Niko shimmered into existence for his first time at the obelisk in Wellsport, and proceeded to gawk around unabashedly like a new tourist in VegasLand. The towering, ornately decorated obelisk dominated the center of an enormous cobbled square that was easily large enough to field Googazon’s entire fleet of heavy freight drones, with room to spare for the autoloaders. He was dazzled by the overwhelming sensory overload. The area teemed with an endlessly moving multitude of beings: every race, size, and description that he could ever have imagined — and more than a few which he never had — wearing such a dizzying array of apparel in so many styles and colors that he was hard-pressed to focus on any single one of them. His ears were assaulted by a cacophony of sound — screeching and squawking, growling and singing, the rumbling murmur of a thousand conversations, all sung counterpoint by the shouts of the merchants hawking their wares from carts and stalls scattered throughout. It seemed like a million aromas wafted past his nose, many of them pleasant — some others, maybe not so much.

“Ribbons! Pretty pretty ribbons for the lady! Hey, hey pretty lady!”

“Lookie, lookie, lookie! One of a kind! Rarest of the rare, ye’ll find nothin’ like this nowhere else in all the realm!”

“Fresh sfiha right here! Come get’cher hot samosa, fresh out’ the oven! Pasties, pasties, pasties, spicy and hot!”

Jostled, he moved quickly out into the square to make way for the nearly steady stream of new arrivals at the monolith. Still rubbernecking, he noticed that the perimeter of the square was surrounded by a veritable palisade of stone block shop buildings, two and three stories high, with gaily colored awnings and brightly painted signboards illustrating the nature of the delights to be found within. Many of the restaurants, inns, and taverns sported second- and even third-story balconies, with tables and seating for patrons to relax and survey the thronging crowd below.

Most of the people — or beings — swarming and surging all around him had the discreet player’s mark floating over their heads, with the majority of those being green, and just a few red ones scattered here and there. Niko felt a little conspicuous, self-consciously aware that his own mark was red — but as far as he could tell, no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He couldn’t spot Kristius anywhere in the mob, so he decided to do some exploring.

The crowds eddied around numerous little rest areas dispersed all around the square, equipped with comfortable-looking wood benches, many of them accompanied by soothing little pools of clear water, in which brightly striped koi darted and begged for scraps. He found a bench, and unslung his satchel to take stock of his inventory. He had the tattoo pattern, his handwraps, four colored gemstones, and — after he’d counted out the various coins he’d collected thus far — totaled nearly 18 gold crowns. Glancing down at himself, he decided that he needed to go shirt shopping. Even though his shirt was fairly new, it was already stained and coated in grime, not to mention that it now had big bloodstained holes in the back and chest.

“Ok, I understand the desire for realism, but I sure prefer the self-cleaning, self-repairing clothes in some of the other games I’ve played,” he groused.

A little exclamation point flashed at him in the corner of his vision, and when he focused on it a message zoomed out at him:

Icharus has claimed the diamond gemstone from your inventory.

“Son of a bitch!” Niko shouted, causing several passersby to turn and stare. One of them — a player with a red mark — chuckled knowingly, causing Niko to flush in embarrassment. Grumbling under his breath, he closed his bag and rose to push his way through the crowd. He heard a tenor voice loudly but lyrically proclaiming “the finest and most durable of clothing for the most discriminating of buyers”, which he followed to find a sizable stall overseen by a richly attired elven merchant, tall and ghost-pale, sporting a long tail of white-blonde hair. Niko haggled with him for two new shirts and a pair of pants, settling grudgingly on 22 silver bits for the lot. He stripped out of the tattered shirt on the spot, donning a new one and tossing the old into a nearby trash bin.

“Do you know where I can find a tattoo artist?" he asked the clothing vendor, who pointed towards the north side of the square. Stuffing the remaining clothing in his bag, he pushed once more through the crowd, feeling much like a leaf in a stream, wending generally northward. Eventually, he spied a small shop out at the edge of the square boasting a placard that depicted a quill pen drawing a colorful picture on an outstretched arm.

Entering with a little jingle as he pushed the door open, he walked into a warm and cozy-looking studio, with comfortable chairs arranged around the room, intricately woven rugs on the floor, and a thickly padded reclining lounge dominating the center space. A pleasant and soothing fragrance hung faintly in the air. Another tall, pale elven man — this one with hair as black as a raven’s wing, which was gathered up into a neat chignon at his nape — was seated casually on a round stool next to the recliner, examining a scroll. A neatly organized rolling workbench stood at his elbow.

Looking at Niko over the top of a pair of small half-moon glasses perched atop his nose, he laid the scroll aside, stood, and gave a graceful bow.

He gave a friendly smile, “Greetings, traveler. I’m Herchel. How may I help you?" he asked in a melodic voice, proffering a hand.

Niko spontaneously returned the smile as he shook hands, “Niko. I’m not really sure. I just recently got this pattern for a tattoo, and I’d like to find out what it’ll do if I use it. Would you be willing to look at it and see if you can tell me something about it?" The elf nodded readily, and he handed over the pattern, waiting expectantly as Herchel adjusted his spectacles and examined it.

Thin dark eyebrows climbed the pale forehead, “This is a rare and fine piece of work, master-level quality at the least! Of course, the ink ultimately decides the final capabilities — what ink would you have me use?" He peered over the glasses at Niko again.

Niko spread his hands in a shrug, ”Well, that's just it, Herchel — I honestly have no clue. What would you suggest?”

“The hue exerts the most important influence on a crafting like this — red is combat-based, blue boosts protections, green aids healing, to name a few. The kind of ink has some bearing on the result — the more unique the ink, the more powerful the enchantment. I have several inks I could use, from quite common to extremely rare. In addition to that, if I imbue the ink with powdered gemstones it will give the charm even more potency.”

Fearing to make a poor choice, Niko pondered for a long moment. The artisan waited patiently, giving him time to consider his options. ”What kind of healing benefit would the green ink give?”

Herchel smiled sympathetically, “Sadly, I can’t answer that for you — each being is different, and each design reacts uniquely according to the bearer’s spirit. We won’t know for certain until I'm done and the rune activates.” He cocked his head inquiringly at the monk, “I have a small pot of green ink from a rare flower found only in the Frozen Steppes of Sarsurus. It is incredibly hard to come by.”

Niko pursed his lips, “How much?" He unlimbered his satchel.

“Sixteen gold crowns." The elf winced ruefully as Niko grimaced, ”As I said, quite hard to come by.”

Niko sighed resignedly as he counted out the coins, and then pulled a green gem from his pack, offering it to Herchel, ”I was going to sell this, but would it help make the tattoo better?”

The crafter held it up to the light and peered at it closely, ”Hmm... a fair emerald, not the greatest clarity, but it will certainly add a bit of potence. Where would you like the design placed?”

Niko shrugged, “Does the placement have any effect?” Herchel shook his head in the negative. “I’ve never done a tattoo before… how about my right pectoral?”

Herchel smiled his approval and gestured at the lounge, “Remove your shirt, and make yourself comfortable.”

While Niko got ready and settled himself on the couch, Herschel went over and opened a locked cabinet against the wall, from which he retrieved a small mortar and pestle, along with a small, well-worn, tightly bound leather bag. Working with the quickness and confidence of long mastery, he muttered a barely-heard arcane phrase as he ground the gemstone up in the mortar, and then ground the contents of the pouch in with it, releasing a sharp and spicy, albeit not unpleasant aroma. He studied the pattern quietly, waving a hand over it as he did so, and then dropped it into the mortar, where it summarily burst into flame. Adding a dash of water and a splash of whiskey — “for cleanliness,” he explained in a brief aside — he finally stirred the contents of the vessel up into a thin paste. The resulting ink was an oddly shifting green tincture that seemed to vary in shade from one moment to the next.

The grandmaster prepared a little jar full of pen-like, needle-tipped tools, one of which he took up and dipped into the ink. Closing his eyes, utter calm reflecting on his face, he whispered a few indistinct words, and when he opened his eyes again he began to work the needle in and out of Niko’s skin with impossible speed and precision.

Niko initially clenched his teeth against the jabbing pain, but found that he quickly became acclimated to it, eventually even falling into a state of lethargy. He had no idea how long he sat there as Herschel worked, occasionally changing needles, and moving at a rate that was beyond comprehension. Sweat began to bead up on the elf’s forehead, and he muttered continuously to himself in a low voice as he toiled, until finally he sat back, heaved a long sigh, and smeared a green stain across his forehead with tinted fingers.

Wordlessly, he took up a hand mirror from his workbench and handed it to Niko.

Niko held up the mirror, and gasped in astonishment as he inspected the sparkling green vine, hung with pointed leaves and delicate flowers, that looked as though it was sprouting right out from his chest. The vine snaked up to his right arm and wound down around the bicep. The design was done in a stunning array of green hues — from a shade so dark as to seem almost black, to a cast so light that it was nearly lost in his skin. The vine almost seemed to stir with life when he moved his arm. A notification blinked up in his view:

You have received the Mark of Chaloe’s Regeneration. Chaloe was a Grandmaster priest and artist who learned how to imbue his designs with great power.

Once per day, you may activate this charm to purge all damage you have sustained, including negative status effects such as alcohol, poison, and de-buffing spells and abilities.

“Wow, this is just amazing!" Niko exclaimed, admiring the elaborate artwork, ”Far beyond anything I imagined, thanks!”

The elf nodded, and tipped Niko a gracious bow, “Please come back if you ever wish to have another,” he replied. They shook hands again, and Niko left the shop. As soon as he stepped out the door, he heard Kristius bellowing.

“Yo! Oh mighty bald one,” he shouted, waving his axe wildly around in the air, and causing many hapless bystanders to duck for safety, ”I figured you’d want to get the artwork done ASAP.” He strode up to Niko, the crowd parting around him like a stream around a boulder. “Okay, let’s see it," he demanded. Niko hiked his shirt to show Kristius the tattoo, explaining how the enchantment worked. The bronze giant stood considering the design with a critical eye for a short while, hand stroking his chin. He finally looked up at Niko and shrugged, ”Hmm… not quite as cool as my dancing bear, but overall it’s pretty nice work. So what’s next?”

“I wanna go get my specialty. You gonna get yours?”

“Already did.” He struck a heroic pose, “You are in the exalted presence of Kristius, Adz master… “ he cupped a hand to one side of his mouth, “ ...that’s a fancy name for axe," he said confidentially. He spun his axe in an intricate flourish, eliciting more than one grumbling complaint from passersby.

”Well, while you’re out monking up, I'm gonna go look around, ‘cause this city is, like, massive! Walls, bars, harbours, bars, stores, and bars! Shoot me a personal message when you get freed up," and with that, the big man spun on his heel and sailed back out through the crowd.

Niko hailed one of the city guards and got directions for the combat training area. Despite the directions, he wandered around partially lost for a little while, until he finally found himself walking through a huge area that was patterned after the ancient Roman Colosseum, albeit on a much larger scale. A signboard near the entrance announced impending battles among the Gladiators in two more days, and any challengers were welcomed to enter — please see the arena master.

All around the giant oval of the stadium, he saw training schools for all types of combat, from commonplace staves and swords, to more than a few peculiar-looking and esoteric weapons that he’d never even seen before. Shouting, cursing, and the clash of arms echoed loudly from most of the practice halls that he passed. Niko circled around the perimeter, stopping occasionally to watch the sparring combatants, until he finally arrived at a nondescript structure, smaller than most of the others he’d passed, which displayed a modest sign that depicted a clenched fist.

“Huh, looks kinda like Knuckle Busters,” he mused to himself, “I wonder if I’ll find a version of Tajina in here?" With her flashy tattoos and piercings, he could easily imagine her as an NPC in the game, and he smiled faintly as he went up a few steps and through the plain wooden door.

He entered a quiet square room with simple rugs carpeting the floor and a couple of austere-looking benches against the walls. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air. Archways opened in the center of the three other walls of the room, giving glimpses of a hall leading away into dimness from each of them. A painting of a mountain hung above the arch directly ahead of him, the one on his left bore a picture of ocean waves, and the last, on his right, seemed to suggest the outline of a humanoid head. There was no one else in the room.

Niko looked around a moment, then shrugged and entered the hallway under the image of the mountain. Another archway at the end of the hall let out into a large open room with padded mats piled on the floor. The walls were skillfully carved with mountain scenes, and there were five other people in the room, two of which were NPCs. He watched silently as four of them stepped through a series of forms, while a brown-skinned dwarf with a dark-colored nimbus cloud of intermingled hair and beard wandered amongst them, making corrections and giving encouragement.

The dwarf spied Niko, and the lower half of his hair-cloud parted in a huge, white-toothed grin. “A-ha, young adventurer, please come in!” Folding his arms in front of him, he executed a deep bow, sweeping the floor with his hair, “Greetings, I am master Yorril. Do you seek the enlightenment of resilience?” The students paid no heed to the interruption, and continued with their practice.

Niko rubbed a hand over the top of his head, ”I… I’m not really sure, actually. What does it mean?”

White teeth flashed, and the master gestured at the sculpted walls, “The enlightenment of resilience is the strength of the mountains you see here around us. I can show you how to withstand the mightiest of blows, and to make attacks so powerful that the earth trembles!" he declared.

Niko looked at him skeptically, “Hmm….”

Yorril grinned even wider, “Ah, a doubter. Well, let me show you, then!" the dwarf exclaimed. He crouched low with his hands held slightly out in front of him, ”Go ahead, attack me!”

Niko shook his head resignedly, “Cripes, this is like Knuckle Busters," he muttered. Gritting his teeth in determination, he activated Focus Energy and swung a roundhouse punch at the dwarf, who made no move to avoid the blow. His fist landed solidly on Yorril’s jaw, and he felt as if he’d slammed his hand into a boulder. Even before he could howl from the pain of it, the dwarf threw up a single pointed finger, thumping Niko on the chest and knocking him completely off his feet.

Niko laid on the floor, gasping, and gingerly prodded his chest. “I don't think anything is broken," he wheezed. Yorril helped him climb unsteadily to his feet, where he stood rubbing tenderly at his torso.

“Well lad, what’d ya think about that? I kept that blow to a minimum — didn't wanna kill ya on the first day!”

Niko grimaced, “Appreciate that. Not sure yet, since I’d like to see what the other masters have to offer.”

The dwarf smiled and nodded in understanding, turning to return to his students. Niko started toward the door, but then stopped and turned back.

”Master Yorril?” The dwarf looked over his shoulder, head cocked inquisitively. “I have one quick question. Have you ever been beaten — since becoming a master, I mean?”

Yorril frowned briefly, lips pursed, and then shrugged, ”Aye, lad, sure — but that’ll happen even to the best of us from time to time. It teaches us to work harder, so that we’re that much tougher to beat the next time around.”

Niko made his way back to the entry and then down the hall marked with waves of water. The hall led him to another room very much like the first one, with the exception that the walls in here were carved in remarkably realistic images of water — flowing, fountaining, splashing, and cascading. There were only three students in here, being guided through a series of graceful and flowing moves that seemed more like a ballet than any kind of martial form that Niko had ever heard of. The leader was a willowy, almost ethereal elven woman, with skin so delicate it was nearly translucent. She spoke a quiet word to the students and turned to greet Niko as he entered.

She placed her hands before her face, palms touching, and bowed forward from the waist. “Hail, seeker, I am master Sealeen.” Her voice was melodious, soothing, and serene. “Do you pursue enlightenment in the school of motion?" She straightened and regarded him tranquilly.

Niko returned the bow, “For now, I'm just trying to see what the schools are about before I make a choice. Will you tell me about the school of motion?”

She tipped her head in a short nod, “Motion teaches us avoidance, and the use of an opponent's own power against him. It is impossible to do harm to that which you cannot strike.”

Niko sighed, having an idea as to what might be coming next, “I guess you’d better show me.”

Sealeen nodded graciously and took up a relaxed pose, balanced smoothly on the balls of her feet, arms floating out to her sides like seaweed in a pool. Niko launched himself at her, and she seemed to simply flow easily out of his way. Next he knew, he was suddenly sailing bodily through the air, with no idea of how it had come to be, and slammed down on the mats with breathtaking force. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment as he tried to collect both his wits and his breath.

“This is beginning to become an all-too common view,” he thought peevishly. He clambered yet again back to his feet, where the elf waited calmly for his decision.

Niko bowed again politely, “I have one last option to explore. If I may ask though — have you ever been beaten as a master?”

She shared a beatific smile, “Indeed I have, and there is no shame in it.”

“Ok, thank you, Master Sealeen.”

She acknowledged him with a stately nod before returning again to her students.

Niko back-tracked once more, and entered the last hall that was marked by the sign of the head. At the end of that hall, he stopped and gaped at the room. Instead of intricate carvings on the walls, the entirety of the room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all crammed full with a countless number of books.

A man in a slightly shabby-looking karategi sat cross-legged on the floor in a corner of the room, flanked by haphazard stacks of books, and he was deeply engrossed in a volume that was laying open in his lap. He was well-built, with an athletic physique that avoided being muscle-bound. Niko judged him to be maybe in his fifties, and he had reddish-sandy hair, with a chinstrap beard showing a peppering of gray. As he studied the tome before him, he traced motions in the air with his hands, now and then making a jabbing or punching movement.

Niko stood waiting respectfully for some time, but he finally realized that the man was oblivious to his presence, so he delicately cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for the master of this, um… school?”

The man looked up at him with a distracted smile, “Hm? Oh! That would be me!" he answered, setting aside the book from his lap and standing with a smooth fluid motion, ”Do you have a delivery for me?”

Niko gave him a blank look, “Pardon?”

“A delivery! The book about the anatomy of Requian sea serpents? I've been waiting a long time for it," the man said, looking at Niko expectantly.

“Well, ah, no sir. My name is Niko. I'm here to see about becoming a student.”

“A student? Really? Of mine?" the man seemed surprised.

“You are the master of this school, right?” Niko was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this choice.

The man flashed him a friendly smile, “Oh, yes I am. Hi, I’m master Chuck. Please forgive my confusion — It's just that there are so few who seek enlightenment on the path of Augury any more. Most would prefer to swing a sword or toss a spell.”

“Augury? So, what is it about?”

Chuck looked into Niko’s eyes with a frank expression, “Augury is a specialization of the mind, which guides you to know your opponent better than he knows himself. ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.’ — Sun Tzu,” he quoted, giving a short, concise bow.

Niko considered this carefully for a moment before asking, “Okay then, may I see what this specialization is like, please?”

The amiable smile returned, “Of course.” Chuck took up an easy stance, arms poised at his midsection, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, “Please, attack."

With a sinking sense of déjà vu, Niko activated Focus Energy and flung himself at Chuck, who flowed smoothly into a simple block that Niko had learned from sparring with Taggart back in his most basic training. Niko stepped back, surprised that he wasn’t lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for a change.

Chuck lapsed back to his ready state and made a summoning motion with his hand, “Please, continue.”

Niko cocked his head, shrugged, and launched a flurry of blows at the master. Again, Chuck blocked and parried his attacks with the simplest moves possible, never making any attempt at a counterattack. To his great surprise, he actually landed several good hard blows on his opponent. Once more, Niko disengaged and stood away, looking askance at the teacher.

Chuck replied only by mutely repeating the ‘come here’ gesture with his hand.

Now determined to make a good showing for himself, Niko assaulted Chuck with gusto for the next fifteen minutes or more, feeling a sense of elation when he even managed to land a kick or punch every now and then. He finally scored a good, solid punch on the master’s jaw, and Chuck rolled his head back with the strike, minimizing the force of the blow. He shot Niko a huge grin, stepped away, and bowed deeply from the waist with his arms folded across his chest. A little trickle of blood leaked from the edge of his mouth.

Niko couldn’t hide his confusion, “I don’t understand, sir. Other than just a good sparring session, what have we accomplished here?”

Calm brown eyes regarded him coolly, “I know you now, and you can no longer stand against me," he stated with an air of certainty. He took up his stance, “Come on, give me your best.”

Niko threw himself into another offensive, spearing a stiff-fingered hand out at the man’s head. Chuck barely moved his head, just enough that the blow missed him by the tiniest margin. For the next several minutes, Niko continued raining blow after blow at the master, only to have Chuck twitch minutely, or deflect him just enough to avoid being hit, the quiet little smile never leaving his face. Finally, sweating and panting with exertion, Niko stepped back and bowed to his opponent, noting that the man was barely breathing hard.

“I guess I see what you mean, I can’t even seem to touch you now,” he managed between gasps, “but you haven’t yet touched me either.”

Chuck inclined his head in an unruffled nod. Up came the hand, fingers waggling an invitation.

Catching his breath, Niko sent another flurry of blows at the master, who easily avoided them with only the slightest of efforts. Then, Chuck casually reached out a hand, palm cupped, and it seemed as if he merely tapped lightly on Niko’s right shoulder. Niko’s eyes shot open as his right arm erupted in intense pain and fell limply down at his side. Gasping from the shock, he staggered back from the fight as the pain slowly started to subside.

Chuck regarded him with a level gaze, “Continue.”

Resolutely, Niko attacked again and again. With each attempt, Chuck would tap him in different places on his body, each touch causing new spasms of blinding pain. The master methodically drove Niko back across the gym, expending almost no effort, until Niko finally collapsed to the floor, nerves and muscles twitching uncontrollably. Chuck reached down and tapped Niko lightly on the side of his neck.

“You are dead," he declared softly.

After the raging pain began to subside, Chuck reached down and helped Niko to his feet.

Niko shook his head dazedly, “How did you do that?” he gasped.

“With the enlightenment of Augury, a student learns how to let his body come to know his adversary. Once learned, there is nothing your foe can do to hurt you. Augury also reveals your opponent’s weak spots, which you can then use to cause intense pain, paralysis, and even death.”

“But you have to take a beating first?”

Chuck shrugged, ”It is inescapable — you must learn your adversary before you can know him.”

Niko looked at the man intently, “Have you ever been beaten since becoming a master?”

Chuck shook his head, “Never.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

A thought occurred to Niko. “What about non-humanoids — monsters and such?”

“Every foe has weaknesses that can be learned and exploited — even undead.” Chuck smiled, “The trick is to live long enough to know them," he explained.

Niko deliberated for a short while, and then stepped back and bowed deeply, ”I humbly request that you teach me the way of Augury.”

Chuck scoffed, waving a hand, “Enough with the bowing stuff, I put my pants on in the morning the same as you. I'll teach you." He walked over to one of the bookshelves, perused it for a moment, and took down a thick volume. Checking the cover, he nodded briskly and handed it to Niko. ”Here, start with this: ‘A Treatise on the Neural Pathways of the Upper Extremities of Humanoid and Non-Humanoid Creatures’.”

Niko took the book from Chuck, opened it and concentrated, laying a palm on the pages. Closing his eyes, he tried to draw the knowledge from the tome. Nothing happened.

Chuck looked at him quizzically, “What are you doing?" he asked.

Niko opened his eyes and looked perplexed. “I’m trying to learn the book.”

“Ah, that's not a magical script, you know," Chuck said, smiling gently.

“Uh. Then how do you learn it?" Niko asked, looking down at the book in bafflement.

“Well, you read it, of course!" Chuck replied, laughing, ”And the sooner, the better.”

Niko eyed the thick book apprehensively. “Well, hell…” he muttered dejectedly under his breath.

A personal communication from Kristius blinked and wiggled for attention in his peripheral vision just as he was leaving the halls of enlightenment. He focused on the icon, and it spun crazily as it zoomed out to deliver its message to his view.

“In jail, need bail, gimme a hail.” -K

Wondering what in the hells his friend had got mixed up in now, he immediately initiated a voice chat. There was a low buzzing noise, and after a brief pause Kristius’ rumbling baritone sounded in his ears, “Hey dude, um, I'm kind of in jail, and I kind of need some bail money.”

“What the hell, man?”

“Yeah well, I kind of saw that guy that shot me with arrows, and kind of got pissed for the punk way he killed us, so I kind of used my axe to kind of split his head open. A city guard kind of saw it, so I kind of ended up in jail, kind of.”

Niko hung his head, shaking it woefully, before telling Kristius he was on his way. He quizzed a number of city guards along the way, even still making several wrong turns — this city was huge! — before he finally arrived at the jail where Kristius was in custody. A long and ultimately costly conversation with the magistrate in residence resulted in Niko forking over all of his remaining gems and gold to keep his friend from having to sit in jail for 130 hours — ten for each level of the player character he had killed in the city limits.

As they stepped out into the sunlit street, Kristius slapped Niko heartily on the back. “Thanks, dude! That cell sucked big time! No holos, no ebooks — not even a religious flyer to look at, ya know? I'll buy ya a drink!”

“You’ll have to buy — it took everything I had to get you outta there," Niko observed sourly.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Apparently a player can’t pay his own fine. It’s supposed to keep the rich players from doing whatever they want and then just paying their way out.” Niko scowled up at him. “Ok fine, I’ll make it two drinks and some breakfast!" Kristius conceded magnanimously.

He led the way to a nearby tavern called the Buxom Maiden, which he enthusiastically informed Niko was reputed to have the best looking barmaids in the kingdom. When Niko wondered how he’d so swiftly come by such esoteric knowledge, Kristius sagely replied that there were forums dedicated to nothing other than in-game bars and what they were like. Once inside, he ordered them both a huge tankard of ale and a monstrous breakfast.

The big man grabbed a flaky, crusty-looking roll out of a basket on the table and shoved most of it in his mouth in a single bite. “Have you checked out your wraps lately?" he mumbled around the mouthful of food, sending crumbs flying across the table.

Niko gave a negligent shrug, still feeling irritable, “No. Why?”

In answer, Kristius set his axe down on the table in front of them. In place of the derelict cast-off it had once been, it was now in pristine condition. The handle was perfectly shaped from a dark, smooth-grained wood that shone with polish. The head, which was originally a rusted, pitted, dull piece of metal now gleamed with the blue-black sheen of finely wrought steel, and a light tracery of intricate runes glimmered faintly in the surface of the dark metal. Niko didn’t need to test the blade to know that its edge would be razor sharp.

“Examine.”

Battle Axe of Demarca the Slayer

Abilities: +4 Damage, slashing

+5 Armor

Barbarian Rage: Once per day, the user may enter a state of berserker rage. For the duration of this effect, the wielder will inflict double his normal damage on a successful attack, while also being rendered immune to all mind-influencing magics and abilities (retroactive)

????

Quality: Excellent

Durability: 1000/1000

Soulbound — Cannot be traded, stolen, or lost

“How about that, huh?" Kristius leaned back, stuffed the remaining piece of bread in his mouth and chewed with a big smile on his face.

Niko’s eyes went round in wonder. He swung his pack around in front of him and pulled out his hand wraps. In place of the grimy, tattered cloth bands he’d found in the tomb — it seemed so long ago now — he now held two neatly rolled bundles of expensive-looking, creamy-white linen cloth, finely woven, and shot through from end-to-end with shining golden threads that formed mysterious glyphs and sigils. The threads seemed almost to glow of their own accord. Niko examined them.

Hand Wraps of Grandmaster Otesso

Abilities: +4 Damage, unarmed combat

+5 Armor

Unassailable: Once per day, the wearer may become Unassailable, which renders him immune to all forms of physical attack for a period of five seconds. Non-physical attacks, such as fire, liquid, and gaseous clouds inflict damage as normal.

????

Quality: Excellent

Durability: 1000/1000

Soulbound — Cannot be traded, stolen, or lost

“Wow! They’re getting better the better we get," Niko marveled. He tucked the wraps back in his satchel, looking forward now to testing out the new abilities.

“Yep, they're scaling, dude. And the question marks tell us they ain't done yet, either. The gnarly green goddess hooked us up pretty good after all. I'm actually starting to feel a little better about this whole thing now.”

Just as Niko opened his mouth to reply, a tiny little cartoon representation of Arabella’s face bounced up at the edge of his vision, its little mouth working as if it was yelling at him. He acknowledged it with a glance.

“Hey! Little brother hit tenth! We’re heading out for the portal now, should be there asapish. We talkulated the sitch, and all three of us decided to do the PvP thing!” The message was punctuated with Lucius’ cartoon face grinning and nodding eagerly.

“Alright!" Kristius exclaimed, having seen the message at the same time, ”We got ourselves a PK team!” He fixed Niko with a feral grin, “Let's go douchebag hunting! Told ya to wear your ass-kicking shoes… er, feet!” He stood up and grabbed his axe, calling out for the waitress to cancel their food order.

“Huh?" Niko looked up at his companion, confused.

The warrior motioned impatiently, “We’re gonna go ambush the ambushers. I'm pretty sure they’ll be there again, waiting for newbies — ‘cause assholes like that get off on that shit — so when they jump Arabella and friends, we’re gonna jump them.”

“Oh!” Niko started to bring back his chat window, “I’ll warn the others.”

Kristius laid a meaty hand on Niko’s arm, “Nope, don’t do that! You do that, they’ll be so cautious they might tip those dickheads off. We’ll just jump them as soon as they try to jump ours. We’ll turn them from the jumpers to the jumpees," Kristius said, grinning ferociously and pounding a fist into his palm.

Niko ran a hand over his head, ”I'm not real thrilled about using our people as bait.”

Kristius met his eyes with an uncharacteristic intensity, ”Bud, we’re outright PKs now, and we have to use any and every advantage we can to win. If the shoe was on the other foot — yeah, I’d be pissed about being used as bait, but I'd also recognize the benefit.” His expression softened, empathy showing in his eyes, “You’re going to have to get used to being kind of a jackass, man, and keep your goal in mind. We ‘ll buy them all a beer and apologize after."

Niko shook his head unhappily, “You’ll buy them a beer, you mean.” He rose and followed his friend out the door.