All around me, those who’d wagered in my favor were now desperately attempting to cancel their bets. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t blame them. I didn’t like my chances against the barbarian behemoth either. The rogue had been an opponent that I’d imagined I could take in a straight-up fight. But with the new arrival, this was no longer a duel. Somewhere along the way, it had become an elaborate form of suicide.

Gary279 was cackling like a madman from the sidelines. I silenced him with an accusing finger.

“You claimed that the barbarian was here to even the odds. But the dwarf is clearly a noncombatant. Are you so afraid of losing that you had to handicap me? Or are you simply suggesting that this is the caliber of opponent your new recruit is worthy of.”

Now it was Tiny who threw an accusing glance toward the sneaky half-orc. The barbarian’s spokesman had committed a P.R blunder and offended his new champion in the process. Of course, I was perfectly happy to capitalize on that to make them both look as bad as possible, starting a chant of ‘Tiny the dwarf-slayer’ that the ruckus crowd were more than happy to partake in.

Realizing that his comrade was in danger of losing it (and now just as likely to attack the crowd as their intended target) the rogue rushed over to the half-orc and whispered something in his pointed ear. The spokesman smiled, petitioned the crowd for calm, then spoke again.

“Pffft. Very well. Perhapssss we can find another way that the dwarf can be of sssservice. My cell could use a new footstool, for a sssstart. Of coursssse, that leaves one ssssmall problem still to be addressssed… the challenge has already been accepted, and our champions musssst be met in combat. But asss you kindly pointed out, the Brotherhood believes in fairnessss. Ssssince your partner isn’t up to the task, you are free to make a ssssubstitution. If you can find ssssomeone foolish enough to sssside with you, that issss.”

Shit. Not the evening of the odds I’d hoped for, admittedly. I frantically scanned the crowd for a familiar face, anyone who looked like they might be prepared to assist me. Like those guys from the boss raid, for example. Surely they owed me, and bigtime. But I hadn’t spotted them earlier, and I didn’t see them now. In the movies, this was the moment when some brave soul would step forward to stand by the underdog’s side, putting it all on the line for no other reason than their willingness to do the right thing. But these were not the heroes their avatars were based on. They were career criminals, like me. And while I imagined that many of them truly were on a path to redemption, this roadblock was a lot to expect any of them to overcome, especially on a stranger’s behalf.

Meanwhile a few yards behind me, the half-orc was making grand declarations, planting seeds in the minds of the baying crowds: suggestions that my failure to find a substitute would be tantamount to forfeit, leaving the rabble no option but to dole out my original fate. I turned to Samusk for guidance, but the little bastard had retreated to the relative safety of the crowd, not even waiting to see if I found help before leaving my vulnerable side.

Becoming desperate, I scanned the crowd for a sign of the apprentice. He had been kind to me, yes, but would that kindness extend to making my enemies his? And on that note, was it even fair of me to impose on my fellow noob’s good nature to such a degree? Anyway, even if he wanted to help, what could he hope to achieve against this monstrosity?

Noobslayer had a vested interest in my survival, and at level 6, he could easily turn the odds in my favor. Granted, he was a swordsman, like me, and this was a straight up brawl. But I couldn’t imagine that he got to level 6 without picking up a few extra combat skills along the way.

Alas, the question as to whether either would assist me was a moot one. There was no sign of the apprentice in the crowd, or of the vice-loving Knight. Ironically, the sheer length of time Samusk had spent surveying the room for potential allies had given mine ample time to leave.

But then I saw a face that I did recognize, and an idea struck me. I didn’t need one of the players who had simply had their fill then left. What I needed, was a bad-ass who had hung around long enough for seconds.

“You,” I declared for all to hear, pointing an outstretched arm at the female half-orc who’d harassed me earlier. “You seem keen to prove your mettle to everyone assembled. Will you join me in my task?”

The now familiar quest window appeared before her.

“Drop dead, human,” she growled, flicking it closed again. The exchange was met with a chorus of snickers, but that was a good thing. The crowd’s reaction to our exchange would be very important.

“Sorry, I grinned, holding up both arms in mock apology, “I should’ve realized, you only pick on the weaker players, don’t you?” adding: “My apologies, fair lady. I’ll leave you to pick your own fights in future, so as not to cause you any further embarrassment.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd as I verbally bitch-slapped the aggressive orc. Admittedly, it felt good. One unwise soul, a swordsman who had the poor judgement to laugh right in the burnee’s face, promptly received a punch in the throat for his foolishness. This comical exchange invoked even more merriment from the rowdy crowd. Oh, except for the target of my insult: the half-orc was seething.

“Stop wastin’ our time foolin’ with the filthy h’orc coward and fight me,” demanded Tiny, his voice as monstrous as his hulking frame.

The demand sent a shiver through me, but I noticed that Gary also seemed to cringe at the barbarian’s choice of words. Then I found myself remembering what Mai had said during my avatar selection: h’orc was the game’s derogatory term for half-orc’s. Perhaps his ‘brotherhood’ was no longer the orc-inclusive environment he’d thought it to be. That pleased me. The spokesman was now trapped in the same gang as this orc-aphobic monster, a cage of his own making, perhaps? That would be fitting. Maybe the rabble’s open-door policy would be its downfall, in the end.

While Gary remained quiet, my mark did not let the comment slide so easily. In fact, it was the final nudge she’d needed. She casually stepped over the writhing body of the gasping swordsman who’d slighted her, deliberately crushing the fingers of his sword-hand in the process, and defiantly stepped into the circle. I prayed that it wasn’t to get in line behind the rogue and the barbarian.

S’haruk runs from no challenge,” she declared, turning to me and adding, “the big one is mine.” I smiled and nodded. I was more than happy with that allocation of opponents. Then she leaned in closer, whispering in my ear in a low guttural growl: “damn you, human. When all of this is over, I’m going to liquidize you.”

“If there’s enough of me left, you’re welcome to stomp me into tomorrow’s stew,” I replied. “But one thing at a time, eh? I’m ah… a little bit perceptually challenged, at the moment. I don’t suppose you could read the big one’s stats for me, could you?”

“250HP, level 2 barbarian,” she snapped back. To my surprise, the statement wasn’t followed by the now-standard crack at my idiotic stat allocation. “He has the tank attribute,” she continued, “that means he can turn every successful defense into mana, so we’d better make every strike count.

“Anything he blocks, he’ll just throw right back at us,” I confirmed. “Got it.”

For a moment, I thought I noticed an odd look on S’haruk’s face. And then I wondered: could it actually be a look of concern? I carefully questioned her, keen to discover what was wrong.

“His max HP is too high for his level,” she replied. “As is his strength. He must have an unusually high resilience stat. That or an item that boosts his strength artificially.”

“He was forcefully leveled down, that’s why his stats are so uneven,” came a mystery voice from the crowd. Tiny turned to address it, seething.

“You shut the fuck up, you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“I heard about this from the chief,” added the guard, his stomach-wide grin spreading. “Dumb bastard got himself stuck in a cavern, can you believe that? Stopped half the raid party getting into the boss chamber before the lair sealed itself. In the end, they had to kill him, just to clear a fucking path.”

“Lies,” he spat back, his oily face turning crimson. “I died in battle with a mighty shadow stallion…”

“He’s the one who’s lying,” I happily confirmed. “I was there, and I’d have noticed this big bastard. I’d have used him to hide behind, for a start.”

“The moron dropped a level and got the boot, why else would he hook up with a pathetic rabble like that?” continued the first voice, the anonymous heckler’s words only serving to stoke the big man’s fury. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded the distraction. But the behemoth was getting more and more livid, and I did not want to find a new role as the barbarian’s squishy stress toy.

“At least we know he can die,” I whispered, nervously.

“They all die when I’m finished with them,” replied the half-orc. And you know what? I believed her.

“I heard that you h’orc whore,” spat our enraged opponent, as the rogue attempted to hold him back. “I’m going to enjoy taking your pelt and addin’ it to my collection. Yeah, that’s right, bitch. I won’t finish when yer dead. Orc-skin fetches a good price, what wiv its anti-magical properties… even the skin of a watered-down bitch like you will make good leather fer armor.”

At this point, the rogue interjected. “You know… an assassin with magical resistance could be a wizard’s worst nightmare… if you were to facilitate such an enhancement to my avatar, I could easily pay you back with the proceeds…”

Hmmm. Someone isn’t so wary of killing the other prisoners as he used to be. That didn’t take long.

“No problem,” he beamed, shaking the rogue’s hand. “I could easily fit yer scrawny little rogue avatar in that bulky bitches hide. Probably have enough left over to make myself a pair of gloves, too. Jus’ make sure yer buddies grab the body the moment she falls. The trick is to skin ‘em as soon as yeh kill ‘em, before they get the chance to respawn.” He turned back to us, and bellowed: “You hearin’ all this, yeh ugly h’orc? Your hides gonna buy me a new battle-axe.”

S’haruk scowled. With that, she sent me a request. I opened it and read the following…

NEW QUEST – Kick the shit out of the barbarian.

S’haruk has asked you to form a temporary alliance, to help ensure that user TinyTheTankEngine dies as brutally and painfully as possible.

Goal: Kill the tank.

Type of quest – One off.

Reward: A potential reprieve from suffering the same fate at the hands of S’haruk.

Rep effect – Neutral, but has the potential to increase your standing with the half-orc warrior.

Warning: An alliance will give each member full access to the other warrior’s stats.

Accept Y/N?

As much as she disliked me, I could clearly see where her true hatred lay. That meant that where motivation was concerned, I couldn’t have chosen better. Every time Tiny opened his mouth, he only served to cement our alliance. I hit ‘yes’ and the warrior’s stats began to flood my status panel.

USERNAME: S’HARUK

PRIMARY SKILL: ORCAN BRAWLER – LEVEL 2

PERCENTAGE REMAINING UNTIL NEXT LEVEL IS UNLOCKED – 12%

Rep: -33/30

HP: 200/200

Mana: 0/0

Alliances: None.

PHYSICAL STATS -

Strength: 6 (Cap 7)

Agility: 2 (Cap 2)

Speed: 2 (Cap 2)

Stamina: 5 (Cap 5)

Resilience: 5 (Cap 5)

Accuracy: 1 (Cap 1)

Defence: 3 (Cap 3)

Armed combat: 1 (Cap 1)

Unarmed combat: 4 (Cap 4)

Carrying capacity: 2 (Cap 2)

INTANGIBLE STATS -

Magical attack: 0 (Cap 0)

Perception: 4 (Cap 4)

Charisma: 0 (Cap 1)

Disguise: 0 (Cap 0)

Luck: 0 (Cap 1)

Healing: 0 (Cap 0)

Mana generation: 0 (Cap 0)

Leadership: 0 (Cap 2)

Homemaking: 0 (Cap 1)

So close to level 3. Oh well, still impressive. Particularly the way she’d raised most of her physical stats to their cap already.

I looked away from the screen when I realized she’d thrust something into my hand.

-[ You have been gifted a bushel of healing herbs. ]-

…announced my status bot. I looked at the plant, then stared at the half-orc in shock.

“So that you don’t die on me too soon,” she confirmed. “I’ll need you to distract the rogue while I gut the barbarian. Take it now, it should bring you closer to full health.”

As I chewed through the fowl-tasting herb, I had to admire my new ally’s focus on getting the job done. I’d goaded her into this, and had imagined that she’d be too pissed with me to even think of sharing tactics, much less to give me her precious healing herbs, or access to her stats. But then I hardly gave her much choice, did I?

My HP rose to 88/90, and I suddenly felt a lot more confident. It was still far from a fair fight, but at least I now had a fighting chance. S’haruk meanwhile, continued to brief me, this time on the level and HP of the rogue (2 and 70, respectively). There were no real surprises where he was concerned, freshly spawned as he was. But scant as the information was, it was good to know what I was up against. With my HP restored, and the rogue unable to use his weapons, I dared to contemplate that we may even have the advantage.

If S’haruk can keep the barbarian occupied long enough for me to kill the rogue, that is.

Meanwhile, the rogue was playing a similar role, giving his colossal tag-team partner a run-down of the unexpected new player. Tiny seemed unconcerned.

“I ain’t afraid of no stinkin’ halfbreed,” spat the behemoth, “let’s get this fight started, already.”

As Gary sought confirmation that the bookies had taken all their bets (and reminded them of the rabbles entitlement to a cut, being the fights facilitators), I noticed that the beastling was leaving, pushing his way through the otherwise transfixed crowd. Why would he of all people want to miss the opportunity to see me get ground into noob paste? Unless… shit, unless he had something even more satisfying planned.

I recalled what Samusk had said earlier about prisoners waiting at a player’s respawn point to finish the job. And then I remembered that my cell door was open. There and then I understood the importance of belonging to a gang: I had no one to help guard my respawn point. That meant that I didn’t just stand to lose a level if this fight went awry. The beastling bastard was planning to level me out.

I tried to voice my concerns to Samusk: hoping, nay, praying that he could find NoobSlayer in time, talk him into guarding my respawn point until the fight was over. But I’d lost the dwarf in the sea of baying warriors. Was he even still here? I wondered.

“Swordsnoob, move your ass,” came a guttural cry from my reluctant ally.

And with that, it was too late to do anything about the beastling. The fight had begun.