I fell into step beside Curr, which was more difficult to do than it sounds, given that his stride was double mine. Certainly wasn’t about to complain, not when I’d managed to win him over with my charm.

Wow. You’re delusional and clueless.

I did my best to ignore the thing floating in front of my eyes and followed Curr into the tavern. There were already a few souls drinking away whatever lives they had. The hearth glowed with old embers, nobody caring to get it roaring again so early in the morning.

As much as I enjoyed a good lager, I’d never understood the need to drink before noon. Then again, at the moment, I didn’t care who was around and what they did. I just wanted something decent to eat and to forget the nightmare of the lamb. Maybe afterward, I could while away the hours until Phlegm’s bargain came to fruition.

I wondered if I needed to be anywhere in particular for it to happen. She didn’t say so. I mean, what good was magic if it required all these rules to make it work? I decided to just go on about my day and hope the hag would take care of the rest.

“Oh, no,” came a voice from the bar. I turned to see Rarmir throwing his towel down and stalking toward us. “What part of ‘get lost’ hadn’t I made clear?”

I began to respond when Curr stepped between us. “Take heart, my friend. This one is my guest.”

Rarmir looked between us, muttered a curse, and stomped away.

“You truly are not liked here,” Curr remarked.

“I noticed.”

We seated ourselves at a table, and Curr ordered us two big bowls of stew. With water.

“Water, huh?” I asked.

“Did you want something more?”

“Me? No. I just figured—”

“Stereotypes are hurtful,” Curr said. “Try to be more tolerant.”

The front door swinging open stole the response out of my mouth. In strolled the pickpocketing troubadours. Maybe they felt like they deserved more praise and affection from the townsfolk, I don’t know, but they looked pissed and apparently decided to head to the tavern to blow off some steam.

Loudly, they took their seats a few tables away from us. They ordered several draughts of ale that lasted only seconds.

The halfling, in particular, was in a sour mood.

Serves him right for trying to rob me.

Of nothing.

I rolled my eyes.

The halfling was a jerk, lambasting the tavern staff, telling them they moved too slow to be good at their jobs. He even flicked a few coins across the floor and ordered them to pick them up if they wanted their pay.

Curr observed the commotion and shook his head. “It is too early in the day for that sort of behavior.” He glanced at me. “Gives bards a bad reputation, huh…?”

It was then I realized he’d forgotten my name.

“Danny,” I told him. “And, psh, he’s no… bard. Just a clown with a pipe.”

Curr leaned back and let out a full belly laugh.

“A clown with a pipe! Ha ha, fine joke!” He turned toward the halfling and then back to me. “Your assessment is accurate. He does resemble a clown! Red hair and all!”

The halfling heard all of this and scowled. My stomach lurched.

The screen flashed.

Oh crap.

NEW OBJECTIVE:

Convince the halfling that you didn’t insult him.Between us, he definitely looks like a clown.

The halfling made a show of downing the rest of his ale, then hopped off his seat and stormed toward us. Curr ignored him until he was only three feet away.

NAME: Garvis Wittleman

OCCUPATION: Thief

RACE: Halfling (Male)

SPECIAL ABILITIES: Sneaky, quick with hands, can conceal weapons. Has a vicious knee-strike.

WEAPONS: Unknown… mysterious!

So, I was right. He isn’t a bard.

Want a cookie?

Does that count as a meal?

You’ll spoil your appetite.

“What did you just say?” the halfling, Garvis, demanded, pulling me back to the present.

Curr took a small sip of his water, smacked his lips, and said, “Well met!”

The halfling’s face scrunched up like tin foil. “What did you just say when you were laughing?”

“It was not I who said it,” Curr informed Garvis. “It was my friend here. He suggested you resembled a clown with a pipe. Clever.”

“You?” Garvis appraised me. “You have the nerve to call me a clown? You look like you slept in a barn.”

Curr let out a barking laugh and slapped the table. “He did! He did in fact do that very thing. Look at the straw still in his hair!”

“Thanks, Curr,” I muttered.

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As small as Garvis was, he looked angry enough to battle ten men. Plus, he happened to be built like a small barrel.

I cleared my throat. “I said it was amazing how fast you put that ale down. My friend here must have misunderstood.”

Not bad. Not bad at all. Not good either. But not bad.

Garvis looked somewhat placated by the lie. The screen started to flash again, then curiously, disappeared. Curr nearly spat out his water, as if I’d retold the joke again.

“No, no. Your memory fails you, Danny. I clearly recall you saying he favored the appearance of a clown with a pipe. I found it an entertaining observation.” He grinned at the halfling. “I think he means your instrument.”

OBJECTIVE FAILED:

You have gained an enemy. A small one, sure. But he’s feisty.

OBJECTIVE UPDATED:

Defeat the halfling.

Defeat—what?

I stared at Curr, baffled. He seemed determined to get me killed.

Garvis growled and pulled a dagger from his boot. Curr caught his wrist immediately.

Thank God.

“No weapons. There will be no need for bloodshed here. The proprietors of this fine establishment are decent folk.” Curr nodded toward me. “If you have an issue with my friend, then it will be settled with fists.”

“Huh?” I said.

Garvis gawked at Curr’s massive hand. Curr could have lifted him like a feather, and the halfling knew it.

“All right.” He nodded. “That seems fair.”

“I don’t think—”

“Shhh, Danny,” Curr said.

Garvis released the dagger, which Curr caught with his other hand. It may as well have been a sewing needle resting in his oversized palm.

The halfling pulled his arm back and rubbed his wrist, then pointed at me. “So, I’m a joke to you, is that it? You think you’re better because you’re tall, Wellick?”

I shook my head. “No, I—”

“Well, let’s see if you change your mind when I get done stomping your brains out.”

I held up my hands, palms out. “There’s no need for this. I apologize for insulting you.”

“No.” Garvis shook his head rather violently, his curly red mop waggling. “What’s said is said. I can’t let you insult me in front of my friends over there.”

I looked beyond him at the bar where his dwarf and wellick companions barely paid attention to the altercation—as if this were a common occurrence.

“I’m not much of a fighter,” I said.

“Then you’d better learn fast.” Garvis got Curr’s attention. “If he don’t fight, I get to stab him to death.”

“Obviously,” Curr agreed. He then clapped as the bowls of stew arrived. “Ah, time to eat.” He pointed at me. “You had better take care of this business if you want that meal I promised. Otherwise, I will be forced to eat yours.”

I groaned. “I hate this place.”

I started to stand, but the moment I did, the little halfling rushed in and tackled me to the ground. My head knocked against the floor and the few patrons in the tavern exploded in cheers.

Garvis started raining blows down upon me. I turned this way and that, trying my best to avoid the assault, but he was remarkably consistent with his strikes despite the amount he’d imbibed. Quick with his hands, indeed. His little fists landed like tiny hammers, blasting me in the face three times in rapid succession. I tasted blood.

WARNING: If you continue to sustain damage like this, you will die.

Nothing helped the situation like a blue box popping up in my face.

Curr spoke, but my head was ringing. It sounded like, “You had better find a reason to fight, bard. This little one is not going to stop until you are dead.”

“Little one?” Garvis spat, turning his attention to Curr.

I took full advantage of his distraction and threw my knee up. It managed to dislodge him. Then I scrambled backward, trying to get to my feet.

Garvis regrouped, pointed at Curr, and said, “You’re next, giant!” Then he came at me again, launching a stubby, two-legged kick that bounced off my left knee and hurt like hell. The vicious knee-strike I’d been warned about. Without thinking, I threw my own kick and it caught Garvis squarely in the crotch.

He buckled and moaned from the impact.

I felt a rush of guilt. It felt like kicking a kid. I leaned in. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Even as I spoke, the halfling attacked again, catching me by surprise. He landed a punch on my jaw that knocked me back onto the floor.

Out of the corner of my quickly swelling eye, I spotted Curr shaking his head in disapproval as he slurped the stew from his bowl. I vaguely saw him reaching for my meal.

“Y’know, a little help here would be nice!” I called to him.

“He’ll get his chance!” Garvis snarled as he tried to pin me again.

I flailed and a lucky elbow bashed him in the side of his head. He staggered, clutching his temple. He was wobbly, and I regained my footing before bringing my hands up.

“Do it now,” said Curr simply.

I looked down at my hands and clenched them into fists. This was foreign to me. Most of my life—Kurt excluded—I’d been able to avoid fighting by using my quick wit and willingness to flee. But now…

“Do it.”

Taking a deep breath, I delivered a straight shot to the reeling halfling’s nose. The impact sent a bolt of pain shooting up my arm, while the effect to Garvis was violent. Blood gushed like a fountain from his nostrils, and the little man’s head snapped back. He wobbled, then toppled to the floor where he completely stopped moving.

The tavern erupted in cheers again.

“Did I kill him?” I asked, horrified.

OBJECTIVE COMPLETED:

You have defeated the halfling.

You have gained +1 in Unarmed Combat

Your Unarmed Combat is now 3.

It wasn’t pretty, and he was very small. You shouldn’t be too proud.

Would you like to loot the body?

I can do that? Everyone will see me rooting through his pockets.

You have an ability to pickpocket.

Would you like to use it?

Uh, I guess?

Try it.

Without knowing what I was doing, I got my hands under the halfling’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. I tried to make it look like I was brushing him off as I did so, holding him there for several seconds as his eyes refocused.

Would you like to take the pouch?

Somewhat embarrassed at what I was about to do, I nodded a very slight nod. What happened next was almost unconscious. I leaned against the halfling, and my fingers slipped into his pocket, transferring a small pouch of gold onto my person.

It all happened so fast.

+17gp.

You have gained +1 in Pickpocketing.

Your Pickpocketing is now 9.

Congrats! You’re a thief. Your mother would be proud.

I swore under my breath.

A thief?

This is what it’s called when you take other people’s stuff.

Can I put them back?

No one saw you, dude. Just keep the loot. At least you didn’t strip him naked, right?

I was starting to believe the screen didn’t have my best interests at heart. Not that Garvis didn’t deserve it. He’d tried to do the same to me out on the street. But still, I’d never stolen before.

Aw, you’re no longer a virgin.

A tiny bit richer, I steered the halfling back to his comrades and then returned to my table.

“Bravo,” Curr said. He kicked out my chair. “Now sit and eat.”

He slid what remained of my bowl back to me. The stew looked chunky and unappetizing, but it beat rotten lamb big time. I sat and forced myself to eat a few spoonfuls, then found myself enjoying it.

All the while, I kept a wary eye on Garvis the halfling.

Curr stretched across the table and laid a huge hand on my shoulder. “Do not worry about him. You earned his respect enough that he will leave you alone now.”

I took another spoonful of stew. “I’ve never fought like that before.”

Curr nodded. “That is obvious. You punch like a wean.”

“Always there to cheer me up.”

Curr chuckled. “You did what needed to be done, but it was not very nice to look at. You are lucky the halfling was inebriated. Had he been sober, it might have been a different story.”

I rubbed my jaw. “He didn’t seem too affected by the booze.”

“You will have some bruises and welts, no doubt,” Curr continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “But that is good!”

“How is that good?”

“They will remain a temporary reminder that you cannot let people walk all over you.”

I rubbed my cheek. “I suppose. And girls dig guys with battle scars, right?”

No.

Curr just laughed. “The world cares not a bit for you, friend. You either find a way to make peace with the fact that sometimes violence is necessary, or else you are not going to live long enough to find yourself a new lute.”

Wait a second.

Dun. Dun. Dun…