Peter faded in, leaning against the post of the fence that formed the boundary of the outdoor area of the inn. Remembering where he was when he logged out, he sighed again and unfolded his arms. Checking his inventory he found his secret weapon was still waiting in its slot ready to be deployed. The flickering path beckoned onwards towards his goal. Time to get moving.

It was no great distance to the building indicated by the quest. Peter had been looking for a house, but contrary to his expectations, it turned out to be a shed behind the general store. Standing beside the open door was a weedy little man wringing his hands.

“Traveller! Have you come to rid my basement of the vermin?” he asked, hopping from foot to foot. “They're destroying my merchandise!”

“I have come about the quest you left at the inn.” Peter spoke carefully. “I will remove the rats from your basement.”

“Oh, thank the Avatars. This way, this way.” The man opened the door and led the way to the back of the shed. A stairwell descended into inky blackness, but the man lit an oil lamp and handed it to Peter. “Be careful with that. If my stocks go up in smoke you'll be charged for them. I hate rodents. You deal with them, I’m staying outside. Go, make it snappy.”

Peter accepted the lamp, but as soon as the shopkeep was out of sight he very carefully set it on a barrel. He could work with what little light came down the stairs, even though the fire was behind glass it still felt like a trap. Peter was sure he smelled a rat.

At the bottom of the stairs he was certain he could smell a rat. Literally rather than figuratively this time. Many pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness. He slowly popped open his inventory and placed the ex-sandwich on the ground and backed up the stairs, trying not to startle the denizens of the dark. Just as he reached the top step he heard a melee in the dark with much squeaking and scuffling. Peter tried to amuse himself by examining the labels on the goods in the shed, but they were all boring items. Bags of flour and sugar, buckets of nails, cans of spam. Heh. Spam, in a fantasy game. I guess the developers put that one in as a joke.

The squeaking soon abated but Peter gave it another two minutes, roughly counted under his breath. With exaggerated care he picked up the lamp and descended. The floor was strewn with bodies of rats, all with bulging bellies. Nearest where the bait had been there was even a pile of them in a knot. Checking quietly on the nearest body, he found it was still breathing. He could not be absolutely sure, but it almost seemed to be snoring a very quiet little ratty snore. Into the inventory it went. Peter tiptoed around the room, gathering up the animals and gently lowering them in to join their brother. Lastly, he swiftly picked up the whole pile that were joined together in one go, dropped it in and sealed the dimensional pocket.

The shopkeep was waiting outside, pacing and wringing his hands. “Is it done? Are they gone?” the words tumbled from his anxious mouth. When Peter nodded, he rushed in, casually pushing him out of the way.

“Hey, jerk! What about my reward?” Peter called into the musty darkness.

“You'll get it when I'm sure my stock is safe!” The voice floated back out to him.

Peter shrugged. He figured he could come back for it later, right now he had an inventory full of vermin to dispose of. The big question was, where? Where does one let a ravenous horde roam free? Peter pondered this conundrum as he walked out through the fields. As he walked along his arm started to itch. He rolled up his sleeve and checked the quest log. The description for the rodent removal quest had changed to Return for your reward. He rolled his sleeve down again and kept walking. Weirdly, his arm was still itching. Peter checked his quest log again, but nothing more had changed. He scrolled up, then down, looking for some other change. It was not until he had reached the very bottom that he found a clue as to what was happening. His inventory icon was... vibrating. The itching was getting worse. Peter didn't know what else to do, so he started running for the gates. He had to get out of the town before whatever was going to happen, happened.

The itching soon became a burning, the icon had now started flashing as well. Peter spent too much time staring at his arm, tripped on a rock and slid on his knees, tearing his trousers and lacerating his shins. The burning in his arm became a sharp stabbing sensation and the air in front of him rent apart to reveal as dark space full of gleaming red eyes and sharp teeth. Peter didn't even have time to raise his hands when the ravening mass poured forth, gnashing teeth and black furry bodies. They hit his chest with a fury unmatched in his experience, and after a moment's agony, all went dark.

This time, Peter stayed logged in for the rebirth process. It was not as bad as advertised. It was worse. First, he felt himself pop into existence in a cold dark void. He felt the wounds the rats had inflicted knitting together rapidly, but not rapidly enough. This must be how Wolverine felt every time, he thought as his teeth ground together against the pain. At last, he felt himself settle onto a cold hard surface and the walls rush inwards to enclose him. He gasped a huge shuddering first breath into this new body. The next breath came much easier. His heart ceased hammering against his chest. The agony of the wounds faded into a faint tingling, then altogether. Knowing what to expect this time, Peter hunted around near his head for the cord. After giving it two firm pulls he laid back to await Jacob's assistance.

“Mornin' sunshine! I didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon,” Jacob's unique visage peered over the edge of the coffin. “You're looking a mite more relaxed this time.”

Peter sat up, blinking tears away. “Thank you Jacob. I can honestly say that was one of the worst experiences I've ever had. Dying is significantly less fun than I’d expected.”

“Well, young sir, I would recommend not doing so again, if possible? Now, up ye hop, can't spend all day in bed.” He offered a hand up, which Peter accepted gratefully. “I trust ye know the way to the ladder? I've a few more to get on the slab today. I must look into getting an assistant.”

“Thanks, I know the way,” Peter made his way up the passage and climbed the ladder. The same, or possibly a different, priestess guided him to a room to relax in.

In the room, Peter took a moment to check his characteristics again. Still no loss of skills or attributes. In fact, he seemed to have earned a percentage point towards both Physical Endurance and Physical Prowess. He had no idea what he could possibly have done to earn them, but every little bit helped in the end.

While his stats were growing, his clothing was looking extremely worse the for wear. His shirt was almost more hole than cloth and his pants were now shorts. Peter hoped that whatever dividend the shopkeep paid out would cover enough to keep him covered. It was getting decidedly draughty.

Lowering himself to the cushions, Peter picked up an apple and took a bite. Normally he had the average teenager's appetite for fruit, but dying had left him somewhat peckish. Maybe it was his virtual body needing to replenish itself after the repairs. Maybe he was just stress eating. Whatever the case he grabbed a bunch grapes for later and popped open his inventory. He had just released the stem of the bunch and watched it settle into its slot when something caught his eye. Taking up four slots by itself, the biggest rat of all was still sleeping in there. A huge white monstrosity the size of his head just waiting for the opportunity to eat his face again.

Peter's heart began to hammer against his chest. He was still recovering, having only just been respawned and had no weapons and no herbs to fight this beast if it decided to wake up and attack. He tried backing away, but the interdimensional rent was tethered to him and followed as he moved. Peter's back was pressed firmly against the wall and was doing its best to merge with the stone when the rat opened its little pink eyes, stretched and yawned in the cutest way and settled back to sleep.

“Wait. What?” Peter voiced his inner thoughts. The sleeping rodent didn't seem so frightful now. Peter reached gingerly into the space and stroked the white fur. Whilst more coarse than he would expected, it was still nicely soft and clean. The little body shifted under his fingers and he jerked his hand back but instead of sinking its teeth into his skin, it just stretched again and rolled up into a ball, nose to tail. Intrigued, Peter took a grape from the bunch and bit it in half. He waved the portion close to the twitching nose and watched said nose follow the half grape. He held it still and two small paws reached out to accept the gift. Still without opening its eyes again, the grape was consumed in short order.

Soon, it reached out for more. Peter snapped off another grape and bit it in half too. Chewing his half he placed the other in the outstretched paws. This time the paws gripped his finger and Peter again braced for teeth but all he received was a little pink tongue licking the grape juice off. When the piece of fruit was pulled from his fingers, Peter realised he was holding his breath.

“Well, well, well. I thought you were a dangerous bastard like your friends, but you're a big softie aren't you?” Peter stroked the fur again. “Well, I won't ruin your reputation. Let's call you DB. You go back to sleep, there'll be more grapes later.”

Peter closed the space and poured himself a cup of tea. “Isn't this an interesting turn up?” he thought out loud. The intensity of his death, rebirth and rodent terror were beginning to fade. As he drank his tea he began to think about what to do next, and how to avoid coming here again. Sure, the tea is good, but is it worth the price of admission?

Draining the last of the drink and setting the cup on the table, he found his guide waiting by the door again. He wondered briefly how that was managed. Is it programmed behaviour? Or was someone watching in game?

As he stood up he decided it didn't matter. He was feeling much better overall and ready to face the virtual world again. First stop, the shopkeep who owed him some money.

Minutes later and a few streets over in the general store, Peter found himself staring at his hand in disappointment. “Is this all your stock is worth to you?” he asked.

The weedy little man crossed his arms. “It is now. What little those vermin hadn't eaten they peed on. I can sell less than half of it. The rest will have to be burned.”

“You have fun with that,” Peter tucked the measly few coppers into his pocket as he walked out the door. They then fell through the bottom of the pocket onto the sidewalk. Muttering about cheapskates and jerkish AI as he scrabbled about to pick up the reward for the quest, Peter decided that he really needed to get some new clothes. As he walked along, Peter placed the coins into his inventory instead, careful not to wake DB in the process. The rat was napping again, oblivious to the goings on outside.

Peter trudged up the main street looking for the advertising shingle of a tailor or seamstress. It did not him take too long to find one, there was a shop that catered to adventurers in need of cloth and leather armour not far from the central square. As the door was wide open, he wandered inside. What greeted him was a riot of colour. Shirts of every hue lined the walls, hangars of dresses likewise arrayed, and piles of trousers and shorts interspersed between. A woman whose dress displayed every colour imaginable at once twirled down an aisle, the hem billowing out like a parachute.

“My goodness Traveller. Never have I seen one in such great need of a fashion update.” She stopped dead and dropped into a curtsy. Now that she was no longer spinning, Peter could see that her upper face was hidden by a snow white porcelain mask. The skin of the exposed lower half was painted to a matching hue. “I would ask what you need, but it appears to be everything.”

Peter looked down at the sorry state of his attire. “I know miss, but people in this town keep stiffing me on the quest rewards. I have but a few coppers to my name.”

The lower half of the woman's face hardened to match the upper. “My, my. That will not do. I cannot simply let my merchandise go, but at the same time, this,” she waved dismissively at Peter, “cannot be countenanced. It will not do at all. Come with me.”

She crooked a finger and Peter shrugged and followed. He was led down the cloth-lined aisles to a curtained off corner. “This is our... less refined works area. When Travellers come through Averton they often rent my workspace to practice our wondrous craft. Some spend hundreds of hours and in the beginning produce results that are little better than rags. In fact that's what most of them are sold as. Still, later on as their skills grow, their efforts are more often successful. But they still make mistakes sometimes. Mistakes that are too close to success to simply cut up as rags, but not good enough quality to be worth my buying them to onsell. Most Travellers just destroy these pieces, but a few dump them here in this area for others to work with. For a copper each, I could let you have what you need. They won't be beautiful, but you won't be walking the streets naked as a jaybird either.”

Relieved, Peter thanked the seamstress. “Don't thank me yet. You haven't tried them on. May you find something that fits.” And with that she twirled off to attend a more affluent customer.

Peter perused the shelves in the darkened corner. The articles of clothing were as bad as described, unless this shirt had deliberately been designed for someone with three arms. Peter tried it on anyways, and had pulled it over his head and found it stuck just past his neck, caught on something. His wings! He had completely forgotten about them! He gave the tiny appendages an experimental flap. He could feel them move, almost like another set of arms. They felt weird though. He had no real-world counterpart, they were part of him here but so alien as well.

Manoeuvring the shirt hem over them, he pulled it down. Other than squashing his wings against his back it fit acceptably. He sorted through the piles until he found some leather... pants... with a similar fit, though one leg ended at the knee and the other at the ankle. For better protection, he dug out a cloak too. It was far too long, with bottom edge trailing on the floor like a bridal train but had a decent cowl he could pull up to protect his head. For some strange reason the maker had decided to include a collar inside the hood as well, one so high it covered Peter's nose, but having just had his face eaten off he felt it was a good thing.

“Miss!” he called out, having made his selections. “Miss, I need some help, and I'd like to pay.”

The beige faced woman spun over to him again. Peter wondered how she managed it without getting dizzy. She resembled a children's toy top he recalled seeing once on a very old movie. “Yes, Traveller? Have you found something to replace those rags you're wearing?”

“Yes miss, but I'm afraid I have a... non-standard biology. Could I impose on you to modify these clothes though, please?” Peter turned around and flapped his wings to demonstrate. “I'd like the legs on these to match if possible too.”

The seamstress pursed her lips. “I can, but it will double the price of the items. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes, please and thank you.” Peter handed over the selected clothing and they were whisked away to the workbench on the opposite side of the room. A few moments later they were whisked back with the correct number of arm holes, matching leg lengths and a pair of slits for his wings to poke through. Peter ducked back into the curtained off area and quickly dressed himself.

Taking his old tattered clothing to the counter, he placed them beside the register. “How much all up? Can I trade these in as rags”

“Normally, twenty copper. With these, I can make it fifteen.”

Peter popped open his inventory and fished out his money and counted it out. “... Ten… Eleven… Twelve… I’m not going to have enough. Bugger.”

With a kindly smile on her face, the shopkeeper placed a hand over his and closed it. “I’ll tell you what, Traveller. I cannot let you go back to wearing those rags. If you were to fetch the bolts of cloth I’ve ordered from over at the General Store, I could pay you for your trouble. Two copper per bolt delivered, and I’ll let you wear your new outfit while you do it.”

Peter bowed low, it felt like the right thing to do. “We have a deal, ma’am. I shall return with sufficient cloth to repay my debt to you and then some.”

Stepping out into the street in his new clothes felt weird. Admittedly they were the cast-offs of beginner tailors, but they clung and pulled in strange places. To hide his discomfort, Peter flipped up the cowl and buttoned the high collar across his face.

Finding his way back to the General Store was a cinch, but it was quite the hike across town. He triggered the magic GPS in case it revealed a short cut. Understanding dawned on Peter as to why he had been contracted to perform this job. There was no way he could imagine the lady in her colourful outfit lugging bolts of cloth this far.

Peter found the weedy looking General Store owner checking his stock in the back of his shop. “Sir, I am here to collect the cloth ordered by the seamstress?”

Looking him up and down, then up and down again, the store owner pulled out his monocle and polished it. “Are you now? Have a cart handy do you?”

Peter’s cheeks reddened and he looked down at his feet. He should have thought about that. “Uh. No. I’m going to have to take them one by one.”

“Well, no-one’s going to doubt your moxie Traveller. Sanity, yes, moxie, no.” He popped the monocle back in. “Around the back, by the warehouse door. I was able to salvage eight bolts from the rats. Should have been more, but that’s Travellers for you. Off you go, you’ll want to get moving. Looks like rain this afternoon.”

Shooed out the door with a wave, Peter nipped around the back of the store to see where the cloth had been left. The bolts were not quite as big as he had been expecting, but they were still pretty sizable. He hefted one up on each shoulder and began making his very slow way back to the shop.

Not far down the road a small notification popped up in the corner of his vision. You are heavily encumbered. Relinquish some weight or become Exhausted.

“Stupid system. Can’t afford to drop the weight. Gotta get these delivered now.” Muttering to himself as he trudged down the footpath, occasionally stumbling under the weight. Eventually he reached the store where the fairy lights indicated an area out the back where he was to put the delivery.

Gently lowering the weight to the ground, he stretched his back and looked up. The clouds were gradually darkening. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.” He picked up the pace on the way back to the General Store. No sooner had he shouldered the weight when a new notification popped up. You are heavily encumbered. For carrying an excessive weight for an excessive time, you are now Mildly Exhausted. You will now begin losing health. Exhaustion can be negated by resting.

“Really no rest for the wicked. Ugh.” He scanned around for some way to make his job easier, but everyone he could see was on foot and busy with their own occupations. “Well, I made this choice. Onward, ho”

As everyone in the same situation in the history of back-breaking and mind-numbing chores has done, he found himself breaking it into smaller mathematical chunks. “Two more streets, and I’m halfway there. Four more bolts, two trips, clouds coming in quickly. Ok, not too quickly, made that street in less than a minute, I can do this…”

Surely enough, he dropped off the next two bolts at the shop and checked the sky to find that it was completely cloud covered now and beginning to darken. He took some deep breaths and increased the pace again. Not quite sprinting but definitely more than a jog.

“Watch it!” A random pedestrian protested as he dashed past and turned sharply to head around the back of the General Store again. Hoisting the next two bolts triggered another notification. You are heavily encumbered. For carrying an excessive weight for an excessive time and being Mildly Exhausted, you are now Moderately Exhausted. Health loss increased. Exhaustion can be negated by resting.

Although he was able to increase his speed between the drop-off and the pick-up, being Moderately Exhausted slowed him down on the way back. With his breath loud in his ears and his feet leaden, Peter lugged this Herculean load with an equal determination. A gust of wind brought the smell of ozone to his nose. “Crap. Crap-crap-crap. Still got two to go.”

He dumped the delivery unceremoniously in the designated zone and booked it. He could feel the temperature dropping and knew this was a race against time. Fortunately, the Citizens had all moved inside to avoid the impending storm so he no longer had to wend his way through the crowd.

Arriving at the General Store, he snatched up the last load and his knees buckled. You are heavily encumbered. For carrying an excessive weight for an excessive time and being Moderately Exhausted, you are now Heavily Exhausted. Rapid health loss has begun. Rest soon or perish.

“Gnh. Not. Just. Racing. The. Storm. Gotta. Beat. My. Own. Health. Too.” He bit off every word, timing them with his steps. It became a mantra, consuming his whole attention. His world had reduced to a series of blue flickering lights, the pain in his shoulders and the hammering of his heart.

“Traveller. Traveller! You can stop now. Lay down your burden.” A gentle woman’s voice broke through the haze.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Peter could see he had reached the seamstress’s shop. It was the seamstress herself that was speaking to him, a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going any further. He slipped his burden and a dark, blurry figure collected it and hurried inside.

“You have done well, not a single yard was spoiled by the oncoming storm. You have my thanks, and this,” a single copper coin was pressed into his palm. “Your debt is paid, as is mine. Rest here, I must return to my shop.”

Peter stood swaying for a moment, then slumped to the ground gripping the copper coin. A pain in his chest. A tingling in his arms. The storm broke, but made no sound. The darkness lurking at the edge of his vision blossomed out, consuming all.

A copper disk tinkled to the cobbles.