a word here and there, act shy when needed, and keep your head down. That way, when you brag about your merchandise, it will sound all the more sincere. When you tell them that you’re offering the best product on the market, they’ll be much more likely to believe you.’ Locke hated the fact that he probably came off as a weak sap to some people, but it helped knowing that it was only a carefully-cultivated persona. “Curiosity about this new offer is going to kill me. Are you sure you can’t give me a hint?”

“Who says we haven’t?” Persephone smiled and then walked ahead of the other two, casually stepping over one of the bandit’s dead bodies as she made her way through the encampment.

Locke didn’t need to be tall or look at Sal and Sol to know where their eyes were fixed as the curvy girl rushed ahead of them. “Easy, guys. You said she’s off limits, right?” he chided, taking some small pleasure in the counter-quip.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Sol chuckled.

“He was saying you were staring at her—“ Sal couldn’t finish his explanation before a thump and a gasp were all that could be heard. “We were looking at the birds.”

“Birds?” Locke, well aware it was just an excuse, still played along and looked around for some, taking in the view of the camp while he was at it. There were hundreds of beige tents flying the flag of the Holy Alliance, a simple purple cross on a white background with a thin red border, all around them. There were, however, definitely no birds. “What kind? I like birds,” he asked as he turned to see Sal’s expression, hoping the simple Dryad would squirm a little.

“They were, umm . . .” Sal looked around, clearly trying to spot something. “They were . . .”

“Yes?” Sol was enjoying this as much as Locke. “Tell me, brother, what were they?”

“They were just birds!” Sal gave up on trying to guess a name and threw his arms up in protest. He was clearly making this into a bigger deal than either Sol or Locke. “How should I know what kind they were? I’m not some sort of ornithologist or something!”

Ornithologist? Locke could glean it was a fancy word for birdwatcher from the context, but had no idea what it really meant. For all he knew, it could secretly be a Latin word for a man who specializes in the etymology of obscure names like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

“Anyway, we’re here,” Sal said, pointing to the large, solid-white tent with purple trim in front of them. Where every other tent was a simple tent like the ones a person expected to see on an army base, this one was as big as a conference hall and shaped like one too. Locke probably would have spotted it sooner if he wasn’t too busy teasing Sal.

“Thanks for the escort. You gents coming in?” Locke crossed his fingers that they wouldn’t. If they come in now, they’ll know the rate I give Anthony, and that’s just bad for business. Every salesman knows to keep each and every transaction separate, or people end up getting their feelings hurt. He was always going to take care of his own friends, of course, but business was business.

“No, sir,” Sol said. He suddenly straightened up and stood guard on one side of the door, Sal immediately mimicking him on the other. “Commander Anthony and the Grand Lord Marshal are waiting for you inside.”

The Grand Lord Marshal? There is someone higher up than Anthony on the food chain? Just what in the heck is the deal I’m being offered? He swallowed hard as he pulled back the tent flap and entered. Inside, he found two people standing over the cliché wooden table covered in maps and half-filled goblets. He also noticed that there were several fancy, uncomfortable-looking chairs built for smaller people decorating the walls of the tent. One of the two occupying the tent was Commander Anthony, his business partner, who had helped him get months ahead on all his bills and rent payments. He had also unknowingly been his sister’s benefactor, and was likely to continue being the source of her financial support if everything went well. Like Locke, he was the standard, clean-cut, six-foot-tall Human with golden hair and blue eyes. He always wore the same silver-plated armor, decorated on both the front and back with the Holy Alliance’s symbol, and Locke could only guess as to whether or not he actually owned casual clothes or knew how to relax.

The other person wasn’t at all what he would have expected from a guild leader. She was tall and slender with jet black hair, red eyes and an S-shaped figure. Her most striking and unexpected feature, what really made her stand out from the rest of her guild, was the simple white dress she was wearing. It stood out in vibrant contrast to the clunky armor that most members of the upper echelons lived in.

Anthony caught sight of Locke as soon as he walked in and said, “Portia, this is the promising young aspirant I mentioned to you earlier. His skills are top-notch, and with his gear, we’ll be able to turn even the lowliest of footmen into a force to be reckoned with.”

“You flatter me too much, sir.” Locke shrank under Portia’s gaze as soon as it turned on him. He averted his eyes so as not to look directly at her, and every instinct in his body told him to turn and run as quickly as he could. Get out. Get away. Danger! his senses screamed. No, not danger. Opportunity and a paycheck. His logic argued back, fighting against his instinctual push to flee back the way he came. “I merely serve in the best way I can.”

“Of course you do,” Anthony agreed and beamed a smile at him. “Always working hard, always striving for the cause . . . You’re a man among men. If I had a dozen recruits with your dedication, this war would have been won already; the blight would be eradicated and order would be restored to the world of Tiqpa.”

“There is no dedication, sir, only love for the work,” he lied. He bowed his head at Anthony’s compliment and hoped that it would make his shrinking look less awkward and unnatural. Dedication? No. Love? Definitely not. Dedication doesn’t keep a man working nineteen hours a day for weeks at a time with only coffee to keep the engines running. It’s bills. Bills and a brother’s love for his sister.

Portia let her eyes linger on Locke for a moment longer then turned to Anthony and said, “Well, I trust you to take care of this. I will return after I finish preparations to defeat my brother’s encroaching force.”

“Yes, Lord Marshal.” Anthony bowed deeply.

Locke, whose head was already lowered, straightened up just enough to match Anthony’s so he wouldn’t look out of place. When in Rome? He gave a mental shrug, not giving two thoughts to the submissive act.

“Do not fail me in this matter, Commander. I expect results.” She was gone from the tent so quickly that Locke might have been convinced that it was done in one step, leaving the two bowing men to straighten back up.

“Her brother?” Locke asked, remembering the oddity of the word. That doesn’t sound right. Defeat her brother’s force? She’s not trying to imply that--

“Don’t worry about it. It’s need to know,” Anthony interjected, cutting off Locke’s train of thought. He pulled out his sword as he spoke and set it on the war table. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I would like to think so,” Locke agreed. He and Anthony were probably the only two people in the camp who would admire such a plain-looking sword with a rough brown hilt. They were also the only two people that knew the sword’s damage. While most swords in that level range barely added up to thirty points of damage, sometimes forty, this one did considerably more. It was a one-handed sword with fifty points of damage and a bonus of fifteen to power. After the 1.4 update, such weapon stats were almost unheard of. “Though, I may be biased on the subject.”

“You’d have to be biased not to think it’s majestic. I bet that, after working so hard on so many, you’ve probably already figured out how to make an even better one.” Anthony’s sharp eyes shot from the sword to Locke.

That’s my cue. Locke suppressed a grin. “Well, not to be a braggart, but I do have a new blade for you to inspect for the next order. That is, if you’d like to inspect it yourself.” He opened up his inventory and pulled out his latest creation. He had made it just for this pitch: a fifty-five-damage sword with a bonus of eighteen power instead of fifteen. In all, the new version was over ten percent better than the previous one.

“Do you mind?” Anthony extended his hand.

“Not at all. I think it’ll suit you perfectly. Consider it a gift.” And you can return the favor by ordering more of them.

“So do you have the original two hundred swords we ordered?” he asked, inspecting the new blade.

“I’m sorry, sir, I was just going to finish the order out today. Gathering the resources needed took more time than expected” --since I didn’t want to pay market value-- “so it will be a bit longer before I finish.” His brain worked quickly to put together the numbers. With seventeen swords left until the order is finished, averaging a little under five minutes a sword, it should take me less than an hour and a half to finish the remainder. “I can be done in two hours,” he said, giving himself leeway to be safe. Finish early, and you’re a hero; finish late, and you’re in trouble.

“Hmmm. There will be no need for that. If you hand over what you have now, we can pay you right away. You can deliver the remainder at your leisure.” Anthony equipped his new toy and set the old one on the war table over the maps.

Locke gulped. Hand over the swords now? “We can do the transaction. That’s no problem. Would you like me to log off now?”

Anthony frowned at Locke. “In a bit. First, I have a question for you.”

“What would you like? Though, I must warn you, weapons are all I have experience in crafting. Armor is an entirely different beast and, while I can make it, it will take me awhile to get used to it. Until then, the quality might not be as good as that of the swords,” Locke said, anticipating that the commander might want a shiny new suit to go with his blade. Locke had picked the weaponry path early on. It wasn’t because weapons were more useful than armor, but because they were quicker to make, and people would pay the same for a sharp edge as they would a solid shield. While blacksmithing wasn’t broken up into trees, it did have its own ways of rewarding someone for specializing.

“No, it’s nothing of that sort. I wanted to hire you.” Anthony gestured to one of the uncomfortable chairs at the side of the room, indicating Locke should sit.

“Of course. What do you need me to make for you?” Locke was certain where this was going. And this is why I’m doing so well lately! That’s my favorite customer, Anthony! He is going to order another set of the next-rung-up longswords. He can tell quality when he sees it!

“I don’t think you understand: I want to hire you as an employee, not purchase your products,” Anthony clarified. “I’m willing to pay you generously and provide all the materials so that you don’t have to waste time on silly stuff like resource procurement.”

“You want an exclusivity contract? As long as the rates don’t change, and the work is steady, that’d be great! I can make sure no one in the world buys my products but you.” Locke couldn’t believe his ears. Steady payments for the rest of the year? Who could ever pass that up!

“I still think we’re not on the same page.” Anthony stepped closer, looking down on Locke as he spoke. “I need you to join the Holy Alliance, and in return, I’ll give you a monthly salary to keep up the hard work. I assume that ten dollars an hour is a standard rate of employment for playing video games, something you love, right?”

Locke’s face dropped so low that he could have served as a stunt double for a depressed hound dog in a used car commercial. Ten dollars an hour? Is he kidding? It’s a fair wage for a lot of people, no doubt, but I would barely be able to cover my own rent at that rate. I have to come up with thirty-four dollars a day just for my student loan, eighteen dollars a day for my rent, and then another sixty-seven dollars a day for Jessica's tuition. That’s not even counting in food, electric, Internet, game subscription, transportation, or anything my sister might need that I haven’t already planned for in advance . . . I can’t take a deal like this. This would bankrupt me! Is he crazy? “Umm . . .”

“I know, it’s a great deal, isn’t it?” Anthony pulled his sword back out and inspected it. “I’m sure it’s a drop from your usual rates, but for a steady client who can pay you for every hour you work? Give you a little something for every item you produce? You can’t beat that, can you?”

“I’m really sorry, Commander, but unfortunately . . .”

“What? Are my rates not good enough? Fine. Eleven dollars an hour.” Anthony’s nose seemed to point higher with every word that came out of his mouth.

Does he think that it’s that easy? That it’s just a matter of small pennies? If I didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself, this would be a great deal. But . . . that’s just not the case. I can’t take a deal like that! I’ll just explain. He’ll understand. “Well, sir, it’s more about the fact that I can’t afford that . . .”

“Why?” Anthony’s head snapped back, once more meeting Locke eye-to-eye with a gaze so sharp it could have split a hair. “I have been more than charitable with our guild’s time and resources. We have practically sponsored you for the last six days with continuous orders. What reason could possibly push you to reject our generosity?”

“Well, you see, sir, it’s just that . . .” Locke’s brain went into overdrive and his forehead broke out in sweat as the wheels turned, looking for a polite way to get himself out of this pickle. If he separated himself from the Holy Alliance, if he didn’t sell them any more weapons, there was a good chance that he would have a hard time finding even half the demand for the current shipment in his inventory--much less a demand that would pay as well as the Holy Alliance. But, if he joined, he would only be able to coast for the next few months using the money that he had saved up. He had managed to get ahead a bit, but after that dried up, he would find himself bankrupt soon after. What do I do? What do I do? The words raced through his head. He could tell that Anthony was not one to take rejection well, especially if this was the ‘task’ that Portia, the leader of the guild, had given him before leaving. “It’s just that I have a lot of bills and . . .”

“What bills could you possibly have that wouldn’t be met with these rates? You’re just lying, hoping to suck the funds out of our guild like a parasite.” Anthony’s voice rose in volume until it reached the point where Locke was sure people in adjacent tents could hear him easily. “You come in here like a worm, squirming about on the ground, and dare bite the hand that feeds you?” His ire was evident: His cheeks had turned red and flared out, and his voice quivered with anger. “I can’t believe you are such an ingrate as to reject this deal!”

“I’m sorry! I would love to work exclusively with the Holy Alliance.” Or at least I would have until you started acting like a pompous, self-righteous jerk. Typical rich kid. Doesn’t understand how hard some people work just to make ends meet so we don’t end up homeless. “I just need a little more money to make it sustainable. If we can just talk about it--”

“No. The offer is done. Let’s do the transaction for the blades, and then I want you out of my camp immediately after. You’ve tested my patience enough. I opened my house and home to you, extended my hand and generosity to you, and this is how you repay me? I won’t forget this! Log off now. We’ll do the transaction and be done with this!” Anthony logged off and disappeared before Locke could say anything else.

Crap, that was such a precious customer. Locke fumed as he stared at the empty spot where Anthony had stood only a moment before. But at least I can make this sale, and if I’m lucky, find a new client. Actually . . . That Darwin guy . . . I’ve heard speculation that he’s actually a player. If he is, and his guild has a ton of players in it, then wouldn’t that mean that there are also a ton of potential customers? And even if I’m out of the Holy Alliance, I can still sell to some of the members over the forum, right? Locke took a deep breath as he logged off, already planning his next moves after the money hit his account. As long as he had everything he needed, this curveball wouldn’t be a problem.

Locke’s phone rang before he could even get his bearings in the real world. Crap, that’s the angry client. He grimaced as he looked at the phone, picking it up reluctantly. He didn’t want to deal with him, but he also didn’t want to miss out on his last paycheck. There were other possible options on the table, but this was the last solid check he had lined up until he found someone else willing to buy from him.

“Alright now, you bottom-feeding, upstart pissant” --Anthony’s voice dripped with malice and pierced through the telephone-- “I’m going to make this quick: You have one last chance to do the right thing and take my deal, or it’s about to get ugly.”

And there he is. The jerk has returned. “I’m sorry, man. I really can’t. Let me prove it to you. If you just give me a chance to explain, I think you’ll understand where I’m coming from.” Locke clenched his eyes tightly, wanting this to be over already. Why can’t you understand real-world problems, you rich son of a--

“Don’t even try to deceive me. I know a conman’s tricks when I see them!” Anthony almost shouted, refusing reason.

“No, I’m serious. Just give me a chance. Just please listen to me,” Locke begged, his tightening throat making it harder to get the plea out.

“Fine, have it your way. Here’s how it’s going to be then: Either you take my first offer of ten dollars per hour or I forward a copy of the email conversation where I bought items from you with real cash to a GM and get your account banned. How does that sound, you filthy traitor?” Anthony was practically screaming into the phone.

“You wouldn’t,” Locke answered, trying to call his bluff. “It would get us both banned. You’re the one who bought the items.”

“Don’t you even read? Didn’t you even look at your EULA? It’s not illegal to buy items, only to sell them. After all, the company claims possession of all items and characters within Tiqpa. It’s not your character. It’s theirs. You’re just using it, you idiot. Last chance. Once I send this off to the GM, you’ll be banned. A permanent ban that will make sure you never own an account again.”

“No! No, you can--” The double beep of someone hanging up, followed by a long tone, sounded out through the speaker of his phone and let him know that if Anthony was going to do something, he had already done it.

Blackmailing me over the phone so that there wouldn’t be an in-game record. Good job, Anthony. I’m really screwed now. Locke chuckled softly to himself, his eyes practically watering as his mind screamed. If he really did report me, that’s it. Any hope I have of being able to help support Jess are over. Locke took a deep breath, wiped his watering eyes dry and immediately tried to log back into Tiqpa.

Chapter 2

You self-centered piece of garbage! Locke fumed as he set up his login information. You’re really going to ruin my life just because I won’t bow down and call you boss? Does that punk really think he’s entitled to my services for all of eternity just because I completed a few days’ worth of orders for him in a row? What in the heck is wrong with him?! Locke’s anger didn’t settle one bit. The sinking in his stomach, the tightening of his chest, the shortness of breath--everything was slowly getting worse, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins was the only thing keeping him from sheer panic. Just watch, Anthony. You better hope my account is deleted because if it isn’t, then so help me, I will find a way to destroy your pathetic excuse for a dumpster you call the Holy Alliance. I’m going to make a thousand swords and sell them as cheap as I have to in order for the Demon Alliance to kill you with them! Locke was fuming, and he could have kept going, too. He would have sat there swearing at Anthony all day if it wasn’t for the fact that he realized he had spent more time cursing than actually logging in. Okay, calm down, Locke. Deep breaths. Count to ten, and let’s get this over with. He mustered his resolve, took the deep breaths and started up Tiqpa.

Locke’s attempt to get into Tiqpa was immediately shut down. He was used to seeing the image of a crowned king during the load, but before it ever appeared, a fancy blue box popped up informing him that Anthony’s jerkish, petty attempt to ruin his life had been a stunning success.

Your account has been banned. If this was in error, or you believe the ban was done for wrongful reasons, please contact a customer service representative or submit a help ticket online.

He was just about to exit the dive device and actually try contacting a GM when the boot sequence automatically resumed, and he found himself loading into Tiqpa. He immediately noticed the familiar hum of a bindstone, letting him know that he had successfully returned to his home city, and the bustling sounds of the city around him grew as the world loaded. Images of the market square came into focus, and he couldn't help but sigh as relief washed through him. Maybe Anthony wasn't as successful as he thought he was.

His hopes were quickly dashed, however, as the world flickered around him before going completely black. The sounds of merchants hawking their wares and the clang of anvils being worked in the forges went silent. Whatever comfort he may have felt moments before was quickly replaced by a growing sense of unease and anxiety that welled up from the pit of his stomach and threatened to consume him. The experience only lasted a few seconds before the world started to come into focus, but it felt like an eternity to him.

When he finished loading into Tiqpa for the second time within a matter of minutes, he was left with a strange sense of disorientation. Moving into the game was normally seamless and smooth, but this experience had been almost jarring. What just happened? Where am I? He craned his head around him in every direction trying to figure out where he was, and his sense of alarm grew with every passing sweep of his surroundings. Waves and beach in front of me, forest behind me and not a soul in sight . . .

“What in the . . .” He looked around, certain that a glitch had occurred. Oh, God, this isn’t going to be one of those awful stories where I get stuck in an MMO, is it? He started to panic. Something is definitely not right. Am I in the developer’s side of the Tiqpa world?

“Hey, easy there. If you turn your head too fast, it’ll unscrew and fall right off,” a woman’s voice called out from behind him, catching him off guard with its friendly word of warning.

Spinning around, Locke was greeted by a suit of full steel plate armor so large and ostentatious that it made him question how he missed spotting it the first time. “Umm . . . Yeah, sorry. It’s just that . . .” How do I explain why I’m so confused to a stranger? Locke was stumped. “I just forgot what I was doing here,” he finally said. He settled for what he hoped would be a convincing half-truth since he really didn’t know what he was doing there. “Have you ever had that happen? Walked into a room to get something and lost track of why you were there in the first place as soon as you walked through the door?” He knew that he was going to have to work for it if he was going to sell his prevarication.

“So you forgot why you are here? Well, do you know where you are?” the suit of shiny armor questioned further.

Locke almost wanted to laugh as he listened to a voice that belonged to what sounded like a cute, young teenage girl trying to be serious as it came from what looked like a giant ogre in full plate. “Well, about that . . . You see . . .” Locke looked around. “I know I’m . . .” Come on, Locke, you’re a salesman. You can do this! “I’m on a beautiful beach, on a beautiful day, and apparently hanging out with a beautiful set of plate armor that I just met for the first time. What’s not to like? It’s almost easy to see how I got so misplaced mentally.” He threw up his winningest sleazy smile and broke eye contact by looking back at the beach. Yep, don’t look at her or what you just did will be even creepier, you failure of a salesman.

“Ha ha ha ha!” The girl’s laughter made him cringe. Yeah, you’re creepy to the point she finds it funny. “You’re good, real good. I’m just messing with you. I’m Ash, short for Ashley--don’t ask, my parents loved zombie movies. I’m the GM handling your case.”

“Oh.” Locke turned around and accepted the offered handshake waiting for him, feeling rather embarrassed about being caught tangled up in his own yarn. “Well, I’m Locke, though you probably already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did. Look, let’s cut to the chase: You violated the Terms of Service and the End User License Agreement for playing Tiqpa, so we should, by all rights, ban you.” She left the sentence hanging like she was waiting on a commercial break before she broke the suspense.

Come on, finish the thought! You should ban me, but . . .? There is a but after that word, right? The words ‘should’ and ‘but’ usually go to together . . . I think. He was doing his best to reassure himself as he stared at the shiny metal plate helm in front of him, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Ash likely saw his anxiety, and she probably wanted to draw it out for as much effect as possible. The pause between when she stopped speaking and started again was distressingly long for Locke. “But I think I’m going to help you out a bit,” she finally finished.

Locke let out a deep breath.

“I just need you to pick a new name, class, and if you want, we can even reset your race. All up to you, but we need it done quick-like. If you pick a race that couldn’t have made it to this side of the map since Tiqpa’s release, well, I’ll have to warp you somewhere else. That’ll be extra work on my part, so pick something close by if you don’t mind. Naga, Hellspawn, one of those furries or Humans . . . I don’t care. Just make it easy on me since I’m doing you a favor.”

“Oh, thank you. Like, thank you so much.” Locke almost floated as the lead blocks of stress and worry over his account being banned lifted off his shoulders. “But, why the new name and class? Can’t I just keep my old class and level? I kind of like Blacksmithing.” Or, rather, I like the paychecks, and I don’t think I’ll get caught twice.

“Yeah, about that . . . See, I’m restoring your character, but if you haven’t figured it out from the secret meeting and the new name, class and race, I’m not supposed to.” The giant plate armor shrugged. “I just thought that punk Anthony was in the wrong, too, and that Gary, that perverted mouth-breather of a boss of mine, should have banned both of you. God, that guy gives me the creeps. You know he even hits on his boss Robert’s daughter every time she swings by the office? She’s in her twenties! So gross!” Ash’s voice rose in volume with every passing word, and she sounded practically distressed by the time she finally finished her rant.

“Shy, then?” Locke suggested a name quickly before this angry girl could change her mind. “How about Shy? And can I please, please keep my work on the blacksmithing? I worked very hard to get it,” he pressed.

“Um, sure. They’re already unlocked. Technically. I just reset your level to one, so you’ll still have to get back to the level and power requirements needed to forge each item. It’s not a bad idea, though, since you’ve already put so much effort into it. But don’t you want to try something new? We did have that patch recently introducing the Alchemist class. That’s probably the easiest one for you to play as.”

“The Alchemist class? No one has picked that for a reason. Who would want to spend time and money on potions that only last five minutes and add one damage?” Locke scoffed at the concept. Everyone knew about the new alchemy path, but, to date, no one had actually picked it. The reason was simple: Every class had access to the same crafting paths listed, but the alchemist potions barely lasted more than a few minutes, generally required a lot of ingredients, and they didn’t do much more than add a few points of health, damage or a random stat. You could coat a blade with a poison, but when the weapon already did fifty damage, why waste effort on continuously coating it for only one extra damage point? Every player except those who cared about obtaining the fancy title of being an Alchemist had written it off as a joke.

“Well, I thought someone who had spent so much time being a blacksmith might know better than that.”

“Oh.” Locke turned away from the metal-man to look at the beach for a moment. Hmm . . . All the weapons were posted online too, and while I couldn’t make most of them because of the level, power and concentration requirements, the ones I made repeatedly kept getting better. Even the latest sword was just an upgrade of the previous one. What if . . .

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Locke made his decision and shrugged it off in the same instant. If this really is an undiscovered route left alone just because most people didn’t want to take the time to make new characters, and the advantages look nonexistent, maybe I’ll find my way to riches once again. “I’ll take the alchemist route.” Locke turned back and stuck out his hand to once more shake with the plate-covered giant.

The handshake was returned. "That’s what I like to hear. About the race, though, which one did you want?”

“I’m going to stick with Human,” Locke said. All the other races had size, stat or passive advantages to combat, but Human was the best for crafting. Most skills had a minimum stat requirement, and Humans could raise their stats up faster than any other race. It was their only redeeming attribute.

“Excellent! That means I won’t have to port you to some random noob island for a different race. This will do just fine.” The plate armor extended its hand and pointed in a direction away from the coast. “If you head that way for half an hour, you’ll find the closest town. Where you are now is the only place on the island with the herbs you need for the starting potions and level one enemies.”

“Wait, did you plan on me picking Alchemist?” Locke was shocked as he realized how difficult the task was that he had signed up for.

The two plated shoulders shrugged. “How would I have known what would happen? It’s not like I had a part in building a class that no one picked and that I’m hoping you follow your instincts and become a walking advertisement for it so my perverted creep of a boss doesn’t keep blowing up at me for wasting an entire dev team’s time and resources on a class no one plays. That would be really self-centered of me.”

Locke blinked. Wait, if I didn’t go along with Alchemist, or she didn’t need a walking billboard, would she have just banned me for good?

“Anyway, see you round, Shy. And remember: Don’t let anyone find out who you are.” Ash waved as she faded out of Tiqpa.

Now that it was officially over, Locke gritted his teeth and brought up the character screen. The only items he had were a suspiciously large number of empty bottles and some alchemy gear like mortars and pestles, the starting sword that everyone gets regardless of class, and a cloth outfit that wouldn’t serve as anything more than protection against a soft breeze. He didn’t even have the ten coppers he had started with the first time he played.

Great. Nothing, he grumbled. Freaking nothing. The anger started to build inside him. “This is all his fault,” he spat. He may have been placated when the GM was around, but now that she had gone, the reality of his situation was beginning to set in. He was reduced to poverty, back to square one, and he had even less to show for it than he had had when he first joined Tiqpa. And for what? For actually trying to help out someone he loved and keep his own head above water. I’ll bet he didn’t even receive a slap on the wrist. Locke’s rage grew more focused as he thought about Anthony.

Spoiled, rich brat. Stupid son of a-- He kicked at the ground in anger and was rewarded with a reminder of the fact that he was no longer even wearing shoes. He felt his face flush red with frustration, and hate welled up inside him. Ever since he was a child, he had worked hard to suppress emotions like these. They were bad for business. No one wanted to deal with someone who was emotionally unstable or threw hissy-fits. Acting out or lashing out meant he’d lose a deal and any potential earnings along with it. He knew that no good was ever going come out of it, but this time, he didn’t care.

Locke opened up his skill menu to see what recipes the GM had given him.

Layman’s Deadly Poison: Apply to weapon to add +1 Damage (effect expires after 5 minutes). Ingestation will cause 10 points of damage unless the user is undead.

Layman’s Health Potion: Upon ingestion, restores 10 points of missing health and increases the maximum health of the user by +1 (effect expires after 5 minutes).

Locke looked at both of the available potions and decided that, if he had to make one, it would probably be best to start with the deadly poison. While the health potion was more tempting for his solo grind, especially since he was probably going to get hit a lot, and there was a strong chance of him dying even against a level one creature, he decided to go with the damage one. Damage sells better than health. If this GM is right, and I can improve the stats on the potion by continuing to make it, then it will be worth a lot of money in the future.

Almost as if reading Locke’s mind, a PM popped up on his screen:

P.S. Don’t try to violate the EULA by selling stuff on the dark forums again. I’ll be watching you, and I’ll personally ban you before anyone can figure out that I restored your account in the first place. Later! ~ Your Friendly Neighborhood Ash.

Locke put his hands on his head and rubbed his temples. Don’t lose it, Locke. Don’t lose it. We’ll figure out a way. But first: revenge. His earlier profits, the burgeoning success during his recent blacksmith days, had helped buy him some time. He certainly wasn’t on an indefinite time table, but there wasn’t going to be any immediate pressure to produce cash. He had some leeway to figure things out as he went along, just not forever. There has to be a way to make money online. Maybe I can use the fact that she did something illegal as leverage to get her to allow me to trade in the forums, but this is all just hypothetical and won’t matter if I can’t get anywhere, he thought, pulling out his flimsy, brown-handled blade with a rat-tail tang.

Locke cringed at the idea of not getting paid today as he checked the ingredients for Deadly Poison. There were several different combinations of individual flowers that could be used to make it, and, thankfully, he was able to find quite a few of them near him. He used his sword to cut the stem of the first and proceeded to the next one. If she’s going to give me hundreds of empty bottles to fill, then I’m going to make sure that generosity isn’t wasted. He grinned as he dove into the hard work. Flower picking: a real man’s job. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself while cutting the thirteenth flower. This place really is a gold mine of a starting location for an upstart Alchemist, he mused, and by the time he had picked his fifteenth flower, he was in a slightly better mood.

He stopped after he had picked over a hundred flowers, cracked his neck, pulled out the mortar and pestle and began to grind away at making the potentially profitable toxins. There was always something odd to video games that Locke never understood: exactly how the physics in the game worked. He expected to use five or six flowers per poison, but he found it was rather the opposite: one flower ended up producing two to three potions. It didn’t make sense to Locke, especially considering that the flowers were barely bigger than a blooming rose, but after the water was added, and the flower paste was diluted, the math somehow worked out, and the bottles were filled.

Layman’s Deadly Poison. Hmm . . . After twenty bottles were filled, and the effects were still just +1 damage, he was starting to become disappointed. He was hoping that, like Blacksmithing, the progress between the first and second version of the poison would be short. Previously, it had only taken him ten swords to reach the second version, and twenty more to reach the third. With the piddly concoctions he was mixing up now, it felt like making any progress was going to take way too long, but then finally it happened:

Your proficiency in Layman’s Deadly Poison has enlightened you. You have discovered how to make Amateur Deadly Poison. The effect has increased from +1 to +2 damage. The damage dealt has increased from +10 to +20 points of health if ingested.

Locke stared at it. Part of him felt relieved. He had been starting to worry that it wouldn’t ever happen. The other part of him, however, was expecting better. The effects doubled, which was amazing in its own right, but it didn’t tell him if his gamble on the class was worth it. If it had tripled or even quadrupled, he still might not have felt relieved. After all, what if the next version was only +3 damage? Ten iterations down the line, he’d be left with only +12 points of damage. So, without letting himself dwell on how unfair it seemed, he put it out of his mind as he spent another hour gathering flowers and making potions until the upgrade finally occurred again.

Your proficiency in Amateur's Deadly Poison has enlightened you. You have discovered how to make Greenhorn’s Deadly Poison. The effect has increased from +2 to +3 damage. The damage dealt has increased from +20 to +30 points of health if ingested.

So, it’s just as I feared, he thought glumly. It wasn’t doubling. It just goes up by +1 each level. He kicked the ground again in frustration. The poison was still great, and he knew it, but this type of progression meant that his plans for returning to the scene of world power were going to take a long time. It took a full thirty bottles to reach the first upgrade and then another sixty to reach the second . . . This is going to be a long road, he thought as he sighed to himself.

Then, like he did before every day at the grind, he counted to ten and dug back in. The boredom of doing a repetitive and monotonous task for a long period of time began to seep into his bones and sow discontent in his heart, and he knew from experience that the best thing for him to do was to space out each task into sections. An hour of work wasn’t an hour of work. It was just ten six-minute intervals. He didn’t have a hundred and twenty potions left to make. He just had ten different sets of twelve, and he persisted in his monotonous routine with only one thing on his mind. You can do this. It’s boring, but you can do this. At the end of this, I’ll make the best potions in the world for Darwin’s Demon Host, and we’ll wipe that smile off that Holy Alliance’s campaign. We’ll break it into a thousand pieces until Anthony has nothing left to live for in Tiqpa. That’ll teach that brat that money can’t buy everything. I will collect my pound of flesh, he promised himself.

----

Locke would have spent the entire day just harvesting and working on increasing his Deadly Poison ranks if it weren’t for the fact that halfway through the day, long after he had gotten his Deadly Poison to the rank of Journeyman (a bonus of +5 or +50 damage if ingested), he was interrupted by company.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” a voice called as Locke was bent over by a tree, picking more flowers for his potions.

“Oh, umm . . .” Locke straightened up and looked around to see who had found him. Am I going to get PK’d? Sweat beaded up on his brow almost immediately, and it wasn’t from the strenuous process of picking flowers. Killing was common in MMOs, and it was likely to happen at any time.

“I’m just out here working on my craft, if . . .” Before he could finish his explanation, his marketing instincts immediately kicked in. “If you’re interested, I’m running a very special offer. I can promise you that, after you see the effects, you’ll agree they are the best in the region!”

There were six adventurers in the group that approached him. There was a gruff-looking Minotaur wearing chainmail and holding a giant two-handed axe, a Dragon-Wing similarly in platemail but with a longsword and a shield, a Satyr in what could only be taken as a priest’s robe with a staff, two Succubi wearing leather with daggers and whips, and a man with a bathrobe and a bow. The one who had called out to him was the bathrobe-wearing man.

“Your wares?” One of the two Succubi licked her lips as she eyed Locke, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Yes,” he said, maintaining his composure as the six players began to circle him like prey. He knew that he was in a very vulnerable position, and there was a good chance that they might just kill him to see what items dropped on his corpse rather than spending anything on his gear. “I am a humble Alchemist who believes that what I hold would be of great interest to you.” He produced a Journeyman’s Deadly Poison potion in his right hand as an explanation, extending it for any of the six to take and inspect.

The bathrobe-wearing man hesitated for a moment before he finally reached out and took it. “Let’s see what you got.” His thick Boston accent pressed in on Locke’s ears harshly. The man held it for a minute and the potion vanished.

Locke knew he had to keep his cool here. If he accused the man of trying to steal his product, he was going to lose a potential sale. In the worst-case scenario, he might end up dead. Then again, he’d probably end up dead at the hands or claws of something else even in the best-case scenario even if he did somehow manage to make a sale. Relax. Save your anger for Anthony, he reminded himself as he maintained his fake smile. Don’t forget to make sure you smile with your eyes, not with your lips. “It’s a great product, right? I don’t think you’ve seen anything of that quality before, have you?”

“What’s it do?” one of the Succubi asked, leaning in on his shoulder.

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that green bottle? Is it like Powerade?” The Minotaur shifted closer to the group leader as well in order to get a better look.

“Come on, Tubal, what’s it do?” the Satyr whined.

They all are curious, not hostile. This is good. Locke’s grin turned from fake to real as he watched the group crowd around the leader to figure out what the potion did. Seizing on the moment, he pulled out another one from his bag and extended it to one of the Succubi. “Here, take a look yourself,” he said before pulling out another and handing it to the other Succubus. Not wanting to let the opportunity pass, he took the reins. One by one, he passed one of his Journeyman’s Deadly Poisons to each of the five remaining group members. Make them think the product is theirs, and rightfully so, and it’ll be that much harder to walk away from the sale. You know this, Locke.

“Go ahead and apply it to your weapons. I can make plenty more whenever I need.” He made sure not to phrase it like he had plenty more on him. “Just consider this first batch of poison a gift, and give it a try. If you’re not a hundred percent satisfied, don’t bother returning it! It’ll kill me if you do.” He threw in a forced laugh at his own terrible joke, causing the Minotaur to join him. Thank the big man upstairs there is always one laugher in every group who will find even an awkward silence funny as long as someone else laughs first. “Go on! Apply it!”

Slowly, with careful hands as if one wrong move would cost them their precious gear, they all put it on their weapons. Tubal, the leader, carefully applied it on some arrows. “These are actually really good. What do you want for them?” Tubal asked, looking at his group to make sure they were all on the same page as he extended the offer. “How many silvers are you expecting for each one?”

Ooooh, you novice. You should have asked how many coppers I was expecting for each one. Now, you’ve already let me know you’re willing to pay more than two silvers for each one. Considering they’re dirt cheap to make, you’re letting me rip you off! You’re just lucky that . . . “I don’t want any money for them.”

“What are you talking about? You clearly are trying to sell them, right? You’re not just giving them away, are you?” the Satyr asked, his voice echoing out over the others.

“Oh, I’m not giving them away. I still want to sell them, and if you think my offer is terrible, then I won’t press and will take three silvers a potion.” Locke eyed the group nervously. “Actually, what I want is a lot cheaper, though, and, if you hear me out, I can make sure you have enough of those five-minute poisons to farm with all day. What I want is . . . What I want is to be a part of your group for the day. I won’t eat up much experience, but in return for that generosity, while you farm I can keep making you extras to reapply every five minutes, really helping you level faster. Not to mention, as time goes on, I’ll have even better wares for you!”

They all blinked in unison, clearly taken back by the offer. “You want, you want to be a part of our group?” Tubal asked.

“I think that is what he said,” one of the Succubi smart-mouthed back. “It makes sense too: Who wouldn’t want to be partnered up with me?”

“You’re roleplaying that Succubus way too hard,” the Minotaur said with a laugh and looked at his weapon. “I’m okay with it. This poison will really help us out, I think.”

“Five,” Tubal spoke loud enough to cut the chatter of the group behind him. “Five extra potions you’ll leave with us for every hour you leech, and you have a deal.”

“That sounds perfectly fair to me.” Locke stuck out his hand to seal the agreement. “I’m L--” he paused and shook his head. Too close. Remember what Ash said. “I’m Shy, your friendly Level-one Alchemist.”

Tubal stared at the extended hand, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging half open. “Level 1?” he asked as he finally accepted the gesture. “This zone is designed for groups that are Level 40. There’s only a handful of level 1 enemies around here, and they’re scattered in with everything stronger. What are you doing out here at Level 1?”

“A merchant has to keep his secrets, you know,” Locke answered with a laugh, content with never revealing the truth. Wow . . . and Ash said that this was a low-level zone. I guess I shouldn’t tell them that I was banned by one freak on a power trip and then restored here by another weirdo on her own just to mess with me. It probably wouldn’t be the best story to tell, especially if Ash really is watching.

“Well, either way, we’re the Blue Phoenix Brigade, and you’re welcome to join us as long as you can keep us supplied. I’m Tubal, and these two Succubi are Bianca and Katherine. That Minotaur over there is Mr. Axe-Fetis--”

The Minotaur smashed his axe into the ground before he spoke to interrupt Tubal. “Not again! My name is Sampson. Stop teasing me, Tubal.”

“That Satyr over there is our priest. He is basically our Doctor Whom or something like that.”

“I also tend to go by the name Reginald on occasion.” The Satyr shrugged off the poorly executed jest. He didn’t seem to be half as concerned about the mix up as Sampson had been. “And we generally just call the dragonboy Sparky.”

“It works,” the Dragon-Wing said, not disputing the name at all.

He does realize that’s a dog’s name, right? I’ve actually seen a dog named Locke, so I probably shouldn’t point that out. “Well, it’s nice to meet you all. What are we killing?”

“Time at this rate,” Reginald said with a frown. “Let’s get back out there before we lose daylight.”

You have been invited to Tubal’s Party. Would you like to Accept or Reject?

“Sounds great.” Accept. “If you guys don’t mind, since I’m a pretty low level, I’m just going to hang in the back and watch you all fight while I keep crafting. I have to stay at this pretty much twenty-four seven to keep the numbers up, but you’ll love my new recipes.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that line before,” Katherine said, scratching her head. “Either way, it’s fine by me. You just better make sure Tubal doesn’t see you slacking there, Mr. Daisy Picker.”

Locke decided to let the insult slide. “I’ll take that moniker as a compliment. After all, nothing feels more manly in a videogame than signing up to play an immersive role-playing game centered around slaying dragons and toppling empires and then spending most of your time picking flowers.”

Sampson chuckled and said, “No judgment here, but that sounds exactly like my Skyrim experience. If the Alchemist class had been available when I first rolled this bad boy, I’d probably be right next to you uprooting every garden from here to Alcinous.”

“Alcinous?” The Succubi and Tubal turned their heads.

“You know, that beautiful Odyssey . . . Never mind. But yeah, no shame, little man. Carry on with your weeds!”

“No lying, Sampson,” Sparky said and slammed his shield with his sword. “You could never pass up the urge to fight. The thrill of battle, the call that sounds throughout your blood and beckons you to war! Hearken to the trumpet of glory!”

“Don’t mind him. He’s like that,” Bianca said in a low tone just for Locke.

“I see,” Locke returned in a whisper.

“Well” --Sampson looked at his axe-- “I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “I don’t think I could ever pick a class that didn’t have fighting moves or specialize in combat. I wish they had made it a crafting skill though like in other MMOs. I think it’s silly that you have to pick Alchemist, Blacksmith or one of the crafting skills just to make the gear. I can’t imagine more than a few dozen people in the entire game that would give up magic- and might-based combat in favor of making weapons that you can find in dungeons . . . or potions that don’t last more than five minutes.”

“All good points, but seriously, why would you pick that class?” Tubal asked. “Isn’t it going to be boring, watching everyone else having fun while you are only picking flowers? That will have to get tedious after a while. Not that we’re not grateful for the potions, but it’s just that you have our sympathy on the class.”

Locke frowned. There isn’t really anything to say to this. How could I reply? ‘Well, I picked this class so I could make a ton of money in real life while playing video games.’ It was even less impressive considering that he wasn’t even really playing a game. He was just working inside Tiqpa.

“Let’s . . . Let’s just go level,” he said, trying to change the topic to something fun like getting experience.

They didn’t have to travel far until they ran into their first fight, which posed little threat to Locke given his role and position outside the fray. He planned on doing his best to pick up every flower, regardless of whether or not it was the one he needed, and to stay close behind the group. He knew that he was going to be useless whenever they got in a fight, but that didn’t mean he wanted to wander off too far away from them, either. For someone in his situation, leeching experience off a group, positioning was everything. It wasn’t going to be so much of a struggle to help with the fight as a fight not to make the group struggle. Even if he was to do enough damage to help, he would probably just end up being killed on the spot should one of the foes turn and swing at him.

The first set of ‘mobs,’ a common term for enemy monsters to kill for experience and items, was actually a group of giant snakes. They were at least ten feet long, bigger around than most people’s thighs, and each sported a spiked ball about the size of a man’s head on the end of its tail. In the group that Tubal’s party approached, three Knight-Clubbing Snakes were curled up tightly so that their heads, which hung from the top of the coil, and clubs, which slid across the ground from the bottom of the coil, were the only parts of their scaled bodies that protruded from the four-foot-high bundles.

“Careful, these snakes are a lot tougher than the usual mobs in the forest. They can shatter Reginald’s shields in one hit, and we don’t have any way to revive you out here after the fight. So, if you die, there goes our potions,” Tubal cautioned.

“So what’s the game plan, boss? There’s one more here than there was last time.” Sampson pulled his axe off of his back as he spoke and stared down the enemy. His mouth hung open when he finished speaking, and Locke could tell that the bovine was practically salivating as he looked at the snakes.

“We can try the same plan as last time, but we’re going to have to be more careful. Bianca, Katherine, I’m going to need you two to grab the one on the right. I’ll draw out the one on the left, so you three just work on that middle one just like we did last time,” he instructed, looking between Sampson, Sparky and Reginald. “Blue Phoenix Brigade doesn’t lose people!” Tubal shouted excitedly.

“Blue Phoenix Brigade!” the others shouted back in unison, causing Locke to feel a little jealous. He had never been part of a group like that, since work had always gotten in the way of any comradery.

And while you’re doing that, I’m going to just work on my potions. Locke planted himself so that he had a good view of the clearing that would soon host the death of at least three creatures and went back to work gathering the materials he needed.

The snakes watched as Tubal and the Succubi circled around them until they were on either side, and then the giant serpents began untangling their bodies. Tubal drew his bow and readied an arrow, and the Succubi spread their wings, took to the air, and started flapping until they had lifted themselves at least ten feet off the ground, a height that looked like it would be just high enough to stay out of reach of the Knight-Clubbers.

Katherine, only different from Bianca in that she had longer hair, was the first to make a move. She readied her whip and cracked it across the distance right in front of the snake, drawing its head up and into the air. The whip looked nasty enough to flay skin off a grown man, but it barely phased the creature and only served to draw its attention as the monster quickly slithered toward the pair. Before it could get directly under them, however, the two began furiously snapping their whips toward the creature’s head. Finally, one of Bianca’s attacks managed to wrap the leather cord around the snake’s neck. She pulled as hard as she could and yanked the front half of the snake into the air.

“This thing is heavier than Sampson!” Bianca complained. “Can you give me a hand?”

“On it,” Katherine answered, her own whip twisting around the serpentine head at just that moment. She furiously beat her wings and heaved upward as she assisted Bianca in hoisting the snake’s head. Even caught in a noose and hoisted above the ground, the creature was still a threat to anyone that wasn’t airborne. It swung its tail back and forth, smashing into trees and bushes, and its body heaved back and forth on the ground attempting to curl and uncurl.

“We don’t have forever,” Bianca shouted down to the others. “You two better be quick!”

Locke looked over and saw that both Tubal and Sparky had already engaged their respective snakes. Tubal did nothing more than shoot a few arrows into his snake before he turned and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t faster than the Knight-Clubber. Slowly but surely, the terrifying creature gained ground on the fleeing man. You’ve probably got about five minutes to circle around and get someone to peel that off you before things go south, Locke speculated as he watched the sprinter dash off into the woods.

The first crack of Katherine’s whip had been like the starting gun at a race for Sparky and Sampson, and they both dashed forward in a mad bull-rush. Sampson, his axe once more holstered onto his back, trailed in Sparky’s drag. Before Sparky got in range, however, the Knight-Clubber hissed and uncoiled so quickly that Locke couldn’t clearly make out its movements. Its giant tail whipped about with the momentum of the uncoiling and struck out towards Sparky. Reginald waved his staff about while muttering something to himself, and a mostly-transparent yellow shield appeared three feet in front of Sparky. The defensive spell only extended as a ninety-degree cone in whatever direction Sparky was facing, and Locke recognized it immediately from all the time he had spent watching gameplay clips. It was a simple spell that stopped all incoming physical or magical attacks until a damage threshold was reached, and after that, it’d break. The force of the serpent’s attack instantly shattered the protective yellow barrier, and the spiked ball on its tail slammed into Sparky’s metal shield, causing it to ring out like a gong, and the Dragon-Wing went flying back into Sampson.

“Thanks, comrade,” Sparky said as Sampson pushed him back into the fight against the now-uncoiled snake. “Flank on the left. This’ll be cake. To Glory!”

“Don’t talk about cake. I haven’t eaten yet!” Sampson laughed at his own bad joke and whipped out his giant axe as he slowly circled around until he was right on Sparky’s left. When the snake struck again, Sparky once more blocked the attack with his shield, except that this time the beast was partially thrown to the right as he deflected the blow. Sampson took advantage of the opening with a strong downward swing. The Knight-Clubber hissed as its flesh was rent apart and a good chunk of its neck was cut open. It wasn’t enough to call a mortal wound, but the angry serpent clearly showed signs that death was soon going to knock on its door if things kept going the same way.

The next blow from the serpent was so fast that Locke barely had time to register it before the sound of its tail club rang out full-force against Sparky’s shield for the second time. The attack had been aimed at Sampson, and Sparky had responded by rapidly throwing his shield arm forward as if he was planning on punching the serpent in the head, stopping the blow just short of its intended target. The snake twisted around and aimed another attack at Sampson, once again ignoring Sparky, and attempted to bite the burly Minotaur. Sparky lashed out with his sword and struck with the flat of his blade across the side of the Knight-Clubber’s face. It was a swift slap that knocked it’s gaze off towards Sparky’s right, and, just like before, Sampson’s axe chopped into its neck. This time, however, the blow caused a lot more damage.

“Third time’s the charm!” Sampson raised his axe and brought it down into the same spot again even as the reptile tried to withdraw backward from the pain. This time, he finished the beast off.

“Ladies first?” Sampson asked and took off running toward the struggling Katherine and Bianca before his question could even be answered.

“If Tubal comes in hot, I’m working on a snare to slow the blasted thing down. Leave it to me!” Reginald called after him. Locke hadn’t been paying attention to the medic since the action had been elsewhere in the brief fight, but he noticed now that the Satyr had been busy chanting some incantation.

The struggle against the Knight-Clubber that the girls had lassoed didn’t last more than a minute and ended the same way the first one did: Sparky intercepted the blows from the tail club on his shield, and Sampson hacked away at the snake’s neck as if it were a tree that needed cutting and his axe was really a hatchet.

When the creature was dead, suspended from the Succubi’s whips, an eerie silence settled on the scene of the battle.

“Where’s Tubal?” Bianca asked, looking around.

“I don’t know, but that beast was moving a heck of a lot faster than he was. You think he’s okay? Did anyone see which way he went?” Reginald asked.

“Reggy, you were the only one who didn’t have to focus on the snakes. If anyone saw where they went, it would be you,” Bianca snapped back. Locke half-expected her to snap her fingers and throw in a ‘mhmm’ after it given the tone of her voice.

“Hey! I was not the only one.” Reginald turned around and pointed to Locke and said, “He wasn’t in the thick of it either. Why are you looking at me?”

Locke looked up from his work like a deer in the headlights. He already knew the question that was coming next: ‘Well, did you see where Tubal went?’ But the thing was he didn’t have the slightest idea what the answer was. Half of him was focused on mixing as many potions together as possible before they were done with the fight, while the rest was distracted by the spectacular battle. A couple confused bandit hit-and-runs notwithstanding, he hadn’t really witnessed a proper Tiqpa fight since he made it off of noob island, and even though he had only been there for a few days, he didn’t remember a single fight being nearly as entertaining to watch as this one. This Blue Phoenix Brigade out-classed anyone else he had seen in combat, and they had relied entirely on actual skill for the fight rather than the flashy abilities that went by the same term and came with their classes.

Everyone always wants to be the legendary fighter, he thought. He was about to criticize the group’s composition but then realized the position he was in. No, wait . . . Where is Tubal? Prove yourself useful, or they might angrily pop you quicker than a pimple on prom night. Locke looked around, trying to think. No, you idiot, they can see just as well as you can. Do you hear anything? They’re being loud, so maybe they missed something. He closed his eyes and tried to listen for the sounds of either a desperate runner or a giant anaconda-sized serpent. Finally, after hearing nothing, seeing nothing and giving up hope, he braced himself for the question.

“Well, Shy? Did you see which way they went?” Katherine asked, the whole group staring at him expectantly.

If he’s circling around, he’ll either be behind me . . . or . . . flip a coin, Locke. “He’s that way,” Locke said and pointed a little to his left in front of him. “But that was just the last place I saw him. No idea where he is now. I can’t see him at all. Can you?” He tried to deflect any possible blame if his guess was wrong. If you can’t see him, how should I be able to?

“Should we go in that direction in case he doesn’t make it back to us?” Sampson asked. No sooner had his question left his mouth than it became evident that there wouldn’t be any need to try and track him down. A small and almost-inaudible rustle of the brown leaves scattered across the ground in the direction Locke had pointed slowly grew into a much louder series of crunches.

There, still too far away to be certain if not for the bathrobe’s unique black design, was Tubal, running full force in his bathrobe with a giant Knight-Clubber chasing him. Behind the snake, moreover, there were also what seemed like a hundred Tiger-Ants. The Tiger-Ants were tiny, housecat-sized tigers, and they really had no ant-like properties other than the fact that they traveled in large groups just like ants and had two fuzzy little antennas sticking out from behind their ears.

“I brought some friends to the party!” Tubal yelled as he continued his mad dash toward the dumbfounded group

“Crud. Everyone get ready! That snare I cast will only hold the snake, so we’ll still have to take care of the Tiger-Ants!” Reginald shouted.

Get ready? Crap, I should too . . . Locke immediately opened the bottle of poison he had just made and applied it to his weapon as he stood up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“Really going to join us, Level One?” Katherine laughed. “Relax and let us handle this. It’s not attractive when a man doesn’t know his limits.”

I’d love to, but those are swarmers. They’re going to wrap around you guys, stream right past and kill me! Locke scowled as he studied the terrain around him, looking for any advantage he could take against the high-level foes quickly approaching. “I’m just getting ready to run if need be . . . Until you can save me, that is.”

“Depending on a pretty woman? Smart man.” Katherine’s smirk managed to grow even wider as she gave him a wink.

Locke’s heart pounded faster as the Tiger-Ants drew closer. Where will I spawn when I die? Did Ash reset my bind point, or will I be square in the middle of the Holy Alliance where they can farm me over and over until a GM bans my account for a second time? Oh, God, I can’t die! Locke’s rapidly growing anxiety had his heart beating three times faster than any doctor would claim is healthy. To make matters worse, he could just imagine Ash watching him from whatever device the GMs used to monitor players and laughing her head off at his situation.

“For honor!” Sparky yelled. He slammed his shield with this sword and charged out in front of the others to intercept the onslaught of incoming foes.

“No! Stop!” Tubal shouted back. “I’ll bring the Knight-Clubber to the snare! They aren’t working together!” It was clear that he was struggling to catch his breath as he ran, and his voice became much clearer when he was no longer a dot yelling in the distance, but almost on them.

Sparky obeyed, quickly backing up to his original position behind the snare, and it wasn’t more than a few seconds after that before the wave of EXP-holders hit. The Knight-Clubber came first and was caught by the trap. Locke positioned himself so that he was a good fifteen paces behind the group, and the battle was actually pretty good for him to watch. As soon as the snake slithered over the trap, magic purple and black chains shot up from the ground and entangled it. One after another, they wrapped around the snake and pulled taut until the serpent was crushed so tightly against the ground that Locke wondered if it would leave a large snake-shaped print even after it was cut up and faded away.

The Tiger-Ants came in behind it, but they didn’t immediately go for the Blue Phoenix Brigade. Instead, they started circling around the Knight-Clubber as if it were an enemy. Three or four of them even lunged out at the immobilized reptile, only to be crushed instantly by its still-free tail which splattered them into the ground with its clubbed end.

“See?” Tubal jumped smoothly into formation with the others like he was trying to take his seat in a class he was twenty minutes late to.

“Can we stain our blades with the lost dignity of these pitiful felines now, Commander?” Sparky raised his sword over his shield.

“Go for it,” Tubal responded. He even managed a chuckle as he pulled out his bow, notched three arrows at once and unleashed them as soon as the string was drawn. Only one of the arrows hit a target, but the one that struck a Tiger-Ant exploded in a flash of blue fire which engulfed the little creature.

What the heck?! Locke mouthed, staring at the burning cat. That is so cool. His mouth continued to hang open in awe as he watched the battle dumbstruck.

The Dragon-Wing and Minotaur, not to be outdone, also charged into the fight against the felines as a good portion of the swarm battled it out with the injured and trapped Knight-Clubber. The Minotaur, approaching the group first, swung his blade a foot or two before he was even in range. Locke thought it was a mistake, but as soon as the axe began to cut through the air, a bright blue flame shot out toward the Tiger-Ants in front of him and incinerated their flesh on contact.

When three felines jumped out from the mass of burning ones, Sparky intercepted them and quickly blocked all three in succession. Whenever one of the attacks struck his shield, a bright blue flame burst out and scorched the attacker in return.

Bianca and Katherine, both still flying above the fray, slashed and whipped the Tiger-Ants with abandon. Unlike their teammates, however, their attacks lacked any of the blue flames signifying special abilities. They used the same, standard whip attacks that they had when fighting the Knight-Clubber, but they were still impressive. The Knight-Clubber died first, and, little by little, the swarm of Tiger-Ants that had surrounded the Blue Phoenix Brigade began to thin out.

“Shy! Watch out!” Katherine shouted.

Since it wasn’t a name he was used to, it took Locke a moment to realize that she was talking to him and that he was about to be jumped by one of the ferocious foot-tall kittens. He nimbly dodged to the right of the cat with a dexterity he wasn’t aware he possessed as it bounced past him. He didn’t miss the opportunity and swung his sword down hard on the beast, slicing it as deeply as he could. Unfortunately for Locke, he wasn’t able to deal more than a bare minimum of damage to the creature, even with the extra damage from the poison on his blade. His attacks were so ineffective that he wasn’t even able to slice into the ant-cat for more than an inch before his sword rolled off, leaving it largely unharmed.

Crap, what am I going to do? He panicked when he realized that his weapon wasn’t going to be effective at all. He didn’t have any time to think it over as the cat turned around, made a loud angry ‘mya’ sound and darted at him with another pounce. Locke repeated the motion, scared to death that even a single scratch on his hand might result in death given their level disparity.

“I could use some of that help you mentioned, Kat!” Locke shouted back at the Succubus, but only got a “Busy!” in response.

You’re not going to die like this and let Anthony ruin your life twice in one day, are you? Locke chided himself. If you can’t handle one lousy Tiger-Ant, how are you going to take on the leader of the Holy Alliance? His internal lecture continued as the feline’s angry ‘mya mya’ war cry sounded off before it went in for a third pounce. Make him taste death, you wimp. Wait a minute . . .

This time, as the cat leaped forward, Locke took out three potions and threw them in the cat’s mouth just as it pounced toward him again. One of them bounced off his snout harmlessly, but two landed directly in its open mouth. Locke took a gamble and slashed at the bottles, smashing them open in the Tiger-Ant’s mouth, and dodged out of the way as quickly as he could. The Tiger-Ant’s claws narrowly missed his right side before the monster landed and went into a coughing fit. Between the glass shards stabbing into its mouth and the poison it had swallowed, the Tiger-Ant had gone from seemingly invincible to near death in a moment.

Not one to hesitate, Locke rushed forward with his poison-coated blade and began to stab the Tiger-Ant as fast and hard as he could, jamming his blade into its eye until a thrust finally sank deep enough to land a killing blow. That’s right, and the next one is for you, Anthony. He grinned from ear to ear as he fell back on his butt, finally able to relax.

When he looked up, he saw the faces of the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade members staring at him as they moved between the still-twitching Tiger-Ants’ corpses.

“I’m guessing that all those fancy blue flames you guys shoot are why you went with the name?” Locke asked, chuckling before letting his hands slide down and his back lie flat against the ground. As soon as the adrenaline left him, and the risk was over, he felt light as a feather. All he wanted was to close his eyes and savor the feeling--that good feeling that came with not dying an excruciating death from a devil kitty.

“No, we geared our talents towards the flames after the name. Gotta keep our style, you know?” Bianca giggled.

“Impressive work there, stud,” Katherine cooed. “I think I might just have to raise my opinion of you.”

“Honor is not obtained from a giant crushing a thousand ants, but from the weak toppling the strong through tenacity and bravery. You have done well to earn your merits today,” Sparky said, or at least Locke thought it was Sparky from the voice and the heavy role-playing. Sparky clearly took his role as the ‘Honorable Dragon Knight’ way more seriously than most people ever would.

“Yeah, you’re not bad, kid,” Tubal complimented him as he stuck out a hand. “You going to join us next fight? Or you going back to paying with potions? I mean, if you join us, we can wave the fee of five extra poisons. You’ll clearly be as good as us when you catch up in level, which I imagine will be pretty quick.”

Locke sighed. That’s right, I have potions to make. No sleep for you, Locke, you’ve still got a full day of grinding ahead of you. He grumbled to himself as he stood up and brushed the dirt off his back and pants. “No, I gotta keep working. I really appreciate the offer, though. You guys are great.” He gave his best and most sincere-looking false smile. He wasn’t faking it because he thought that they were bad people, but it was hard to feel any sort of mirth when he knew that he was going to be faced with hours of boring, mindless, repetitive tasks and no break.

“Suit yourself, but you’re always welcome to join us on the front line if you get bored,” Tubal said, dropping the matter as quickly as he brought it up.

“And you’re always welcome to join me at the bar,” Katherine winked. “I mean, as long as you’re buying the drinks.”

“Never take her up on that offer,” Bianca giggled. “It’s hard to really get drunk in the game, and she only orders shots.”

“I do not!” Katherine protested.

“Prey awaits! Idle chatter shouldn’t get in the way. Onward!” Sparky pointed his sword in a direction away from the group and then started walking that way.

“Does he know where he’s going?” Sampson asked Reginald.

“Does he ever?” Reginald answered and the whole group laughed a bit.

Laughter, fun, exciting fights like this . . . Locke sighed. I wish I could take a break and do that.

“Cheer up, Shy. We won’t let your work get interrupted next time,” Reginald said, patting him on the shoulder. “But at least you got some levels out of it, so if we do let one slip, you should be fine.

You misunderstand my pain, but who can blame you? You could never know what it’s like. Locke shook his head. Lonely was the worker’s life, and he’d never see the only people who could ever sympathize with him. The only people who would know the pain of twelve- to eighteen-hour work days seven days a week would be the people he could never meet because they’d be working--not playing Tiqpa. These kids could afford to goof off for hours at a time on a video game, so how could they empathize? How could I ever expect anyone not to have Anthony’s reaction to my situation? Disbelief, shock. That’s all that awaits the truth, especially considering it's apparently illegal to do what I’m planning on doing . . . But he is right, though, at least I picked up some levels from the fight. Locke tried to focus on the positive and not spend too much time dwelling on problems he couldn’t solve at the moment. I guess I should check those out. We did get a ton of kills, so there will be plenty of . . .

“WAIT!” Locke shouted, stopping the group.

“What? Are we under attack?” Tubal had pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow before the first syllable even left his mouth. “Where is it? Who is there?”

“Sorry, just give me a minute. I’m going to throw these corpses in my inventory. Can you wait a few seconds? Or help me?” Locke pleaded. If there is a product, there is a way to move it. None of this is a waste, there has to be a market for it all! Locke looked at the myriad of corpses scattered across the ground.

Silence fell across the group like their jaws had fallen the floor as, one-by-one, they all gave Locke an even bigger look of disbelief than when he had managed to use the high ingestion damage of the potions to kill the Tiger-Ant.

“You can’t be serious?” Sparky finally asked. “You are going to desecrate the bodies of worthy foes?”

“I’m going to make money so that I can buy more bottles for my wonderful benefactors,” Locke answered, trying to spin his motives as he quickly shoved one corpse after another into his inventory. He sincerely hoped that there wouldn’t be a cap to how much it could hold. Every second they stood around confounded was a second more for him to pillage the recently-made, above-ground pet graveyard.

“If you’re hocking the items, we’ll help you carry them. But I suspect it wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask for 10% of the earnings on every corpse you manage to sell?” Tubal asked, nodding to himself while he scratched his chin.

Ugh, that sly dog . . . Locke groaned. Tubal knew that Locke didn’t have much room to negotiate, and just like when they discussed Locke joining the group, he was taking advantage of him. But what am I going to do? At least he’s not excessively greedy. “Sure, that seems fair.”

“Sparky, Sampson, grab the meat, but let’s not take too long.” Tubal issued out the order and then headed off in the direction that Sparky had been charging earlier.

You mean: Let them do all the work so that you can know exactly how many corpses I sell. You’re a clever one, Tubal. Clever, clever. Locke made a note not to underestimate this person. There was a clear reason why he was in charge of the group, and it wasn’t his stylish bathrobe.

Chapter 3

Locke took the opportunity to check out what he had gained from leveling while the Blue Phoenix Brigade was busy fighting a pair of Knight-Clubbers. The fight with the three serpents and Tiger-Ants had skyrocketed him from Level 1 to Level 23. It was rather impressive, considering it would normally take someone a day or more to get from ten to twenty. Then again, that was the benefit of power-leveling. Later on, without a doubt, he would be able to find a way to make money off this EXP-gaining shortcut. The only problem with such a scheme was that you couldn’t return to noob island once you left, so trying to find a way to ferry the starting players over to the high-level mobs on the main continent would be difficult. Later, Locke, one thing at a time. He had to focus on what was going on around him. What I really need to do is find a way to inject myself with caffeine every twenty minutes without leaving the game. Then I could stay awake and on task longer. That would be better than the combined coffee/toilet breaks I have to take now, he mused.

Most of the leveling choices concerning stats were easy. He didn’t need to meet any basic stat requirements to make potions like he had to for swords as a blacksmith. The skill tree, however, was a completely different animal. Any skill he picked would permanently impact his play style forever, and a single bad decision could potentially cripple his future profits. At Level 20, for example, a mage is forced to pick an elemental path such as fire or ice--and then they are stuck with it for the rest of the game. When Level 40 rolled around, they’d have to make another decision and further specify how they wanted to mold their playstyle. They had to choose whether or not they wanted to be an Enchanter, augmenting allies; a Sorcerer, focusing on offensive spells; or a Magus, focusing on defensive spells.

The Alchemist class was no different, and Locke was hesitant to make a decision without knowing what path it might force him down. There was very little information known about the skills or trees, and the prospect of making the wrong choice made Locke anxious. Putting off a choice between the three options--something he was allowed to do since he had permanently disabled in-game notifications after he first started crafting and decided that listening to ‘You have successfully crafted a cheap iron sword’ hundreds of times would be beyond obnoxious--he went straight to the skill tree to look at what talents were available for the Alchemist.

When he opened the skill tree, however, he didn’t find a single skill listed. There were hundreds of recipes, most of them were greyed out, indicating that he couldn’t learn them yet for whatever reason, but two were backlit to show that he already knew them. There were five yellow, pulsing options above one of the two, the Deadly Poison recipe, that let him know he had choices to make. The other option remained unchanged, and Locke suspected that he hadn’t reached a high enough level on the healing potion to actually unlock any of its branches.

He expanded the menu and inspected the new options. Each was very similar to Deadly Poison, except that instead of adding one point of damage to a weapon, each new skill added a debuff that would apply to whomever the weapon struck. The debuff subtracted one point from one of his enemy’s stats on strike or caused whoever consumed it to lose 10 status points, both effects being multiplied by the skill level. The effect would, like the poison, last five minutes. They all had lame names too, things like Weakening Poison (for Power), Slowing Poison (for Speed), Fragility Poison (for Vitality), Soulbane Poison (for Spirit) and Butterfly Poison (for Concentration). Locke did a double take on the name ‘Butterfly Poison’ and chuckled. That’s Ash, isn’t it? he thought, remembering that she was the one who had pushed for the class’s introduction in the first place.

About then, a timely message popped up:

You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to open your skill tree and see those names. I still can’t believe that tool, Gary, didn’t notice me change the name on the one for concentration. I was going to change all the names, but I figured he might get angry if I changed Soulbane to Gary’s Mom, or the Weakening Poison to Leg Day. Anyway, I should probably also mention something encouraging to get you motivated. Like, if you don’t make my favorite Alchemist class famous before I get fired, my last act will be to ban your account and then find out where you live and beat you with a giant rainbow trout so hard your grandkids will smell like dolphin food. Yeah, that sounds very encouraging. You feel inspired, right? Have fun!

P.S. Did you know that no one in the office knew the word Zymurgist? You’d think that at least one of them would have been able to look it up online.

Locke laughed at the message. He could even hear the ogre-sized plate armor’s cute voice as he read it. Zymurgist? A scientist who studies brewing? Without a panda nearby, most people probably just won’t understand what a brewmaster really is. He shrugged. Realizing he wasn’t exactly excited about any of the debuffs, he moved right on to the big decision he had been dreading: the specializations.

You have reached Level 20! You may now take on a specialization for your Job Class. There are three different specializations the Alchemist can choose from:

Apothecary: Apothecaries draw customers of all sorts and sizes, constantly harassing them to make a potion for everything from a blister on their foot to unmentionables on the backside. That’s why the Apothecary spends most of his time learning how to make the one thing he really wants to give his customers: Poison. An Apothecary has bonus options for each of their damage-inflicting poisons.

Pharmacist: People often complain that they are assaulted outside of or near a good Pharmacist’s shop. It’s gotten to the point that, in some towns, they’re labeled as locations of especially bad luck. All that should be ignored, however, because, whatever the reason people find themselves injured, the Pharmacist, no matter how high-priced his goods, will always have the appropriate remedy for their troubles. A Pharmacist has bonus options for each of their health-restoring potions

Zymurgist: If there was one potion that, when drunk to proper proportions, could dispel all sincerity and manners, it would be beer. But let not the drunkards in the tavern rave about its benefits when the Zymurgist hasn’t even begun to recount them all. The Zymurgist gets bonus properties to all ‘Buff’ potions and ‘Debuff’ poisons.

Locke studied all the available options. So, I can be a brewmaster, eh? He got a little misty eyed at the thought. Like most of the men in his college dorm, he had spent many nights dreaming of making a fortune as a brewer. Drink beer all day, tend bar all night--it was a dream that far surpassed his limits. What also caught his eye was that none of these specializations limited his ability to make any of the potions or poisons. Each of them just said that, by selecting a specialization, he’d get bonus benefits for his poisons or potions.

Hmmm. . . Locke looked at the three long and hard. He would have loved to spend all day picking between them, but he knew that time was precious. Whatever. I already have a poison. Might as well stick with it: I select Apothecary! he told Tiqpa.

You are now an Apothecary. You have been granted additional options for all damage-inflicting poisons.

And now I can handle all the rude customers! The Apothecary knows my pain so well, and I have just the perfect customer to kill. He wanted to rub his hands together maniacally and give a slow ‘muwahaha’ laugh to complete the villain stereotype from a 1980s cartoon, but he decided it might not be for the best with a group of customers within earshot.

He went back to the skill tree, or potions tree as it might as well be named, and looked at Deadly Poison. The same five yellow, pulsing poisons were still above it, but three new options had appeared underneath it:

Sticky Solution: Adds a +10% per poison skill level increase to the duration of the poison’s effect for augmenting weapons.

The Persistent Client: Adds a lingering effect on the ingester of Deadly Poison or victim of a weapon with Deadly Poison applied. Over 10 seconds, the ingester or victim will receive an additional 50% of the Deadly Poison’s base damage. This effect may stack infinitely.

Growing Ambition: Increases the base damage of weapons to which Deadly Poison is applied by .25% per skill level of poison.

Locke’s eyes shined with dollar signs as he saw all three of the effects. He was already confident that he could make a decent living off the Alchemist class, but now that he saw the bonus effects he could add to a potion, a decent living would be an understatement. If he was able to get his Deadly Poison to a skill level of 100, that would be 25% bonus damage to the weapon! Or, with Sticky Solution at 100, it could be applied once and practically forgotten because of its ridiculous duration. No, wait, that would kill my customer base. If they could apply just one of the potions and forget about it, I’d have never have repeat customers. That’d ruin my income! Locke kicked himself for thinking of selecting that one. Well, at Level 23, I have twenty-two free skill points to allocate. May as well see how this works. Locke took a deep breath and selected the ‘Growing Ambition’ poison. He was scared for a minute, worried the other options would disappear, but as his selected effect went from pulsing yellow to white, the other two remained, each one pulsing yellow on their own. Alright, time to grab the DoT, or damage over time, so I can get that damage even higher and hopefully the paycheck that goes with it! He grinned.

As Locke made the new potions, impressed with their bonus attributes and thoroughly satisfied with his Apothecary pick, he felt a tinge of regret that he didn’t put a point in the extended longevity for the potions. It would mean that for the rest of the game people would be wanting a new set of potions every five minutes. On the other hand, if he was with a leveling group, just for his Journeyman potions alone, he’d reduce the required potions he had to shell out per member to stay in the party from twelve to eight. That’s thirty-three percent fewer poisons that will have to be spent keeping my membership in these power-leveling groups, Locke thought, then quickly opened the menu and grabbed the poison duration bonus. Hopefully, people will be way more interested in buying potions that don’t fade away in five minutes.

“Hey guys,” --Locke stopped the group as Sparky and Sampson were busy lifting corpses-- “I have new poisons for you,” he offered.

“The old ones haven’t worn off, though,” Sampson grunted as he picked up four Tiger-Ants and stashed them away.

“These are better . . . A marked improvement if I may say so myself,” Locke bragged as he tossed one to Tubal. “Check them out! I think you’ll like the new product a lot.”

Tubal held the poison, letting his teeth show from behind a smile for only a moment before a straight face returned. “Are you going to be using these to pay for the leveling now?”

“Well, can I shave off those five poisons per hour and maybe stick with just five extra at the end?” Locke tried to haggle, hoping he might be able to give away fewer of his wares when they parted. He didn’t mind the five poisons per hour of power-leveling, but if he could do better, why not try?

Tubal grinned. “Deal. Everyone, trade out your bottles for the new poisons. You’re going to like these a lot.”

“I hope so,” Locke said, using his most polite voice. “A customer’s satisfaction brings me nothing but joy.” And now you can level me faster, he thought to himself with a laugh. The only depressing part of the whole power-leveling experience was that he was constantly having to recycle the bottles he used. Since he had started with only a measly two hundred empty bottles and he had no way to purchase more, he couldn’t afford to let one go to waste. If he could find a way to sell his product and procure containers in bulk from all the way out here in the wilderness, well, that would be a much better deal. Oh well, once I get to civilization and this product hits the market, I’ll be rolling in gold and orders, he thought as he patted a bottle of his trusty poison. Enough to afford something to stab Anthony with.

As the day drew closer to an end, it took all of Locke’s willpower to push through and keep picking flower after flower. In truth, he felt like he had finished ten years of job training for a florist shop. The group was growing restless, and even as he drew closer to the Level 40 mark, he still hadn’t received the next level of specialization decisions. As a Blacksmith, he had been granted more options at Level 30, and he had been expecting the same progress with his new class. What the heck? You’re not going to tell me that the next choice I get will be at Level 60, are you? It better happen at Level 40, or I’m going to be really upset with Ash. Locke couldn't help but feel very disappointed. The first specialization had given him such immense bonuses that his potions had more than doubled in value, and he had been looking forward to increasing his profit margins once again.

“Is this going to be the whole day? Killing stupid Tiger-Ants and Knight-Clubbers?” Sampson complained as he finished throwing another pair of Knight-Clubbers in his inventory.

“There is no glory in killing the weak. There is no reward in murdering the defenseless,” Sparky exclaimed boisterously.

“No reward? Why do you always have to be so dramatic with stuff,” Katherine asked, vocalizing her exasperation. “Just say it. You don’t like the fur-balls and slither-withers because there isn’t any loot. I think we can all agree that that’s a problem.”

“Definitely. We’ve been out here hacking and slashing like our lives depended on it, and the only one with something to show for it is the flower picker on the sidelines. At least his poisons are getting better. No offense, Shy.” Sampson’s Minotaur face shriveled up in disgust.

I’m not offended at all, but the lack of loot is apparently more offensive to you than any words I could say. Locke wanted to laugh out loud as he saw the cringing, bullheaded axe-wielder look pained like he missed a morning bathroom run and chugged too much coffee. Wait, is that actually what he needs to do? How does the game notify someone that they’ve gone past the threshold and have to make a break before something breaks?

“You guys want to take a quick break? I can check the forums for good loot zones around here,” Locke suggested, looking at the Minotaur with a little bit of worry. He’s not planning to hold it the entire gaming session, is he? Do people do that?

“I’m going to grab a sandwich real quick while we pause. I haven’t eaten in ages,” Bianca said. “My mom’s starting to make skeleton jokes at me.”

“Your mom?” Locke looked over at her, the question obvious as it hung on his words.

“Yeah, can’t beat free when it comes to rent, and we both work at the same place,” Bianca explained, a tinge of shame carried with each word.

“Don’t be embarrassed. If I could stay at my parent’s pro bono, there is no way in hades you’d catch me anywhere but there. Cheap is cheap!” Locke tried to smooth out what he felt like was an accidentally-stabbing remark. Seriously, what I would give for a free room to stay in.

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” Bianca responded and gave him ‘the eye.’

Crap, now I’ve done it. Locke grimaced as he saw her expression. “Well, what do you two do for a living?”

“We work at a doggy daycare. Well, I say ‘work at,’ but my mom owns it, so it’s more like she manages it, and I do all the work. You know how parents are, though, right?”

Locke couldn’t help but frown. Did she not get the part where I don’t have a set of parents to crash at for free? Or is she purposefully taking shots at an open wound? She must still be mad at me for the embarrassed assumption. “I wish, but, hey, let me be right back. I need to go check on that map.” He excused himself as quickly as he could and logged out before anything else could come from the conversation. There was no reason to drag out it out if she was still upset with him and gunning for nothing but potshots.

Hopping on the forum and checking what was said about the area around him, he found one particular article about a swamp that started less than a ten-minute walk south of where they currently were. The only notes it had were: ‘Heard there was great loot if you can find the boss. Our group was wiped by those filthy little P-Ps though. They’re everywhere, and they are deadly. Don’t mistake the books.’ What the heck are P-Ps? Locke stared at it. It does say that it will have some good items, though, so I suppose this will do.

He quickly noted the location, took a break for necessities and a fast snack and then logged back in. “Are you a fan of swamps?” he asked as soon as he had entered the game. With everyone else still gone, Reginald was the only one back to hear him.

“Like, the crocodile, leech and hillbilly infested places littered across Florida?” Reginald looked at Locke with a suspicious glare.

“Uhhh . . .” Is someone from Florida? “Maybe? I’ve never been.” Locke did his best to dodge the accusation. “Are there a lot of hillbillies in Florida?”

“Yep, I’m one of them. I say we do the swamp. I bet it’ll freak out little miss Sampson,” Reginald said with a laugh. “She hates things that are icky and gross.”

“She?” Locke’s face spasmed in confusion. “Don’t you mean ‘he’?” Does he hate him? Is he making fun of him? That was too many times in a row for it to be a mistake.

“Oh, no, Sampson and Sparky are both girls. They play as dudes because they hate being hit on. I have my suspicions that Katherine and Bianca are both guys, but I’ve yet to find confirmation.”

Is he messing with me? I mean, “How do you know for certain on Sampson and Sparky? Does Sparky have a real name other than a bad reference to a breath attack he’s never used?”

“You mean ‘she’s’ never used?” Reginald laughed. “And I know for certain because I’ve been playing games with them forever. Trust me: They’re both girls, and they’re going to kill me if you say anything about it, so shhhh.” He put a finger up to his goatish mouth.

This guy is totally kidding me, right?

“Hey, don’t give me that look!” Reginald called Locke out on his surprised facade. “Name a single MMO where there aren’t a ton of guys playing as girls, being overly flirtatious and trying to get extra items from people. Or girls playing as guys to avoid the throng of creeps that try to hook up with them.”

“Well . . .” Locke thought about it for a few minutes. “I guess you’re right.” He gave up. Reginald’s points were all legit, and Katherine and Bianca’s attitude in any game other than Tiqpa would have cast suspicion on them as being that type of men who take advantage of the different gender. “But why are you telling me now?” Locke couldn’t figure that one out.

“Cause I like to mess with the new people,” he cackled a bit. “It’s something us swamp people enjoy.”

Locke wasn’t sure how to take that, but if messing with him was the objective, he had succeeded. Not like I care what they are. I’m just here to make money and get levels. He shook off the awkwardness. First, a giant suit of armor had a tiny girl’s voice, and now a giant Minotaur was supposedly played by a girl. There is clearly a running theme with this game. Locke laughed to himself at the irony.

“What’s funny?” Bianca asked from behind him. “And where we going?”

“Well, the best recommendation that I could find on the forums is a swamp dead south of us. Apparently, if you can find the boss, it should have a lot of decent items. You guys should be the first group to kill it if we manage to find it.” Locke was careful not to include himself in the group that had to fight it. It might raise their expectations of his role in the party, and he definitely didn’t want to risk dying to a boss and ending right back up in the Holy Alliance camp.

“Sounds great to me,” Tubal said, popping out of what was literally thin air. The whole group almost materialized in unison with Sampson being the only one who hadn’t shown up yet. “What are the creatures we’re going to have to fight around there?” he asked.

“Well . . .” I really don’t want to say we’re going to have to beat a bunch of little P-Ps. That has to be an acronym, right? I know this game isn’t exactly for children, but I thought that was because of the gratuitous violence. “I’m not entirely sure,” he lied. “But, apparently, they’re rather difficult. The first group to attempt the swamp was wiped.”

“So, you think that, even though the first group was roasted like tiny marshmallows over an open flame, we’ll be fine? Or do you just not care if we die because you’re not directly in the fight?” Reginald leveled a glare at Locke.

Why are you messing with me, dude? “The first one? I mean, you guys can do it, right?” he responded, challenging their ego. This always worked with gamers.

“Had David questioned his ability to topple Goliath, would he have ever been King? Had the Emu not stood valiantly against the onslaught of well-armed, bloodthirsty Australians, would we know their legend today? We must be like David! Be like the Emu and fight against the unwinnable odds until we are legends in the history books!” Sparky was practically beating his chest as he spoke with the most over-the-top knightly voice Locke had ever heard anyone use.

“Easy there, Sparky. I think we all agreed already. Reginald was just giving the new guy a hard time. Something I told him not to do.” Tubal gave Reginald the type of look that a schoolteacher might give an annoying child who wouldn’t stop throwing paper airplanes into a fan just to mess with the other students.

“Again?” Sampson asked, appearing at last. “Why must you always tease people in every game we play, Reginald?”

Reginald didn’t respond to Sampson’s question and brushed past it with a quick change of subject. “So we’re going to the swamps, Sampson! I haven’t been to any swamps in this game since it started. Cold, dark, wet and covered with icky things. It’ll be just like home, eh?!”

“Shut up,” Sampson snapped. “Is there anything without a swamp?”

Reginald did call that reaction, Locke noted, giving a little credibility to every other accusation the guy had made.

“Nope. Group made a choice. Let’s go!” Reginald insisted and started the journey south with Tubal, leaving the others to trail after them.

“So there wasn’t even a hint at what monsters killed them?”

“Umm, not that I can recall,” Locke fibbed again. “Hold on. I need to focus on flower picking. It’s very serious work.” Locke excused himself from being asked any more questions about the ‘P-Ps’. Whatever they were, everyone would find out when they got there. No reason to worry until then.

With every step they took further south, the terrain around them seemed to transform, and they seemed to descend deeper and deeper into a shadow of the forest they had come from. At first, it was just like they were walking into a puddle, the water coming up no higher than a few inches. By the time they reached the location the group online had mentioned, the water was already up to their knees, and Locke was finding it more and more difficult to move quickly while picking his various flowers, fronds, and leaves. I need to throw some points into stats, or I’m going to be up this creek without a paddle, Locke groaned.

He opened up his menu and thought for a minute about how to sort out his points. Well, speed is a must since it will determine how quickly I can pick the flowers and how precise my hand movements are . . . and I’ll need some vitality, but I’ll probably also want some strength, too. Maybe, in the future, I can try making a sword even though I’m not a blacksmith, he thought. Okay, since I’m not tanking, this should be a good ratio. He split his points up such that, with each level, he put three points into speed, two points into strength and one point into vitality. If he were a fighter, he would normally grab some concentration to help with magic defense, but he felt like that would never be a concern. Anthony doesn’t use any magic, he thought, glancing over the stat.

“Do you guys see anything?” Tubal asked while Locke finished allocating his points.

“Nothing. Are you sure that this is the right spot, Shy?” Katherine asked, looking around at Locke.

“Yeah, this is the spot. We’re actually right at the coordinates mentioned. There should be something around here.” He peered about, but it was hard to see anything. There was a grimy layer on top of the swamp that blocked most visibility through the surface of the water, and it was too dark with the trees blocking most of the sunlight to see anything above it properly. “No chance one of you has night vision?” he asked.

“Bravery is its own light in the darkness,” Sparky said, opening his mouth and breathing fire in front of him. As he did, it burned away the scum and lily pads that blocked them from seeing under the surface of the water and revealed several piranhas in tiny little priest outfits holding books.

Piranha Priests. P-Ps. Locke put it together almost instantly and couldn’t stop himself from groaning at both the misunderstanding and the ridiculous image of piranhas in priest outfits. Why didn’t they just say piranhas?

“Sparky, blaze the rest of the water. I think we’re surrounded!” Tubal shouted. It was easy to tell from the sound of his voice how worried he was, and Katherine, Bianca and Sparky all took to the air as soon as the words left his mouth, leaving Locke and the other three land-bound members of the group to tough it out where they were.

“The flames of war rage on!” Sparky sounded out as she attempted to burn any remaining scum away. The only clusters left when she was done were those right next to Locke, Reginald and Tubal, whom he had attempted to spare from being barbequed.

“Sampson, I know you hate this water, but I need you to go low, get wet and make me some sushi!” Tubal called out.

All these fish people and none of them can say, “It’s a trap?” Locke laughed to himself, then realized exactly how deadly the situation was. Wait, there is no way those P-Ps are all going to be killed before they get to me! I need to get airborne too! Locke looked at Katherine and Bianca with pleading eyes. Or . . . actually . . . Locke took out the remaining Journeyman Deadly Poison’s he had on him. They were the last of their kind as he had already moved up to Novice’s Deadly Poison, the +6 version of the poison, a while ago. He quickly uncorked three of the bottles and tossed them into the water around him, making sure to note where they landed.

The poison poured out of the bottles as soon as they landed in the water and billowed into a thick cloud. One of the miniature Sushi Priests, a name Locke suddenly thought up for them so as to avoid saying ‘P-Ps’ ever again, swam through the cloud and began to wither and die almost instantly. Tubal and the others didn’t seem to notice, and they continued to swing at anything that came within range of them. Unfortunately, their go-to techniques were mostly worthless due to the terrain. The fire-based attacks that they had based their group around just weren’t going to cut it when their opponents were underwater. As a result, since they had no other fallback option for clearing out small groups of mobs, they were struggling their best not to be eaten by the Sushi Priests.

Locke stared down at the remainder of his poison. He definitely didn’t want to part with precious cargo, but another solution wasn’t likely to present itself. Finally, he relented and tossed a few bottles into the water near the other three grounded companions. This time, they clearly caught on to what was happening when Tubal noticed that one of the piranhas that was about to take off his leg instead just stopped, turned belly up and slowly floated to the surface like so many victims of dynamite fishing.

“What the heck, Shy? You’ve been holding out on us!” Tubal watched one after another of the little fishies turn from evil, threatening, horror-house aquarium-occupants to unsliced dinner guests.

“I figure that if it works for the oil companies, why not for us?” Locke forced himself to laugh even as tears from lost profits streamed down his cheeks. If we had made a town trip, those would have all been gold. Beautiful, beautiful gold coins. He sniffled in regret.

“So is that all we do for this area?” Tubal asked. “Throw Shy’s poisons into the water?”

“I don’t know, but I’m assuming those things wiped the other group, so they didn’t see the boss. I imagine it won’t be so easily bested,” Locke said, still wanting to cry over watching all of his hard work literally being poured down the drain.

“Shy? Are you okay?” Sampson asked, looking down at the toxic green cloud he was wading in.

“No . . .” Locke didn’t know how to explain it. “That’s not it. It’s just . . . personal stuff.” Like, I just personally lost money. “Could you help me collect the bottles?” Locke asked, bending down to pick the ones up in front of him.

“Oh, sure,” Sampson said, and he was the first one to reach down and help. Tubal was already busy grabbing the little priest bodies.

“It seems like the tiny staves these fishy priests were holding act as charms that can be put together to make a necklace,” Tubal said as he grabbed a corpse. “There’s a limit of five that can be used to make a single necklace, but it looks like it’ll be fun to custom make your own jewelry with the attributes you want.”

Custom made accessories? Holy crud, that could sell! Locke’s eyes burst open like dollar signs as he greedily eyed the dead Sushi Priests in front of him. What luck is this?! He opened up his inventory after snatching up seven of the charms. Some of the items were repeated, but they were all still bound to make money on the market.

Piranha's Blessing of Radioactive Bug Bites: +2 Power. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Caffeine-Covered Candies: +2 Speed. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Beer Commercial Promises: +2 Vitality. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Riddle-Out Distraction-Proof Coffee: +2 Concentration. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Hmmm, repeats . . . Is there anything besides straight stat boosts? “Tubal, were there any that gave a boost to spirit?”

“Is that an important stat for Alchemists? I mean, these are your kills. You’re welcome to the loot if you insist,” Tubal answered.

Hmm . . . Why is he being nice about this? Locke squinted at Tubal as he tried to figure out what game the group leader was up to. “No, that’s okay, I just wanted to know what the name is for the spirit blessing.” Locke was too hesitant to take Tubal up on the offer. Everything comes with strings. He was far too suspicious of Tubal’s motives, so he had to reject the gesture.

“Ah, well, it’s called the ‘Piranha’s Blessing of Fluffy Pew Pillows.’ Coulda used those on Sundays.” Tubal tossed one of the mini staves over to Locke. “Here, now your collection is complete.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Locke said. He was tempted to make a combination right away with his charms. No, save them for later. Don’t part with even more money. Your gentle heart can’t handle any more cash loss.

“No problem. So, you gonna be using those poisons for every fight?”

And there’s the catch: He wants me to do all the work while we go through the swamp. Actually, with the poisons, I wouldn’t need a group . . . Unless there is something other than Sushi Priests around here. “Umm, no . . . I don’t have enough to keep it up, but maybe if we’re in a bind?” Locke didn’t want to let his avarice become too evident. “Also, it might be helpful to save them for the boss . . . If it’s a swimmer like the piranhas, that is,” he added hastily.

“Good thinking, Shy. We’ll be counting on you if it is.” Tubal’s smile let Locke know that he had been backed into doing the boss fight for them if it was possible.

“Way to step up there, buddy,” Reginald laughed. “Glad we can count on you.”

This sneaky Tubal, he’s always up to something. Locke knew that he had been defeated by the Blue Phoenix Brigade’s cunning commander. He almost felt like saying, ‘I’ll get you next time, Tubal!’ and slamming his fist on a table to scare a sleeping cat. But, for all he knew, Tubal wasn’t being cunning at all. There was a good chance that he was just seeing which pawns he had on the board for when the real game started. “No problem, but while you guys kill the rest of the fish, I think I’m going to get back to my super-manly flower-picking job.” He chuckled and then went back to harvesting.

Most of the flowers in the swamp were the ones that he needed to make the Fragility Poison, the one that would debuff vitality, so he grabbed as many as he could and started upgrading it right away. It actually took three times as many poisons to upgrade than Deadly Poison, but that made sense. Lowering a person’s vitality was a lot more harmful to a player than simply doing damage since each point of vitality gave the player both hit points and damage reduction.

The group pushed forward through the swamp with Locking trailing behind as he made the Fragility Poisons. Sparky constantly burned away the algae, and Tubal would let loose hundreds of arrows with dozens of them actually landing squarely on their mark. The rest of the group just slogged forward, meleeing any fish that got past Tubal’s arrow rain. The only thing that really slowed them down was the amount of time everyone spent picking up the loot and retrieving the arrows from the ground or dead fish. It was rather peaceful, except for the constant smoky smell and five-foot visibility. So much so, in fact, that no one even noticed the giant boss sneak up on the group. If it wasn’t for Sampson’s perfectly-timed warning, the monster would have managed to jump the entire group without anyone ever having noticed it. As luck would have it, the Minotaur’s olfactory senses were much keener than anyone else's.

“Do you guys smell something funny?” Sampson’s snout started sniffing around. “It kind of smells horrendous.”

“It wasn’t me,” Reginald quickly snapped.

“What wasn’t you?” Bianca started sniffing too.

“Oh, nothing,” Reginald said, turning his head around.

Locke, also confused about what Sampson was sensing, took a deep breath through his nose and tried to sort out the scents. He caught a whiff of what he guessed Sampson was talking about, but it didn’t smell like anything that he could place. He turned to ask Sampson what he--or she if Reginald was right--was picking up. That was when Locke spotted it: The back of a large, black beast was moving towards them just underneath the surface of the water, ripples in the water indicating that it was moving closer to them every second.

Locke screamed as he reacted, uncorking two more of his Deadly Poison bottles and tossing them between the group and the rapidly approaching beast.

“Huh?” Sparky turned around to face the sound of the plopping bottles so quick his tail knocked Sampson an inch or two to the right as he spun. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just coming at us quickly!” Locke pointed toward the ever-approaching fiend. “Anyone? Someone? Give me a hand, please!” he shouted as the group looked at the monster close in.

Tubal was the first one to act, unleashing a quick flurry of arrows into the back of the beast. Sparky reacted almost as quickly and pushed forward, placing himself on the edge of the poison cloud in the water. The monster had run into the poisonous plumes, recoiled, and stood up on its legs. It’s now fully-visible back looked like a pincushion thanks to Tubal’s arrows.

Is that a hippopotamus with a bishop’s hat? Locke stared at the giant, fifteen-foot-tall creature in shock.

“Shy, look around us. We got more piranhas! Throw down some of the poison to keep them off us for the fight,” Tubal instructed, drawing Locke back into reality.

“Can do.” Locke cringed at the sacrifice he was making, and he had to work to hold back tears as he uncorked a few more Deadly Poison bottles and tossed them around the group for the fight. How come the boss couldn’t just be easy enough to die from the poison too? He lamented his financial loss and wished that he could have saved a few so that he would have something to show for his efforts.

The Hippo moved in a rather slow, lumbering gait as it tromped one slow step after another towards Sparky. Tubal kept shooting arrows into it, three to five at a time, but none of them seemed to phase the Bishopotamus. It slowly opened its mouth as it trudged onward and licked its lips.

“We got this, Sparky,” Sampson said, coming up behind the Dragon-Wing. It was the same maneuver that Locke had seen them use during their first fight, and every subsequent fight, against the Knight-Clubbers. “Reginald, get that shield up! We’re going in!”

Way to take charge, Sampson. Locke admired the Minotaur’s uncharacteristic leadership. The normally-goofy fighter had stepped up to take control of the situation even as Tubal seemed to break down, his face showing timidity. It's natural, I guess. His arrows didn’t even make the thing flinch.

“I got it,” Reginald affirmed, and the familiar yellow-highlighted shield showed up in front of Sparky right before the Dragon-Wing charged head first into the much, much larger Hippo. His wings extended out, and he shield-slammed the boss with way more force than Locke had ever seen. Unfortunately for Sparky, he just bounced off like a marshmallow ricocheting off the side door of a car.

It looked like the Hippo was finally going to do something other than saunter across the swamp when Sampson thrashed out and unleashed a fiery axe into the Hippo’s side. The results were less than dramatic and nothing nearly as spectacular as anyone had hoped for. The axe had worked--it had cleaved into the monster’s side, and blood was definitely spilling out of the Bishopotamus--but the beast didn’t seem to mind at all. It just looked back and forth between Sparky and Sampson, and then, as Katherine and Bianca started to come closer, it finally attacked.

In what looked like a blur, the giant, open, gaping mouth of the Hippo seemed to instantaneously teleport from where it was in front of the two barbaric melee fighters to Katherine’s position in the air. The movement was so sudden that no one was able catch the attack before its large teeth sank into Katherine’s waistline. The monstrous maw worked back and forth, slowly ripping her in half as waves from its lightning dash rolled out through the swamp water and struck the rest of the group in the chest. It was impossible to ignore the sounds of her screams, and the sheer terror conveyed in them spurred the group on as they frantically tried to kill the brute as fast as they could. But it didn’t matter. Her wailing never stopped.

“I’m almost dead! Help!” Katherine pleaded with them to work faster as her hit points reached bottom, and the Bishop finally managed to snap through her abdomen. The Succubus was split in half and the Bishopotamus chomped down the bottom half of her body like it was a piece of popcorn at the movie theater. When it was done, the brute reared its head back and tossed Katherine’s top half into the swamp, where it fell lifelessly from the air before disappearing beneath the thick cloud of blood-soaked water.

Holy crap, we’re going to die. We’re going to die. We’re going to die. What do I do? Locke panicked. Wait, I have the vitality poisons . . . This guy is clearly relying on his high vitality to mitigate damage. Maybe I can help out. Locke reached into his inventory, pulled out twenty of his freshest batch and chucked one after another into the Bishop’s mouth while it was chewing Katherine’s lower half. Thankfully, you have no manners. If you ate with your mouth closed, I wouldn’t be able to do this, Locke thought, and the third attempt successfully landed a bottle in the bishop’s mouth.

“Oh, God! That’s one already. He’s too quick!” Reginald screamed, and he managed to draw the ire of the Bishopotamus as it turned towards him. The brute’s mad dash slammed into him so hard that Reginald was knocked up into the air before bouncing off the back of a tree behind him with a loud snapping sound that was reminiscent of twigs shattering under the boots of a heavy-set man.

Locke managed to land another Fragility Poison in the Hippo’s mouth on his fifth try. This isn’t fast enough. It won’t help. “Reginald! Take these!” he called out to the staggering Satyr as he did his best to stand back up and regain his footing. When Reginald looked over, Locke tossed him a bag with twenty Fragility Poisons inside. Reginald instinctively caught it, but the look on his face told Locke that he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with them.

Fortunately, knowing what he had to do didn’t end up being required. The Hippo rushed forward again, opened its man-sized jaws and slammed them shut on top of Reginald. Only the Satyr’s feet were visible, dangling from the massive jaws, as the Bishopotamus lifted his new snack into the air, bag and all.

God, I must be a horrible person for doing that. Locke cringed as he listened to the muffled wails from the Satyr as the Hippo slowly ate away at his ally’s health bar. I’m going to hell for this, but that beast just ingested two hundred points of vitality debuff. Everyone else should be able to kill him now. Locke looked at the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade, and defeat was visible on each face as they watched their colleague be consumed.

“Meet back at the bar across the street from the Lion Fountain when you die! You know the drill!” Tubal said, practically putting down his bow.

Does he not want to waste the arrows? I just wasted so many of my potions, and you’re giving up already?! Locke wanted to scream at him. “Don’t just give up! Fight!” he yelled, but he wasn’t exactly a beacon of leadership. Seeing that no one was moving, only watching in horror as their friend was slowly chomped to pieces, he decided that he had to risk it himself. He coated his blade with his best Deadly Poison and dashed at the Hippo from behind. “I gave up so much for this. Don’t let me down!” He was torn between his urge to stay out of harm’s way and make sure that his account was never at risk of being deleted and his unshakable need to make sure that he hadn’t just wasted all that potential gold inside of the Hippo’s belly. The latter won out. If I spend my money, I’m not going home without anything to show for it! He rallied himself and stabbed his puny rat-tanged sword into the hippo’s backside. Much like Sampson’s initial swing, it didn’t penetrate very deeply, but it did draw a small amount of blood.

Sampson and Sparky proved that they were the only two who were still going to try. Bianca and Tubal had both been reduced to a state of slack-jawed wonder as they sat on the sidelines of the battle with cowardice written across their faces.

“Well, if the flower-picking Human can fight, why can't we?” Sampson yelled as he rushed out, axe in hand.

“You won’t steal my vengeance!” Sparky yelled back. “I will have my retribution!” The two both struck out, one with a fiery axe and the other with a sword attack and fire breath as they slammed into the Bishopotamus. This time, though, their attacks were effective. The Fragility Poisons had done their job, and the Hippo’s flesh was brutalized as he roared in pain.

Locke’s instincts flared. Rat’s backed into a corner! Get out, Locke! The dying always try to take someone with them! He panicked again, and he sprinted backward as the hippo spun around. Its teeth sank into the fully-plated Dragon-Wing and swallowed him up in one bite too. Traces of Reginald were still visible when it opened its jaw to consume its new victim.

“For Hon--” Sparky’s voice cut off as the Hippo began to chew on him in earnest. “He--” Despite being partially devoured and stuffed down a monster’s gullet, Sparky was still alive. Locke could hear the muffled sounds of his voice as he desperately tried to convey something, but it was impossible to make out anything other than a few strangled grunts as they came out of the hippo’s mouth.

Sampson hacked away again and again, and eventually even Locke jumped back into the fray, repeatedly stabbing the Bishopotamus’s backside. He could feel his fury building with each stab. Curse you! Curse your stupid-tough skin! Curse your eating of my leveling crew, and curse you for making me waste money on you! Curse everything about you! he mentally raged as his dagger went in and out of the fat swamp boss.

“He’s dead, Shy,” Sampson said, falling back onto his butt. “We did it.”

Locke, having just lost so many of his potion bottles and the liquid gold they contained to that fiend, finally broke down. His face turned red, and he started sniffling as he thought about what the fight had cost him.

“I didn’t realize you cared about us so much.” Sampson reached over and nudged him. “You don’t have to worry, man. They’re going to reappear back in town. We’ll meet up with them there. It’s nothing we weren’t prepared for when we went chasing a boss.”

“Yeah, we’ve died before, Locke. It’s just a game. It’s touching that you’re almost crying over us, but it’s not a big deal. It just means we’re going to lose a little time as we regroup.”

Locke looked up at Tubal and Sampson. Both had managed to put a hand on each of one of his shoulders as they tried to comfort him. You idiots. I know they’ll respawn, but each and every time I use one of those potions it puts me one step further away from my goal! He sniffled once more and wiped his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t actually crying. When he was finished, he took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe anyone would fight that hard for Reginald,” Bianca said, joining the group of misinterpreting friends. “He barely has any friends in real life with how much time he spends messing with everyone.”

“Hey, I’m his friend,” Tubal said, shooting her a glance, “and we’re his guild. So, we’re all supposed to be friends, right?”

“That’s why I said ‘barely’ and not ‘none,’” Bianca said and laughed. Sampson also chuckled at the joke.

“Yeah, but if we tell him that Shy got all misty eyed over Katherine and him dying, he’ll probably rag on poor Shy till the day he dies,” Sampson said. “That guy can’t help but mess with people.”

Tubal shook his head and said, “He needs to know better. It’s almost impossible to recruit people to the Blue Phoenix Brigade when he screws with every new member. We’re not big enough to get away with hazing.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You see how much Shy cares about us? Come on, Shy, you know you want to join us too.” Bianca gave Locke a look he had only seen on kids at the grocery store as they passed the candy aisle.

“Umm . . . Well . . .” Locke didn’t know how to excuse himself from this. “I was hoping to just level and focus on alchemy. This is all a bit too much for me,” he said, trying to weasel his way out of the situation politely. Please don’t be like Anthony.

“Don’t worry. There’s no pressure at all,” Tubal said as he started feeling around the Hippo’s body. “And what you described . . . That’s how every member of the guild starts off: just playing and having fun. Do what makes you happy. We’ll be here if you want a group to do it in. If you ever want to join, though, feel free to let us know. Heck, we may even start power-leveling you without the potion requirement. You wouldn’t believe it from this fight, but we’re actually a pretty good mercenary guild. We’ve been contracted out by an army commander from Sine Nomine a few times and even the Holy Alliance once or twice. Heck, it’s where I got this bathrobe. Managed to take it off of one of the Demons we killed in a large battle. Took most of our group to bring him down, but it was worth it. We earned a good rapport with the Holy Alliance.”

Locke clenched his fist as soon as the words ‘Holy Alliance’ left Tubal’s mouth. “Thanks for the offer. We’ll see how things pan out.” He decided that leaving it up in the air was probably for the best. There was no reason to reject them right away, but if they took a mission from the Holy Alliance, he would back out from the group in a heartbeat. At his level now, he could easily find his way back to the flowery area Ash had started him off in and make Deadly Poisons to his heart’s content.

“So what’s the boss loot, boss?” Bianca pestered as Tubal finished raiding the boss’s corpse. “Anything good drop?”

“Yeah. There is a two-handed scythe. I think you might like it, Sampson, since it’s pretty close in shape to an axe . . . and a shield that I think Sparky will love. The properties on both of these are really great. Oh, and there’s this,” Tubal tossed Locke a bracelet. “I’d probably keep it myself, but you put in work with those potions on that boss. Way to rally us back to the fight.”

Locke glanced at the item, and he had to control his instinct to drool as he read out its properties.

Band of the Faithful: +10 to Spirit, +10 to Concentration, 5% reduction in damage from the elements.

This. Is. Gold, he said to himself, staring at it. That 5% reduction in damage from the elements would sell for such a pretty penny he’d have trouble finding a big enough bag to hold all the gold. Well, at least the inventory does that for me. He snapped back to reality. “Are you . . . Are you sure I can take this?” He felt somewhat guilty. Sure, he had invested a lot of money in the kill, but they had lost three members of their group. He could get those potions back in no time, but that suffering they went through while being eaten . . . It definitely felt real. This item would have been great for anyone in their group, especially Reginald.

“Yeah, you earned it, man. I’d probably have given you the scythe, but I like to mess with Reginald, and I figured I’d give you the item that best suits him,” Tubal said, laughing.

“Thanks.” Locke felt his throat tighten up a bit as he stared at the bracelet. Did he really just give this to me with no expectation of anything back? “Thanks a lot.”

“If you really wanted to show your appreciation to the group, you could toss me a few more of those Deadly Poisons,” Bianca said as she moved in closer. “I mean, I think I’d really like that.”

And give up my bottles? “I’ll keep trading you for the empty bottles when the timers run down,” Locke said. The touchy-feely sensation was gone. Now he just needed to protect his loot. He was already low on his precious cash-generating potions, and he couldn’t afford to just throw them around willy-nilly.

A splashing sound interrupted whatever campfire mirth they were experiencing. “Someone’s coming,” Sampson said. He swung his new scythe into position, and the blue fire he often used for power attacks was already dancing across the blade. “It sounds like a person, and it’s getting closer.”

“I hope it’s just some random person. If it’s another boss, then we’re in real trouble,” Tubal said while he readied his bow, preparing for the worst. “Locke, we’re counting on you if it’s another one of those hip-hop-bishop-apottomo-whatevers. I know that whatever you had in that bag is the only reason we’re alive right now.”

Counting on me? Can we not? He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. He actually liked the group, and seeing them die in such a gruesome way had actually impacted him more than he had thought it would. “Of course, I’ll do what I can.” He feigned more enthusiasm than he actually felt. Even if it meant saving lives, he was never going to feel good about pouring money down the drain. Please, please don’t be a big enemy. I can stomach losing one or two more potions, but don’t make me lose another sack! All I have left are the upgraded +6 versions of the poison, and I don’t even know how expensive these bottles are yet! He took a deep breath to calm himself down and glanced around.

Just as soon as they all readied for combat, though, the sound of the approaching footsteps stopped entirely. “Where did it go?” Sampson looked around trying to find anything that would indicate the source of the noise. “Did it stop? Did it sense us?”

“I don’t know, but right now, I think we need to get out of here,” Tubal said. He appeared to be as lost as everyone else as he peered into the dense fog that hid the source of the noise. “Bianca, can you fly up and check for anything?”

“I would, but it’s too dark. I can’t see anything more than a few feet away. I say we just book it north. We’re not more than a fifteen-minute walk out of here, and if we sprint, we can do it in less than ten,” Bianca said as she flew into the air. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Grab everything that boss might have dropped and run. We can come back out here later to get the rest of the loot.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Sampson said and bolted. Locke tried to keep up, but the discrepancy between the movement speed of a Human and that of a Minotaur out of combat was considerable and was compounded by the large bull-man’s strides.

“Don’t leave me behind!” Locke wanted to shout out to Bianca and Sampson, but they were already so far ahead that their bodies had begun to disappear into the mist. He was afraid that calling out so loudly would attract whatever it was that was coming and draw it closer to them. Then he heard the splashing footsteps again. They were louder and crisper than they had been before, and Locke could actually tell that the source of the noise was directly in front of them. It was a little bit to the right of the dead north they were running, but it was definitely coming towards them fast.

“She’s here!” Sampson yelled. “It’s just a player. No need for alarm!”

Sampson and Bianca both slowed down but kept their weapons drawn. “Hey, I’m Sampson. You gave us a start. We thought you were a boss. What brings you out here?” Locke and Tubal could hear Sampson talking to someone, but they were still too far ahead for either of them to make out who it was. They came into view just in time to see a figure turn blurry and a thrown weapon pierce through Bianca’s wing.

“Crap, she’s a Player Killer!” Sampson swung his axe at the figure as Bianca reeled from the assault.

“Help!” Bianca was spun around and thrown backward by the force of the attack, quickly losing all of her altitude and splashing down into the water.

Sampson’s axe narrowly missed the assailant and instead made a giant splash as the heaving metal blade sank into the thick layer of mud underneath the swamp’s water.

Locke couldn’t make out many of the player’s features other than that it was a dual-sword wielder with pitch-black hair and a dark outfit. He watched helplessly as the shadowy figure sprinted to where Bianca had landed and shoved both of her swords into the Succubus’s back, eliciting a spew of bubbles from Bianca’s submerged face. The player killer pulled both of her weapons from her skewered victim and then plunged them back in two more times in rapid succession. Bianca flailed about in the water, trying in vain to stand up, but each time she managed to get even the smallest bit of leverage, she was forced back down again by another series of blows from behind.

Sampson recovered from his fumbled attempt at cleaving the player in half and moved in closer for another attempt, but unfortunately, each of his swings missed. Even when Sampson used his special attacks, and he swung his fiery axe in wide arcs that looked like they would burn the horizon, the player still managed to avoid them by weaving back and forth, ducking and jumping. “I can’t get a clear shot with you in the way!” Tubal called out, his bow readied and aimed at the dark-haired killer.

Is that a girl? In a bathrobe? Locke slowed down and stopped as the RPK finally came into view. He couldn’t help but stare at the dancing swordswoman in wonder, marveling at how she moved effortlessly as she evaded every attempt by Sampson to strike her. She was so nimble that she made the usually-on-point warrior look like a clumsy buffoon swinging a mop at a fly. Locke couldn’t help but walk forward in a trance as he watched her, now finished with Bianca, slice Sampson over and over again like he was a cow at a butcher’s shop. Each evasion was followed with another thrust and another cry from Sampson. The towering bull’s movements grew slower and slower until finally they stopped stiff and the Minotaur collapsed dead.

Tubal started hyperventilating. He had been holding his bow at the ready during the entire fight, but he had never released a single arrow. She always managed to keep the Minotaur between the two of them, Locke realized. She never gave him a clear shot.

“You wear that? You dare wear that in front of me?” The woman shouted at Tubal and charged at the Human, who stood shaking in his boots.

What are you doing? Locke snapped back to reality when he realized that Tubal wasn’t going to react. Do something! We’re going to die! Panic flooded through him with the realization. If half of his party couldn’t kill her, how was he supposed to do it alone?

“They’re . . . They’re all dead,” Tubal said quietly, his voice quivering.

Crap. Locke’s eyes darted between Tubal and the incoming disaster that signaled instant death. I don’t have time to die here. Not trusting Tubal to break out of his cowardly shaking, Locke turned around and sprinted in the opposite direction of the incoming player. We’re both Humans, so maybe I’ll be able to outrun her, he thought, readying potions in case he needed to clear any Sushi-Priests as he ran. I can’t die here. I can’t die. “I can’t die,” he said aloud, the barrier between his thought and speech shattering with the terror of the situation. “We’re not teens trying to hook up in the woods, so what’s with this horror film scenario?” Locke asked himself out loud. He didn’t even bother to look back when he heard Tubal’s scream and a splash that was likely his body falling into water.

“You never had the right to wear it, you filthy brute!” the woman yelled. A quiet pause passed, no longer than a few seconds, and then Locke heard the splashes made by her footsteps as she approached him at breakneck speed.

“Curse you snotty kids! Curse you entitled brats and your spoiled attitudes!” He started yelling complaints about Anthony, not to any particular person, but just in general as he ran. He knew that impending death was about to hit him like a freight train and leave his corpse buried in the mud just like his three dead allies behind him. “I don’t care if I die today, Anthony. I will kill you and your stupid Holy Alliance if it’s the last thing I do!” he shouted, expecting to be turned into human shish-kabob by the swords behind him any moment.

But then it stopped. The splashes behind him ceased and a voice called out, “Stop!”

For some reason, he did. “What?” he asked, slowly turning around. He didn’t want to make any type of sudden movement or gesture that might be seen as aggressive and prompt her to finish him off. He was dismayed to find out that she was much closer to him than he had anticipated. “Who is Anthony?” she demanded, leveling her sword directly in front of him.

At this point, Locke’s fear was pushed out by other urges as his eyes traced her bathrobe-clad body. She didn’t look like anything he would have expected from a murderer. She was just over five and a half feet tall and had a body that most women could only ever hope to see on the cover a magazine. The jet-black hair he had noticed earlier was tied back, though coming loose in some places. It would have ended somewhere below her shoulders if it were worn down. She had delicate features, a small nose and mouth, and despite her ruby-red eyes, she looked like she would have been better suited to playing the part of the damsel in distress rather than the butcher of the swamp. She edged the sword closer by a few inches when Locke didn’t immediately respond. “Talk! Who is Anthony?! What do you know about the Holy Alliance?!”

Locke looked from the bathrobe, to her red eyes, and her black hair. She’s a Demon, locked realized. She’s here to earn points for her rank within the Demon Host or something. I’ve heard stories about how the only way they can climb through the ranks is by killing enough people. If I just say that I’m with the Demons, she’ll kill me. I need to convince her that I’m not part of the Holy Alliance and not let on that I know who she is working for. He thought back to his tricks and said, “Don’t act like someone from the Holy Alliance wouldn’t know. He’s the leader and the man I want to kill most. I can tell by your bathrobe that you must be one of his lackeys, killing the Demons and now hunting me down just because your boss hates me.” He gulped audibly after summoning the courage to fake this part. “Go ahead, kill me! But I will find a way to finish off that bastard.” Please don’t actually kill me. Please don’t actually kill me, he prayed silently, hoping his bluff would work.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she responded flatly, and her gaze grew colder. “Answer me truthfully!”

“Answer what? You really think you’re fooling me? I know what you’re here for. Just kill me already.” Locke could feel sweat beading out all over his body as he worked his bluff, and he had to consciously stop his hands from twitching nervously. It might have been just a game, but the pain of injuries, though significantly dulled in the game, were still part of the Tiqpa experience, and Locke was concerned about respawning in the middle of Holy Alliance Territory to boot. “I saw those bathrobes the last time I had to deal with those Holy Alliance scum bags. They wear them like trophies, the sickos. The only other people who wear them are Demons, and the Demons don’t come this far out of Mt. Lawlheima by themselves. Plus, everyone knows they always travel in groups.” Locke really began regretting the fact that he never spent any time in one of those thespian classes. A few acting lessons would have gone a long way about now. How was I supposed to know that ‘Join the Drama Club’ might actually translate into ‘Save yourself from a violent and gruesome end at the hands of a psychopathic murderer?’

She reached forward until the point of her blade was resting against Locke’s chest. “You don't know what you’re talking about, newcomer. If you aren’t willing to answer my questions, you aren't of any use to me. Just remember, I gave you a chance.”

“Fine!” Locke backed up, his hands held up in protest on each side of the blade. “I’ll play your stupid game. He’s their boss, the right-hand man of their leader. He’s the one who leads the troops into battle, and he’s the bane of my existence.” Come on, keep the play going. If the curtains close too early, it’s lights out.

“Explain. How do you know this?” she demanded.

“How wouldn’t I?” Locke thought for a moment about lying again. There were any number of stories he could use to cover his tracks, make himself seem like he was more on her side, but each one felt harder to swallow than the next. The easiest story to tell is the one that’s true, right? It was a motto he had lived by, since even his flimsiest facades were built on at least half-truths. “Who doesn’t know the man who took everything from him? We were partners of a sort before he tried to get me to join his stupid alliance. He offered me a deal, money and a collar, and when I turned him down, he stabbed me in the back. Now, I’m just trying to recover what I lost. I’m trying to get my revenge for what he took from me.”

“Then you admit to working with him,” she said quietly. “You admit to working with the Holy Alliance--the people who ruin lives and destroy everything.”

Locke could feel his heart beating in his chest faster than a professional snare drummer on a speed test. “He took everything from me because I wouldn’t join the Holy Alliance.” A truth, but only by a technicality. “Do you know what that’s like? A man you had considered your friend, stabbing you in the back because you don’t take his side? Because you won’t do things you morally can’t agree to? I didn’t join the Holy Alliance. I would never join the Holy Alliance.”

“Friends,” she hissed, “aren’t people you don’t agree with. You aren’t friends with someone whom you disagree with on a moral level. You can’t be friends with a monster.”

Locke sighed. It was worth a shot. There aren’t any cards left to play, and if I have to die, I’m done begging. I didn’t beg Anthony, and I’m not going to beg some self-righteous woman in a swamp. “Just do it. If you think I’m lying, if you’ve made up your mind about me, then that’s that. Nothing I can say will help, so you might as well get it over with. I’ve got enough pride not to plead with a stranger to believe something she’s always going to think is a lie.” He turned his back and started picking flowers again, pretending to ignore her as he waited for one of her swords to sink into him from behind.

There was a brief pause as Locke worked on gathering the ingredients closest to him. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she asked, “Why are you gathering those?”

“These?” Locke looked at the red and orange petals as he picked another stem from the swamp water. “These little guys are how I gain strength in this world. If I’m ever going to get my revenge, I’ll need a lot of these florets. Here, check out the final product.” He pulled a Journeyman’s Deadly Poison from his inventory and tossed it over to the psychotic Demon.

She caught the vial with her free hand and inspected it for a brief moment without ever lowering the weapon in her other. Her eyes grew wide, and Locke could tell that there was a glimmer of recognition there. She jerked her hand to the side and sent the potion flying off into the swamp without ever taking her eyes off of him. “Poison is the tool of cowards and assassins,” she said coldly. “I wonder, what would an ex-friend of the leader of the Holy Alliance want with poison?” It was clear from her tone of voice that the question was rhetorical and that she already knew the answer.

Locke laughed. “The tool of cowards and assassins?” He thought for a minute and said, “I’m probably more the first than the second. I don’t want to die. I was just a shopkeeper before the betrayal, not a fighter. You . . . You’ve probably gone through hell on the battlefield . . . But me? Until today, I’ve never even drawn blood,” he answered honestly, thinking about the Bishopotamus. “That’s why I need these poisons, these cowardly tools, if I’m ever going to find a way to destroy that awful alliance that the loathsome lying fiend calls his own. If I can make enough of these, I can trade them for mercenaries, I can supply them with weapons and I can buy everything I need to satisfy my grudge.”

“So you’re the kind of man that would rather hide behind the strength of others and pull the strings, huh? Doesn’t sound to me like you’re much different than your friend Anthony.”

“I think the difference is that I want to kill a monster, and he wants to be a monster.” Locke went back harvesting. “Is there anything wrong with not wanting to die? Maybe I want to have a family one day. Maybe I want to raise kids, teach them an honest craft, and not watch people die.” Locke was about to continue with his life ambitions when he realized he actually had a way to turn this conversation against her. “But what about you? You butchered three people you never met, and you’re threatening to butcher me. Why? Because of some imagined slight? Perhaps it’s not me who shares the most in common with him. Last I checked, I’m not the one with blood all over my hands. The only thing I’ve ever killed was trying to eat me.”

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why it was trying to kill you? Did you ever bother wondering what you did that prompted it to attack you? You newcomers are all the same. The only thing you ever consider is yourself and what you want. You don’t ever bother giving two thoughts to anything else. We welcomed you into our homes, we fed you, and we gave you the tools to fight with. And what do we get in return? You abused our people, you burned our homes, and you stole everything that wasn’t given freely. That’s why I killed them. Because of what they are.”

“Did they steal? I haven’t.” Locke was almost infuriated by this type of thinking. That’s the same thing Anthony would say. She’s just lumping people together in groups and assuming that they’re all the same based on her experiences with only a few. “Did they burn people’s homes? I know I haven’t. You’re making assumptions, don’t lop us all in the same category. I was out here picking some of the vegetation, harmlessly, and things literally tried to eat me. Are you telling me that I shouldn’t have fought back? That I should have died because traveling is wrong, exploring is awful, and making potions is bad? How dare you say we’re all the same. Should I just assume that every Human that travels outside of his own home is the same? That they share the same ill intentions?”

“So I didn’t see you fighting with that group of people? You’re claiming that you didn’t hack and slash your way into the middle of the swamp? That the bodies I stepped over tracking you weren't left by you and your group? You think I didn’t watch and listen to you as you rallied to their cause as they killed that creature? That the Minotaur didn’t turn and scream to you when I attacked him? That I didn’t watch you traveling in the company of a man wearing a bathrobe? You claim to be different, but you’re working with a man who has killed my brethren.” She paused, and a sly smile crept across her small face. “And in case you haven’t noticed,” she answered coyly, “I’m not Human.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re a Demon. Living in Mt. Lawlheima, right?” Locke dodged her attempt to push the blame back on him. If he stayed on the defensive in an argument, he’d always lose. “You live in a place that was once occupied by Blue-Drakes, and you kill thousands a day just so you can keep that home yours, right? How dare you point a finger and pretend like killing a walking, talking person is the same as a wild animal. Or are you honestly going to tell me you’ve never eaten meat once in your life? That you’ve never once gone out into the wild and used their flesh to survive? Maybe even killed one or two in self-defense like I have.”

Locke knew he should be worried about his life, that he shouldn’t be so aggressive with his points, but for some reason, just yelling common sense at this woman felt like it was the best stress relief he had had in days. Every single time he talked to someone, he had to ignore their errors, be polite, maintain a customer relationship. But not with her. She was probably going to hack him apart at any minute like she had the others, but at least he could vent his frustrations and blow off some steam.

She actually laughed at him when he was finished. “Your naiveté is astounding. You may know a few things about how the Demons live, but I would guess that it’s all hearsay. You’ve actually managed to get more wrong than you have right.”

“Hearsay? I’ve talked to Demons about this many times before. What hearsay?” Granted, the only Demons he had talked to were the ones trying to put in orders for weapons over the dark forums, but he had still chatted with them. “I’ve even seen a good portion of your home. I was just a humble shopkeeper in a past life. You know, the one you bloodthirsty barbarians always ignore? That’s probably why you don’t think it’s possible that a few of us have found our way to peddle our goods with your people.”

He felt a little guilty for lying a bit. If she was an NPC, as he suspected from her talk of ‘newcomers,’ then telling her that he had eagerly watched clips on the G.O.R.N. news station might get him in trouble, so he needed a reasonable excuse for telling her he knew where her home was. The fact that Demons had offered to pay him to deliver weapons wasn’t a lie. “Maybe, if I was out killing innocent people, you would have noticed me. You might have remembered me if I massacred a town or burned some homes since that seems to be the only thing you can ever recall a Human doing. Lord forbid if one of us wretched, morally corrupt ‘Humans’ likes making things to heal people.” Locke had to catch himself from saying swords. He wasn’t a Blacksmith anymore: He was an Alchemist, and Alchemists didn’t make swords. It would destroy his story if he said that.

“But that isn’t you, is it, craven? You could never pick up your own sword and kill anyone. By your own admission, your ambition is to have others do the work for you. You are too cowardly to ever do your own work or a deed worth remembering. And last I recalled, poison isn’t used for healing. You claim to be helpless, but casually ignore the fact that I have stepped over the trails of your dead.”

Locke stood up, turned around, and stared at the woman. Want to see a healing potion? Fine! He grumbled, not saying anything and leaving the conversation hanging as he found a quick floral combination near him that could make the currently unleveled healing potion. He managed to make three as she watched him, staring down at him like a bird watching a worm struggle out of its hole in the ground. Finally, having finished making a them, he tossed her one and pocketed the remaining two into his inventory. “Poison isn’t all I can make, but poison is what I need. Don’t you want to win one day? Wouldn’t you do anything to save that which you love? Or, in my case, to get vengeance for it? I can’t fight, I’m not good at swinging a sword, and I’m definitely not going to take on a thousand men. Heck, even you can’t do it. If you could, the Holy Alliance would already be dead. Instead, they’re growing stronger and you’re out here picking on a gardening chemist.”

As Locke spoke, he slowly began to see an opportunity. She can’t kill a thousand men, but she can kill three --and quickly. To top it off, she wants to butcher my enemy as badly as I do, albeit for different reasons. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. “Tell me,” he continued, “if you could choose between dying and letting that scumbag win, or taking the cowardly road to kill the enemy and saving the lives of the people you love, which path would you take? Am I really so wrong?”

“So you have a plan? You know a way to make it through the Holy Alliance’s encampment and slay their leader? You honestly think that you will ever get close enough to kill him with poison? Or that you can buy the loyalty of enough swordsmen to defeat his entire army? You think that wandering aimlessly through a swamp picking flowers is going to grant you the vengeance you claim to seek so dearly?”

Do I have a plan? No, no, I really don’t. She’s right, I was just trying to get more powerful and raise money. She’s dead on. I have no idea what to do after I get money. Even if I kill the bastard, he’ll just respawn. Since I can’t kill him, I have to make sure he loses. Locke was stunned by the simple question. His mouth slowly opened as his brain tried to feed words through it and failed. What do I do to kill an immortal? He might as well be God from where I’m at, and I’m just some pesky mortal trying to upend him. “Do you?” He blinked. “Is there something out here that you’re looking for? Something that will help you win your wars?”

“My business is my own, but if you must know, I was headed for Sine Nomine when I came across you and your deplorable band of miscreants.” Then, without warning, she smiled. Her face had been cold and stern throughout the entire conversation, and with the exception of her sarcasm leaking through the mask, she hadn’t shown any emotion. Even her charges against him had been largely devoid of the anger one would normally expect. When that guise melted, it was like she was an entirely different person. The only problem was that the smile never reached her eyes. “Perhaps you can be of some use to me, after all.”

Chapter 4

“I still don’t understand how this is going to help us kill that paladin prick,” Locke grumbled. He had somehow been coerced into going along with her plan, but he still wasn’t putting the dots together. She had briefly explained what it was that he was supposed to do, but it was beyond him to understand how it was supposed to help either one of them. After her sudden epiphany, the samurai-shadow swordsman had finally lowered her blade and allowed Locke to breathe out a heavy sigh of relief. They had spent what felt like far too long arguing back and forth, and he had expected her to finish him off as quickly as she had everyone else from the Blue Phoenix Brigade. Needless to say, it had been a bit of a shock when her demeanor suddenly changed--although he wasn't convinced that it was for the better.

They had made their way out of the swamp and turned towards Sine Nomine, and the trip out had proved to be much faster and far easier going than it had been going in. The difference in difficulty was largely due to the fact that she was able to dispatch groups of Piranha-Priests with only the slightest effort, and Locke marveled at this strange beauty as she went to work warding off mobs. It was both alluring and frightening to watch, and the first time he witnessed her dispatch a monster, he was in awe of how fluid and conservative her movements were. She was always extremely precise with her attacks and never seemed to waste either time or energy in dealing with anything that attacked them. Not only was she efficient, she didn't need me to do a single thing to help out.

His over-taxed and perpetually-empty wallet was already feeling the strain of the lost profits he could have turned from the potions he had been forced to use, not to mention all the lost bottles that he still didn't know the price of. How could she just throw those away like they were nothing? Why didn’t she let me look for them? What if they are worth fortunes, and I just lost a piece of my key to revenge?

She remained silent as they drew closer to the gate of Sine Nomine, but he knew she could hear any protestations he made. “This is where I have to part ways with you. Don’t fail me, or I’ll hunt you down the next time you leave the city and finish what I started in the swamps.” With that, she vanished from Locke’s side almost as soon as she was done making her threat.

Way to make an exit, Locke’s inner voice spitefully spat out in a cheeky tone. Even if he was on the same side as her for now, he hated feeling like he had been forced into this current ‘understanding.’ Just once, I’d like to think the person in control wasn’t the one with enough cards to be the schoolyard bully, he thought morosely, but that just isn't how life works. The people in power are usually just the ones who are holding the biggest weapon.

“See you later, too.” Locke waved at the empty spot where she had been, pretending to be cordial and nice to an imaginary and now-faded figure as he turned to finish the remaining stretch into the town.

Sine Nomine was one of the largest towns Locke had come across in a long while, perhaps even since he first signed into Tiqpa. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and the city seemed to him as if its architect had dreamed of a beautiful, glass-made Atlantis poised over the ocean. Ancient Grecian and Roman architecture was seamlessly blended with glass structures displaying a high level of craftsmanship that would have been impossible to recreate within the real world. Everywhere he looked there was something else equally breathtaking. His eyes instantly flickered between marble statues, ornately carved walls and the carefully crafted docks. The sculptures lining the streets were created in the likeness of every animal he could think of, some he was positive were only in the game, and they were more stunning than anything he could have ever believed game design could produce.

Part of the city’s magnificence was the stretch of walls that doubled as docks. In reality, the city was below sea level, but flooding was prevented by large white stone walls. The walls acted as a barrier, keeping the ocean out, and they stayed fixed at a static height. The docks, however, did not. It was one of the few parts of Tiqpa that showed the very real effects of climate change back and forth through the ages. Some of the stone-edged glass docks that jutted out from the side of the city hung two or three stories above the water with the long piers now functioning as White-Wing landing pads. Others could just barely be seen a few stories beneath the water with their entrances sealed shut by thick glass doors that were decorated with colored inlays depicting many of the famous Naga and Fire-Walkers who helped first build the city.

As Locke made his way up to one of the bridges that lead into Sin Nomine, he was stopped by a guard. “Are you a resident? If so, do you have any papers? If not, state your name, your business and how long you plan to stay in the Queen’s city.”

Locke quickly appraised the Naga guard who was blocking his way. He had always gone in and out of the city through one of the Holy Alliance-protected bridges, so he had never actually had to go past this sort of customs agent. The watchman looked like a cross between a Human, a Faery and a Knight-Clubber with the long and thick body of a massive snake for his lower half and a regular person’s body for his upper half. He had two shiny, fairy-like wings that would probably be twice as long as his arms if they were extended, and he was holding his hand out expectantly. There were unusually high numbers of Human residents in the area as a result of the Demon Host’s forward progress. As it swallowed up Human settlements, vast droves seemed to have fled to the city seeking a safe bind point or refuge, and it was no wonder he expected Locke to be just another citizen with all his papers in order.

“My name is Shy,” he began, once again almost tripping on his words and saying ‘Locke’ instead. “I’m here as a pharmacist hoping to sell some healing agents within your town. My stay will vary based on how long it takes to move all my wares or find an adventuring party to sponsor me.” He tried to be as honest as possible while still leaving out the details about why he was really visiting the city. Locke didn’t think that the guard would be too keen to know that he was actually coming here to meet a potentially Demon-friendly member of the Queen’s personal group of advisors and try to convert him into being a dedicated spy for the Demon Host.

“And your woman, did she leave something behind? Will she be catching up?” The guard pulled out a makeshift clipboard and some papers and motioned in the direction of where his wayward companion had disappeared.

“My woman? Oh, her? She won’t be coming.” Locke looked back to the spot the guard was motioning and realized whom he was talking about. My woman? If only. I’ve never had time to date. The forever-alone reflex automatically kicked in and stabbed at his heart before reason outweighed it. Not that I’d hook up with a psychopath.

This piqued the Naga’s interest though, and he lowered the clipboard and papers to his side as the glaze over his eyes melted away into a keen focus. “Why isn’t she coming in?”

“Umm. . .” Locke hadn’t expected this line of questioning, and he suddenly found himself in a tough spot. Normally, if he knew he would be interrogated at the door, he would have prepared at least a somewhat-believable excuse. Weaving a convincing lie without a readied yarn was always difficult.

“Her hair . . . it was black. Were her eyes red, too?” The Naga questioned. His face slowly moved closer, his sharp eyes inching nearer as he carefully studied Locke for a change in expression.

“Yes, yes, they were,” he answered, risking the truth. They’ve never stopped a player from coming into the city, have they? I don’t think. This shouldn’t be a big deal, should it?

“That’s what I thought. She’s a Demon, alright. You mentioned you were carrying wares: Did she leave anything with you to bring into the city? A poison perhaps?”

Locke suddenly felt ridiculously happy that NPCs, even ones guarding gates, couldn’t see what was inside his inventory. A poison? No, she didn’t. I’ll bring in over a hundred all on my own though! He wanted to laugh but decided it might be taken as lip and was probably bad judgment. “No, she didn’t leave me anything to carry into the town. She just wanted me to tell a friend that she wouldn’t be able to meet with her tonight. Why? Are people with red eyes not allowed into the town?”

“Nope. Demons have been banned from the city until the Queen can sort out the city’s official position,” the guard said. “It’s likely to continue indefinitely if we seal a partnership with the Holy Alliance,” he continued.

So, that’s why she was so insistent that I go and meet her friend for her. She can’t get into the town as a Demon. Wait . . . Didn’t Persephone have an eye color kit that let her change her iris color? Couple that with a good hair dye, and how would anyone tell the difference between a Demon and a Human? It would be impossible. I could run into a dozen Demons with those augmentations and never tell them apart from regular people. How come she didn’t do that? “Oh, well, I guess that’s why she’s not meeting her friend tonight. But no, I’m not carrying anything from her.” Locke raised both his arms out to his sides like he often did at the airport before being security-wanded.

“Don’t worry. I believe you.” The Naga cocked his eye at what was likely a ridiculous-looking physical gesture to him. “Anyway, take this,” he said as he handed Locke a piece of paper which Locke immediately stored away in his inventory, “and make sure to keep it on you just in case. It’s your temporary registration. You’ll need that paper and mailing address within the city if you choose to become a permanent resident.”

“Thank you!” Locke gave a slight bow of his head before beginning his walk across the bridge. Compared to the rest of the city, the walkway felt strangely out of place. Even the docks were decorated with carvings and pictures of animals, city founders or glorious battles, but this structure was simple, plain, wooden and completely unadorned. It was no more ornate or detailed than the table at a tavern in a 1980’s demo game. And there, waiting at the other end, was something else that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Shy! You made it!” Sampson was waiting for him at the entrance to the town. “How on earth did you manage to make it out alive? That crazy gray ganker was insane. What the heck was she even doing in that area?”

Gray ganker? No, I’m afraid she’s just a bit of a loon. Locke thought about correcting Sampson. He didn’t think that ‘gray ganker,’ a term often used to describe a high-level player who gets off on killing significantly lower players, could possibly apply to an NPC. But he also felt like telling the story of the psychotic game sprite might take a little longer than he was comfortable with. “Actually, I kind of promised a favor in return for not being butchered on the spot.”

“Really? But why do you care if you die? You’d just have ended up in town a lot sooner, and we could have gotten moving quicker,” Sampson said, patting Locke on the back as they started walking toward town. “Everyone is waiting at The Wench’s Best Bubbly Head, the bar by the lion statue. Let’s head on over now.”

The Wench’s Best Bubbly Head? Wait, isn’t that where I’m supposed to meet Eliza’s contact? Locke let out a sigh of relief. He was worried about how he would separate himself from Sampson to make his clandestine rendezvous. It’s going to be at least half an hour before this collaborator is at the tavern. I need to stall the group.

“Actually, I need to kind of buy some more bottles and sell some potions off before we head out. Do you mind if I go to the market first? Maybe log and check the forums for buyers?” Locke asked Sampson as they continued. “Oh, no problem. Reginald’s mom has him doing chores, and we’re waiting on him anyway,” Sampson chuckled. “I think the gang has decided that we are going to tease him about wetting the bed or something when he gets back. That’s if the others get back from dinner in time to put up a unified front for mocking him.”

“Should we throw in a few jokes about dirty socks he has to pick up from under the bed?” Locke laughed. Teasing people about their age was always fun, no matter how old they got. Either they were so young they hated being called a kid, or they were so aged they hated the fact they were the ‘old man.’

Sampson snickered. “I remember the first time we heard his mother through the microphone. We were playing this FPS, and she was yelling at him for not picking up the poop after their dog. The worst part about it for poor Reginald was how she managed to fit ten embarrassing and personal details into a single sentence that everyone could hear. I honestly think the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and that she just wanted to mess with ‘her little, cute Reggie-reg.’”

Ouch, that had to be embarrassing. Locke couldn’t stop from laughing as he pictured the kid who was playing the Satyr. Is he even 18? Is he living at home with his mom, or is he still like twelve? His voice didn’t sound that high pitched. “Sounds good . . . By the by, which way is the market?”

“By the by? People still say that?” Sampson laughed.

And there we go. Now he thinks I’m on the other side of the age coin. “They uhh . . . They do where I’m from?” Or at least they did at my old part-time job. Of course, my boss and co-workers often smelled of whiskey and cigars like they were trying out for the lead role of an early noir film and thought that it was a requirement to stay in character twenty-four seven. “Either way, where is the market?”

“Oh, let me check. I honestly don’t know. I got my weapons in a dungeon before we got to the mainland. Give me a moment. I’m going to go check the forums real quick,” Sampson said, logging off where he stood.

“I’ll . . . Does anyone ever wait for goodbye?” Locke gave a half-smile as he logged off to check the forums too. This was the second time in under an hour someone had just disappeared before he could say anything.

Locke opened up the forums and went to the black section where he often sold items. He made a quick, auction-style post to feel out the market. It wasn’t long: ‘I have potions for sale. They last about seven and a half minutes and buff weapon damage by five to six points depending on which ones you buy. I’m in Sine Nomine. PM me with offers. Limited sale. Will only reply to the highest one.’

He then grabbed a snack, made himself some ramen with eggs as quickly as he could and came back upstairs to see if anyone replied. When he got back, there were pages of offers waiting for him. The first one wasn’t that impressive, just a simple ‘I’ll pay you five gold pieces per poison,’ but the ones after started to make his eyes go wider than white saucers at a dinner table. Ten gold pieces? Fifteen? There is one for thirty-five gold pieces per poison, and he’s willing to buy them all? Who is willing to pay that much?! He started to scroll through the other offers when he realized that the thirty-five gold piece offer was from someone he recognized from the Holy Alliance. In fact, several of the highest offers were all from quartermasters at the Holy Alliance. Two of them were individuals who had introduced him to Anthony in the first place.

Yeah, no, I’m never doing business with your people again, Locke grumbled and started looking down the list of buyers for people he didn’t recognize. He managed to find enough offers to put together around a hundred and fifty sales at an average of twenty-six gold pieces per poison, but he was still really bummed that he couldn’t take up all that money from the highest bidders. He was almost tempted to take the offers and just pocket the cash, but even if he was comfortable with helping the Holy Alliance out, he definitely didn’t want them to see him, put two and two together and realize that his account was still alive and well.

He sent out the replies, told them all he’d be in the market that was just west of The Wench’s Best Bubbly Head and then logged on quickly so that he didn’t keep Sampson waiting too long. The first thing he saw when he loaded back in was Sampson standing there in all his Minotaur’s glory, looking frustrated. I wonder what that’s like, trying to make a facial expression with a giant bull’s snout?

“What took you so long?” Sampson asked. “I’ve been waiting here like five minutes.”

“Uhh . . .” I made a bunch of food and put together an auction? “You know, the usual.” He shrugged it off dismissively.

“Oh, that type of break,” Sampson snickered.

“Hey, it wasn’t like that. I just had to check the forums for some things.” Locke may have had a legitimate reason for taking a bit longer than expected, but he still felt like he was only using the familiar and defensive ‘nuh-uh’ that only seemed to confirm other people’s suspicions.

“Mhmm. You know the best part of Tiqpa?” Sampson asked and then started finishing her question before Locke could even respond. “No kids.”

“Huh? Didn’t we just tease Reginald about him being a kid?”

“Oh, not like that. ‘Little Reggie-Reg,’” Sampson used a mocking voice, “is totally a child, well, behaviorally at least. But I mean, you don’t ever have to listen to Blue’s Clues through someone’s headset or deal with their kids crying in the background in the middle of a raid.”

“Raids . . .” Locke kind of wished he had managed to try out previous MMOs before Tiqpa. His schedule was constantly filled with work and studying for classes, and he had stayed off other games entirely. Despite that, he had still heard enough to know that Sampson was talking about a serious nuisance for gamers. Kids in video games were supposedly worse than young children constantly kicking the back of your seat while screaming on an airplane. “That must have been rough,” Locke said, cringing at the thought. “I guess that’s one of the best unforeseen benefits of Tiqpa, but it also means that parents can’t hear their kids outside the game . . . so they can’t play while babysitting.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though? I think some kids from my generation grew up knowing the stars on TV better than their own dad and mom.” Sampson sounded disappointed, the subject obviously hitting too close to home.

“Can we go to the Western Market? I have to meet some people,” Locke said, hoping to change the subject.  He was hoping that he wouldn’t have to go looking too far to find his customers from the forum, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a mopey Minotaur.

“Sure thing.” Sampson nodded, and the two of them made their way through the open town toward the market.

Locke was struck by how familiar, yet foreign, their trip was. Although he had been to the town on previous visits, he had never really taken the time to appreciate the design elements that had gone into constructing it. Each of the roads was fashioned exactly like what one might expect in the modern world. There were two lanes directing the flow of traffic replete with spaces for turns and separated by a median one could cross. The only major differences were that everyone was walking instead of driving, and the trees that would have decorated the median back in the real world were replaced by the large stone statues that he had noticed earlier, spaced out every few feet in between the lanes of traffic. Now that he was closer, he could tell that they were adorned with glass armor over their stone bodies that gave an odd sort of ‘look inside’ feel to a simple statue of what was otherwise simply an armored tiger or Naga. There was occasionally sand or glass on the sides of the roads, though never both at the same time, and it appeared to have been set aside in small beds as if there should be something planted in the sand. Sadly, every single one of the makeshift, sand-filled flower beds was empty and only served to occupy space between the roads and buildings.

The town was also structured uniformly, and every house looked the same. It was almost as if each building had been carefully placed by an artist or architect that put together the design for the entire city at once. There were, of course, levels beneath the surface--one where plenty of Naga and Fire-Walkers lived below the White-Wing-filled towers on top of the town--but Locke had never seen them. He had tried to find the stairs once just after he first arrived, and he had even been tempted to jump off the side of town and swim underneath the water just to see what was visible through the glass doors that sealed off the submerged docks, but work had gotten in the way. He had been in the town for over a week and never once seen the underworld domain of the Fire-Walkers and Naga.

He was doing his best to take in everything when something caught his eye and drew his attention away from the beauty of the town. Directly in front of him, walking so slowly that other pedestrians were doing their best to pass around without bumping them, were the incredibly familiar figures of Sol and Sal. They were talking to themselves so loudly that he couldn’t help but overhear what was being said, even as Sampson rattled on about some personal stuff.

“I can’t believe Locke disappeared. He promised me a new weapon!” Sal complained. “I was hoping he could make one with my name and draw a cool picture on it.”

“Oh, right! Or maybe he could make mine with like a sun or something!” Sol enthusiastically chimed in.

“Because your name is Sol?” Sal asked, turning his head and causing Locke to instinctively cover his face. He didn’t think that either of the two oafs would look all the way behind them, but he didn’t feel like taking a chance either.

“Big fan of suns?” Sal asked, causing Locke and Sampson to groan at the rather pedestrian and poor pun.

Sampson’s groan was loud enough for Locke to hear clearly, and it let him know that he was no longer rudely ignoring a conversation with him and that the Minotaur was officially terrible at going unnoticed.

“No, because of my name . . . You know what? Forget it. I’m just upset that I won’t get a fancy weapon.”

“He promised me one too, and you don’t see me griping, do you?” Persephone, whom Locke had completely failed to notice as her figure was mostly blocked by the two roadblocks behind her, joined in.

Persephone . . . Persephone . . . Something struck him as important about her, something that he was supposed to remember, but he couldn’t quite bring it to the front of his mind. He tried his best to see her through the cracks between Sol and Sal, but the two of them continued their blubbering on a subject that caught his attention even more.

“What happened to Locke, by the way?” Persephone asked. “You two were the last to see him before he just up and logged out and quit the game.”

“I don’t know. I heard Portia was going to offer Locke a sweet deal, something like a five percent raise on how much we were paying him on all the goods we purchased if he signed an exclusivity contract. Portia had been really paranoid that Locke was going to start selling to the Demon Alliance, so she wanted him to either join the guild or sign an exclusivity contract. His products had grown very popular, after all.” Sal shrugged. “No idea why someone would quit if they were offered more money.”

Locke clenched his teeth, and his eyes popped wide open as he heard this. I was supposed to get five percent more? What the heck?! He offered me pennies on what I was earning, not five percent more! I would have signed that paper in a heartbeat at five percent more! Locke’s mind reeled as he started to think about all the lost money he could have been earning today if Anthony had offered him that deal instead of the few bucks an hour he pushed on him. This new information, fresh out of the rumor mill, did a bit to lessen his hatred for the Holy Alliance, but it did nothing to abate his now even greater antipathy for its scummy commander.

“Yeah, that doesn’t add up.” Persephone lowered her head and fiddled with her hair. “It’s a shame no one was actually in the room with them. I would love to know what really happened.”

“You and Portia both. She and every single quartermaster in the alliance has been furious at the commander since Locke disappeared. They yelled at Anthony so much and so loudly that people five tents away probably still have ringing in their ears. From what I heard, he’s getting kicked out of the whole Alliance for botching that deal if the story he fed them about Locke claiming family matters were getting in the way of the game turns out not to be true.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen Locke selling a single item on the forums or anyone with his newest gear lately, so it probably is,” Sol conceded.

“If it were true, then why would he have promised to make us weapons?” Persephone asked. “I’m with Portia on this one. That story seems fishy.”

“Well, we don’t have time to worry about it,” Sal said. “We need to get to the Western Market and secure this new Alchemist for the Holy Alliance. If we can pick him up, it’ll make up for us losing our best Blacksmith. Can you imagine? We’ll have the only ranked Alchemist in the business!”

“Is that you?” Sampson whispered quietly under his breath to Locke. “Are you seriously going to get an offer from the Holy Alliance? You’re so lucky!” he whispered in such a hushed tone,

Lucky? Yeah right!

“Until some other guild finally talks someone into giving up their character and restarting the game as that class, that is,” Sol responded.

“Psh. No one wants to spend their life picking flowers. That’s just not going to happen,” Sal laughed.

“Good point. We better hurry then and get him before we end up in as much hot water as poor Anthony. He already rejected all our offers on the forums, so we need to get there quick and figure out who outbid us,” Sol said, taking off with Sal so fast that they left poor Persephone in the dust, recovering from the two brutes knocking her as they darted past.

So, if I were to resurface as Locke, that would get him fired . . . Locke’s grin spread across his face. As much as he wanted to stay in Tiqpa, destroying this guy somehow felt like it might just be worth risking the ban.

Hey, Shy! This is your friendly, neighborhood Ash messaging you with a kind reminder: Don’t even think about it. I know what you just heard, since us GMs have nothing better to do than watch our poor peon gamers, so I can already guess what you’re contemplating. I just wanted to remind you that I’ll get in trouble for unbanning you, and you will be fined for dodging your ban and your account will be blocked again. It’s lose-lose for both of us, so you better not try to do anything rash.

What? ‘Friendly, neighborhood Ash’ my rear end. It’s more like creepy, telepathic stalker Ash. Locke blinked in shock, frozen in place as he read the message. I get her watching me through whatever weird camera GMs use, but how is she such a mind reader? I can’t even think something without her popping up the second the thought goes through my head. I swear, she’s less of a GM and more of an evil, mind-reading, devil witch.

“Shy, cut it out.” A giant hand knocked Shy’s shoulder, almost toppling him over.

“Huh?” Locke was a bit taken aback. Is she still here reading my thoughts? I swear that I didn’t call you a devil witch! His head swiveled over to see Sampson staring at him. “I figured that you wanted to follow those three and listen in about what’s going on with Locke. I was super curious about it too . . . but really? Have some shame.”

“What are you talking about?” Locke, honestly clueless, looked over to see what Sampson was referring to.

“Her bum, Shy! Don’t make me use even cruder language. I didn’t realize the only reason you were following them was because you wanted to stare at that girl’s rear end.” Sampson actually pointed at Persephone’s butt in front of the two of them. It was only then that he realized that the entire time he was reading the ‘Friendly, neighborhood Ash’ message, it looked to onlookers like he was staring at her frozen assets as she stood static ahead of the pair.

Are you kidding me? The same misunderstanding twice in one day? Locke cringed as he tried to think his way out of this. “No, it’s not like that . . . I was just . . .” Locke trailed off as he started to recall the first time he had been caught letting his eyes rest on her while he was deep in thought about other things.

“Oh, come on, Shy! Give me a break already! Stop drooling over her! That isn’t the best derrière in the world!” Sampson smacked Locke again.

‘Dairy air?’ Did a giant, lumbering cow really just say that? Of course. “Sorry, my mind just wanders, and she happened to be dead ahead . . . or behind. Yeah, it really is nice.” Locke tilted his head, emphasizing the fact he was admiring it. It definitely wasn’t the best he had ever witnessed, and it was only in a virtual world, but he felt like messing with Sampson. He knew that the big bull was being reproachful, yet he couldn’t stop himself from teasing him as soon as the weak point revealed itself. “I mean, it’s like the stock market in 2006: nothing but a beautiful bubble.”

“Really?” Sampson seemed to get even more frustrated.

“What? I can’t help myself. It’s like when you’re walking down the road, and you see a pair of pants with words all over the back of them. Even if you don’t want it to, your mind instinctively looks to see what they say. We’re trained readers, Sampson. You can’t hold it against us.”

“But there isn’t anything written on it,” Sampson protested further. Persephone finally started walking again in the same direction Sal and Sol had taken off in, and Locke and Sampson once more followed behind.

“Of course, there is! Right there! Right on the back of them. It’s written, ‘Sampson is totally a girl in real life.’” Locke started laughing, having too much fun with this. He even enjoyed Sampson’s squinted looks as the hulking Minotaur tried to read the clearly nonexistent text.

“Really? I mean, no it isn’t!”

“It’s okay, dear.” Locke stressed the word ‘dear’ a little more than he should have. “I won’t tell your secret. I’ve met plenty of women before that like to pretend they are giant half-man, half-bull, axe-wielding dudes. There isn’t any reason to be embarrassed.”

“Oh, stop it. You have not,” Sampson grumbled as they kept on toward the Western Market.

“Hey, how do you know I’m not telling the truth? People can dream about being whatever they want to be . . . even if it’s an Apache helicopter.” Locke waited for a minute and said, “It could happen.”

“I just don’t want a female avatar because I hate how people creep on you in video games. If I were playing a woman, the next thing I know, I might find myself being ogled by some slimy guy named Shy every time I walked through the streets,” she bemoaned as she gave Locke an accusatory stare.

“Sampson, relax. I was just reading private messages and things about my class from the Tiqpa menu, and she happened to be standing still in front of me. The fact that she wasn’t moving either is probably for the same reason. We were both just in our menus, so stop making a big deal about it.” Locke felt like killing the subject before he developed an unsavory reputation.

“If you say so, I’ll drop it, but . . . how did you know?”

“Oh, Reginald told me earlier. Said you and Sparky were both girls, and the two Succubi were both guys.” Locke threw the poor Satyr under the bus. He could have just as easily blamed her reaction right then, but for some reason, since the Satyr had only told him with the intent of teasing him, he didn’t feel any reason not to use this to screw with him too.

“Ugh, that is the last time we invite ‘Little Reggie-reg’ to the guild meetings in real life!” Sampson declared.

“So he was right about the genders?” Locke decided to confirm.

“Well, sorta. One of the Succubi isn’t a guy, just a super tomboy in real life.” Sampson laughed. “She’ll probably beat poor Reggie up when she finds out that he called her a dude though. For someone who only wears loose, baggy pants and t-shirts, she takes her femininity very seriously.”

“Which one?” Locke asked, curious if it was Bianca or Katherine.

This time, Sampson didn’t answer. She just grinned ear to ear.

“Really? You’re not going to tell me?” Locke squinted at her, doing his best to glare for dramatic effect. “I see how it is.”

“You’ll just have to come to our next guild meeting.” Her smile grew.

“I’m invited?” Locke asked. I didn’t realize we were that close after only one day of playing together--a day that ended in a bloody mess if I remember correctly, Locke thought, cheering up a bit as he considered the friendship.

“Of course, all guild members are.”

Locke finally joined in on Sampson’s chuckle. She had gotten the best of him in the end, but he was okay with it.

“So the Holy Alliance got outbid?” Sampson started up the small talk again after a minute of silence followed her teasing.

“Uhh . . . You could say other people made me offers that were much more enticing.” Though it’s not hard to be more enticing than doing business with those traitors, Locke mentally noted. “That’s why I’m hoping to avoid them, make my sales, and hopefully they won’t notice I was ever here.”

“Well, then that’s really not good news for you.” Sampson pointed at the market ahead of them, the one where he was supposed to meet most of his buyers, and a scene that made Locke’s heart start racing with terror.

There, amassed in front of him, was a giant crowd of over a hundred people milling around idly, and the word ‘alchemist’ popped up in the conversations he overheard so many times it felt like it was on the fast track to becoming the new buzz word for synergy at a cramped, cubicle-stuffed office. Crud! How in the heck am I supposed to handle this? Locke’s eyes darted from Holy Alliance member to Holy Alliance member. He could make out Sal, Sol and Persephone right in the center of a group that contained at least two of the customers he had contracted over the forums. He recognized them immediately from the pictures they had sent over just before he hopped on. They were both talking with Sal and Sol, and though he couldn’t make out what the two Dryads were discussing with any fancy lip-reading techniques like every corny ‘nerd’ character on a super-hero show could, he was able to clearly make out from the hand gestures that it was a money issue.

I do not want to sell to someone who is just going to turn around and sell them right back to someone I loathe at a higher price, Locke grumbled, inferring what would happen the second the exchange occurred. If they knew that they could make a quick profit by selling to someone else for a higher price, why wouldn’t they? A lot of people and guilds would jump at that opportunity. After all, this was the first time that potions had ever been sold on such a massive scale.

Hello! Another message from your friendly, neighborhood Ash: Booyakasha! Seriously though, isn’t it great? I had my doubts that you’d actually make an impact and draw people’s attention so quickly. I figured, given the almost-endless supply of alchemy bottles I gave you, that you’d just stay out there farming for another week. But, hey, kudos to you! Congratulations on being such a shameless self-promoter. It's like you've mastered the craft of trawling online forums and luring people into viewing your wares by any means necessary. You didn't agree to sing karaoke open mic or something, did you? I hope not. Maybe, in the future, I can remodel your character and add a nice, little tattoo of ‘Try out alchemy’ on your forehead. If you want, I can even put a picture of me on your character’s arms . . . You know you love me. Us GMs, we have that power, and if you can’t tell, I’m totally cool with abusing it. Anyway, thanks for all the hard work . . . against your will . . . Do they have a word for minions that don’t get a choice? Feels like it’s one of those words that’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t say for some odd reason. I’m crossing my fingers. Hopefully, by the end of this encounter, at least fifty more Alchemists will pop up. Or maybe guilds will just start making one of their members reroll into an Alchemist, and I’ll be able to rub this in Gary’s face. I’ve got a whole ‘I told you so’ party planned with some scary-looking birthday clowns and a few sheriff’s deputies. We’re pumped! Now, go get ‘em!

Locke cringed. Why . . . Why do you have to be in my head, you evil . . . Locke was about to rail off in his inner monologue with a series of horrendous names, but he caught himself. The way she seemed to always know what he was thinking right when he was thinking it kind of scared him. He was almost convinced that there was a function in Tiqpa that actually did allow the GMs to read the minds of the players, but that just seemed silly. Actually, it is a virtual reality device that jacks into a person’s brain and submerges them into a mass hallucination by some weird neuro mumbo jumbo . . . It’s not that big of a stretch that she might actually be using the device to read my thoughts, is it? Locke decided to mentally picture the most horrendous thing possible just in case she was using the game to watch even his thoughts. Oh no, why did I do that? He almost vomited in his mouth as the picture surfaced. Punishing Ash or not, why?! He cursed himself for such a foolish idea. Now that the image was there, stuck in his head, it wouldn’t go away.

“Relax, isn’t this a good thing?” Sampson nudged Locke.

She didn’t understand how any of this could be to his chagrin, especially given that he hadn’t expressly spelled out how much he hated the idea of selling to the Holy Alliance. It was a feud she didn’t even know existed. There was also no way for her to know that his look of horror right now was self-inflicted from recalling a picture that could only be described as the very worst that the bottom-feeding trolls of the Internet could dream up to terrorize someone in a forum.

Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop! Locke, still struggling to blink away the image, barely heard Sampson. “No, no, this is not a good thing,” he said, half-talking about the crowd in front of them, half-talking about the image that was poisoning his sanity.

“Why?” Sampson pressed. “You said the reason you didn’t deal with the Holy Alliance is because the other people offered something better. Well, now that everyone is here, you can put them in a sort of auction scenario and make even more money!” She was right about the possibility, but she was clueless about his situation. The last thing he wanted to was to draw undue attention to himself, and this entire situation held a myriad of unfavorable outcomes.

“I don’t want to be stuck with people constantly harassing me for potions. It’s nice if I can come into town once every now and then and sell however many potions I want at whatever price I feel is fair. But with the Holy Alliance, they’ll always have orders for exactly the potions they want, and they’ll want the price to be static forever.” He was in a sort of verbal pickle with Sampson, and he knew it, but he might as well keep trying his best to get out of it. Locke did his best to think up excuses, and it was easy considering that he already had personal experience with the issue.

“Oh.” Sampson scratched the pronounced chin that came with her bull-man’s avatar. “I see. Well, you could just message them on the forums that you’ll come back later, that it was too crowded, and you didn’t want to attract company.”

“Or . . .” Locke looked at Sampson, “How much money do you have? On your character? Total, that is?”

“Umm . . . I have about a hundred and eight gold. Why?” Sampson’s big bovine eyes looked at him in confusion. It was evident from her expression that she knew a plot was afoot but not exactly what it was.

“Would you like to make a few extra pieces? Say, fifty or seventy-five?” Locke grinned. As much as he hated literally giving away money, these transactions were something he was suddenly dreading even more.

“You want me to make the exchanges for you, don’t you?” Sampson surmised.

“Yeah . . . and not mention my name at all. I’d love it if you could be the face of my business for today, make all the exchanges with the agreed upon customers and leave me worry free,” Locke said. “I’ll give you one gold piece for each potion you sell on my behalf.”

“That’s a pretty good deal, actually. I’ve been needing a fancy new axe. I’m in.” Sampson nodded. “But, wait a second . . .” Sampson started moving her fingers in the obvious ‘inventory sorting’ method that made actual players come off as a bit slow or weird to NPCs. Then, after a moment, she produced a cloak and handed it to Locke. “In case you want to follow me around while I do the sales. This is so cool. We’re going to be all cloak and dagger, and I’m getting paid to do it!” Sampson laughed.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

“Of course! I’m the evil dungeon master, here to make cash to bring back to my labyrinth with my unwilling manservant Daedalus. I should probably buy him consolation flowers after what happened with his son, but I warned him: ‘If you keep letting your son get high, you’re going to lose him forever,’ I said. It was his fault that he didn’t listen,” Sampson espoused, getting more and more into her role.

“You know, you don’t need a backstory to make a simple exchange,” Locke said as he finished putting on the robe that made him look like a cultist in a B-rated horror film.

“Shy, this is an MMORPG. It’s got RPG, Role-Playing-Game, right in the name for a reason! You don’t need to assume a role to make an exchange, but you do need one to properly play the game. Why do you think Sparky has put so much effort into her lines? At least she gets it,” Sampson chastised Locke and then stuck out her hand. “Poisons?”

“Okay, here is the first batch of two hundred. I need you to give . . .” Locke went over each of the clients with Sampson as she nodded.

“Alright, Shy.” Sampson popped her fingers and neck and then started walking toward the crowd. “Time to go earn momma some money.”

Locke followed along behind her in his cult outfit, chuckling as he did his best to keep up with Sampson’s large strides.

When Sampson snuck up on the first customer, she tapped his shoulder where no one could see and motioned with her head for him to break away from the pack. “Excuse me, are you here to purchase these?” She extended her hand, holding a bottle of the poison.

“Yep, here you go.” He held out a bag of gold. “It’s all there. Count it,” he insisted unnecessarily. As soon as the gold went into the inventory it would be stripped from the ‘exchange bag’ that the game generated for trades and immediately turned into a green number next to the person’s gold counter to let them know how much their personal hoard had increased.

“Thank you, sir, for your patronage. I hope to do business with you in the future.” Sampson bowed and vanished so fast that Locke’s mouth was pulled open by the breeze she left in her wake. So, she’s not as clever as Tubal with transactions, but she’s definitely even better than me at trading. Maybe it’s her size? I bet it’s a lot easier to mentally wrap your head around bullying a weak Human than it is to think about trying to push around what looks like six hundred pounds of pure muscle. Yeah, that probably has a lot to do with it. Locke nodded to himself, making excuses, as he located Sampson and followed her from transaction to transaction.

Business started off so smoothly that Locke’s hopes were rising faster than bread baking at a yeast convention. Sampson made a transaction, gave Locke the gold, Locke would give her more poisons to pass to the next client, and the process would rinse and repeat again. Things were nice and simple--or, at least, they were until the pair finally came across one purchaser that didn’t seem to understand the need for inconspicuous and covert spy-style trade-offs. As soon as Sampson showed this person the poison, everything went wrong.

“Oh! Of course, that’s what I’m looking for!” His voice suddenly tripled in volume, blaring like a used car commercial following a particularly-quiet moment in a television show. “I’ve been waiting around here for ten minutes! Where have you been, man?!” the blowhard Naga exclaimed. His wings spread open and moved in sync as he talked, and his tail wagged back and forth like a dog’s. “Do you think I have all day?”

“Cut it off with him,” Locke whispered to Sampson, seeing the problem starting right away. “Just get out of there. Abort mission, Master Cow Cleaver. Abort mission!” he said, trying to play to her sense of theatrical flair.

“Relax, Shadow-Fart. I have this,” Sampson returned in a hushed tone, the Naga completely unaware of their communication. Locke was directly behind Sampson, not at her side, but he could still make out the customer’s facial expressions perfectly from reflections off the glassy, mirror-like surfaces that decorated the sides of every building in the market.

“Oh, is he here? The Alchemist?” Sol asked. He and Sal happened to be standing nearby, and they ceased their conversation and turned to the Naga as soon as they suspected that something was up.

“Yeah, it’s the Minotaur.” The Naga pointed at Sampson, who was now backing up so quickly Locke felt like he needed to roll a dexterity save just so he didn’t end up trampled underneath her hooves.

“It’s not me!” she insisted. “I’m just . . .” She looked around for Locke as he made his way to safety, where he could keep his eyes on the scene from the sideline, no longer risking an accidental reverse bull rush.

Get out of there, Sampson! Locke mentally yelled at Sampson like she was some teen about to be knifed in a slasher flick. He was worried that Sampson couldn’t handle the pressure from the growing attention of the crowd they had been so neatly avoiding earlier. With only around a dozen people looking at her so far, he could already see her nerve slowly starting to shatter like a cracked mirror with a weight on top. We can lose one customer. Just get out of there! Why didn’t you listen to me and run away when this guy first rocked the boat?

“Don’t try that, you’re the one with the poisons! You have to be the guy! Why are you lying?” one of the other members in the crowd questioned.

“No, I’m really not! The one with the poisons is just . . .” Sampson froze, and then she noticed Locke. She took a breath as the crowd continued to interrogate her and said, “That person, well, he is just very shy.”

That was utterly beautiful, you brilliant bovine. Locke laughed at the joke that Sampson and he would be the only two to get.

“He’s shy?” Sol asked as he nudged his way with Sal to the front of the group confronting them. “What does he have to be shy about? He’s making a product people want. We’re willing to outbid anyone who thinks that they have a better offer, so tell him to at least give us a fair shot. We’re sure we can win his business.”

Sampson, upon hearing this, made eye contact with Locke and gave him a face that seemed to ask ‘Are you sure you don’t want to hear out their offer?’ Locke, hoping his interpretation was right, made sure to shake his head ‘no’ at her. He wanted to add ‘Don’t look at me too long. They’ll figure out who I am, but just made another gesture in the negative and tried to angle his head down so that the creepy cult robe would keep his face hidden after.

“I’m sure that my master isn’t interested in new offers at the moment. He has already made promises to certain clients, and he doesn’t intend to break those to allow for new offers right now,” Sampson said.

Your master? Locke suppressed a laugh at the title. He knew that she had regretted it as soon as she said it. Glad to know I have that much sway over you, short horns. Part of him felt bad for how much he would inevitably tease her over this, given she was only in this position as a favor to him, but he was just too amused to let it go.

“Well then, just tell your master that we, the Holy Alliance, would love a chance to do business with him and that we can even meet with him later. If he’s the type to get claustrophobic with crowds, we can do the whole thing in a comfortable and private tent, just one-on-one,” Sal said.

“Yeah, that would be real easy,” Sol added, nodding in agreement. “Just give us a chance. Tell your master that we’ll message our contact info to him or to whomever originally posted the offer on the forums, and he can reach us anytime day or night.”

Come on, Sol, Sal. Have some dignity. Don’t beg! Locke normally would have loved clients this desperate, but for all the hatred he had for the Holy Alliance, he didn’t actually dislike these two. They had never treated him poorly. In fact, he realized now that if it weren’t for Anthony, he probably wouldn’t even be in the position to feel any antipathy toward any of them. He quickly shook his head trying to dispel the thoughts as soon as he could. They may be unwitting bystanders, but their alliance has to die in order for me to get my revenge. I can’t kill Anthony in the game, so his empire is the next best thing.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Sampson replied, politely dismissing him. She turned back to the original customer, presumably to press him into making the transaction, but caught sight of Locke still giving her the ‘cut the deal’ signal and just turned to leave.

As the customer saw her turn to leave, he started to grumble, yelling after, “Hey, come back!”

“I think you’ve done enough, friend.” Locke had wormed his way through the crowd and intervened this time.

“What? I was promised poisons and that b--”

“Watch your tongue, or I’ll kill you right here in front of the guards,” Locke said, cutting the man off before he could finish the sentence.

Sol’s eyes caught Locke’s for a moment before he could adjust his hood to keep his face obscured, and a flash of curiosity appeared in the Dryad’s eyes. “Hey, was that . . .”

Locke took off after Sampson without waiting around for Sol to put two and two together. The Minotaur was now heading toward the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head at a brisk pace, and Locke practically had to run to catch up with her.

Did he spot me? Am I that obvious? Or did he just notice me sticking up for Sampson, who was doing the trades? No, Ash wouldn’t have left me with the exact same face . . . would she? He swallowed again because he already knew the answer. Yes, she totally would. He let out an involuntary groan as he considered the idea. She’s so concerned with someone finding out who I am, but she couldn’t even have the decency give me a makeover. Locke remembered her last message where she threatened to tattoo a billboard across his forehead and decided that it was probably for the best that she hadn’t dabbled with his character design. There’s no telling what kind of freaky things she might have come up with. I could be walking around with fluffy pink hedgehog spikes and puppy dog ears . . . Locke shook his head, returning his thoughts to more important things.

“Hey!” he shouted at Sampson, coming up behind her. “It’s me! They’re not following! You can stop running away so fast.”

“Oh, I’m . . .” Sampson’s face was still red, most likely from her becoming so flustered in the market, and it was an extremely odd sight for Locke to process. She was still a giant, over-muscled Minotaur with an axe strapped to her back, and the sight of rosy cheeks and a nervous expression on such a brutish body was an amusing dichotomy to Locke.

“It’s okay, Sampson. You don’t have to worry about a thing . . . Your master took care of them.” He snickered as he watched her face transform from red with embarrassment to relieved and then to irritated in about half a second. Yeah, Minotaurs definitely get the short end of the stick when it comes to facial expressions.

“That’s not fair,” she grumbled.

“Fine, fine, I’ll cut you some slack,” he said apologetically and resigned himself to giving up the best teasing material he had ever gotten on someone so shortly after meeting them. “You were helping me out, so I’ll cut you a break. Do you wanna go to the market with me while I get some supplies, or do you want me to pick something up for you while I’m there so you don’t chance running into any of them?” Locke offered.

“Ummm . . . here,” she said, handing him back the bag of gold she had accumulated while they were hustling people in town. “See if you can find me a better axe than what I’m using now. I could also use anything you can find to increase my Power or Vitality stats.”

“Will do, I’ll meet you at the tavern in fifteen minutes,” Locke called out as he took off.

-----

The whole trip was mostly unproductive. He found himself a one-handed sword that barely did +35 damage and only offered a meager +5 to Vitality, but he figured it was better than the basic, starter sword that he had been using so far. He really hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it anytime soon, but if he caught another wild hair like he had in the swamp, he wanted to be as prepared as possible.

He was actually able to get a great deal on both an axe and a Minotaur-exclusive helmet from a random merchant in town named Ben for Sampson. The two-handed axe added +65 points to Damage with an additional +10 to Power, and it was too tempting for him to walk away from. Sampson had been his witting pawn, and he wanted to keep good on his word to try and find her something better than what she had been using. The only problem was that the salesman was a bit odd, to say the least, and he insisted on giving Locke a dozen meat buns with each purchase he made. Locke tried to tell him that he didn’t need the meat buns, that he’d just prefer a lower price on the gear if possible, but the man insisted that ‘meat buns are love’ and that if Locke didn’t take them, he wouldn’t do business with Locke. The exact words he used were ‘I can’t see myself helping out a man who doesn’t even have the taste to recognize that there is no better food than meat buns.’

The haggling with the meat bun maniac took so long that Locke was worried he would be the last one to the table when he finally made it to the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head. When he opened the double doors into the establishment, however, he only found Sampson, Tubal and Sparky there waiting for him. That’s odd. I thought they’d all be back and waiting around impatiently to leave again with how long I took.

“Hey!” Tubal, who was positioned with his back against the wall with a clear view of both exits to the tavern, waved Locke over as soon as he walked in.

The tavern wasn’t at all like the ones he had been forced to wait in while he was still finding leveling groups to leach off of in the original Human starter towns. Those had been simple bars with wooden tables and wooden walls, but this one had a completely different style and felt more like an office than an actual bar. Each of the tables that filled the room were tall, circular and made from glass; yet, strangely, other than the mirrors and the bar top, that was it as far as glass went. Given how the rest of the city had been designed, he had been expecting the tavern to be constructed with the same glass-crazy flair as everything else. Indeed, he had even expected to find marble-backed chairs. The only problem was that there weren’t any. Instead, there were tall stools situated on black frames with thin, white, circular seats on top. The walls of the bar were also devoid of the overly-used marble and glass, and the only decorations were three giant, horizontal stripes of black, white and red stones that circled around the entire establishment.

Since Tubal was camped out in the back corner of the room, Locke was forced to weave between the cramped tables to make it to him. They were close enough together to make maneuvering through the place uncomfortable, and he almost tripped over a few of the long, snake-like Naga tails that slithered around absentmindedly on the floor underneath their prospective owners.

“I bring goodies,” Locke declared when he finally managed to make it to them. He pulled up a stool and dropped the meat buns, which were wrapped in a large square bundle, in the middle of the table before handing Sampson her new axe, the helmet and the change he had left over from the amount she had given him to find them. “I hope you all haven’t ordered anything to eat.”

“We . . . hadn’t . . .  but . . . meat buns?” Tubal looked at them skeptically and poked one or two with a finger before inching back away from them. “You couldn’t bring kebabs or anything?”

Well, I kind of had to buy them, so you’re gonna have to deal with that. He noticed that Sampson also gave the meat buns a suspicious frown and neglected to reach for one. Thankfully, as the other two sat staring at them hesitantly, Sparky reached out and grabbed four, two in each hand, and stuffed her face so fast that her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s. Sampson, are you sure Sparky is a girl? Locke raised an eyebrow at her antics, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing anyway, the other two joining in as well with Sampson looking confused.

“What?” Sparky asked, her voice muffled by the still-present giant quantity of food she had stuffed in her mouth.

“Nothing . . . nothing at all.” Tubal chuckled, then added, “You really will eat anything, won’t you?”

After a few minutes of a chewing, and several attempts at swallowing with the whole table watching her, Sparky wiped away her mouth and responded, “Even righteous fury needs fuel to burn, lest it consume both heart and body.”

“Alright, puffy cheeks,” Tubal teased, still chuckling at Sparky as she tried again to wipe her face off with an arm fully covered in armor. “Just remember that there is no honor in gluttony or something.” He started to lecture her, but it was already too late. As soon as Sparky had finished wiping her mouth clean with one arm, the other had already reached out and grabbed another two meat buns to refill the hole.

“Man, this axe is really nice,” Sampson said, caressing the edge of one of the long blades the hefty, two-handed weapon sported. “The helmet is good, but this axe is amazing.”

“You should try thanking your master, then, for being so generous,” Tubal said, causing Sparky to burst into such intense laughter that a piece of the meat bun she was chewing ended up being ejected out and onto the plate in front of her.

“And that’s why you don’t eat so much at once.” Tubal shook his head while Sparky calmed down.

Sampson turned redder than a bull fighter’s muleta and shot Tubal a ‘go die’ look. “You two were there?”

“Yeah, we watched the whole thing. We were going to come up and say hello when we saw you, but with the crowd around you, we figured we’d wait,” Tubal explained. “When you started calling Shy your master, well, poor Sparky couldn’t stop laughing. We just didn’t know that you were into all that crazy roleplaying stuff.”

“If Reggie finds out, I’m killing you both.” Sampson slammed her new axe into the floor, drawing quite a few stares from the patrons around them.

“Relax, no one is going to say anything,” Tubal said while finally reaching out and grabbing one of the meat buns too. “I wouldn’t want to give him any more fodder than usual,” he continued before popping the meat bun in his mouth.

Some movement across the room caught his attention, and Locke turned to find someone staring at him as if he had kicked a puppy in front of them. Is that . . . Locke ran through the list of descriptions that Eliza had left him and quickly compared them to the person watching him. That’s him. It has to be, he thought, moving his head side to side to see if the man’s eyes would follow. The man was, without a doubt, a Fire-Walker. His skin was as black as onyx and streaked with bright, glowing, red lines that looked like fresh lava trickling across an inky stone surface as they made a jagged ascent around the man’s body. At first glance, the pattern looked random, like streaks of red lightning had split his chest, but as Locke studied it, he realized that they came together to make the rough shape of a dragon, wings spread and spewing fire.

So, that’s why there isn’t a single building made from wood in this entire city, Locke thought as he noticed the man’s burning feet. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a Fire-Walker before, but he had never really paid attention to any of them. There weren’t more than two or three that he had seen in the entire Holy-Alliance, and Locke had always been too busy trying to fill orders in order keep up with demand or negotiating deals to really stop and take note of them. Whelp, here goes nothing, Locke thought, standing up to go meet the guy.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab a beer and talk to a friend of mine for a few minutes. I’ll be back,” Locke told the group. “You guys going to want one too?”

“Yeah, I’ll take one,” Tubal and Sampson both said in unison.

“I’m touched. The master that is the servant,” Sparky chimed in, nodding. “You’re a very kind and caring young master, Shy. Sampson’s blessed not to have a cruel slave driver in charge of her.”

“That is . . .!” Sampson jumped up as if she were going to protest, but gave up just as quickly as she had started and sighed. “Whatever, just bring me back a beer, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.” Locke nodded his head and then made his way across the room toward the Fire-Walker. It’s definitely him, Locke thought, noting that the Fire-Walker had stood up as soon as he saw Locke coming. The Fire-Walker signaled with a slight jerk of his head toward a hallway when he approached, and the pair moved off in that direction. The man disappeared around a corner of the hallway, and Locke quickly realized where they were heading. Wait, are we really going to conduct a clandestine meeting in a bathroom? The man was waiting on him when he arrived, giving Locke an evil stare that edged its way under his skin and unnerved him in a way that neither the Bishopotamus nor creepy Piranha-Priests ever had.

“Go inside,” he commanded and pointed at the wall. The Fire-Walker’s voice was both thunderous and deep yet quiet at the same time.

Go inside the wall? How exactly is that going to happen? This man must be crazy, Locke thought. But no sooner had the question of how he was supposed to get inside a wall appeared than the wall silently shifted and slid aside to reveal a hidden entrance with a set of winding stairs descending behind it. Oh.

Locke blinked in surprise as he stepped inside and started down the stairs. He heard the wall close up behind him, and a small chill ran up his spine. Even without a single torch anywhere in sight, the light from the Fire-Walker’s flaming feet kept the entire stairway well lit. That’s incredibly handy, Locke thought, taking a deep breath. He had done a few sketchy trades in his past, especially during his college days, but they never got any easier. Experience had taught him that he should always be nervous as soon as any negotiation or trade moved from the light to the dark, from out in the open to behind closed walls and into chambers to which no one even knew there were doors.

The stairs leveled out about two flights under the bar and revealed a long hallway that stretched off to his left and right. It was both wide and tall enough to fit a small wagon drawn by two horses through it, but probably not comfortably.

“Which way?” Locke asked, the man glaring at him in return. “And do you have a name? I’m Shy,” he extended his hand, still feeling rather uneasy about the whole situation. He knew he had a habit of talking when things were going bad, but that was because it always helped. The more human he was, the more real, the less likely the other person was to do him harm; or, at least, that’s what he had heard from a few different crime procedurals on TV, and he believed them like a sucker.

The man grabbed Locke’s arm instead of his hand, and firmly held onto it. “You’re not going anywhere, you filthy assassin,” he spat. The hand he was using to hold Locke’s arm erupted into flames, scorching Locke, as his other fist slammed into Locke’s face with enough force to dislodge him from the grip and send him tumbling face-first onto the ground.

Locke, wracked with pain and wanting to scream from how much his charred arm hurt, tried to get back up only to be punted by a flaming foot into the wall where he bounced off it like a rag doll. Dangit! Locke cursed, Why does the pain have to be so realistic? What the heck, Eliza? If you wanted me dead, why didn’t you just kill me yourself?

“You think I wouldn’t find out? You reek of poison, and the guards have already spread the news about you being sent into town by a Demon,” the man said before throwing a fireball at Locke.

Locke felt like he was hanging on with only about 45% of his health bar remaining and knew that he wouldn’t be able to dodge the attack. He barely raised his arm in time to mitigate the damage as the ball of flames scorched his already burned limb and knocked another chunk of his health bar away. “I’m not an assassin,” he coughed, doing his best to stand up as quickly as he could while the Fire-Walker approached.

The Fire-Walker’s hands exploded into two more fireballs after only a few steps, and he promptly threw another punch at Locke. This time, however, Locke actually managed to evade the blow. “Don’t lie to me,” the fiery assailant said coldly. “I know a rat when I see one. We extend an olive branch, tell you we can help your cause, and you do what? Come to kill me? To put the mad dog down? Well, let me show you that this mad dog has teeth!” he shouted, throwing another three blistering fireballs in Locke’s direction.

Locke was doing everything that he could to dodge and run backward at the same time, and he soon found himself struggling to catch his breath as the smoke from the explosions began to fill his lungs. The attacks themselves were fairly small and compact, but both the blast and the residue they left behind were far from it.

Wait, that’s it! An idea struck Locke like a lightning bolt, and he pulled out a bottle of poison with his still unscorched left hand.

“There it is!” The man howled as he saw Locke ready the green bottle. “I knew I could smell it on you! You reek of sickly death!”

How can you smell anything when you’re always on fire? Does the smoke not clog your sense of smell? Locke was still edging backward, but he was moving much more slowly as he waited for an opportunity.

“Come on, then, assassin! You need to earn your pay. Don’t tell me that Demon couldn’t even afford to send a decent killer,” the man mocked.

What the hell were you thinking, Eliza, sending me here to die? Locke cursed her again with the Fire-Walker’s words. Did you really think I could kill this guy? He dodged another fireball, and it soared past him. He felt a wave of heat ripple toward him from behind him as the ball blasted into the ground just past where he had previously been standing. When the smoldering attacker threw another fireball, Locke hurled his poison at it. Unfortunately, his aim was off since he wasn’t left handed, and the poison slipped out and shattered against the wall, creating a harmless green puddle where it landed. Uggh. Locke groaned in frustration and exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as he readied another poison.

“Your aim is almost as bad as your constitution. Have you considered a career switch?”

His assailant laughed as he threw another ball of flame that landed squarely on Locke’s ribcage, forcing Locke to grit his teeth against the searing pain.

Locke choked down the scream that threatened to burst from his lungs and instead yelled, “I’m not an assassin! I’m a merchant!” He cringed in pain as he evaded the second and third fireballs, getting more and more frustrated after each one. After the last clean hit from the Fire-Walker, he was now down to only 19% of his health bar, and if he took another good hit or two, it would be his death. After the Dryad seemed to recognize him in the market place, he was even more scared of dying than ever. He had no idea if he would respawn in the Holy Alliance camp, but if he did, there was a good chance that someone else would recognize him immediately--and that would be the end of it.

“Just die already!” A fourth, fifth and sixth projectile were flung at Locke in rapid succession.

Locke threw his poison bottle and two more after it at the incoming attacks. This time, he hit two of the flames dead on, and the liquid exploded into a giant, green cloud of vapor that expanded between them. One of the attacks still made it through and blackened Locke’s leg as it burned him, leaving him with less than 3% of his health bar remaining.

The Fire-Walker seemed to sense his advantage and threw another attack toward Locke. But it never reached him. Instead, it ignited part of the cloud and erupted into an explosion that tossed the Fire-Walker back five feet into the air and dumped him onto his rear. “Clever, clever boy,” he laughed, popping his neck as he stood up. He approached the green wall of gas and stared at Locke through it.

The cloud hung so thickly in the air that Locke couldn’t easily discern more than a green-tinted shadow on the other side.

“But this will fade in time, and when it does, I’m still going to finish you off,” the Fire-Walker threatened.

Locke, who didn’t have much time and could feel his life force waning with the seconds, quickly pulled out the ingredients he needed and started making one health potion after the other, gulping them down as quickly as he made them.

“What in the world are you doing?” the man asked as he watched, perplexed by Locke’s action.

“I’m trying to” --Locke drank another potion-- “not die from these burns,” he said as he went back to focusing on making the healing elixirs. None of them were particularly strong, only healing ten hit points with each potion, but the Fire-Walker was right. The poison would fade soon, and he would be dead if he took another hit from that mad man. “I’m not cut out for fighting.”

“You mean that those red drinks you’re making with the herbs will heal you?” the Fire-Walker’s voice had gone from booming and angry to curious and hesitant.

“Yeah, if I drink enough of them. I’m not good at this mix,” Locke said honestly. “I usually sell other types. No one buys this kind often.”

“So you really are a merchant?”

Locke couldn’t make out the expression on the Fire-Walker’s face, but the inflection in his voice conveyed a noticeable amount of surprise. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I wasn’t sent here to kill you--just to talk!” Locke finished another potion and gulped it down. Thank heavens I had enough of the flowers to keep making these. I’d be up the creek without a paddle otherwise. I will never leave home without a full inventory of daisies. He made himself a solemn promise and found himself laughing at the thought. It wasn’t a particularly funny idea or anything, but he was just so relieved to be alive he couldn’t help but laugh a bit. With only 3% of his health left, he had taken just enough damage to not die, but still barely be alive. Any more, and he’d be nothing more than a pile of ashes to be blown across the ground, incinerated by this aggressor.

“And those things, can you make a lot of them?” the Fire-Walker continued his interrogation.

“If I have enough material? Sure. They’re real gems, these.” Locke knew that he was bragging with his would-be murderer, but a bit of boasting now wouldn’t make much of a difference. “But the green ones, the poison ones, those sell like hotcakes.”

“Hot cakes?” the Fire-Walker asked.

Oh yeah, he’s an NPC. He wouldn’t know modern idioms. “Uhh . . . It’s an expression. It means that they sell out almost instantly when I put them on the market. People want way more of them than I have.”

The Fire-Walker poked at the poison cloud before quickly withdrawing his hand like a kid who had touched a stove. “I can see why. This is incredibly useful. Now I see why Eliza sent you.”

“Probably not. She seems to think that they are useless,” Locke chuckled. “She likely sent me because the guards at gates are blocking entry to any Demons.”

“Curses!” the Fire-Walker boomed. “So that’s why she was late.”

“How did you not know that?” Locke looked confused. “You live here, and your sources were so thorough that you knew that I had been spotted entering the city after arriving with a Demon. How did you not know that Demons couldn’t enter the city?”

“Because it was probably decided between the Naga and the White-Wings without our consent. They don’t tell us lowly Fire-Walkers every decision they make in regards to the city anymore . . . not since the Sun God-loving White-Wings started wresting more authority from our people.”

“Your people? So, what was so important you needed to meet with Eliza? She didn’t give me any details. She just sent me here and told me to look for you,” Locke said, never letting the conversation slow him down as he toiled away to make more and more red potions.

“You came in here like a lamb to the slaughter without even a single clue? You’re either a very stupid or very desperate boy.”

“It’d be the latter,” Locke answered with a shrug. I didn’t want to die, and that makes a man pretty desperate, right?

“Well, I have bad news for her kind. The White-Wings have already reached a decision regarding the Holy Alliance: They intend to join. In exchange for the Holy Alliance having a few key members join the Church of the Sun God following the Demons’ destruction, they will put all the resources of Sine Nomine behind their cause.

“But this city isn’t just the White-Wings, is it? What about the Naga, the Fire-Walkers and the other races?” Locke was starting to understand why he was here. He said the White-Wings made a decision, not the Fire-Walkers. Not the Naga. So, there is still hope, right?

“That’s the tricky part,” he continued. “We Fire-Walkers would ally ourselves with the Holy Alliance, too, if it weren’t for the fact that the White-Wings have already made a deal with them. We need to seize power in this city before word finally reaches the shores of our homeland, and they find out what we’ve done in that holy land. There will be a civil war of epic proportions when they discover that the holy city was purged while their army was away, sent out by the White-Wing hierarchy, and all their boats were sunk before word could escape.”

“Wait . . . you staged a coup in the homeland . . . and they don’t know about it?” Locke was stunned as he started putting the pieces together. “So you’re looking for outside help to solidify your power here . . . before they find out what happened. . . and you think that if the Holy Alliance deal goes through smoothly, everyone will be on their side once the news finally does arrive. Pure desperation. That’s why you’re reaching out to the Demons . . . so that they’ll fix your problems for you.”

“You aren’t as foolish as I thought, boy,” he said, nodding as he spoke. “Eliza was supposed to bring help and assist us in assassinating the White-Wing leadership. Without their higher ups, their power structure will crumble, and the deal with the Holy Alliance will fall through. The Naga will naturally side with the stronger party, and if everything goes according to plan, that will be us. Naturally, we expect that the White-Horns, Black-Wings and Humans will follow suit like they always do.”

“And, in exchange, this town will join the Demon Host against the Holy Alliance?” Locke couldn’t help but grin. He was only making potions, building up wealth and trying to regain his power, but with this development, and with Eliza’s help, he finally had a real way to deal a serious blow to Anthony. He had never really thought about it before, but Sine Nomine was key in the war between the Holy Alliance and the Demons. It wasn’t just the city’s positioning or its usefulness as a major port, but it also meant that three entirely different races were about to be drawn into the war.

“That was the deal we were supposed to strike today, but if the Demons can’t get into the city, if I can’t get assurances from the Demon emissary, Eliza, herself, we may have to go a different route.”

“No,” Locke protested immediately. “No, you don’t have to do that. You help me find a way to the White-Wing leadership, and I’ll do everything that I can to make sure that we both reach our goals.”

The Fire-Walker didn’t respond at all to this though. He just stared at Locke for a while, his beady eyes redder than Eliza’s as fire seemed to seep from the sockets. The gas had been slowly dissipating over the course of the conversation, but it wasn’t completely gone yet. Finally, just when Locke was beginning to question whether or not he was going to have to jump up and defend himself again, the Fire-Walker took a step back and threw a fireball at the walls on each side of Locke. The flames ignited the remaining vapor, but the explosion only created a small pop accompanied by a strong gust of wind this time instead of its earlier, more powerful, kickback.

Once the hallway was clear, the Fire-Walker took several strides toward Locke, causing Locke to sweat as he scrambled to his feet. Locke was about to run for it, still worried the man meant to murder him for possibly knowing too much, when the Fire-Walker extended a hand. “I’m Red Dragon.”

Red Dragon. Go figure. You did try to butcher me. “I’m Shy. It’s nice to meet you.” Locke took his hand with trepidation, still a little concerned after what happened the last time that the man might light him on fire again. The burn on his arm was mostly healed, but not all the way, and it was a throbbing reminder of what had happened. “Is . . . Is that name given to you because of the . . .?” He had to ask, pointing at the tattoo-like red lines that etched across him.

“You could say that, but you could also say the markings were given to me because of the name. Either is correct.” Red Dragon reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a series of papers. “These are maps of the city. They have all the hidden entrances that we use marked clearly for you. If anyone discovers you have these, I don’t know you. If you get caught using our tunnels by any suspicious people, I don’t know you.”

“So” --Locke stored the maps in his inventory-- “you want me to meet back up with you after the job is done or after I get Eliza into the town?”

“I think it's safe to assume that both of those things will happen at the same time. When I saw Eliza fight, I knew that she would have been sufficient to get the job done; but even then, the fight would probably be about fifty-fifty. And you are definitely no Eliza,” he said, belittling Locke’s combat ability.

If Eliza wouldn’t be able to do it easily, we won’t have any hope of accomplishing the mission even with the Blue Phoenix Brigade, Locke grumbled. We need to get out of town and find Eliza.

“If we get this done, who is to say you won’t still betray us and join the Holy Alliance on your own terms?” Locke asked, realizing that he had already been betrayed once today. What was to stop it from happening again?

“I swear, by the fires of the Sun God, that I will not go back on my word. Kill their leaders, and you’ll have earned yourself an ally in the war,” he promised.

“And the Naga won’t get upset at the coup?”

“The Naga only use this city to keep a port open with us land dwellers. They wouldn’t care if the Jotunn’s came in and butchered both of our factions so long as the city remained and trade still flowed,” Red Dragon assured Locke. “I’ve dealt with them a long time, and I can say with confidence that they will always ally themselves with whomever the strongest faction is at the time. Get moving, Shy. Time is not the friend of either of us, for it’s only a matter of time until that deal is sealed.”

“Got it.” Locke took a deep breath and headed up the stairs. He quickly noticed that the Fire-Walker wasn’t following along behind him, which caused some issue as the stairwell was not lit on its own. He almost tripped twice as he climbed the stairs, only to discover the wall had closed back up, and he didn’t know how to open it. After finally feeling around blindly in the dark after what felt like at least five minutes of searching, he found a stone that easily slid in and opened the wall back up when he touched it.

Thank you, big man upstairs. He felt a surge of relief as he stepped back into the tavern. He could have been stuck in the dark tunnels much, much longer and was grateful that he had been able to find his way out at all.

He returned to the main room to find that Reginald and the two Succubi were back, having returned while Locke was fighting for his life in the tunnels below. How long was I down there? Seeing that none of them had a drink yet, he made his way over to the bar and ordered a round of drinks for everyone before returning to the table, getting a tray so he could carry them over.

“Wow, Shy, way to carry those drinks. It’s almost like you’re a . . . master . . . at it,” Tubal said and snickered at Sampson while Locke set the tray full of beers down on the table in the empty spot where the meat buns had been.

“Shy, did you slay the beast, or was it a losing battle?” Sparky asked him. “There is no honor lost in a fight well fought.”

Her male avatar was still confusing him, and he was trying his best to picture her as a girl since both Sampson and Reginald had told him that she was, but the serious, armored, masculine face looked like it belonged to the hero of a war movie and not any girl he had ever known.

Wait, how does she know about the fight? Locke looked down and noticed that his clothes were still in tatters from the skirmish with Red Dragon. “Huh? What?”

“We saw you head into the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago, and you emerge looking like that,” Tubal clarified. “We can only assume that whatever you ate would put a hundred-pepper-stuffed bowl of chili to shame. Sparky here is just wondering, after such an epic struggle, whether you won or loss.”

“Considering how many of those meat buns Sparky ate too, I’m just wondering how long it will be before she explodes,” Sampson said.

“Can food actually do damage to you inside a game? You may want to take a few health potions with you just in case,” Bianca suggested.

While the rest of the group was just having fun teasing Locke, Reginald was the only one who actually found it laugh-out-loud funny, almost dying of a laughing fit and killing the joke in the process.

“Easy there, buddy.” Katherine glared at Reginald and shook her head at his behavior.

“Well, everyone is here. Wanna finish the beers and get moving or drink them while we’re walking?” Tubal asked the group.

So, it is a bit of a democracy, Locke noted. He was happy to see that, while Tubal clearly called the shots when they were out in the field, they seemed to be a group that operated under the need for majority consent and waited for everyone before doing anything. This is actually a pretty good group of guys . . . Now, if only they didn’t hire themselves out to the enemy.

“I’m good walking and drinking,” Katherine said, “but do we know where we’re even going?”

“Hmm . . . We could go back to the swamp. Hoping, of course, that the crazy homicidal maniac isn’t still there,” Bianca suggested.

“Or . . .” Locke looked at them, immediately seeing a way for him to help them while helping himself. “We could do a dungeon? You know, the one that gives you the eye-color changing reward?”

“Do you not like your green eyes? I think they’re pretty cool.” Katherine, who was sitting right next to him, leaned in until she was uncomfortably close to his face. “They make you look so much more handsome.”

“Katherine, stop teasing the noob,” Tubal admonished. “Is it a tradable reward?”

Locke looked at the gold in his inventory. “Ummm . . .” He wanted to say yes, that he already had a client and that she had already paid them for the job. As much as he loved his money, he could afford losing his haul from one day’s worth of work and pay them gold straight out of his pocket if it meant giving Eliza a way into town to kill the White-Wing leaders. But he wasn’t sure whether or not it would work. He didn’t even know how they would react once they saw Eliza again, and he could be risking a hefty sum of gold on what might end up being a terrible gamble. The swamp was really foggy, and the fight was incredibly short for them. Would they even recognize her? Will she freak out and kill them again?

“‘Umm?’ Do you not know? We can just check the forums if you want,” Sampson offered.
“Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Someone has to know. Can even dig up some notes on the best places to find it exactly.”

Persephone knows, he thought, but he couldn’t think of a way to contact her without tipping her off to his continued existence and earning the wrath of an angry GM and a vindictive guild leader. Unless she’s still in the market, and we can ‘accidentally’ bump into her, pretend like we just noticed it and were interested? No, that would never work. She’d still recognize my face like Sol and Sal seemed to. Stupid Ash. How the heck am I supposed to . . . “You know what? Yeah. Go check the best locations and find out if it’s tradable.”

“You got it.” Sampson’s avatar vanished.

“She’s really mastered that,” Sparky said quietly to Tubal, but still loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.

“You mean at using the forums?” Reginald remained oblivious to the inside joke. “That doesn’t seem hard at all.”

“Don’t you mean ‘he’?” Bianca asked.

“Nah, Sampson told us that our dear friend, little Reggie-reg, already let loose the secret of our real-life identities, gender included, to our newest member.”

I still haven’t joined! Locke wanted to protest, but given the spiteful glares Bianca, Katherine, Tubal and Sparky were giving Reginald, he didn’t get the impression that this was the best time to correct them on anything.

“It was an accident,” Reginald lied. He had clearly told him on purpose. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that after seeing you all in real life, it’s hard to separate you all from the avatars.” His ability to make an excuse so quickly was somewhat noteworthy, but Locke saw holes in it almost immediately.

“Is that the case?” Bianca stared even harder at Reginald. “Then I suppose that, right now, you are imagining what my real-life-fist might do to you if I find out you’ve doxed us in any way again.”

“Doxed? No way. I just let slip the genders. I didn’t say anything else! Promise!” Reginald was trying to stem the flow of anger working its way towards him but was failing miserably.

“That’s exactly what doxing is! It’s when you give away real life information about a person over the Internet. I mean, we know you didn’t give away our phone numbers, did you? Did you give away our mothers’ maiden names and street addresses as well?” Tubal countered and went on the offensive all at once. Locke was pretty sure from the fact that only his lips were frowning and his eyes were smiling that he was actually enjoying this quite a bit.

“He has no honor. We should purge him from our ranks. I say we exterminate him with a vengeance and rip the weed out of the garden before it has time to grow.”

“You can’t be serious.” Reginald stayed backed in the verbal corner, his goatish Satyr face growing even paler by the minute. “I promise it was an accident.”

“She’s dead serious. You should have seen what she did to our neighbor growing up.” Tubal’s ability to hold a straight face deserved a video game achievement as he delivered the threat. “To say he didn’t walk for a week, well, that wouldn’t be fair. After all, can you really call the way he moved when he was finally able to stand on two feet again walking?”

While they continued back and forth, scaring the daylights out of poor Reginald, Locke was busy trying to hatch a plan. He hadn’t even planned a meetup spot with Eliza after making contact, but he figured that she would anticipate him leaving from the same gate where they parted. Even worse, he didn’t know whether or not being with the full Blue Phoenix Brigade would result in a fight that would end up with everyone dying. She was an NPC, after all, and if they figured out that she was the one that butchered them in the swamps, there was no telling whether or not they’d immediately seek revenge. What the heck am I supposed to do? Locke sighed.

“You do that a lot,” Bianca said to Locke, no longer paying attention to the suffering Satyr.

“Hmm?” Locke didn’t understand what she was referring to.

“Sigh. You sigh a lot, man. Life isn’t that serious. Stop stressing out about things and just have fun. It’s not like you doxed your whole guild to a complete stranger just for a quick laugh,” Bianca said. Katherine, who was sitting between the two, leaned forward so that Bianca could casually chat with Locke while she continued roasting the goat-man.

“Yeah, it’s a bad habit,” Locke agreed. “Just been a really hard day.”

“Too bad these beers don’t have the same kick as the ones in real life.” Bianca raised her beer and clinked glasses with Locke, Katherine joining in as soon as she saw what was going on.

“Here’s to that. But at least they’re cheaper.” Locke definitely appreciated the thought.

Sampson returned after another few minutes and, without sitting down, she said, “I got the info we need, and luckily enough for us, we’ve already been pretty close to where the dungeon is. Also, it should drop two kits, and they’re both tradeable.”

Excellent. Then even if this doesn’t work for Eliza, we can still make some money off it. Locke sighed again, drawing a look of disapproval from Bianca.

Chapter 5

Locke sat back and let his mind drift for a moment while everyone else around him laughed and teased Reginald. The Satyr was being a pretty good sport about it for the most part, occasionally firing off his own jabs, and there was something refreshing about the exchange that put Locke at ease and lifted his spirits. He could feel a sense of urgency growing somewhere in the back of his mind, urging him to set the wheels in motion on this new plan he had hatched, but he relished the opportunity to relax, even if it was for just a moment, without feeling the stress of his day-to-day life. This was the first time that he had taken ‘time off’ in so long that he couldn’t even recollect when he had last sat back and had a drink, albeit only a virtual one, with a group of friends. They had already located the dungeon, and they knew where the boss was, but no one was in a rush to get up, Locke included, and hurry off. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and that alone was enough reason to push the need to work and make money out of his head as they chatted.

More than a few times, he found himself pondering if he had even been doing life right. Everyone else spent most of their days relaxed, having fun with their friends and enjoying themselves, but he was constantly working. Day in, day out--working. He was always so focused on doing the best that he could and trying to come up with ways to support himself and his sister that he had been left with so few experiences like this. There was never really any opportunity to just do nothing, and it was a luxury he could rarely afford himself. Doing nothing feels like something definitely worth doing. The thought slipped into his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile at it as he took another swig of his drink, only to discover that there wasn’t any left.

Tubal noticed Locke’s problem, nodded and finished off his own glass as he stood up. “Alright,” he began, “we should probably get a move on. If we get this dungeon done, and we do it well, I think we could probably knock off one or two more before the day is over. Who knows? We might even be able to farm this one a couple more times for extra doses of the eye-changing drops to sell,” he declared as he stood up.

“Yeah, if no one else is in line for the quest when we get there, that sounds like a pretty decent plan,” Reginald agreed, chugging the remainder of his own drink and standing as well. “I wouldn’t mind being the richest goat in town.”

The rest of the party followed suit, and they all moved toward the exit of the tavern, ready to leave and begin their adventure. The door to the tavern opened, and a few other people came in as they were about to exit, and Locke noticed something just outside that caught his attention. Waiting outside the bar, someone was pointing at them and talking frantically to a group of people. More specifically, he was pointing at Sampson.

What is he saying? Locke wondered, trying his best to catch a glimpse of whomever it was. Wait, I recognize that guy . . . He’s one of the quartermasters for the Holy Alliance. Locke couldn’t make anyone else out through the doorway, but he could clearly see that a bit of a crowd was forming outside the tavern.

“Get your weapons out,” Locke said to the group, pushing through ahead of everyone and extending an arm so that they didn’t just keep walking past him as he talked.

“Why? What’s going on?” Tubal queried, pulling out his bow despite his question.

“Hey, no fighting in the tavern!” the manager yelled at them from behind the bar. “You know the rules! If I see a single one of you start something, I’m going to personally kill you and make your parents pay for the damages!”

“We’re just going outside,” Locke said complacently, glancing back at the Naga. “We don’t mean any trouble, sir.” Despite his assurances, the angry Naga didn’t seem to be satisfied. The barman kept his weapon drawn, and Locke could see his long tail twitching back and forth behind him.

“Why are we pulling out our weapons, Shy?” Sampson asked, even as she readied her new axe. “We’re in a town.”

“Just trust me,” Locke said. He was more sure than ever that they were about to run into trouble when he pushed through the doors and found a mob of people standing around waiting at the exit. He didn’t see the higher ups from the Holy Alliance anywhere in the group of ten or fifteen people eyeing them, and he was thankful for the fact that he wouldn’t have to deal with someone potentially recognizing him. Of course, they wouldn’t be here. They didn’t get their position by waiting around in town to pick on people, and they probably already wasted enough of their time and energy trying to recruit the new potion maker earlier.

“That’s him!” a Dryad, one Locke was positive was part of the Holy Alliance, shouted as he extended his finger right in Locke’s direction. “That’s the one the guard was telling me about earlier! He’s the one who has been conspiring with Demons!”

“Hey, now. Easy there.” Locke held up his hands and spoke in the most calming voice he could muster. His heart was starting to pick up its pace in his chest, and he wasn’t sure how steady the words would be until they actually came out. They definitely didn’t reflect the nervous tension he felt. He glanced up and down the line of people blocking their exit, looking for a hole they could make it through, for guards that could assist them, for anyone to help them get out of this pickle. How big of a mouth did that town guard have? He cursed under his breath. First that Fire-Walker, and now these guys. Is everyone going to try and kill me just for walking up to town with Eliza?

“Yeah, we’re not with Demons,” Tubal answered back, quick to speak up for the group. “We were warped back to town after being killed by one a little while ago. Surely you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken at all. The report was clear. He’s with the Demons, and . . . And that’s the Minotaur, too! That explains it!” The tall Dryad continued to levy his accusations and wag his finger, this time pointing at Sampson. “That’s the one who wouldn’t sell to anyone in the Holy Alliance!”

This seemed to earn Locke a glare from Sampson, which only deepened as someone else immediately added, “Yeah, her master wouldn’t even sell a single poison! We offered to pay way more than our competition, and he intentionally ignored our bids for people who were bidding way less than we were!”

“Her master?” Reginald managed to break the tension that was building up by bursting into laughter. “Her master? That’s awesome! Sampson, tell me more about your master. If he’s the master, are you like his apprentice? Or maybe an acolyte? Maybe you’re just his bedroom s--”

Sampson silenced Reginald with a swift punch to the back of his head before he could finish his sentence. “His what?” she fumed, her whole Minotaur face glowering.

“There is no shame in having a master, only dishonor for those who never serve,” Sparky said, raising her shield, drawing her sword and extending her wings. “For a good man may be king, but a great king is but a servant of all good men.”

“Whatever, man,” one of the White-Wings in the group snapped, dismissing Sparky immediately. “Don’t change the subject. Your friend here consorted with Demons, and your other friend refused to sell to the Holy Alliance! They’re both collaborating scum and enemies of peace!”

“And you’re no better, bow boy, wearing that bathrobe in plain daylight. You just like to flaunt the fact you’re one of them, don’t you?” said another Dryad.

“What are you talking about? Won’t sell to Holy Alliance? Traitors? We’ve done missions with you guys, Stephen. I’ve even fought side by side with you. That’s how I got the bathrobe, and you know it.” Tubal was addressing the other Dryad in the group, whom he clearly knew. “Why do you guys have to be like this?”

Because they’re correct. Locke almost wanted to correct Tubal just to be right, but he also didn’t want to cause any trouble. If Tubal really could talk his way out of this, it was better for everyone involved. Locke didn’t see any guards yet, but their absence now didn’t mean that some wouldn’t show up right when the conflict started and kick them all out of the town for good--or send them to jail. How does jail even work in this game? I hope it’s not tied to a fine like most games.

“Yeah, he did, Freddy,” the Dryad Tubal was addressing spoke in their defense.

Yes! Locke mentally cheered as this happened, hoping it would continue to diffuse the situation.

“But he also charged us an arm and a leg just to join the fight. He probably spent all that money buying gear for his Demon buddies,” the Dryad continued, dashing Locke’s hopes that he would aid them in de-escalating the situation.

“That’s just crazy, man,” Katherine added in disbelief, shaking her head. “We only charged you guys gold because you made us wait around for five hours’ worth of game time before the fight even started. We told you we’d do it for practically nothing if you just let us farm until the fight started.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t expect a little compensation for diligently waiting so long?” Bianca piped in as she flapped her own wings and took to the sky, hovering at least ten feet above Locke and the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade.

“We did! You think the Holy Alliance pays us? We’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do!” one of the Nymphs, which for all intents and purposes in the game was nothing more than the female counterpart to a Dryad, boisterously rebutted Bianca. “You mercenary guilds are nothing but cash-hungry bottom feeders! We’re trying to make Tiqpa a better place for all gamers, and scum like you take advantage of that.”

Locke wanted to facepalm as soon as he heard that last line. Somewhere in the middle of the Nymph insulting the Blue Phoenix Brigade, Locke had started to snicker. Make Tiqpa a better place for all gamers? How? By bullying them outside of a tavern? He cringed at how stupid she sounded. Do these people even think before they speak? Or do they just spout out whatever random crap they think sounds good and comes to mind? He couldn’t help it: These people sounded exactly like someone else he knew. They, and they alone, were right, and no form of logic or rationality mattered. Everyone and anyone who disagreed with them was wrong on principle and had to die. Any attempts to reason with them were just a waste of time. They were pointless. It was like trying to convince a stone wall to grow legs and walk away.

“Look, guys, we’re just trying to go on our way, so can you please cut us some slack?” Tubal tried pleading with them again, but not a single face on any of the Holy Alliance members showed the slightest bit of sympathy as they stared him down.

Locke nudged the bovine next to him with an elbow. “Sampson, you can make your axe light up with fire, right?” He tried not to be overheard as he asked.

“Yeah, why?” Sampson whispered back.

“A fight is about to break out, so when I throw something on the ground, I want you to hit it with fire,” Locke instructed. “Can you do that?” The best part about using the same trick twice is that you already know it’ll work. Locke tried to give himself some small bit of comfort as he felt himself losing the fight against the rising sense of anxiety. Why does everyone insist on constantly making me waste time and money? He closed his eyes and sighed, resigning himself to what he was about to do.

“Cut you some slack? How about this: We’ll cut you some slack if your group pays us back for all that money we had to pay you just to do your duty.” Stephen spat out the words and then literally spat on the ground in front of him. “You pay up, and we’ll let you go your merry, little, Demon-loving way.”

“Do we have to pay in gold?” Locke spoke up and stepped forward, exchanging a glance with Sampson as he went. “Do you guys accept other currencies?”

“Like what? Don’t tell me you’re too poor to afford a little donation,” Stephen barked as he started walking forward a bit as well, eliciting chuckles from the people behind him.

“Actually, no, it’s just I only have so much gold . . .” Locke pulled out one of his poisons. The crowd, which had been riled up moments ago, instantly went still and focused on the vial as soon as it entered his hands. “But these little babies, well, I have a ton of these guys. Like hundreds. I mean, I made so many of them, but one of the clients was just too noisy to sell to, so now I’m left with a lot of extras.”

“What do you mean you made them?” the noisy Nymph asked. “How did you make them?”

“Oh, what? You didn’t know? I’m Shy.” Locke backed up slowly, pulling out another two more poisons while he did.

“Wait, if you’re Shy . . .”

Locke could practically see the gears in the Dryad’s face turning as he worked out exactly what Locke was saying. Stephen’s eyes opened up ever so slowly and his mouth hung slightly agape.

“Then . . . then he wasn’t saying that you were shy, but that you were Shy!” a White-Wing finished the Dryad’s thought for him.

“Right. It’s my name. Shy. Are you always this slow?” Locke was starting to enjoy this a little too much. He had always played the meek and mild-mannered merchant, kowtowing and verbally licking boots whenever needed to make sure that a sale went through at the highest price, but, this time, he didn’t have to. This time, he wasn’t selling anything, and he didn’t have to kiss up to the customer. It was a dream come true, the type of feeling every IT support center representative must have if he ever gets the chance to just hang up on an obnoxious client.

Oh, how I’ve always wanted to do this. I just didn’t know how badly. Locke’s grin spread across his face as he basked in his newfound pleasure. “Anyway, these should do, right?”

“Umm . . . umm, yeah, just . . . umm, hand them over,” Stephen stuttered and extended his hand.

Locke made a motion as if he were going to hand the poison to Stephen, but drew his hand back at the last second. “You know, on second thought . . . I think one of your higher-ups . . . What was his name? Sol? Sal? Either way, they sent me a message asking if they could buy them. They left some great contact information . . . even a real-life phone number,” Locke bluffed. He wasn’t sure if they had even sent the message, much less attached that type of personal information, given that he hadn’t logged out since the event in the Western Market. “I bet if I were to tell him why I can’t sell to the Holy Alliance anymore, about what’s going on, he’d love to chat with you personally.”

“Look, there’s no need to do that. This was just a misunderstanding!” Stephen backed up a bit until he was back in line with the others, but it was clear that the remaining members were getting restless.

“What are you doing? Don’t let him talk to you like that. He’s a Demon lover!” one of them jeered.

“Yeah, man, get them! We’ve got your back. He wasn’t going to sell to us anyway!”

Locke shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s just a bluff if you don’t follow through. Might as well go take care of this issue right now.”

“No! No! Please don’t!” Stephen began to protest, but before he could finish his plea, Locke took the three poisons and smashed them onto the ground between the two groups of people and directly in front of Sampson.

“Now!” Locke yelled to Sampson, whose fiery blade was already arcing toward the poison puddle. There was a flash of light and the poison ignited, instantly transforming into a giant vaporous cloud. He called out, “Come on, this way!” to the other members as he charged around the poison cloud and right past one of the coughing Holy Alliance members.

The poisonous gas might have been deadly under the right circumstance, but Locke knew that shock was their only real tool here. Even if the breeze didn’t blow the cloud away in a moment, it would slowly disperse in the open air given time. Inside a tight and narrow corridor, such a tactic could be very effective. He had witnessed its usefulness first hand only a short time ago. But, his bottles of poison weren’t designed to be gas bombs and were only makeshift substitutes. The poisonous cloud seemed to be lighter than air, the green vapor wouldn’t hang around for long before dissipating. He needed to use the initial surprise to barrel through the crowd while they were still distracted.

He charged into one of the White-Wings near the edge of the cloud, knocking the bird off his feet in the process, and the Blue Phoenix Brigade members practically trampled him as they stampeded away from the tavern.

“Get them!” Someone managed to yell after them through a coughing fit, but by then, it was too late. Everyone in the group had already managed to gain a sizable lead on the aggressive party. To make matters worse for the members of the Holy Alliance, Locke had led the group straight to a guard station. The few people who had given chase slowed as they approached the guards’ barracks and ceased their approach altogether, clearly not wanting to confront anyone when the law was right beside them.

“Hey, you!” the first guard who saw them called out. “You people just came from there. Do you know what that weird green stuff is?” the guard asked, pointing at the cloud.

Locke looked back at the deadly miasma that was now creeping into the air and spreading out behind them and the Holy Alliance members who were huffing toward them. “It was a fart, sir,” he declared, rather amused with himself. He wouldn’t normally be so tactless, but the rush he felt after escaping from the clutches of the Holy Alliance’s goon squad and finally getting to tell someone off had left him in high spirits. It had put him in such a good mood that he just lost his restraint and said the first thing that came to mind.

“A fart? Boy, are you messing with me?” He looked at Locke, then the cloud behind Locke, then back at Locke.

“It was an earth-shattering fart, sir. The reason we’re running is that we need to get home so he can check his pants.” Locke fingered Sampson as the culprit, and to Sampson’s credit, she didn’t flip out and protest. In fact, Locke was impressed that no one in the group even cracked a smile as Locke made such a ridiculous accusation.

“What in the heck did you eat?” the guard questioned Sampson this time. “I’ve heard Minotaur farts are bad, but that’s ridiculous,” the guard said, seeming to be actually buying into the story.

“It was meat buns from the market, sir,” Sampson answered, her poker face too perfect. “I should never have trusted the street vendor selling it. I think he put a lot of peppers in it, too,” Sampson complained, adding a little extra flavor to the narrative. “There was definitely a lot of fire involved in its creation, sir.”

The guard shook his head. “You need to eat healthier! Proper fruits and vegetables next time! And don’t be trusting the meat buns from random strangers!”

“Yes, sir. But, sir, can we go? I need to get going before another one sneaks out!” Sampson’s voice inferred an extra sense of urgency as she pleaded with him.

“Well, just hold it! Didn’t your dad ever tell you not to trust a fart?”

The guard’s stone-serious expression as he said these comical lines almost caused Locke to lose it. He was going crazy on the inside, doing everything he could not to fall over in a fit of laughter.

“I’m trying to, sir, but the situation is really reaching critical mass. May I please go?” Sampson once more begged of the guard.

“Alright, get out of here,” the guard answered, finally waving them away as he shooed her and the others along.

The second they got out of earshot, Sampson smacked Locke on the back of the head. “What the heck? A fart? I can’t believe you made me go through that.”

“Yeah, a Minotaur with such a bad fart--total BS, right?” Locke snickered at his own joke.

“That’s enough! I just can’t believe they accused us of taking sides like that. After all we’ve done for them, they were that quick to turn their backs on us?” Tubal griped, his jovial smile from laughing at the childish humor dampening into a frown pretty quickly.

“What do you expect? That’s just the way they are . . .” Locke looked down and found something interesting to study on the ground as he walked. He felt slightly guilty because he had essentially created the conflict, but he wasn’t wrong. He probably had more experience with the Holy Alliance than most, despite the fact that the Blue Phoenix Brigade had worked for them before, and he had seen them at their worst. This wasn’t the first time that he had been on the receiving end of their over-zealous accusations.

“There is no honor in their kind. A man must do his duty to protect others, not expect others to pay for protection. It makes no sense that they would throw away their dignity and behave in such a fashion,” Sparky complained, almost starting off with another round of maxims before Locke chimed in.

“So that’s why you picked a male avatar.” Locke nodded to himself as if he had suddenly realized something. Since he had so much fun teasing Sampson, he figured that he might as well poke at one of the others to make it even. “Makes sense. You wanted to protect people, but it’s only a man’s duty to protect others. Thanks for explaining that, Sparky. It all makes sense now.”

“Your kind . . . merchants . . . they are good at twisting words, aren’t they, Shy?” Sparky looked over at Locke and studied him for a moment. “I’m good at twisting things, too.” She didn’t bother saying anything else. She just took her sword and ran it across the edge of her shield, twisting the blade as she did. “

Locke cringed. I think get the picture. If I keep teasing you, you’re going to twist that sword into me? He made a mental note not to try and mess with Sparky in the future.

“It still isn’t cool,” Reginald said, steering the conversation back on topic and being next in line to take issue with the Holy Alliance’s behavior. “You’d think that you would be on good terms if you work with someone, not mortal enemies. Right? Where would they get the idea that we were working for the Demons? That’s stupid. They’re just being plain idiots,” he vented.

Locke found himself in an odd spot as they continued toward the city gates. He had specifically told Sampson that he didn’t want to trade with the Holy Alliance, though he never explained his reasons why, but did she know that his traveling companion had been a Demon during his trip back to town? It certainly seemed like the news had spread throughout the city and reached the Holy Alliance rather quickly, so who else already knew? Should he be more honest and forthcoming that he had agreed to do a favor for the Demon? Or would that jeopardize the entire trip?

If I don’t say anything, the antipathy between them and the Holy Alliance will grow, and that will bring me that much closer to getting them to help the Demon Host without any issues. But if I do speak up and correct them, tell them that the Holy Alliance wasn’t actually that far away from the truth, it might set me all the way back to square one. How am I supposed to tell them that I really did approach the bridge with a Demon, was questioned about it by a guard whom I lied to about it and that I did a job for a Demon? That we’re actually on our way to do another one right now . . . How does this end up with them supporting me rather than preferring to take contracts with my enemies?

The conflicted feelings welled up in him as he struggled over the moral dilemma. It would have been much easier to say nothing if he didn’t like the group, but because he liked them, he had even more incentive just to keep his mouth shut not to say anything.

“Did you actually do it?” Katherine asked. She didn’t specify whom she was asking or what they might have actually done, but Locke knew it was for him. “They said you came into town with a Demon. Did you?” She put him on the spot before he had come to a solution about what to say--or not say.

No, no, I didn’t. His instinct to just lie his way out of the problem was the first to spark up, but the answer sat in his throat unsaid as the group walked in silence for a dozen or so seconds. “Yeah, I did,” he answered, even as his instincts screamed at him to deny it.

“I see,” Katherine said, and the group returned to silence.

“It wasn’t the same one that killed us, was it?” Sparky asked this time. “Were you really consorting with the enemy?”

“She walked me all the way to town,” Locke explained, coming clean about part of what had happened. As they approached the outer walls and the bridge leading out of town came into view, he felt a strange sense of calm. Even though this might very well end up bringing him way more trouble than remaining silent would, and despite the fact that every inclination he had was to lie his way out of it, he wanted to get it out in the open. “Not that she didn’t want to kill me, of course, but she just needed me to do something for her . . . to pass along a message. I didn’t realize that she couldn’t personally enter the town, so I’m guessing that was why she had me do it for her. Although, to be honest, I think she would have killed me on the spot otherwise.”

“So you didn’t have a choice in the matter if you wanted to live?” Tubal fed him a question he could finally reply to without looking even worse.

Well, technically, I’m not lying when I answer honestly. “Pretty much, and I’ll admit I abhor the idea of dying. I know it’s just a game, but my death in this game . . . that would feel real to me.”

“You haven’t died yet?” Katherine asked, she and everyone else swiveling their heads to look at him in shock. “You made it all the way to the main island at level one without dying?”

“Yep. I haven't ever experienced the big K.O. in Tiqpa yet. I’ve heard that it feels really close to what most people imagine dying feels like in real life, and I’m just afraid to bite the bullet.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. Either way, don’t worry about coming to town with the Demon. There were clearly extenuating circumstances,” Tubal assured him. “We still got your back. It’s not like you two were partners.”

We weren’t when we met, but . . . Locke repressed the urge to be any more forthcoming. He had already been honest enough to avoid the awful fate that happened on most TV shows when one member of a superhero group discovers another’s dark secret. ‘Oh no, the guy who literally wears a mask and does illegal vigilante stuff all the time didn’t tell one of his friends every tiny detail! Find out what happens next time on Drama Quest!’ Locke chuckled at the thought, but he was pretty guilty of behaving the same way at the moment. Cause I’m secretly a superhero, too! Captain Coward!

“Yeah, and it’s not like Sampson is going to betray her master,” Reginald added before a swift strike of justice was once more delivered to the back of his head. “Hey! Cut it out, Sparky!”

“It’s getting old. Stop teasing her about that,” Tubal said, even though he had been guilty of doing the exact same thing only a short time earlier in the bar.

“Wait, this has been bugging me for a while. Is your name actually Sparky?” Locke asked the Dragon-Wing knight.

“No,” she answered without elaborating at all.

Locke wanted to push for more details, but he could see they had more pressing matters. In front of them, at the end of the bridge leading out of town, there was a band of people from the Holy Alliance group that they had just managed to evade outside of the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head. This group wasn’t nearly as large as the first, only consisting of roughly nine people, but given that their weapons were all drawn, and they were waiting outside the city limits in an area where everyone knew the guards would watch you die before lifting a hand to help, it was clear what their intentions were.

“So last chance to hand me over to the dogs,” Locke offered, pulling out another bottle of poison.

“Oh, don’t even act like you think we’d do that,” Sparky replied sarcastically as she pulled out her sword. “A knight will always protect a damsel in distress,” she added, drawing a laugh from the others at Locke’s expense.

“You wanna try the same ‘poison cloud and run’ tactic?” Locke offered as a suggestion.

“No, they’ll see it coming. It may have worked before, but they will be watching for it this time. Just give us some poison and take a back seat,” Tubal ordered. His tone of voice was more serious than Locke was used to hearing from him, and it was clear that he didn’t expect to be argued with. He readied a few more arrows and said, “We’ve been involved in PVP before, and I can tell just from looking at them . . . they’re green. Stephen could have helped them. He is a good fighter, but these are the type that spend all day mouthing off and no real time working. They’ll crumple once we push them against the ropes.”

“You don’t want to try to talk your way out of the fight?” Locke once again tried to offer another suggestion to get away from the conflict, yet no one was taking it.

Even as he asked, they were all busy applying the poison from the batch of bottles that he had given them earlier. Without so much as a warning and never even saying a single word, Sparky just charged in, directly attacking the waiting group. Reginald began casting something, Sampson rushed off behind Sparky, and all headed toward the enemies. Before Sparky was able to go more than twenty feet, Bianca and Katherine took to the skies. Tubal fired off a series of arrows at one of the Nymphs standing toward the backside of the group. Notch, fire. Notch, fire. His actions were smooth, and it was clear that it was a motion he had repeated countless times.

“KB!” Tubal shouted, “You two pull up the left one. Sparky, you slam the one in the middle. Shy, you . . .” He let his sentence hang as he fired off another series of arrows.

The opposing group, clearly not expecting the fight to break out so quickly, was a bit taken aback but still managed to respond almost as soon as it started. They had their own archers who responded with arrows aimed at Bianca and Katherine, who twisted and turned through the air to dodge them. They managed to evade most of the whizzing barbs, but one lucky shot clipped Bianca’s left wing and sent her spiraling toward the ground. Fortunately, she wasn’t close enough to any of the enemies for anyone to engage her on the ground, and she hadn’t gotten far enough in the air for the fall to do much damage.

Well, that is their usual formation, Locke noted. He was trying to study their patterns to see if there was any way he could help them out or fit into it himself in the future. He didn’t mind picking flowers all the time, but if the fight with the Bishopotamus taught him anything, it was that there were going to be times when more than simple horticultural habits would be needed.

“Crap, Locke, go get her back up on her feet!” Tubal shouted and nodded his head toward Bianca as it was already clear whom he was talking about. “We can’t spare Reginald for healing.”

How do you know that I can heal? You realize how much this is going to cost me?! The thoughts whizzed through his head, but they didn’t slow him down as he jumped forward to assist the fallen Black-Wing.

“Got it!” he yelled back as he pulled out a handful of spare potions and darted forward toward where Bianca had been downed. He was careful to keep an eye on Katherine as she zig-zagged by, whirling and twirling through the air in what looked like nothing less than a miracle, avoiding the hail of arrows from the opposing group’s two archers.

Sparky and Sampson finally closed the gap. Right before they reached their respective targets, one of Reginald’s yellow shields appeared in front of Sparky, blocking two incoming sword attacks. Sparky slammed into the Dryad in front of her shield-first, knocking him sprawling off to the side.

Sampson took the opportunity to pass by Sparky on her right, and she dropped her axe, flames and all, on an unprepared Nymph who had been standing just behind the fallen Dryad. The archer futilely tried to block the attack with her bow but was knocked off her feet and flat onto the ground in the process. Tendrils of fire left behind from Sampson’s blow ignited the wooden creature’s clothing for a moment, leaving behind smoldering embers. The first blow didn’t kill the Nymph, but Sampson wasn’t about to back off. The powerful Minotaur landed a solid kick into the Nymph’s chest as she tried to scramble to her feet, once again sending her back to the ground, and slammed down her axe down into her foe’s skull in brutal spectacle.

Sparky sprang to life, warding off attacks from the side with the help of the yellow defensive spell and her own shield, and it didn’t take more than a moment for a few hard blows from Sampson to leave the Nymph well beyond dead. Sparky expertly maneuvered around Sampson, rapidly throwing her sword and shield in the way of incoming blows as she defended against three melee attackers.

The fight looked to be going smoothly from Locke’s perspective. Things had only just started, and the enemy had already lost one member. Bianca finished gulping down his red, would-be pots of potential gold, and her wing was almost completely healed up. After only a moment, she was ready to get back into the skirmish, returning their numbers to full force. Locke was beginning to think that this would be a cakewalk until, out of nowhere, aggressive roots the size of a small oak tree’s trunk shot out of the ground and stabbed toward Tubal.

Tubal panicked, freezing on the spot for an instant, before dodging out of the way. “Crap, who is their caster?!” he asked, just as a fireball launched toward him.

Locked followed the flaming projectile back to its source and found a White-Wing hovering in the air. He must have taken flight when the battle began and managed to remain unnoticed until now. Without even thinking, Locke intercepted the blast by throwing one of his poison bottles into its path, saving Tubal from a scorching hit. A poisonous cloud burst from the shattered bottle and hovered in the air above Tubal, Locke and Bianca, but it began dissipating as quickly as it was created.

Locke scrutinized the enemy’s lines in an attempt try and see if he couldn’t spot who the root casting mage was. They have three Nymph archers, one of which is already dead. They have two Dryads and a Minotaur trying to kill Sampson and Sparky in a brutal melee, so it isn’t them. That White Wing in the air is clearly a fire-based caster, so he’s not the root user . . . That means it has to be one of the two people remaining. Both of their Humans are holding swords and shields . . . but they’re not fighting? Crap! They’re both casters! Locke realized. “It’s the Humans with shields!” he shouted to his team, not caring if the enemy overheard. “They’re both casters!” he explained. “They’re just holding that type of gear to distract you!”

How did I not see it before? But if they’re both casters, then . . .? Locke managed to piece the puzzle together, but no sooner had he finished figuring it out than a root popped out of the ground and lanced toward him. Like Tubal, he was forced to take off running and dodge around as he tried to not get hit. Unlike Tubal, however, he wasn’t spec’d quite as heavily into speed. He managed to dodge the first attack, but the second root whipped around and slammed into his ribs, knocking off 27% of his health bar and sending him bouncing across the ground like a struck tennis ball.

Crap, why me? Locke gulped as he watched the root return for another attack, now joined by yet another. I’m not even hitting any of you! He silently screamed his frustration as he did his best to try and avoid his seemingly inevitable fate.

“I got it!” Katherine dove down, still avoiding arrows, and landed knives-first right into one of the two remaining archers. They both crashed to the ground in a heap, but Katherine didn’t seem to be any worse for it. She sprang to her knees and let out a few quick attacks intended to finish off her prey. The archer finally succumbed from the rapid succession of blows, and Katherine pushed herself back to her feet.

The Human mage next to her panicked and swung his sword in a feeble attack, immediately pulling his shield up in front of him like he was trying to block an attack and be as small as possible at the same time. Katherine put away her knives and pulled out her whip, snapping a series of hits at the caster. He managed to ward off the first two with his shield, but the third one whipped around the top of the shield caught him around the neck. With a mighty leap, the Black-Wing launched herself back into the air with the caster in tow.

The vines were stopped, but not in time to spare Locke from taking another two strikes in the gut and one in the shoulder. They stripped him down to 28 and 14% of his health respectively, leaving him on his back to watch the remainder of Katherine's fight with the Human mage.

The White-Wing caster caught sight of her as she climbed into the sky and shot a fireball at her. Katherine twisted to the side, dodging the attack, but her passenger didn’t.

“That’s so cruel!” Katherine called out gleefully, laughing at the singed Human as he cried out under the assault. She didn’t seem to be phased at all by any of the potential spell assaults as she continued to climb straight toward the White-Wing. Finally, at least thirty or forty feet in the air, huffing under the load of the Human she carried dangling from the end of her whip, she reached the enemy caster.

“You want to save your friend? Here, you can have him!” She reached out and shoved the handle of her whip into the White-Wing’s free hand. He instinctively grabbed ahold of the pommel and tried to fly higher and away from Katherine as soon as it was in his hand, leaving Katherine with the perfect opportunity to sink both of her knives into the wings on his back. She quickly extracted her weapons and slid out of the way, leaving them both to plummet to their deaths. “Darling,” she called out, taunting the soon-to-be-corpse, “you’ll have to do better than that if you ever want a woman to view you as a man.”

While Locke had been caught up watching Katherine finish off the Human and the White-Wing, Sampson, Sparky and Tubal had somehow managed to whittle away the remaining archer, the other mage, and one of the of Dryads. By the time Locke looked back to what was going on with the rest of the skirmish, Sampson had already locked axes with the other Minotaur and was engaged in what appeared to be the last part of an epic showdown. Tubal was busy pumping the still-standing steak full of wood and iron, and together, they made quick work of finishing off the brute. The enemy bovine roughly resembled a pincushion by the time they were done, and without any finale, collapsed to his knees without ever uttering a sound.

Sparky had just finished off the remaining Dryad, and she was standing over the man’s prone body like a triumphant victor. The wood-beast beneath her was struggling to get off the ground, pinned down by Sparky’s sword which was stuck straight through his chest. She hefted her shield up in front of her with both hands and brought the edge of it crashing down onto the Dryad’s head. The body gave one final twitch, as if it were somehow going to avoid death, and then remained still.

Locke stood up with only a sliver of his health bar remaining, dusted himself off and took in the scene around him. He stared in disbelief at the giant, collapsed roots, the dead bodies and the blackened patches of grass, scorched from where fireballs had struck. Did this really just happen?

“I can’t believe nobody died,” Bianca said as she landed. She was the only one, other than Locke, who hadn’t really contributed to the battle.

“They didn’t know how to use their tools properly at all. Did no one ever teach them that defense is the best offense?” Sparky banged her shield with her sword.

“I think you’ve got that backwards,” Reginald replied.

“I think they had it backwards, and I think the result proves it,” Sparky insisted, throwing her head up in the air as if the conversation was over, and she was too good to carry it on any further. “Let’s make daylight, troops.” She pointed her blade in the direction of the quest and began her march, leaving the rest to just catch up in her wake.

Locke did his best to keep up with them, but he was already falling behind on his herb gathering, and he quickly found himself staggering along far behind the rest of the group as he habitually picked every flower they passed along the way. All this fighting is leaving me broke, he grumbled. And it doesn’t help that I have to keep chugging these health pots like a single lady on bingo night. As if on cue, he popped the top on another bottle and swigged it down, watching the percentages on his health bar slowly climb back up.

There weren’t any flowers he could pick in town, and while he could use the group and his new plan with Eliza to provide excuses as to why he hadn’t left right away, there was nothing left for him now but the work ahead. He had made such a good haul on the first trip out that he wouldn’t dare risk passing up the opportunity to do so again. The only thing left is to figure out how to turn in-game gold into real-world cash, he mused. If nothing else, the excursion into town had given him an idea as to how he could continue selling his wares and still keep his name far enough away from transactions to avoid a ban hammer. There had to be a way that he could set up a more permanent scheme similar to the one he had briefly cooked up with Sampson and start getting gold. But I’ll need a patsy, and who the heck would risk being banned? Locke frowned. There had to be a way to do this and make it work.

Somewhere in the middle of his frantic flower picking, while he was trailing a good fifty or sixty feet behind the group, Locke could have sworn he saw a red glimmer off in the distance, like stars hidden in the woods. What the heck was that? He tried to spot it again, but it had disappeared completely.

----

The group rounded around the city and followed the coast east until they reached a spot on the beach that resembled the description Sampson had read about on the forums. There weren’t any particular landmarks that stood out to identify the location, and it took a bit of guesswork to determine that they were actually in the right spot. The key was finding a hidden land bridge that sat just underneath the surface of the water and led out into the ocean. The group fanned out on the beach, searching in both directions, before Bianca eventually caught sight of the sandy formation just below the waves. A few shouts of, “Hey, over here!” promoted everyone else to gather around the spot on the beach.

Sampson was the last to arrive, having moved further down the beach faster than anyone else in her search, and she was clearly a little skeptical. “How did you ever find this?” she asked. “I read the post on the forums, and even I couldn’t spot this thing.” She stared at the barely-visible sand that crept out into the ocean just below the waves.

“Women’s intuition?” Locke guessed with a shrug, prompting a few heads to turn and stare at him instead. There were a few knowing chuckles, but no one actually responded to correct him.

Sampson waded out into the water and timidly tested the bridge with a hoof by poking it into the wet sand. When she found that it wasn’t going to give way under her weight, she began following it out into the sea in large, confident strides, and everyone else followed behind. Their feet never sank more than a few inches into the water, and the waves continued to pass over the top of the ledge as if it wasn’t even there as they made their way further out.

Locke wasn’t exactly sure how far out they followed the bridge, but as if by magic, they suddenly noticed that a small island had appeared in front of them. He glanced behind them, and he could still make out the shoreline in the distance, but the island definitely hadn’t been visible before.

It wasn’t another minute before Sampson stopped and said, “The path ends here.”

“So, it’s in here?” Tubal asked, wading around beside her in the shin-deep water.

“That’s what the post said. We need to go over the edge of this little cliff thing, and then we have to go swimming,” Sampson replied.

“How far is it from the end of the ledge?” he asked, studying the dark blue water in front of them.

“You see that tiny island over there that just appeared? Straight ahead from the drop-off?” Sampson pointed to a fat island that was now no more than two stone throws away from where the edge ended. “It’s there.”

“Really? Are you sure the forum post was legit?” Reginald tilted his head as he stared at the island. “I don’t see anything other than sand. That can’t be the extent of the dungeon?”

“I told you: We have to go swimming. Here, just follow me.” Sampson put two fingers into her snout to clog it up and did a pencil dive into the water, hooves first.

“Suits me,” Tubal said, following behind with Sparky and Reginald right behind him.

“Ugh, I don’t want to get my outfit wet,” Bianca groaned. “It’ll get too tight and . . . Reginald is such a creepy lecher.” She noticed Locke watching her as she stood hesitantly on the edge and looked at him pleadingly--as if there were some way he could prevent her from getting wet when she jumped into the ocean.

So, is Bianca the girl and Katherine the guy? Locke wondered, still unsure which one was which. And why do they keep Reginald around if everyone likes to poke fun at him so much and complain about him so often? He may have questioned it, but he kind of knew the answer already: Someone was always going to occupy the bottom run of the latter and be on the receiving end of the teasing. As soon as the butt of the joke got up to leave, someone else filled the role. If ‘little Reggie-Reg’ wasn’t around, someone would, without a doubt, fill that space--and no one wanted to be that person. It was just convenient to have a troll in the group that people could always rag on when the situation arose.

“Well, the other option we have is to stand here while they get all the experience and loot,” Locke said, pinching his nose and jumping in after the bull. He opened his eyes as soon as he was underwater to see the others swimming toward an evident, cavernous hole in the side of the island. The mouth of the underwater cave was over twenty feet under the surface, so Locke was rather glad he had mimicked the pencil dive as he wasn’t that great at swimming. It usually took him a couple of tries to even get beneath the surface since something about his body kept making him float upward. If gravity hadn’t done most of the initial work for him, he probably would have ended up lagging even further behind them. Without that problem, however, he was free to swim as hard as he could toward the cavern.

The first thing he noticed when he finally made it into the cavern was that there were glow-in-the-dark algae covering the walls of the passage he was swimming through. The tunnel descended for another thirty feet, after which it turned upward and opened up into an underwater cave, and everyone else was already standing around waiting and drying off inside by the time Locke arrived.

Having seen most of the game before, and many of the dungeons, he was rather surprised by how bright the whole place was. Given that the only source of light seemed to be from phosphorescent moss, an iridescent blue-green glow that radiated from the dark plant, the caverns were still better lit than any other he had experienced so far. It wasn’t exactly lit up like a beach at noon on a sunny day, but it was bright enough to almost be an eyesore. The two colors from the moss mixed together with the purple-hued stone and sand on the floor of the cavern and created a somewhat surreal effect.

“So what type of mobs are we going to be facing off against?” Sparky asked, turning to Sampson. Everyone else was padding their clothes and doing their best to dry off after the swim, but Sparky didn’t seem to mind her water-logged state. She seemed more concerned with action rather than comfort.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t really specific, but from what I understand, the boss is actually pretty easy and doesn’t have a super-long spawn timer like most dungeons. I think this place was designed to be more of a secret bonus level than an actual, serious dungeon,” Sampson said. “I don’t know what the point of that is, though, given that anyone with access to the forum can find it.”

“Yeah, that makes it much less a secret bonus level and much more a farmable area ripe for exploitation,” Locke added, scratching his head. This isn’t right. If it’s that easy to get to, and anyone can find out about it on the forums, then why is it so empty at the entrance? I would have expected to see tons of people coming and going. Even if they didn’t want to use it for themselves, this place could be a potential goldmine.

“Where are all the monsters?” Sparky asked, looking around. “Glorious battle awaits, and yet my eyes cannot see the road to it.”

“It’s a pretty straight tunnel by the looks of it, but if I had to pick one of the paths, I’d say we should stick with the right side,” Tubal suggested. The cave wasn’t exactly broken down into two directions. Instead, it had a single main beaten path that slowly descended in front of them, no steeper than a few degrees of decline, and there was a very visible corridor shooting off from it on the right wall. It wasn’t blocked by a door or anything, but from the angle it separated off, it would be impossible to make out what was down it at all.

“We could just stick with the big open path for once, you know?” Reginald lamented, shaking his head.

But what would be the fun in that? Locke found himself wanting to take the mystery path too. He wouldn’t be the one fighting, of course, but he still wanted to see what was down it. Who knows what kind of bonus loot could be hiding down there?

“Hey, Shy, what do you think?” Bianca asked, coming up on his right and resting her arm across his shoulder while she pointed down the hall. “On one side, treasure and safety. On the other side, poverty and devastation. Which path do you choose?”

“You don’t know that it’s poverty and devastation. It could end up being the safe road with a treasure at the end,” Locke rebutted. Of course, I can’t see more than thirty feet down the path, so I have no idea what’s back there.

“So we should take the main road, then?” Sparky failed to catch Locke’s meaning.

“He’s saying that glorious battle awaits us down the right path,” Tubal confidently stated and then backtracked. “Probably.”

“Then right it is,” Sparky proclaimed, silencing the discussion by pressing forward immediately.

Given that Locke hadn’t spotted any floral things to pick inside the cave, he was free to actually think for a moment as they walked toward the narrow corridor--not that there was any new ground to cover that he hadn’t already been over while he was frantically ripping up roots and petals like a psychotic floral murderer.

“You know, you could have probably just thrown me to the wolves back there,” Locke observed aloud as one of his thoughts escaped him. “No one would have tried to stop you guys from leaving the city, I think, if you had just given me up. After all, I was the one who was spotted with Demon, not you guys.”

“Mmmmm . . . is that so?” Tubal pondered aloud, stroking an imaginary beard as he nodded his head. “You think they would have let us pass if we had sacrificed the whelp, Sparky?”

Sparky stopped in her footsteps, which caused the whole group to come to a halt behind her since she was at the front, and the narrow corridor wasn’t really wide enough to let people pass around each other. She paused for a moment and mimicked Tubal, straight down to the stroking of an imaginary beard. “I think so,” she finally answered. “We could have culled the weak boy from our ranks and solidified an alliance at the same time. This much is definitely certain.”

“Ah, then it’s settled. You’re right, Shy. We could have.” Tubal continued to slowly nod and stroke his own non-existent beard. “It’s good to know we had that option.”

“Indeed. In the future, we will benefit greatly from this revelation,” Sparky said, continuing to give a slow nod of her head.

“Wait . . . Why is it good to know that option? How are you benefiting? You’re not tossing our daisy-boy to the wolves anytime soon, are you?” Reginald protested.

“Don’t be silly. They would never do that,” Sampson assured Reginald. “Whenever Tubal goes about scratching his chin, as if he could ever actually grow facial hair, it means that they are in on something. Stupid sibling habits. But, come on, Reginald, you have no faith. Do you really think that Sparky would ever let someone get hurt?”

“Of course not. We wouldn’t ever do that. It just always makes us feel that much better to do the right thing when we know that we actually had a choice in the matter,” Tubal said reassuringly. “If you give to charity because you have to, it just doesn’t give you the same warm and tingly feeling that you get from doing it because you want to.”

Sparky nodded and then started walking again. “If you want someone to axe you, look to Samson. I carry a shield, Shy.”

“You don’t have to worry about me either,” Sampson said. “If anyone gets the axe, it’ll be that annoying guy in accounting who hasn’t figured out what deodorant is.”

“Right, so don’t bring it up again. No one’s getting rid of you, little guy.” Reginald, who was directly behind Locke as they made their way down the one-person-wide corridor, reached up and gave Locke a comforting pat on the back.

“Ah.” Locke didn’t know what else to say. They had made it clear, almost to a point of bragging, that they liked working with the Holy Alliance when he had first met them. They were proud of the fact that they had been contracted by the alliance on several different occasions, and yet they had probably just given up any future hopes of that up for him. He wasn’t certain that the door was completely closed, but given how bigoted the Holy Alliance seemed to behave, even other members aside from just Anthony, there was a really good chance that the Blue Phoenix Brigade would never work for them again. Tossing away that type of relationship for someone who had just hired them to get a quick power level . . . It didn’t make sense.

Why would they give up that much for me? He almost wished they hadn’t. As he thought about it, he remembered all the internal griping and complaining he had done every time one of the bumbling situations they had gotten him in, like with Piranha Priests, required him to lose one of his precious money-making potions. Sure, it was effectively tossing thirty-plus pieces of gold into the water each he used a potion to help them, but they had probably lost a lot of money by sticking up for him as well. So why did he complain when they clearly didn’t care?

“Thanks.” After a few minutes of feeling bad about his avaricious nature making him hesitate to save them in the past, Locke let his reply be that simple, softly-spoken word.

“Don’t mention it, Shy,” Tubal said. “Like I said before, or at least I think I’ve told you already even though you might not have really heard it: You’re one of us now. Clearly, you’re a part of the Blue Phoenix Brigade. What type of guild leader would I be if I sold you down the river the first chance I got?”

“Heh.” Locke didn’t bother refuting them. The way that things were going so far, he really did want to join them. The only thing that was holding him back from immediately jumping for joy like he had just made the varsity football team in a late 1990’s movie was the truth. It was the fact that, to some degree, he still hadn’t been fully honest with the group and divulged his connection to Eliza or the fact he wasn’t just forced to help her. He wanted to work with her. Heck, at this point, he was really caught between signing up with the Demon Host, whom he had never really met except through one bloodthirsty killer, or the Blue Phoenix Brigade, who had been there for him when it counted. The driving factor behind the choice was who would get him closer to exacting revenge.

But, even with the loss of his account and the destruction of his easy-money-money machine, he was starting to wonder if obtaining his revenge was really the most important thing. Yeah, I was betrayed. Yeah, he was a jerk, but . . . Locke felt himself waver. Do I really want to spend every day obsessing over something like that when this group right here is willing to put up with me? Relaxing and having a beer with them . . . Isn’t that a better way to live? He sighed.

“You really have to stop doing that,” Bianca, who was directly in front of him, said when she heard the sigh. “Sighing will make people think you’re sad, and that will ruin the perfectly good, sappy mood that was established as our hero learned a valuable lesson about being part of a team and playing games when he should be doing his homework.”

“I don’t have any homework. I’ve graduated.” Locke wondered where Bianca’s comment came from.

“See that, Reginald? I told you he was older than you,” Katherine taunted the goat.

“How do you know for sure? He could just be kidding around with you,” Reginald retorted.

“Reginald, did you just make a pun? You know we’ll have to take pun-itive action for that.” Bianca gave a ‘tut tut’ and shook her head.

“It’s hard to tell. He may have just let one slip. He may have been getting your goat, darling,” Katherine added, practically cackling as Reginald groaned.

Locke caught himself paying even closer attention to the language they were using than what they were actually saying. Wait, if Katherine is calling Bianca ‘darling,’ then does that make her the girl? That is something girls say to their boyfriends, right? I thought it was the other way around earlier? He was still perplexed and somehow even more curious now about which gender they were in real life. It shouldn’t matter--he knew that--since it wasn’t likely that he’d see either of them outside the game, but it still dug a little bit at him. The mystery left him feeling like a detective as he broke down clues from everything they said.

“You know, we’re pretty brave walking behind Sampson right now,” Bianca said, changing the subjected. “I mean, after that fart earlier, are you sure it’s safe back here?”

“That . . . That didn’t happen!” Sampson quickly objected.

“Are you sure? The town guard and your master both seemed to say it did,” Katherine said, verbally prodding Sampson some more.

“He is not! I was just helping him out!” Sampson tried to defend herself with an obvious explanation.

“Really don’t know how farting was helping anyone out,” Bianca said. She and Katherine both laughed simultaneously as everyone suddenly came to a stop.

“What’s up?” Tubal asked.

“There are enemies dead ahead,” Sparky clarified.

“Those aren’t enemies! They’re dolphins! Adorable dolphins! They can’t be our enemies!” Sampson immediately and vehemently disagreed.

“You know dolphins. They do bad things to people and each other often, right?” Katherine told Sampson.

“What sort of bad things?” Sampson asked.

“Things I can’t tell you because Reginald is too young to hear,” Katherine said, snickering.

“I am not too young.” Reginald’s objection was slightly whiney, but he didn’t seem to have any heart in this argument. Locke was left with the impression that it was one that they had gone over many times before--and probably one that Reginald never won.

“Let’s act while these children bicker, Tubal,” Sparky said, cutting off the others. Locke felt like the comment was even aimed a little bit at him since he was having just as much fun watching the back and forth as they were giving it.

“I got your back,” Tubal said, pulling out his bow.

As soon as the bow was drawn, Sparky charged. Locke was still unable to make out what they were fighting, only having heard it was dolphins, but he quickly tried to get to the side of the corridor so that he could see what was happening.

When he did, he was greeted with the sight of a pod of dolphins, each wearing a towel around its waist, standing upright on their tails. They were busy trying to pelt and beat Sparky and Sampson, the two who had managed to engage before Locke could even get into the opening, with incredibly large rainbow trout they somehow grasped in their longer-than-usual flippers.

What in the world? Locke couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the sight of a fully-armored knight and a Minotaur being brazenly assaulted with rainbow trout by towel-wearing dolphins.

While the dolphins tried to bludgeon Sampson, Sparky went about defending her as usual. The way the Black-Wing used her sword always made him think that she’d be better off with two shields. Even as she pivoted back and forth, practically circling around Sampson as she moved, it was never to attack but always to stop one of the trout from slapping the Minotaur.

“Something is really fishy about this,” Tubal said as he loosed an arrow into one of the dolphins, knocking it back into the moss-covered wall behind him. “They’re too easy to kill, like these fish have never been to school.”

The room they were in was rather spacious, and the number of dolphins wasn’t something to laugh at. Even with how easy killing them seemed to be, the simple fact of the matter was that there was a veritable horde of the eight-and-a-half-foot-tall monsters. Locke watched the battle, trying to think of a way he could help, but by the time Katherine, Bianca and Reginald entered the fray, it was clear that he wasn’t needed.

Reginald cast his shield on Bianca, as it was clear just from looking at them that Sampson and Sparky weren’t going to need any help at all tanking. While Bianca pushed forward, pulling out her daggers and making fresh sushi of the first dolphin in sight, Katherine stayed back and used her whip to snap at anything that tried to squeeze through or around the line.

Seeing that he was once again unneeded, Locke sighed and went back to work on his potions. Even if he hadn’t spotted any vegetation he could rip up to make new ones inside the cave, he had gathered enough flowers on the way here to last a few hours. He was tempted to go straight to work on making more of the deadly poisons that would boost their overall effectiveness, but he decided to split his time between the damaging-dealing ones and the health potions. The health-restoring vials had proven to be useful, and with how close he had come to death, it only made sense to increase their effectiveness. You never know when a Fire-Walker you’re sent to meet is going to try to burn you alive or a giant root is going to sprout out of the ground and try to kill you. He shook his head in dismay at how ridiculously one-sided those encounters had been.

What I need is . . . What I need is a way to help out so that, if things go wrong, I’m not just left to dodge and pray that I don’t take a beating. He mulled over the different ways he could do that while his hands automatically went to work. They didn’t need any help from his brain to complete their task, and his eyes stayed focused on the battle. It was amazing to watch Sampson and Sparky dance around in the middle of an onslaught of potentially painful attacks. Did the game make them that strong, or were they good at fighting on their own? He remembered hearing somewhere that natural abilities often shone through in this world.

Even with all the noise from the fight, he thought he heard something behind him: a splash and footsteps. He was going to turn around and see what it was when a very familiar text bubble popped up right in front of him:

Hey, Shy! This is your friendly, neighborhood Ash again! I’m just leaving a note to let you know: You’re boring. Like, duller than a pair of preschool safety-scissors. Which is amazing. Do you know how hard it is to be bored while watching a strong, handsome, muscular guy with broad shoulders all day? I mean, you haven’t done anything interesting in what feels hours. That fun-time playhouse under the city with burnt-britches boy was kinda entertaining. That guy’s athlete’s foot had clearly gotten out of control. Who knew that could even happen? But right after that, you went back to the blah blah blah no-action Locke from before. You’re like the stay-at-home dad of the group, sitting there toiling away in your alchemic kitchen while they go out and bring home the bacon. Wait, no, I really shouldn’t compare you to people like that. It’s actually kinda offensive to stay-at-home dads and mothers everywhere. They get to have fun, start a life, play video games on occasion . . . Oh yeah, raise kids, too. I’ve heard that's important to some people, but whatever. They have T.V. to do that, right? You . . . You’re just being dull. I’ve said that a few times, right?

I was going to just put up with it for a while, but then I remembered that you’re my minion, and you have to do what I tell you. So, I want you to get up, take off your shirt, do a dance for momma, and then start tossing those poisons around on some fire. Let me see some boom-booms! Pretend like it’s the fifth of November, and you don’t feel like trusting Guy Fawkes to do his job. Light this whole place up! How’s that sound, minion? Great! Get to it!

P.S. You don’t have to take off your shirt and do a dance. I’m not ‘legally’ allowed to make you do that. H.R. has made it very clear that my previous attempts to make men dance topless were not appreciated by management. But you better spice things up for me.

Locke was now positive this witch was reading his every thought. People are worried about whether or not the government is listening in on them? What the heck is with this?! She’s reading my mind! That’s not fair! Locke stood up, half-mad that Ash had once again pulled on his strings like he was some sort of puppet, half-happy that he had a reason not to be sitting on his rear-end making poisons and potions for the rest of the fight. “Sampson, Sparky, can one of you guys give me a light?”

“I can,” Tubal offered instead. His arrows immediately blazed up with the signature blue fire of the Blue Phoenix Brigade. “You going to throw those poisons in the air again? Can you aim them toward the gaps on our sides so that our three tanks don’t get flanked? I don’t know how long Katherine will be able to hold out.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Locke pulled out a handful of poisons, and as he tossed them toward the areas Tubal pointed to, the archer’s fiery projectiles struck them mid-air to create Locke’s signature poison clouds.

The clouds didn’t seem to have much of an effect the dolphins. Despite the poisonous green cloud of vapor that hung in the air, they continued on in their attempts to get past Bianca and Sampson on the edges. They charged blindly through the billowy plumes much like the Piranha Priests had swum right through the poison he had poured into the swamps. It left Locke feeling apprehensive and scared that it wasn’t doing any good, until finally, he noticed that Katherine’s whips and Tubal’s arrows were killing them much faster.

So, it is working, just not by much, Locke noted. “Tubal, I’m throwing a few more,” he said, tossing four or five more off to either side. Locke saw dollar signs flying through the air, but it didn’t stop him from lobbing bottle after bottle at the oncoming creatures and creating a perimeter around his companions. In the end, it almost seemed completely worth it as he watched one of the dolphins literally croak and die on Bianca’s side from the gas of the poison cloud alone.

So, this is what it’s like to not feel worthless during a fight. That was worse than being a fifth wheel on a double date, Locke grinned, casting out another two poisons. He knew he couldn’t keep this up if they ran into another fight this big, but for the moment, he was just happy that he was able to lend a hand.

Within a few moments, Tubal and Locke had managed to start pushing the gas aggressively further and further into the dolphin pod. The rubbery, towel-covered enemies began to pile up in mounds of corpses around Bianca, Sparky and Sampson, who continued working to hold the line. Before Locke even realized it, the fight was over, and they were staring at a wave of foul gas hovering over dozens of dolphin corpses.

“That was fun,” Tubal declared happily, walking over to Locke. “Talk about some serious teamwork there, Shy.”

“Yeah, it was,” Locke responded, looking at the cloud in satisfaction.

“So how do we clear away the bottled Sampson farts?” Bianca asked, looking at the poison in front of them and waving her daggers through it a few times to test it out.

“Oh.” Locke thought for a minute.

“They are not my farts!” Sampson protested, continuing to deny the accusation, but no one seemed to pay attention to her protest.

“I think her farts turn into explosions if they’re struck again with more fire,” Locke stated. He was playing along with the running joke but still offering a solution to the looming miasma.

“Shy!” Sampson said as she stamped her hoof. “Cut it out, or I’m tossing you to the next dolphin, and they can do to you whatever unspeakable act we apparently can’t mention in front of baby Reginald.”

“That’s no way to talk to your master,” Katherine said, tut-tutting Sampson.

“Whatever,” Sampson replied, giving up. She took her axe and activated the ranged fire sweep right into the gas cloud. Her meager action elicited a massive explosion and a thunderous boom that knocked her and Sparky back a couple of steps.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the explosion, were you?” Tubal said while scratching his head. “I think this has a lot of potential in the future.”

“You mean like a combination attack?” Locke asked.

“Yeah. Sparky, Sampson, and Reginald have a very good opener. Their little yellow-shielded, whirlwind of smash does wonderful burst damage. Now, I think we might have found our combination finisher. Up, up, down, down, left, right, boom,” Tubal said, shooting a fire arrow into part of the remaining cloud and causing it to ignite. The explosions didn’t seem to have a chain reaction, they only seemed to blow up in proportion to the amount of fire that struck them, but the short, limited bursts eventually cleared the room of the deadly vapor.

“Yeah, I don’t know if we made any time, though,” Reginald complained. “Even if we were able to kill the dolphins a lot faster, it’s still taking a ton of time to clear out this place, right?”

“Not that much time. I think we’ve definitely cut our workload in half,” Tubal said. “I know your poison supply isn’t infinite, Shy, but do you mind doing it again in the next room and not doing it at all in the room after? I think Reginald’s point at least merits investigation.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem at all,” Locke responded. He was actually pretty excited at the opportunity to lay out another round of his new deadly weapon: the ‘Sampson Fart.’ Locke chortled at the thought. Too bad I can’t custom name the move. That would be priceless. I mean, I am the first Alchemist to reach this point, right? What if Ash let me create a special attack and name it that? Every player who comes after me would be investing points into the good, old ‘Sampson Fart’ attack. Well, either way, I probably shouldn’t say it out loud too much. I think Sampson might actually kill me if the joke keeps going. Is there a special word for killing one’s master? Uxoricide, maybe? Wait, no, that’s the wrong one. Dominicide, that’s it.

Locke did just as Tubal suggested in the next two rooms: He combo’d the poison with the fire to create explosions even more smoothly in the first and then didn’t do anything in the room after. They counted up the time it took to clear both areas, which made Locke a little anxious because the group was essentially calculating exactly how worthless he was--or wasn’t. There was roughly an equal number of trout-slapping dolphins in each, and he was relieved to find out that his help shaved almost a minute and a half off of what would otherwise have been about a five-minute fight. But, as Tubal had pointed out, he really didn’t have an infinite number of poisons, so he did his best to only jump in and assist once every five to six rooms. He wanted to hop in more, but given how many attacks it took just to make a real dent in the enemy mobs, his contribution was more to relieve his own stress and keep Ash off his back than to be incredibly helpful to the Brigade.

One of the bright sides to all his potion and poison making, though, was that he had managed to upgrade all three of the current concoctions in his rotation. After a lot of tedious work, he had gotten the Novice’s Deadly Poison to become an Adept’s Deadly Poison. The level-up didn’t give the potion a huge potency increase, only +1 in damage, but the incremental increases in damage really began to add up over time. Also, there was an extra thirty seconds to the duration of the poison, a little bit larger damage over time bonus, and an increased .25% to the base damage of any weapon it was applied to, which, for a level seven potion, was already up to 1.75% increased damage.

As well as the Novice’s Deadly Poison, he also managed to raise both his Fragility Poison, the vitality debuff, and his healing potion to the rank of Journeyman so they both were level five. Locke would probably have switched his focus onto the Fragility Poison alone, as five damage to one’s vitality was much more devastating than five damage to one’s health, but he was afraid to only focus on one, fearing that some mobs might be immune to the crippling debuff of the Fragility Poison or, even worse, that players might figure out a quick way to undo the effects and make the poison essentially worthless. There was also the problem that he didn’t have enough of the ingredients to focus on it too much. They hadn’t spent enough time in the swamp where his main harvest point had been.

The group’s pattern of attack continued as they went through the dungeon. Locke joined in on attacking the dolphins with his poison once every few rooms and then sat out the rest while he continued working on making his potions. Slaughtering the dolphins one after the other for a while was pretty entertaining, and everything was going rather smoothly, when, right in the middle of one of the attacks, a status message popped up.

Congrats! You have met the requirements and unlocked the unique Alchemist subclass: The Bombardier.

The Unlit Fuse: May modify concoctions to create an explosion on impact when thrown. The effect of the explosion will be:

Deal 100% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a one-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 75% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a two-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 50% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a three-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 25% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a four-foot radius of the explosion.

Molotovs: No longer just for angry Russians or Bostonian rioters.

Notes: Modified concoctions will not work if anyone but a qualified Bombardier throws them.

Hello again, Shy! Oh, my gosh, I feel like we haven’t talked in forever. I know you missed me. Anyway, I know that right about now you’re probably wondering, ‘Why did it just give me this random class. I didn’t accept it at all! I wanted to get my proper class selection like every other Alchemist receives at Level 50!’ For that, I want to sincerely apologize. The other options would have had you sitting in some laboratory in a town, toiling away day after day, and for such itty-bitty bonuses that no one should ever be happy with them! Oh, woopty-do! After thirty levels of a potion, I can add +5% to the attack speed of the user! Hooray! Look at me! I can add a small, tiny, minuscule improvement to my poison! Who cares? And just so you know, no, I wasn’t the one who developed the other classes. One of the team members made them while I was busy making this amazing and awesome explosive beauty of perfection.

It’s just great, right? Anyway, I knew you’d love it. But, on the off-chance that you don’t fall head over heels with my genius once again, my magnificent, wonderful, creative abilities, then you’re welcome to complain. I’ll even find you a GM where you can explain how you got into this situation.

P.S. Minion, no one is attacking you during fights, so why do you insist upon keeping a shirt on? ;)

So . . . I don’t get to choose at all? Locke sighed. As soon as the sigh escaped his lips, Katherine smacked the back of his head.

“What the--” Locke flinched, grabbing the spot on his head where he had been hit as he turned around.

“Bianca told me to do it. You should know why,” she said, justifying the action and passing the buck at the same time.

Ugh! You have no idea how frustrating of a day this is. Let me keep at least one of my bad habits! Locke grumbled to himself as he rubbed his head.

As he read the benefits of the poison modification, though, he was pretty impressed with his unexpected new subclass--not that he would ever let Ash know. He even did his best to stifle any complimentary thoughts, very certain that the evil witch was reading his mind even as he thought about the benefits of being a Bombardier. Okay, I may as well try this new skill out, he thought, pulling out a poison and applying the ‘Unlit Fuse’ skill to the bottle. “Tubal, don’t shoot this one,” Locke called out as he tossed it at a foe.

When it hit, the potion didn’t create the usual cloud that the poisons did when lit on fire. Instead, it blew up into a green flash that knocked the targeted dolphin back and left visible damage on its face. It even struck a few dolphins behind that one and, unfortunately, Bianca as well. Luckily for the Succubus, the shield Reginald had given her managed to soak up the explosion. Regardless, it was pretty clear that if he kept it up, she would be a victim of friendly fire. If that poison was ingested, it would do seventy points of damage plus the damage over time effect. So, if someone is four feet away, then it should only do 17.5 damage plus the damage over time effect? Locke did the math in his head like a genius, trying to figure out how much of the damage shield he had cost Bianca. One of the bonuses of focusing on merchanting for so long was being able to work out numbers in his head.

“That’s a neat trick,” Tubal commented. “Can you make it smaller, though, so it doesn’t blow up Bianca like Reginald blew up Sampson’s phone after the first guild meeting?”

“What the heck, man?” Reginald shouted. “I did not!”

“Sure, sure. What was it, Sampson. Ten missed calls? Or twenty that week?” Tubal asked. He laughed as he said it, and so did the rest of the crew, Reginald aside.

Locke was surprised to see that even Sparky laughed at the exchange as she slammed a dolphin back, knocking it into another that was behind it. She had hit the thing with so much force that the pair subsequently toppled over and sent three others falling backward like dominos.

“I can’t remember if it was you or Reginald that called me more times that week,” Sampson replied, grinning. “Hard to say.” She spun around in a wide arc, ripping a dolphin and the one behind it in half with her blue flame attack as she chuckled in amusement.

“Well played, bull-y, well played.” Tubal left it at that, and the group continued on with the fight.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind all these easy kills if they only dropped loot like they do EXP. This is too much of an easy-mode challenge. Granted, the EXP is great, but the fights are more tedious than shopping for a new pair of shoes and a lot less fun,” Katherine explained.

Wait, shoe shopping? I was convinced that Bianca was the chick. I know that some guys are really into sneakers, but, really? Locke was suddenly right back to square one trying to figure out which of the duo was the guy and which was the girl.

“I hate saying it, but I actually preferred the PVP on the way here,” Bianca chimed in. “Bright side, though, at least we’ve caught our new guildy up in levels. You must be at least Level 40 by now, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I hit Level 47 last fight,” Locke confirmed, nodding along and happy that he didn’t have to watch the obnoxious level-up message spam across his vision like he had when he was leveling up Blacksmithing. He was more than content having to check his progress every so often just so long as he wasn’t constantly being annoyed by that obnoxious little dinging sound.

He was about to add more about his new ability and class, when he thought he heard the sound of something scraping behind him. He turned around, only to catch the afterimage of two red dots. That’s the second time that’s happened since we’ve been down here. It can’t just be my imagination, can it? Is that the same thing that I spotted off in the woods just after leaving town? After the fight with those goons from the Holy Alliance?

“Yeah, the EXP is top notch,” Reginald added in with a huge grin. “And since our newest guildmate is a veritable bank with all those potions he can sell, we should be able to stay well equipped, right?”

“I don’t think Shy is generous enough to be a guild bank,” Katherine quipped, countering his sentiment.

“I don’t know. Master did buy me fancy things earlier!” Sampson buddied up next to Shy giggling in a way that reminded Locke of an old episode of I Dream of Jeannie he had seen once. “He is such a generous man. Isn’t that what you said, Sparky? I bet he’ll even get me a fancy new armor piece when we hit town just because he’s such a good guy.”

“Time does not care how you won the battle, only if you were victorious. Here, we must equip ourselves with every advantage and press on as far as we can as if each day will be our last and every battle might be our end.” Sparky banged her shield at the end of her valorous monologue for added effect.

“Tubal, can you translate that into English?” Reginald joked.

“She means that we should totally try to get Shy to help us get better equipment next town trip. I’m rather surprised, though. That kinda feels like she’s suggesting we bully him out of his purse. That’s not what you’re suggesting, is it?” Tubal asked. He leaned in with a mischievous smile, and his lips curled back as soon as the words left his tongue.

“Huh? No! I’d never do that! I . . . I could just really use a new shield and some new greaves; and, I was thinking, if Shy was really generous, maybe he would help me out of the kindness of his heart. If he doesn’t want to, that’s fine. I won’t press. I’m fine being poor. I mean . . .” Sparky, completely out of character, was stuttering and waving her hands in self-defense, still filled with weapon and shield, as she backed up.

Wow, she really got set off by being called a bully, Locke thought as he watched Tubal laugh at Sparky. I’ll have to note that one for the books and be careful of Tubal. He seems to know just how to get under everyone’s skin.

“Hey, guys, be quiet a second,” Bianca shushed the group. “I know we’re having fun, but you see that ahead?” She pointed ahead towards the path to the next room where there wasn’t a single towel-wearing dolphin visible from the entrance. Most of the rooms had been connected by rather large hallways, but this one was nothing more than a narrow corridor like the one that they had come across at the very start of the dungeon.

“What’s wrong?” Shy asked, breaking the silence. “Do you hear it too?” he continued, thinking that she was referring to the occasional footsteps and random noises that he thought he had imagined during their escapade.

“Talking? I thought I did. While you all were chattering away, I thought I heard someone else,” Bianca clarified. “If I had to put money on something, I’d bet that leads us back to the main hallway.”

“Well, then let’s get in there. Everyone stay silent. Shy, give us all a fresh set of poisons. Let’s move out,” Tubal ordered, passing out commands in his usual short and efficient manner. He never seemed to be at a loss for words when he was digging in to someone, but he never wasted them when he was passing out directions, either. He crouched down and moved forward slowly, sort of dropping his center of gravity and assuming a half-bent posture like he was a cliché thief in a cartoon.

Chapter 6

Sampson and Sparky took the lead as they made their way to the corridor, and everyone did their best to stay quiet while they snuck through the passageway. As they rounded the corner and exited back into the main hallway, they were greeted by a multitude of long-armed seahorse corpses scattered about with eels next to them. There was also a group of players finishing off the last three seahorses, which apparently utilized their unnaturally-lengthy appendages to attack adventurers using the electric eels as weapons.

Locke immediately recognized the band of warriors as members of the Holy Alliance. It wasn’t the same group of people they had encountered back in town, but he remembered seeing two of the players, both mages, when they had tried to place orders for quarterstaffs from him, orders that he couldn’t take on--much to their ire--given his previous specialty in swords.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Tubal asked, not even bothering to poke his head out from behind the three tanks on the front line.

“Farming? This is a Holy Alliance farming zone,” a Naga answered as he turned to face them. His tail never ceased its slithering motion across the ground, even when the top part of his body stayed still, and it was an unusual sight to behold as the Naga twisted only half of his body as he spoke to them. “You’re trespassing, and it’s best if you leave.”

“Come on, guys. This is a public dungeon. What are you talking about?” Tubal questioned. There were undertones of disbelief and a challenge in his words, and he kept three arrows ready on the notch.

“Wait, I know this one. He’s from that garbage group . . .” a White-Wing dressed in full leather armor began, a smirk evident in his voice that wasn’t apparent on his avian face. “What did they call themselves? The Blue Pansy Boys? The Bright Pink Babies? Braindead Purple Baboons? Big Puking Bozos? No, those all sound more important than these losers. What was it again, two-bit?” He sauntered to the front of the group, drawing his daggers, and began taunting Tubal again, needling away at the other’s expense. “Wait, did that make you mad? You gonna cry?”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about these guys on the guild boards. They are the punks that think they are special, picking on noobs like they’re hot stuff. How ‘bout we teach them who really owns this land?” a Vampire sneered, readying a short sword.

“Yeah, and after you’re finished licking your wounds, you can give up on playing Cowboys and Indians with the other little kiddies and join a real guild . . . like, say, the Holy Alliance,” an Incubus taunted as he pulled out a long, spiked whip that made the ones Katherine and Bianca used look second-rate. “Don’t worry, I know just how to punish children that have been bad.”

Locke felt like he might vomit when he heard the Incubus. That’s . . . That’s clearly child abuse, you freak. The Incubus’ words might have made him sick to his stomach, but it didn’t distract him from taking in the entire group and sizing up which ones to attack first.

The White-Wing was carrying the traditional racial daggers that every member of the race always had present on them, even the ones that weren’t rogues, but the robes he was wearing clearly marked him as a caster. The Human next to him wearing roguish leather armor was also a mage; the giant staff he carried gave it away. Other than that, however, Locke wasn’t able to immediately identify any other spell users. Given that the only person with magical abilities in Tubal’s party was Reginald, the Holy Alliance was going to have a serious advantage in any long, drawn-out conflict--not to mention a clear advantage if they were able to get off an early burst of attacks before anyone could counter them. The enemy mages’ more powerful spells would take a while to cast once they began channeling them, but once the chain began, they would spell out an almost certain doom for any group caught in them. The area of effect from certain skills could cripple even the most well-prepared fighters if they weren’t prepared.

Other than the two casters, he wasn’t able to identify any other serious threats. As far as he could tell, the rest of the Holy Alliance group looked just plain average. The Incubus with the whip was clearly mimicked Katherine or Bianca in fighting style. Locke wasn’t certain if he’d function as a tank or a damage-dealer when the skirmish started, but given the look of the whip and a lack of serious armor or a shield, it was more likely to be the latter.

There were also two Vampires. One was holding a short sword and a crossbow, so he could go either way, and the other was brandishing a pair of spiked maces indicating that he would most likely be focused on attacking. Then, as if the odds weren’t already tipped far enough to one side, there was also a Naga, another Human and an Earth-Walker that Locke couldn’t even begin to place.

The jibes coming from the Holy Alliance started to die down, their banter became slower and more decisive, and Locke knew he didn’t have much more time to figure out what to do first. Tubal’s small group was outnumbered, and these enemies didn’t look like they were going to be pushovers like the previous group had been. In short, Locke didn’t trust Tubal to be the one to act first.

Locke sighed in frustration. If I don't make the first move, the team won’t take action at all, will they? Being forced to take the lead wasn’t a position that he wanted to be in, but Locke definitely didn't feel like he had much choice in the matter either.

He was just about to coordinate with the team when he noticed that the Naga’s lips were already moving. He’s casting! He’s already setting up a spell! Locke panicked, slinging out four of his poisons armed with ‘The Unlit Fuse’ right at the Naga. Unlike in previous battles, however, he wasn’t using the Deadly Poisons: He was throwing Fragility Poisons, and their effects against players would be much more severe.

The lobbed bombs exploded, throwing several people back and interrupting them before they finished casting their spells. Locke immediately turned and signaled for Tubal to finish the job. To his credit, Tubal didn’t miss a beat, shooting out arrows the second the opportunity presented itself and pinning the Naga, now dead, against the wall.

There we go! Locke gave a silent cheer as he watched the numbers even up a bit, but his celebration was premature.

Even though the Naga may have been stopped from finishing his spell, the Earth-Walker Locke had completed one of his own, and a series of spikes erupted from the walls and shot out at the group before anyone got a chance to react. Locke was the first one clipped, pinned to the ground as one of the earthen spikes stabbed through his right leg and dug into the floor beneath him, instantly taking out 37% of his life bar in the process.

Sparky managed to deflect several of the incoming attacks and prevented them from hitting either Tubal or herself, but Sampson and Reginald had both taken one each in the gut. Katherine and Bianca, who had silently taken to the air, each came crashing down to the ground in a tangled mass of limbs in the area between the two groups. A large, boulder-sized section of earth came crashing down from the ceiling of the cavern on top of them, and Locke knew that they were out of the battle just as quickly.

Crud, crud, crud. Locke watched in horror as the enemies charged, two melee opponents going straight for him and another headed right toward Tubal.

The Vampire with the short sword and the Incubus with the whip also closed the gap along with the other tanky-looking fighters, but they still kept their distance in the approach.

“We gotta finish him off before he hits us again, Shy,” Tubal called out. He ignored the incoming assault and started firing off one burning, blue arrow after another, trying to target the Earth-Walker that had revealed itself as a caster. “If he gets off another big attack like that, we’re dead!”

Yeah, no joke. Locke did his best to lob a few Fragility Poisons in the direction of the Earth-Walker in the back, but pinned down as he was, he wasn’t able to put much strength behind them. Several of them missed their mark, inevitably falling short, but a few others shattered on the Human and Incubus tanks as they made their way toward Locke.

Fine. If you want to play that game, let’s play that game! Locke’s frustration at not being able to hit the target because of the interference began to grow. He started throwing out three of the potions at a time, and the effect was immediately obvious. The advancing group of fighters cringed under the effects of the volley, and as realization of what was happening set in, fear hit their veins. They became so focused on trying to avoid the falling poisons that they failed to notice the fearsome Dragon-Wing knight charging straight for them. She crashed shield-first into the Naga so hard that the slithering caster flew backward and bounced across the ground like a dribbled basketball before skidding to a halt.

Locke watched as she purposefully retreated back to where Sampson was attempting to engage all three of the aggressive figures alone and reentered the fray. She was obviously under a bit of pressure, but despite being outnumbered, she seemed to be handling it as well as could be expected. Turning his attention back to the rest of the enemies, Locke zoned in on the Earth-Walker in the back. Something about the guy’s movements was off and left him with a bad feeling. Any minute now, we’re going to get--

Locke’s fears were realized before he even finished the thought as a wave of lightning arced out across the room. The spell zapped into the melee fighters just in front of Locke, striking every one of them without prejudice. The Human and the Incubus were effectively killed, but Sparky and Sampson somehow managed to remain on their feet--though they showed the effects of just how badly the spell had injured them. Locke looked over to the source of the lightning and found the Human mage that he and Tubal hadn’t finished off earlier.

“Freznik! I told you not to cast that spell when allies are in range!” one of the Vampires shouted, pausing mid-fight long enough to cast a baleful glare back at the caster. The undead fighter started moving again as soon as the words left his lips, pulling out a dagger and hurling it straight toward Reginald before sprinting after it.

“Reginald, look out!” Locke shouted, but his warning went unanswered, and the Satyr remained motionless.

Locke hadn’t realized it before, but the lightning had left everyone that it hit, including Reginald, rooted in place. The Satyr priest was forced to stand in place--paralyzed and unable to move--and watch as the Vampire’s dagger sank right into his chest. Reginald made a feeble attempt to deflect the dagger with his arm, but his reaction speed was far too slow, and within seconds, he was coughing up blood.

Locke made one last attempt to stop the Earth-Walker from casting his spike attack, but his aim was off, and the Fragility poison instead collided with the group of fighters on the front line. Sparky, a Naga who had managed to return to the fight and two Vampires who had descended on her while she stood rooted by the lightning dancing around her feet were all doused with the liquid.

Sampson landed a good cleave with her axe’s blade into one of the Vampires, gutting him a split second before the Earth-Walker’s spikes shot up and impaled her yet again in the stomach. She was left gasping for air as blood spilled out of the wound, and Locke knew instinctively that she had reached her limit. Tubal screamed out as his shoulder was pierced by one of the earthen spikes that had suddenly jutted out from the wall.

Locke was so caught up in watching his teammates’ struggles, watching each of them get hit, that he hadn’t paid attention to his own safety. He had neglected to keep up with the Human mage, who used the opportunity to blast him with a lightning attack. Locke felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up straight as the spell coursed through him, leaving him rooted in place like everyone else. All he could do was groan helplessly as he felt another huge chunk of his life plummet away as the damage added up.

Locke was panicked over the status of his own remaining health, but all he could do was hold his breath and watch. One of the Vampires stabbed Sparky right in the chest and another turned, flailing out at Sampson with a second attack. Locke’s eyes bulged wide as he watched the violent attacks, but there was nothing that he could do to stop them. This is it for them if I can’t find a way to do something! His mind raced with impossible scenarios as he tried to come up with something. If they drank a few potions, they’d be fine. Even if there was some miraculous way to reach his allies, there was no way that he could trade them the healing agents, have them uncork the potions, and drink them before the enemy racked up a series of blows into them and finished them off.

If only there was a way to just force the . . . Locke paused as an idea suddenly occurred to him. That’s it! Unlit Fuse doesn't exactly say that it does damage . . . The way it was worded, it states that it will cause effect in an area around point of impact. If the ingested effect is healing . . . does that mean it will create an area of effect heal?

It was a huge gamble, but Locke decided to risk it, pulling out five health potions at once. As soon as they were in his hand, though, the Vampire assaulting Sparky jerked his head around and locked eyes with Locke. Almost instantly, he danced away from the Dragon-Wing with some fancy footwork and started moving towards Locke, abandoning his struggle with the Dragon-Wing altogether.

“Get him,” the Vampire yelled. “He’s going to finish us off with those weird things if we don’t take him out!” His shouts caught the attention of the Naga who was about to hit Sparky with his own sword, and the slithering combatant joined in with the Vampire to charge toward Locke.

Sparky and Sampson were both helpless in their own right and in terrible shape. Not only were they both still rooted in place, but they were also bleeding out profusely and close to death themselves. Neither of them could do anything to help Locke, and he knew that he couldn’t count on them to impede the paths of the Naga or the Vampire in any way. Without the defensive support of the fighters up front, there was nothing to stop this attack from reaching him.

“I’ll finish the Minotaur and his buddy while you two take of that new class,” the Human mage instructed, but it probably wouldn’t be necessary. It was about time for another attack from the slow-to-channel Earth-Walker to rip the group in half again, and given that everyone was critically injured or rooted in place by the electric tendrils leftover from the mage’s lightning attack, no one would be able to dodge the earth-shattering spikes this time. Another spell of that magnitude meant certain death for everyone.

Seeing his demise on its way, Locke knew he only had one chance to save Sampson and Sparky from meeting the same fate. He threw the health potions, modified by The Unlit Fuse, as fast as he could. The bottles exploded in brilliant red flashes and almost instantly began healing whatever wounds Sampson and Sparky had.

“You idiot, heal yourself!” Sparky yelled angrily at Locke, but it was too late. Sure, he might have been able to take a few more hits, or maybe even run at full speed out of the dungeon to save his own skin, but he just couldn’t do it. There was no way he could countenance abandoning everyone else and leaving them for dead just so that he could tuck tail and run to save himself.

“Shy!” Sampson shouted as the spike fell out of her midsection. The gaping hole it left behind wove itself back together under the barrage of health potions, and she was returned back to pristine condition as if it had never been there.

Locke didn’t even bother trying to throw a new poison as the incoming Vampires and the Naga reached him. He just waited, grinning at them. He knew that he was going to die, but he was working as fast as he could to activate as many of the Fragility and Deadly poisons as he could in his inventory. They were going to kill him, but his assailants were going to be close enough for him to hopefully take all three with him. Come at me, bro. He stared into the Naga’s eyes and laughed as it raced toward him. He was just ready to activate his little surprise attack when something unexpected happened.

An instant before the spiked mace reached his face, a flash of silver light blurred across his vision and deflected the attack. Locke had been ready for death and willing to accept whatever fate awaited him when he respawned, but it never came. There was a black bathrobe, two red eyes, and two swords shredding apart all three of the aggressors as if they were nothing more than slow-cooked pork being pulled apart for a sandwich--and sloppy joes was probably the closest description Locke could think of for what they started to resemble.

Locke stared at the spectacle and blinked in confusion as his mind worked furiously to process what he was witnessing and figure out what was going. What in the . . . Eliza? She had appeared at just the right moment to save him. He wanted to watch the fight, to see how quickly she could finish it up, but he knew that the spikes were coming again soon, and his health was still low. He tossed two of the health potions at Reginald to stop him from dying and started drinking a few himself.

“Eliza! Be careful! That Earth-Walker has a seriously powerful ranged spell!” Locke called out, pointing at the channeling foe.

Eliza was finishing off the two weakened Vampires and the Naga when Sparky finally broke free of her chains. The newly freed knight raced across the room and barreled into the still-chanting Earth-Walker, sending him straight into the ground. Sampson broke free as well a second after Sparky, and together, the two rained down blow after blow upon the Earth-Walker. When they were finished, the poor caster resembled a crushed cockroach that had just been scraped off the bottom of someone’s boot. Tubal finally came back to his senses and reentered the fray by unleashing a spray of arrows into the Human, pinning him to the wall next to his White-Wing friend.

“I . . . I think that’s it,” Locke said breathlessly, but as he looked around, he noticed that the tension hadn’t vanished. Everyone was on edge, standing with weapons drawn, and it felt very much like they were still in the middle of the fight.

“What is she doing here?” Tubal asked, turning to Locke. “Did you know she was following us?

“About as much as you did,” Locke replied flatly. He didn’t even care that Eliza had just popped out of nowhere as if she had been trailing them like a creepy stalker. He was so happy about the fact that he wasn’t dead that he didn’t have it in him to worry about any ulterior motives she might have for saving them. Making sure not to forget to express this gratitude, he immediately told Eliza, “Thank you, seriously. I thought I was a goner.”

The Demon turned to him and regarded him coolly for a moment. Whatever she was thinking, she wasn’t going to convey it with any facial expression. After a brief moment of silence, she answered, “We have unfinished business. I warned you what would happen if you tried to cross me.”

Locke was startled for a moment. It definitely wasn’t the best reaction he had hoped for, but it was the one he should have expected. He sighed and then flinched involuntarily as he thought about how Bianca would have popped the back of his head. He knew what Eliza meant. What else should have I expect from a sword-wielding psycho with trust issues? After seeing his life flash before his eyes and accepting his own untimely demise, however, he was still riding high on the euphoria of coming out of battle alive after expecting death. He didn’t have it in him to act like a frightened dog again, and there was no way she was going to bring him down. “Yeah, dead, I remember.” Locke brushed the thought off with a simple wave of his hand. “But thanks either way.”

“Woman, you’ll have to get in line,” Sampson harrumphed. She marched across the room and planted herself directly in front of Locke, putting herself between him and Eliza. “Don’t you dare go trying to play the martyr like that again!”

“Are we just completely going to ignore the fact this ‘savior’ murdered us earlier in the swamp?” Tubal griped.

“Err . . . I am sorry,” Locke replied meekly, ignoring Tubal’s indignation toward Eliza and replying to Sampson. He didn’t understand what the big deal was--from Sampson’s perspective, at least. It was just a game for them. If they died, there wouldn’t be any serious consequences.  There was no risk of being found out, permanently banned or ending up in some strange town and running the risk of being killed endlessly. Locke shuddered as that last possibility played out briefly in his head.

So why is she so mad? In fact, why is Sparky so mad? He glanced over at Sparky, who was still standing above the mage’s corpse, and she was studying him so intently that he was afraid her glare was going to pierce through him at any moment.

“But, healing you was the right choice,” Locke continued, following up his apology with a defense. He knew it made the apology sound like he didn’t really mean it, even though he really was sorry that he had worried them. “If I died, you could have still won the fight without me. At the best, I wouldn’t have been able to survive more than a few hits, and at the worst, they would have just chased me down and killed me anyway.”

“This is really cute and all,” Eliza said as she stepped around Sampson, addressing her, “but he and I need to have a conversation.” Without missing a beat, she looked from Sampson to Locke and told him, “You can cry on your boyfriend’s shoulder later.”

Boyfriend? What is she-- Oh man! Locke couldn’t help but snicker at Eliza’s comment. It wasn’t that he really minded being cast as the type that had a boyfriend, but he realized that, while he saw Sampson and Sparky as human women playing a game, Eliza only saw them as a male Minotaur and Dragon-Wing. That’s going to be really awkward to explain one day. Locke shook his head at the thought, his smile from the amusement still there.

“You’re here to know if I met with your contact then? Not just because you missed me?” Locke answered. Against his better judgment, Locke decided to poke at Eliza a bit. “Not just because you wanted to join in on killing a few Holy Alliance members?”

“I’ll just consider that as an added bonus for now,” Eliza answered calmly. A small grin appeared on her face, but it never reached her eyes. She took a number of small steps away from them, dragging the tip of one of her swords across the stone ground as she did and creating an awful scratching sound. “Perhaps I just wanted a way to keep you indebted to me.”

“Is that so? Plan on keeping me around awhile then?” Locke asked. “Well, if anything, this puts us just about even. Your contact did his best to murder me as soon as I met him. He didn’t seem to trust you all that much yet. He thought you double-crossed him and sent an assassin: me. I lost a good shirt and came very close to losing my life just so you know.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow, and her smile grew. “If Red Dragon tried to kill you, I’m sure you deserved it. He struck me as being quite the honorable man,” she replied. “And for someone who prides himself on being such an outstanding merchant, your math is horrible. I spared you once, and I saved your life again just now. Unless, of course, you’re suggesting that your life is only worth as much as a shirt.”

“Red Dragon? Who the heck is Red Dragon?” Tubal interjected as he started walking toward Locke and Sampson. “What is going on?”

“I’d like to know the same thing,” Reginald added, pulling the dagger out of his chest and stashing it away in his inventory.

“You didn’t tell them?” Eliza asked, finally stopping her slow, pacing walk and the annoying noise that came with it.

“I . . .” Locke’s face turned red as embarrassment hit him. He was caught in a tough situation, and he was kind of ashamed he hadn’t trusted Tubal, Sampson and the others. “I didn’t fill them in on any details, no.” He may have come clean with them about traveling to town with Eliza earlier, but given the looks that the others gave him, it didn’t seem to matter. “I was going to, but considering the fact that Red Dragon did try to murder me, and you did attack them back in the swamp, I really wasn’t sure what would happen the next time we met,” he blurted out, trying to weave an excuse.

Or I just didn’t trust them to let me stay with them if I confessed. Why didn’t I trust them? He lamented the choice that he had made not to tell them everything, but some part of him already knew why he didn’t: He didn’t want to lose the group. He could have likely hired another --it wasn’t like mercenaries were in short supply, and he had plenty of money after selling all those potions in town-- but he liked this one in particular.

“So you don't trust them?” she asked, the smile immediately disappearing from her face. “I assumed that, since this was the second time you had left with them, they were friends of yours. If we should be having this conversation in private . . .” She trailed off, lazily slicing both of her swords through the air in what somehow managed to come across in only a half-heartedly threatening manner.

“Yeah, should you?” Tubal glared at him, and the hurt was evident in his voice.

“You really didn’t trust us enough to tell us what was going on?” Sampson looked wounded.

“He’s only known us a day,” Reginald said, actually coming to Locke’s defense. “I mean, would you trust people you’ve only known for half a day on a game? People you had to pay just to be in the group with?”

“That’s . . . That’s not it,” Locke stammered. “It was . . . It was just . . . I was worried you might have been working with them.”

“With them?” Tubal asked. “With who?”

“With the Holy Alliance. My enemy,” Locke clarified.

Eliza may have been on the other side of the chamber, but she closed the gap in about half a second. She had been a safe distance away in one moment, and in the next, she was right in front of Locke with one sword pressed against Tubal’s throat and the other against Sampson’s. “I don’t have time for this,” she said impatiently. “Do you trust them or not?”

No sooner had she lifted her sword at Tubal than Sparky swung into motion, slamming the blade with her shield so fast that it literally caused sparks to fly as she shot into place between Tubal and Eliza. The sword at Sampson’s throat was lifted as Eliza took a step back and readjusted her weapons so that both of them were aimed at Tubal and Sparky.

Reginald didn’t hesitate to get with the program as well, beginning to cast his defensive spells as soon as the tension began to boil.

“You raise your hand against my brother, I’ll chop it off,” Sparky spat, her shield lifting even higher. “I don’t mind that you and Shy have a history. I’ve let it slide that he didn’t mention it. People have their reasons. But I don’t need any excuse other than you lifting your weapon toward Tubal to kill you where you stand.”

“Sis, ju-just . . .” Tubal put a hand on Sparky’s back. He looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. His initial stuttering faded into the awkward silence that already hung between Eliza and Sparky and added to the tension as they stared each other down.

“There’s no reason to say anything.” Sparky’s entire suit of armor started glowing, seemingly igniting along with her anger in a way that Locke had never witnessed in any of the earlier fights. “I’ve seen her kind before,” she continued. “They’re hitters. I’ve seen first-hand how they push and shove others around until they get their way, not caring who gets hurt.”

“How presumptuous,” Eliza taunted smugly. “You assume you have it all figured out and already know me so well, but you know nothing about me, what I’ve been forced to endure, or what I hope to accomplish. How foolish and naive.”

“Hmph. You think that justifies your actions? Save your sob stories and your anger. There is nothing honorable about your kind. What gives you the right to take from others? To force your will on them? To harm another with violence?” Sparky continued to berate Eliza, blindly ignoring her argument.

Eliza’s gaze grew harder and colder with each and every word that Sparky spoke. What had been a dispassionate glare before quickly ramped up into a seething hatred. “You know nothing about me or my kind, newcomer,” she hissed. “You have no idea what I have suffered, and you have no idea what is in my past. You know nothing of my people or what they have been through. You know nothing of loss or sacrifice or honor. No one can ever truly take anything from you because you have nothing worth losing. Even if I take your life again, here and now, we both know that you’ll be back alive and well in mere moments as if nothing ever happened.”
“Stop it!” Locke shouted. He was starting to panic as he watched the situation continue to escalate. “This feud needs to end, now! You two wanna be mad at someone? Be mad at me. I’m the one who hasn’t been forthcoming, and I’m the one who put you all in this situation, but don’t even think of starting a fight!” He threw himself between Sparky’s shield and Eliza’s blade.

“She’s a bully, Shy,” Sparky answered, and the ire in her voice dripped through with every word she spoke. “This has nothing to do with your willful omission of truth. Her kind need to be taught a lesson. They need to be taught they can’t just hit whoever they want, whenever they want, just because it makes them feel good.”

“She’s not a player. You won’t be teaching her a lesson. You’ll be killing her,” Locke protested, doing his best to still stay between the two as Sparky and Eliza both rotated to try and get a better angle to strike with. “And you!” Locke, furious with himself for allowing this to even happen, turned to Eliza. “Do you not understand what’s going on? Do you really think you can take on the world by yourself? You need us. You need me as much as I need you,” he almost shouted at her. He wanted to be even angrier at her reckless stupidity, her lack of empathy and willful disregard of their common endgame. She was one of those people who didn’t know how to play the game at all, who insisted she could do everything alone and didn’t need help from anyone, and he hated it. Not just because it was absurd and got in the way of his help, but because that was who he was too.

Having spent every month’s paycheck trying to solve all his and his sister’s problems on his own, pridefully refusing help from relatives at his father and mother’s funeral who reached out, he knew how fruitless and isolating that feeling could be. “I’ve already told you, I’m on your side,” he continued to Eliza, “but these are my friends, and this is probably going to be my guild. If you’ve been tailing us like I am guessing you have, you already know how much they’ve been helping me. So, what do you really think you’re accomplishing with this tough guy act?”

Eliza shot Locke a glowering stare from the corner of her eye without turning away from the two in front of her or lowering her swords. “If you met with my contact like you were supposed to, you know what I hope to accomplish. You know what is at stake and that I will do whatever it takes to see it through to the end. I’m going to ask you one last time: Do you trust them or not? Or are you just wasting my time? If you’ve betrayed me to the Holy Alliance, I swear, I’ll be more than happy to finish what I started before in the swamps.”

“I certainly trust them more than I do you right now.” Locke threw his hands down in defeat and sighed. Maybe I should just let Sparky and the others try to kill her. She might just be too unhinged to work with. He took a deep breath as he tried to weigh the scales of whether or not all this effort to break up a fight was worth it. “Can’t you tell that they aren’t with the Holy Alliance after you’ve clearly watched us fight to the death with them twice?” He was frustrated with the entire situation, and his shock and indignation came out in his voice. He was only guessing that she had seen the first fight outside of town, but he was almost positive that she had.

Eliza narrowed her eyes until they were nothing more than a red-tinged glower and shook her head slowly. “You act like this is just some game where I’m just acting out and throwing a tantrum. You want to pretend like I’m the bully and that you people are saints far-removed from any wrongdoing. But you’re not. And this isn’t. I know exactly what you newcomers are, and you want me to trust that they aren’t working with the Holy Alliance when he’s wearing that bathrobe.” She pointed to Tubal with one of her blades without ever taking her gaze off of Locke.

“The only place he could have gotten that is from a Demon: from someone’s dead friend, brother, sister, mother or father.” Eliza held her stare for a moment longer, as if she were silently trying to judge whether or not he was telling her the truth. Then, in one swift movement, she lowered her swords and turned away, walking back to the other side of the cavern.

Locke didn’t know what was going on in Tubal’s head, or Sparky’s, but he could hear an audible gulp and a release of breath from one of them behind him as he watched Eliza’s figure disappear. That’s right, only an NPC can be looted for his armor. Only the NPC Demons can be robbed of their bathrobes. That means that the only way Tubal could be wearing one is if he really did kill someone. If he ended their life for good. Locke’s features twisted into a scowl as the realization occurred to him. Her rage when they first met immediately crystallized into something more rational. She wasn’t just raving, running off at the mouth. She had a legitimate and tangible reason to hate the group--a target sign Tubal conveniently wore for her to slash at with her swords.

Silence hung thick in the air for a long moment before someone finally dared to break it. “Whelp,” Reginald began, “this is starting to get more awkward than that time I tried to buy my high school biology teacher a drink at the bar before I realized who she was.” He laughed at his own joke, but his awkward humor did little to crack the ice. Even Sparky had lowered her shield to reveal a somber expression.

We’re gonna have to fix this sooner or later. Locke clenched his eyes closed a moment and rubbed them. For all the grief that he had given his tedious job of blacksmithing, at least he had never had to deal with this much of an interpersonal nightmare. So, we’d like to welcome Eliza to the team,’ he imagined one of the overly friendly HR people starting off, ‘and just to let you know, your current boss murdered either one of her friends or family members. Hope you all have fun!’ He saw the HR person putting on a jolly Mr. Roger’s face in his imaginary introduction.

“Eliza, hold up,” Locke called out to her before she exited earshot. “Look . . . Just wait a minute. We’re all enemies of the Holy Alliance, and at this moment, we’re all people they want to kill on sight.”

“Thanks to you, Shy. It would have been nice to know you had made the decision for us though.” Tubal’s tone was less angry than it was discontent. It sounded like he had stepped in a puddle that was an inch or two deeper than he anticipated, and now he was forced to walk to work with a soaking-wet sock.

“Yeah, not cool, man,” Reginald seconded the thought.

“That’s not the point. It’s not about how we got here. It’s about the fact we are here.” Locke looked around at the dungeon. “Look, Eliza, you want to know what Red Dragon said? You guys want to know what’s going on? Well, the short of it is that Eliza and I are trying to undermine and destroy the Holy Alliance. Red Dragon had an offer, but it requires us killing a few of the White-Wing leaders in Sine Nomine. I would have just hired you guys to help out . . . From the intel I received, the head honcho is someone that Eliza might not be able to finish off on her own, but someone like her would at least have a chance. So, regardless, I needed to get her into town. That’s actually why we’re here . . .” Locke pointed across the cavern and toward the room that most likely contained the boss. “We have to get Eliza into the town so that she can do her job, but with the new blockades and everyone on the lookout for Demons, there’s no way that they’re going to let someone with red eyes through the gate.”

“You wanted to get the eye-changing item for her? So that she could get through the gate?” Tubal said. “I’m assuming that, after she changed her eye color, you would have hired us? You were just waiting to see if the plan could be done?”

“Pretty much,” Locke answered with a shrug.

“I get the feeling that there’s a little bit more to the story,” Eliza said warily, “but it can wait until later. Do you really think that something as simple as changing my eyes is going to fool the town guards? Or all the newcomers that have gathered there?”

“Think? I’m certain. We might have to change your hair color as well, but a simple hat can hide that,” Locke said. “With all the new people coming in and out of the town, they don’t check any credentials. They let me in without even second guessing my name.”

Eliza studied him for a moment and shook her head. “It’s just stupid enough that it might actually work. The simplest plans are usually the most successful.” She sounded more annoyed with the plan than anything, but she added, “A lady does not wear a hat.”

“Shy, if you’re one of the Demons, how come your eyes aren’t a different color?” Sampson asked. “You look like just a Human.”

“And how come you aren’t all pasty white?” Reginald added hastily, finishing Sampson’s line of questioning for her. “And your hair isn’t black?”

“That’s because I’m not a Demon. I’m just a Human,” Locke answered.

“Then why are you on their side? Why are Humans joining the Demons?” Tubal asked. His question wasn’t pressing or accusatory. It was just curious, which made it easier to have the dialogue. It would have been a perfectly calm conversation for Locke if it weren’t for the fact that Eliza’s presence still kept the tension in the air.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Have you seen how their enemies treat people? That display outside the bar . . . I got ten times worse than that from this guy, Anthony, one of the Holy Alliance leaders.” Locke regretted mentioning Anthony by name as soon as it escaped his lips. He knew that Ash was watching, and she might take that as him confessing his story and undermining the silence she had forced upon them for mutual safety. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“How do you plan on changing my eye color?” Eliza asked, ignoring everything else.

“At the end of this hallway, there should be a very large, yet easy-to-kill creature. When he dies, he’ll drop the things we need to change your eye color. The change should last only as long as you choose for it to last or rather as long as it takes to get the job done. That is, if you guys are okay helping us out.” Locke made his best attempt at a puppy dog face as he looked at Sampson, Tubal and Sparky, who had seemed to soften and lose their earlier aggression.

“To undo the order of villains and the schemes of crooks--that noble duty of maintaining the order of society is one that all knights must aide,” Sparky said resolutely. “But I need to do one thing first.”

“What’s tha--” Locke stopped and clenched his eyes closed as Sparky’s fist shot toward his face. He was expecting to get knocked back and flung across the room, but it never happened. When he finally opened his eyes, Sparky’s hand was an inch from his face, and her fingers extended to flick Locke hard on the forehead. It was far from hard enough to send him sprawling like the punch would have, but it stung enough to elicit an ‘ow!’

“Don’t ever assume I’m okay with watching a comrade die again. I thought I already told you: I carry the shield,” Sparky admonished him, chastising Locke in an unusually out-of-character moment.

“Yeah, not okay with that,” Sampson added, nodding. “Oh, and I’m in too.”

“I’ll help,” Tubal said. “Can’t let our newest guildmate take on a Tiqpa-changing quest without us.”

“You know how cool it’ll be to do something that could change the face of Tiqpa?” Reginald asked in awe, apparently agreeing as well. “I mean, they’ll be writing about this on the boards for months. With her help and a good strategy, we will roll over our competition! They’ll be talking about the handsome Reginald and his band of merry men for years to come!”

“Well, now we’re just missing two opinions.” Locke looked at the boulder under which Bianca and Katherine had been crushed.

“I have their phone numbers. I can ask them as soon as I get a chance to log,” Sampson offered.

“Sounds good,” Tubal said. “Alright, guys, we got a new mission! Let’s get it done! Sampson, why don’t you log real quick and bring them up to speed. Reginald, Sparky, Shy--let’s go check out the next boss. I’d prefer that Bianca and Katherine both be here for this fight, but I’ll settle for getting it done now. If we wait for them to get back, there’s a good chance that they might end up arriving at the same time as the Holy Alliance. Even worse, they might meet up with them out on the beach or something on the way here. I’d hate for them to have to die again so soon just because we’re waiting on them.”

Eliza had remained silent throughout the majority of the conversation, but Locke was certain that she had been aware of the entire exchange. She may not have been hanging on every word passed between them, but nothing was lost on her either. Oddly enough, she wore a somewhat distant expression. He would have expected her to be as intimidatingly poker-faced now as she had been earlier, but she seemed to have lost a bit of her facade and now looked more like she was somewhere else at the same time as her gaze flickered back and forth between them. Locke hadn’t noticed when it had happened, but she had sheathed both of her swords and was now using both of her free hands to stroke her long ponytail, which she had pulled over her shoulder. Finally, she seemed to focus herself, and her eyes lost their far-off look. “Let’s just get going,” she said quietly.

“That’s what we’re going to do,” Tubal snapped back. “But we still have to figure out how to beat this boss. We don’t even know what it is. For all we know, it could have a trap so that, when we enter the room, poison or something comes out. Patience can be a virtue sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she answered. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Fine, go ahead.” Tubal crossed his arms and watched Eliza walk toward the boss room, the rest of the group quickly following after her.

Locke followed along with Reginald behind Eliza, but he still felt a little uneasy about the whole venture. There was something off about Tubal’s dialogue, the group’s reaction and even Eliza’s demeanor. He hadn’t known any of them for more than a day, but he knew that something wasn’t right. She can’t just be moving on and letting this slide, can she? He stared at her back, watching her sway from side to side as she walked, and he couldn’t help but wonder what must be going through her head.

The boss room they entered was unique to say the least. He had heard about humor-built rooms before, but never anything like this. It was definitely one of a kind in all his gaming experience. There, in the center of the room, was a giant octopus. In and of itself, that wasn’t so unusual. It definitely wasn’t a far stretch of the imagination to skip from ‘underwater dungeon’ to ‘dolphins’ to ‘octopus.’ What set it apart, however, was the spiky green mohawk jutting up from its head that shot up at least two feet above his rather large and bulbous body. As if that wasn’t enough, the octo-boss was standing behind a sushi bar, chopping away at dolphins. The group had walked in just at the right time to witness the Mohawktopus pick up a dolphin, one that appeared to still be alive, and hack off its head before proceeding to turn it into sushi. In front of the busy chef was an array of plates bearing already-prepared sushi rolls, replete with wasabi and ginger on the sides of each dish.

“Customer or ingredient?” the Mohawktopus asked in a voice that was one ‘eh’ away from being the most Canadian stereotype Locke had ever heard, not even looking up from his work.

Eliza pulled out her swords and picked up her pace, walking even further ahead of the group toward the chef. Locke wasn’t surprised at all to see that she was serious about having a go at the boss alone.

The Mohawktopus put down his sushi-making utensils and picked up four large sushi knives. “Ingredient,” it confirmed. “It’ll be over quick.” The giant slimed, more than jumped, over the table. Each one of the suction cups on its tentacles slowly extended and contracted as its arms flopped forward like some odd cross between a snake, a centipede and a large vat of gelatin, all the while managing to keep its four knife-wielding tentacles high in the air.

“Yes, it will be,” Eliza replied, dashing forward at the beast.

The Mohawktopus attacked with all four of its weapons at once, using the remaining four tentacles to pull itself toward Eliza with an unexpected burst of speed. Eliza nimbly dodged two of them as she used her swords to deflect the other two. She went straight for the kill, stabbing directly at the Mohawktopus as soon as she had successfully parried the attacks, but the knives that she had dodged were already back to block her attack.

Eliza tried to position herself so that she could launch another attack, but she wasn’t able to get balanced correctly while she was clinking blades with the swashbuckling cephalopod’s sushi knives at the same time. The beast had stopped moving when the fight had properly begun, and the tentacles that it had previously used to pull itself across the floor were now free to swing at Eliza’s legs and lower torso. She jumped back as the beast made a couple swipes at her feet in rapid succession, quickly dodging the attacks. As soon as she had created a bit of space for herself, she re-established her footing and darted in again.

This encounter basically went exactly like the previous one had: It began with a series of blows and ended with Eliza backing off as soon as the tentacles that were supporting the Mohawktopus swung out at her, their suction cups coming within inches of grasping Eliza.

Crud, this isn’t going to go anywhere, and if she misses one jump back, she’s dead, Locke surmised after Eliza repeated the maneuver in a third exchange. Unless . . . “Tubal! When Eliza jumps back, stick some arrows into it. Reginald, can you give her a shield?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Tubal answered, reluctantly drawing his bow. His face showed that he still wasn’t sure about helping her, but despite his hesitation, he had his arrows notched and ready when Eliza backed up. Reginald was quick to lay out the yellow shield on Eliza as soon as she was clear of the enemy.

“Eliza, don’t worry about parrying his next attack!” Locke barked out another order as he tossed two Fragility Poisons at the Mohawktopus. He hated being the glue for the team, and really wished he could slide back into just making potions and poisons and helping when needed. At the moment, however, the animosity between them was still almost palpable, even if they had agreed to work with each other.

Eliza ran in, ignoring Locke’s advice. She threw up her swords in time parry the next attack, but the two knives just bounced harmlessly off the yellow shield Reginald had given her. She was clearly thrown off of her game for a split second by the unexpected assistance, and when the next two blows came, she wasn’t able to dodge one of the knives as she tried to bounce back, almost taking a shallow cut right into her side.

The Mohawktopus spun around in an expert fashion and used his four sushi knives to block the arrows that Tubal had shot off. For all the good he did, Tubal may as well have not even fired a single shot.

Without missing a beat, Locke threw three health potions at Eliza. She dodged one of them, but the other two hit her and slowly healed her.

“What the . . .?” She glanced at the small flesh wound on her torso as it stitched itself back together. “What did you do?”

“It’s called teamwork, and if you don’t get used to it now, we’re never going to win against a well-organized force in the future,” Locke replied, rushing over to her side. He made sure that he was still out of reach of any tentacles, and he positioned himself so that if he threw any more potions, he wouldn’t have to worry about catching any of his own teammates in the crossfire.

“Just listen to what I’m telling you. You need to hold off on rushing the boss until Reginald gets another shield up. When that happens, you need to ignore his attacks, let them bounce off the shield, and go right through the middle. If we do this right, you should be able to penetrate his defense,” Locke explained.

“And, Sparky” --Locke turned to the Dragon-Wing who was silently watching the scene from Tubal’s side--“can you flank the Mohawktopus? Try to distract it?”

“Mmm . . .” was her only reply, but she circled around the slimy sushi chef and lifted her shield up. Locke was kind of sad to not hear her typical, overly-dramatic role-playing lines. He had been hoping that she would spout out something to do with honor, duty or the like, and he was disappointed when she didn’t. It’s like I’m trying to organize a drinking game at a wake for someone who died of alcohol poisoning.

“Alright, Sparky, go in first. Eliza, follow up right after Sparky makes contact. Tubal, focus on aiming for the tentacles on the ground so that he doesn’t sweep their feet. Keep him moving. Reginald, keep a shield up on Eliza if you can,” Locke called out, issuing another string of orders and putting the fight together.
Sparky charged in first, moving her shield like lightning as she blocked the sudden flurry of knife attacks directed at her. The Mohawktopus whipped around and snaked out one of its tentacles as if it were going to try and snatch her up with its big, meaty appendage. Fortunately, Tubal was quick to take advantage of the opportunity and shot out five flaming arrows that stuck into the massive, wriggling arm before it could gain enough height to come down and grasp ahold of the Dragon-Wing knight.

Eliza shot Locke a glance that could have withered a steel nail, but still followed the directions and charged in. For an instant, Locke could have sworn that she closed her eyes as she seemed to struggle to resist the urge to block the incoming attack. The octopus’s attacks bounced off Reginald’s fresh shield, and its other two limbs were too busy with Sparky to stop Eliza as she dug her blades right between the creature’s eyes, spilling out a purplish-blue blood. Just as quickly as her swords pierced into the creature, Eliza and Sparky both jumped back, giving Locke the room he needed to throw out four Fragility Poisons. He tried to time his throw so that the bottles shattered against the creature as soon as his teammates were out of range, and he was rewarded by the Mohawktopus letting out a massive, ear-piercing shriek.

The wound that they had managed to open on the giant cephalopod didn’t last long. Much like the one that it had inflicted on Eliza, the blood stopped oozing out, and the wound closed itself up as if a magically-invisible surgeon was working away to patch it up. Even worse, the four tentacles that had been pulling it to and fro across the floor each reached into a pocket of some sort inside the octopus and pulled out four additional sushi knives identical to the ones it was already holding. Locke watched on in dismay as it propped itself up on one tentacle and started spinning.

As if the self-healing and breakdance moves weren’t a brazen enough denial of physics, the spinning began to propel the Mohawktopus in the air, causing it to completely lift off the ground and float like a helicopter. The eight knives it held acted like deadly edges at the end of the octopus’s twenty-foot-long tentacles, and they whirled around at a dizzying speed.

“Any bright ideas for this one, Shy?” Reginald asked. He was already at work casting another shield in front of Eliza to make up for the one that had already been destroyed, and Locke was happy to see that he didn’t need too much goading to keep up with the fight.

Locke stared at the gelatinous gyrocopter of death and quickly ran through his options. I could keep throwing an endless amount of money at it, kill it with potions as we kite it around, but that wouldn’t get us any closer to working as a team. He took a deep breath as he watched Sparky slowly lead the octocopter of doom away from the rest of the group, never getting close enough to elicit concern from anyone watching.

What would happen if she actually slammed into it? Locke watched Sparky's shield as she continued her retreat out of range of the monster. There’s no saying if it would rip her up or if she’d bounce off it, but . . . Hmm. . . We’re not going to get anywhere waiting. “Sparky, circle around to Eliza. Reginald, switch your shield from Eliza to Sparky. Tubal, save your arrows and position yourself behind Sparky. This boss is supposed to be easy, right? That’s what Sampson said, yeah?”

“Yeah, or at least that’s what the forums said,” Tubal answered.

“Great, then let’s have some faith and try this out.” I can’t help the fact that there’s no real way for me to directly assist in the battle, but I’m confident that this plan will work. Well, I hope it does at least. He momentarily faltered before shaking off the doubt. No, if the boss is supposed to be an easy and farmable one, this can’t be that difficult. It only took two people to make it through its four arms earlier, so it shouldn’t need too many more now. It’s clearly a boss that needs a little bit of teamwork, but shouldn’t require that much effort. This can’t fail. He did his best to reassure himself as Sparky rounded over to Eliza, and Reginald’s shield encompassed Sparky.

“Okay, Sparky, push forward. Slam into the blades--don’t dodge them--and angle your shield slightly upward. If I’m right, it should push our helicoptopus into the air, leaving its underbelly wide open,” Locke called out, explaining his strategy.

“Won’t that cut Sparky up?” Tubal asked as he readied an arrow.

“You guys will just have to have a little faith in me. There is no way they would list this boss as easy if no melees could approach him,” Locke reasoned.

“That may be asking a bit much, given recent events,” Tubal shot back, giving the slightest hint of a grin to let Locke know he wasn’t being too serious.

“Glory is always served hand in hand with risk,” Sparky declared with her usual theatrical bravado, quickly drowning out Tubal’s skeptical remark.

Well, at least one person still trusts me. I think.

“Hey, if you got a better idea, boss, we’ll be all ears,” Reginald offered.

Tubal didn’t say anything in response. He merely shrugged and readied his bow. “Let’s see if it works. There’s no harm in a death, right?” His newly-chipper attitude vanished under Eliza’s searing gaze at his last remark. “I mean, let’s just give this a go.”

“Great then. Sparky, lead off, and remember that your objective is to slam the thing backward so that Eliza and Tubal can get underneath those blades and finish it off.” It probably wasn’t necessary, but Locke went over the game plan once more. He wasn’t going to give anyone the wiggle room they needed to make any excuses later for why they didn’t do their job.

Sparky nodded and shouted, “For honor!” as she ran, hiding behind her shield as she slammed into the spinning whirlwind of a sushi chef. As soon as the two collided, its blades tilted downward rather than upward as Locke had wanted. The arms clipped the ground, and the creature went spinning away like a car taking off in a drag race. The boss raced across the chamber in an erratic fashion and slammed right into the wall of the cavern. It splattered across the side of the chamber so quickly and with such force that it reminded Locke of a Wiley Coyote attempting to speed through a tunnel painted on the side of a wall.

Eliza, who was practically mid-lunge when the boss splatted onto the wall, and Tubal, who had his bow fully drawn, both just stood there in silent surprise, awkwardly frozen in their action poses like a pair of figurines. No one even knew what to say as they stared at the fresh piece of wall art.

“That can’t be his final form, can it?” Reginald blurted out, shattering the quiet.

Chapter 7

Did . . . Did that just happen? Even Locke had a hard time processing how quickly the fight ended. He had been expecting it to be ‘easy,’ but not over faster than a romance scene in primetime television.

“You don’t think he squished our precious loot, do you?” Reginald asked, voicing a question that never would have even popped into Locke’s head.

“I have a feeling it wasn’t on him,” Tubal said, pointing to a chest that was materializing in the middle of the room even as he spoke.

“I don’t think there was any glory in that one,” Sparky said as she looked at her shield. “I was but a boot, crushing an ant that indignantly tried to climb to heights it couldn’t reach.”

“Nonsense,” Locke answered as he came up on her side. “You didn’t know it would be that simple until after you rammed it. It could have killed you, and isn’t that where your ‘glory’ comes from? Risk, as you put it, protecting others?”

“Hmmm . . .” Sparky seemed to think for a minute and then replied smugly, “Indeed. You are a scholar of great value to see that there was honor in this mercy killing.”

“That’s the spirit!” Locke smiled a stupid-huge grin. He wasn’t just excited because Sparky was back in decent spirits; he was happy because his plan had worked. After all, he hadn’t been the one fighting. As far as his abilities went, he was about as useful as a wet paper sack in a knife fight. Instead, he was hyped up because he had found a way to be useful even without fully engaging in the fight. Sure, he had lobbed out a few potions, but he never even had to draw his sad, little sword. He was the one who had pulled the group together and set them to action. He was the one that had bound them together in single purpose, unified them with a plan and gotten them to execute it. When the teamwork he had orchestrated worked, albeit not in the method he had envisioned, a wave of relief washed over him, followed by a genuine sense of success that he had only ever experienced before when closing a big sale.

“Now, let’s go see what spoils there are,” Locke suggested encouragingly.

Even before the words had left Locke’s mouth, Reginald had already made his way across the room and opened the chest.

“Well?” Eliza asked impatiently. Her tone of voice earned her a few rough glances, but no one said anything.

“Yeah, and not just one. There are ten of them. Or, at least, I think this is them,” he answered as he began pulling out tiny, black potions and passing one to each member in the party.

Locke inspected the tiny vial as soon as it was in his hands and read the description aloud. “Ink of the Color Shifter: Allows the user to change the color of their eyes permanently to any color of their choice. To reverse the effect, hold eyes closed for five minutes while applying pressure to eyes with one’s hands at the same time. Options to reverse changes will become available afterward.”

“So we could even make our eyes red like ‘Liza’s with these?” Reginald asked, a little too eagerly.

Eliza cast a wary glance in his direction but didn’t immediately say anything. Locke could tell by the look that she wasn’t too happy about being assigned a nickname, but he also had the feeling that it wasn’t the first time she had heard something similar.

“Yeah, we could. Although, I imagine we may want to save them for future disguises,” Locke suggested. “I don’t think we’ll be as welcome in the city as we were when we left,” he noted. Not that they had been particularly welcome when they first departed. Given that they had been forced to fight their way out of the city and escape from two different groups, it was highly unlikely that the Holy Alliance would have forgotten them so quickly. Additionally, they had just slaughtered a third group of Alliance members here inside the caverns. If they were so set on farming these drops for war funds, it was likely that word would have been passed around rather quickly as to who had stood in their way.

“You're not really going to expect us to believe that one little scuffle with two no-name bands of Holy Alliance rank and file would result in us being banned from an entire city, are you?” Reginald scoffed at the idea.

“Well, he doesn't need to suggest it at all,” a voice called out from behind them. Locke turned to see Sampson walking into the chamber looking rather somber. “I hope that loot was worth it. The entire city has gone into lockdown while we’ve been gone. The White-Wings and the Holy Alliance have apparently barricaded the entrances to the town, and they've started a sort of slow siege on the Fire-Walkers who are trapped inside.”

“What? All because of us?” Reginald's mouth hung open.

“Reggie, I know your mom told you that you were special, but no one is that important in our group,” Sampson laughed. “Rather, from what Bianca and Katherine have reported--they are both locked in the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head--it's because there is some bigwig Fire-Walker sailing in from across the sea. Everyone is expecting him to arrive today, and the Holy Alliance wants to shore up its resources and make sure the city is in their control before he arrives.”

“But why?” Locke asked. “I know we were told that the Holy Alliance was trying to recruit the White-Wings into the war against the Demons, but why lock down the entire city? Are they really that worried about some random Demon managing to stray into town? Or has his holiness the bigwig charcoal showing up unannounced really got them worked up into that much of a tizzy?”

“No, it means that they plan on killing all the Fire-Walkers,” Eliza explained. “The lockdown is as much to keep them trapped inside the city as it is to prevent anyone from getting in. It means that they’ve finally decided to make their move against the Fire-Walkers. It’s been fairly quiet for a while now, but those two factions have been locked in some ridiculous holy war about the true nature of their Sun God for ages now.”

“Are the other factions doing nothing?” Locke asked incredulously.

“From what I can tell, based on the information I found online? No. This seems to be a tight struggle so far, with only the Fire-Walkers and the White-Wings facing off.”

Sampson’s reply was both good news and bad to Locke. On one hand, it meant that none of the other races would help the White-Wings crush the Fire-Walkers. But on the other, it meant that the Fire-Walkers were guaranteed to be outnumbered with no way to defend themselves against the coming onslaught.

Where there is tragedy, there is opportunity. Right, Pops? Locke remembered one of his dad’s old lectures. Granted, his dad had given him the lecture with much more of a hopeful, lemons-into-lemonade perspective than genocidal plots allowed for, but Locke knew that the Fire-Walkers’ dilemma, terrible though it was, offered a way to keep the Blue Phoenix Brigade and Eliza working together and take a stab at the Holy Alliance all at the same time. Plus, it seemed like the White-Wings were of the same ilk as Anthony--power-drunk jerks who were so into their cause that they could justify treating anyone like a disposable peon. That didn’t sit well with Locke. “So I guess we don’t have a lot of time to act.”

“Should we change eye color now?” Reginald said, he and Tubal both looking at Locke.

Locke’s gut instinct told him to answer ‘Yeah, we definitely should put together as much of a disguise as possible so that we can sneak through unnoticed,’ but then he remembered what Sampson had told them. If the Holy Alliance had imposed some sort of martial law and weren’t letting anyone in or out of the city, then they were assuming that there wasn’t any real threat actually inside the city. That’s why they were still allowing foreigners to remain inside, even if they were sequestered in the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head. As long as someone wasn’t roaming the streets, they wouldn’t be perceived as a threat. Since there weren’t any Demons in the city before the lockdown, they wouldn’t be on the lookout for any organized threat to their plans--other than the Fire-Walkers, of course.

“No, we won’t be needing them.” Locke finally answered. He was much more sure of this than he had been earlier when he had taken a gamble with the Mohawktopus. “I think I might already have a solution, but we’re going to need to move fast if we’re going to beat them to the punch.”

“Are we rescuing the Fire-Walkers or killing the White-Wings?” Tubal asked, putting voice to the question that was probably on everyone’s minds.

“That’s not even a question. We help people first. I thought you knew that,” Sparky answered, silencing the debate before it could even begin.

As soon as Sparky spoke up, Tubal and Reginald were both nodding with what she said. Yeah, she carries a shield first. Locke gave Sparky a half-smile. “Alright, what we need now is a plan . . . and we don’t really have time to put one together.”

Locke was actually keen on the idea of attacking the White-Wings while their guard was down and they were preoccupied with the Fire-Walkers. The Blue Phoenix Brigade might be good guys, but he had his doubts as to whether this motley crew could really provide any true opposition to the well-organized Holy Alliance or White-Wing forces. Regardless, it didn’t look like he had a choice in the matter. If he was ever going to strike a blow against the Holy Alliance, he was going to have to keep pushing boundaries and testing his luck.

“Can’t we just kill everyone on the way to the keep and fight our way into their headquarters? We could just pretend that the head of the Fire-Walkers is a damsel in distress and save everyone else like heroes,” Reginald laughed. “Who knows, maybe the Fire-Walker head honcho is actually a girl. She could even have long hair that we could climb up.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure the Fire-Walker boss would be underground, not in a tower.” Tubal pointed out. “We never see them in any of the towering buildings that the White-Wings use so often, so it’s a safe bet that they’re under the city somewhere.”

“Yeah, and I know exactly how to reach them,” Locke added, recalling the map that Red-Dragon had given him. “But if we go in with guns blazing, won’t the Naga be against us?”

“Well, the Naga aren’t going to try to keep us out, are they?” Tubal replied.

“They were already helping to search for Demons and keep them out of the city before the Holy Alliance even made their move, so who is to say that they aren’t passively restricting things in favor of the Holy Alliance? This means that either the Naga are letting this happen because they have a stake in the White-Wings’ success or the Holy Alliance has found a way to bribe each individual Naga city guard. No matter which of the two it is, we still can’t just fight our way through without undoing the very thing we’ll be trying to prevent--their sealing the city against the Demon Host.”

“The Demon Host?” Eliza asked skeptically. “You mean the StormGuard Alliance.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” Sampson said, acknowledging Eliza’s correction and moving straight back to the point. “So exactly how are we supposed to get into the city if we aren’t allowed to stir things up with the guards at the gate? They’ve clearly already sealed the place, so what’s your idea?”

“I got these from Red-Dragon,” Locke said, pulling out the maps and showing them to everyone else. “I didn’t exactly get a chance to look over them entirely, but I did see that one of the tunnels leads into the city, and I know for a fact that there is a hidden entrance leading up to the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head from the tunnels below. As a matter of fact, I almost got killed in it. The only problem we’re going to have is that there probably won’t be any source of light at all throughout the entire network. Fire-Walkers are their own torches, and from what I noticed while I was down there, the tunnels aren’t very accommodating for anyone else.”

“Well, not to go all D&D on you, but if we’re traveling through a dungeon without light, we either need dark vision or some actual torches. That’s something every good adventurer knows before he even leaves the general store,” Reginald said, pointing at the moss that was lining the wall. “And this time, we don’t even need to deal with oil and fire. We’ve got an endless supply of light we can just rip up off the ground.”

“Oh . . .” Tubal grabbed a piece of wood from the shattered sushi stand’s frame and then began to wrap it in the glow-in-the-dark moss. “Reginald, I don’t say this often, but sometimes you’re really smart.”

“Yeah, it’s how I got into medical school,” Reginald responded with a laugh.

Wait, Reggie, the troll who likes to mess with people for fun, is trying to grow up and be a doctor? Locke felt his confidence in doctors drop a few points as soon as the words left Reginald's mouth. I’m never letting Jess visit a hospital again. Ever. Locke stared at Reginald, mortified at the idea of a prankster with such an immature attitude ever giving someone health advice.

“You should probably make a few dozen of them while you’re at it. You don’t want to roll a critical failure and have your GM punish you by making you attack yourself with your torch until it breaks,” Reginald pointed out as Tubal was about to walk away from the shattered sushi stand.

“Wait, for real? That happens?” Sampson asked, chuckling. “Were you the GM?”

“I was not! It was Simon. During that game, I was playing with Barnes and them. That guy may be a really good GM, but his twisted sense of humor left our party in several sticky situations.” Reginald was laughing heartily, even though he was the only one who found it amusing or had any idea what he was talking about.

I guess it’s one of those ‘had to be there’ moments, Locke thought and shrugged it off.

“If we’re going to do this,” Eliza began, “we need to get moving before anyone has a chance to figure out what our plan is. I’m sure those guys we killed are eagerly spilling their guts to their friends about now, and the longer we wait, the more heavily they’re going to fortify their defenses. They know that I’m in the area, and they’ll be expecting me to try and make it into town. Not to mention, if we don’t hurry, we might lose our opportunity to gain support from the Fire-Walkers.”

“I actually agree with her. Everyone help me make these torches. If we waste too much daylight down here, the target might be dead before we even get there,” Tubal ordered, and Locke and the others quickly complied. They bundled up the torches, rushed to the surface and beelined straight for the town, all the while hoping that they weren’t too late already.

-----

Locke could see several thin trails of smoke climbing above the city like curled-up spaghetti even before they approached the walls. It really has started already, Locke thought unhappily. Despite the information that Sampson had given them via Katherine and Bianca, who were still trapped in the city, he had been holding out some small bit of hope that things weren't quite as bad yet as they had made it out to be. At this point, he was praying he wasn’t too late and that the smoke was only the sign of the battle starting and not that it wasn’t already over. He had delayed the group a little by stopping along the way so that he could pick the flowers that he needed to replenish his stock of potions and poisons for the upcoming battle. Without spending time in the swamp, though, he couldn’t make any new Fragility Poisons--not that his supply of those was running low after making so many inside the Mohawktopus’ dungeon--but he didn’t know how long the fight was going to last and was slightly worried he’d run out.

He also made sure to divvy out over a dozen of the Health Potions and five or six Deadly Poisons to each group member as they traveled so that they wouldn’t suffer under a long encounter. Eliza was particularly stubborn about accepting them, but something about the urgency of the situation combined with the fact she had already experienced the quick healing of the Health Potion changed her mind.

“So Katherine and Bianca are still inside the Wench's Best Bubbly Head. What’s the fastest way to get there?” Tubal asked, once more taking the reins of the Blue Phoenix Brigade. Locke wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Even if it had only been for a single boss encounter, he had actually liked being the one who came up with the plan. It had made him feel a lot less useless than when he was forced to stand around and watch the fight.

“Well, judging by the maps, if we approach the city from the coastal side of the town, there should be a tunnel that leads directly under the city and straight to a stairway that will put us on the pathway that runs under the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head. It shouldn’t be an issue, but I’m seeing a few X’s that we’ll run through, and I have no idea what those are or what they could stand for,” Locke said, studying the map.

“You think they may be guards? Pits of acids? Traps meant to catch people who aren’t supposed to go through the tunnels?” Tubal asked.

“They very well could be, but I don’t think there’s much we can do it about it if they are.  There isn’t a single pathway that I can see which will lead us to the Succubi without forcing us to travel through at least one of the X’s,” Locke said. “I don’t think we have a choice unless you want to go up to the street level right away.”

“No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea at all,” Sampson answered almost instantly.

“Hold up. There is definitely a shoe shop right here. See? I’ve passed it a few times.” Reginald pointed to one of the dungeon’s street exits on the map. “I mean, I know it’s a city invasion and all, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a quick detour to pick up some kicks. We stopped twice for Shy to go flower picking, right?”

“Reggie, I’m taking back that compliment I gave earlier. You really are an idiot sometimes,” Tubal said, shaking his head in disbelief along with the rest of the group.

And a potential doctor! Scary! That small bit of information had wormed its way into Locke’s brain, and there was no way that it was going to be forgotten. He could just imagine Reginald walking in and high fiving him, cracking some joke and pulling a stunt that resulted in a missing appendage.

“You’re only saying that because you have great feet. Look at them, all normal and whatnot. I have these awful, cleft, hoofed goat-feet. You know how long it took to get used to walking as a Satyr? And how awful it feels to look down and see lamb chops for legs?” Reginald complained. “Man’s gotta have good kicks, and mine got dirtied up and ruined in the last fight.”

That actually raises a good point: What the heck is it like to play as one of the races that has an extra limb? Would the player get phantom limb syndrome whenever he exits the game? Would he be trying to move a body part that doesn’t exist in the real world? Locke couldn’t help but wonder as he looked down at Reginald’s feet. That can’t be comfortable at all. I know what it’s like to feel a cell phone I no longer carry vibrate all the time randomly against my leg, and that’s just something that goes off every now and then. Imagine losing an entire limb every time you log off the game . . . Locke suddenly felt even better about his decision to play as a Human. Initially, it had been only so that he could get the extra stat point for crafting and so that he could be closer to one of the more heavily-contested noob islands. Now, however, there was also the added benefit of not having to go through a traumatic experience every time he disconnected the dive device.

Wait, if Sparky and Sampson are girls in real life, and either Katherine or Bianca is actually a guy in real life, then that means . . . Locke shuddered and ended his train of thought forcefully and instantly. That was the type of rabbit hole he just never wanted to go down. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. He filled his thought with the single word over and over again until the horrible idea had left his consciousness altogether, adding a mental reminder to never consider phantom appendages again if he could help it.

“Alright, we’ll deal with the X’s when we get to them,” Tubal said, leading the group toward the entrance that Locke had noted on the map.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Locke looked at the bridges that had been sealed off, their gates shut in a way that caused them to look like they had never existed in the first place. “I get the feeling that there isn’t a single person who is trying to help the Fire-Walkers. There can’t be a perfect symbiosis within the city, can there? I mean, there’s no way that everyone is supporting the Holy Alliance and the White-Wings and neglecting the Fire-Walkers, right?”

“No, I am betting there isn’t. But the other factions probably won’t say anything until after the raid. They’re waiting to see what happens, and their investments aren’t great enough to cause them to risk anything,” Tubal said as he walked up to the ground where the entrance should have been. “Shy, it should be here, but I don’t see anything.”

Locke thought back to the time he had met with Red-Dragon. The wall had appeared to be seamless, without so much as a single differentiating divot in the surface, yet when he had felt along the surface, there had been a switch. “They wouldn’t make it obvious,” Locke said as he crouched down and started feeling around the grass-covered dirt for something that stood out of place. “They wouldn’t make it into something that could easily be found. We need to search for a rock or a twig or something.”

“I see,” Sampson said as she pulled out her two-handed axe. “Well, in that case, you should probably back up.”

“Huh?” Locke asked, but didn’t hesitate to flee as soon as he saw Sampson lift her giant axe like she was going to cut him down. He narrowly managed to get out of the way just before the axe came cleaving down, burning a brighter blue than usual, and torched all the grass off the field to reveal a few remaining rocks, all darkened and scorched.

“It’s gotta be one of those then, I guess,” Sampson said, pointing at the stones her slash-and-burn had laid bare.

“Sampson, I like your style, but you need to give me more warning,” Locke said, laughing. He grabbed two rocks, and nothing happening, but as he attempted to lift the third, he heard a click, and the ground opened up right under his feet. He quickly scrambled out of the way once again, something that was beginning to become a habit for him. This time, he was trying to avoid falling down a staircase that opened up underneath his feet instead of dodging a giant Minotaur trying to split him in two like a rack of beef ribs, but the effect was the same.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Reginald declared as he pulled out one of the makeshift glow-in-the-dark moss torches and took the first step down.

“He really had me fooled,” Sampson said to Locke in an aside.

“Huh?” Locke didn’t get it.

“I could have sworn that he was the only monkey in his family. I didn’t know he had a brother with kids.” She giggled at her own awful joke, and Locke humored her with a forced chuckle of his own so that she wouldn’t feel bad.

“We can’t let him get our goat by stealing the glory of going first,” Sparky said and pushed past Reginald to take the lead as they made their way down the rather large staircase. While no more than two people ever walked abreast at any given time, the passageway was easily wide enough to accommodate four or five people.

The stairs lead directly underneath the walls in a straight line, and Locke used the opportunity to pull out the map and keep studying it as they walked down. The Tiqpa item system ensured that the map would exist as long as his character did, so he could check it as often as he wanted, but for some reason, he still felt the need to keep looking it over. It was as if he were hoping for some miracle of enlightenment to reach out to him and explain what the X’s on the map were, as if he could unlock their secret by concentrating on them long enough. Unfortunately, Locke lacked any such magical talent, and no matter how hard he looked at it, he just couldn’t figure it out.

“Hey! You down there!” A Fire-Walker, walking with two other guards, called out from up ahead. “Get to safety! We’re being attacked!”

Wait, is he for real? What if we were with the Holy Alliance? Shouldn’t he have attacked anyone that even remotely looked like a stranger on sight? Locke was dumbfounded that the guards hadn’t rushed them. After all, the entrances to these passageways were hidden, and from what he understood, they were generally reserved just for the Fire-Walkers. It was then that he remembered that Eliza hadn’t changed her eye color yet. Ah. Since we’re with a Demon, they can tell that we’re clearly not the enemies, he reasoned. Okay, that works out then. I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t have her change her eye color as soon as we looted those drops back in the caverns. Locke was happy that they had managed to avoid a needless conflict for once without having to go through a massive and potentially life-threatening argument to stop the fight.

“We’re reinforcements!” Locke called back before anyone else in the party could react. “Have they breached the citadel of glass yet?” Locke asked, happy that he remembered the name from staring at the map so long.

“No, they’ve only just now cleared out our guards above ground and started to work their way through to the floors underneath them. They’re destroying everything in their path as they go,” the Fire-Walker explained as he approached them. “Since they don’t have any clue where the stairs are or where the tunnels travel, we’ve had some extra time to get our defenses organized and pull a few mercenary groups like yourselves to our side to help.”

“They’re only just now breaking through? What’s taking them so long?” Locke questioned.

“Those foolish White-Wings thought they had sealed us in! Idiots. Don’t they know that our domain is as eternal and great as the sun itself?” the Fire-Walker went into one of their typical religious comparisons. “All of the normal entrances to the city have been sealed shut, and they won’t be able to force them open for a long time. The Sun God has blessed us in many ways, and the ability to make sure an exit stays shut is one of them. Most of the gates were comprised almost entirely of glass, and there was some fear of them attempting to flood our home, so . . .”  He trailed off and shrugged as if it wasn’t of consequence now.

“We were easily able to get word out to the StormGuard Alliance without them spotting our scouts. They didn’t exactly rush to our aid right away like we had hoped, but they did launch an attack against a Holy Alliance outpost. They’ve forced those feather-brained idiots to split their forces between defending this city and protecting the garrison there. We are fortunate that we only have to fight the weaklings who weren’t able to rush to their master’s defense and lick the boots of their heretic queen.”

Locke frowned in thought for a moment. Does he mean the High Commander I met back in Anthony’s tent? Or are the Wing-Wings ruled by a female as well? Maybe Reginald wasn’t so far off . . . He tucked the thought away for another time, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. They think that they have things tied up here and sent the majority of their forces to defend their outposts. That makes sense. The Fire-Walker’s summary of what was going on was pretty concise, his dramatic flair aside, and it didn’t take much work for Locke strip down his account down to its most basic parts. “Well, it sounds like we just need to get to the front lines as fast as we can. Do you know where they are breaking through first?”

“Did you not get a map with your contract? Just check the X’s. Those are the spots directly under the White-Wing garrisons. They’ve been slowly working away as quietly as possible for the two weeks in those places getting ready for this,” the Fire-Walker answered, providing an answer to the burning question that had been the source of endless curiosity and frustration to Locke.

So, that’s what those X’s are, he thought, finally feeling relieved to have that itch scratched. The White-Wings weren’t as sneaky as they thought they were. Locke grinned. He wasn’t happy that it meant they were likely going to have a skirmish or two on the way to meet up with their other party members, but he was relieved that the marks weren’t death traps waiting to kill them. Knowing that fact alone, even though the X’s still represented a potential danger, was a lot better than the twisting knot in his stomach that uncertainty had given him.

“No, we got it. We’ll rush to one of the spots right away. Thank you for your help,” Tubal answered for Locke, nodding his head before he continued down the tunnel. He didn’t get ten feet, however, before the Fire-Walker stopped him.

Hey! Wait!” the Fire-Walker called out. “I don’t know which mercenary group the Demons hired you from, but you need identification. If red-eyes here dies, we won’t know you from one of the Holy Alliance’s little puppet groups.”

“Oh,” Tubal stopped. “Do you have a solution?”

“Of course. That’s why we’re waiting out here at the entrance. Here, may the blessing of the Sun God be upon you and his fire burn within your center as it does within the earth.” The Fire-Walker and his two companions started handing out armbands to the party members.

They weren’t anything fancy, just simple, black strips of cloth with a giant red sun on one side, but they were wide enough to cover Locke’s entire arm above the elbow. They were actually so wide that he was initially concerned it might run over his elbow and limit his range of motion when he put it on. Despite the simple appearance, when he inspected its properties as soon it was on, he almost drooled.

Bond of the Sun God: Indicates the favor of the Sun God, to whom all things owe life. When worn, grants the user +20 vitality.’

That’s insane! That’s almost as much of a bonus to vitality as you can get from one of the best blacksmith’s shields, and this is just a stupid arm sash! If they offered these to all the players, there is no way that the entire city wouldn’t side with them. They wouldn’t even have to pay a player if this was the reward. Locke salivated even more at the sweet loot.

“I know. It is already a great honor to be chosen to serve the Sun God, but to be given proof of his blessing? I can only imagine how happy you are,” the Fire-Walker said, misreading Locke’s reaction--and likely everyone else’s as well.

“Oh, yes,” Locke bowed his head a little, faking reverence. Please give me another item for my devotion, he silently prayed to whatever in-game deity had given him this much luck. “We thank you humbly for your generous benefaction.” He bowed his head.

“That’s kind of creepy, Shy.” Sampson shook her head in shame at Locke’s display.

“There is nothing creepy about someone appreciating the boons of the God,” the Fire-Walker snapped at Sampson.

“Of course not,” she mumbled, brushing off his zealous retort.

Wait a minute . . . “Umm . . . we’re meeting up two more members. Could you give us two more of these?” Tubal asked the Fire-Walker. “That way they won’t be attacked either?”

“Absolutely,” the lead Fire-Walker said as he handed Tubal two more.

“Actually, it’s three. We’re going to need at least one more.” Locke saw an opportunity and grabbed for it. These are gold! I should have asked for more,” Locke thought as one of the side Fire-Walkers handed him an extra sash. No, if I had asked for another, then that might have been pushing it. They might have suspected something. He held off on chastising himself for the small number, but was thrilled about having even one extra.

“Thanks again for your help,” Tubal said and then departed, the group following closely behind.

Everyone was very careful to walk as slowly and as quietly as possible when they started getting close to the first X on the map. They definitely didn’t want to run right into an ambush or enter a battle without knowing what the odds were, but each step silently took them closer to an inevitable encounter. Is anyone up ahead? Locke strained his eyes as he tried to peer beyond the halo of light cast from their makeshift torches but didn’t dare speak and risk drawing attention from a possible attacker.

“Coast is clear,” Reginald blurted out and darted ahead, waving his torch so that everyone could see that it was just as he said. “Let’s get going before these things break and we have to deal with a full-scale assault and a party that’s split up in the dark.”

“Yeah, not a bad idea,” Tubal agreed, and the two of them started running with everyone else following closely behind.

They were almost able to reach the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head without a single confrontation, running the whole way and passing by each X on the map undisturbed, when the last one between them and their destination collapsed behind them as they ran past it.

“What do we do, boss?” Reginald looked to Tubal.

“Turn around. We can’t have them picking us off from behind,” Tubal responded. “Shy, weaken them up. Sparky, when they land, you open a path for Eliza and Sampson.”

Sparky shot Tubal an annoyed glance, likely because she didn’t want to be helping Eliza out again, but turned around without voicing a single objection.

“Reginald, don’t worry about the shield at the moment. Just make sure that whoever comes through that opening is snared so we can run if we need to,” Tubal ordered, finishing the battle commands.

Sounds good to me, Locke thought, taking out two of his bottles and waiting for the enemies to drop. It didn’t happen right away. In fact, it took almost a full minute before anyone came through the giant hole in the ceiling that led up to one of the garrisons above, but when it did happen, the descending group that plunged down came all at once and it was almost entirely White-Wings. Locke did his best to count them as they spilled down from above, but he quickly lost track of all the avian bodies falling from above. If he had to guess, there were probably around thirty people in total, and the great majority of them were rank and file White-Wing grunts, all most likely NPCs. Only three that were clearly players, two Minotaurs and a Dryad, came down the hole with them.

Before any of them even had their feet solidly planted on the ground, Locke managed to launch five bottles of his Fragility-Poison into their midst, spread out so that they hit the whole group with only the people in the middle caught in the overlap of the explosions. He immediately switched to Deadly Poison and tossed two bottles at one of the White-Wings off to the side who was still trying to get his bearings from the descent.

“What in the heck?” one Minotaur shouted, holding up a hand to cover his face.

“I told you we should have let them go first,” the Dryad responded as he pulled out his weapon. “This is war! You never volunteer to be on the front lines.”

The Minotaur didn’t respond, however. He just stared at Sparky as she charged toward him. He attempted to raise his weapon in order block the incoming attack, but he was too late, and Sparky slammed into him shield-first so hard that he rocketed backward and into a White-Wing that had just landed behind him.

“For the Alliance!” the Dryad shouted and swung his now-readied quarterstaff at Sparky with expert precision while his friend zipped past the two like a rock slung from a slingshot.

Sparky blocked the blow with her shield, and as soon as the staff was deflected, Sampson swung around from behind Sparky and hammered the Dryad with a swipe of her axe. The blazing, blue flames erupted out in a horizontal arc, scorching the hardwood creature.

“That’s my present for the Alliance,” Sampson spat, swinging again.

Eliza had broken away from the other two melee fighters and veered off to the right, expertly maneuvering through a hail of dagger stabs at her as she cut her way through several of the White-Wings. Her swords flashed out in barely-visible arcs that had a devastating effect on anything that was within arm’s reach. In only seconds, high, shrieking calls began to come from that side of the tunnel as she went to work on her adversaries.

“We’re lucky these are mostly NPCs, Reginald, but I got a bad feeling that it won’t always be the case. How is that snare coming?” Tubal asked as he shot out fire arrows so fast they looked like extra-bright-blue raindrops falling sideways.

“It’s coming, man. Just give me a minute,” Reginald answered and kept chanting.

“If we have that long,” Tubal said warily without ever slowing his rate of fire.

Locke was doing his best to keep the NPC White-Wings on the edges of the group under a barrage of Deadly Poisons. He threw out a few that weren’t charged by the ‘Unlit Fuse,’ pointing them out so that Tubal could shoot them. Doing so didn’t make a big increase in damage--in fact, it was probably a little less damage overall--but he liked knowing that his opponents couldn’t clearly see them through the green cloud that sprang up when the unskilled Deadly Poisons were ignited. He also liked knowing that the vapor would hang in the air for a bit and continue doing damage to anyone else who might jump down. It was going to present a problem if any of his own front line pushed too far into it, but he had faith that they were smart enough not to let that happen.

He would have been bored just throwing bombs from his relative safety in the rear, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Eliza. Her ability to weave between the NPCs’ daggers was something stunning. A White-Wing took a stab at her torso, and she twisted her body around in a way so that the dagger narrowly grazed past, only inches away from ripping through her somehow tightly-fitted bathrobe. She responded by striking out with one of her swords, catching the White-Wing’s arm and peeling off muscle like cheese being sliced off a wheel. It was eye-catching, impressive and seductively gruesome.

Each and every time she dug out a White-Wing’s chest, dealing the multiple blows needed to kill one in what seemed like the span of a single breath, it was a simply magnificent display to watch. Locke wasn’t exactly a fan of violence, and definitely hadn’t been the type to stay up watching gory action movies as a kid, but this wasn’t violence: This was art. She was the embodiment of grace under pressure, never wasting a movement or a bit of energy, and every action she took had a deadly purpose.

Not to say that Sampson and Sparky’s almost single-minded teamwork wasn’t also beautiful, but their struggle against the players was much, much more mild in comparison to Eliza’s slaughter of the NPCs.

He managed to jerk his eyes away from her long enough to see that Sampson was still working away at the Dryad with her axe, taking furious swipes, as the first Minotaur got back on his feet. The second Minotaur moved forward and tried to hit Sampson with his own two-handed weapon, a giant maul, but Sparky was there in a second, deflecting the maul to the side and digging her sword into the Minotaur’s ribs before backing up and putting herself between the first Minotaur and Sampson again.

The maul-wielding Minotaur lunged again, trying to hit Sparky this time, but she deflected the attack as smoothly as she had the first time. Just like before, she stabbed her sword right between his ribs and returned to her defensive position. The first Minotaur, the one she had slammed into the White-Wing, finally returned to the fray and attacked Sparky with his two axes. He jumped toward her, swinging down with both of his weapons at the same moment the second Minotaur brought his maul down in an overhand attack. Somehow, Sparky managed to deflect each of the weapons as if they had all been hanging motionless in the air. She slid her sword into the second Minotaur’s ribs once again as she blocked the one-handed axes from the other Minotaur plus the maul from her poor victim, all three weapons clanging off her shield in a quick succession of deafening clashes that echoed through the tunnel above grunts and shouts of the fray.

Watching Sparky work while Sampson finished off the downed Dryad, slowly whittling away his bar with her fiery attacks, was less like looking at art and more like watching a steroid-enhanced schoolyard bully push around a scrawny kid three years younger than him.

“Snare is up. We can get out of here now,” Reginald told Tubal and the group.

“Not without finishing off the players,” Sampson said, killing her own target and spinning around Sparky to hit the maul-wielding Minotaur with her blazing signature horizontal slash.

“I agree, Tubal. We need to kill them before we move,” Sparky added, seconding Sampson’s notion.

“Fine, do it quick,” Tubal said, but he wasn’t able to assist her. He and Locke were doing everything that they could to maintain the gas bombs and the deadly barrage of arrows on either side of the melee fighters so that they wouldn’t get crushed by White-Wings pressing in from the sides.

As Sparky’s sword slid into the maul-wielder for the last time, she called out to Eliza, “Hey, we need to move quickly. Can you help us with this newcomer?”

Eliza didn’t bother wasting her time with words but switched her pattern of attack all the same. She lashed out at two of the closest White-Wings with a violent series of attacks designed to create some space before gracefully removing herself from the engagement altogether and moving over to join the other two girls.

Then, almost as if the dual-wielding Minotaur’s worst nightmare had come true, Sparky’s sword, Sampson’s axe, and both of Eliza’s blades popped into him like he was the last Swedish meatball at a party, and everyone with a toothpick had decided they wanted it at the same time.

“There! Let’s go!” Tubal called out to the group, and Locke did his best to cover their retreat with explosions as they ran through Reginald’s snare.

“How long will it hold them for?” Locke asked, taking one last glance at the three dead players and eighteen dead NPCs laid out across the floor behind them.

“You think I took that long setting up something small? Have faith in me, Shy. As Tubal always says, I’m actually really good at some things.”

“I never said that,” Tubal said, denying it immediately.

Locke looked over at Reginald. “You do seem pretty good at dodging a question.”

“It’s a super-long cast time, but it’ll hold them at least two minutes. That should be plenty of time for us to reach our allies and disappear before they can catch up with us again,” Reginald said.

Two minutes might not seem like a long time, but in game time, it could be an absolute eternity. Being stuck anywhere for a hundred and twenty seconds was certain doom on most battlefields, and at the least, the spell that Reginald had laid out was going to be a definite problem for anyone who tried to follow them by coming down through that passageway.

“So that’s why we had to kill the players,” Locke observed, finally putting two and two together. There was no way the creators of Tiqpa would allow for a two-minute snare in player versus player combat. It would be cheating.

“Yeah. It’ll have no problem holding the NPCs for the full extent of its duration, but if a player runs through it, we’ll get fifteen seconds at best,” Reginald said.

So, that’s why they were so insistent on killing the players. They weren’t just turning a little psychotic. They actually were just making sure the escape route was clear. “Do you think that other players won’t be coming down that hole?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your mom about play--” Reginald started off with a rather juvenile ‘your mom’ joke, but didn’t get to finish it before Sampson popped the back of his head so hard Locke was sure he was going to roll forward and faceplant into the ground. “I mean, I don’t know,” he corrected himself after the beating.

“That’s a good, Reggie,” Sampson laughed.

They finally found the passage leading up into the bar, and Locke found himself making his second trip up the secret stairwell that day. When they topped the stairs and slid back the hidden entrance to the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head, they were greeted by a tavern full of players who were all fuming.

“What the heck? When did the Holy Alliance get the right to push us around?” one of the patrons shouted angrily as he smashed his beer onto the floor.

“Yeah, screw them!” another one shouted. “I only have one day to go out and level, and they do this to me?”

Locke looked around to see that, rather than a few customers, the bar was so densely packed one would have to fight just to squeeze through. Right in the middle of everyone, on top of a table in the skimpiest outfits he had ever seen, were Bianca and Katherine, inciting the growing indignation of the crowd below.

“That’s right,” Bianca answered back and put on a pouty face. “Sure as we’re standing right before you, I was listening to them spout out the vilest things. They said that we’re nothing but low-level noobs who can’t do anything without their say so.”

“Hey! They said that about you? How could they! You’re amazing!” a Naga player answered.

“Not just that . . .” Katherine said as she slipped her arm around Bianca and pretended to comfort her, but it was clear to Locke that she was just trying to angle Bianca, squeezing her chest and the like, so that she would appear more flattering to the crowd. “They said that you all aren’t real men, and that because we’re women, we’re automatically bad at the game . . . that we should just quit trying and go back to the kitchen and wait for a real man, not a bunch of suckers like you guys, to come by and eat our sandwiches . . . whatever that means.”

“What?!” The crowd almost simultaneously burst into outrage as cries of sympathy and anger erupted from around the room.

Those . . . conniving . . . little . . . Succubi. They don’t just role-play their race; they role-play the full-on damsel in distress. And these great, white knights are eating it up. They’re nothing more than a bunch of mindless guys waiting to instantly rush to a woman’s defense in a video game. Those two’s lines are clearly fake and over-exaggerated. How dense can this crowd be? Women may have been proven to have slightly slower reaction speeds than men, but this is a fully-immersive game. I’m not even sure that statistic applies here. No one would seriously ever think that a woman couldn’t game. Locke wanted to headbutt the wall as he, Tubal and the others all watched their allies dumbfoundedly.

“I think we should have asked for more sashes,” Reginald said and nudged Locke.

“You mean to recruit these guys?” Sampson answered.

“No, just to sell them. They’re really good,” Reginald laughed, causing Locke to finally crack into a cackle that he had been suppressing from the moment he saw the table-top women.

“Eliza, don’t let them see your face and your eyes,” Locke quickly warned her. “We need them to think we’re not biased for this to work. Tubal, they’ve set the stage, so can you play the part for us?”

Tubal looked over at Locke and gave him a nod that conveyed a special understanding between two people who were well-versed in using their words to get out of trouble and shared the same determination. “I got it.” He flashed a brief smile, but it immediately changed to a frown.

Tubal rushed into the room and began pushing his way through the assembled players. “Bianca! Katherine! I came as quick as I could. How could you not tell me that the Holy Alliance killed you outside of town for traveling by yourselves?” he asked her so loudly that everyone in the entire bar could hear. “That’s the second time this week. You should have let me know sooner! I won’t let you go out on your own again!” He rushed over to the two girls and climbed on top of the table.

“We . . . We just didn’t want to worry you. We know how hard you worked to get a mercenary contract for our guild with the Holy Alliance and how tough you fought for them. We didn’t want to cause any problems for you that might result in a split or something . . .” Bianca pouted. A hush had fallen over the crowd as they watched the reunion, but it was clear to Locke, who was watching from the back of the room, that they were all silently fuming.

“But, but . . .” she said, trailing off and sniffling. She was laying it on thick. “I just don’t think that we can take it anymore. I’ve had to stay in this tavern so much. We were out trying to kill a few mobs so that we could get a little bit of loot and experience, and we wanted to meet up with you, but they came through and killed our party since we couldn’t afford to pay them another ‘protection tax’ for keeping the land safe. They said that the one we paid a few days ago wasn’t enough and that we had to settle up with them . . . but we just couldn’t.”

“It’s so stupid!” Katherine yelled in frustration. “I just wanted . . . I just wanted to level . . . and . . . and . . . those jerks!” She swung her hands around as if she were having a fit and trying to take out her irritation towards the Holy Alliance by beating up the air. “How are we supposed to pay them a tax when they won’t let us even farm?”

Locke scanned the room, watching people’s faces in the crowd. How is everyone buying this so easily? It was clearly a farce. There is no way someone would ever act so overly dramatic in real life, but it didn’t even seem to matter. Does the Holy Alliance already have such a bad reputation that these people are willing to believe anything someone says about them? Could a rumor be spread so quickly? Locke realized that something had to have happened to put the idea in their minds already. There was simply no way that seeds of discontent weren’t already planted somewhere within them.

Actually, they were put there earlier at the market, weren’t they? It was a realization that struck him, and an idea came along with it. There had to be some way that he could use this to his advantage and capitalize on the crowd's anger.

He looked back toward the center of the room to where the act was going on and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that Tubal was still playing his part. Somehow, he was managing to look even more shocked and outraged than anyone in the audience--which was saying quite a bit.

Each and every word that Katherine and Bianca spoke managed to create a new shade of red on several of the Human players. Their faces were more likely to express emotion in sync with the player’s own feelings than any other race. Minotaurs and Vampires, for example, had built-in facial cues that were designated by the game. Not that they couldn’t blush or express themselves, as Sampson often did, but it was generally just far less evident than in their Human counterparts.

One or two players, he noticed, were already opening up the forums from the in-game console and getting ready to make some post. It was clear that they were buying the entire bit hook, line and sinker, and they were about to get everyone they could on board.

“But if you had told us . . . then . . . we could have helped you!” Tubal said emphatically, and Locke noticed that a few people around the crowd were nodding right along in agreement with him.

Why didn’t you say something? Why were you just playing the victim silently? The same questions that were going through the minds of the onlookers were going through Locke’s as well. He could tell that those nodding along were trying to communicate to the two Succubi via their gestures and expressions that they would have gladly assisted Tubal, but not everyone was completely convinced yet.

“And what? Cost you your precious relationship with those jerks?” Bianca harrumphed. “Look at you! You’re wearing a bathrobe that you out-leveled a long time ago just because you are so proud of how much you helped them.”

“What relationship is worth that type of behavior?” Tubal opened up his menu as he spoke and switched out his bathrobe for another outfit. The old bathrobe was replaced by a standard light-blue archer’s garb that would have looked right at home in a Robin Hood movie if it had been green.

“What group of people is worth my loyalty if they lock my friends--or anyone for that matter--up in a bar? Everyone here pays good money and works all week just to log on,” Tubal spat. “What right do they have to tell us what to do with our free time? Am I supposed to work a forty-hour week just to come home and find out that the one night I have free to play games-- when the kids are actually doing their homework instead of bothering me, when my wife isn’t needing help with the chores, and when there isn’t mandatory overtime--to find out that some idiotic fourteen-year-old on a power trip has blocked me from spending that time with my friends?” Tubal gritted his teeth, and he was so red that veins were starting to pop out in his neck.

“Tubal has kids and a family?” Locke asked Sampson quietly.

“Oh, no,” Sampson managed to whisper back as she giggled. “You don’t have a monopoly on lying, Shy.”

“Hey! Not telling the truth isn’t the same as lying!” Locke argued.

“Sure, sure,” Sampson said and then turned her head back to watch the show.

“But . . .” Bianca and Katherine both said in unison, each using puppy-dog eyes, batting their lashes and sticking out their lower lips. Their act was definitely on point.

“But nothing! You should have told me. Heck, you could have told anyone in here! We all know what it’s like to be told that we can’t play something we pay for. We don't work for our money just to let kids with too much free time tell us what we can’t do, right?” Tubal turned to address the crowd as he spoke this time, not the girls. While it wasn’t a resounding ‘yes,’ those who didn’t outright agree with him verbally still nodded along like bobbleheads on a car dash.

“That’s right!” an Earth-Walker in the crowd yelled. “Who said they were in charge? Are they GMs?”

GMs . . . Wait! GMs! That’s right, if I recall correctly, there was more than just those in the Holy Alliance wondering what happened to my blacksmith character. If I were to say that Anthony got him banned, Ash would be all over me . . . but if I were to just reference it . . . The idea had some plausibility to it, but Locke wasn’t entirely comfortable taking this risk. However, Bianca and Katherine’s act might work on the white-knights, but it wasn’t going to hit home hard enough for those who were more self-interested. They had done a wonderful job of winning the crowd, but letting everyone else know that they had something to lose, too, definitely wasn’t going to hurt. There were always going to be some players who would think it ‘isn’t our issue’ and just dismiss stuff like this entirely. Likewise, there were others who would just hope to wait out the entire thing and pray for other opportunities to come along, people who bought into the excuse that ‘nothing I do will be worth the trouble that starting something with the Holy Alliance will cause.’ Players like that, more often than not, were the majority amongst gamers. They made up the bulk of the population on every gaming server, and Locke needed them to be on his side if they were going to win this fight against the Holy Alliance. Most of the rebellious players in the city wouldn’t be either as organized or as well-equipped as the Holy Alliance, but Locke needed their numbers nevertheless.

Alright, here goes nothing. “Sampson,” Locke began, looking up at the burly Minotaur standing next to him, “you know how there are rumors floating around how Locke is missing?” Locke felt weird talking about himself in the third person, but there was no avoiding it if he was going to pull this off and not expose himself at the same time.

“Yeah, why?” Sampson asked.

“I need you to pin it on Anthony after I finish my case,” Locke instructed, taking a deep breath. Please don’t hit me with a banhammer, Miss Friendly Neighborhood Ash, he prayed silently. He removed his Fire-Walker insignia and prepared himself to push through the crowd. It had grown tighter since Tubal had made his way through as everyone jammed together toward the center of the room and watched the display that Katherine and Bianca put on, but he was certain that he would eventually be able to elbow his way to the front.

“What? Huh?” Sampson looked confused.

“Just do it and follow my lead. Trust me. Locke isn’t going to show up and refute me by saying that Anthony didn’t ban him from the town for selling to non-Holy Alliance members.” Locke was rather confident about that. If a Locke did try to contradict him, it would definitely leave him way more than simply confused.

“Okay, I’ll try, but I really don’t like public speaking. Why do you keep doing this to me?” Sampson grumbled as Locke weaved between people until he was at Katherine, Bianca and Tubal’s table.

“It wasn’t just them. It was me too,” Locke said after taking one last deep breath and counting to three. “If you want people to come forward, well, I’m coming forward,” Locke called as he climbed up on the table, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him clearly.

“Did they kill you when you tried to leave town too?” Tubal asked, tightening his throat and giving him a look that seemed to ask Locke ‘Why are you here? We have this.’

“No, they told me I couldn’t sell to commoners,” Locke said. “I don't know if anyone was here in the market this afternoon” --he turned to the crowd-- “but I’m the one who posted about the poisons that were being sold today.”

There was a look of general confusion on everyone’s face that seemed to wash over the crowd until they saw Locke pull out a few green bottles of Deadly Poison.

“Wait, that’s the Alchemist! He’s the Alchemist!” one of them called out as soon as he saw the bottle.

“Yeah! He was selling them on the forum earlier today! There was a huge demand!” another one called out. “Hey! What are you talking about? You sold a bunch today. What did they block you from?”

“Yeah, I did sell a lot of them,” Locke nodded. “I was making some good money and kept the price low, but do you guys know Anthony? The guy who claims he runs the Holy Alliance?” Most nodded that they did, but some others shook their heads. “Well, he’s one of the higher ups at the Holy Alliance, and he got mad that I wouldn’t cancel the orders I made on the forum. He said that, since they wanted to pay more than anyone else could, they should have first rights to my wares. I didn’t mind them paying more, but as a merchant, I have to fulfil my orders, you know?” Locke paused and looked at Tubal with as much feigned helplessness as his fake forlorn face could muster.

“Well, surely he was fine with that. What man would ask someone to break his word and back out on a deal?” Tubal said, quickly jumped in to play along.

“He did. And what’s worse, he told me that if I didn’t sell to the Holy Alliance, he’d kick me out of town for good. He said that he’d make sure I never bought or sold anything in Sine Nomine ever again. Anthony straight up said he’d ban me for good.”

“That’s ridiculous. There is no way someone from the Holy Alliance--or any guild for that matter--would block a player from using a city or selling to other players,” one of the members of the audience challenged him out loud, likely voicing a doubt present in the minds of many in the crowd.

“Yeah, that does sound stupid. You’ve got to be pulling our chain!” another one said, piling on to the general skepticism.

Instead of answering, Locke looked Sampson straight in the eyes. Come on, it’s your turn, he urged silently.

Almost as if she could read his mind, she came forward. “It’s not just him,” Sampson shouted. “You all remember Locke, the pride of blacksmiths?

“Yeah, who wouldn’t know him?!” one of the Minotaurs said. “He made me this sword. He’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I’ve been using the weapon he made me for almost eight levels now, and I still can’t find anything better,” one of Naga added.

Why, thank you. Locke had to suppress a smile. If he responded with grins at the compliments, his cover might be burnt, and his act would be shot.

“Well, he was banned recently, too. Anthony stopped him from ever selling in our streets again,” Sampson continued shouting over the crowd. With the Minotaur’s natural height and her booming voice, she didn’t even have to think about climbing on a table: She could address everyone right from where she stood.

Locke was worried for a minute that Eliza’s presence would kill the ruse, but luckily enough, Eliza, whether embarrassed or clever, had hid her face and subsequently her eyes as soon as Locke had made the stage.

“What they say can’t be wrong. My buddy in the Holy Alliance said that the last time he saw Locke was when he went into Anthony’s private tent . . . And no one has seen him since,” a member of the tavern crowd, one of the two vocal skeptics, said.

“That can’t be right,” someone else called out. “Why would they stop players from selling to other players?”

“I don’t know, but when I said ‘no,’ they threatened me with ruin!” Locke tried to harness the audience’s self-interest. “But you know what? Forget them! I’m going to sell to whomever I please!” Locke took out a few bottles and started passing them out to some of the closest people in the crowd. My precious sister’s education fund! he mentally cried as he gave away a few poisons to very eager players closest to the table. “In fact, I’m going to just give them away for free! And what are they going to do about it?!”

“Who cares! Give me one!” An eager Naga on the front row grabbed at the poisons Locke was handing out for free.

“Me too!” another one said.

“Wait,” Tubal stopped Locke. “You know that they’re going to ban you permanently as soon as they finish taking over the town, right? Don’t be rash, man.” Tubal sounded like he was trying to be the concerned voice of reason, and he was playing his part well.

“Yeah, if they find out that you've been just handing these out to random people, they’re going to be furious with you,” Bianca said. “You don't have to do this for our sake. They're going to give you a good price for the merchandise. Just . . . Just . . . don't do something rash.”

“No, do something rash!” The next person in line for the poisons looked rather livid at the two stopping Locke.

“You’re right. You’re right. There is no way they’re not going to take the city . . .” Locke slumped his shoulders forward and looked down while he sighed, doing his best to look defeated in front of everyone.

“Yeah, they already have the power to kill players like us right outside of the town.” Bianca shared a sigh with Locke and patted him on the shoulder consolingly, but she made the gesture extra hard --hard enough that it would have left a bruise in real life-- and he knew that it was compensation for not being able to pop him in the back of the head. “There is nothing we can do about it.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” Reginald yelled from next to Sampson. “Give me one of those poisons! I’m going to kill them right now! They’re not taking my town! No way, no how!”

Locke tossed a Deadly Poison to Reginald. Thank you so much, you little troll. “You’re really going to do this on my behalf?”

“This is not on your behalf.” Sparky stepped forward and extended her hand for a Deadly Poison. “This is on behalf of dignity, honor and doing the right thing. I won’t be able to sleep at night knowing that I allowed such an oppressive atrocity to occur in the very place I call home. Honor demands that I act!” She perfectly voiced the creed of every chivalry-obsessed, medieval-loving geek in the room, and it caught on like wildfire taking to dry kindling.

“Yeah, what he said!” a Naga stepped forward as well, holding his hands out just like Sparky and Reginald had done. “Give me one of those poisons, and I’ll make sure to kill some of those Holy Alliance bastards for you!”

As soon as one spoke up, a little tiny wave of relief washed over Locke. I’m so glad that these people don’t realize we are in the same party. Locke thanked his lucky stars that no one paid attention to the details when they were caught in a mob mentality. With three people speaking up with the same plan in mind, and now another that wasn’t even related to the group, Locke couldn't help but see his gamble as a success. Once a few pitchforks were brought out, the whole mob would go hunting for the monster with vengeance in their heart. They just needed other people to step forward first and start them moving in the right direction.

One after another, more and more people started repeating the thoughts of Sampson, Reginald and the Naga. Locke could even see as people began accessing the forums from the in-game console that it wasn’t just the people in the tavern. They were spreading word across the boards of the awful things that Anthony had done.

Locke pulled up his own menu to see what the reaction was, and he was happily surprised to be greeted with more people than he ever expected calling for ‘Groups to go stop the Holy Alliance.’

Well, even if we can’t fend off the Holy Alliance’s victory, at least I’ll have some minor revenge against Anthony. From what I overheard from Sol and Sal, it seemed like Portia was really mad at him for not succeeding in cutting a deal with me. If that’s the case, when word about this circulates the forums and gets back to Portia, she’ll definitely think that Anthony was lying, and he won’t be able to talk to me to prove otherwise. Locke smiled at the thought as he finished handing out poisons to the people in the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head.

Chapter 8

Locke was floating on cloud nine, overly satisfied with how he had made some progress in his personal vendetta. Sure, it cost him a lot of potential earnings from all the lost sales the free poisons amounted to, but he wasn’t handing out a lot. He tried to only give out one to each person, and he planned to sell them in batches of a hundred if he could once he had the time. He was just about to let a smile crack through his distraught facade when a message popped up and snapped him back into reality.

Hey again! It’s your friendly neighborhood Ash! How is my free-labor intern doing with his promotions gig? I see that you’re handing out poisons --poisons that I know you hate parting with-- which makes me happy. But then you go and mention Locke, your other I.D. Now, how do you think that makes me feel? I’m very depressed now. Sure, Locke is you, but for some reason, you have me feeling like you’re talking about an ex-girlfriend on our first date. I’m pretty sure that bringing up Locke is a no-no. We did discuss that, right? I’m positive we did! So, what I’m going to do now is, I’m going to go watch the system log and see if anyone from the Holy Alliance like, say, Anthony, puts two and two together and realizes you’re Locke and files a complaint. If one goes through, I’m going to ban you and pretend like I don’t know what happened.

How does that sound? That sounds great, right? You know why it sounds great? Because, like an intern in charge of a twitter feed, when something goes wrong, the boss won’t have to deal with any of the responsibility. Have a nice day! =D

Have a nice day? You’re a witch! An evil witch! Locke cursed her silently but remembered that she seemed to have some uncanny ability to read his thoughts. Just in case, he quickly retracted his statement. I mean, you’re a wonderful, amazing, gracious and generous GM.

Players began splitting off from the crowd and forming up into parties. It wasn’t long before they all spilled out of the tavern and took to the town, ready and willing to slaughter all the White-Wings and Holy Alliance members they came across.

Tubal approached Locke from behind as the room began to clear out. “Hey, do we still need to defend the Fire-Walkers?” he asked, watching the armed and angry crowd as they began to filter out an into the streets.

“No, I think we’ve got a little breathing room. There is no guarantee that our angry villagers won’t be cleared away quicker than snow in the summer heat; but, even if they don’t manage to maintain their momentum, it will still take a while for the Holy Alliance to figure out what’s going on and rally a defense against them. At the least, they’ll force the Holy Alliance to further divide their attention between what’s going on here and the fight that’s going on against the Demon Host. These players are pretty fired up, so they should at least buy us some time by fighting a few battles too. There’s also a good chance that they’ll probably kill a few people and thin out the ranks of the White-Wings a bit,” Locke responded as he looked at the crowd.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” Tubal agreed with a nod. “That’s exactly why I’m wondering if we should take advantage of it.”

“You mean try to sneak through their line while their whole force is tied up with these people?” Locke asked. He was doing his best to assess the usefulness of the makeshift army that was forming in front of him. It was a good start, and there were a ton more players who said that they’d join on the forums, but there was no way to predict how many of them were actually going to join the fight.

“Well, we could wait for everyone to be licking their wounds in the towers on defense if you think that would be smarter.”

Tubal might not have put it the same way he would have, but Locke had already been thinking something incredibly similar. There probably wasn’t going to be a better chance than this to go out and kill the White-Wing leaders. The Holy Alliance had already split its forces, and they weren’t going to be looking for someone to come and knock down the walls of their stronghold. If the whole of the Holy Alliance was actually enforcing this ‘martial law’ of sorts, locking the players out and assisting the White-Wings, then there is no way they’d be able to even consider anything but defense. In fact, it’d be a losing fight from the get-go. But now, with the army split and with this makeshift militia assisting, they had a chance. The Holy Alliance and their White-Wing allies might eventually be able to shore up their defenses in the city, but there wasn’t going to be a better opportunity than this to take the attack to them because now there was something Locke and the Blue Phoenix Brigade didn’t have before: time.

It was a risky strategy, and Locke knew it. If they weren’t successful, there probably wasn’t going to be another chance to assassinate the White-Wing leaders. The Holy Alliance would be tipped off to their plans, and everyone would know exactly where their loyalties lay.  To make matters worse, there was a very good chance that the Fire-Walkers were going to take a hit from the player-led rebellion alongside the White-Wings. Locke and his friends may have been able to distinguish between the various factions that coexisted within the city, but he very much doubted that anyone else would. If the voracious mob of players ever gained any momentum, they probably wouldn’t take the time to distinguish who they were killing just so long as they killed someone. Red-Dragon and others might very well die while they were handling the task, and that would be a huge blow to the rebellion. Despite all the obvious risks, an assassination attempt on the White-Wing top brass was a gamble worth taking.

Actually, it was some pretty amazing timing on the Demon Host’s part, attacking at the perfect moment . . . Sine Nomine is a bit of a reach for them, but they could have easily set up siege on this city and probably won over time . . . Why did they move on an outpost and not here? Locke glanced over at Eliza and silently contemplated what it meant as he reached his decision. Now, if only . . .

“Did we loot any of the NPCs when we were fighting White-Wings in the tunnel?” Locke asked, changing the topic to an important question.

“Yeah, Sparky pretty much auto-loots everything whenever an NPC dies. We got some items, but not a whole lot. Why?” Tubal asked.

“Were there any insignias? Anything that could serve as some kind of identification marker like the one we got from the Fire-Walkers?” Locke asked, pulling out his armband and holding it up.

“Actually, one of them had a dozen on him. They weren’t nearly as good as the Fire-Walker ones, only +5 to Vitality, so I didn’t feel like it was worth mentioning them until we had time to split up the loot as a group, but . . . Wait, are you thinking . . .?” Tubal left the question hanging expectantly.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Locke answered, and his grin reached from ear to ear.

“And here I thought I was the cunning one in the group,” Bianca interjected.

“My dearest Bianca, that role will always be mine. Get your own job,” Katherine cooed with a coquettish laugh at Bianca’s comment.

“What’s going on?” Reginald had been chatting back and forth with Sampson while Locke and Tubal spoke, and he finally decided that it was about time for him to get in on the conversation.

“The role of idiot is also already taken, I see,” Eliza said coldly, but while her expression remained static, everyone else had a good chuckle at Reginald’s expense.

“Hey! I just didn’t hear the start. Cut me some slack,” Reginald protested, but the group was still laughing.

“Well, we are still going to need Eliza to change the color of her eyes” --Locke glanced to the Demon as he began explaining his plan-- “and we’re going to need to get away from the mobs, but there may be a way to speed up this assault. My guess is that they won’t be able to keep up with all the new people, given the influx of Holy Alliance members. Even the Fire-Walkers couldn’t tell who was on their side and who wasn’t, and there are far fewer players for them to keep up with. Both the Fire-Walkers and the White-Wings are extremely zealous religious organizations, so they might not have even considered the fact that someone would lie about which side of the aisle they were on. Even if they have, we still stand a really good chance of being able to get past most of the guards. There’s no way that every single one of the guards knows every single face that is assisting them in their bid for the city.”

“So you think that we can just wear their armbands and get past their guards?” Reginald asked. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, that’s the game plan,” Tubal said, nodding thoughtfully. “The only problem is that we don’t have any idea where their main building is or where their leaders will be.”

“Well, what about the X’s on the city map?” Reginald asked. “If they’re doing this type of operation, those tunnels they’ve been making would have to be in buildings that they control, right? All we need to do is find the highest density of those, and that’s where their command is likely going to be, even if it isn’t where their main building is.

Tubal’s eyes shot open in surprise. “That’s . . . That’s really not a bad idea.”

Everyone watched as Locke quickly pulled the map out and opened it up on the table they had been standing on earlier.

“Psh, and you call me the idiot.” Reginald slapped Tubal’s back and had a laugh of his own. “You’re always hating, Tubal. Always hatin’.”

“Sparky, hand out the insignias, and let’s get moving as quickly possible.” Tubal pointed at a clear concentration of X’s, indicating where they would be headed.

“You really should have slammed an arrow on the spot,” Sampson teased. “It would have given that extra dramatic effect to the order.”

“Oh. Okay. Hold on.” Tubal pulled out an arrow, and then after a few seconds, he slammed the arrow into the middle of the densest concentration of X’s on the map. With his deepest and most commanding voice, he said, “Time is not on our side, men. We must move now before the enemy can seize the initiative!”

“Yep, that was much better,” Sampson said approvingly.

“But now you owe me a map,” Locke said, patting Tubal’s shoulder. “It was really expensive to get,” he added, recalling how many health potions and poisons he had lost during the little skirmish with Red-Dragon underneath the city.

“Wai-- Wait.” Tubal’s eyes went wide. “We’re in the same guild. You shouldn’t charge me!”

“Brother, to shirk your duties as an honorable citizen and abuse your power to escape paying your debts . . .” Sparky shook her head disapprovingly at Tubal. “It pains me to see this from my own flesh and blood on whom I spent so much great care to raise as an honorable and just man.”

“We’ll just consider it your guild initiation fee,” Tubal said as he continued trying to weasel his way out of the debt and avoid having to pay anything.

“I’m so sorry that you have to see your brother act like this,” Sampson said sympathetically as she turned to look at Sparky. “It’s just detestable to watch, and we’re only friends.”

Tubal stared at the group silently for a moment before he said, “Let’s just deal with this later. We need to get going.”

“Yeah, before my precious, expensive and beautiful map falls apart.” Locke made sure to exaggerate his efforts to preserve the map from any more tears or holes as he removed the arrow. He deliberately took his time as he carefully folded it back up before tsk-tsking at it and placing the map back in his inventory, leaving Tubal clearly distraught.

“It’s okay, Shy. Let’s go before he destroys any more of your property,” Sampson said comfortingly to Locke as the two of them headed out of the tavern with the White-Wing insignias ready to be equipped.

-----

Despite the fact that most of the other players had already made their way out of the tavern and into the streets, Locke couldn’t shake the feeling he was doing something wrong and about to be caught for it. They were, more or less, sneaking out of the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head with intentions of assassinating the White-Wing leadership and thwarting the Holy Alliance’s plan to formally occupy the city, and something about the covert nature of their mission stuck with him and kept his nerves a bit rattled. He felt like the guy in an office who insisted on telling inappropriate jokes and kept checking over his shoulder to see if there was anyone around who might hear him. It honestly felt more than a little awkward to Locke, who was more comfortable staying in the backlines and crafting. Thrusting himself into the thick of a political mess was a wholly-new experience, but there was nothing he could do to help his nerves now.

It wasn’t until their group came in sight of the spot where the large batch of X’s were concentrated on the map, and they saw their target, that he knew they had waited long enough.

Locke held up his hand to get everyone's attention and did his best to keep his voice low so that only they could hear him. “There’s a chance that we will have to kill a few of the players that are working with them, so we should be prepared for that. Otherwise, we need do everything we can to avoid being recognized until we get there. The last thing we want is someone ringing the alarm bell before we ever make it inside. We should probably go ahead and disguise ourselves now as well.” He stopped the group and grabbed Tubal and Reginald, dragging them with him as he ducked around a building for cover, and everyone else quickly followed behind.

“Alright, Eliza, do you know how to do this? To use the ink to change the color of your eyes?” Locke asked as he equipped his pilfered White-Wing insignia and motioned for everyone else to do the same.

“Yeah, it explained it,” she responded softly. Her normal confidence and bluster were missing, and she had a quizzical expression on her face as she stared down at the vial of the Ink of the Color Shifter that they had gotten from the Mohawktopus quest. “Something . . . something explained it.”

She’s probably never gotten a prompt from Tiqpa in her whole life. That must have been one heck of a shock if it actually gave her one. I don’t think NPCs never use special items from looted dungeons normally, so maybe something went wonky with the in-game prompt system when we gave her a vial. I mean, NPCs don’t have inventories, they don’t get prompts, and they can’t level up their skills like we can. They level up naturally, right? I think? Do they level up? However they work, I bet we did something to mess up the normal order. Locke wasn’t a hundred percent sure she had received a message from the game, but judging from Eliza’s confuddled expression, it was clear that she was a little disconcerted and had encountered a phenomenon she didn’t understand. That uncertainty was something Locke didn’t think he’d ever see from the fierce and graceful fighter. Locke had been so excited over finally beating the boss and getting the item--especially after the struggle with the Holy Alliance that had almost left him and everyone else dead, and then Eliza’s sudden appearance creating palpable tension with the group that had been thick enough to cut with a knife--that he had completely neglected paying attention to Eliza’s expressions when they passed out the boss loot. In general, though, Locke hadn’t caught much emotion from her, if any at all, and if she had shown any real feeling aside from cold fury, had ever been flabbergasted or elated, he hadn’t noticed.

“Okay, well, switch over now. Pick any color you want, but if you go in with red eyes, they’re going to spot you immediately,” Locke told her.

She hesitated, and her expression fell a bit. It wasn’t sour, just sagging and defeated. Locke couldn’t believe it, but he was certain that her eyes were even a bit misty. “I understand,” she said, but she didn’t move to do anything. She just stared at the vial resting in the palm of her hand.

“Wait, do we have anything to cover up her hair too?”

“All we really need is a hat, but she’ll probably need something besides a bathrobe, too,” Sampson said. She pulled out a scarf that would allow her to bun up Eliza’s hair and make its stark black nature much less noticeable.

“That’s not a problem. I have plenty of women’s clothing,” Sparky said, eliciting a few gasps of surprise from the rest of the group.

“B-but your avatar is male,” Locke sputtered out, watching in wonder as Sparky produced several different clothing options from her inventory. Each was more ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’ than practical, in any sense of the word, especially for combat purposes. Eliza, who was already looking down and depressed as she stared at the vial of ink for her iris change, gasped in surprise as she watched the dresses appear as if from nowhere.

“Shy, don’t be such a philistine. The greatest actors of Shakespeare's day were all men, even those who played the women’s parts. Don’t tell me you’ve thrown away all reverence for the great and noble traditions of the renaissance? Should a man be limited to only one roll in life? I am one who shall never abandon the traditions of art, chivalry, nobility or honor to join in the crass, unsophisticated mockery of another’s culture,” Sparky proclaimed and lifted her head up high.

So, basically, you picked a guy to avoid being hit on while playing a noble knight, but you still like nice things and pretty dresses? Locke couldn’t find too much fault in that. He used to be the same way before years of miserliness beat the habit of liking nice slacks and shirts out of him. Also, given Reginald’s insistence on loving shoes earlier, there was at least one other avid shopper in the group. That said, Locke couldn’t help himself as he offered a slight, poorly-thought-out rebuttal. “But what if the other person’s culture is to mock that behavior?”

Sparky didn’t even lower her head an inch. “Then that culture doesn’t matter,” she responded quickly, and Locke could almost hear her tongue sticking out as she did so.

“This one.” Eliza pointed at a yellow sundress, and Sparky handed it to her. Then everyone just stood there. “Well?”

Locke and the others looked at her as they stayed hidden in the dark alley.

“You want me to change, right?” Eliza looked at them.

Oh . . . yeah! She can’t change her outfit via the inventory selection menus like we can! Locke realized the error and quickly turned to leave the alley, ushering everyone else out with him.

“So you, as a girl, like to play a guy who dresses up as a girl.” Reginald couldn’t even finish getting the words out or start laughing at his own joke before Sampson’s quick smack popped him on the back of his head. “Ouch, hey! I was just asking a question!”

“We told you not to mention people’s real life,” Sampson scolded him.

“But Shy already knows Sparky is a girl,” he protested, only to be struck again, this time by Sparky.

“He’s very slow at learning. His chances of finishing college are low,” Tubal laughed.

“I’m going to have to find a less abusive group one day.” Reginald rubbed the spot on the back of his head, his face caught between a smile and a grimace as he feigned being upset.

“No, you won't. We’re the only ones who can appreciate you.” Tubal put an arm around Reginald's shoulder. “And we all know your deep, dark secret, which we’ll be sure to spread all around the Internet if you ever leave.” Tubal’s grin was more mischievous and wicked than any Locke had ever seen from him before.

Reginald’s usual goat-like Satyr face, which was almost always laughing or chuckling at something, looked like he had just had a bucket of white paint dumped over the top of his head as he turned pale from Tubal’s threat. “You . . . You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I’m not good at daring. It’s more threatening that I specialize in.” Tubal let out another laugh at Reginald’s expense before turning around. “Ah, it seems the lady is ready to head out.”

“Yes,” Eliza answered as she came out from around the corner in a yellow dress with bright, stunning blue eyes. She just looked simply lovely by Tiqpa terms, a bright sunflower standing out in a barren field as she came into view.

“Wow.” The words slipped out of Locke’s mouth before his brain could stop them. “You have good taste. That looks great on you.”

“Thank you,” Sparky butted in, accepting the compliment that had been addressed to Eliza. It was Sparky’s dress, after all.

“He liked the color yellow,” Eliza said softly, her eyes visibly watery now.

“Um . . . yeah . . . well, in that case, let’s get going. We don’t want to lose our opportunity. Oh, and Eliza, don’t forget to equip your insignia.” Locke immediately felt guilty for somehow prompting Eliza’s recollection of something painful, and he shifted the topic as quickly as he could. He had diverted his gaze away from Eliza as soon as he saw the tears welling up, but when the group began walking, he couldn’t stop himself from stealing one last glance back at her. Something about her tears pained his heart. It reminded him of his sister’s attempt to be ‘tough’ and ‘strong’ when they were at their parents’ funeral. You two are both idiots. He resisted the urge to sigh and resigned himself to putting the whole thing out of his head entirely.

“So do you think that we’re going to have to identify ourselves when we get there?” Tubal asked Locke as they approached their destination. “Like, maybe they have checkpoints set up or something?” Just as the Fire-Walker that they had encountered underneath the city had suggested, every X that they had come across or passed on their way seemed to represent a different White-Wing garrison. This particular cluster of marks, however, was the home of a large, spiraling staircase that wound its way down from the White-Wing city floating above.

As if it wasn’t evident enough before, it quickly became clear from just a quick glance up that the White-Wings preferred the skies just as much as the Fire-Walkers did their underground tunnels. The portion of the city that the White-Wings claimed as their own was so high up that Locke was struck with a sense of vertigo just trying to catch a glimpse of it as he cranked his neck backward. He gave up after only a short moment and turned back to the staircase that waited on them ahead. Rather than regaining any sort of assurance, he was immediately struck with the fear of what type of cardio was going to be involved climbing the endlessly winding steps. His legs burned in anticipation of the time they were about to spend on that awful Stairmaster.

As if the task before them wasn’t enough of a test already, there were several units of White-Wings and Holy Alliance members spread around the bottom of the staircase, and it appeared as if they were preparing to descend down into several holes that they had drilled down to the town’s inner levels.

Locke looked over his group and took a quick headcount. Including Eliza, they had eight people in all. “Let’s group up in two rows,” he suggested. “Try to walk side by side with someone next to you in a solid formation so that we at least look like we know what we’re doing. I know we’ve never tried moving like this before, so if it looks sloppy, we’ll just have to deal with that, but let’s keep it as clean as we can.” Locke found himself more ‘ordering’ than ‘advising’ as he even pointed Reginald to the back of the second line. “There. That looks a lot better for the moment. Just try to stay right next to your partner. If years of watching con artists on TV has taught me anything, it’s that confidence will easily get us through.”

“That sounds about right,” Tubal agreed. “Alright, I’ll take the front with you. Sparky, switch with me,” Tubal said as he swapped places with her so that he was right next to Locke. “There we go. Let’s do this.”

“You sure you don’t want Sparky in front? If a fight breaks out, her shield will be of much better use if she’s already ahead of everyone else,” Locke said, glancing back at the Dragon-Wing.

“I know he likes dresses, but why do you keep calling Sparky a girl?” Eliza interjected as she smoothed down her own dress. Locke was doing his best not to watch her, but he had noticed that she had a habit of doing that.

“Because--” Reginald began before being interrupted.

“We can explain another time,” Sampson interjected. “We need to get going, right, Shy?”

“Right, right.” Locke nodded his agreement. “Company, forward!” Locke did his best to mimic every drill sergeant in every boot-camp-training montage he had seen, but his knowledge of that stuff was more lacking than his ability to explain to an NPC that Sparky was actually just an avatar of some random girl in an entirely different dimension where people created this universe just to mess with it. Yep, can of worms I never need to open. Locke shook his head as he thought about how Reginald might have just blurted out an explanation without giving any consideration to the game’s strict warning against telling NPCs anything player related.

Can you just imagine the existential crisis you would have if you realized that the people you hated with a passion were secretly the ones who built your entire universe? Given that we created the world and then started murdering all across the landscape just because we wanted to ‘have a little fun,’ I can’t even begin to imagine that their hatred of us would wane even an inch. Locke felt sorry for any of the NPCs that ever learned the full truth behind the horrid nature of Tiqpa. We wanted to kill people, and we wanted them to be as lifelike as possible while we did it. He almost sighed at the thought, but then remembered that Bianca was somewhere behind him and would likely give him the same pop to the back of the head that they’d been abusing Reginald with. That was the second time he had managed to dodge that particular trap.

They managed to walk to the base of the giant staircase, which was at least wide enough to accommodate ten people walking shoulder to shoulder, before any of the guards stopped them. They were just about to take their first step onto the staircase and begin their ascent when one of the Holy Alliance members blocked their path with his weapon. A Naga holding a halberd and sporting plate mail on his upper half set himself directly in front of them.

“What’s your business? Who are you going up to see?” he asked.

“No idea on the business,” Locke lied. ‘I’m here to kill your leaders and ruin your alliance’ just didn’t seem like it would help their cause. “But, as far as who we’re here to see, it’s Lord Commander Anthony. No idea why he sent for us, though.” Locke didn’t know if Anthony would actually be at the top floor, but he didn’t know any other names that would be in the town. He almost said Sol and Sal, but for all his antipathy towards the Holy Alliance, he really didn’t want to have to face them, much less try to fight the two monsters.

“Commander Anthony, eh?” The Naga tilted his head back and forth as he eyed each member of the group, his tail moving in counter-sync with his neck, until his head and eyes finally settled on Eliza in the back. “Ah, yeah. That figures, the dog,” he said, shuddering slightly as he looked at Eliza.

“I’d rather be on the front lines myself,” Locke said, trying to make small talk. “Can’t believe that everyone else gets to contribute to the effort, but we’re stuck here running errands,” he proclaimed brashly. He knew that each sentence was a gamble, as every word he spoke could potentially tip off the guard to the fact they didn’t belong, but he also knew that silence was the time when most people were thinking--not during a conversation. If they were riled up and agreeing with you, then they weren’t thinking about anything you might be plotting.

“You’re telling me,” the Naga laughed. “I’ve been on guard duty for three hours just because the commander has it in his thick skull that we can’t trust these White-Wing NPCs enough to do it for us.”

“If we can’t even trust them to guard a gate, then what’s the point in even fighting this stupid war for them?” Locke questioned, pushing the sentiment further. That’s right, I’m on your side, he thought as he gave the Naga a genuine smile. Buy the lie, and I’ll throw in a bridge to go with it.

“There wouldn’t even be a war if it wasn’t for the commander,” the Naga grumbled. “Can you believe that he blacklisted Locke from every Holy Alliance region? I just wish that he had waited until after Locke made the new round of weapons. I’m stuck using a store-bought one! A store-bought weapon when I could have been using one of the legendary swords of the brightest and most promising blacksmith in Tiqpa!” the Naga grumbled. “Heck, he even managed to foul up us getting any poisons and potions from that new alchemist!” the Naga also yelled.

“You’re kidding me! That’s what happened to Locke?” Locke did his best to act dumb, which was pretty easy all things considered, but he was secretly worried that Sampson or the others would crack up and break their facade. “I’ve heard the rumors, but I didn’t know that any of it was actually true.”

“Trust me, I’ve been on guard duty for three hours, remember? Spent most of the time reading the forums, and there is enough stuff there about the commander’s actions that I almost want to go up there and stab him myself for betraying the Holy Alliance. Not to mention--and I hate telling you this--but he’s probably just calling your group to the top so that he can offer the pretty yellow dress in the back a promotion. He’s a shameless flirt.” The Naga revealed another one of Anthony’s weaknesses. “He always promotes good-looking girls and then acts really obnoxious to them.”

“You don’t say?” Locke knew this wasn’t the time to be making small talk, and he caught an evil look from Tubal out of the corner of his eyes that said ‘stop stalling and move this along,’ but there was no way that he was going to give up this opportunity to learn as much as he could about how Anthony acted in-game. He needed to learn as much as possible about the commander’s weaknesses while he had the chance. There was no telling what might come in handy later, and this guard was more than willing to give up the information.

“Not kidding at all. That girl, Persephone . . .  She only showed up . . . a week ago? Maybe two at the most? And she’s practically right under him in rank already. It has to be because of her looks. I can’t think of any other reason,” the Naga noted. “I mean, I’m a high level and have been with the Holy Alliance from the start, but here I am stuck pulling guard duty during all sieges.”

“That’s awful,” Locke said in disbelief. He didn’t have to hide his emotions this time, and it was easy enough to let his disgust at Anthony show through on his face--that just came naturally, no acting necessary. “But,” he added as he saw Tubal’s growing glare, “we really must be going. I’d like to get this whole errand boy stuff out of the way as quick as we can. Our group is itching for a fight before we have to log for the night.”

“Right, right.” The Naga lifted his halberd. “You guys have a good one. I’ll see you on your way back down.”

Hopefully, for your sake, you won’t, Locke thought as he started marching up the stairs.

Tubal barely even waited until they were out of earshot of the Naga before he set in chiding Locke. “Certainly took you long enough,” he began sarcastically. “Were you just waiting for someone to notice us and blow our cover?”

“I got us through, didn’t I?” Locke shot back. “And now we know more about our enemy. How is that not a good thing?”

“Yes,” Eliza said confidently from the back. “We know exactly how to get him alone without his guards.”

“There is no honor in that method of war,” Sparky said, her voice thick with both disappointment and disapproval. “We should fight head on when given the chance. A dagger in a foe’s back would be a knife in our own dignity and honor.”

“Say what you will,” Locke said, dismissing her high-handed moral argument with a shrug and a casual wave of his hand, “but I like winning more than honor.”

“I’m with Shy on this one,” Bianca agreed.

“I think a woman’s charm or a man’s handsome smile can be just as deadly and valid a weapon as any sword,” Katherine cooed and sided up to Bianca as she added her own opinion.

“That’s right, dear,” Bianca said back to Katherine. “And let’s not forget words. The right word in the right ear can cause someone more pain than any edge in the world. There is no crueler part of the body and no deadlier appendage than the tongue when wielded properly.”

“Too true, too true,” Katherine agreed with a nod as she gave her companion a quick hug.

“You two scare me sometimes,” Sampson said, and Locke couldn’t agree more.

We gave them just a little time in a tavern, and they raised us an army. What could they have done with days? Locke glanced sideways at the couple, and he couldn’t help but wonder. He had a sneaking suspicion that, despite acting like the leader, Tubal was just the figurehead. These two Succubi might easily be the rudder.

The rest of their ascent was calm, quiet, and uneventful, and it became readily apparent when they reached the top that there wasn’t nearly as many soldiers up here as there had been down below. They still walked by frequently enough so as to seem like they were everywhere, but a simple headcount told him otherwise. Soldiers moved in and out of the different buildings so quickly that it gave Locke the impression he was watching a colony of ants at work, and Locke was hard pressed to believe that even a man running through a burning building to save his only daughter would have a hard time showing any more hustle than what these White-Wings were exhibiting.

The only visible person standing still was a White-Wing guard at the top who greeted them as they stepped up the final flight. “Good, you all are finally here,” he began impatiently. “Commander Anthony sent for you an hour ago. Where have you been?”

“It was a long flight of stairs. Sorry, sir. We’ll be sure to move quicker next time,” Locke responded, trying to stiffen up and look more professional. He had no idea who or what this guard was expecting, but he highly doubted that it was a group of mercenaries planning on eliminating the White-Wing high command and taking out as many of the higher ups as possible.

“Whatever,” he responded curtly. “You know where the commander is?”

“No, sir.” Locke almost saluted when he answered he was so into his character. He resisted the urge but still straightened his back even more.

“Dang greenhorns, don’t you know anything?” The guard grumbled at them, then pointed down the street to their right. “You need to go that way for about two blocks, then take a left. The military headquarters is at the end of the block. You’ll find the commander and the rest of our generals in there.”

“Thank you, sir.” Locke bowed his head and then started walking away in the given direction so quickly that he was on the verge of breaking into a dash. The group fell in step behind him, and Locke began to think that everything was going to go perfectly. They easily made it the two blocks, and Locke happily noted that the busy workers had begun to disappear almost as soon as they left the staging area at the top of the stairs. When they turned left, however, Locke knew his ‘sneak through unnoticed’ plan was done for.

Three men were stationed right in the middle of the road. Stephen, one of the men who was with the group that had stopped them outside of the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head earlier in the day, was standing right in between two Human Holy Alliance members.

Locke brought the entire group to a sudden halt as soon as he saw them and turned back to the others. “Guys, what are the chances he thinks we’re working with the Holy Alliance again?” Locke pointed at Stephen.

Tubal’s frown answered Locke’s question before he even opened his mouth with the rest of his response. “Not a chance in Hades. They’re going to recognize us at a moment’s notice . . . especially after you ran your mouth about reporting him.”

“That’s what I thought.” Locke paused as he looked around at the rest of the group silently.

“If we start a big altercation, the people inside will hear it, the people on the other blocks will hear it, and we’ll be in trouble,” Tubal cautioned, voicing Locke’s other worry.

“Well, at least we know one thing,” Bianca said before pointing to Eliza. “We know that Anthony has a thing for pretty girls that look like her.”

“We do, don’t we?” Locke smiled. “See, Tubal, a little bit of idle chatter is going to save us a whole lot of headache.”

“What are you suggesting?” Sampson asked. “You’re not going to send Eliza in to fight them all by herself, are you?”

“Not exactly. I’m thinking we just have her walk past the guards.” Locke pointed at Stephen and them. “If she can get past them without having anyone realize why she’s really there, she’ll be able to attack them from behind before they even have a chance to defend themselves. I’m taking a wild guess here, but I’d say she’s a much higher level than they are and won’t need many strikes to cut the three of them down.”

Eliza looked at Locke quizzically and shook her head. “Level?” she asked, clearly confused.

“Umm . . .” Locke paused for a moment to think about how he could get out of this one. “We mean that they won’t be as good at fighting as you. That’s what we mean by level. It’s a newcomer term.”

“Oh!” Eliza beamed. “So you’re giving me free reign to kill them?” Her eyes lit up, and she actually seemed to be excited by the idea. It was a complete reversal from how downcast and sullen she had looked only a short time ago.

“They are newcomers, the type you hate the most. All I need you to do is pretend like you’re there to see their commander, Anthony. They’ll let you right past, and when they do, make sure they don’t get a chance to call out for help as you gut them from behind. You can kill them fast enough, right?”

“Mmm.” Eliza clasped her hands behind her back, stuck out her chest, and practically strolled towards the awaiting soldiers.

“Alright, Reginald, I need you to make sure that you’ve cast your shield on her before she makes it to them. Preferably as soon as you can. I don’t want to tip them off that she’s having magic cast on her, but if something goes wrong, we need to make sure that she doesn’t get hurt,” Locke said as he signaled the Satyr to do his job.

“Sure thing, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to be needed.”

Reginald began casting the spell, and Locke realized what he meant before the Satyr had even finished speaking. Stephen and the other two guards were ogling Eliza, and even from a distance, Locke could see their lecherous smiles as they nodded their heads in appreciation as she approached them. They began elbowing one another and Locke could tell that they were making what were probably inappropriate comments under their breath. They were so busy checking out Eliza that there was no way they would ever think about reaching for a weapon, much less bother actually to reach for one.

Why would they though? There hasn’t been a single alarm, bell, whistle or any other reason for them to be feeling alert and defensive. There’s absolutely no reason in the world for them to suspect that their camp has been invaded. Despite the fact that there was a labor party at the bottom of the stairs, hacking away as they tried to tunnel into the underground network of tunnels, and dozens of soldiers running about delivering messages like chickens with their heads cut off, no one has so much as even tried to raise an alarm yet. Locke realized that he was being overly paranoid.

Unless Stephen actually recognizes someone as an enemy, what reason would he have to suspect anything at all? They’re probably used to this sort of thing, Locke thought, suddenly remembering what the guard who had been stationed at the bottom of the stairs had suggested. Anthony has a weakness for pretty girls . . . He just doesn’t realize that this one really is going to be his weakness.

Eliza said something, too softly for Locke to hear, and Stephen and the other two Humans stepped aside to let her pass. Their heads swiveled to follow her figure and check out her backside as she moved past them, and she must have noticed because she snapped at them, and Locke could actually make out what she was saying this time.

“Hey! Eyes front, gentlemen!” she barked at them. All three of the guards jerked back around and stared forward as if they had just been caught napping in detention.

The second they turned their heads, Eliza pulled out her two blades and shoved them through the backs of two of the Human guards. The motion was so quick and effortless that Locke doubted as to whether or not they were even able to draw another breath between the movements. Stephen turned his head around and began fumbling for his weapon, but it looked like he was moving in slow motion compared to Eliza. She twisted her blades and ripped them from the guards’ backs before unleashing a flurry of attacks that quickly finished off all three of the unsuspecting guards at the same time.

The gruesome scene only took a few seconds to conclude, and her attack was so brutal and efficient that not a single one of them had enough time to do so much as even draw a blade. Eliza had been so thorough with her work dispatching the guards that they didn’t even get a chance to cry out as their lungs were punctured, their throats were slit, and their bodies butchered.

Locke had a hard time coming to terms with exactly how vicious the attack had been. He saw the bodies laid out before him, proof of her success, but he was having a hard time believing that she could make it look so easy. She was unrefined barbarism wrapped in beauty, pure and simple. He was thankful that she was on their side in this. For now, at least, he reminded himself.

“The bodies,” Reginald said, his shield finally finishing and snapping into place far too late for it to even matter.

“Hmm?” Locke finally tore his eyes away from the gruesome scene and looked over at him.

“Don’t you ever play stealth games? We need to hide the bodies, or they’ll alert the enemy to the fact we’re here,” Reginald explained as he pointed to the three fresh corpses strewn out in front of the headquarters’ entrance.

“Oh, yeah, give me a hand,” Locke said, nodding as he moved forward with Sampson and Sparky. Together, they quickly helped him pick up one of the corpses. “Any idea what we’re supposed to do with them, though? Where we can hide them? There’s not exactly a plethora of options around here where they won’t be found before they disappear.”

“We can’t put them in our inventory, can we?” Katherine suggested.

“That’s . . .” Locke was about to say ‘that’s not possible,’ when he realized that the inventory system might just be adaptable enough for something like that to actually work. “That’s kind of messed up,” he said, settling on a different choice of words as he realized that they just might actually be able to store the bodies away. “I feel awful about this.”

Eliza looked at them skeptically for a moment before she shook her head. “I will never understand you people,” she muttered, and the irony wasn’t lost on Locke.

“It’s definitely a combination of gross and . . . Why the heck are we doing this?” Katherine may have been reluctant and disgusted, but she still did her best to try and stuff the corpse into her inventory. She gave it a good effort, but after several failed attempts, she gave up.

“Because if we don’t,” Locke answered, “the bad guys will find out about what we’ve done here.” It was a reminder to everyone else as well as himself as to what was at stake. It may have been a virtual world, but he didn’t exactly relish the idea of what he was about to do. He swallowed down the bile he felt rising in his throat, took out his blade and started cutting Stephen’s limbs into pieces.

“Shy, what are you doing?” Tubal asked in alarm. ”Do you think that the bodies are going to be any easier to drag off unnoticed when they’re bleeding all over the place and making a huge mess?” He stared down at Locke, watching him work as he diligently chopped the three bodies up.

“Well, we might not be able to store player corpses, but should be able to store ingredients, right?” Locke wiped some of the blood from his hands off onto his pants before moving to the next body.

“So, you want to turn them into . . .?” Tubal left the question hanging, and Locke thought it would have been obvious.

“Meat, man,” Reginald answered for him. “Guy wants us to scorch them so they’ll be counted as food.” Reginald definitely wasn’t as dumb as he pretended to be.

“I will not sully the honor of my foes by turning them into meat for dogs,” Spark said flatly.

“They weren’t your foes, Spark. They were hers.” Locke gestured to Eliza and then added, “Also, do you know many cultures used to consider it a great honor and tribute to eat the hearts of their victims?”

Eliza stared at Locke with a thinly-veiled mixture of shock and horror. “If this is how you newcomers treat the dead, you’re far more disgusting than I ever could have imagined. Even the filthy White-Horns have never resorted to eating the dead, and those stinking beasts are still primitive enough to live in holes in the ground.”

“I’m with crazy-eyes,” Sampson said. If she had been insulted by anything Eliza had said, she didn’t show it. “This is so gross, Shy. And just plain wrong.” Sampson held up a hand in front of her mouth as she visibly gagged.

Locke put down his blade and sighed. As soon as he realized what he had done, he instinctively flinched, expecting a slap on the back of the head from Bianca, but receiving none, he addressed the issue at hand, saying, “Look, we only have a few options here: We can try to hide the bodies and hope that no one finds them, we can leave them here and pray no one notices them and surrounds the place immediately, or we can go with my ‘sick’ and ‘gross’ idea. But, either way, whatever you people decide, you need to keep in mind that our time is limited.”

“Shy, has anyone ever told you that sometimes you’re too smart for your own good?” Katherine admonished. “Try acting dumb. The most Reginald ever suffers is a few hits on the head, and those can’t really make his situation any worse.”

Tubal pulled out a few arrows and set them on fire. “It might be gross, and you might hate him for it, but he’s right.”

“There has to be a better option,” Sampson said pleadingly from behind the hand that still covered her mouth.

“Can’t think of one.” Tubal shot the cut-up pieces of flesh with fiery arrows, quickly turning them into charred, crispy pieces of meat that smelled far too much like burnt bacon for Locke’s personal preference.

“I should have given you a hand,” Reginald said as he stared at the quickly-burning corpses. “I’d make a really poor medical student if this grossed me out.”

“So do we have a game plan for when we get in there?” Reginald asked Locke. “Or are we just gonna wing it?”

“Hmm . . .” Locke honestly hadn’t given too much thought to what he was going to do beyond this point. It was unusual for him since he had a penchant for methodically plotting out everything as far down as the smallest detail possible, but all the things that had happened over the past day seemed to just keep falling in line. He had been moving from one scenario to another so quickly that he hadn’t actually had time to sit back and have a good think about what was going on. In truth, the last time he had actually had any ‘down’ time was in the bar when he shared some beers with everyone else. Even then, though he had enjoyed himself, he had been somewhat preoccupied with Eliza and everything that had been going on with her. He would never admit it, especially to Tubal, but he had been more or less winging it ever since he first met them.

His lack of proper planning aside, he did know that they had to take care of the White-Wing leaders for the Fire-Walkers and that Anthony was still somewhere around pulling the strings on everything that was going on. He just had absolutely no idea what to expect once they actually made it inside the building. For all he knew, there could be an entire regiment of soldiers camped out inside, sitting around having tea and cookies. Aside from all the times he had met up with Anthony to sell either him or his soldiers gear, he really didn’t know too much about him or how the Holy Alliance operated behind closed doors.

“I, uh . . .” He remembered all the gear that he had sold to them in the past and trailed off mid-sentence as an idea occurred to him. “Yeah, I got a plan, and we’re going to definitely need her,” he pointed a finger directly at Eliza, “to pull it off.”

“We already know that she’s one of the key pieces here,” Tubal answered. “That’s not really a plan. We already know she’s both our ticket to get close to Anthony and one of the key reasons that we’re able to pull this off at all. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s also the best option we have to take care of the White-Wing leaders.”

“I mean, for a part other than fighting.” Locke couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He was a little unsure if his plan was going to work, but now that he had seen Eliza make mincemeat out of the three guards at the front of the building, he had more than enough confidence in his partner to think that she could pull it off.

“Done!” Reginald, who had started the clean up last, brushed his hands off as he stood up first. Locke had started long before him, and he was impressed with how fast the Satyr had completed his work. What the heck? With hands like that, he better be going into surgery.

After they finished disposing of the bodies, the group hurried down the block and moved into the building. The entrance hall was larger than anyone had anticipated, and it felt more like the lobby of a large hotel than an actual enemy headquarters. There was a sitting area, empty likely because everyone was off helping in the fight, and a concierge sitting behind a desk who was dispatched so fast Locke didn’t even get a chance to see his face clearly before Tubal’s arrows turned him into a pincushion.

“So do we know which way Anthony is?” Locke glanced at the concierge’s dead body and then turned to assess the rest of the room. “I mean, I think this was the guy that would normally tell us that stuff.”

“What?” Tubal asked defensively. “If we didn’t kill him, he could have also sounded the alarm. They always have those buttons under the desks to warn people.”

“Tubal . . .” Locke facepalmed. “Tubal, how would they have things like that inside of Tiqpa? There aren’t even toasters, and you expect them to have that type of gadget?”

“Huh?” A look of guilt passed over Tubal’s face as he realized that Locke was probably right. “They could have had a magic one. There is a magic everything here. I mean, this part of the city is floating after all.” He looked to the others for reassurance as he jumped over the desk. He made a motion as if he were going to burn this body as well, but Locked stopped him before he could even get started.

“No need,” Locke sighed. “They can’t see under the desk. Just leave it.”

The entryway to the building alone was massive, and there was no telling exactly how big the rest of the building would be. If it was half as large as Locke suspected, they were going to have to come up with some way of figuring out the direction they should be headed in. To make things worse, there was so much uniformity that it was hard to tell one way from another just by looking. The walls were all solid white with golden lights strung across them, and everywhere Locke looked, it was just more of the same. Divining which direction they were supposed to go was definitely going to be a headache.

“You want to split up? Eavesdrop on some of the doors and see if we can learn anything?” Katherine suggested.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make, and there really weren’t any other options that Locke could think of at the moment. The only problem now was that there were three different directions they could go. There was a set of stairs directly across from the entrance to the building, a door to the right and a door to the left.

“That’s one way of doing it,” Sampson said. “How would we normally find the boss if we were in a dungeon?” She looked back and forth between the doors and then at the stairs.

“You usually follow the trail of corpses. That’s literally how I’ve found the boss in every single game,” Reginald said. A quick glance in every direction, however, proved that his fool-proof strategy wasn’t going work again here.

“Let’s go up the stairs,” Locke said as he came to a decision. While the others had been talking, he had been preparing a few ‘worst case scenario’ contingencies for the fight. “These are White-Wings, and this building is far more corporate than any other I’ve seen since I’ve been in Tiqpa.”

“So you think they will be on the highest floor?” Sampson asked, following along with Locke’s logic.

“Of course. Where else would they be?” Where else would you find a big wig? Or a bird? They’re both always perched at the top so that they can crap all over the commoners below. “Keep in mind, these guys are probably going to be tougher than anything else we’ve fought so far. They’re the leaders of the White-Wing faction, so we need to make our preparations now,” Locke answered and shuddered at the same time. Just thinking about the way most executives treated their employees reminded him of Anthony for some reason. It seemed fitting that the two would go hand-in-hand, and neither was a pleasant thought.

After the long trek up, another set of stairs was the last thing that any of them wanted to tackle, and to his dismay, Locke soon realized that they were going to have a much longer climb than he had anticipated. Rather quickly, he realized that there was no second or third floor of the tower. In fact, after ascending what he guessed would have been about six flights of stairs, he actually started to get a little worried. He hadn’t exactly looked up to see how high the buildings were from the outside, but he had been pretty sure there was no way that the building could be so incredibly tall.

If he’s not at the top, we’ll have just climbed all these stairs for nothing, Locke grumbled. What would the other two rooms have offered?

“Finally,” Reginald proclaimed somewhere around the eleventh floor. He had managed to stay ahead of Locke for the duration of the ascent, and Locke briefly wondered if his choice of footwear had anything to do it. “I swear, if my apartment was like this back home, I’d be in perfect shape just from going back and forth to the garage.”

“No kidding,” Sampson said. “You could train for a triathlon just turning around to check if you left the stove on. I can’t wait to see a Tiqpa elevator.”

“Do you remember MMOs before the VR part came into play?” Tubal asked as he and the rest of the group walked into the hallway at the top of the stairs. “Everyone used to spend half of their time jumping up and down while running through town aimlessly. I probably spent the good part of a year watching a character jump for no reason. Can you imagine what it would be like if everyone jumped around everywhere in real life? No need for stairs at all.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Reginald agreed. “But at least we weren’t just wandering around picking flowers.” He nudged Locke with an elbow as he threw the verbal jab in the alchemist’s direction. “So what’s the plan again?” They had reached the end of the hallway and were standing around in a cluster outside of it. “Should we just go back outside and burn the building down? Hope they all die in the fire?”

“If only it were that easy. They’re White-Wings, remember? If they managed to fly out before they died in the blaze, we wouldn’t have any way to reach them.” Locke glanced over at Bianca and Katherine. “Well, most of us wouldn’t be able to,” he said. “The plan is simple: We just use the girl again. Eliza will go in and request that Anthony come out,” he explained, turning to her. “Say that it’s an emergency and that Portia sent you personally. He shouldn’t recognize you, and, hopefully, he will be too distracted to think about the issue further. When he gets out in the hallway, that’s when we restrain him.”

“You mean kill him.” Eliza corrected him, and Locke could tell that she wasn’t keen on the idea of taking prisoners just from the way she said it.

“No, if we kill him, the Holy Alliance will know what we’re up to within the minute. We need to stall it out, keep him busy while we finish our task. I want to kill him as much as anyone.” Believe me. Locke almost salivated at the idea of tasting revenge, but it was going to have to wait if they were going to be successful. “If we do this wrong, there won’t be a way out. We don’t know how many troops they’re holding back around here, and there’s a good chance that they might even be able to send reinforcements before we even finish the fight. And there’s no way that we can let that happen,” Locke said, logic winning out against his desires.

“That doesn’t sound fun at all,” Reginald groaned. “How are we supposed to keep him busy? Just tie him up?”

“Well, you can’t logout in combat, can you?” Locke asked. He tried to recall all the details that he had heard about keeping the enemy from being able to log out or send messages. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in interrogation tactics, but he had heard more than enough banter about it from other players. There was a trick to holding someone hostage without letting them have access to the forums via the in-game console or messaging anyone to tell them what was going on.

“Hmm . . . I think you can,” Tubal began slowly. “But your account will be locked on a timer for a while if you do?”

“What’s the timer? Three? Four minutes?” Locke honestly didn’t know. He had never had any need to log out during combat before, so it wasn’t something he knew off the top of his head.

“It’s actually ten minutes,” Reginald said with an air of confidence. Locke was left with the sneaking suspicion that he was speaking from personal experience, probably having done it before. “Not sure why it’s that long, but it’s probably to discourage people from just logging out whenever something goes wrong. The game’s creators really seemed to take the whole immersion thing seriously.”

“How does it know if you’re in combat, though?” Tubal asked, clearly starting to see Locke’s plan.

“You just have to do damage to them every so often,” Reginald continued, filling in the missing pieces of information necessary to the scheme.

So, we just have to hurt Anthony, keep him from dying, and then restrain him. Locke took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to five. He knew it probably looked weird to the others, but he needed to settle everything in his head. If this failed, he didn’t know what they were going to do. Honestly, no one besides him or Eliza probably cared too much. After all, they could just up and leave town whenever they wanted. Heck, other than Eliza, the rest of them can just call it a day and find a new town in the worst-case scenario. I’m not gambling anyone’s fate but mine. And hers. He glanced over at Eliza warily as he tried to reassured himself that his plan was going to work and that there wouldn’t be a massive backlash if they failed, but it did little to lessen the pressure.

“You gonna be okay?” Sampson asked, putting one of her big Minotaur hands on Locke’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m just nervous,” Locke answered honestly. Truthfully, it was hard not to be. He had been on a rollercoaster ride all day long, moving from one task to another without pause. He had done fairly well at keeping his nerves in check, but for all intents and purposes, this was a boss fight. One slip, one screw up, would cost him the revenge he so desperately craved. There was also a good chance that he wouldn’t ever have the opportunity again.

“Well, don’t be. We got your back.” Reginald answered reassuringly and beamed him a huge smile.

“I will assist in restraining him, but I will not tolerate any of you torturing him,” Sparky proclaimed. She glared at Locke with an evil eye as she said it.

“Can we beat him to the point of death? Cripple him so that he can’t put up a fight?” Locke asked.

Sparky seemed to consider this for a moment, then answered, “Yes. Yes, that does seem necessary and appropriate. Just don’t be too long in doing it.”

“Fair enough.” Locke nodded his agreement to do as she asked. “Everyone knows their part then. We’ll hide behind the doors. Eliza, you drag Anthony out here. Reginald, can you cast the snare so that, even if he spots us, he can’t run away?”

“Sure thing, Shy,” Reginald answered and started casting the spell almost immediately.

Eliza stepped in front of the door and waited for a few moments while Reginald worked his magic and everyone else moved into position. Locke held his breath as they slid behind the door, hoping that they hadn’t somehow given themselves away while they had been plotting. When Eliza saw that the trap was laid, she opened the door and stepped inside.

“What is the meaning of this?” Anthony bellowed almost as soon as the door was open. Locke could hear him bark at Eliza before she even made it two steps inside the room.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to disturb you, but I was instructed to come here immediately by Lady Portia. She said that she needs to meet with you on the ground floor right away. I’m so sorry to disturb you.” Eliza played the part of the submissive messenger perfectly. From just her tone alone, Locke felt like he could make out the points in her apology where she was bowing her head and pleading for understanding.

“What? Portia sent for me?” Anthony’s voice sounded shaken.

“Is something the matter?” a voice Locke didn’t recognize asked.

“I trust that this is nothing related to the town that’s under attack?” another voice chimed in.” You have promised us success multiple times. That’s the only reason we’re here discussing terms and not on the battlefield with our men.”

“Can it. The last time you volunteered for the front lines, I was still learning how to fly,” the first voice said, and at least two of them had a laugh.

“I’ve only avoided the battle lines because our troops have always been capable of bringing victory and honor to the great Sun God without my help. If it were needed, I would be there in a moment,” the second, unknown voice defended himself.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Anthony said in his pompous-yet-polite manner, and Locke could hear the scraping of a chair against stone as he was likely standing up. “But, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I must go see what is going on.” Then, after a small pause, he added, “And have a word with my subordinate about manners. Not even knocking. What’s wrong with you? I could have you demoted for interrupting an important negotiation in such a fashion.”

“I’m truly sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” Eliza replied, continuing to kowtow toward the scum-ball.

It infuriated Locke just to listen to it. How did I never see this side of him before he got me banned? This guy is a monster. Who the heck let him have a leading role in any guild, much less one as large as the Holy Alliance? Locke could feel his face heat up and was forced to struggle to keep his breathing quiet as the anger in his gut continued to build. Locke pulled out his sword as quietly as he could and waited for Anthony to round the door.

As soon as he stepped into view, Bianca quietly shut the door behind him and Katherine’s whip lashed out to wrap around Anthony’s throat.

“Should we gut him now to stop him from screaming, or drag him away first and then do it just in case?” Katherine’s wicked smile gave Locke the chills as she yanked the whip and pulled Anthony, who was in full armor, toward the floor.

Anthony, to his credit, may have been caught off guard easily enough, but he didn’t truly go down without a fight. He instantly pulled out his sword and tried to cut the whip. Before his blade could even scratch the cord, however, Sampson was there with a downward slash of her axe. Despite being fully covered in plate armor, his arm was cut badly and pinned against the floor. At almost the same instant Sampson reacted, Sparky rammed her shield into his side and shoved the downed foe against the wall, effective pinning him and preventing him from moving.

“Quiet, we don’t want them to suspect anything.” Locke cautioned, reminding them that too much noise might defeat their plan.

Eliza, who had stood by watching as Anthony was dropped, unsheathed her own weapons and pulled them across his thighs, just above where they joined with his knees. The gurgle that escaped his throat despite the tightly-wrapped whip stood in for the shriek of agony Anthony would have let out had he been free. “Does this count as crippled?” she asked innocently.

“Yeah, it does. Let’s get him away from the door now. I doubt he’s going to have much to say with that thing coiled around his neck, but I’d rather not take any chances.” Locke signaled for Katherine to pull him down the hall so that he wouldn’t be within earshot of the door.

“You just love having your men on a leash, don’t you?” Bianca laughed at Katherine as she dragged her victim all the way to back the edge of the stairs with the group following behind. Once they were far enough away from the door, Katherine jerked the whip taut and pulled Anthony upright so that he was forced onto his knees.

Does he recognize me? Locke’s old concern quickly surfaced when he noticed Anthony staring right at him, despite the fact he wasn’t one of the ones who had inflicted injury.

“You’ll pay for this!” Anthony spat at Locke almost immediately after Katherine unwrapped the whip from around his neck. “You all won’t get away with this! You’re going to lose!”

Locke felt the color draining out of his face under Anthony’s foul eyes. He knows. He knows who I am. I’m going to get banned. Again. He could feel the panic rising in his chest as he stared down at their captive.

“I kind of liked him better when he wasn’t talking.” Sampson hefted her axe menacingly as if she were about to chop down on Anthony again.

“Wait!” Anthony held up his injured arm as he cowered on the floor in front of them. “If you hit me again, I’ll have you all banned! You probably haven’t read the terms of service, but you’re not allowed to treat people like this!”

Sampson hesitated, as did the rest of the group, as they looked around at each other.

“Is he serious? Is that really a thing?” Reginald looked to the rest of the group.

“I remember there being something about torture, but I don’t recall what qualified . . .” Bianca looked contemplative.

“It’s there! Trust me! I read the entire terms of service and end user license agreement from front to back! I’ve already gotten four stupid kids banned because I knew the rules and they didn’t! You can’t keep hitting me!” Anthony’s voice was arrogant and assertive as he started trying to get back on his feet, confident the beating would be over.

Hey, Locke! Me again! I know this is a very unorthodox and unscheduled message, but I assure you that so long as you don’t go and do something crazy like healing him just to keep hitting him without fully depleting his health bar, it won’t be flagged as torture. You can go ahead and hit him as much as you like. In fact, I recommend using a very weak wooden stick to slap him across the face once or twice. Call it a ‘bonus’ from me to him. In fact, I placed one in your inventory just for such an occasion. Go ahead. Have some fun. Consider this a super early Christmas bonus for all your hard work as a Minion of Ash.

Locke laughed as he read the message and pulled out the stick. “So you got four kids banned, did you?” He couldn’t feel better about this turn of events. The fact that Anthony was so ridiculously self-assured that no one would hit him again, that he was safe, made it taste even sweeter. Locke took the stick, which Ash had named ‘Spoiled Brat Face-Spanking Stick of +5’ and readied it in his right hand.

Anthony watched the stick as he adjusted himself on his mangled arm. Despite seeing what was about to happen, he continued his bragging. “Yeah. Even this morning, I got a guy banned for not joining the Holy Alliance. I’m already tempted to report you and have you all banned if you don’t lick boot and join up, too. That’s right! You all should sign up for the Holy Alliance, and if I’m feeling generous enough not to report you, I might give you a rank like ‘whelp’ or ‘sick dog.’ We’ll make a special one ju--”

Anthony’s annoying tirade was cut off mid-speech by Locke’s Spoiled Brat Face-Spanking Stick of +5 slamming across his jaw and drawing out a weak agonized cry as he fell onto his back.

Hey again! I just wanted to give you one quick reminder: Don’t use this stick outside of this scenario. I modified it to hurt a lot more than it should. You can thank me later for that. After this, you burn it like it was a spy message in a black and white cartoon. Now, go hit him a few more times for me, minion!

P.S. This isn’t me taking sides. He just creeps me out. Even more than Gary.

Don’t mind if I do. Locke’s grin couldn’t be removed as he struck Anthony two more times in the stomach with the gifted weapon.

“Shy, what did I tell you about not torturing him?” Sparky intervened, putting her shield up between the two of them.

“He was threatening to ban you all. I just wanted to make sure that if anyone was actually banned it would be me,” Locke lied. I just wanted to make sure he got hit again. Is that so bad? “See?” He struck Anthony once more right across the face to make sure the stick actually lived up to its name. “Now, if he does file a complaint, it will be with me, not you all.”

Sparky’s ire was visible as she pushed Locke back a bit. “Don’t. Do. It. Again.” She enunciated every single word with extra force. “We are not like his kind. We do not kick a dog when it’s down or hit the helpless.”

Locke didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep striking Anthony as the lout crawled up into a sitting position on the floor where he had been lying, but Sparky’s adamant stance left him with the impression that even one more strike on the brat might result in several on him. “Fine, but if he starts threatening people again, I’m going to have a hard time holding back.”

“Easy, sis,” Tubal came over and put an arm around Sparky, pulling her in close from the side. “Shy was just trying to make sure he took the brunt of whatever punishment comes of this. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Ugh . . .” Anthony shot a look of disgust toward the pair. “Don’t do all that drama in front of me. It’s gross.” Anthony tried dusting himself off as he attempted to look dignified on the ground. “Why don’t you just tell me how much you want, and let’s get this over with.”

“What?” Tubal and the others looked confused.

“You obviously dragged me out here to demand something. I know your group. You’re one of the mercenary guilds that we paid scraps to in the last siege, right? So, you came here to get your fair shake after getting ripped off. Is that it? Just tell me how much gold you want so that we can be done with it.” Anthony cracked his neck and did his best to stand up, only to be pushed down again by Sampson.

“I didn’t say you could go anywhere.” Sampson lifted her axe once again to reinforce the point.

“Your petty gold will not sway our honor.” Sparky managed to sound even more vexed than she had before. Watching Locke hit Anthony several times with the Face-Spanking Stick of +5 had obviously put her on edge.

“Well, how much gold are we talking about?” Reginald asked, only to be popped by Tubal. “What? If he’s going to pay us a lot, I’d be okay with it.”

Locke thought for a minute. “Yeah, actually, how much money are you talking about?”

“You’re not seriously considering helping him, are you?” Eliza’s typical look of disgust resurfaced as she aimed her dismal expression at Locke.

“How about 10,000 gold? Is that enough? That could buy your puny lot, right?” Anthony answered.

“Sure, hand it over, and we’ll let you be on your way.” Locke extended his hand. When Sparky was about to get in the way, Reginald stopped her and whispered something in her ear.

“No, we do not sell our dignity so cheaply!” Sparky protested whatever Reginald was saying.

“I don’t think we lose any dignity with this one. Just let him hand it over,” Tubal added, surprisingly taking Locke’s side.

“There’s no way that I’m going to agree to this.” Eliza’s hands slipped back towards her swords’ hilts as she watched Anthony pull out the money and quickly attempt to finish the transaction.

“There. You have your money. Can I go now?” Anthony asked as he stood up, only to be pushed back down by Locke.

“Yes, you can. Just not right now. We’re going to need to have you wait a few minutes first. Like, say, fifteen?” Locke smiled ear to ear as he bagged the massive amount of gold.

“Oh.” Sparky finally understood what was going on. She didn’t look happy, but she conceded. “I see then. Yes, we’ll take your petty offer, and you can leave when we’ve concluded our business with the White-Wings.”

“That’s not what we agreed on!” Anthony yelled back.

“We said that we’d let you go on your way, not when we’d let you go,” Locke retorted. “What are you going to do if we don’t let you go immediately? Ban us?”

“Look, I’ll pay more! Just let me go right now!” Anthony was practically frantic. “What do you want? Real life money? Fine! Give me your Paypals, and I’ll transfer over fifty bucks. That’s more than the lot of you high school punks make working all day, isn’t it?”

“And get us banned? Dude, you just bragged about that. Come on, you think we would really fall for that? Any idiot knows you that can’t receive real life money for in-game actions,” Reginald said, laughing at the squirming man on the ground.

I didn’t. Locke frowned, realizing he was worse than ‘any idiot.’

“Yeah, sorry, man. You’re stuck here for just ten or fifteen minutes. But hey, after that, you can leave if you want,” Tubal said. “After all, you already paid in advance.” He looked at Locke while he said this, a huge grin on his face.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re going to want your cut, too. Locke wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about parting with the massive amount of gold he had just received, but he knew he had to split it fairly. To the group, this was already an epic success. Even if they all died in the fight with the White-Wings, they had just walked away with enough money to each buy a new weapon on par with one they might get from clearing a tough boss.

“Okay, let’s go kill us some chickens.” Reginald enthusiastically started walking toward the double door.

“Wait, who is going to watch over him?” Bianca pointed at their captive.

“Oh, yeah . . .” Tubal said as the group paused and looked at the bruised-up prisoner.

“I could do it.” Locke volunteered. He didn’t want to miss out on the main fight, but he instinctively knew he wouldn’t be as helpful as the others. They all had a role. They were all great fighters, and they all knew how to work as a team, but he, on the other hand, was nothing more than a newcomer with a crafting profession. Though, I did help out a lot in the last boss fights, he remembered, momentarily doubting his decision.

“You don’t have to, Shy. I could wait back here if you want to make sure the group has a healer,” Bianca suggested.

“No, go ahead. Just leave the door open. If things get hectic, I’ll come in as quickly as possible. If you’re worried about dying, just come in range, and I’ll heal you with whatever potions I have left,” Locke said making up his mind. That’s right. I can always help out if things get too rough.

“Well, just make sure to kill him” --Katherine pointed at Anthony-- “if you do choose to join the fight.”

“He paid us so that we’d let him go. We cannot, in good faith, go back on our word. Our word is our bond.” Sparky nixed the plan before it could even take proper shape.

“Alright, well, here goes nothing.” Sampson lifted up her axe and confidently marched toward the door. When Sparky joined her, the two opened it together to reveal the inner chamber where the final fight would be held.

Chapter 9

Locke couldn’t see what was on the far side of the room, but he could tell that there was a glass platform extending out from the door, and from where he was, it appeared as if it was suspended over what appeared to be a pit of nothingness. Other than that, he couldn’t really make heads or tails of anything else in the room aside from the group that occupied the middle of the room. Three White-Wings were seated atop three stools, which were placed around a circular table, and each was decked out in military attire that seemed far fancier than anything they had passed by on their way through the city. Instead of just the plain leather armor that the White-Wing guards often wore, often white to match their wings, theirs was gold-trimmed leather armor with designs that were far too intricate for Locke to make out from where he was guarding Anthony at the end of the hall.

“It seems the lesser races still suffer from a dearth of dignity . . . To foul our sanctuary with even more unwanted guests . . . This cannot be tolerated . . .” A White-Wing, who was set apart from the other two by his gleaming, golden plumage, stood up from his stool, and the other two followed suit.

As soon as they stood up, the chairs and table slowly flew backward out of sight as if they were being drawn by some furniture-arranging magic or track-like mechanisms that Locke couldn’t see. Slowly, the three White-Wings walked toward the entrance of their sanctuary where Sampson and the rest of the gang were entering. The one who was obviously the leader stopped and got down on one knee, and the other two followed suit.

“I agree,” one of the other two White-Wings spoke, “To so boldly enter the sanctuary of the Sun God without being invited is a disgrace that only death can remedy.

“What are they doing?” Sampson asked. She and the rest of the group slowed their gait to match that of the White-Wings, almost halting to a complete stop as they watched the spectacle before them.

“I don’t know, but I think you should probably stop them before they finish,” Reginald suggested.

Before Sampson could reply, her question was answered. The room erupted with pillars of light that shot up from all corners of the room, creating a sort of bird cage large enough to fit several T-Rex inside.

“That can’t be good,” Tubal said. Just then, he turned around to see a beam of light shoot out from one of the cylinders on the wall and incinerated part of the flesh on his arm. “Ahh!” he screamed as it tore through part of his left triceps.

“F-- !!!” Bianca shouted the self-censored profanity as the same beam of light tore through her as well, leaving a hole slightly larger than a quarter in the middle of her left wing.

Reginald immediately started casting, and Tubal pulled out a healing potion with his unhurt limb and started chugging. Sampson and Sparky charged full speed ahead at the kneeling White-Wings, weapons and shield raised as they ducked and jumped over two of the approaching light beams. Eliza was right behind them, following Sparky so closely that she almost looked like she was a shadow of the Dragon-Wing knight.

Just as they were just about to collide with their targets, two large beams of light shot directly toward them. The beams were so large around that they would have left cannon-ball-sized holes in the abdomens of the two lead fighters, but Sparky immediately reacted by bring her shield around to block the attack so quickly that it looked like a silvery blur. Rather than striking Sparky and Sampson, who would have almost certainly been incinerated, one of the beams bounced off her shield, reflected back toward one of the White-Wings. It sliced through his shin, cleanly cutting off the leg he had been kneeling on. The whole thing happened so quickly the elite warrior held the same position for a moment, ignorant of the gruesome injury, before toppling forward in horror.

Eliza seized the opportunity and shot out from behind Sparky’s protection to lunge in and pierce the fallen White-Wing with both of her blades. The White-Wing was impaled multiple times in the span of a breath before she stepped around him and cut off both of his wings with two vicious attacks. Strangely, neither of the other two White-Wings bothered to so much as even glance up at their fallen comrade, and their evident lack of concern made it seem as if his death was completely unnoteworthy.

Sampson tried to swing around and slam the main White-Wing with her fiery axe, also hoping to capitalize on the fact they were kneeling in prayer, but instead of making contact and cleaving the kneeling man in half, one of his golden-edged wings folded around his body and effortlessly blocked the attack. Sparky also tried to attack him, stabbing at his chest, but his other wing also swooped over and covered him up, creating a barrier that harmlessly rebounded her attack as well.

“Let their life be forfeit, their hearts be rent, their hope be dashed upon the altar of your glory,” the golden-winged leader prayed, his voice deeper than an ocean as it shook past Locke and left him stunned from the aftereffect. As Locke shook his head and regained himself, he watched as the leader stood up and summoned a giant, glowing metal sword. The weapon manifested in front of him, materializing from a radiant ball of light. He stood up and unfurled his wings as the weapon appeared, calmly reaching out and grabbing the two-handed, claymore-sized blade.

Katherine and Bianca had taken to the air as soon as the others charged, and it appeared as if they had been trying to flank around to the right, aiming for the remaining White-Wing soldier. As soon as the voice struck them, however, they appeared to have been momentarily stunned along with everyone else. The effects may have lasted for only a moment, but they were knocked out of the sky and sent spiraling downward before they were able to catch their balance and return to flight. Then, hanging in midair, they dove down at the White-Wing in unison, daggers at the ready.

Unfortunately for them, a second sword manifested in front of their target before they were able to reach him. The soldier grabbed ahold of the blade and blindly thrust the point upward, using the momentum from their dives against them. Unable to slow herself in time, Katherine impaled herself on the long blade.

Bianca’s eyes opened wide in shock as she caught sight of Katherine’s now-limp body for a brief moment. She practically fell into the White-Wing as she completed her dive, managing to bury a dagger into his shoulder as he went to kick Katherine’s corpse off his blade. He struck out with a backhanded blow, trying to catch Bianca with the slash, but she rolled free from him just as quickly as the two had collided with one another. As soon as she was back on her feet, her whip snapped out and wrapped around his hands like it was one of the zip ties used to restrain a shoplifter at the supermarket. The White-Wing struggled against his restraints, but before he could regain his balance, Bianca leapt into the air, pulling him off the platform and into the sky. Despite his hands being bound, he did his best to sever the whip with his sword, which he had somehow managed to retain his hold on. Bianca twisted around in the air, jerking the whip around from side to side and wrenching his hands even more tightly together. It may not have been the most graceful maneuver, but she was successful in stymying his attempts to free himself.

he White-Wing began using his own wings to maneuver against the Succubus, and their airborne struggle looked like it was going to shift in his favor. The two fought against one another, each trying to gain control over the other in their battle for dominance in the air. They pulled against one another and flapped their wings in furious combinations, erratically fighting to gain the upper hand.

Very quickly, they ended up in an odd spiral heading toward one of the pillars of light. Bianca let go of the whip in an attempt to fling the White-Wing into the pillar, but as soon as she did, he used his newly-freed hands to hurl his blade at the Black-Wing. His momentum shot him into the pillar of light and his body disintegrated just as his claymore pierced directly into Bianca’s right wing, slicing it off and sending her plummeting to her doom.

Locke watched on in a combination of awe and horror as the fight in the center of the platform escalated between Sampson, Sparky, Eliza and the leader. Defying all logic, the larger White-Wing was able to maneuver his golden wings and large, glowing claymore to seamlessly parry and block every attempt by the trio to hit him. Eliza’s lightning-fast blades weaved through the air in a myriad of different patterns as she tried desperately to hit the opponent, but they may as well have been moving through molasses for all the good her speed did. No matter how fast her attacks were or where she aimed them, the White-Wing was always there to thwart her attacks.

Locke wished that he was able to get a better look, to watch the fight up close, but between their movement speed and the distance from which he was viewing the fight, everything seemed to blur together into one smooth blob with its colors constantly shifting around as the fight moved back and forth across the platform.

With his wounded arm now healed up from the potion, Tubal began firing flaming arrows at the leader, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be of much help either. Most of his arrows ended up having to be blocked by Sparky, who was already showing fatigue from the strain of trying to defend both Sampson and herself from the leader’s attacks. Tubal’s extra shots just added another level of danger that she had to constantly be aware of, lest one of them accidentally pierce through her or Sampson instead of the boss.

Locke watched on, desperately hoping that someone eventually would land a hit, that Reginald would cast a snare or shield to help them, and that everything would somehow go as planned. The fighters were holding their own just fine for the most part, but Reginald hadn’t even gotten a serious spell off on the golden White-Wing yet.

No sooner had that hope crept its way into Locke’s heart, however, than several light beams sprayed across the field and ran Reginald, Sampson and Tubal through, turning the three players into swiss-cheese-esque statues. It happened so quickly that Locke didn’t even have time to register their deaths or process what had happened before the leader seized the opportunity. Now that there was a break in attacks, with Sampson and Tubal no longer assisting, he was able to mount an offensive and slam his claymore so hard into Sparky’s shield that it sent her sprawling back toward the doorway.

Eliza managed to hold her own as Sparky stood back up and charged once more into the fray, but Locke could already tell this was going to be a bust. Crap, I have to do something. He stared at Sampson, now riddled with holes and crumpled on the floor. Wait . . . is she still alive? Despite her injuries, Sampson appeared to be struggling back to her feet.

“Looks like your plan failed even without letting me go. Garbage will simply always be garbage,” Anthony taunted from where he was on the floor. He had been humiliated, beaten and held captive, but he seemed to be in good spirits as he laughed at Locke.

I have to do something, but I can’t just leave him . . . If he left Anthony to go help the group, then there was a good chance that Anthony would bring reinforcements. If he stayed and didn’t help the fight, there was a good chance it wouldn’t matter at all to begin with.

Screw it. They can’t win on their own. Locke pulled out several red potions and charged toward the battle. He knew that Anthony would probably start making his way down the stairs as soon as he was gone, too injured to actually participate in the fight, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. If he didn’t do something to help, they were going to die anyway.

Locke actually felt lighter when he stepped inside the room. Even with the impending sense of doom caused by the awe-inspiring, golden pillars of light and the golden-wing White-Wing leader, who had proven to be both deadly and terribly quick, he still felt that struggling sense of hope flicker somewhere inside of him.

As soon as he crossed through the doorway, he realized that the platform was suspended high above an indoor forest and that there was a hole in the center of the roof just large enough to allow the sun above them to be completely visible. That it was magnificent was his first thought even as his body forced its way through the motions of bombarding the barely-breathing Sampson with as many healing potions as he could.

Sampson's wounds mended instantly, and Sparky and Eliza, who were both nearby and caught in the blast, looked revitalized. Sampson, now back in good form, bounded to her feet and immediately picked up where she had left off. She renewed her attack, swinging fast and hard in curved arcs, hoping to catch her opponent off-guard. Despite their renewed vigor, however, the trio of fighters was quickly caught back up in the same stalemate they had been in before and all their efforts appeared to be in vain.

No longer able to rely on outside assistance from Tubal or Reginald to tip the scale, Locke pressed forward. He gripped his sword so tightly that his knuckles went white as he did his best to maneuver around and get behind the golden-winged leader.

“Shy, don’t get close,” Sampson warned between parries as Locke passed around her, “he’ll kill you instantly. We’re doing everything we can just to keep him from going on the offensive.”

Yeah, I know. I’m useless. Got it. Locke understood the message, even if it wasn’t put in such harsh language. When he finished rounding his enemy and was directly behind him, he went to throw a vitality debuff at the boss. As soon as he tossed it, however, the leader dodged to the side so that the poison struck Sparky instead. Does this guy have eyes in the back of his head? Locke watched in horror as the potion squarely hit the fighter, shattering against her shield. The area of effect was large enough that it struck both Sampson and the White-Wing as well, but it was clear that Sparky suffered the brunt of the attack.

Locke instantly panicked. There was a good chance that he had just done some real damage to their chances of winning. The leader grabbed onto Sparky’s shield and pushed off with his wings, taking to the air and dragging Sparky in tow. Sparky clung to her shield as she was pulled up two, three and then four stories. She started going crazy, flailing her legs and swinging wildly with her sword without a clear target until, somewhere around six stories into the sky, the leader let go of her.

Locke watched on helplessly as she plummeted downward, but Eliza reacted instantly. She jumped onto Sampson’s shoulders and then vaulted directly up into the air in one swift motion. She collided with Sparky midair, and the two crashed to the ground in a tangled-up heap at Sampson’s feet. Before either had a chance to regain their senses or push themselves to their feet, the White-Wing leader landed blade-first on Sparky’s chest, skewering her like a street vendor's shishkabob.

“For, Ho--” Sparky couldn’t even muster more than two syllables before the life faded from her eyes.

“Cra--” Sampson started as she saw Sparky die, but the White-Wing leader pulled his blade from Sparky’s body and fluidly beheaded Sampson with a backhanded slash. Even without the element of surprise, there was no way that she would have been able to block the leader’s attack without Sparky there to act as her defense. Sampson simply wasn’t able to do anything in the face of the leader’s overwhelming speed and power except gasp in shock and horror for the briefest of moments before being slaughtered.

Locke watched, dumbfounded, as the Minotaur’s head rolled off of her body, and he could have sworn her lifeless eyes stared at him as it fell to the floor.

“Get out of here,” Eliza barked at Locke. “This fight is over.”

“An insect that knows its place. It’s a pity. Your eyes burn with the fire of the Sun God. You would have made a good acolyte.” The leader shook his blade, splattering Sampson and Sparky’s blood onto the glass platform. “Your death shall be a sacrifice to honor our God.” He readied his blade and then charged at Eliza. His speed pushed him into flight as he narrowed in on the Demon, hitting her so hard that, even though she blocked his attack, she was sent sprawling back twenty feet. She slid across the platform, leaving streaks of blood behind her that made it look like she had been dragged across jagged asphalt behind a car.

Even though Eliza hadn’t been able to stop the attack, she was at least able to recover from it rapidly, rolling backward and bouncing back up in a Bruce-Lee-style martial arts move without ever dropping her swords. She rolled out of the way as the White-Wing leader came in for a second charge, not even bothering with blocking the attack a second time. She came up out of the roll and assumed a fighting stance again, once more facing her opponent.

She’s going to die . . . She’s going to die, and I’m just sitting here watching. Locke’s frustration built up as his feelings of ineptitude pushed their way to the surface like bile in the back of his throat, and there wasn’t anything he could do to swallow them back down. The mission will fail, she’ll be dead, and I’m not doing anything about it.

He stashed the decent sword he was using into his inventory, the one he had purchased at the market when he was with Sampson, and took out the one he had started with, the one that Ash had given him. It was a perfectly normal starter sword, other than the fact that he had prepared it for just such an eventuality. While everyone had been busy making preparations earlier, he hadn’t been just standing by idly. He had wrapped the entire blade in strung-together bottles of pre-activated vitality poisons. There were enough potions attached to the blade to make sure that, the second the sword hit anything, it would explode and absolutely shatter the vitality of anything in Tiqpa within one meter of impact--himself included. He equipped and activated a single Deadly Poison in his other hand, readying it to explode on contact as well.

He couldn’t stand the idea of having to use it. His reticence was mainly due to the fact that, even if the explosives went off properly, there was still a chance he wouldn’t succeed. There was also the almost certainty that he would die, and any hopes he had of turning the day’s losses into a gain would be gone along with it. This sword, which now looked like an incredibly-large balloon-blade, held on it his entire fortune: the remainder of his hard work, the poisons that were supposed to be sold to help pay for his sister’s education. Is a game really worth it? The thought floated through his head. Even if the Holy Alliance wins, you can just take it all to another city, find new clients, and make new money. Why are you risking your fortune for her? For them? For revenge? Revenge is petty. Let the group wipe. Don't waste it. The thoughts rattled through his head in a moment of indecision.

After all, there would surely be other alchemists by tomorrow. If he had been able to achieve all this in a single day, who is to say that other people couldn’t do the same? As great a farmer as he was, he had spent a better part of the day fighting. Sure, he had started off in the perfect zone and didn’t have to compete with anyone for the resources, and there was also the fact that someone had loaded his inventory with more empty bottles and crafting supplies than he knew what to do with, but that didn’t mean that a guild couldn’t sponsor and assist an alchemist till he or she was dead even with him. There would be competition, and even if he could refarm all the poisons, they wouldn’t be worth anything compared to what their value was today. And he was throwing it away.

On top of all that, there was also the fact that this would surely leave him dead and at Ash’s mercy. He had absolutely no idea what was going to happen when he died or even where he was going to respawn. Putting his fate into Ash’s hands was something that didn’t sit well as it held its own set of unknown consequences--and he wasn’t eager to find out what they were.

Yet, even as all of those facts and feelings mounted against the idea, one look at Eliza as she struggled to stand against the leader alone, battered and bruised to the point that her once-beautiful sundress was torn in places and stained red in others, told him what he had to do. He just couldn’t stand by and watch. I’m going to kill you! he yelled at his conscience as he ran forward with his balloon blade.

“And here I thought you would scurry away like a cockroach when the lights come on,” the leader said, holding his own blade up to block Locke’s. “Come, then. Be cleansed in fire.” Rays of golden light suddenly shot off his wings and sword, and the White-Wing was so illuminated from the blinding pinions of light on his back that Locke had to turn his head to the side and look away as he charged. “Meet death, brave one!” the boss said, charging forward to strike Locke.

The White-Wing’s sword pulled back and stood ready to strike Locke the instant he came within range. Locke felt his heart stop. Time felt like it had frozen as he watched what could only be described as a train wreck in slow motion. Locke heaved the giant, bottle-covered blade forward in a horizontal slash, and the leader responded by contracting his wing around his body as Locke had seen him do so many times before to block the heavy axe attacks from Sampson or the quick, piercing thrusts from Eliza. One of his wings, which was as larger than Locke’s entire body, glided alongside the leader’s blade, moving forward to clear away the nuisance of Locke's unimposing attack and connected with Locke’s weapon, completely going against Locke's expectations.

At that moment, the poison bombs activated in a chain reaction, rippling into the largest explosion Locke had seen. One after another, the potions went off, stripping Locke of his vitality so fast that he plummeted to a single point of health and was sitting on the cusp of death in the time a hummingbird could flap his wings. Explosions continued going off as his sword pressed onward into his enemy’s now-vulnerable wing, bringing each of them both closer and closer to death.

Every part of the great leader seemed shaken by the explosion. The leader’s sword--which at this point could have even been the Face-Slapping Stick in Locke’s inventory and would have still killed Locke in a single hit thanks to his near-zero vitality--wavered as the once-confident leader’s eyes popped open, and his self-assured visage shattered as quickly as the poisons against his wing. His blade, which had originally moved so fast that Locke couldn’t see anything but the blurred after images of its strikes from a distance, now hesitantly inched toward Locke in an uncertain motion that could easily be dodged. Locke was painfully aware of his single remaining hit point as his sword continued its path, the final poisons shattering into more and more colorful explosions.

“What . . . ungodliness . . . is . . . thi--” the leader started to speak, yet his voice, just like his strike, wavered and then quit. His eyes rolled back, and Locke saw that the crummy starting weapon that he had strung up with poisons had pierced his wing. The leader, like himself, probably only had a few hit points left from the after effects of the vitality debuffs, and he died instantly as his once damage-resistant, almost-metallic exterior turned to paper under the poison. The flesh wound the White-Wing received normally wouldn’t have done anything more than hinder his flight at best, but it left the now-frail warrior dead.

Congratulations! You have earned the title “Feather Plucker, the Usurper” for slaying the last remaining Faction Leader of the White-Wings. You have been awarded one unique skill as a bonus:

Holy Finger of the Sun God: Summon a beam of light. The beam will do damage to anything, friend or foe, that it touches. Limit: Instant beams may be used every sixty seconds by the caster. Effect may be channeled once per Tiqpa day for no longer than one minute.

You have also been awarded +10 skill points as an additional bonus for this achievement.

Locke fell backward as he put the pieces of what just happened together, stunned by his success and weak from having his vitality drained to next to nothing. The effects were evident everywhere on his being: His bones felt like they were struggling to hold his body up, his lungs felt like they were going to collapse, and he was extremely aware of the fact that if an ant bit him on his rear end, he’d probably die from it. The game didn’t let any of these details go unfelt.

But all of these ailments together couldn’t make Locke feel less satisfied with the result. Staring at the collapsing foe in front of him, watching his revenge manifest itself right there, Locke’s mood couldn’t be better. If Anthony had stayed around to see it, that would have been pure icing on his cake. Locke wanted nothing more than to watch that creep realize that his dreams of Sine Nomine in the Holy Alliance’s hands had been crushed as quickly as Locke’s own account had been banned. Nevertheless, even without rubbing that salt in Anthony’s open wound, Locke grinned happily as he plopped down on his back and splayed out as if he were going to make snow angels, his breath coming in large gulps, as he took in the feeling of victory.

So, this is why people love raiding so much. They had now killed several bosses, and Locke had played an instrumental part in every victory, but none felt as good as this one. This one wasn’t just killing a boss, it was achieving a victory that he would have thought impossible only a few days ago.

His last-ditch assault on the White-Wing leader may have played out in slow motion within his own mind, every minute detail and reaction caught by his over-hyped, adrenaline-spiked senses, but it had happened in real time for Eliza. Locke glanced up at her warily and found that she was still in the same defensive position that she had assumed after dodging the leader’s last attack.

“Well,” she began, lowering her swords and slowly walking toward him, “I guess that’s one way to go about it. I know you’re probably enjoying yourself down there, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to hang around up here. It won’t be long before someone realizes what happened, and this place is going to be swarming with White-Wings when they do.”

“Give me a moment. I’m kind of weak here.” Locke cracked his neck as he sat up and looked at the scene in front of him. He didn’t want to move an inch. He wanted to either stay right where he was on the floor or hide in a box until the five-minute duration on the vitality poison wore off so that he wouldn’t have to worry over whether or not an aggressive mosquito would kill him.

“Wait, if you’re here, what happened to Anthony?” Eliza asked, turning to peer at the exit where Locke had last been babysitting him.

“He’s probably crawling to freedom, going to get . . . help.” Locke looked at Eliza and frowned. He didn’t want to die. In fact, he hated the idea. But he had broken Anthony’s plan. As much as he didn’t want to perish, he could. He could afford to die, and despite whatever death penalties he incurred from either the game or Ash, it wouldn’t be permanent. For her, however, it was game over. The second Anthony got help, and an army of soldiers flooded into the tower, she was done for. He didn’t harbor any particularly strong feelings for this psychopathic Demon who had met him at sword-point, threatening his life before even saying hello, but he also didn’t like the idea of someone he knew dying. She may have just been an NPC in a virtual world, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference to him when it came down to it. It didn’t make sense, but for some reason, he just couldn’t stomach the idea. This put a fire under his rear and got him up and moving instantly.

He was about to run to the door with Eliza and start his way down, but some nagging thought in the back of his brain stopped him. He took one last glance back into the room, looking for anything that would have given him pause, and he realized that the White-Wing leader’s corpse was still crumpled on the ground. Loot! I have to get loot.

“Hold on. We’ll get out of here in a moment,” he said as he turned back and approached the body and started to take the once-proud leader’s now-unneeded vestments and weapon.

“Really?” Eliza asked in exasperation. “You want to waste what precious little time we have so that you can pilfer the dead bodies?”

“This will only take a moment,” Locke answered without ever stopping what he was doing as he went through the dead leader’s belongings. “But do you really want one of them, the Holy Alliance members, getting their hands on his weapon and armor? Think about it: A moment now, and we won’t have to go against this blade ever again.”

The first thing Locke took off the corpse was his armor. It was, for all intents and purposes, the most magnificent piece of armor he had ever seen. While the stats for the item weren’t anything to brag about, with barely +20 to power and +10 to vitality, what made it amazing was that it had the same damage reduction as plate armor, but not the mobility restrictions that came with it. In terms of stat reduction, it was actually better than most leather armor. While most leather armor would reduce the user’s speed by a small amount, anywhere between 20 and 30 percent, this particular item only reduced the user’s speed by 15 percent. It would be a godsend for any rogue. I bet someone would pay an arm and a leg for this, Locke thought as he took it. The item even came with a description that he glanced over as he looted it, unlike most items that just listed out their stats:

General Sun’s #13 Special: The Sun God himself was said to have come down and chosen the leader of the mighty White-Wings, his most beloved race. In order to ensure that his reign was long and his achievements were great, the Sun God gave him leather armor fit for the king of kings, able to make the user invulnerable to the slings and arrows of all assailants. But then again, if you’re reading this, then that means he died, and the armor probably wasn’t as good as it was said to be. In fact, someone probably made it a long time ago and then made up the story to go with it. Either way, it’s still a great piece of armor.

The next item he grabbed was the blade that the White-Wing had crushed them all with. When the leader had held it, it was in the shape of a two-handed blade that ignited with light as a special ability. As soon as Locke grabbed the handle, however, it transformed into a solid metal blacksmith’s hammer that was shinier than freshly polished chrome wheels. Locke quickly opened up his inventory to inspect it, surprised by the transformation. Even though it was shaped like a smithing hammer, it did more damage than most of the weapons he had seen. The weapon was named “The Light Within,” and its damage seemed to be proportionate to his level. On top of the hefty damage bonus, it also had some additional stats, and after some quick math, Locke realized that those attributes were multiples of his level as well.

“Satisfied?” Eliza asked impatiently when she saw that he was finished rummaging through the corpses.

“Yep, let’s go.” Locke stood up and gripped the hammer in his hand. It felt right, powerful, and most importantly, it added vitality. Thank God for the armor piece and the hammer. Locke was relieved to no longer feel like a paper cut from turning a book page too fast would leave him fatally wounded. He didn’t have enough hit points to take more than a few hits, but not blowing over like a stick figure in a hurricane was enough for him as he made his way to the door and down the hallway.

When they reached the stairs, he stopped to take note of the trail of blood Anthony had left as he crawled to freedom. Why didn’t he just log out? Locke wondered, staring at the place where the corpse should have been. He could have even killed himself and teleported back to his bind stone instantly that way. The only reason he’d crawl is if he thought he could reach help faster this way, right? Locke slowed his pace and fell behind Eliza.

“I have a bad feeling there are going to be enemies up ahead.” Locke gulped, readying his hammer as he hid behind the tiny woman in front of him.

“Probably. We’d have had a better head start if you didn’t waste so much time sitting around. They’ve had more than enough opportunity to sound the alarm and start gathering people, so I’m sure it won’t be long before all the ants start scurrying home to their hill, looking to be heroes.”

“And you’d be dead if I didn’t help you.” Locke was kind of annoyed with the lip. I give up my fortune to fight him, win the battle, and you give me flak for taking a breather and trying to recoup my losses? Excuse me, lady, not all of us are used to almost dying multiple times a day. He was tempted to let loose and vent, but he bit his tongue and hoped that the first comment would be enough to at least afford him a breather from the quips.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she replied heatedly, her voice slowly rising with every word. “‘It wasn’t your call to make. You shouldn’t have helped me. Do you know what happens when you go out of your way to try and save someone in the middle of a fight? Someone dies. You die. He dies . . . He dies . . . Her voice finally reached crescendo before it cracked. She faltered for a moment, pausing where she was and staring off into space. Her cheeks had initially been growing redder with every word, but now the color disappeared almost as quickly. It may have been an illusion because of the sudden change, but she actually looked paler than usual. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but as she kept going on, it was evident that her speech was becoming shaky and her eyes were starting to water ever so slightly.

“I’m . . .” Locke was at a loss for words. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .”

“Of course you didn’t. That’s the problem. You’re all the same: The only thing you ever think about is yourself. All you wanted was to be the hero, to rush in and save everyone so that you could claim all the glory for yourself.”

“No, I didn’t.” Locke found himself choking on his own words worse than when he tried to argue with his younger sister about what guy she should date. “I just . . .”

“Your job was to guard the prisoner. It was a position you volunteered for and then abandoned just so that you could run in at the last minute, so that you could make a grand entrance, thump your chest and be everyone’s savior. If you had a way to kill them that quickly, you should have done it. You shouldn’t have let other people sacrifice their own lives just so that you could look good. Someone else could have watched the prisoner, and things would have been over with everyone still alive. If you had done what you said you were going to, we wouldn’t be standing here alone and having to worry about how many peons are swarming towards the building at this very moment.”

“I didn’t know if it would work,” Locke pleaded. He hated being wrong, but her words felt like a knife in his gut. She was right: He could have done it all from the start. As much as he hated burning his trump card, risking everything on the attack and losing all of his potions, she wouldn’t understand it. There was no way for her to know that this was just a game and that it wasn’t a big deal if they died. This was life or death for her, and she was fighting to save people that she cared about. People that wouldn’t come back if they died. It left him just as speechless as the first outburst. What does someone even say to that? He frowned, swallowing hard before finally settling on the only two words he could think of: “I’m sorry.”

“I actually thought that you were different from the rest of the newcomers. I actually believed that you understood what teamwork and friendship were about. When I watched you guys make it through the underwater cavern and fight together against the Holy Alliance, everyone was always looking out for someone else. I thought that you understood what it meant to act as a team and to trust someone else. You abandoned your role because you didn’t have enough faith in your so-called friends to do what they said they would. You didn’t believe in them; you didn’t trust them. I’m so mad that I made the mistake of trusting you and thinking that you were different.”

“I’m sorry.” Locke’s face managed to sink even more. There was nothing else to say. He hated apologizing to her--he still thought of her as a bit of a psychopath--but in a way, she was right. However, it wasn’t the team he didn’t trust, it was himself. If he’d had more faith in his own abilities, more faith that he could recover from losing that many poisons and still make a profit, he’d have gone out and fought with them from the start. If he’d had more faith in himself, the team wouldn’t have died. “I shouldn’t have left the twerp. I just didn’t want to see you die,” he added, hoping it didn’t come off as an excuse.

“If there is a next time, see that you don’t,” she answered coldly. “I understand that life and death have no meaning for you newcomers, so perhaps you just don’t get it. As soon as we’re out of here, you can go find those people and gloat about being the hero. You’ll never have to worry about who you could have saved if you had the power to do it from the beginning, and you’ll never have to worry about who might have been killed because you abandoned your duty.”

Eliza’s was cut off by the sound of footsteps charging up the stairs they were still descending. “No chance it’s room service?” Locke laughed as he pulled out his hammer.

“Room service?” Eliza asked, readying her own weapons.

“It’s . . . uhh . . .” Locke hesitated. If I try to explain this, how many other things will I have to explain, too? I’m not going to have to talk about hotels, bellboys . . . You know what? “Never mind.” It was a lot easier to just dismiss the question outright than to try and talk about the real world to an NPC. Unfortunately, her continued ignorance meant he wouldn’t be able to make any corny jokes like ‘they better not expect a tip’ or ‘here’s my version of turn down service.’

As the footsteps drew closer, Locke instinctively went to grab one of the vitality debuffs, his most effective contribution to most fights, only to remember that he had burned them all killing the boss. He looked at his hammer, and then at the poisons he still had, and decided to just give his new skills and weapon a try instead. As happy as he was with the new skill, the title, and all the loot he had gotten from the boss, he was a little frustrated that there wasn’t any damage listed on Holy Finger of the Sun God. Leave it to a programmer to get lazy and not type it all out for the player. What is it with games creating skills and items and never bothering to explain how they work? He sighed. It wasn’t just this game. Most games had this problem. They’d tell you that a skill does ‘heavy’ damage, but then not specify what ‘heavy’ was. Sure, Internet communities had a habit of data mining the game to figure out what everything did and subsequently publishing the results for everyone to see, but was it really that hard to just have the programmer copy and paste the damage formula for the spell into the tooltip?

When the enemy, a fully-plated White-Wing with a mace in each hand, came into view, Locke immediately blasted him with his fancy new light beam skill before Eliza could even begin her attack. The incinerating ray of light, the instant version that he could only cast once a minute, shot through the air like a laser and pierced right through the opponent's chest, leaving a cauterized hole where his heart was.

“What in the name of the Great Lord?! Don’t tell me you had that all along!” Eliza snapped at Locke. “What else are you still holding back?”

“I . . . I just got it from the fight.” Locke wasn’t entirely sure how to explain the concept of bonus skills to Eliza. He could only imagine what type of terrible trauma it would cause someone to find out that not only were they created for the caprices of others, but that killing beings like them was often rewarded by their very creators.

I can just imagine someone like that crying out, ‘Dad! Avenge me!’ but his programmer taking a sip of his 64-ounce soda, folding his arms and replying nonchalantly, ‘I thought about it, and then I decided to give your murderer the title ‘Wimp Slayer’ instead.’ The scenario played out in Locke’s head as he thought about how horrible it would be to have one’s parents rewarding the person who murdered you. Yeah, let’s avoid that. “I think the light must have a master.” Locke went with this lie instead. “When the original master died, I gained his power.”

“So if I kill you, then I’d get that ability.” Eliza spoke slowly but confidently as she followed the logical path of Locke’s reasoning, and she gripped her sword in a manner that was far too menacing for Locke’s liking.

“Uhh . . . No, no. Surely not. It might be someone else. Yeah.” Locke stumbled on the words as he took a step back. “Wait, I think more are coming.” Locke quickly changed the topic and tried to direct her attention back to better targets for her blades.

Eliza cocked her head and listened intently, peering as best she could down the stairwell. “I don’t hear anything. Never mind, let’s cut the chatter and get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Locke answered, happy to have put the potential homicide behind him. Wait, she isn’t really the type to kill her allies, is she? She was just making a joke, right? Is she? No, she got really upset that I didn’t trust her or the others earlier, so why would someone who gets upset at that be the type to ever attack someone on her side?

For all of the murderous, TV-drama-serial-killer tendencies that he had associated with Eliza, he attributed most of them to the fact that she was living in a world where someone might go to bed one night, happy as can be, and wake up the next day with everyone they ever knew or loved dead with their heads on a pike. There was a good chance, especially in light of her previous chidings of him, that she was actually a much better person than he gave her credit for. If she lived in a world like his, in a world where murders were rarer than sharks on a beach, then she might be perfectly normal. She might even just be some average girl, fresh out of grad school, fetching coffee for her boss regardless of the fact she spent ten years learning more about the field than was even known when her superior graduated. Yeah, that’d definitely be her. He smiled to himself as he pictured her in professional business attire, running down to the local coffeehouse every few hours.

“Shy, I can feel where you’re looking, and it’s not appreciated,” Eliza snapped without even turning her head. “And you can wipe that smile off your face, too.”

Locke, who had been lost in his own thoughts as he walked behind her down the stairs, realized that he had been zoning out with his head tilted at just the right angle to make it look like he was perving. Why in the world does this keep happening to me? Locke cringed. In only one day’s time, he had already been wrongly accused of being a lecher ogling some young woman’s backside enough times to ruin him socially for life. I need to start making sure I’m looking up at the sky when I daydream. Why aren’t there any windows to stare out of like there were back in school? He pursed his lips in an effort to prevent even the possibility of smiling as he purposefully made sure to look a good foot above Eliza just to make sure there would be no misunderstanding.

Hey, Shy! I just want to let you know, I’ve talked to one of the other designers, Geoffrey, and he said that it might be possible to add in an achievement to reward your continuously-perverted eyes. We were thinking of calling it: The Gary. Just wanted to let you know!

Not you too, witch! He started off with the curse, and then he realized the implications of what she was saying. Wait, not only are you watching my every move, but you’ve also been talking about me with your coworkers? What! No! No way. She wouldn’t tell other people about me. That might get her in trouble. Relax, Locke. She’s just yanking your chain. He tried to console himself, but his worry didn’t fade. In fact, it stayed fresh in his mind until they rounded the last corner and spotted the empty room at the base of the building.

“Well, do you want to just make a break for it and hope that there’s not a mob out there waiting for us?” Eliza asked, looking back to Locke.

Locke wasn’t entirely sure if this deferment was part of the program, something born of trust, or just her assumption that he was used to scheming his way out of things, but it put him in a stressful position. After all, if something went wrong, the person who came up with the idea was always the one who was blamed.

“Hmm . . .” Locke looked around. “Maybe we should try and disguise ourselves or something before we leave. Like inside of a box or something?”

Eliza looked at Locke like he had just said the dumbest thing in the world. As soon as the words left his mouth, he already realized how stupid the idea was.

“What do you want for us to do? Just hop under a box, wait for the enemy to fill the room and hope that they don't notice the conspicuous container or check underneath it? That they’ll ignore us as we shuffle past them? Because they wouldn’t notice a giant, moving box?” Eliza’s condescension was impossible to miss.

“Umm . . . Well, I mean . . .” Locke thought quickly, doing his best to salvage both the idea and his dignity. “We could just hide in there, not moving around? If we’re good, they might run upstairs, and we can sneak past them while they’re checking to see if we’re still in that giant sky room. At the very least, we wouldn’t have to fight everyone.”

“And if they find us, how do you plan on fighting someone from inside of a box?” Eliza’s tone seemed to darken with every word.

“That’s a good point, but if we exit here, who is to say that there aren’t fifty men with bows trained at the door, all of them ready to turn us into a corpse so mangled your own mother wouldn’t be able to identify it.”

“My mother is dead.” Eliza switched from condescending to cold in one sentence. “But what other realistic option do we have?” she added after Locke’s face had already fallen faster than his self-esteem in this conversation.

“Mine too.” Locke frowned for a minute. Eliza’s icy demeanor cracked a bit, and she quickly got the conversation back on task.

“We still need an exit strategy,” she reminded Locke.

“Well, how about . . .” There were other hallways that they hadn’t taken the time to explore on the way up, and they probably led to other sections of the tower. If this place was like every other building, those rooms would have windows, and there might not be guards surrounding the entire place yet. “Let’s try one of the rooms and see if we can sneak our way out through a window. Worst case scenario, there aren’t any windows, and we can leave the door cracked so we can hear footsteps. That guy who went up by himself was likely either just a scout or some overly-eager foot soldier. There’s a good chance that he was also sent up just to see if we were still there and how many of us there still were. When he doesn’t come back right away, they’ll assume we’re still a formidable force and send up a larger party to kill us.”

“Then let’s get a move on before they decide to rush the place and find out what happened to that scout.” Eliza took a hard right and took off before he could say another word, pushing through one of the adjoining doorways.

Locke scowled as soon as they walked through the door. The room she entered was a massive library, so large that he would have expected to find it in some castle occupied by a cartoon beast who resorted to kidnapping bookish French maidens in the absence of a proper Internet-based, medieval dating system. But those libraries always had grandiose, towering windows. This one didn’t have a single tinted pane or swinging shutter. In fact, Locke couldn’t even see a source for the radiant light that seemed to dance off the shelves. It reminded him of looking up from the bottom of a swimming pool: The light was just everywhere.

“So crack the door?” Eliza asked as she looked around.

“Yeah. You listen for anyone coming, and I’ll keep looking for a way out of here,” Locke offered as he immediately went behind the bookcases. They were lined up just like one would expect in a public library, but they were far taller. The whole room was taller. By Locke’s best guess, the room itself was at least three stories, and that meant that these rows of shelves were blocking a lot from their line of sight. Even though they didn’t spot a possible exit as soon as they walked in, that didn’t mean they should give up hope right away.

“Make it quick. If they pass through, we can check the other side next.” Eliza pulled out her blades and flattened herself against the wall, her head turned toward the door and a sword ready to swing in a nice quick arc just in case anyone was foolish enough to walk in.

“Yes, ma’am.” Locke ran as quietly as he could down the rows checking every wall for any possible sign of an exit. He was about to give up hope when he noticed that there was an unusual amount of light coming out from behind a set of books halfway up on one of the shelves.

He climbed up the lower shelves, praying the entire way that the case didn’t fall over on top of him like he had seen in every sitcom ever. When he reached the row and started pulling away the books, sure enough, he found a window that was easily large enough for Eliza and Locke to fit through it at the same time. Best of all, he couldn’t spot a single guard waiting below. Yes! They probably think these windows are sealed off, so they won’t be guarding this exit at all! Locke was happy that things seemed to actually be working out for once.

He rushed back and signaled Eliza with his head, nodding for her to come and join him. “Up there,” he said, pointing to the disheveled mess off books he had pulled aside. “There is a window behind that row, and it’s not being guarded from the outside. We can easily get out of here.”

“Alright, you go first,” Eliza said.

“You don’t want to?” Locke was confused. She was usually the first one to step up and offer to take the lead without any hesitation. She knew she was a far more competent fighter than he was and that she would do the most good out in front if something went wrong.

“I know what you’re thinking, and where your eyes will be, so how about you go up first instead. You said it wasn’t guarded on the other side, right? So, it shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Eliza insisted once more.

I swear, I’m not that kind of guy! Locke wanted to protest but just harrumphed and made his way up the shelves again, crawling out the window and dropping to the ground floor.

It’s pretty clear around here . . . He looked around for something to hide behind while Eliza made her way out of the window, but there wasn’t anything immediately obvious. The alley he was currently in was completely empty, so while it was clear for the moment, he didn’t exactly feel very comfortable hanging around for longer than they had to.

Eliza didn’t bother with so much as a word as she dropped down from the window and turned to let Locke know she was ready to leave. Without needing to be prompted, the two of them managed to make quite a stealthy pair as they edged around the building, neither making so much as a single sound. Locke peered around the corner of the tower and back toward the entrance, and his suspicions were confirmed. There were at least thirty guards, and over twenty of them were armed with bows pointed right at the entrance. It wasn’t as bad as he had anticipated, but it was still more than they would have been able to handle.

“Don’t even think about saying it,” Eliza snapped in a hushed whisper.

“About saying what?” Locke pretended he didn’t know exactly what she meant. It was a game he had always played with his sister when they bantered back and forth. She would insist that something was one way, and after a quick search in an encyclopedia or online, it would clearly be the other. She’d always protest, just like Eliza, that Locke shouldn’t ‘even think about saying it,’ and Locke always enjoyed playing dumb about it. ‘Say what?’ he would respond. ‘I told you so,’ she’d clarify. At that point, he’d get to grin and finish off the teasing with ‘Don’t need to: You just did.’

Unfortunately for Locke’s rather bad sense of humor, Eliza wasn’t the type to play into those jokes as easily as Jess. She just gave him a cold look and remained silent.

Locke was at a loss for what to do next. With so many people guarding the entrance, there was good chance that someone would spot them if they tried make it down the street and back out the same way that they had originally come up. There was also an even better chance that they were going to encounter even move groups on the stairs down. He hated to admit it, but she had been right. People would be streaming in from all areas of the city and possibly even recalled from the fight going on with the Demons. Once the word got out about the fallen White-Wing leader, it was going to absolute chaos, and the Holy Alliance would have to do everything in its power to keep control of the city and the White-Wings. As for the situation they were in now, however, they had two choices: They could either double back down the alley that they were in and hope that it led to somewhere with less people or they could try and sneak across the road and duck behind one of the buildings there for cover.

After a tense moment, Eliza made the decision for him. She doubled-back down the alley, and Locke was forced to scramble to keep up with her. He may have been doing pretty well when it came to coordinating fights, but he was still a far cry from being a warrior. She was much faster than he was when she wanted to be, and all he could do was watch from behind as her lithe form sped off down the alley. Within a moment, he was also forced to watch as her bright yellow sundress disappeared around the next corner.

By the time he caught up to her, she was standing over the bodies of three dead White-Wings waiting on him. From the looks of things, she hadn’t even given them the time to draw their weapons before she sliced them apart. Their daggers were all sheathed at their sides, and there was no sign of magic having been cast. Locke shook his head in wonder, grateful for the fact that he hadn’t been the one to find them first. The effects of the fragility potions had worn off, but he still wasn’t too keen on testing his battle prowess in a three-versus-one situation.

The rest of their escape went rather smoothly. Once he figured out where they were, it was only a matter of working their way along back streets until they were able to navigate their way back toward the stairway leading down. Yet, even if they had done a good job at avoiding detection on their approach, no amount of sneaking about would be possible at the exit. The courtyard leading toward the stairwell down to the city was still packed, and the stairwell itself was guarded by two people now.

“What now?” Eliza asked, looking over at Locke as they approached the stairs down.

Locke wasn’t entirely sure what to do, and he racked his brain as he tried to come up with the proper clichéd escape tactic. He had seen more than his fair share of daring escapes in movies and other games, so when his eyes fell on two soldiers guarding an armory who clearly weren’t paying attention to anything around them, a lightbulb went off in his head. They were caught up in their conversation, talking loudly and carrying on since there wasn’t anyone else within earshot, oblivious to anything that might be going on. He had no way of knowing what they were talking about, but judging by way the female guard was laughing at something the male said, Locke knew that they were focused on each other and not their surroundings. They’re totally into each other. That’s the same laugh I always hear in movies when the guy says something so dumb no one could possibly find it entertaining, but the girl still giggles.

Eliza smacked Locke’s shoulder. “Stop staring at that girl’s assets and come up with a plan.”

“I was just thinking of one.” Locke rubbed his shoulder, pretending to be far more hurt than he actually was. “I just need to know something: Can you take care of those two without drawing any blood or getting noticed?”

“You don’t want me to kill them?” Eliza gave Locke an odd look. “A dead enemy today is a friend saved tomorrow. We should just kill them and be done with it.”

Is that really a saying? “But if they’re part of the city, and the city is forced into joining the Demon Host, does that expression still apply?” Locke tried to work his way around it.

“Whatever.” Eliza replied curtly as she readied herself to make a dash towards the two.

“Wait! Hold on. After you’re done, just check the building and make sure that no one is inside. If someone is, knock them out and pull the other bodies inside.” Locke kept glancing around to make sure that no one had spotted them or was coming their way.

Eliza nodded once to indicated that she understood the plan and then practically vanished as she made her move. She approached the guards like a black cat sneaking up on a dove at night, and it was only a matter of seconds before she had clubbed both of the guards on the back of the head with her sword hilt. She was so fast that the female guard’s laughter was cut off mid-chuckle. Warrior might not have been the right profession for her. Thief or assassin would have been better.

Locke watched in wonder as she gently propped the unconscious victims against the wall, snuck into the building and exited a minute later to pull the victims inside. Locke followed her into the armory and found Eliza laying out five bodies next to a row of bows on the wall. He had expected there to be a guard stationed inside as well, but not three of them.

“So now what?” Eliza asked, pointing at the bodies.

“Well, now we just take off their clothes,” Locke answered as he began pulling the shoes off one of the guards. He was about Locke’s size and probably the best fit for what Locke had in mind.

She eyed him skeptically and said, “There is something seriously wrong with you. Do you think any woman is ever going to be interested in you if you act like such a deviant all the time? I can’t believe you’re going to waste even more time during an escape from an enemy stronghold just to satiate your prurient interests.”

“If that were the case, why would I be undressing the male?”

“You seemed to gravitate towards a rather male Minotaur earlier,” Eliza noted as she managed to both literally and figuratively look down on Locke.

“If you thought that, then why have you been insinuating I’m staring at women all day?” Locke was so confused. Is she just throwing out accusations until one sticks? Locke was starting to wonder if, beneath her incredibly visible contempt, she might just be teasing him.

“I never know what to anticipate from your kind . . .” Eliza shrugged dismissively without finishing her thought.

“Newcomers?” Locke asked, trying to fill in the blank.

“Merchants,” she corrected, and for just a brief instant, Locke could almost swear that he saw one of her lips twitch as if she were about to smile before quickly returning to its former scowl.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? We merchants are an honorable group of people.” Locke tried to act indignant, pretending to resent a comment that would have made him laugh out loud under normal circumstances--actually laugh out loud, that is, not just the type of laughing out loud while he smiled at a computer screen.

“Hmm . . . Some merchants are. Maybe even most.” Eliza seemed to be conceding Locke’s point, but then she just turned it into another jab in his direction. “I’ll do my best not to lump all merchants in with the less-than-honorable alchemist and pervert extraordinaire.”

Locke surrendered. “Look, just take the girl into the corner and change into her clothes. We’re going to use these outfits as a disguise to get out of here.” He could probably think of at least one comeback, but he had a feeling that her icy nature would freeze any attempt to shift the blame and just make him look worse in the process. Thank God Jessica isn’t like her. I never would have made it through childhood.

Eliza shook her head in disbelief. “You really think that no one is going to notice us walking past them if we just change our clothes? Are you really going to bet our lives on such an amateur plan?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Locke asked her. “Look, all you have to do is act really confident, pretend like you belong, and people will think you do. It works all the time” --on television shows-- “where I’m from. I have seen dozens of people who got away with it.” I’ve watched at least a dozen movies where the main character pulls it off. “We’ll be fine.” I think.

“If this doesn’t work, I make sure I kill you before they get a chance to.” Eliza scowled at Locke, then looked down at the body. “Fine. Turn around and face that wall. If I even get the idea that you’re going to turn around, I’m going to stab you through the stomach and let you bleed out slowly.”

“I have to change too, though.”

“Then do it while staring at the wall.” Eliza pointed at the body Locke had only managed to take the shoes off of and then at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you going to face the wall too?” he asked, annoyed that his reputation had taken so many hits in the last day.

“No,” she snapped, “I’m going to watch you and make sure you don’t turn around or sneak a peek.”

“You’re going to watch me while I change?” Locke grumbled. It wasn’t too bad to change in a coed environment. Someone would glance every now and then, but that was never too big a deal. If they saw something, it wasn’t something that they hadn’t seen a million of on the Internet before, but to know someone was staring at you while you did it, well, Locke often found himself uncomfortable when people stared at him fully clothed. Modesty wasn’t even an issue in how awkward this was going to feel.

“Well? Get to it,” Eliza demanded impatiently. “We’re running out of time. They could search this place at any minute.”

“Fine!” Locke managed to yell while still keeping his volume down to the level of his ‘indoor voice.’ Facing the wall, he stripped the man of his armor and then put on the guard’s uniform over his own. Given that his chest wasn’t as big as the man’s, he was able to easily fit it on over the shiny new vestments that he had acquired from the boss. It wasn’t a super-comfortable fit, and the game seemed to automatically treat the outer layer as his ‘actual armor’ and disregard the stats of the armor underneath, but it worked.

When he was ready, he started to turn around to see if Eliza was done only to see a dagger whiz past him and plant itself on the wall he was looking at. “I. Will. Gut. You.” She stressed every word, and each syllable sent a new chill down Locke’s spine.

“I wasn’t looking!” he said quickly, “I just wanted to know if you were finished changing!” Locke put up his hands like the cops had just raided his house for his ultra-illegal stash of pirated movies and video games, and he was desperate not to get shot.

“Well, I am,” Eliza said back. “You’re rather slow.”

“Then why the threat?” Locke didn't even dare turn around until she said so. He wasn’t entirely sure whether she was joking or not, but he really didn’t want to end up on the floor bleeding out like a pig in a butcher’s shop.

“Because I told you what I’d do if you looked. I have to be a woman of my word.” She paused for a second and added, “But you can turn around now. We need to move. It won’t be long before someone notices that the guards out front are missing and comes to see what happened.”

“Thank you.” Locke dropped his hands and walked to the door, opening it for her in as much of an overly-gentlemanly a way as he knew how.

“You go in front and do the talking. I need to be far enough back to kill you before they do if things go wrong,” Eliza said, giving Locke her vote of confidence as the two made their way outside and toward the stairs to the city below.

“Ugh, those Human pests are at it again.” Locke overheard one of the two guards securing the stairs tell the other one as he approached, only to have the other guy motion with his head at Locke and Eliza. “I mean, it’s great to have you guys up here,” he added quickly.

“No, I totally agree. We are pests.” Locke laughed as if the comment were no big deal, but he was still a bit annoyed that the abuse seemed to be coming from all directions today. I killed a faction leader, and even the title I got, Feather Plucker, seems to be making fun of me. Why can’t I get at least one full minute of ‘Great job! You did well, Locke!’?

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just annoyed that the Holy Alliance acquisitioned so many men to search the Halls of Light for some intruders,” the guard explained. “He didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s okay. We were dragged up here for the same reason . . . just happy to be able to go back down and see the action.” Locke gave the two another smile and started down the stairs with Eliza behind him.

Only after making it halfway down the stairs did Locke let out the breath he had been holding, relieved to be done with the post-boss nonsense of an escape. And to think, we did it with only one casualty. Go-go stealth gaming and movies. After all these years, Locke finally felt like his childhood appreciation of television and video games was finally paying off. Granted, this was in a virtual world, so it didn’t technically count as paying off in the real world, but he was going to count it anyway.

“Well, you got your revenge,” Eliza spoke, finally breaking the silence as they neared the bottom of the stairs.

“You mean ruining Anthony?” Locke asked for clarification. “Yeah, I guess I did,” he answered when Eliza nodded. “Why? What’s on your mind?”

“I’m wondering the same thing about you, Shy.”

Locke suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just that he vehemently hated stairs as much as leg day at the gym. Something about the way she said his name, the topic of Anthony and the eerie silence that had preceded it made him wish that they were closer to the bottom of the dreadful staircase than they were.

He thought about multiple different responses he could give her as they continued down: ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ ‘Nothing more than getting out of here,’ or even a few silly options that might get him killed like ‘Just thinking about that view you gave me while we were changing upstairs.’ In the end, he just couldn’t settle himself on any of them, and so silence was all that remained as the two continued their way to the bottom--that is until Eliza once more shattered it.

“Shy, I have to ask. What’s your next move?”

“I thought we’d make it out of here before coming up with any new plans. I don’t really know what type of battle is waiting for us on the ground floor, but I think heading toward the tavern, regrouping, and then figuring out how to put together a defense there might be our best option.” He was almost certain he had come up with a plan earlier, or at least they had an idea, but he couldn’t remember what it was now. Everything today has been moving so fast that my brain feels like it has been stirred up and beaten around like eggs battered in cake mix. Cake mix . . . It’s been so long since I’ve had cake mix . . . He got stuck on the word and lost his feeble train of thought. A memory of the time he and his sister had managed to eat an entire cake while watching movies together, a memory from before the accident, flashed through his head.

“You’re zoning out again,” Eliza said, calling him back to the conversation. “I already figured out what the plan would be, but that’s not what I am asking. I’m asking what your next move after that is going to be.”

“Hmmm . . .” Locke was stumped, baffled by how stupefied this question left him. I always know what comes next. Back to crafting, working tirelessly to be the best in a field that will surely blow up over time? He remembered how painfully empty his inventory was at the moment. “I really haven’t thought that far ahead. I still need to get back to trading soon. Maybe opening up a shop?” he thought aloud.

“You’re not going to keep pressing the fight against the Holy Alliance? I thought you said that it was your goal to dismantle them, to end them for good.”

Locke had been expecting her to bite his head off about a lack of conviction, and he was rather taken aback by how candid and flat her tone was. It was as if she didn’t care one way or the other what he picked.

“I’d like to,” he answered honestly. “I’d really like to, but I have to make money. I still have a sister that needs it, and there are people I owe. I got my revenge, I thwarted their plans, and I have a feeling that Anthony won’t be in charge of even the latrines for much longer after his commanding officer finds out how much he botched this. Now, I think I need to get back to providing for those who depend on me.” Locke felt amiss at having to give up all the excitement, but family was more important than the game, and he knew it. Not to mention, if the game didn’t prove profitable, he’d be back to taking every odd job in existence just to make ends meet.

“You have people who depend on you?” Eliza scoffed at Locke and didn’t bother trying to hide her amusement. “Are they’re still alive? I thought you said you lost everything to the Holy Alliance?”

“For the most part, I mean. I did lose everything . . . everything I needed to take care of them.” Locke shrugged and did his best to clarify what he meant with some semantic acrobatics. “She’s fine though.” He nodded a little and bit his lip as he thought about his sister’s carefree life. Well, she’s definitely enjoying life a lot more than I am. He gave a wan smile at the thought. He spent most of his days mindlessly grinding away, and his sister was probably talking with friends over coffee like she lived in a 90s sitcom in between studying her favorite subjects.

“That has to be a sight: the greedy, self-centered merchant taking care of someone.” She meant it as a joke, but the words felt like a light jab in Locke’s ribs. “I’d like to see that someday. It might make you come off as an actually person.”

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll run into each other while having lunch at a murder spree reunion tour.” Locke tried to keep it light, but he knew his sister would never be the type to play Tiqpa, so it wasn’t something he really needed to worry about.

“I think that might be rather hard to pull off,” a voice called out snidely from just below them. Locke jerked his head around to find a full squad of the Holy Alliance’s top fighters waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Anthony was standing in front of them all, and he was wearing a devilish grin that wiggled its way underneath Locke’s skin and set him on. “You know,” he continued, “given that one of you is about to permanently disappear.”

Wow, did you rip that straight from the villain in a classic film noir spy thriller? Locke looked around at the group waiting for him. He recognized two of them right away: Sol and Sal. What in the heck are those two doing with that jerk? Locke groaned as he remembered watching Sol and Sal on the battlefront before. They were unstoppable--not on the same terms as Eliza or the Demon King, but he couldn’t really remember anyone else who could contend with the two Dryads in terms of skill. Behind him were Naga mages, a Minotaur wielding a morning star, and an archer dressed in so much black that Locke instantly felt bad for the poor wannabe ninja. The weather wasn’t particularly hot in this part of Tiqpa, but it definitely wasn’t go-out-in-all-black-to-the-point-that-the-eyes-are-the-only-visible-part-of-you cool either.

“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Sal said, looking back and forth between Locke and Eliza, “but you can either come with us peacefully, or we will be forced to kill you where you stand.”

Eliza shrugged as if it were the most uninteresting thing she had ever heard. “So be it. We’re done here, anyway.” She casually unsheathed her swords as if there was no alternative, and fighting was a foregone conclusion. She didn’t even appear to need an invitation to fight, and it was as if the concept of attempting to talk her way out of it or make a bargain never even crossed her mind.

Locke half-expected to see her lick the blade and say something cheesy like ‘I might die, but I’m taking one of you with me. So, ask yourself, do you feel lucky, punk?’ He actually kind of wished she had, given the fact that her eerie silence and hair-trigger nature left him a lot more uncomfortable than corny lines.

“Well, I guess you two have already made up your minds,” Sol said. He was just about to pull out his weapon when an idea struck Locke.

“Wait!” Locke held up both his hands like he was surrendering. “Wait a moment!”

Eliza shot him a look out of the corner of her eye that was pure disgust. It was something he would have expected from his sister if she bit into a slice of pizza expecting ham and pineapple but got ketchup on macaroni instead. “I didn’t realize you made such a habit of begging for your life,” she muttered under her breath.

“I’m not groveling. I just feel like something should go on record before I die.” Locke kept his hands in the air like a minority trying not to get shot in the 1950s during a routine traffic stop. He looked between Sal and Sol, trying to judge their reactions before he made his gambit.

“What are you talking about?” Sal asked first. “You plan on confessing to your girl before you both die?”

Is that always where your head is? On women? Locke clenched his eyes as he remembered the number of embarrassing times the two had been caught talking about less-than-chaste topics. “No, I am just going to point out that it’s not fair to say we have a decision in this when it’s already been made for us.”

“What?” Sal asked.

“Yeah, what?” Sol repeated the question.

“We wouldn’t have given you the choice if we didn’t plan on letting you actually have a say in this, but come on, we already know you’re going to fight to the death,” Sal explained.

“Well, that may be the case for me, but not for her. She’s native to the lands,” Locke continued, careful not to use the abbreviation NPC around an actual NPC. “But it wasn’t you or me who made the choice. He did.” Locke leveled out his hand and pointed at Anthony. “I just wanted that to go on the record.”

“What do you mean?” Sol asked, his curiosity kicking in, exactly as Locke had hoped.

“He’s just stalling us, Sol,” Sal said, ever the more clear-headed of the two.

“No, I’m not,” Locke insisted. “He said it himself: He’s going to get us banned one way or another. Just like how he got those other people banned that wouldn’t do what he wanted. Just like he got Locke banned.”

“What? You got Locke banned?” Sol turned to face Anthony, his usual jolly, green composition turning almost yellow as his face flushed with anger.

“Easy, Sol. These two are just messing with us. There is no way that Anthony would have gotten Locke banned,” Sal said.

“That’s not the story he had to tell,” Locke continued. “He was pretty quick to threaten having us banned for interfering with his plans and to brag about the fact that he had done it several times before. He made it pretty obvious that he did the same thing to Locke when he refused to sell his weapons at next to nothing.

“That’s not true!” Anthony exclaimed. “Who are you going to believe? Me, your commanding officer, or two enemies who just ruined our efforts to gain hold of this city?”

“Well, there is one way to find out,” Sal looked at Sol. “We can send Locke a message. If his account is banned, it’ll notify us that the person doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that. Why didn’t we think to try that earlier?” Sol nodded at Sal.

Locke gulped. If they do that . . . Will the message be forwarded to me? Or will it actually notify them? He panicked. Ash hadn’t been very clear on exactly how she had ‘fixed’ his account. She had only been clear on the fact that she didn’t want anyone working to uncover her scheme or part in saving him, and here he was, bringing up the event one more time for other people to talk about. Friendly neighborhood Ash is totally going to turn into Friendly neighborhood murderer as soon as this confrontation is over. He took a deep breath, hoping they wouldn’t test him.

“There isn’t any need to do that, guys. You just have to believe me. What would I have to gain from getting our top blacksmith banned?” Anthony suddenly seemed desperate, and it showed as he pleaded with the two Dryads. Rather than defending his case as he might have hoped, it only further painted him as the villain. He probably would have been amused to know that he wasn’t alone in hoping that no one sent a message to Locke.

“Then a test message won’t hurt anything, will it?” Sol clearly had no intention of backing down.

“What if they got him banned and are just using this to get you two to turn on the Holy Alliance?” Anthony pointed toward Locke and Eliza.

“How would they get him banned?” Sal interjected. “Why are you so insistent we don’t check? What are you hiding, Commander?”

“I’m beginning to think that their story isn’t as farfetched as it originally sounded,” Sol added. “The message couldn’t go through. The account has been banned.”

“You got Locke banned?” Sal asked in shock. His surprise quickly shifted to outrage which manifested into something physical as he threw his arms up, furious at Anthony. “You greedy little prick, Locke was our friend! He trusted us, and you reported him?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Sol stated flatly. His anger seemed to be much more tempered, but Locke had a feeling that wasn’t going to last for long. There was pure hatred in his gaze as he leveled his stare on Anthony and unsheathed his weapon.

“Look, it’s not what you think. He didn’t want to work with us. I had to . . .”

“What? Ruin his day and end his ability to play games because he didn’t pick your side? Well, now you’ve left me with little choice, too.” Sol replied. The towering Dryad popped his neck and shrugged his shoulders, entering into a combat stance just before Sal put a hand on his back.

“Easy, brother, let’s not stoop to his level. I say we report this to Lady Portia and let her decide how to handle this situation,” Sal suggested. He was trying to control Sol’s rage and stop him from acting impetuously, even though it was clear from his flushed face that his own ire had not faded one bit. “Let’s not do something rash.”

“Are you two serious? The enemy is right in front of us!” Anthony gestured at Locke and Eliza again and stamped his foot.

“Yes, he is.” Sal spit at the ground in Anthony’s direction before turning around. “And now he’s behind us. Come on, men. Let’s get out of here. I’m not fighting that scum’s battles,” Sal said as he left, Sol and the other fighters falling in line behind him.

This left only Anthony, by himself, to face off against Eliza and Locke.

“Look, we can talk this through.” Anthony took a step back, edging away from the two as Locke pulled out his blacksmith’s hammer.

“I never thought I would find someone who managed to make even Shy look brave,” Eliza laughed. She took a small, half-step forward before Locke extended an arm and stopped her. “What? Seriously?” she asked in exasperation. “Don’t tell me you want to let him live too.”

“No.” Locke shook his head as he lifted up the hammer. “No, I don’t think I do,” he said, not entirely sure what he was doing.

“Look, is it money? Is it in-game gold? I have plenty! Just let me get out of here, and it’s all yours,” Anthony pleaded. The tables had turned, and he was automatically begging for his life again, just like he had only a short while ago.

But for some reason, Locke couldn’t hear a thing. He watched Anthony’s lips move, but no words came out and no sounds registered on Locke’s ears.

“What, what are you doing?” Anthony protested as Locke started walking toward him.

“You want me to kill him for you?” Eliza asked as she watched a faint smile creep across Locke’s face as he eyed Anthony. “It shouldn’t take more than a moment.”

Chapter 10

Locke didn’t respond. He was too zoned out. This isn’t like me, some part of his brain tried to say as if it could reason with the primal half that was getting ready to fight. I don’t do this. I’m a thinker. I’m not a fighter. What am I doing? Let her kill him. His conscience struggled against a more basic instinct, a hunger, and it was losing the battle. No, the other side shot back. No, I have to go back to the boring life of a gold farmer after this. I have to repeat the same action over and over again but for less money. For much less money, thanks to him. I deserve this. I need this.

“Hey, what the heck are you thinking?” Anthony started backing up faster, eyes glued to Locke, and he didn’t realize he had pinned himself against the side of a building until after he had stumbled into it and his back was pressed against the wall. “Please don’t do this . . .” Anthony drew his own weapon but continued begging as if there were more than a single, inevitable outcome.

Locke’s weak smile broke into a full grin as he lifted the hammer and swung it in a wide-arcing haymaker at Anthony. To his credit, Anthony responded by moving his own sword in an effort to block the attack, but Locke’s blow was stronger. Instead of stopping the hammer, the momentum from Locke’s swing overpowered Anthony’s lighter weapon and pressed the blade back into his shoulder. The sword cut just deeply enough into Anthony’s armor to catch, and Locke seized the opportunity. He pulled his arms straight up and then came for a downward blow.

Unable to move his weapon to defend himself from the incoming attack in time, Anthony instead jerked his head to the side and leaned forward fast enough to intercept the incoming blow and counter with one of his own.

“What? Did you think I was going to be a pushover?” Anthony had grabbed the hammer’s handle and headbutted Locke, sending the merchant staggering backward as he struggled to keep hold of his weapon. “Without your girlfriend, you’re really useless, aren’t you?” Anthony smirked as he wrenched his sword free and swung at Locke, cutting him across the chest.

Anthony’s attack would have ripped through most leather armor, and if it wasn’t for the incredible sturdiness of Locke’s newly acquired loot, he would have been doomed. His armor held up to the attack, but Locke staggered backward again with the breath knocked out of him.

“Whatever,” Locke wheezed. He readjusted himself and prepared for another attack. “You’re still going to die here,” he bellowed as he charged in for another round.

Anthony didn’t bother to block Locke’s attack this time, and he completely ignored the wild swing as he stabbed right into the middle of Locke’s chest.

Locke was struck hard so that he could have sworn he felt the blow pierce through his body and all the way through to his back. The point had directly struck his sternum, and Locke couldn’t stop himself from doubling over coughing violently as his body tried to figure how to handle the pain.

Anthony hadn’t come out of the encounter unscathed, though. Locke’s hammer had struck a clean blow to Anthony’s shoulder, and he had been knocked sideways and forced to struggle to keep his balance. Even after weathering the hit, however, he was still standing and in better shape than Locke.

“Are you done yet?” Anthony laughed as he looked down at Locke. The Alchemist, ill-suited to melee combat, did his best to straighten back up.

Locke gritted his teeth and clutched his sternum where the blow had been received. “Not just yet,” he growled.

The problem was, Locke had no idea how to fight, and especially not with a hammer. With a sword, he could swing, stab, parry, and move from one form to another, even if not smoothly. The weight of the hammer, the way it moved . . . most of the attacks just didn’t seem feasible. An experienced user might have been able to pull them off, and an expert might even have been able to use his weapon more nimbly than anyone could ever swing a sword, but Locke wasn’t an expert. He wasn’t even average. He was just very, very familiar with how to send a hammer smashing down on stuff.

I need to give him the complete opposite of what he expects . . . something that he can’t anticipate . . . Locke rushed forward again, but he didn’t swing his hammer out in an arc this time like he had done so many times before as a blacksmith. Instead, he stabbed it out like a sword--as if the weighted head of the hammer had some magical piercing ability--and the abrupt change in tactics seemed to even things up between the two of them. Anthony instinctively raised his sword to parry the blow, and both the sword and the hammer crushed into his chest, knocking him back a few feet.

“Cute,” Anthony spat out. “Cute, but not enough.”

The swordsman lunged and thrust his blade toward Locke once more. The movement was so fast that, even though Locke saw the incoming attack and did his best to parry it, his reflexes weren’t nearly quick enough to stop Anthony’s blade. The point of his sword struck Locke dead in the center of his chest for a second time, and Locke felt like he had just been on the receiving end of a karate master’s demonstration.

Anthony pulled back and swung his blade in an arc before Locke had time to catch his breath, and Locke was forced to duck under the incoming sword, its sharp edge trimming a few strands of loose hair as it whizzed past Locke’s scalp. Without stopping, Anthony pivoted and drew the sword up in a diagonal slash aimed for Locke’s stomach. Locke was forced to stumble backwards as he tried to straighten up, and Anthony followed up with a horizontal slash that Locke barely managed to block. As soon as the sword and hammer collided, Anthony struck out with a swift kick that landed square in Locke’s gut. It was immediately apparent that the swordplay had been a feint and that Anthony had saved his energy for the kick. Locke was sent flying back a good five feet from where he had been standing before he landed on his rear.

“Without her, you really are nothing,” Anthony jeered, laughing. “I probably shouldn’t keep a pretty lady waiting, though,” he taunted, raising his sword and darting toward Locke quickly, clearly going for a finishing blow.

Realizing his situation was dire, Locke raised his hand and summoned a white-hot beam of light. The searing ray burned straight through Anthony’s shoulder, incinerating the joint where it attached to his sword arm, and Anthony stopped dead in his tracks and screamed out in agony as soon as the beam touched him. The smoking appendage clattered to the ground in front of Locke, and he quickly scampered forward and grabbed the dismembered limb.

As soon as he picked it up, an awful idea came into his head. While Anthony was still reeling from the shock of his sudden dismemberment, Locke took Anthony’s arm and proceeded to clock its former owner right across the face. Taking a note from Anthony, he clumsily chained the movement into another reverse swing and hit his humiliated foe from the other direction before kicking him to the ground.

Anthony struggled to stand back up, a task made much more difficult by the missing arm, and Locke took the opportunity to wallop him a few more times with the severed arm before reluctantly admitting to himself that it just didn’t do enough damage. Locke switched back to his hammer and brought it down on his enemy as forcefully as he could. It wasn’t the same type of strike a warrior would use, but one a blacksmith would use to strike an iron rod and bend it to his will. Steadily and deliberately, again and again, Locke pounded away at Anthony’s skull. It wasn’t until minutes later that Locke came to his senses and realized that Anthony wasn’t fighting back any longer. He stared down at his hammer, covered in blood and gore, and tried to process what had happened.

“I’m pretty sure he was dead after the second swing,” Eliza commented from somewhere behind him.

Locke looked up at her through unfocused eyes. She hadn’t moved from where he had left her at the bottom of the stairs, and she didn’t look like she cared whether or not he had just fought a life or death struggle, that he finally had the revenge he had been craving. As far as he could tell, not even a single hair was out place on her head, but then she hadn’t been the one fighting.

Locke stood up and took a deep breath as he admired his handiwork. Anthony was still dead at his feet with his head smashed like a rotten pumpkin two weeks after Halloween. He imagined that, if he had enough time and an actual ingot to use as the base, he might have been able to fashion the head into something more memorable: Skull Sword of the Pompous Jerk, perhaps. The creation might not even have to be a weapon. He could just make something ornamental, or multiple things, like bone-shaped keyrings.

“Yeah, he was,” Locke finally admitted, knowing full and well she was right.

“I’m also pretty sure that you could have just used that skill from the start and saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

I could have, but then it wouldn’t have felt right. I had to at least try to beat him with my own two hands. Locke’s sense of pride over his victory fell a bit when he remembered how he had relied on that crutch. He had wanted to beat the man to death with his skill, his own effort.  Instead, he had used a cheat: a magical power given to him by the game that had nothing to do with ability. But then again, it was a lot better to use the skill and actually win than it was to ignore it and let that stuck-up fool gloat over his corpse instead.

“You’re right there, too,” Locke answered. He still hadn’t looked up from Anthony’s remains, and he was taking his time to admire his handiwork. You really shouldn’t take pleasure in this, his conscience reminded him. The nagging sensation wouldn’t go away. He knew that it was wrong to feel so jubilant when staring at the body of a man he had just killed, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to pierce his smug satisfaction at the moment.

“And I’m pretty sure I never thought I’d come back to see Shy standing over a dead body and Eliza just standing around watching,” a voice laughed from behind the pair.

Locke turned around to see Tubal and the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade walking toward them. “Didn’t expect to see you all so soon,” Locke admitted honestly. Assuming that they hadn't changed their bind spot, he didn’t think they would have been able to reach them so quickly.

“Well, we were going to take the scenic route,” Reginald laughed and then nodded his head toward Tubal and Sparky, “but little brother and sister here wouldn’t even let us stop for coffee. On top of that, we had to work real hard and cut a swathe through the enemies at breakneck speed since they were worried we wouldn’t make it back in time to see Eliza here still alive.”

Eliza, who was now the center of attention thanks to Reginald’s explanation, just stood there, frozen in the most un-Eliza-like fashion. Locke could have sworn that she was actually going to blush, and the only sound that escaped her lips was a small “Uhh . . .”

“Now that was definitely unexpected,” Reginald chuckled, taking the attention off the suddenly-shy NPC.

Sampson shook her head at Reginald. “I swear, someone is going to kill you one of these days.”

“What?” Reginald asked, only to have the back of his head smacked by Bianca. “Wait? I didn’t do any--” Another pop made him shut up for a second before trying again. “I didn’t do anything . . . this time.”

“We probably owe you a few,” Bianca added. Then she giggled and winked at Locke when she noticed that he was watching her movements intently.

“As you can see,” Eliza began, “I didn’t need saving. I can handle myself.”

Her defense was much later than expected, but there was a good possibility that she had just saved Reginald from yet another violent blow to his cranium. It’s a good thing this is only a game. If they hit Reggie that much in real life, he’d never have a chance of finishing his undergrads, much less a shot at being a doctor. Locke felt bad for Reginald, but he still chuckled a bit at his aptitude for attracting punishment.

“I’m sure you could have,” Tubal told her, and the way he said it lacked all of the condescension a phrase like that is usually accompanied by. “Rather, I see that you did. But we wouldn’t be much of a team if we didn’t come to help either way, would we?”

Eliza raised one eyebrow just slightly as she studied Tubal for a moment. “You could learn something from them,” Eliza shot at Locke.

“Well, teamwork is about being ready and willing to do your part and to lend a hand where you’re needed. Shy knows that. But maybe I could give him a hand and teach him a few things he might not know yet --” Tubal suddenly stopped mid-sentence as he was cut off by Locke’s laughter.

“What? What’s so . . .  Oh.” Tubal shook his head as he realized why Locke was laughing. Locke had just been leaning over to pick up Anthony’s arm when Tubal had made the hand comment. “Come on,” he asked incredulously. “What are you even going to do with that?”

Well, I was getting ready to hide it out of habit so that no guards found it . . . but . . . Locke felt stupid for even thinking to do that as he looked around and realized that, even without his skirmish against Anthony, there were plenty of bodies in the town streets. Most of them were White-Wing, but Humans, as well as the other races, were definitely not off the menu. “I thought I might need it?”

“Yeah, for what? Medical experimentation? Alchemic potions? Dinner?” Reginald threw out a few random suggestions.

Dinner? That particular one caught Locke’s ear as he looked at the arm. They do say revenge is a dish best served cold. Does that mean I won’t even have to heat this up to enjoy it? He immediately felt shame at the horrible idea but still chuckled. “Well, actually” --Locke tried to think of a joke to explain away the creepiness of laughing to oneself while holding a disembodied limb-- “I was going to take the leg, too. That way I could afford rent.”

“You’re a very odd one, you know that?” Sampson said, actually laughing at Locke’s terrible joke.

“Him, odd? Speak for yourself,” Sparky said to Sampson. “There is no other girl I know who still thinks baggy cargo shorts are fashionable.”

“Come on, Sparky,” Bianca giggled, “let’s not bring up fashion. We all know that your haircut hasn’t been in style since the last time kids thought hashtag was a form of audible punctuation.”

“Hey! It’s just like your--” Sparky started, but was immediately interrupted by Tubal.

“Absolutely great haircut, which is why it makes her look sharp,” he laughed, giving Bianca the evil eye as he did.

Wait, miss knight-in-shining-armor is the type who worries about her haircut? Locke never ceased to be surprised by his new band of friends.

Even with the occasional verbal sniping of fashion or haircuts, the whole group seemed to be laughing and in good spirits. Locke usually only laughed or smiled while people said nice things --generally about the products or merchandise he was trying to move-- and this feel-good vibe while still trading derisive jabs wasn’t something he was used to. He had gotten a taste of it while he was sitting back at the bar earlier, but it still didn’t set right with him. Part of his brain kept saying: ‘This isn’t your world. Your world is work and sales. This is the world that movie directors silence so all you see is the laughing faces, probably because they can’t ever think of good jokes to write in and fill the void, but maybe, just maybe, because it’s not something you should get too close to. This is Jess’ world, not yours.’

A sister that I can’t even--

Hey again! It’s your friendly neighborhood Ash! I thought I’d let you know the good news! You didn’t lose your job. Yay! Now, you might be wondering, ‘What on earth is my amazing goddess of absolute perfection talking about? My feeble mind is incapable of jumping to conclusions and using abductive reasoning like an English detective who spends far too much time trying to separate his assistant from said assistant’s wife.’

There will be a gold market.

That’s the news. Exciting, isn’t it? It’s not coming out for a few days, and I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I couldn’t stand to watch you mope around while staring off into space like you were posing for a Christian rock album. Smile, enjoy the conversation. You’ll be able to take all the gold you earn in the game, and sell it on the soon-to-be released forum’s gold market in about a week when the patch drops. People will be able to buy and sell in-game gold with real life currency. That means you won’t have to sell your items through sketchy black market websites!

Now, you may be asking, ‘Why would they ban me for real life currency transactions if they were just going to release a gold auction later and encourage the exact same behavior?’ Well, long story short, the company running Tiqpa will receive 5% on both sides of all transactions made on the gold market. The new boss is a real demon. He is trying to penny pinch even with the players. Can you believe that?

Anyway, ignore the reasoning. Look dead ahead, smile, and enjoy the victory. Your situation won’t be nearly so dire with all the money you have right now. Heck, you might even be able to knock out those student loans for you and your sister by the end of the month. Consider this information a gift for doing such a good job at keeping me entertained. Have a nice day! =D

Locke was pumped about the possibility of being able to legitimately peddle his wares, but he froze when he reached the last line. It didn’t register immediately. After all, this legal gold market that was going to be announced soon essentially meant that he wouldn’t ever need to look for a real job. Tiqpa’s popularity was growing by leaps and bounds. Rich people who made a hundred bucks an hour would always be around and more than willing to drop twenty bucks to save themselves three hours of grinding, and people would always need potions and poisons for raids and dungeons. This was the type of cash farm he needed. He had been so enthusiastically reading the news that it took him a moment to realize exactly what Ash had said.

Even if his conscious mind didn’t catch it, however, part of his brain must have because he read the sentence at least three times over before moving to the next one. His eyes slowly grew wider, and his mouth gradually opened into an eerie vacancy like a supreme court seat on an election year. How . . . How does she know? His conscious thoughts finally caught up to the question the subconscious was already asking. How does she know about my problem? About my loans and about my sister?

“Shy, I can’t believe you!” Katherine laughed as she threw down her accusation.

“I can’t either. Man, you have an amazing talent,” Reginald complimented him, shifting his position in the makeshift social circle so that he was standing next to Locke.

“Talent? That’s like the fifth time today this pervert has zoned out while lecherously staring at some poor innocent victim’s rear end,” Sampson cried in disbelief.

“I mean, I didn’t even notice her until I followed Shy’s eyes. He’s like a bum radar!” Reginald exclaimed.

What, huh? Locke snapped out of the horror of his realization when he heard his name only to discover that he was once again staring at a woman’s backside. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Not again, he wanted to exclaim. “I wasn’t--”

“Planning on telling your buddy?” More than likely trying to twist the knife than actually agreeing with Locke’s behavior, Reginald couldn’t wipe the smile off his goat’s face as he cozied up next to Locke and joined in his stare.

“I can’t believe it’s got you even sweating. Are you that into--”

“No,” Locke raised his hands up defensively. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I got a message in game.”

“Sure,” Reginald laughed. The sly troll knew he had already dug Locke’s social grave for the moment. “An in-game message. Likely excuse.”

“Was it that bad?” Tubal asked, putting a hand on Locke’s shoulder as he did.  “If there is something that has you worried, we can take care of it as a group. We still have some time before we were planning to log off for the night.”

“Umm.” Locke gulped. No, the message itself was great, but the implication was so terrifying I kind of want to log off and burn the machine I’m using right now. “Not really. It’s just . . . I think I need to go take care of some stuff.”

“Stuff?” Eliza’s voice broke in, and her tone was more piercing than concerned, the exact opposite of Tubal’s and Reginald’s. “What could you possibly have left to take care of?” she pressed as if Locke were on trial.

“I have to get back to farming gold,” Locke answered honestly. He had slowly grown to hate the moments when he had been forced to cleverly reword something--or outright lie at times--to the people he actually liked. “This day has been a fun break, but I still have work to do.”

“Oh.” Tubal frowned at Locke, a puzzled expression on his face. “You sure you don’t want to just hang out with us for the rest of the day? We’re just going to shoot some beers at the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head until tonight when we can do it in real life at the convention.”

“What convention?” Locke kicked himself for asking. If I know, it’ll be that much harder to not attend.

“You haven’t heard about R.E.T.Con, the Revolutionary Entertainment Technologies Convention? Aside from the latest, cutting edge game stuff, it’s supposed to be the biggest cosplay event of the year. The head of Tiqpa has hired over a hundred models to represent his part of the event alone, so there is no way in Hades we are going to miss it.”

Ugh, I shouldn’t have asked. That sounds surprisingly tempting. Locke actually wanted to go. “Those are too expensive anyway,” he justified. After all, money was his key problem to begin with.

“Don't be a cheapskate, Shy. Tiqpa players get in free, so all you have to do this whole week is just use your Tiqpa ID to log into the event,” Sampson explained, cutting off another one of his excuses.

Locke sighed. Even with only one excuse left, it was the only one he needed: If I goof off and play around and have fun in real life, I won’t be the best. If I’m not the best, then I won’t be able to make enough money to support the sister and cover myself. “I’m sorry. I still have to do work stuff.”
“Shy?” Eliza asked, a full sentence and entire question wrapped into one word. Just looking at her, Locke could understand what she was trying to ask: ‘Does this mean we won’t see each other again?’ He couldn’t help but be surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again,” Locke said, preempting her question, knowing she would struggle to form it and get it out.

“Uhh . . . sure,” Eliza answered. “I was just going to ask you to hold on for a moment before you left,” she added, disappearing and leaving the group in awkward silence as they waited to see what she was doing. When she came back, she was holding the bathrobe she had worn when she and Locke first met neatly folded up in front of her. “Here.”

“Ummm?” Locke was kind of confused. Isn’t she always mad at me? Doesn’t she dislike the way I behave? Aren’t I supposed to get a lecture? It’s not like we were . . . No, to her we weren’t. To me, she was probably one of the few people I have ever even spoke in the last few years with without conducting a trade.

“I have a feeling that you might find a use for this. I noticed from the way Tubal behaved that these are apparently pretty rare. You can be one of the few newcomers to have earned one without killing a Demon . . . or joining us.”

Locke was pretty excited as he donned the bathrobe over his leather armor. No stat penalties to speed or power for wearing it. No wonder it’s the armor of choice for the Demon Host, he thought as he slipped his arms into each sleeve.

“Looks like we have another bathrobe knight!” Reginald’s cheesy joke broke the moment.

“Anyway, there are other things I need to go take care of too. Alex is going to kill me, but I think he’ll realize that this was worth it.” Eliza didn’t even wait for goodbyes as she practically vanished before their eyes.

“That woman” --Reginald shook his head-- “is all sorts of crazy.”

“You have a crush, don’t you?” Tubal giggled at Reginald.

“Yep,” Reginald admitted easily.

“Well, Shy, you can join us anytime you want,” Tubal said. “If you choose to come to the event, you’ll be able to spot us all in our all-blue attire representing the good, old Blue Phoenix Brigade. If not, well, we should definitely get together again sometime soon.”

“Though, if you do come to the event, Sampson added, “make sure to wear the proper blue. I’ll send you an in-game message detailing the hue. We can’t have our newest member not matching!”

“Thanks.” Locke gave a meek smile. “But I really do have work to get done. It’s been a real pleasure. Thanks again.” He felt worse than the time he had to break up with a girl after two months of not having any time off to hang out with her.

“Stop acting like this is the last time we’ll meet. We’ll see each other again,” Sampson said.

“Of course.” Locke nodded and then turned around and went off in the direction of the woods where he had first started his poison farming as an alchemist, feeling like he had left a part of himself behind.

Later that day, true to her word, Sampson sent the details on how to ‘match’ with the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade at the event. She even sent a copy of the blue phoenix symbol that she said was ‘optional,’ but added that she would bring an extra patch if he was coming to join them. Locke just sent back a thank-you note, apologized that he wouldn’t be able to join them and kept going through the preplanned routes he had made, harvesting flowers and making potions and poisons to sell.

Epilogue

In fact, that’s all he did for over a week: pick flowers, make concoctions and sell them on forums. He allowed himself barely half an hour to exercise in the mornings and after lunch, but other than that, he didn’t do anything that wasn’t work related. On more than one occasion, he actually cursed the fact that Tiqpa wasn’t set up to stream music inside the game; he was certain that the right jam playlist might help alleviate the tedium.

“Why?” a voice asked, piercing his concentration and grabbing his attention. But after becoming so mechanical with his actions, he didn’t even lose half a second in his harvesting.

“Eliza?” Locke recognized the voice, but still thought it might be worth confirming. He could have just turned around to see who it was, but as much as he would welcome the break from the monotony of his job, he didn’t want to fall behind on his quota. He had already run late on breakfast and lunch, so he was doing everything he could to meet his normal ordering numbers for the night time sales. “Why what?”

“Why did you leave them?” Eliza became more specific with her question. “I thought they were your friends, that you were part of their group.”

“Perhaps I still am.” Locke did his best to shrug while bent over and picking at flowers. “I just have work to do.”

“I know. I ran into Reginald two days back when I was looking for you. He said he didn’t know where you were, that you were too busy to swing by, but I might be able to find you in a field of flowers trying to find the perfect one to apologize to a jilted lover with. I didn’t realize you had a lover.” Her last sentence was much more terse than anything else she had said.

My lover? Locke snorted as he tried to contain a laugh. That dog. And she didn’t realize it was a joke? “It was a joke, Eliza.” He shook his head. “He was making fun of my profession.”

“I would have thought that the merchant part was more detestable than the alchemist part.” Eliza gave Locke one of his own patented shrugs, even going so far as to mock the way he extended his lips as she did it. “So you’ve been working.”

“I try where I can,” he nodded.

“No, it was a statement. I found you two days ago, about half an hour after I talked to Reginald. I’ve checked in on you morning, afternoon and evening, and you’re always doing the same thing. I was going to wait until you finished your work, but it doesn’t seem like you ever plan to.

“Because I have to keep at it.” He yanked the flower he was grabbing up from its roots and threw it on the ground sloppily as he stood up. Fine, it looks like I’ll just have to skip an hour of sleep later tonight, he grumbled internally as he turned to face Eliza. “Is that what you came here to ask? Yes, I have to work, and yes, the hours suck. But if I don’t . . .” he trailed off. If I don’t, the world falls apart for the only person I still have, he didn’t say. Just thinking the words stung.

“If you don’t?” Eliza leaned back against a rock and crossed her arms in a decidedly female fashion. “Then . . .?” she continued when Locke didn’t answer.

“What brings you here?” Locke shifted the subject. “Because if it’s about ending the Holy Alliance, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. The person that betrayed me doesn’t even work there, and he’s fled the continent since they issued a kill-on-sight order for him.”

“No, I’m not here for that,” Eliza said, pulling out a rather large bag of gold.

“I’m taking it by that” --Locke nodded at the gold as he sat down on the rock next to her-- “you’re not just here because you miss me?” He wasn’t exactly thrilled that she had sought him out for business --in fact it was kind of a little sad that was the reason-- but it was also a comforting enough of an idea to cause a little smile to cross his lips. He was staying on task, keeping to what he need to do and not losing sight of what mattered -- what had to matter. He was a true merchant of Tiqpa again, a man of the finest wares and growing reputation once more. Eliza’s bag of coins was a reminder of that.

“Well, let’s just say that the general and I had more than a few words once I returned. Amongst other things, I had to help explain your part in what happened. Oh, but don't worry, I assured him that you were an avaricious, self-seeking man who wouldn’t even take five minutes out of his day for his friends unless there was money to be made--much less for a stranger.”

“Of course you did.” Locke nodded to himself and looked away from her and at the flowers around the ground. The smile that had come from knowing he had made the right decision between work and life now faded into a frown. “That’s just who I am, I suppose. That’s just how everyone sees me.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Eliza said. “You had a group friends, and you blew them off the first chance you got. As soon as you had what you wanted, you cut yourself off from them and went back to ignoring everyone else completely. What other conclusion is someone supposed to arrive at when you continue to choose a life of flowers over people who actually seemed to care about you?”

“Then maybe you weren’t wrong.” Locke shrugged and then started to stand up, only to have Eliza reach out and grab his arm as soon as he began shifting his weight.

“What’s wrong with you, Shy?” She gripped his arm hard enough that it would have left a bruise if his vitality hadn’t been enhanced by additional attribute points.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just--” Locke frowned again.

“The girl. ‘She’ . . . the one you mentioned you have to take care of.” Eliza let go of his arm as she asked. “You’re doing this all for her?”

“Yeah.” Locke nodded. All of it is for her.

“Because you love her? And you would never want her to suffer?”

Eliza’s line of questioning was far more rhetorical than usual, and Locke wasn’t sure he liked it. She was generally forthright and went straight to the point in everything. “Yeah, pretty much.” What’s the point of this? If you know, then why are you going to keep prodding me about it?

“Would you ever want her to go through what you’re going through right now?” Eliza continued her Socratic interrogation. “Working hours on end, never taking a break, spending it in quiet solitude with no one to talk to?

“No, and that’s why I have to work so hard: so that my sister won’t have to.” Locke still had no clue what she was going on about, but she was right. He was wasting time. He should be returning to work and put this awkward conversation behind him so that he could focus on what he needed to do.

There was a small tug at the corners of her mouth and the hint of a scowl, about as much emotion as she ever showed, but she didn’t stop him this time. “Shy, if she loves you half as much as you love her, how do you think she’d feel knowing what you’re going through?”

She wouldn’t be happy at all, he answered silently as he returned Eliza’s weak frown. She’s right. She’s absolutely right. Locke had already known it long before Eliza had shown up today. She wasn’t the first person to have tried to tell him, but for some reason, it hit him this time. Perhaps it was just how depressed and bored he was today, but this time it stuck. All of his usual arguments dissipated before they were even made, and whatever justifications he had were out of the fight before they could even show up. So, lacking anything good to say, he just stared at her silently for a moment before he turned around and began working again.

“I rarely say this, and never before to one of you newcomers, but you’re not a bad person. You’re the type who really goes out of his way for the people he cares about. It’s just a shame you’re too selfish and stupid in other ways to let people see that. Even after those people called you a friend and fought to the death for you, you just acted like some self-serving jackass who couldn’t be bothered to so much as say hello the next day.”

“You done?” Locke said as he worked, still not even looking at her.

“No. I’m actually here on business--as I’m sure you noticed.” She hefted the bag of gold coins and the heavy clank of money inside could be heard. “This is a down payment from General Alex. I know how much you’re after gold, so I convinced him that you wouldn’t show up unless he had something to catch you’re interested with--and he did. Your meeting is scheduled with him tomorrow, an hour past noon at the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head. I’ll be around earlier if you have any questions you want to ask before he shows up.” She tossed the brown bag onto the ground beside him, and it landed with a heavy thunk.

Locke looked at the bag, momentarily chewing on his lip before reaching out and opening it to discover about as much gold as he would normally make in five days of farming. “Thank you,” he said to her. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I expect you’ll be there ahead of time.”

Locke turned to see Eliza’s concerned face. “Yeah, if you’ll be there at noon, I’ll show up at eleven,” he said as he clutched the money.

“Good. See you tomorrow, Shy. I expect you to have a drink waiting on me when I get there. Or I just might have to threaten your life for old time’s sake.” It would have clearly been a joke coming from anyone else, but Locke wasn’t so convinced.

Locke looked down at the bag as she left and couldn’t help but feel strange. This new concept of having someone else who was this concerned about him actually made him a little happy. So, it seems like I have a friend after all.

He had a feeling that the meeting was probably about the Demon Alliance wanting an exclusive contract, that Alex had probably sent her to fetch him because she already had a relationship with him, but that only explained the gold and the meeting. There was no way Locke could reason out her seeming to worry about him or the fact that she had wanted to meet him over an hour before the appointment with her boss. If it was just about potions and poisons, she’d want him to be working more, not less.

The more these types of thoughts rattled through his brain, the more Locke began to feel impulsive. He knew he was acting rash, that it wasn’t good and typical ‘Locke’ behavior, but he couldn’t help himself as he sent a quick note to Tubal: “The convention is still in town, right? When are you going to arrive, and what do I need to wear?”

He wasn’t sure if Tubal would even check his messages, especially if he was still at the convention. Or he might be having a late breakfast or an early lunch. There was no reason to expect an immediate reply, but that didn’t stop him from opening up his inbox every minute to see if there was any activity. Sure enough, on the fourth check, there was a response from Tubal:

“We’re heading to the hotel bar for lunch, the one called Hannibal’s Delicious Meats. It’s to the right of the Tiqpa booth. See you there, and make sure to wear this shade of blue if possible. Sampson will bring you a badge, so make sure your costume has a spot you don’t mind a little hot glue gun touching.”

Attached to the message was a sample hue of the color he needed to sport.

Locke immediately logged off and went to his closet and started looking for something close to that tint. Unfortunately for him, the only thing he could find in that shade was an old bathrobe a female acquaintance had given him a year after the accident. He had never really been one to wear bathrobes, but he also wasn’t one to throw anything away--especially if it might be worth something.

-----

He was almost overwhelmed with the number of people around him at the convention. Crowds weren’t normally a problem, but walking around in a blue bathrobe with only a pair of boxers underneath left him feeling embarrassed as he made his way through the mob. His reaction wasn’t due to any sort of modesty about his figure, but the fact that every one of the other attendees was in an absolutely amazing outfit. They were dressed as soldiers from hundreds of different comic books, heroes and heroines from different animes, games and movies, as every skimpy-yet-detailed fan-service girl or guy possible, and here he was just a chump in a bathrobe.

He did his best not to gawk at some of the outfits that seemed to defy physics or the ones that made him wonder how a person was inside of it as he made his way to the aforementioned restaurant to join the brigade for lunch. He was going to ignore every booth, as he was pressed for time and hated being late, but as he walked past the Tiqpa booth that was conveniently on the way to the restaurant, he couldn’t help but come to a full, stand-still stop and stare. Most of the costumes were amazing, and a lot of them made his brain itch trying to figure out how they were possible, but none of them came close this one: a perfectly representative model of Darwin, the Demon King, manning the Tiqpa booth.

Towering above everyone around him, the man looked to be almost ten feet tall with horns that were so large it looked like it would be impossible for most people’s necks to even support them as they continuously threatened to poke into the ceiling of the exhibition room. He was even wearing the trademark bathrobe with the spoon symbol that had made him so famous originally.

“You think they’re real?” a man dressed like a Jedi with a green lightsaber standing behind Locke asked his friend. “I mean, they have to be real, right? I mean, I know the horns are plastic, but they just . . . They look so realistic. You think he might have gotten them off some animal?”

“What animal has horns like that? Those are crazy,” a short girl dressed like what Locke could only assume was Velma from Scooby Doo responded.

“Well, what do you think he did for that suit? I can't even find a break between the muscle suit and his actual neck. It’s seamless,” the Jedi continued, raving about the outfit, and Locke couldn’t argue with the man’s opinion of the towering figure.

If Locke had been with anyone at the time, he probably would have been asking them the same questions as the guy behind him. Locke’s head couldn’t wrap around how the outfit worked. The legs didn’t match the proportions of someone who was on stilts, as the thighs and calves of the outfit were perfectly matched with the shins. “It’s almost like he’s the actual Demon King,” Locke said, not realizing the words had escaped his mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” The Jedi interpreted Locke’s words as him joining their conversation.

A bubblegum-chewing blonde walked up to the Demon King while this exchange was happening, whispered something in his ear and pointed at Locke.

Huh? Locke wondered as he saw it happening. The Demon King raised his chin in a sort of ‘come here’ motion toward Locke, and he was far too curious as to what this was about to even politely excuse himself from his accidental conversation with the Jedi cosplayer before he walked over.

“I see you’ve downgraded bathrobes,” the Demon King said by way of greeting, looking at the blue, slightly-frilly number Locke was sporting. Locke failed to hear the comment, however, as he was distracted by how the blonde had disappeared before he had been properly able to register she had left the Demon King’s side. The Demon King noticed Locke’s eyes looking for her and chuckled at him. “It’s disconcerting, but you get used to it. It’s like they all watched Batman and decided that disappearing mid-conversation without anyone seeing them leave was the best way to make a dramatic exit. I’m Darwin. It’s a nice to meet you.”

“Ummm . . . Hi. I’m Locke.” Locke extended his hand nervously. He didn’t like that this situation made him anxious, but every mob he had run into in Tiqpa seemed childlike when compared to the intimidating giant in front of him. The rational part of Locke’s brain kept telling him over and over again that this was just a costume, that the man in front of him was a regular guy and not a muscular, oversized demon that could probably crush Locke with one hand by accident. “Nice to meet you too.”

The demon extended his hand. “Locke? Is that the name you’re going by these days?” The giant grinned down at him.

“Well--” Locke was taken back. Wait, does he know my in-game name? No, he couldn’t. There is no way. Locke’s anxiety doubled as the giant went from both physically intimidating to unnervingly aware of Locke’s personal life. No, a lot of people who play Tiqpa have an alternate name. I’m just one of the few that didn’t. Of course his guess would usually be right.

“Don’t worry about it. I have to run. My friends are expecting to have lunch with me. I just wanted to put a face and name to the man wearing one of my old bathrobes. I’ll be seeing you.” Darwin turned around and left as two people, both red-eyed men in bathrobes with spears and shields, took his place at the Tiqpa booth.

That was so weird. Locke shook his head clear of the bizarre encounter and walked into the restaurant. He had expected it to be difficult to find the table where the rest of the gang was, especially given the fact that Tubal was the only one who had an avatar that might actually be an accurate representation of himself--unless, of course, Sampson was secretly so ugly and large that a minotaur actually suited her--but fortunately enough, he was spotted before he even had time to look.

“Shy!” A tall man, though one that seemed much shorter than he should after Locke’s encounter with Darwin, came up and put an arm on Locke’s shoulder. He was wearing a long dark pea coat, a shirt that matched the blue Locke was told to wear and had a matching solid-colored scarf wrapped around his neck. To top off his costume, he was wearing the most classically-British of deerstalker hats. “How are you, chap?! Right, right, cheerio and whatnot,” the man, whose face was so perfectly handsome as to actually be irritating, said in the most awkward and awful English accent Locke had ever heard.

“Sherlock?” Locke took a guess at the obvious costume.

“People keep asking me that, but I tell them that just because you’re a tall, handsome and intelligent guy with uncanny powers of deduction, it doesn’t mean you’re Sherlock.” The man stuck out his chest. “Most of the time, I go by the name Reginald.

Reginald? This guy? Locke felt like all the slaps upside the head were just some form of cosmic justice for poor Reginald now. There is nothing worse than an arrogant guy who actually has something to be arrogant about. Locke shook his head and then remembered that Reginald was the butt of most jokes in the Blue Phoenix Brigade. Wait, don’t tell me the others feel the same way? It’s not just that he’s immature?

“So he turned up after all?” A man dressed in a full green archer outfit with a few blue feathers sticking out of his cap for comic relief said from a table to Locke’s right. It was one of the high, round tables one usually sees at bars: tall enough for someone to stand next to, but with stools to match in case people wanted to sit.

“Tubal?” Locke guessed.

“I prefer the name Robin Hood if you don’t mind,” the archer replied in a familiar Bostonian accent and flashed a smile, showing off a full set of teeth that were a bit yellow from either coffee or cigarettes.

Locke couldn’t put much attention into checking his costume though, as on the right of him were two people each wearing full Master Chief outfits from Halo. One was yellow, and the other was blue. Don’t tell me . . . “Katherine and Bianca?” he asked, looking directly at them.

“Actually,” the Master Chief with a yellow outfit said through a voice modulator. “I’m Spartan, he’s Chief,” the voice finished, patting the blue Master Chief.

So . . . I’m never going to find out, am I? he sighed.

“It really is just better to think of them as both dudes . . . or both girls,” Reginald whispered in his ear as if he could perfectly read Locke’s thoughts, but loud enough so that the group could hear him.

“Psh, whatever gender they are, at least they aren’t total d--” a short Asian girl in blue overalls with a big, fake moustache and a southern accent started before being cut off by a loud thud.

“Language,” said a brown-haired woman dressed in a sort of space cowboy outfit, complete with the gun she slammed on the table as she chastised her companion. “Now listen here, y’all,” the woman said in a terrible impression of southern and Midwestern put together that barely covered the true accent she shared with Tubal and made Reginald’s earlier attempts at British sound passable, “despite the pervasive distribution of alcohol, this here is a family establishment. A family establishment with beer, mind you, but still a good place meant for good folk, and I will not have y’all ruin it with bad language or talk about his or her hoo-hahs. You hear me?”

“So you’re Sampson.” Locke looked at the Asian dressed like a farmer. “And you must be Sparky,” he added as he looked over at the gun-toting girl with a sheriff's badge on her holstered vest. Between her serious tone, undisguisable accent and process of elimination, it was clear that this one had to be Sparky.

“You call me by a dog’s name again, boy, and I’ll make you so holey they’ll think you was a preacher man on Sunday. You get my drift, son?”

“Yes, but umm . . . what do I call you, then?” Locke’s eyes darted to Tubal as he asked this, remembering that it was Tubal who had first introduced the two of them, or rather introduced all of them.

“Don’t be rude in front of a law officer. Look right at me when you’re talking to me,” Sparky called out, drawing his attention back to her. She started staring him down as she leaned in from the other side of the table to where he sat down and said, “My name is Space Marshal Rem Striker, and don’t you forget it. Though if you must call me by a shortened name, I’ll settle for Rem or Marshal, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Locke said.

“She’s so hot when she talks like that,” Reginald managed to whisper, this time well enough that no one heard him.

“Yeah,” Locke mouthed. “I’m, umm, sorry. I just was trying to put faces with the names. Didn't mean to be rude.”

“Oh, she’s just mad at you for leaving so abruptly and not saying anything for a week. We thought we’d never see you again, and Sparky doesn’t take abandonment from cute guys well,” Tubal laughed as he put a hand up to adjust his hat.

“Oh, now he’s cute?” the little Asian woman asked.

“Isn’t that what you said earlier, too?” Tubal returned her question.

“Don’t let it get to your head. They think every new guy in the group is cute. They even said I was good looking when we first met.” Reginald laughed, and his grin reminded Locke of the joker in a deck of cards as he sat down. Then, returning to his British voice, he added, “I deduce that these ladies have a job that has them looking at computer screens more than male faces.” He puffed his pipe a few times for effect.

You, not handsome? Freaking Adonis, what the heck does that make me? Locke made a mental note to never take Reginald as a wingman in the future.

“I reckon this is why people hit you on the back of the head so much,” Rem Striker said, pulling out a case of what appeared to be cigarettes at first, but upon closer inspection as Rem removed one of the long, white sticks, were clearly candies shaped to look exactly like the genuine article. She proceeded to put one in her mouth and take a long fake drag like it was the real deal before chasing it with water--as if the water was a glass of scotch.

“I just always assumed the hitting had to do with his face.” Tubal obviously shared Locke’s sentiment. “And the fact he still doesn’t believe the year we met I was in a relationship.”

“You told me you were dating a vegan. I simply said it’s not possible. I’ve never met her-bivore.”

“It’s the dad jokes that make me hit him. The first time we met he told me he used to love making calendars at work, but that they fired him after he took a few days off,” the fake-moustachioed girl said.

Locke laughed at each of the two puns, drawing him no small amount of ire from the two women ragging on Reginald. “What? They were good.”

“Look, I have a lot of problems, like puns or my fear of stairs. But I promise you I’m taking steps to avoid them,” Reginald said, laughing at his own pun even as he was telling it.

Locke did his best not to laugh, but a chuckle still came out. He never understood why some people hated corny jokes so much.

“I still have a gun,” Rem said, picking her pistol up half an inch off the table before slamming it back down.

Locke threw up his hands. “Hey, I can’t help laughing. He’s the one cracking the jokes,” he said defensively.

“Oh, relax. Rem is always strict, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Tubal patted his sister on the back again. “She’s harmless.”

“You say that, but my poor heart, she breaks it over and over again,” Reginald clutched his chest and feigned a heart attack.

“Give it a rest. Ya hit on every girl you meet,” the little farmer girl said. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you’re here, Shy. Will we be seeing more of you, or is this just a one-time thing, or are you going to be joining our team?”

Locke wasn’t actually sure what the answer would be. This big shot Eliza was introducing him to might end up requiring him to do even more work than he was doing before, but pay him enough to make it worthwhile, or he might just have small orders that would simply pay enough for him to eat, take care of his sister, pay his debts and have a little fun on the side. “Maybe . . . I can’t say for sure,” he started off honestly, but when the farmer girl’s expression soured, he quickly added, “but I know I’ll be free for breakfast tomorrow . . . if you’d like?”

“Wow,” Reginald and Tubal responded in unison as the girl’s mouth opened in shock.

“I’ve heard of straight shooting in my day” --Rem nodded at Locke-- “But that takes the cake. Man knows what he wants and goes right after it.”

The two Master Chiefs just joined in on Rem’s nodding.

“I mean, maybe we could . . . Umm . . . maybe we can put that off until we get to know each other first? Maybe grab a cup of tea sometime in the future before we go there?” the short girl’s pale Asian skin flushed, and she bit her lip as she answered.

Locke, who had felt like he was on the defensive since the moment he joined the table mostly thanks to Reginald’s antics, started to realize the implications of what he had just asked. He was about to explain that he just meant that the only time he knew for certain that he was free was tomorrow and that he didn’t have any ulterior motives, but he wasn’t sure how to say that. “Tea sometime sounds great,” Locke responded somewhat sheepishly.

“Shy, I have to say I’m really impressed. Here I thought you’d ask whatever her name was first, but I definitely mistook your character.” Reginald gave Locke a congratulatory pat on the back too. “You got a date without even knowing it.”

“It’s not a date. It’s just tea sometime!” the girl said defensively and then giggled at the preposterousness of the situation. “Oh, that’s right, I’m Bo-ram.”

“I’m Locke,” Locke said, finally telling his new friends his actual name. He knew he could trust them well enough not to worry about one of them saying something in the game. “But I’d still prefer to be called Shy in the game if that’s okay.”

“Wait, Locke? Like Locke the blacksmith?” Tubal asked as he leaned in, curiosity even more piqued by this than his friend getting accidentally asked out.

“Yeah, that’s a long story,” Locke answered with a shrug and then changed the topic. “It’s nice to finally meet you guys. It’s also nice to go out for something non-work-related. I think this is the first time I’ve gone out for drinks and a bite since . . .” Locke struggled to remember when the last time he went out.

“Since last year’s convention?” Tubal took a stab at when it might have been before Locke could come up with an honest answer.

“Since before the deer purge?” Rem joined in on the game.

Is that something they do often? Locke wondered.

“No, wait! I got it! It’s the first time you’ve been out since they came out with that stupid app, Three Pic?”

“Three pick?” Locke feigned ignorance on the subject. He knew exactly what it was and absolutely hated it. Who could really tell any meaningful story in three quick pics and an editing tool. Locke grumbled to himself at the thought of the app, but even he had to admit it was still better than those idiotic five-second videos that seemed to bring out the silly or the stupid in people.

“Oh, man, it really has been a while for him,” Reginald said with a laugh as he raised his hand and caught the attention of a nearby server. “Alright, first round is on me!”

“Don’t expect me to pick up round two, mister rich,” Tubal said while finishing his drink of what looked to Locke to be nothing more than a coke.

“Does anyone ever?” Sampson, or Bo-ram, as she was apparently called in real life, gave Tubal a cold look.

“Hey!” Tubal started a rebuttal, then just shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted, the whole table chuckling.

When the server came over, dressed in what looked like a tuxedo to match a host club from an anime, he ignored Reginald and went straight to Locke, whom he handed an exotic-looking martini. “Sir, the lady at the bar has requested I bring this to you on her behalf.” The server gave a slight bow as he passed over the drink, like it was the most delicate flower in the garden. Locke, feeling socially obligated to return the bow, started to lean his head forward, and the tuxedo-wearing servant whispered in his ear: “She tipped very well, so please at least say hello to her on my behalf.”

“Got it,” Locke replied with a nod. He had worked enough jobs to know that an actual tipping client wasn’t the type a server could afford to offend, and knowing financial pain himself, he didn’t want to be the cause of that trouble for the poor guy who was definitely working hard for his dollar.

“Thank you.” The server smiled and then turned to Reginald to take drink orders.

While Reginald rattled off the drinks, Locke looked over at the girl the server had pointed out. He instantly felt that he recognized something about her. That, that can’t be . . . he mouthed as he looked in her direction. “I think I know her,” Locke said out loud as his mind started matching images of people he was familiar with.

“Don’t tell me you recognize her just by her backside?” the first Master Chief asked.

“I think that’s exactly what he is saying right now,” the other one responded.

“This man’s eyes must be continuously drawn to women’s posteriors. He clearly has a passion for the gluteus muscles. I deduce that given Bo-ram’s real-life physique, he may want to consider asking a different woman out in the future,” Reginald said with a snobby Sherlock impression.

“What are you trying--” Bo-ram started angrily, but Locke interrupted her.

“Reginald, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” Locke said to his friend. “For a smart guy, you should know you never insult a pretty woman. It never turns out well. But this girl did buy me a drink, so it’d be rude if I didn’t at least thank her for it. Be right back,” he added hastily, excusing himself before the bloodbath started. He didn’t know how violent Bo-ram was in real life, but she did pick a Minotaur as her character when signing up for Tiqpa, so there was that.

“Hello.” Locke flashed the best charming smile he could as he approached the woman the server had pointed out. “I just came over to say thanks for the drink. I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks for the drink, but not the view?” the girl laughed, taking a sip of her own drink.

“Excuse me?” Locke asked, but he had a feeling he knew exactly what she was referring to. At the moment, though, he was still doing his best to put the puzzle of who she was together. She obviously knew him. Otherwise, that drink would have gone to Reginald, not him. Black hair, red eyes, nice . . .

“The view, or were you going to tell some silly lie like you were just birdwatching?” she laughed. “We both know you’re not an ornithologist.”

Birdwatching? Where have I heard that before? Wait, isn’t that what Sal and Sol and I used as an excuse when we got caught staring at a woman’s rear end? “I’m certainly not,” Locke admitted. “I apologize if it seemed like I was staring. I just thought I recognized you, and you did buy me a drink, so I was trying to figure out who you were . . . which I’m still stumped by.

“I only bought you a drink because it just didn’t seem right for our friendly neighborhood alchemist to be short a concoction.” Her grin grew as she took another sip.

“Wait, friendly neigh-- Your name isn’t Ash, by any chance, is it?” Locke had to ask.

“No.” She put down her own drink and extended her hand daintily. “My name is Kass. What about you, handsome? Or do I have to buy another drink for that?”

“No, I think the view was plenty enough to pay your debt,” he laughed, trying to make light of being caught. “I’m Locke, and thanks again for the drink.”

“Locke? Well, you sure aren’t shy, admitting so freely to your eye’s interest.” She laughed and took another sip of her drink, the beverage nearly empty now.

“So, do you, uhh . . . come here often?” He wasn’t sure how to make polite conversation with a girl--it had been a long enough time--but he had heard that line enough that he thought it might work.

“Here? Often? No. You could say I’m usually always working, making sure my minions do as they’re told. You’d be surprised how hard it is to take care of a good team of minions, particularly one specific minion.”

Locke might have had his doubts earlier, but he was certain now. This Kass was definitely Persephone, or Ash, or whoever she really was. Locke added all the clues together--the minion talk, Ash’s usual introduction, Persephone’s familiar ‘attributes,’ the birdwatching reference--and couldn’t help being a bit wide-eyed at the revelation, but he kept up the banter as best he could. “And here I thought it’d be more annoying trying to avoid a creepy boss like Gary.”

“That it is, Shy. That it is.” Her grin flattened out like a depressed musical note. “But when a minion disappears after I go through such lengths to make sure he is well taken care of, and his sister is taken care of . . . Well that just leaves a lady downright ornery. I mean, we did a little bit . . . but there is a lot left to accomplish, and you just up and leave to go work on your personal projects like I never even mattered.”

“I’m pretty sure I did enough advertising for you, didn’t I? Shouldn’t the Alchemist class be booming by now?”

“You really haven’t noticed? There are no other Alchemists, Locke. I thought you would have figured out why by now. I thought you’d have understood more about Tiqpa too. Or did you never watch your surroundings, pay attention to your busty companion as you murdered your way through problem after problem with her?” She shook her head. “Look, I’ve only come here to let you know that I’ll be contacting you after your lunch tomorrow. Do not disappoint me.” Her amicable expression, which had entirely faded, returned instantly.

Locke was in a stupor from the revelations she had just dumped on him, and all he could do was stare at her in silence. A deer caught in the headlights was the type of expression that wouldn’t do justice to his mute shock at all--which was only made worse as she leaned in, as if to whisper something in his ear, and instead slipped something into the external pocket on his robe while kissing his cheek.

“Just a little something for you and a little something to leave her jealous,” she said as she stood up. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave nice and slow so that you can enjoy it. I know how much you like to stare, and I am a good master to my minions,” she purred with a laugh before turning to walk out of the bar swaying her hips as deliberately as possible.

What. The. Heck? Locke did his best to collect himself as quickly as he could, but he still sat where he was for a few minutes after she had left before returning to the table where Reginald and the rest of them were having drinks. Thankfully, he found a tall beer waiting on him. Half of him wanted to immediately reach into his pocket and see what the note was, but the other wanted to wait until he was alone later so that there wouldn’t be any prying eyes. The latter half won.

“Now why on earth did you blow that girl off?” Reginald asked as Locke sat down in the chair next to him. “I mean, she was clearly into you, and she had your favorite property. What gives?”

“Clearly he isn’t the type to shoot random bullets,” Sparky, or Rem as she wanted to go by here, said while twirling her toy gun. “He already knew he had himself a little miss a-waitin’ back home, so he cleaned up the deed rather politely and returned to where he belonged.”

“That goodbye kiss must have been something. Took him quite a while to stand up,” the yellow Master Chief said, and then gave a weird laugh that the voice changer turned into something even funnier than she, or he, had just said.

“That’s the truth,” Tubal said as he raised his cup. “How about we give a nice toast? To the newest member of the Blue Phoenix Brigade. Cheers!” he said, clinking his glass to the others as they all downed their beverages.

For the rest of the afternoon, and on into the night, the group enjoyed their meal, laughed and teased each other, and went from booth to booth admiring every costume that walked past them. It was a fun day for Locke, and even though it was entirely out of character for him, and the curiosity was definitely there, he couldn’t help but keep his hand out of his bathrobe pocket and off the envelope Kass had given him. After all, for all Locke knew, opening that note might spell opportunity, the chance to plan ahead, prepare for new business, work harder and longer and get even further ahead--but as much as Locke was one to leap at such possibilities, looking at Kass’ parting gift would likely put an end to the good thing he had going on right at that moment. So, in the end, for that day at least, he did his best to ignore the envelope--it could wait, after all--and just enjoyed the drinks and laughs with his new friends.

Bonus Chapter: Memories of Eliza

Eliza pulled up hard on the reins of her Blue-Drake and felt it fight against her. The massive, winged beast was willing to let her climb aboard its back and carry her as a passenger, but the prospect of responding to every nuanced flick of her heels or tug of the reins with a battle raging around them was still beyond its capabilities. It was newly spawned, skittish by nature and had proven itself to be far too green and untrained to be pressed into service. The sound of mages’ fireballs as they hissed past and exploded in the sky above them had set it on edge at the beginning of the battle, and she had been forced to spend as much time preventing the mount from fleeing the engagement outright as she had spent actually fighting.

She wrapped the stiff leather around the palm of her left hand in order to get a better grip and jerked upwards on the reins as hard as she could with both hands. She felt the thick, corded muscles underneath its wings tighten under her command and the rush of air surge around her as the serpent finally responded to her commands.

“By the name of the Great Lord . . .” Eliza muttered, stopping just short of actually cursing the foul beast. She had managed to regain control before it reached its intended target, a cluster of well-protected mages in the enemy’s backline, but not before completely breaking formation and leaving the ranks of her own comrades far behind.

The sergeant is going to kill me for this. Eliza cringed at the thought as memories flickered through her mind of the first time she had seen one of the other soldiers disciplined for failing to perform his duty admirably during battle. Poor Edward had been dressed down in front of the entire army and hundreds of the newcomers for failing to kill more than one hundred and eighteen people during the siege of Mt. Lawlheima by War General Alex himself. Not only was he shamed by having his failure put on display for all to see, he was busted back to training maneuvers. The message was clear, and everyone present had easily picked up on it: Either perform to the Great Lord’s expectations or suffer the consequences. Ever since then, discipline within the ranks had been nearly flawless.

Eliza felt a small thread of panic threaten to race through her, and she almost shuddered as she briefly considered what her punishment would be if she was caught this far away from her assigned squadron. No. Not now. Focus on the fight. There is no room for fear on the battlefield, and I don’t have time to think about what might come later. Maybe I can still save this somehow. She pushed those concerns out of her head and forced down the feeling before it could take root and overwhelm her.

She pulled up on the reins again, and her Blue-Drake responded with furious flaps of its wings as it flew further upwards. When she finally reached what she felt like was a safe height, she leaned forward from where she sat astride the beast and craned her neck until she could peer down at the enemy’s formation below her. Nothing she saw indicated that The Holy Alliance was using any tactic similar to what they had during their previous few engagements.

Quietly whispered doubts had wormed their way through the encamped army the night before when scouts returned with their reconnaissance of the enemy’s position just before dusk and were sequestered in with the commanding officers until well after midnight. Typically, those meetings lasted only a short amount of time as they quickly gave their reports and were dismissed. The unusual length of time it took to deliver the information had raised more than a few eyebrows in curiosity and set tongues to wagging. The murmurs were quickly silenced by commanding officers, and, despite a few remaining naysayers, morale had remained at an all-time high. The Great Lord’s army had never been defeated in battle, and there was no reason to believe that today would be any different.

Looking down at the battle below her, however, Eliza had more than enough reason to believe that those few voices may have raised legitimate concerns. The Holy Alliance had fortified its position at the southern end of a mountain range and occupied the mouth of a small canyon that served as the entrance to the only pass that allowed easy access into the chain of mountains. The sheer cliffs to the east and west prevented them from being attacked from any direction other than a direct, frontal assault, and control of the pass ensured that they never had to worry about a force flanking them.

Ground troops were deployed in long, fan-shaped formations around the mouth of the canyon, and they were forcing the Demon army to fight into a fortified position with an elongated front line. Bulwarks and palisades had been erected, providing the defenders an additional advantage, and, so far, they were proving their worth as the advancing army struggled to overtake them. If the front lines crumbled, and the defenses were lost, Eliza guessed that they would slowly retreat backward, swap out with reserves, and move back through the pass.  If the Demon army wanted to press the attack, they would then be forced to fight along a narrowed front and under fire from above.

Clusters of magicians and archers were stationed just inside the canyon, along the sloping terrain that led up to the canyon’s vertical walls, where they could safely lob volleys of arrows and spells at the Demon army as it approached. These small groups were the key to The Holy Alliance’s defense against the advance of the Great Lord’s forces. They were the primary defense against attacks from the Blue-Drake squadrons, the first to launch attacks into advancing troops at the onset of battle, and would provide cover for ground troops if they had to retreat.

Constant barrages from the air in previous battles had taught the enemy the importance of protecting their soft, high-damage backline. As long as their casters and bowmen were in position and protected, they were fairly successful at both preventing the Drakes from engaging from above and controlling the flow of battle. As it was, they were perfectly positioned. The walls of the canyon forced the Drake squadrons to attack from either directly above or into the mouth of the canyon and expose themselves to constant ranged attacks from below.

Eliza applied pressure with her legs, and thankfully, her mount responded with only a small amount of resistance as it turned back towards her own lines. It was clearly uncomfortable with even being this close to the source of the enemy attacks, and she knew that if she gave any headway, it would probably resume its dive headfirst towards the closest group of spell casters. Its natural instincts told it to attack anything it perceived as a threat, and a well-placed salvo of explosions from a group below had been more than enough to catch its attention and cause it to break away from the rest of her squadron in an attempt to attack them.  Older, battle-tested mounts didn’t have that problem. After a few engagements and some careful training, they were usually more than complacent in following their rider’s commands on the battlefield. They become as used to the violence and death as we are, she thought wryly.

She was no tactician, but she had been in more than her fair share of fights. She was often in the vanguard on the frontlines, right in the thick of the fighting, and she had as much combat experience as any other soldier in the army. Perhaps it was because she sat so high above the battle, so far removed from the chaos and action, but the outcome of this battle seemed obvious if something didn’t change: They were going to lose. Even from her great distance above the ground, she could tell that the fight along the frontline had degraded from an organized effort into a brawl as soldiers fought to overtake the defenders’ position. Even if they somehow managed to push the defending line back and forced them to abandon their fortifications, it was going to be far too costly. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the death tally was going to look like just from attempting to storm those palisades.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that the Great Lord insisted on using the new ones and their strange new abilities, after all, she thought wryly. Up until this moment, she had been as opposed as anyone else to opening up their ranks to the crops of newcomers that had mysteriously shown up. These strangers to her world seemed to just show up randomly one day and never leave. They hailed from any and every race around the world that she had ever heard of, as well as a few she hadn’t, and they all seemed to possess some strange predisposition towards violence and destruction. They held no regard for any of the rules and customs that governed towns or societies, and chaos seemed to follow them wherever they went. They acted as they pleased, took what they wanted as if they were entitled to it and never gave a second thought to anyone other than themselves or their own goals.

Most mysteriously, the finality of death didn’t seem to apply to them. She saw men that she had slain on the battlefield reappear time and time again in different battles. They carried their weapons and waged war as if they were still among the living. But that was impossible.  She had experienced more than enough death in her life to know its look, its touch and its feel.  She knew what it felt like to kill someone, to know they were dead. But the newcomers just kept coming back.

The Great Lord had been the first to suggest harnessing that power for the Demon cause. Naturally, not a single Demon was keen on the idea. The Great Lord had rescued them from destruction. He had saved them from a terrible fate at the hands of these senseless and murderous newcomers and lifted them up from the ashes of a ruined life. They had chosen to follow him and pledged both their lives and loyalty to him. Surely, his great strength and wisdom, his prowess on the battlefield, and his determination were more than enough when combined with their own strength to defeat any foe that came before them. Demons detested the idea of having to work together with the filthy, reckless newcomers. But the Great Lord willed it, and even though they didn’t understand his reasoning, they had acquiesced to his will.

Looking down at the carnage unfolding below her now, Eliza finally began to understand.  As long as the newcomers who had pledged their loyalty to the Great Lord continued to haunt the battlefield after their death, they could be of use to the cause. They could afford to carelessly throw away their lives attempting to overtake a well-defended position. The impact of the war and the death tally of her own people was much lower as long as these children were willing to throw away their lives, and that was more important than anything else. They had already lost everything once before the Great Lord appeared, and they had come close to losing it a second time. Too many of our own have already passed away at the hands of these newcomers and because of their bloodlust, their barbarism. If they are willing to die for the Great Lord’s cause, let them. They are good for nothing but war and violence anyway.

A ball of flame burst harmlessly below her, turning into a fiery explosion before fading out, but it was enough to get her Blue-Drake’s attention and break her out of her thoughts. Stop it, Eliza. You’re wasting time. The shock of the unexpected attack set her Blue-Drake further on edge, and the beast shook its head back and forth as it chomped at the bit and tried to get control away from her again. She patted its neck reassuringly in an attempt to calm it, but she knew that the nervous animal wasn’t going to quiet down anytime soon.

Eliza scanned the air, trying to find the rest of her squadron. They had been assigned to the right side of the line before her mount had taken her astray, and their orders had been to support that position with as much aerial coverage as possible. Unfortunately, the entire battle had been a test of patience and perseverance as ranged fire from the enemy’s backlines prevented them from getting anywhere close enough to do damage to the Holy Alliance’s front lines. Any time they attempted to move in close enough for an attack, the mages would train their spells on them from their position safely within the mouth of the canyon, and the squadron would be forced to turn away before they could do any damage.

At last, she spotted what looked like the right group of Drakes hanging back on the edge of the battle. They were grouping together at the moment, probably being issued a new set of commands. It was rather unusual for them to be stationary during a fight unless new orders were coming down from above. Good, she thought as she considered the situation. I don’t have to waste time chasing them down or trying to catch up to them. I can just fall in and resume the fight. Then a new idea occurred to her. Maybe someone has finally figured out a way for us to be anything other than a distraction.

Eliza pointed her mount in the right direction and leaned forward, pushing the Blue-Drake into a glide toward the spot where the small group was gathered. She felt a small bundle of nerves tense up in her midsection as the mount made the simple maneuver. Soaring through the skies was an immeasurable pleasure she never could have imaged before being accepted as one of the Drake Riders, and she was secretly thrilled at the speed, the freedom of being in the air, with every move she made. The horizon tilted up until it disappeared out of sight, and all that she could see was the battle below her grow larger as every second passed.

One of the many blessings the Demons had received from the Great Lord after they accepted his pact was a heightened sense of vision. What would have seemed blurry and distant before was now clear as day, and even as she plummeted towards the earth, the long, stretched-out lines of soldiers quickly turned from a glimmering mess of steel and dark leather armor into individual bodies writhing against one another, locked in combat. Even from her height, she could see their weapons rise and fall as they struck out at one another. She could see soldiers as they fell from a combination of blows from a sword or a spear to the gut. She could see the hood of a soldier fall back and leave his head uncovered as he rushed forward from the Holy Alliance’s secondary line to fill a gap that had formed in the forward formation.

Scanning the battle, she could clearly see the lines of soldiers. Wait . . . a hood? She jerked her gaze back to the soldier just in time to see him stumble forward over a dead body and automatically catch himself on a staff. He paused, heavily leaning on the long wooden weapon for support, and then began his route again. And a staff. This isn’t right. Eliza couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling from building inside of her this time. If the enemy is moving mages to the front line, it means that they are confident enough in their ability to protect them. Having mages this far forward means that they will have almost total control over the entire battlefield. The ground soldiers can’t even break the defensive fortifications, much less reach casters back there. The Blue-Drake squadrons will have to withdraw from the battle entirely or risk being blasted out of the air before they ever came close to their target.

I have to warn them. They can’t be allowed to move in anywhere close to . . . She buried her heels into the scaly sides of her Blue-Drake and jerked up hard on the reins in an effort to stop the beast from descending any further. She had planned on intercepting the group, not moving to where they were now, and she had to change course before she was too close to the battle. Her Drake, however, wasn’t too keen on the idea. It had already seen the source of his frustration below, and the serpent wasn’t going to let it go again without a fight. The Drake let out an ear-shattering roar and fought against her for control. It banked hard to the right, turning them parallel to the lines of combat below them, but didn’t completely stop their descent. She pulled back hard to the left on the reins again in an effort to turn the beast in the right direction, and the blasted creature responded again by letting out another mighty roar and rolling over. She felt her world shift around her as she was carried upside-down and the sky and earth swapped places in her vision.

Eliza felt the bundle of nerves that had been building in her stomach finally explode and give way into full-blown panic. She automatically squeezed her legs around the beast’s shoulders using all the strength she could muster and locked her fingers around the leathery reins. I can’t control it!

As if her mount could read her mind, the Blue-Drake rolled over once again, and with two mighty flaps of its wings, finally stopped their descent.  She could feel her stomach flip-flop a second time as the world once again righted itself. Realizing that she was back upright, a thread of hope raced through her. I can save this! She quickly gasped in a deep breath, hoping to calm her racing heart, and reached back to brush the hair that had fallen forward to cover her face.  No matter how many different ways she tried, she just wasn’t able to keep it tied back and out of the way. Some of the other women had decided to cut theirs short, but she just couldn’t bear to part with hers.

She had no sooner moved the stray locks out of her face than a fireball exploded in a fiery mass just to her left. She could feel the wave of heat wash over her and the blast left her seeing spots in the corners of her vision. Too close! I have to-- The Drake went crazy underneath her and began thrashing back and forth from side to side in the air. Eliza was left grasping hold of the reins with a single hand as the winged serpent bucked wildly. She was only vaguely aware of the second fireball as it streamed past, narrowly missing the Blue-Drake’s wings as it whooshed by and exploded just above her.

That did it. The Blue-Drake abandoned all pretext of remaining in the air or letting her regain control and dove towards the field below.

Oh shi-- Small parts of her adrenaline-filled brain began registering a host of different problems all at the same time. She had no hope of regaining control over her Blue-Drake. They were in a death spiral headed straight down towards the ground. The single mage had turned into a cluster of mages. The cluster of mages was surrounded by archers. They were all standing with bows drawn and aimed directly at her. Despite the fact that she had no idea what to do about any of these complications, she was somehow able to miraculously take them all in at the same time.

She watched fireballs streaked up towards her, hissing their promise of a scorching death along the way. She could vaguely make out the sounds of their sizzle and pop over the rush of wind filling her ears as they streaked past her and exploded in the air above. A few sporadic chunks of snow and ice joined them, but they were quickly halted after the first round and replaced by a flurry of arrows as she drew into bow range. She whizzed past them all at breakneck speed, clinging tightly to the back of her Drake for all she was worth.

Am I really going out like this? Shock and desperation flooded her thoughts as the inevitability of her situation hit her.

A large, fast-swirling vortex of blue appeared directly in front of her. It wasn’t overly large, but there was no way she was going to be able to avoid it. She had a split-second to recognize the spell for what it was and make her decision. She let go of the Drake and pushed away from it with every bit of strength she could muster. A layer of frost immediately formed against her skin and clung to her armor as she passed into the churning whirlwind.  She felt her neck snap to the side, and patches of colored light swam through her vision before the spell’s icy fingers grabbed ahold of her and jerked her into a different direction. Her body protested the sudden shift in movement and momentum, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her body was thrown around and spun about like a rag doll as the frozen current claimed her for its victim. Chunks of ice slammed into her body, pummeling against her armor, and she could feel their sharp edges rip into the exposed skin on her hands and face as she was sucked around and around.

Then it was over. The vortex disappeared as magically as it had been summoned, and she was thrown free. She was vaguely aware of her body, beaten and bruised, as it seemed to hang suspended in the air for a brief moment before returning to its downward plunge. She crashed down into a group of fighters and everything went black.

-----

“Mmm . . .” Eliza yawned and stretched, resisting the urge to open her eyes just yet. She could feel the warmth from sunlight streaming through the canopy of trees overhead, and she could hear the sounds of birds chirping in the forest. There was nothing better than taking an afternoon nap, and no place better than the small grove a short walk from town. It was the perfect place with a small babbling stream nearby that wound its slow path down the side of the mountain and lots of soft grass and moss for laying out on. She had spent many of her afternoons here lazing away the day when she was younger, and it was refreshing to be back again. Now that she was older, she had more responsibilities in town that kept her busy, and with the way that things were going with the war, there was no telling when she might have the chance to be back again.

She let out a soft sigh and finally gave in and opened her eyes.  It didn’t take but a moment for her vision to adjust to the soft light that filtered down from above as she sat up and began brushing herself off. She had a bad habit of rolling over as she slept, and experience had taught her well that small bits of trash and leaves would cling to the clothing she wore at even the smallest opportunity. She smiled as she recalled the lectures her mother had given her when she would return home without dusting herself off. ‘A young lady shouldn’t be spending her days out rolling in the leaves,’ she would say. ‘What will people think of you? It’s just not proper!’

She fished a small twig out of her long golden-brown hair that had gotten caught while she napped and idly tossed it toward the brook. It landed silently with a few small ripples and slowly began moving along with the current. Can’t I just stay here forever? she pondered. Something about the place made her feel safe and brought back memories of better days . . . days when things weren’t so rushed and confusing . . . when she still held onto dreams of living a quiet and happy life . . . but those days are probably gone now . . .

Another sigh followed, much heavier this time, as she came to her feet and inspected her dress.  Not perfect, but it’ll have to do.  She brushed her hand over the fabric a couple times to smooth out a few wrinkles and began making her way down, back toward town. Just as she was about to leave the small cluster of trees, she turned and looked back behind her, trying to take it all in. I just want to remember this, to hold on to it. Things up here were always the same: simple, quiet, and peaceful. No matter what changes went on in town, she knew that she could always count on this place remaining unchanged.

It wasn’t a long trip back to town, but she had to be careful not to waste too much time. She couldn’t get a clear glimpse of the sun through the leaves from where she was, but she had a pretty good idea that it was late in the afternoon now. She would be expected to show up for her shift at the bar before it was completely dark, and old man Peter, the bartender, was a stickler for punctuality. There wasn’t ever any real threat of her losing her job if she was late, but he wouldn’t hesitate to lecture her on how being on time meant being ten minutes early. The talks weren’t so bad, but they always turned into him talking about his son. The man was obsessed with every little thing his boy did, and the barman felt like it was his responsibility to keep everyone else informed as well.

Just as she was about to exit the woods and step onto the roadway that led up further into the mountains, she heard voices come up from below. She ducked behind one of the larger trees and watched the road, hoping that they would pass by without noticing her. I’ll never hear the end of it if someone catches me out here . . . She couldn’t make out what they were saying at first, but their voices became clearer and more distinct as they drew closer.

“. . . can’t believe how amazing this is,” a man’s voice said in wonder.

“You mean that you can’t believe how far we’re having to travel just to find something to kill?” a second answered, much more glumly than the first.

A hunting party? Heading out this late in the day? I know that things have been stretched a bit thin in town with all the new people suddenly showing up and most of the men being drafted into the legions, but why are they leaving when it’s almost dark?

“Really? It doesn’t seem like it’s that far. We only just left the town a few minutes ago.”

“How many games have you ever played where you had to actually hunt down mob spawns in the starter town? Aren’t they supposed to just spawn everywhere so that they’re easy to find?”

A hunting game? They’re hunting for sport? Not for food? Eliza crouched down behind the tree and pressed up against it. She had heard of a few people in the capital that would hunt down animals as part of some strange contest, but she never imagined that she would actually see them. Food in the capital was much easier to come by because so many people went there to trade, and from what she had heard, people never even had to leave the city to find good meat.

“It’s just a bind point, man. You know that this isn’t like anything else we’ve ever tried. It’ll take some time to get things going at first, but it will be fun after that, I promise.”

Something feels off about this . . . I can’t even understand half of what they are saying. What are ‘bind points’? Wait . . . ‘mobs’? Isn’t that what they said? They want to kill an entire herd of animals? Or . . . Eliza’s brow furrowed together as she tried to puzzle out exactly what these people were up to, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line of determination. The last thing she wanted was to be caught out here by anyone, much less two random people out looking for things to kill, but something inside her told her that she had to figure out what these people were up to. If they were somehow related to the war that was going on, she had to know.  It was rare, but not completely unheard of, for there to be traitors working for the Black-Wings.

Eliza peeked her head out from around the corner of the tree and risked a glance down the trail.  The two men were just coming around a bend in the roadway and into her line of sight. She quickly jerked her head back out of fear of being spotted, but she was astonished by what that short glimpse had shown her. There’s no way . . . Did I really see that right? She slowly snuck her head around so that she could just make them out from the corner of her vision and watched them as they worked their way up the trail.

“Yeah, well, you’d think that the devs could have been a little more considerate. Who wants to do all this work for just some noob spawns? I didn’t realize I was signing up for an Oregon Trail simulation,” the second man complained again.

The other man beside him actually threw back his head and laughed at his companion. “Are you afraid of dying from dysentery?”

She pulled her head back and stared off into the forest in front of her. These people are crazy. All thoughts of them being spies for the Black-Wings or White-Horns immediately disappeared. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t double-checked, but these two idiots were walking around in nothing but their cloth breeches. The one who had been complaining the entire time had a rudimentary bow slung over his shoulder, but she hadn’t even seen a quiver with arrows. How is someone supposed to hunt for game without arrows? What good can you even do with a bow if you don’t have something to shoot from it? The other guy with him looked to be equally as helpless and was only carrying a small short sword in addition to a tiny round shield strapped to his arm. They aren’t even wearing shoes!  What kind of hunters are these people supposed to be? She clamped her hand down over her mouth and tried her hardest to stop from giggling at how absolutely absurd it was.

“Wait, did you hear something?” the complainer asked.

Eliza’s eyes popped open wide in shock.  I didn’t make a sound, did I? She listened closely as their footsteps stopped.

“Nani?” the other responded inquisitively in a slightly high-pitched tone.

“What? I said I thought I heard something,” he repeated.

“Doko?”

“What are you even saying? Would you cut it with the Japanese already?” he asked impatiently. “Did you hear that noise?”

“Gomen, ne. What noise?”

“Somewhere over here . . .” he said, and the footsteps started coming closer.

Eliza held her breath. How did they hear that? Did I really giggle?

“I don’t think there’s anything this close to town. From what I’ve read, there should be a group of Ogres just up the way a bit. We should start hitting them fairly soon if we just keep walking a little further.”

“No, I swear I heard something,” he insisted.

I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know if they’re talking about me. Ugh. What a mess. At least I know that they aren’t spies. She peeped around the corner of the tree she was hiding behind and found herself only a few inches away from one of the two men.

“Ahh!” The man screamed and stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, quite a few steps before falling flat on his backside beside his companion.

“Eep!” Eliza immediately jumped to her feet and stared at the two men. The one who had fallen over was frantically trying to get to his feel and remove the bow from his back at the same time, not that it would have done him a lot of good without any arrows, and the other was staring at her blankly.

“Uhh . . . Hello,” she said quietly and put on the best smile she could muster.  It was embarrassing to be caught by someone while you were hiding out and listening to their conversation, even if they were really weird, and she could feel a tinge of red enter her cheeks. It didn’t help matters that they were so scantily dressed.

“H-hai,” the young man who was still on his feet responded, rubbing the back of his head and looking down at the ground.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” his friend asked, finally untangling his weapon and scrambling to his feet. He shoved his friend’s shoulder, forcing him to take a step to the side and look up.

“Nanda, yo!” he responded harshly.

“You realize that you’re not Japanese, right? That you’re American? And you know that I know that you’re American, right? Stop wasting time and get her!” he shouted and pointed at Eliza.

“What?” Eliza gasped. “No, no.” She held her hands up in front of her and took a few steps backward. Being caught was embarrassing enough, but being accosted by two barely-dressed men was something else entirely. Images of foul things flashed through her mind, and she felt her heart start to race as panic built inside of her. “I’ll just . . . I’ll just be going this way,” she said quietly and began edging her way down the hill and away from the two creeps.

“What are you doing?!” he man with the bow shouted again. “You have the sword! Don’t let her get away!”

“Wh-what? W-why?” he asked sheepishly. “You want me to attack an unarmed girl?”

“A girl? She’s clearly a mob!” he insisted.

“N-no, I don’t think so,” the other man retorted. “I r-really don’t think she is.”

“What do you mean you don’t think so? What else would she be doing out here?!”

“Maybe she’s another player.”

“She can’t be a player. Look at her name!” The man waved his bow around in circles towards Eliza as if he were circling some imaginary object only he could see.

“W-what? What do you mean? H-how can you tell?”

“They’re different. Mobs’ names are different, right?”

“H-how should I know? We haven’t even found one yet.”

“Maybe there’s a test we can perform. If you would just get it over with and kill her, we’d know for sure.”

“W-what? A-attack her? W-what if she’s another player?” He turned and looked down at the ground again, kicking a loose rock across the ground. “I don’t want to be known as a player killer on my first day . . . Maybe we could just ask her?”

“What? No, no. Just no. You can’t just ask someone whether not they’re a mob. How would you know if they’re telling the truth?”

“M-miss,” the man said without looking up. “Are you another player? Or are you a mob?”

Eliza had managed to edge her way around the two men, but she had been struck dumbfounded by the quick exchange between them. She had been standing, wide-eyed, watching them, but now began backing away slowly again. These two aren’t spies. They’re idiots. Complete loons.

The other man sighed heavily. “I just said you can’t do that. How do we know that she’ll answer honestly? I’m telling you, we have to test this!”

“Bu-but how? D-do you want to see if she floats?” he looked up at the other man questioningly.

“To see if she floats? Seriously? That old gag again? We’re trying to figure out if she’s a mob, not a witch!”

Eliza turned, lifted up the hem of her dress, and began moving down the path as quickly as she could to get away from them.

“Wait, what if she’s a quest giver?” he questioned excitedly. “I just remembered what a blue name means! It means she’s an NPC! Why else would someone be all the way up here alone? Maybe she’s a rare spawn we just stumbled across!”

Eliza wasn’t there to see it, but both of the two men had turned to look at her with eager expressions on their faces.

“Hey! Wait! She’s getting away! Why didn’t you just attack her?!” he yelled. “That could have been our first kill! Wait! And why do you always start stuttering when there’s a girl around?!”

But Eliza was gone. It wasn’t long before she reached ground that she could sprint on, and she hiked up her dress above her knees and quickly put her legs to work carrying her back to town. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest when she finally approached the large wooden gates of the town.  There were two guards out front, both of them clad in chainmail and holding spears, and one of them was just beginning to light the lanterns that hung on either side of the gate. The one watched her approach and quickly stiffened to attention, stamping the butt of his spear into the ground to alert the other that someone was approaching. They both quickly moved to block her path.

“Greetings, citizen.  What is the nature of your visit to Valcrest?” he called out to her.

“Stein,” she gasped, slowing to a stumbling walk and entering into the flickering light cast from the lanterns. It wasn’t nearly dark yet, but the illumination still helped. “There’s . . . there’s two naked men out there,” she pointed back in the direction she came from. “They’re . . . I think they’re crazy or something,” she panted, trying to get her breath back. Then the rest came out in a rush, “They’re talking about killing a bunch of people or animals or something and using nonsense words I can’t even understand and you have to stop them.”

Both of the two guards stared at her, mouths agape, then Stein said, “Oh, it’s Eliza. What are you doing outside the walls this close to night, young lady?” he demanded. “You know how dangerous it is to even leave town with this war going on, much less after dark!”

Eliza stared back at him. “But . . .”

“And shouldn’t you be getting ready to work your shift at the bar?” he asked sternly. “What are you doing dawdling around out here? Don’t tell me you’re going to blow off poor Peter. The man’s been swamped with all these new people that have been coming in lately. You know that he’s counting on you to be there!”

“But . . .”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me, young lady. You know better! You’re not a child anymore!” he scolded.

Eliza finally had a bit of her breath back, and she used it to sigh. This is how they always were. It’s just how they thought. They were good-hearted men, but duty and obligation always came first with them. They were perfect for their positions as guardsmen, and it was only by a stroke of luck that they hadn’t left for the legion with most of the other men.

Stein reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, and his face softened. “And don’t worry about those guys. They came through here a little while ago asking about camps and loot and buffs and spawns and all sorts of other nonsense. They’re two of these newcomers, and I think we can agree that they’re all a bit odd.” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and said, “Now, get to work, young miss.”

-----

Eliza smoothed her dress down as she nervously looked up and down the street. The number of people making their way into Valcrest had grown tremendously over the past few days, and there were so many unfamiliar faces now that it was hard to spot anyone that she recognized. Not even a week ago, the small town had felt so empty. Most of the men who were of fighting age had been called up into the legions and marched off to the front in order to take a position against the threat of a growing White-Horn force that was reported to be gathering there. There were also several others who had joined up voluntarily, many of whom were either too old or too young to be pressed into service, and the sudden loss had left the town feeling rather empty.

Now, however, over just a short period of time, things had shifted back in the opposite direction.  There were so many people in the village that it was hard to even navigate the streets at certain times of day. The small village she called home had never been a major thoroughfare for trade, since it was situated so far away from the capital and nestled in the mountains, and it was fairly unusual for more than a few random hunting parties or travelers to pass through at any one time. Now, however, there were dozens, if not hundreds, of new people making their way in and out of the city at almost every hour of the day. The influx of newcomers seemed to slow down in the earliest hours of morning, but other than that, the town had seemed to have become a temporary home to a booming population that no one she spoke with could ever remember seeing outside of trips to the capital.

The presence of so many strangers left her on edge. She was used to a quiet life where she knew exactly what to expect out of her daily routine. Unless someone had too much to drink in the tavern and got rowdy, there was never any cause for concern or commotion. Even then, most of the men were fairly tame compared to some of the stories she had been told, and the worst that she could expect from anyone was a few spilled beers or a displaced chair or two.

These newcomers, however, were completely unpredictable. There was no way to predict what they were going to do or say, or even how they would be dressed. They seemed to come up with the most ridiculous looking sets of armor and weapons, many of which were far too shabby or in states of disrepair to even be usable. She had even seen more than a few of them wearing strange combinations of leather and metal armor--and at the worst nothing but their smallclothes. She tried never to stare people like that--she knew that it was rude--but everyone should have sense enough to know not to mix two different armor types. The results would be a hindrance at best and deadly at the worst. There was no self-respecting woodsman she had ever met that would wear steel armor out into the forest. It would slow down their movement speed, reduce their agility, and was far too loud and clunky for hunting anything other than the largest creatures that lived far up in the peaks of the mountains. These newcomers, however, either didn’t have sense enough to know how to properly prepare for a hunt or were far too ignorant to realize their mistakes. It was just hard to believe that so many people could make such fundamental errors.

Not to say that everything was bad. Businesses everywhere in town seemed to be growing at an unprecedented rate. Business at the bar had picked up dramatically, and it was everything she could do to get finished up at work and home before the sun started coming up. These past few days she had only been able to grab a few quick hours of sleep before having to wake up and tend to her chores, and she found herself going through the day stifling yawns and rubbing at her tired, weary eyes. The smiths seemed to be sharing in her plight, and they were keeping their shops open and forges burning long into the night in order to keep up with demand for new weapons and armor. No matter how much they worked, however, there was always a line of customers outside their doors waiting for them to open up in the mornings. There was far too much work to go around with most of the men gone to the front lines, and several of them had already taken on several new apprentices just to try and keep up with the increased levels of demand.

Eliza took a deep breath and did her best to calm her nerves before she finally stepped out into the busy street. It was already late into the afternoon, and she had taken care of her chores for the day, but she wanted to be at work as early as possible. Peter had been encouraging everyone to come in as early as they wanted to help with the extra customers, and if she was lucky, she could snag a quick meal from the kitchen before the real rush hit.

Normally, if she managed to get through all of her housework this early before work, she would have a small bit of time to herself.  She had used one such opportunity to sneak off outside the walls not too long ago in hopes of finding some time alone, but the return trip and her encounter with two of the newcomers had been so awkward and nerve-wrecking that it almost hadn’t been worth it. A small shiver ran up her spine as she remembered the threats one of them had made. He had wanted to kill her! She just couldn’t believe that anyone would ever act so ghoulishly to someone they just met, let alone didn’t even know. Ever since then, she had done her best to keep her head down, stay out of the way, and be as far away from any of the newcomers as much as possible. It was impossible to completely avoid them since there were so many, and she had to serve them at the tavern, but she somehow felt more comfortable there knowing that Peter was just moments away behind the bar in case anything bad happened.

The bar was located near the center of town, just past most of the merchant’s shops, and it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get there. She took another deep breath and pulled her long braid over her shoulder to stroke it. She preferred being able to wear it down and loose, but it was far more convenient to keep it tied up and out of the way while she was at work. Plus, as an extra bonus, it gave her something to do with her hands as she made herself busy watching the back of someone’s heels as she made her way to work.

She was so busy making sure that she kept her head down and doing her best to go unnoticed that she didn’t have time to react before someone ran right into her. She caught a brief glimpse of a large man’s shoulder in the top of her vision before he slammed into her and sent her sprawling to the ground in a rather awkward and very unladylike fashion. She collapsed on her butt with an “Oof!” and a small squeak and immediately felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry!” she began, immediately looking up for the man that she had run into so that she could apologize. When she looked around, however, there was no one there. She twisted her head around trying to find him, but the man was already gone.

“Did you see that?” someone wailed. “That chick just got dropped right on her butt!”

“That was awesome!” another responded. “I can’t believe anyone could be that clumsy!”

“Hey, why don’t you learn to watch where you’re going?!” the first called out through fits of laughter.

She could hear several other people laughing at her along with those two, and she could practically feel them pointing at her as they made their jests, making her face burn that much more.  She did her best to ignore them, but it was hard. Despite her awkward landing in the middle of the street, no one had even stopped to help her. The waves of people seemed to flow around her as if she were a small island in the middle of a stream, making it all-the-more obvious exactly what had happened and calling attention to her for everyone to see.

She finally took a deep breath, pushed herself to her feet, and dusted off her dress as best she could without further embarrassing herself. She took a moment to look around one more time for whomever it was she had run into, hoping for a chance to say that she was sorry, but he was certainly gone. She couldn’t even catch sight of the people who had been laughing at her. They had seemingly disappeared, and she was able to take a small bit of solace from the fact that they hadn’t stuck around to jibe her even more.

She finished smoothing out her dress again, satisfied that she had removed as much of the dust from it as she could, pulled her hair back over her shoulder, and started back her way toward the bar again. The foot traffic grew even thicker as she made her way closer to the merchants’ stores, and she was careful this time to keep an eye out for anyone she might run into again. The whole ordeal had passed quickly, probably less than a minute for it all to occur, but she was left with a new sense of trepidation as a different realization began to set in.

Everywhere she looked, all she could see were unfamiliar faces. There wasn’t a single member of the town that she knew, no one that she had grown up with or even met before, and it left her feeling utterly alone. She was used to seeing townsfolk moving about and going about their daily business, but there wasn’t a single person that she recognized. Despite the fact that she had spent her entire life navigating the town’s streets, often running down them while playing games as a child, she was left with the strange feeling that she was in some new and unfamiliar land that she had never visited before. The buildings were still there, all dressed up with familiar painted signs and wooden fronts, but the people were all wrong.

She came to an abrupt halt as the thought struck her, growing wide-eyed and feeling a sense of panic plant itself in her belly. As soon as she stopped moving, someone immediately ran into her from behind, clipping her on the opposite shoulder this time. It wasn’t nearly as hard as it had been before, but she was still knocked forward a few steps, and she was forced to stutter-step to keep her balance and stop herself from falling over.

“Stupid NPCs,” the man muttered as he moved past her. “For all the effort they put into designing all this,” he said to someone much more loudly, “you’d think that they could at least take the time to teach them some manners.”

“Hah! Right?” someone answered back. “Everyone around here acts like a bunch of yokels who look at you like you’re stupid and can’t understand a thing that you’re saying. I was trying to figure out where a trainer was earlier . . .”

Eliza recovered her sense of balance and turned to look at the two just in time to catch a glimpse of their backs before they disappeared into the crowd. She may have felt a growing sense of anxiety before, but now it was completely displaced by utter shock. Did that really just happen? She ran forward a few brisk paces after the men before she stopped again. She spun around in a circle, scanning everything around her as she tried to figure out where they were, but the two men were already gone.  Just like before, they had disappeared before she could even get a word out, and she couldn’t so much as catch a glimpse of them. That’s the second time that someone’s practically run me over! Seriously?! They’re acting like even see me! she fumed indignantly. They plowed me over like I wasn’t even there, and they insulted me as they did it!

She sighed irritably and stamped her foot in frustration. How can someone be that barbaric and so arrogant at the same time? She unconsciously tugged her braid over her shoulder and squeezed it so tightly that her knuckles turned white before she realized what she was doing. Ugh! Teach me some manners? Really? And I suppose that he thinks he’s some type of saint as well!

“Hey, hurry up in there!”

Eliza’s attention was suddenly jerked away from her fit of venting by someone’s nagging call. She turned toward the source of the call, trying to find the voice’s owner, and realized that she had strayed closer to one of the smith’s shops in her attempts to find the two men than she had originally intended. There was a long line of people that stretched out the door, and the one who had called out was presumably the next in line to enter the shop. He was standing directly underneath the shop’s sign, a large anvil painted on a wooden board which hung above the door, and doing his best to look menacing which he was failing at, mostly due to the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything other than a dirty pair of shorts.

“Come on, man, I’d like to actually get out of town before the night’s over. I didn’t sign up for this just to stand around waiting in line all day!” he continued. “How hard is it just to buy and sell and move on?”

She scowled as she studied the man and had him pegged almost immediately, realizing that he was another one of the newcomers.

“Come on, gramps! I don’t have all day!” he called out again, this time directing his taunts to the burly blacksmith behind the shop’s counter. “How long does it take to buy and sell around here? If you can’t move any faster than this, you’ll be dead of old age before I ever even make it inside the shop!”

She could just make out the inside of the shop. Its interior was dim compared to the bright afternoon sun, but she could tell that it was almost completely filled with people. I knew that they were having trouble keeping up with demand for new weapons and armor, but now I can see why, she thought as she studied the crowd of people waiting to get inside. Tamos was of the best smiths in town, and probably one of the richest, but he was also one of the stingiest. He flat out refused to pay anything close to market value for goods, and was well known for marking up his wares at an unreasonable rate.  That said, he was also probably one of the best blacksmiths in all of the Human kingdom. Even before this influx of newcomers, people used to travel from as far away as the capital just to contract out weapons from him. He was also known for having quite a temper.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the man. The man ignored her and continued staring impatiently at the door.

“Excuse me,” she repeated a little louder, but once again she failed to get his attention.

Eliza sighed testily. Is this really how it’s going to be? Fine, then. She turned sideways and slipped past the man, pushing her way around him and into the doorway. Finally, she had his attention.

“Hey, what gives?” he demanded. “Back of the line! Wait your turn like the rest of us!” he shouted at her, despite the fact that he was only a foot away at this point.

Eliza did her best to ignore him and stood planted in the doorway with her back to him. So much for trying to keep my head down, she thought wanly. As soon as she was inside, her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmer lighting. She had originally thought that the shop was completely packed, but realized that she had been wrong once she was inside. There were only seven or eight people inside, all of which except two seemed to be perusing the racks of armor and weapons that were lined up in front of the counter. It was immediately evident that Tamos’s shop had been busy, as several of the racks sported empty spaces where wares had been sold and not yet replaced.

Eliza was mildly amused, and she couldn’t help but grin at the sight. The man was notorious for diligently running his business, and there was no way that he would let those shelves sit empty for long under normal circumstances. He took far too much pride in his work to not keep it on constant display for everyone else to see, and it must be driving him crazy to know that there were vacant, unfilled slots in the racks where his product could be on show. She looked up towards the counter, where he seemed to be engaged with two customers at the same time, and he glanced up at the exact same moment.

“I said no more customers inside!” he shouted crossly, waving a cudgeled mace menacingly. One of the two men in front of the counter had to duck to avoid having the side of his head smashed in, and Eliza’s grin widened at the sight.

“I told you,” a voice said petulantly from behind her, and Eliza felt someone grab her arm. “Get out and wait like the rest of us!”

Eliza jerked her arm away from the man’s grasp and quickly turned around, kicking him in the shin. The man tried to jump backward and avoid her well-aimed foot, but all he managed to do was bump into the next person in line behind him, and he still failed to dodge her swift kick. The man behind him was roughly pushed back and onto the ground, and the other collapsed on top of him.

“I said none of that,” Tamos boomed from across the shop. “Get out!”

Eliza turned around with a satisfied smirk and started across the shop. “It’s just me, Tamos,” she called, moving closer.

“Oh, Eliza.” His voice lost all its bluster when he realized who she was, but it was clear that he was still a far cry from placated or appeased. “If you’re looking for him, he’s not here right now. I sent him out with those other two runts to try and round up some more iron. I can’t keep the forges burning if there’s no material to work with.”

“If you would hurry up and buy these axes,” one of the two men grumbled, “you might have some iron to work with.”

Tamos turned a rueful eye on the much smaller man, but he didn’t say anything. “Come back later tonight, Eliza. He should be back by then.”

“Hey, old man,” the customer snapped, “I don’t have time for all this.  Are you going to pay a decent price for these or not?”

“Iron might be in short supply, boy,” Tamos said flatly, “but my patience is even shorter. I told you that I’d buy whatever you have, but I’m not going to pay more than two gold coins per axe.”

“But these are worth at least two gold coins and fifty silver each!” he protested.

Tamos appeared to be done with Eliza, and he had turned his attention back to the two customers that were apparently attempting to haggle with him over the prices that he was willing to pay for some of their wares. There was nothing particularly distinguishing about either of the two young men, and for all intents and purpose, they could have been just another set of customers. Eliza noticed that they were actually better armored that most of the newcomers she was used to seeing, and they were both actually wearing full sets of studded leather armor with proper bows slung over their backs.  Compared to the usual deplorable state that most of the newcomers were dressed in, these two actually could have passed for part of the town’s guard. The only telltale sign that they weren’t actually from the village was the fact that they didn’t know well enough to know that they shouldn’t ever try and haggle with Tamos. You’d have better luck trying to get a bull to jump through a series of iron hoops than you would trying to get him to pay what something was actually worth.

“Two gold coins, and that’s all that I’m willing to pay,” Tamos replied flatly.

“Come on, Sean, remember what we talked about?” the second man asked, turning to his friend.  “You’ve got to walk away from the deal or you won’t get a better price.”

The customer, apparently named Sean, picked up the axe and the cudgeled mace that were lying on the counter, turned, and walked away from Tamos. He didn’t make it more than three steps, however, before turning back around and walking right back to where he had been standing before. He laid out the axe and the mace on the counter and looked up at blacksmith.

“Hey, I’ve got some items that I’d like to sell,” he said, addressing Tamos. “Perhaps you’d like to take a look at them?”

Tamos stared at him flatly without saying a word. Eliza could tell that he was doing everything he could to maintain his professionalism and suppress his temper. After a moment, Tamos took a breath and said tensely, “I’ll pay two gold coins, and not a silver more.”

“What?” Sean asked, looking surprised. “You’re supposed to offer more after I walk away! That’s what everyone has been saying!”

“Look, boy, I’m in need of the iron, and I gave a price. I’m sticking to it,” Tamos answered.

“Maybe we should leave the shop entirely?” Sean asked, looking at his friend. “Maybe I didn’t go far enough away to reset the encounter?”

His friend just looked at him and shrugged his response. “They just said to try walking away to try and get a better price. They didn’t say anything about how far you had to go.”

Eliza watched on in a mixture of interest and confusion. These newcomers are weird. Who are ‘they?’ Tamos isn’t going to change his price, so ‘they’ must not know him at all.

Sean picked up the axe and the mace from the counter and quickly hurried across the shop. He pushed his way out of the door, where everyone else was still waiting outside, and quickly turned around and jumped back inside before anyone else could enter the building.  He strutted up to the counter, laid the axe and mace back down and asked, “I’d like to sell these, what can you offer for them?”

It took everything Eliza had not to laugh as she watched Tamos’s face turn a dark shade of red that bordered on purple. The veins bulged out in his neck, and his mouth worked its way back and forth in an unhappy scowl as if he were chewing on a tough piece of meat. After a long pause, Tamos said harshly, “Two gold coins.” His voice was gravely, and Eliza knew that he was close to losing it. Tamos may have prided himself on the quality of his work and his ability to turn a gold coin, but he was about as close to losing control of his temper as Eliza had ever seen him.

“What?! Again?!” Sean exclaimed. “Fine, fine. I give up.” He turned to his friend and threw his hands up in exasperation. “Give me the gold coins.”

Tamos grabbed the two weapons and chunked them under the counter as if they were worthless scrap. Eliza knew that he kept a large box there that he would fill up over the course of the day as customers sold him weapons and armor pieces. He would carry them into the back to be stripped apart and smelted down later after it filled up, but the average customer would never know that. For all appearances, he had just made it look like he had been adding them to a waste basket. He never took his eyes off the two young men as he pulled a coin pouch from his belt and counted out four gold coins which he plunked down with a heavy thud.

Sean scraped them off the counter and pocketed them as quickly as he could. “Well,” he said turning to his friend, “it was worth a shot.”

His friend just shrugged again as if he were apologizing for something that was out of his control. “What about the rest of them?” he asked.

“Hey,” Sean said, “I have some things to sell. You wanna take a look at them?” He pulled out two more axes, laid them down on the counter and looked up at Tamos expectantly.

“Get out!” Tamos bellowed, slamming his fist down on the counter. “Out of my shop! Now! Get out!”

“W-what?” Sean stammered. “Can he do that?” he asked, looking over at his friend.

“I said out!” Tamos shouted again. He reached underneath the counter, pulled out one of the axes that had just been sold to him, and waved it menacingly in Sean’s face. “Out!”

“I . . . I don’t . . .” Sean stammered.

Tamos began moving around the counter as if he were going to forcibly remove the man from his shop, and the two newcomers both backpedaling as quickly as they could toward the door. After a few unsteady steps, Sean backed into one of the armor racks, yelped in surprise, and nearly fell over himself as he turned and fled the shop with his friend as quickly as he could.”

“Darn kids,” Tamos grumbled under his breath as he made his way back around the counter. “Can’t even let a man run his shop in peace.” He threw the axe back into his box beneath the counter where it landed with a clamor and took a deep breath. The color hadn’t returned to his face yet, and it was still a dark shade of red that made him look like an overly-ripe, beaded tomato.

Eliza had seen him like this before, and she knew that it would be a while before he cooled back down. “Bye, Tamos!” she called cheerfully and threw up her hand to wave goodbye. “Let him know that I came by? Thanks!”

“What?” he barked angrily, turning towards her. He must not have even realized that she was still there because, when he realized who it was, he quickly replied in a more-even tone, “Oh. Sure, Eliza. Will do.”

Eliza slipped out the door, past the line of anxiously waiting newcomers, and back into the bright afternoon sunlight. She squinted against the glare for a moment before her eyes properly adjusted, and she took the moment to breath in a breath of fresh air. No matter how clean he kept it, Tomas’ shop always smelled like a strange combination of leather, oil, and metal, and the smell always seemed to cling to her clothes and fill her nose far longer than it should. I guess it could be worse, she mused. There was that time one of his apprentices left the hoods closed on the forge and the entire place filled with smoke. The entire town thought the shop was burning down and had turned out to try and save it, even though there was no real need. Almost every single building in the village was constructed entirely out of wood or thatch, and a single blaze had the potential to send the entire place up in flames. The entire shop smelled like soot and burnt ash for months after that. Eliza couldn’t help but smile at the memory of how embarrassed and furious Tamos had been when he found out what had happened. Needless to say, his apprentice didn’t make that same mistake again.

That was just expected. It was normal. Tamos taking pride in his shop and his work, young apprentices making mistakes, Tamos losing his temper over it, the village turning out to help someone when they were in need--those were all just part of what made this her home, what made it familiar to her.  All of these newcomers, however, they made things off. Part of her was happy for the fact that the village was growing, that commerce had picked up, and everyone was making money, but there were just so many things about them that didn’t make sense. Nothing about the way they acted was normal.

What was that guy, Sean, thinking? He was practically spinning in circles and doing a dance trying to get Tamos to change his prices. If Tamos didn’t make a better offer the first time, why would he change it just because someone walked away and came back two seconds later? Do these people really think that running out of a building and coming back in is some kind of negotiating tactic? And why wouldn’t he just sell everything he had in one go? If he wants to sell a bunch of weapons, why was he holding out and trying to conduct multiple transactions? Why not just sell everything all at once at the price Tamos offered? Tamos clearly wasn’t going to budge and give up more gold. Was he trying to wear Tamos down by making him go crazy? I’ve seen traders go back and forth before over how much something was worth, but never like that. That was ridiculous. It just doesn’t make sense.

“That beer-bellied old man is just ridiculous,” someone complained in a loud voice.

Eliza looked up to find that the two men from inside were standing on the other side of the street. Sean seemed to be staring at the gold coins in his hand with an extremely dissatisfied look on his face.

“What type of world is this where someone can just up and throw you out of a shop?” he continued. “I still have more weapons to sell. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, I think there’s another blacksmith's shop somewhere else in the town. Maybe you can get a better deal there?” His friend was obviously amused by what had happened, but it sounded like he was still trying to be consoling at the same time.

“I imagine it’s just going to be more of the same,” Sean grumbled. “I had no idea I was signing up for something where shops would just outright refuse to buy from you and then kick you out. Do you think that it’s a permanent ban? Or do you think that I could go back sometime later and try again?”

“I really don’t have any idea. I’ve never heard of anything like this before, and I definitely haven’t experienced it. They advertised that Tiqpa was as realistic as you could get, and it seems to be living up to it. I mean, that that guy actually looked like he was annoyed. There at the end, I actually believed that he was going to come around the counter and kill us. Who could have predicted that happening?”

You kept talking in circles and repeatedly asked the same question over and over again. Who wouldn’t be annoyed? Eliza wondered. No one would have blamed him if he rattled them up after that little act they pulled inside the store. She made her way across the street as casually as possible, doing her best to listen in on the conversation. She knew that eavesdropping was wrong, but something told her that she might be able to learn more about these newcomers if she could just keep listening to these two.

“Too much is just too much. How are we ever going to figure out the mechanics of things if we just get thrown out every time we try to do something as simple as make a sale? Where did you find out that information, anyway?” Sean was clearly upset by being thrown out by Tamos and just wasn’t going to let it go.

“I heard some people talking around the bindstone last night. They were discussing the best ways to make money, so I figured I’d listen in and try and pick up some pointers,” he answered.

“So it was all just hearsay? You didn’t have any actual proof or anything? It was just speculation?”

His friend shrugged apologetically in response, something he seemed to be good at doing without providing any real answers. “We’re just going to have to figure it out as we go, I suppose. Maybe we should try going back some other time. Do you think that the time of day would make a difference?”

“Time of day?” Sean asked incredulously. “When has that ever made a difference?”

“Come on, man. Everyone knows that time of day can make a difference.”

“What? Are you serious? You actually believe that old rumor? That’s been around since the beginning of time, and it’s never affected anything. Remember when we tried testing it a few years ago?  We spent two whole days at the same shop trying to find the best times to buy and sell. What a waste!”

“Well, what do we have here?” a deep voice asked from directly behind her.

Eliza practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice.  How did someone manage to sneak up on me so easily?  She quickly spun around to find herself confronted with another one of the newcomers.  He had greasy dark hair, a scraggly unkempt beard, and prominent eyebrows that looked like they might crawl away at any moment.  Worst of all, he was only inches away from her, and she could smell his foul breath.  The man had definitely spent some time at one of the bars, and the slightly-glazed look in his eyes instantly told her that he had been doing more than just playing cards while he was there.

“I . . . uhh . . .” Eliza stammered, unsure of how to respond. Did he catch me spying on their conversation?  How am I supposed to respond without giving myself away?

“I’ll tell you what we have here,” he continued. “We have the most beautiful creature I’ve seen I logged in last night.”

Logged? Is he a shipping clerk?  Or does he mean he has to keep a timecard?  What type of business does he conduct that he can get drunk on the job?

“And my, my . . .”  The man smiled, and a chill ran down Eliza’s spine.  “You have such beautiful eyes when they get wide like that.  They’re as beautiful as a doe’s. . .”

“Uhm . . . Thank you,” she said nervously.  Something about this guy was definitely creeping her out.  “I really should be going . . .”

“Didn’t I see you last night?  Working at the bar?” he pressed, ignoring her attempt to politely disengage from the conversation.

She took a small step back and the man and turned to leave when he reached out and grabbed her around her arm, yanking her back.  He pulled her right up against him and used his other hand to grab her behind her neck, forcibly holding her in position and preventing her from escaping.

“You really shouldn’t be rude,” the man growled in a low voice.  “We’re just having a nice conversation here, and you want to turn your back on me?  I know I saw you last night.  I watched you while you were working, watched how you flirted with all the men.  I saw how much you liked it, how much you enjoy your job.”

“Let go of me!” Eliza shrieked.  She tried to break free of his grasp but he was too strong, and his fingers squeezed down into her flesh.  “Get off!” she cried again and used her free hand to slap out at his face.

The man laughed at her feeble blow and sneered down at her maliciously.  “Looks like you’re a feisty one, eh?  Why don’t you just let me have a taste, eh?”

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and screamed. She could feel the man’s dirty hands pawing at her, and it made her skin crawl.

Then she was floating through the air. She landed on her rear in an unceremonious plop, and her eyes snapped open just in time to see the man rocked backwards as a fist crashed across his jaw.  The man staggered backward and a second punched cracked across his for a second time, causing blood to come gushing out from his nose.  A third punch swung up into his chin from underneath, and the man’s head snapped back. Her assailant toppled over in a bloodied heap and he didn’t move again.

She stared on through wide eyes.  Her entire body was shaking with fear and adrenaline, and she couldn’t even begin to think about what had almost happened.  Thoughts and images tried to invade her conscious thoughts, and horrible what-if scenarios threatened to play out unwanted.  She curled herself into a tight ball in the dirty street, squeezed her eyes shut again, and began to cry.

She felt a pair of hands tenderly grasp her shoulders, and she jerked away at the initial contact.  She wanted to scream again, to cry out, but the wail died in her throat as she choked on her sobs.

“Eliza, it’s just me,” a strong voice said comfortingly. “You’re safe now.”

-----

It had been a long and busy night at the bar, and there was nothing Eliza wanted more than to get home and fall head-first into her own bed.  She had spent the night running between tables and the bar and doing everything she could to keep up with the rate at which these newcomers seemed to consume food and drink, and she’d have sworn that there wasn’t a single spot below her knees that wasn’t aching with one dull pain or another.  If she hadn’t known better, she would have also sworn that every single one of the newcomers possessed a bottomless pit of a stomach that no amount of sustenance would ever fill.  She had seen more men consume more alcohol tonight than she ever would have thought possible, and far more than she knew was ever appropriate.  The town guard--what few members of it were left--had stationed men both inside and outside the tavern early in the night, and they had been put to work several times throughout their watch dealing with drunk, unruly customers.

Now, she was going through the motions of her job in a haze of fuzzy thoughts.  Her body was on autopilot as she moved amongst the mostly-empty tables, scraping up the last vestiges of a rowdy night and stacking empty mugs on a tray.  The bar had emptied out for the most part in the last hour after the guards broke up a rather nasty fight.  Several of the newcomers had gotten into an argument over a game of cards they had been playing, and weapons had been drawn.  It had only taken seconds for the guards to intervene, but the ensuing fight seemed to take forever before it was quelled.  The table that they had been sitting at had been overturned, food and mugs had been thrown across the room, and chairs had been scattered everywhere as other patrons scrambled to get out of the way of the ruckus.  It had been the final straw on an onerous night, and the guards had decided that it was time to shut things down.  Even Peter didn’t object when they began clearing the room, and he would have stood to lose a tidy sum of money if everyone hadn’t settled up with him before being ejected.

Eliza shook her head to clear it of the disturbing thoughts of the evening that kept plaguing her as she went about her work, but others surfaced almost immediately. Was anything ever going to change with the newcomers?  Or was anything ever going to change with how they acted? No matter how much patience everyone showed with them or how they worked to accommodate them, they never acted grateful.  If anything, they acted entitled--as if they expected everyone in the town to wait on them hand and foot and come running whenever called.

It was true that they had vitalized the town’s economy in a way that it had never seen before, but at what price?  Everyone was paying a heavy toll for their presence and the newfound wealth that they seemed to endlessly generate.  The smithies were working longer hours and keeping the forges going around the clock, and Peter had begun scheduling girls at the bar at all times of the day so that he wouldn’t ever miss out on any customers, but they both seemed to be downright irritable as a result.  Tamos had always been rough around the edges, but even old man Peter was starting to wear down.

The problem was that no one ever really knew what to expect from the newcomers.  Some of them were affable, friendly, and even polite sometimes--though that never seemed to last for long.  They would appear out of nowhere with a confused look in their eyes, begin asking the same inane questions that had been asked by hundreds of others, and before long, they would act as indifferently to the townsfolk as all the others who had appeared before them.   Others could be calm and friendly one minute then harsh and explosive the next--typically when they weren’t getting something they wanted.  They didn’t seem to appreciate it when things weren’t going exactly their way.  It was as if they were given some training course that taught them that they could bully their way through the merchants and townsfolk and that acting a fool over a few silver coins was going to get them whatever they wished.

Of course, there was also something else to consider.  She eyed the man out of the corner of her eye and had to force herself to look away so that she wouldn’t get caught staring.  She suppressed a smile as she remembered how he had stood up for her in the market, how kind and concerned he had been.  Ever since then, he crept into her thoughts more often than she actually wanted to admit.  She just couldn’t get the image of him slugging that newcomer out of her head.  She couldn’t forget the feeling of his arms around her as he picked her up off the ground.  All the hours that he had spent working the forge for Tamos had made him stronger than she ever could have realized, and he had lifted her as if she were nothing.

Everything about him seemed to mesmerize her now, and she couldn’t believe that, despite growing up with him for her entire life, she had never seriously noticed him before now.  I wonder what my chances are with him?  I don’t think he’s courted any of the other girls yet . . . She cast a wary glance around the tavern and suspiciously eyed a few of the other girls who were working with her.  A few of them were pretty enough, in a small-town sort-of-way, but none of them looked the part of the Harvest Queen at the moment with their dirty uniforms and serving trays filled with mugs of ale. But just because I haven’t heard any of the gossip yet doesn’t mean that he hasn’t tried . . . No, it’s a small town.  Everyone knew about Alice and Nathaniel sneaking off for their little tryst in the hay the same night it happened . . .

She snuck another glance in his direction where he was sitting with a group of friends as she wiped down one of the tables.  His hair had always been shaggy and a bit ragged, but he had taken to shaving it off when he had taken the apprenticeship with Tamos.  Several of the other young men had tried to learn the trade from some of the other smiths in town, but they had made the mistake of refusing to cut their hair back. Needless to say, they had ended up singed and burned more often than not because of it.  She had shared more than a few giggles with the other girls when they first saw his pale head, but something about it made him look more handsome now.  It was a sign that he had a profession and that he was taking it seriously.

If things ever slowed down in the town, which looked like it was going to be a while if things kept on going the way that they had been lately, then she might be able to find some time to drop a few suggestive hints.  There might even come a time one day when she would be lucky enough to have him ask her if she felt the same way about him.  She kind of had a feeling that he did--she’d caught him stealing glances in her own direction a few times and various snippets of conversations he had with his friends at the bar--but nothing was ever certain.  Men were just so frustrating that way at times.  They would chat a woman up and make them think that they were interested, and the next time they saw you they’d feign ignorance and pretend not to even know who you were.

But what did she even have to offer someone like him?  Her family wasn’t anything special.  Her mother worked treating fabrics for one of the tailors, Lim, and picked up extra jobs doing laundry for some of the busier merchants just so the family could have a little extra income.  More often than not, she would come home late at night smelling of chemicals and with her hands and clothes stained from working with dyes all day.  Her father had worked with one of the woodcutting parties until he had been pressed into service with the local militia a few years back during one of the Black-Wing incursions.  He had always been kind, gentle and patient with her while she was growing up.  He’d come in after a long day’s work and always spend extra time with her after supper telling her stories and teaching her to read and write.  He had been an honest man, and a hard worker if what everyone said was to be believed, but he would never attain the same status for his family that a professional smith would.

Eliza sighed and cast another wistful glance in his direction before turning back to finishing up her work.  After dropping off her load of dirty dishes in the kitchens for one of the other girls to wash, she made her way outside to deposit her bar towels in the linens basket.  She didn’t normally carry more than one around with her at a time, but after the long night, she had gone through more than just a few cleaning up everything.

She stepped outside into the cold, early-morning air and drew in a deep breath.  Goosebumps instantly sprang to life on her bare arms as soon she left the heated tavern’s kitchen, but the early morning air was refreshing after being cooped up and run ragged for so many hours. In truth, the cold was more of a comfort than an annoyance at the moment. Eliza tilted her head back and sucked in a lungful of the crisp air, exhaling slowly. It billowed out in a smoky cloud that hung in the air for just a moment before disappearing upward. A dog started barking somewhere nearby. Its cries echoed between the buildings for a moment, but it quickly quieted down again, and silence overtook the village once more.

She stayed that way for a long moment, inhaling and exhaling and watching her breath disappear, lost in her thoughts.  If only things would remain this peaceful during the day.  Those newcomers really need to learn to settle down and--

Her thoughts were interrupted as a thunderous boom shook through the ground and rocked the world around her.  She could feel the force of it slam into her chest, threatening to drive the air from her lungs. All around her, the wooden buildings groaned in protest as the wallboards shook and the glass window panes rattled as the violent gust rushed by. She teetered on her feet and blindly grasped for the side of the building to stop herself from falling over.

As soon as she was certain she had her balance, she jerked her head around wildly in every direction trying to find the source of the blast.  Never in her life had she experienced anything like that.  She had heard stories of earthquakes from travelers passing through and some of the older folks living in the village, but everyone always assured her that they were far too high up into the mountains to ever experience one in Valcrest.  Then, towards the center of town, she spotted something that captured her attention and took her breath away for a second time.

A massive pillar of fire rocketed up above the rooftops somewhere towards the central square.  Its flames seared away the darkness of the night sky and left everything below for several blocks bathed in a devilish and unholy light, promising a fiery death and certain destruction for anything that happened to be caught in its hellish blaze.  The tower of flames twisted and roiled as it rose into the air and appeared to take on a life of its own, turning over and over upon itself until it assumed the form of a massive winged serpent.

Eliza stood frozen as she watched on with a mixture of horror and awe at the fiery dragon that turned upon itself for the final time and began plummeting back to the ground with a frightening speed.  The dragon crashed to the ground somewhere below the line of rooftops, leaving behind only the afterimage of a nightmare seared into her vision. Patches of fire sprang to life on the nearby thatched roofs, and she was certain that she could already see a cloud of ash hanging in the air.

Shouts of terror and panic could be heard coming from all over town as denizens of Valcrest awake to the chaos, but Eliza could only stare on dumbly.  She just couldn’t process what she had seen, couldn’t make sense of what it meant.  She stood rooted to the ground, staring at the scene as she tried to explain what she had just witnessed, and it wasn’t until she heard loud voices coming closer from inside the tavern that she began to snap out of it. She turned around numbly and took a hesitant step back towards the door, unsure of what she should be doing or how to act.

The door flew open just as she was about to reach it, and a wave of hot air slammed against her before escaping out into the night.  Light from inside washed over her, and she had to squint against the sudden loss of her vision as her eyes adjusted.  Dimly, she was able to make out a mass of forms huddled on the other side of the doorway, all eyes riveted to her.

“Eliza,” one of them said urgently.  “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” asked another.

“Did you see what that was?”

“I thought the entire building was going to collapse.”

“Are you alright?”

“Eliza?”

“Eliza?”

“Liz?”

The voices all came at once, urgent and questioning, and she didn’t know where to start even if she had been able to answer.

“Quiet!” a stern voice finally ordered, silencing all the others.

One of the forms stepped out into the night and Eliza felt a pair of strong hands grasp her around the arms before pulling her inside.  They guided her to one of the cook’s stools and sat her down.  She saw the room pass around her, and she felt that she was moving, but she couldn’t understand how.  As far as she remembered, she hadn’t ordered her feet to take even a single step, much less the several that were required to complete the simple task.

“Eliza,” a deep voice said calmly but firmly.  “What happened, Eliza? You have to snap out of it.”

She could hear the voice, but she just couldn’t figure out how to answer it.  She understood that it wanted something from her, but she didn’t know what it was.  What did it matter anyway? Everything was burning; the town was burning.  She knew it in her heart. She understood it.  But she had no idea how to put it into words.  Why was this person even bothering her?  They should all just—

The distinct sound of wood splintering resounded out from the main hall, and all heads in the kitchen jerked toward the source of the sound.  There was a collective intake of breath and the pregnant silence of it being held.

A short moment passed and the same voice spoke again. “Wait here.”  And then it was gone.

The image of the person in front of her disappeared, and Eliza was vaguely aware of a dark bald scalp disappearing from her vision.

-----

Until only recently, the caverns had been the home of a silver ore mine and the primary source of income for the region.  Indeed, it was the primary reason the town had been settled originally and the only reason the Human Kingdom was interested in protecting the small town of Valcrest.  Vast deposits of ore were mined from the region and funneled to the capital where they were put to use as the King saw fit.  Even during her short lifetime, Eliza had lived through more than her own fair share of attacks from the White-Horns and Black-Wings as they sought to take control of the mine.  Fortunately, because it was situated so high up in the mountain range, they had always been provided ample warning before any sizeable force managed to capture the mine.

That was, until only recently.  No one knew when it happened, exactly, but a renegade band of Turtle-Wolves had taken control of the mine at some point.  The workers finished their work one night and went home to the families, and nothing was out of the ordinary.  Early the next morning when they showed up before dawn to begin the mining process again, the Turtle-Wolves had moved in.  There were no signs of an attack, and no evidence of damage to the mine, but it was only lightly defended during the night by a few of the town’s guards. Since they had always been warned of an impending attack from the other races well in advance, no one saw the need to keep a heavy contingent stationed at the mine during all hours of the day.  That also meant that no one had been on the lookout for an organized band of monsters.

The timing couldn’t have been worse for the village.  Most of the men had been called up to the legion in order to stop a massive assault from the White-Horns and Black-Wings that was pressing in from the north, and there were only a handful of experienced fighters left in town.  Most of the men were either too old, too young or untrained in hand-to-hand combat.  Still, they had banded together and fortified their ranks with a number of the town’s guard and tried to retake the mine.  Turtle-Wolves weren’t known for being organized at all, usually choosing to either live alone in the mountains or in very small groups.  As far as anyone knew, there had never been any type of hierarchy among their ranks. Indeed, it was hardly believable that they had even managed to take the mine in the first place, and everyone figured that even such a small force would be able to quickly retake the mine and root out the invaders.

Everyone had been wrong.  The group was decimated, and not a single survivor returned from that excursion.

There were cries of outrage, and people demanded that Captain Elmont send another force into the ore mine, but he flatly refused.  Due to the arrival of such large numbers of newcomers, he was already hard pressed to maintain order within Valcrest, and he said that he couldn’t spare even a single guard.  Instead of pressing the attack again, he had opted to wait until more men, more experienced fighters, returned from the legion. Then Valcrest received word the next day that the legion had been entirely wiped out, and all hope of retaking control of the mine was lost.

And, so it remained--until the stranger appeared.  This newcomer wearing nothing but a soft, fuzzy robe had somehow single-handedly killed all the Turtle-Wolves.  Eliza had seen him his first day in Valcrest, before his daring exploit, and he had stood out even then, not because of his odd apparel--newcomers certainly sprang up in more embarrassing stages of undress--but because he was unlike any other of his kind.

He was a quiet man who had kept to himself for most of the evening, and he was actually rather polite when Eliza had spoken to him.  She had mistakenly taken his meal to the wrong table in all the confusion, and rather than scream at her and belittle her as she had expected, he had just smiled patiently and offered a few comforting words.  He had asked a few of the same questions she had come to expect from all the newcomers, but didn’t press in the same insistent fashion that most of them did.  If anything, he seemed to be genuinely concerned and curious about what life was like in the town.  Thankfully, he had never partaken in the same raucous behavior as everyone else.  Thankfully, he just kept to himself and would occasionally scribble a few notes on a small scrap of paper he carried with him.

He had seemed entirely earnest and unassuming. He had sat in the tavern nearly that whole night, lost in his own thoughts. Eliza never could have guessed then the place this stranger would come to have in the lives of the people of Valcrest, but Captain Elmont had apparently either trusted him or wanted to test him, and he had assigned this rare man the task of clearing out the mine.  As far as Eliza knew, it wasn’t a job that he had entrusted to anyone else after the lost band.

Now, the stranger, Darwin, stood on a raised platform in the middle of a room buried somewhere deep inside that same mountain. The chamber was at least three stories high, and it was filled with circular tables that had chairs lined around them. The remaining citizens of Valcrest who had managed to escape that horrible night of destruction had been using it as a makeshift dining hall.  There was a pair of large double-doors in the back of the chamber that led to a decent-sized kitchen, and both men and women were at work preparing meals for the survivors.  Meals, ironically, that consisted of the Turtle-Wolves that kept appearing at random throughout the ore mine.

The townsfolk had fled here at the direction of the stranger after that horrible night.  It wasn’t a paradise, or an ideal situation all around, but it was what they had.  They were bruised and burned. They were desperate, and they were homeless--but they were alive.

Some of us are. . .  Eliza fought back the flood of tears and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her every time she thought about everyone that she had lost.  Her mother never made it out of town.  The night had been chaos, and Eliza had only been interested in escaping.  The thought of trying to find her or help her escape as well had never even crossed the young girl’s mind.  Her only thoughts that night had been of Lucas, lying dead in a pool of blood in the bar.  The town was decimated, lives had been destroyed, and all she could think about was herself.

Eliza pulled her braid over her shoulder and gripped it tightly before forcing herself to let go.  It was an old habit, but one that usually worked to calm her down.  Slowly and absentmindedly, she stroked her long braid until she was able to force down the feelings and regain her composure.

She glanced around the chamber and suddenly realized that it was almost completely filled.  It wasn’t designed for this, but it was the largest single cavern in the ore mine and the best place they had to use as an auditorium.  Several hundred refugees were now pressed together to hear the words of this stranger that had saved them, this strange newcomer that everyone gossiped about in hushed whispers.

Some people said that he was Human. Some said that he was a devil.  He had appeared to them on the morning of the attack leading an entourage of Ogres that he claimed were his slaves.  He said that he possessed their souls, and that he had bent them to his will.  And then someone else had made the connection to another rumor that had been spreading throughout the town.  This was the same devil who had killed an entire army of White-Horns using only a spoon.  This was the Hero of the Spoon. This was the vaunted savior that King Qasin had sent to save them, deliver them from the threat of the imposing armies from the north.  This was the Spoon King.

The man stepped forward on the platform and raised his hand to gather everyone’s attention.  He looked a bit paler than Eliza remembered, but that was to be expected after everything that had gone on.  He had assumed the mantle of responsibility for this band of exiles, and Eliza could only imagine what a horrible burden that must have placed on him. No one had ever seen him sleep, and it was said that he never stopped working.  Despite whatever fatigue or stress he might feel, he moved with a poise and purpose that was evident to even the casual observer, and it inspired confidence in the townsfolk.

“Valcrest, I came to you a stranger,” he began. “I came to you as a man in exile from my own lands: a man without a home, a people and bereft of any belongings that weren’t strapped on my back. But you people told me not worry. You gave me food, shelter, a place to rest my head and a job. You gave purpose back to my life when I was lost. Most importantly, above all of those gifts though, you gave me your trust.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. It couldn’t have been easy--accepting a stranger into your lives--but you did it. You chose to follow me when almost every one of you is already a capable leader, strong enough in spirit and determination to stand against any challenge; yet you chose instead to honor Elmont and follow a stranger you barely knew. You gave me your trust when I asked you to leave your homes behind--where you had spent generations building families, memories and friendships--to follow me into a dark and musty cave barely fit for life, yet you did so in an instant and without complaint.”

The crowd became more and more responsive as he spoke. Eliza felt an energy building within her, and she could tell that it resonated through everyone else as well.  She looked around throughout the crowd and realized that they had all switched from passively listening to actively nodding and mouthing their agreement as he spoke There were small pockets of people that had been murmuring or talking amongst themselves when he first started speaking, but now they had fallen silent.  Everyone was fixated on the figure speaking to them, hanging on his every word.

“That’s why it pains me to tell you the trials are not over,” he continued. “That the changes we started when we decided not to merely repair scraps, but create a future, still have a great way to go. But I cannot do this without your continued faith that we are doing the right thing and we are on the right path, that, at the end of the day, you believe the sacrifices I am asking you to make are worth the bounty we will reap once they are completed.”

The stranger paused to let his words settle into the crowd.  His eyes scanned over everyone, sometimes lingering on one person a bit longer than another, but never stopping their back-and-forth motion as he worked to engage the crowd.  Then, as if out of nowhere, he pulled out a smooth, golden stone and held it up on a flat palm for everyone to see.  There were gasps of astonishment from many people, and some openly broke out in quiet whispers as they turned to the person next to them.

Even though Eliza had never seen one, and had never in her life expected to, she had heard the tales of it growing up.  Legends said that there were only a few in existence throughout the entire world, and that some long-forgotten god had created it as a means of saving his chosen people from certain destruction at the hands of some equally long-forgotten catastrophe. Some legends said that they were created by another god as a cruel joke, that they had been a means of vengeance against a people that had abandoned him and chosen to worship another. Whatever their source, there was no one, nowhere, who wouldn’t immediately recognize it for what it was: A Golden Creation Stone.

“Do you all know what this is?” he asked. “Do you know what will happen if you agree to follow me when I activate this Creation Stone?” he pressed. “This is where our path lies,” he said, closing his fingers around the smooth stone and gripping it as tightly as he could within a fist. “This is the tool we will use to create a future where we are more than the pawns of kings and the food of evil men. It is the item that will give us the power to manifest our destiny.

“I am going to use this Creation Stone here and now before you. I have been set upon this path by a higher providence and I cannot stray--but you can. That’s why I am here to ask you, do I still have your faith? Your trust? Will you, knowing the dangers and hardships you will have to endure, cast aside your comfort yet again and come with me?”

People began shouting their answers at him even before he finished speaking. “Yes!” they shouted at him. There was no disagreement, no uncertainty or lack of answer from anyone in the group. Even those in the hallway who could not hear the speech were shouting ‘yes’ to not be left out of the fervor.

A golden hue flared out from the stone, a dazzling brilliance that spread out from his tightly clenched fist and escaped from the cracks between his fingers. It streamed out and crushed every bit of darkness in the room. Shapes and details vanished under its intensity, leaving only a dazzling brilliance visible to anyone with their eyes open. Then, suddenly, the light receded, and only the stranger was standing alone on the stage once again.

When she could finally see again, Eliza stared in wonder. Where once stood a crowd of people with blue, green, and brown eyes, with red, blonde, and brunette hair, there now stood a room full of dark-haired people whose red eyes shone throughout the cavern. His speech hadn’t been a lie.

What have we done?

Reliquary

The Monster Manual:

Electric Eels: (used as weapons) The eels, while seemingly useless other than potential underwater holiday decorations, were instrumental in the early stages of multiple underworld civilizations. Given that there was no way to use forges underwater, wars were often fought with nothing more than the rocks they would find underwater as the best potential weapon. That was before the eel’s handy electric savagery was pioneered, after which, the devastating wars the eels fought to clear away and control their domain was brutal, even by some Earth-Walker’s standards.

Knight-Clubber: Ever wonder why a Knight-Clubber is always grumpy and coiled up angrily? It’s because they secretly desire a hand with which to fist bump, but know that this will never be more than a wish. There’s also the fact that they’re perpetually nursing a hangover from the night before.

Long-Armed Seahorses: They’re called seahorses, but in reality, they much more closely resemble a very malformed and unattractive dragon, which is why at one point they were almost called sea-dragons, only to have their name change immediately vetoed by every other monster race.

Piranha Priests: The church of the Piranha first began by spreading food to everyone they could to create converts, just like many churches on earth. Unlike other churches though, the food is generally still alive.

Tiger-Ants: Cute, fluffy, and deadly, these tiny little swarmers are known to devour their prey alive. Their victims may meet an unwanted fate, but at least their messengers will be cute.

I’m Not a Racist, but:

Dryad [Covenant of the Grove]: When one mocks a person for hugging tree, it’s often because of an unwarranted showing of affection towards an almost-inanimate object. But no one would make fun of a Dryad when they do it--not just because these trees sometimes hug back, but because these jolly green or blue giants have such a hulkish exterior that rarely would anyone want to anger them.

Bonus: +5% Power, Nature manipulation, Nature creation

Human [Human]: One look in the mirror will tell you everything you need to know about this often-frumpy, weak-muscled, overlooked race. Even in the real world they lack many characteristics gamers would value on a stat sheet, but for some reason they always seem to prevail. Be wary of doubting or underestimating the tenacity of the meek and cunning.

Bonus: +1 stat point per level

Minotaur [White-Horn]: More bull than man, these lumbering giants may have many myths and stories revolving around how they were made, most with jokes about someone’s mother looking like a cow, but that doesn’t change the fact they are a massive force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Favoring the axe and their brute power, they can cleave through most lines with little to no effort.

Bonus: +5% Movement Speed in combat, +20% Movement Speed out of combat, +5% Power, +5% Damage when wielding axes, can’t wear shoes.

Naga [Orcas]: The half-man, half-anacondas often complain that they don't want none unless it’s a meat bun. Hun. These creatures are known to devour every fruit in the garden, especially the apples.

Bonus: +5% Combat Speed, Can breathe underwater

Nymph [Covenant of the Grove]: The female counterpart to a Dryad.  Nothing to see here.  Move along, now.

Bonus: +5% Power, Nature manipulation, Nature creation

Satyr [White-Horn]: Satyrs don’t kid around when it comes to magic. These half-goat men are experts at manipulating nature and traversing rough terrain. With enough of them in an army, one is sure to control the weather--just don’t expect to keep your lawn.

Bonus: +10% Casting Speed, +25% Movement Speed over rough terrain, +5% Cold Resistance.

Vampire [Black-Wing]: Arguably the suckiest race in the game, Vampires have learned to embody the true spirit of a bat man. They thrive on the night and draw the life force out of any foe within reach during combat. With their large, dark, black wings, Lifesteal, and affinity for the night, the Vampire is a terror in the skies when the sun sets.

Bonus: Flying, +5% Lifesteal on Melee Attacks, +5% Increased Damage during nighttime.

Incubus/Succubus [Black-Wing]: It’s always a common joke that a woman is a man’s worst enemy, or the other way around depending on who is saying it. And, by that logic, this race fits right in. An innate charm serves to disarm opponents of the opposite gender during combat. That said, there are far worse ways to die than in the presence of a sexy foe.

Bonus: Flying, +5% Damage against opposite gender, +5% Damage bonus with whips.

Dragon-Wing [Black-Wing]: There are few things more ferocious than a full-grown, fire-breathing, battle-worn dragon. Unfortunately, this is just a cheap knockoff version. They have a great deal of health like the dragons they take their name from and are excellent at resisting fire. Even if they aren’t actually dragons, they do make great dragon hunters.

Bonus: Flying, +10% Vitality, +25% Fire Resistance.

White-Wing [Sun God Empire]: The White-Wings are what people first wanted angels to be: humans with giant sets of wings. This race has mastered prison fighting and learned to wield the shiv with expert dexterity. Contrary to all the chicken jokes though, they do not run from fights.

Bonus: Flying, +10% Damage with daggers, -10% Damage with all other weapons, +5% Armor bonus when wearing low-weight armor.

Fire-Walker [Sun God Empire]: Love the fresh smell of napalm in the morning? Fire-Walkers sure do. They may have given up smoking cigarettes, but they’ve permanently solved the lighter issue. With feet always on fire and flames shooting out of any body part, Fire-Walkers have trouble handling normal weapons and developed their own unique crafting system to compensate.

Bonus: -50% Damage with non-glass weapons, cannot wear shoes, +10% Damage with glass. weapons, Fire Manipulation, Fire Creation, Fire Crafting.

Demon [StormGuard Alliance]: No one knows where they came from or when they arrived, but this mysterious race of red-eyed, black-haired human look-alikes is feared and respected by those who know better.

Bonus: Locked stat growth, unique abilities, unusually high stat growth

Canine [Were-Beast]: Between dodging flees, chasing carts and harassing friendly delivery men, it’s a wonder the Canines ever manage to get anything done. One might be better off just adopting them and providing them with a little kibble, belly rubs (their favorite) and a scratch behind the ears rather than trying to fight one. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when they’re engrossed in their favorite activity: sleep. Never try to discount their incredible loyalty and teamwork in battle. Where one Canine might be deadly, five are nearly unstoppable. Don’t press the pack.

Bonus: +1% to Power, Speed, Vitality for every friendly Canine, including self, in the party [Up to 8% max]; +10% Movement speed; -20% Movement Speed when near fire hydrants.

Feline [Were-Beast]: Few people know that Felines were actually a race of aliens that came to Tiqpa to enslave humanity after losing a galactic war with the laser pointer-wielding dog people. While these dogs have nothing to do with the Canines on Tiqpa, the grudge still remains. They are also often mistaken with their more feral, less civilized Panthera cousins.

Bonus: +5% to all stats when traveling alone, +5% Speed, +5% Damage with daggers, movement produces 50% less sound.

Panthera [Were-Beast]: Lions and tigers and Pantheras, oh my!  These night time thugs come with built in jump suits that are pre-striped or dotted, hunting down their prey and turning them into homicide victims before they even had a chance to notice something was amiss. While they may seem like the perfect Ninjas, very few of them ever pounce on that opportunity instead choosing to rush into battle claws first.

Bonus: +5% Power, +5% Movement Speed in combat, +15% Damage on initial hit, +20% Movement Speed out of combat, has night vision, movement produces 50% less sound.

Reptilian [Were-Beast]: Before pondering the nature of a Reptilian, know that they pondered it first. After all, they spend most of their time forming questions regarding philosophical rhetoric and contemplating the nature of the universe. These cold-blooded theorists will generally explore the mysteries of the universe alone, unheard by men or reason, over a cup of black tea served with crumpets. Unfortunately, no man has ever seen this side of them. The few Humans that have ever made it into their dwellings are usually found in the morning skewered on a freshly-planted spike in the gardens outside their homes.

Bonus: Can breathe underwater, +5% power, +5% to speed, +5% damage with all melee weapons. -25% Fire Resistance, -25% Cold Resistance.

Simian [Were-Beast]: These staff wielding pranksters tend to barrel headfirst into everything and are always up to monkey business from the day they are born--which is why Simian parents have long refused to give up the right to punish their children. After all, even though spanking the monkey sounds bad, a monkey that has never been spanked would be a nightmare for the whole town. Be careful: their uncles are everywhere and can throw a wrench into even the best laid plans.

Bonus: +10% Damage when wielding staves, +5% Speed, +25% height when jumping.

Ursine [Were-Beast]: Making a pun about ‘bear’ arms might seem harmless and amusing until one is actually faced with a pair of real bear arms. When around this race that defined the gun show in terms of muscular fortitude, jokes should be made as little as possible. Respectable, pink shirt-wearing businessmen and frat boys have been advised to not do anything fishy or jump around them.

Bonus: Hands act as a weapon equivalent to level (Damage and Strength will vary based on stats and class), +10% Power, +5% Vitality.

Earth-Walkers [Jotunn Kingdom]: Every wingless bi-ped in Tiqpa can be considered an earth walker to some degree, but in reality they just walk across the earth. Only the Earth-Walker truly walks with the land. Each step he makes, the earth follows, each thought he has, the ground listen. While they claim to be a part of the Jotunn kingdom, the only thing they follow is the earth that follows them.

Bonus: Ability to control and manipulate the earth underneath them. +10% Vitality.

Grendel-Kin [Jotunn Kingdom]: After an incident with one of their ancestors, they often avoid disturbing drunk people in taverns. Despite their uncouth exterior and general refusal towards basic hygiene, this race of fishermen, in contrast with their Jotunn brothers, are generally very well reserved and polite people. Their hospitality is as unrivaled as their smell.

Bonus: +50% resistance to poison, +5% speed.

Jotunn [Jotunn Kingdom]: Unexpectedly, this giant race of long-armed, hairy people is often known for their wit and sense of humor, not their incredible strength. Their love for discourse, immunity from hatred and ability to get under everyone’s skin has slowly created a need for strength and martial discipline to defend themselves against extinction. This has inevitably led to their dominance of both politics and culture within their land. Be warned at all times when you hear the true troll’s battlecry: “You mad bro?”

Bonus: They even lift. And never skip leg day. +10% to strength, Immunity to mind-based crowd control effects, all other crowd controlling effects are halved.

The Cast of Characters:

Alex: Once just a simple scout, Alex is now the lead representative for the people of Valcrest. He commands the troops of the StormGuard Alliance in Darwin’s absence.

Ash: The friendly neighborhood Ash. An omnipresent GM that may or may not be able to read minds.

Bianca: An overly-flirtatious Succubi in the Blue-Phoenix Brigade that’s the exact same as Bianca except with shorter hair. She often organizes schemes when no one is looking.

Darwin: A video gaming demon who has been trapped in the world of Tiqpa, forced to level up and survive as he attempts to find his way home.

Eliza: A sword-wielding Demoness with an agenda of her own.  She is as violent and deadly as she is graceful and beautiful.

Gary: Tiqpa design team leader. The only thing worse than his choice in clothes is his uncomfortable insistence on bad jokes and inappropriate comments.

Katherine: An overly-flirtatious Succubi in the Blue-Phoenix Brigade that’s the exact same as Bianca except with longer hair. She often organizes schemes when no one is looking.

Locke: The Bathrobe Knight may have become the king, but the king may always confer new knights.

Portia: Claiming to be Darwin’s sister, this mysterious figure leads him to discover the creation stone needed to convert the people of Valcrest into Demons. Later she is seen traveling alongside Qasin, claiming that her goal is to reach and rescue her brother.  Oops.  I mean, the leader of the Holy Alliance.

Reginald: Apathy and genius are often said to go hand in hand, but so rarely does ‘energetic troll’ join the list in such a perfect way. This well-to-do medical student is a healer both in and out of game. The perpetual brunt of everyone’s joke, Reginald actually comes up a good idea every now and then.  Has strange love for sneakers that no one quite understands.

Sampson: A giant axe-wielding Minotaur in the Blue Phoenix Brigade whose function seems to be breaking apart enemies and holding together the group.

Sparky: Real name unknown because this two-syllable moniker has usurped the noble Dragon-Wing’s title before it was ever spoken.  An overly confident Dragon-Wing takes her role so seriously that even method actors are jealous.  This charismatic shield takes the position of defender far more seriously than anyone else.

Tubal: Thankfully Shakespeare’s been dead so long that I don't have to worry about him filing a lawsuit against for me stealing his character.

Inventory of Items:

Band of the Faithful: +10 to Spirit, +10 to Concentration, 5% reduction in damage from the elements.

Bond of the Sun God: Indicates the favor of the Sun God, to whom all things owe life. When worn, grants the user +20 vitality.

General Sun’s #13 Special: The Sun God himself was said to have come down and chosen the leader of the mighty White-Wings, his most beloved race. In order to ensure that his reign was long and his achievements were great, the Sun God gave him leather armor fit for the king of kings, able to make the user invulnerable to the slings and arrows of all assailants. But then again, if you’re reading this, then that means he died, and the armor probably wasn’t as good as it was said to be. In fact, someone probably made it a long time ago and then made up the story to go with it. Either way, it’s still a great piece of armor.

Piranha's Blessings: If Preston, the first one to ever discover one of the piranha’s sacred, blessed necklaces, had known exactly what it was capable of imbuing the wearer with, he might have considered selling them. And if he had, then he probably wouldn't have had so many of them. He also might have realized he should take them when punishing his only son Brandon with a stick. Sadly, he didn't know they were special, he didn't understand their value or what they imbued, so he didn't sell them, and he didn't ever bother taking them off. Which, for poor Brandon, spelled out certain doom to his ability to ever sit down again.

Piranha's Blessing of Beer Commercial Promises: +2 Vitality. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Caffeine-Covered Candies: +2 Speed. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Radioactive Bug Bites: +2 Power. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Piranha's Blessing of Riddle-Out Distraction-Proof Coffee: +2 Concentration. May be combined with up to four Piranha Blessings.

Places/Things/Companies/Et Cetera:

G.O.R.N.: Gamer’s Official Review Network.

Sine Nomine: Capital of the Naga kingdom.

The Path of the Alchemist (Choices Locke has to make)

Apothecary: Apothecaries draw customers of all sorts and sizes, constantly harassing them to make a potion for everything from a blister on their foot to unmentionables on the backside. That’s why the Apothecary spends most of his time learning how to make the one thing he really wants to give his customers: Poison. An Apothecary has bonus options for each of their damage-inflicting poisons.

Pharmacist: People often complain that they are assaulted outside of or near a good Pharmacist’s shop. It’s gotten to the point that, in some towns, they’re labeled as locations of especially bad luck. All that should be ignored, however, because, whatever the reason people find themselves injured, the Pharmacist, no matter how high-priced his goods, will always have the appropriate remedy for their troubles. A Pharmacist has bonus options for each of their health-restoring potions

Zymurgist: If there was one potion that, when drunk to proper proportions, could dispel all sincerity and manners, it would be beer. But let not the drunkards in the tavern rave about its benefits when the Zymurgist hasn’t even begun to recount them all. The Zymurgist gets bonus properties to all ‘Buff’ potions and ‘Debuff’ poisons.

Deadly Poison: Apply to weapon to add +1 Damage (effect expires after 5 minutes). Ingestation will cause 10 points of damage unless the user is undead.

Health Potion: Upon ingestion, restores 10 points of missing health and increases the maximum health of the user by +1 (effect expires after 5 minutes).

Growing Ambition: Increases the base damage of weapons to which Deadly Poison is applied by .25% per skill level of poison.

Sticky Solution: Adds a +10% per poison skill level increase to the duration of the poison’s effect for augmenting weapons.

The Persistent Client: Adds a lingering effect on the ingester of Deadly Poison or victim of a weapon with Deadly Poison applied. Over 10 seconds, the ingester or victim will receive an additional 50% of the Deadly Poison’s base damage. This effect may stack infinitely.

The Bombardier Class:

The Unlit Fuse: May modify concoctions to create an explosion on impact when thrown. The effect of the explosion will be:

Deal 100% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a one-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 75% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a two-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 50% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a three-foot radius of the explosion.

Deal 25% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a four-foot radius of the explosion.

Molotovs: No longer just for angry Russians or Bostonian rioters.

Notes: Modified concoctions will not work if anyone but a qualified Bombardier throws them.

Gaming Terms:

Aggro: The proclivity of a monster or NPC to attack a player or another creature.  Often used within the phrase ‘draw aggro,’ which basically means to get a monster’s attention or force it to attack a certain target.

AOE: Area of Effect. This term refers to skills that affect multiple targets simultaneously, whether friendly or not. Typically, the particular skill being used determines the range of affected targets.

Buff: To increase or augment the abilities of another player or character in a game. When someone “buffs” another person, they’re making them better at their job.

Drive: (as in VR drive) The device used to access a virtual reality world.

EXP: Experience. Gained from killing monsters, completing quests and assisting other players. Necessary for increasing one’s level within the game.

LOS: Line of sight.  You can’t attack what you can’t see.

Nerf: A dreaded term for many avid gamers, this is the word used to describe when a game manufacturer makes a class less potent in its field.

NPC: Non-Playable Character. Characters within games that are controlled by the computer (artificial intelligence).

PK (RPK): This term can be used interchangeably as either a noun or a verb. Thanks, 1337 sp34k. As a noun, it refers to a player killer, someone who participates in actively killing other players. As a verb, it means ‘to have been killed by another player.’

RPG: Role Playing Game.  Often used as MMORPG.

VR: Virtual Reality.

MMO: Massive Multiplayer Online (game).

Boss Book:

Bishopotamus: If there is a flock, there is a shepherd, and everyone knows that the shepherd may protect his flock, but he will shear it and eat it too. With a flock so large as the multitude that make up the order of Piranha Priests, it’s only natural that the one eating them would have to be even larger. Thankfully the Bishopotamus was kind enough to lend his belly to ‘take one for the team.’

Mohawktopus: One might imagine that a sushi chef is a well-mannered, quiet and respectful individual. One might also imagine that an octopus would never grow hair. Yet, the Mohawktopus has managed to defy both of these stereotypes, sporting an amazing mohawk as it flexed its delinquent side with multiple knives thrown in for added flare.

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Bonus Chapter: Memories of Eliza