***Help Message***

You okay, honeybunch? You're all quiet.

Lorelei dismissed the notification with a flick of her hand, concentrating hard on not tripping over the various roots and branches that—very unluckily—kept catching her feet. Ever since she had cast to defeat the Chimera, she had been acutely aware of the impact of the subsequent luck debuff upon her. It turned out using that Skill had caused more than just a hit to her Skill effectiveness; it was like she’d inadvertently signed up for a subscription to Murphy’s Law.

She could almost hear Guide snickering every time she stubbed her toe or snagged her boot on yet another root. And it wasn’t just her abilities that had become as reliable as a car warranty; the universe itself seemed to have decided she needed a bit more slapstick in her life.

"I'm just feeling a little bit of buyer's remorse for my Skill set right now," she muttered to herself, keeping her voice low enough to avoid further notifications.

***Boo Fucking Hoo Message***

Ah, bless. Is the integration-breaking little troublemaker sad there are consequences to her actions? Wah. Wants to bend reality to her will without any comeback, does she? Wah.

Lorelei sighed, reflecting that maybe, just maybe, if she wanted a sympathetic ear, she was probably consulting the wrong customer service line. She had the distinct impression that her Guide would sooner recommend a pat on the back with a brick than offer any genuine comfort. But still, it wasn’t like she hadn’t known what she was getting into. The thing about gambits was that they were gambles, and if she was honest with herself, she had rolled those dice with a bit too much confidence there wouldn't be any payback.

The impact of the debuff was worrying her so much that she was almost able to ignore the doom-laden warnings of her Guide about the upcoming tournament. Almost. But the time to properly freak out about that would be if, and when, they got hold of this bloody amulet. Maybe she could just hand it off to Fortuna and go about her day?

***Yeah, Sure Message***

The sun was just beginning its slow crawl up the horizon, casting long shadows over the version of Lichfield the System had conjured. The too-quaint cottages and unnervingly perfect gardens faded into the background as they headed towards the rougher, wilder lands beyond.

They’d decided to avoid returning to the motorway and would instead be travelling to Drayton Bassett cross-country. Steffan had plotted a route through rolling fields and patches of dense woodland, indicating that—System shenanigans aside—the journey should take a couple of days by foot. It promised to be the kind of walk that would leave them all with blisters, a deep-seated hatred for whoever invented rambling, and possibly the sense that perhaps horses should be given a bit more respect.

The party quickly settled into what was becoming their now traditional formation, with Pete and Hild taking point as the tanks. Their job was to act as a wall between the squishier members of the group and whatever nasties the brave new world of Day 3 decided to throw their way. Zorrobar followed closely behind, his robes flaring dramatically with every gust of wind, as though he were determined to maintain his mystique even in the absence of a suitable breeze. Lorelei suspected he was using a Skill to generate an appropriately dramatic profile—after all, what was the point of being a Fire Mage if you couldn’t turn a stroll through the woods into a cinematic experience?

On either side of the rest of the party, Michael and Michelle popped in and out of their shadow portals with feline grace, their dark figures blending with the shadows even in bright daylight. They were, Lorelei thought, the kind of people who could make you paranoid just by standing still—mind you, having an unnerving Skill set in a world where paranoia wasn’t so much a disorder as a survival tactic wasn't a bad idea. Although they both were showing her a lot more respect since she’d shown she wasn’t lacking in game herself, she doubted they’d ever be ‘friends’. To be honest, she’d take as a win not worrying one of them was going to slit her throat.

Steffan, looking every bit at the apprentice necromancer, walked near the rear of the group, his eyes scanning for landmarks and comparing it to the path her had doodled on his Map. The absence of an undead Cheerleader army at his command had left him a bit testy, but holding hands with Chrissy—who was once again sporting a remarkably impractically slutty nurse’s outfit—seemed to have cheered him right up. Chrissy’s usual bubbly nature, though, had been replaced with an unusual focus. With Kris’s healing out of commission, she knew she was the only thing standing between them all and a rather speedy demise and she wanted to do a good job. Secretly, though, she’d been much happier as a Necromancer. Healing was a bit like being the caretaker at the end of a particularly raucous party—necessary but rarely appreciated.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

For his part, Kris trudged along somewhere in the middle of the pack, trying to keep his head down. Stripped of any Adoration whatsoever, he felt like a knight who’d shown up to a dragon fight with a wooden spoon. He was keenly aware of the glares and glances from the others and was doing his best to keep a brave face on it, despite the growing realisation that bravery without power was a bit like bread without butter—dry, bland, and likely to choke you if you weren’t careful.

Lorelei was back playing scout with her Skill. Over the last four hours she’d picked up nothing worse than a few minor abilities from underpowered Wolves and the occasional Goblin—certainly nothing the group wouldn’t be able to handle. Keeping her distance from the others—particularly with the Chance’s Gambit debuff active—was just going to keep everyone safer. After all, if her luck had decided to take a holiday in Hell, she wasn’t about to drag her friends along for the ride.

***Help Message***

And the fact you don’t want to think about the Charm Leech has nothing to do with that at all, does it, vinegar-draws? You know, you’ll probably feel better for a grudge shag . . .

They travelled in near silence, the only sounds being the crunch of boots on gravel, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional grumble from Hild about the state of the local wildlife (or lack thereof). Day 3 had yet to throw anything particularly challenging their way, which was pretty damn suspicious in itself. It was as if the System was waiting, biding its time before springing some sort of horrendous monstrosity on them when they were least prepared—probably while they were distracted by something innocent, like Chrissy’s habit of spilling out of her top.

As the day wore on – and on - the group finally reached the edge of a thick forest. The trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting together in a pretty effective 'fuck off and die' message. The path ahead was exactly the right amount of dark and foreboding—the kind of route where you wouldn’t be surprised to find a sign saying, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” if only to complete the overall aesthetic.

“This’ll be where the fun kicks off,” Pete muttered, glancing back at the group. “Stay sharp, like."

“Fun,” Hild snorted, her axe resting on her shoulder with the casual air of someone more than ready to introduce it to anything foolish enough to cross their path. “That’s one word for it.”

Zorrobar rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the ominous vibes the forest was giving off. “I don’t suppose anyone packed a torch? Or perhaps a small sun?”

“Got it covered,” Chrissy said, pulling out a small orb from her cleavage. With a flick of her wrist, the orb began to glow, casting a soft, warm light around them.

“Fancy,” Hild commented dryly. "Where did you get that?"

"A girl needs her secrets," the Chameleon Courtesan winked back. “It’s one time use, though, so enjoy it while you can. As the actress said to the bishop.”

“Better than stumbling about in the dark,” Steffan added, nodding in approval and completely missing the innuendo. "Well done, Cissy!"

Lorelei did her best not to roll her eyes at the sight of such transparent bonding. The necromancer’s sudden enthusiasm for Chrissy’s contributions was, she suspected, less about genuine appreciation and more about getting into her very skimpy pants.

With their path now illuminated by Chrissy’s orb, they pressed on into the forest. The air was cooler here, thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, as if the very ground had been marinating in foreboding for centuries. Every now and then, the distant shriek of some sort of monster echoed through the trees, reminding them that they were far from alone. Each of them had the distinct feeling that something was watching them, and it was probably very hungry.

According to Steffan, they’d made it about halfway through the forest when the System, in all its twisted wisdom, decided it was time to liven things up.

***Help Message***

Look, I don’t know about you, peachfuzz, but there’s been a distinct lack of stabby-stab action thus far. How about we liven things up a bit?

With that, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. Leaves rustled violently, and the air was filled with a low, ominous rumble that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Here we go,” Zorrobar muttered, his hands already beginning to crackle with fire.

"Fucking hell, Guide," Lorelei grumbled. "You can't spend half your time telling me that humans are terrible, homicidal psychopaths and then get pissy when we've not increased our body count for a few hours!"

***Actually, I Can Message ***