Peter came to lying down.

“Oh, right. The coffin.”

Pulling gently on the velvet rope, Peter waited for Jacob to come and let him out. He spent the time thinking about how he was going to handle the situation. His opponent was heavily armoured, and Peter had no real weapons. A rock on a stick is no match for a flaming sword.

Peter plucked at the front of his shirt. His clothing was only a little worn, he had not taken a lot of damage against the foxes. The single strike that had killed him had should not have taken that many points off the durability of anything except the shirt either, even accounting for the death penalties to everything else. Fortunately he had already put all his other possessions back into his inventory before DB had started messing with the pen.

“DB!” he shouted, his voice hurting his own ears in the confined space. The last he had seen of the albino rodent was the poor thing flying across the room into the crowd. Anxiety rose in his chest. He hoped his little buddy was okay.

The lid slid to the side and an unfamiliar voice inquired, “Dee bee? I’ve never heard of that kind of bee before.” A cute, freckled girls face framed by iridescent red hair peered over the rim, a far cry from Jacob’s expected visage. When she climbed up onto the workbench beside the sarcophagus and offered Peter a hand he could see she was wearing a leather breastplate over a white victorian blouse with lace shoulders. Her arms were protected by leather bracers and she had sheaths everywhere. He counted seven blade handles before he realised what she had said.

Peter lay there, nonplussed. “DB is his initials. It stands for Dangerous Bastard. Who’re you?”

“Hi, I’m Dani,” she shook her outstretched hand. “Ok, so why are you yelling about a dangerous bastard?”

Peter accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet. Dani was surprisingly strong for such a slight frame. “Not any dangerous bastard. DB is my ratty buddy. He was on the table in the inn when an actual bastard stabbed me in the chest with a big ass sword.”

Dani hopped lightly off the platform, leaning well forward when she hit the floor so that the handle of the scythe strapped to her back stayed clear of the ground. Peter noticed, when she landed and the ruffled skirts she wore billowed out, that even the leather shin guards she wore had sheaths strapped to them. “I’ve never seen someone killed with an ass-sword. That must stink.”

Peter jumped down after her, landing much less gracefully. “You’ve done a lot of quests for Jacob, haven’t you? You’ve got the same sense of humour.”

“Oh yeah, Jake’s an old friend. I’ve been helping him out around here for a long time.” Dani started towards the ramp leading up to the cemetery. “Are you coming? Let’s go find your ratty buddy.”

“Aren’t we going to go through the temple?” Peter asked, following her. “Shouldn’t I be sitting on cushions and drinking tea in a quiet room?”

“Do you feel you the need to sit down in a quiet room?” She asked. “Would a cup of tea help?”

Peter stared past her, up at the patch of sky at the top of the ramp. “No. No, I really think it wouldn’t. Besides, I’m probably about to end up back in that damn box in a minute.”

Dani giggled and glanced back at him. “You only just got out, and you want back in? Aren’t the beds at the inn comfortable enough?”

“Har, har. No. That bastard with the ass-sword said he was gonna be waiting for me outside the gates here. Probably thinks a couple of respawns are fair payback for getting ale on his precious cloak.” Peter crouched and peered over the edge of the ramp towards the entrance to the cemetery. Sure enough, the sun was reflecting off an iron helmet outside the gate.

“Soooo, what are you going to do about it?” Dani crouched beside Peter and peered over the rim too.

“Shhh.” Peter spun around and ducked down. “I have no idea what to do. At the moment, my best plan is to swallow enough rocks to blunt his sword when he cuts through me. Again.”

Dani sat down beside him, unholstering the oversize weapon so she could lean against the wall too. She lay it across her lap and began hunting through the many pouches that were attached to her belt. After a moment she produced a small cork stoppered bottle. “I’ve got some BBQ sauce so they taste better if you want.”

Peter leaned his head back against the cool stone. “How sad is it that I’m seriously considering that offer?” he sighed. “Ah, sod it. Death is becoming an old friend. I’m going to go kick this jerk in the nuts at least once before he can ass-sword me in the face.” Peter climbed to his feet. “Thanks for listening Dani. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Would you mind opening the coffin for me again?”

Dani held out a hand for an assist up. “Well, death-boy, before you go commit suicide by jerk-face, what’s your name?”

Peter blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Peter.” Peter pulled Dani up and shook her hand in one motion.

She picked up the scythe and held it out to Peter. “Whatever happens next, Peter, take this. You look like you could do with it.”

Peter stared in amazement. He began to tear up. “I couldn’t poss...”

“Save it, Peter. You’ve just shown more bravery in a moment than I’ve seen in this county in a very long time. As you can see, I’ve got plenty of other weapons. Now go show me I made the right choice. I’ll be watching you.” Dani dropped the shaft into his hand, whipped out a crystal and smashed it on the ground. A vivid blue cloud engulfed her, and when it had dissipated she was gone.

Stunned, all Peter could think was “Damn, I should have asked if I could add her as a friend.” He stared at his new weapon.

The focus brought up its stats... sort of. Scythe. Unique. Durability: ?? Damage: ?? Effects: ?? [You do not have sufficient skill to Appraise this item].

“Thank you!” Peter stage whispered. He hoped she could hear him. Dani had said she was watching him, and if the vanishing act was anything to go by she had the means to do so from a distance.

Buoyed by the experience, Peter slung the weapon over his shoulder and stepped confidently out the gate. Whatever came next he was determined to face with dignity.

Thus, he was taken aback when the first face he saw was a familiar one. “Rosie? What are you doing here? You can leave the inn?”

“Of course I can, Traveller. Why so ever would you think I can’t?” Rosie frowned. She was standing beside the jerk from last night, dwarfed by the armoured form but clearly unfazed. She was holding a wooden box with holes nearly the width of his thumb drilled through the side in one hand and a short wooden staff in the other.

“I told you Rosie. He’s a noob. He should stick to collecting sticks and fishing.” The hulk grouched.

Rosie raised the staff and bounced it off his helmet with a resounding clang. “Quiet you, we’ll get to you in a minute. First, I believe this is yours.” The box held out emitted a muffled squeak.

“DB!” Peter exclaimed. “I thought you were gone! Come here buddy.” Peter stuck his arm into the box to let his tiny companion run up his arm and curl up in his hood. After a minute of sniffling and squirming he settled down and began his snoring.

“Now, Warren, your turn.” Rosie elbowed her companion. “What do you have to say?”

The suit of armour heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry I stuck a sword in you. But you shouldn’t have-” The staff bounced off his helmet again, harder this time. It must have sounded like the inside of a struck bell in there. “OW! Ok, fine. I won’t do it again. Can I go now?”

Rosie nodded. “Remember the rules or you’ll never be allowed in again.”

Peter watched the player trudge away. “What was all that about?”

“Inn rules. No fighting, no breaking the furniture. You only get one warning and that lummox had used his already, but that Traveller has been a hero to our village for a long time so he was given one more chance on the condition that he apologised to you and paid for the table and chair he broke.” Rosie shrugged. “I have to get to work, my shift starts at midday.” Turning on her heel, she strode off.

Left standing open-mouthed in the middle of the street, Peter felt like it had been too easily sorted. Like when one leaned on a door that was already open. All the courage that had been summoned to face his expected fate had ended up being entirely unnecessary. Unsure as to what to do now, he wandered aimlessly out of the village and over to his favourite tree down by the stream.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Ok. So… that was unusual.” He mumbled to himself. He lay his new weapon across his knees and examined it better. The curved shaft was made of rough wood so old it had turned black. The long curved blade was made of a material that he was fairly sure was old, pitted cast iron. As he continued to stare at the item, it shimmered in his vision and became something… more. The shaft became straighter and black laquered. The blade became larger, gold inlaid and a complicated brass mechanism joined it to the shaft. A massive brass counterweight offset the weight of the blade. Before he could take in all the details, the image vanished leaving the simple repurposed agricultural tool turned to lethal ends. He tried to focus on the weapon again, but all he received was the same Scythe. Unique. Durability: ?? Damage: ?? Effects: ?? [You do not have sufficient skill to Appraise this item] from before. There was clearly something special about this scythe, but at the moment it was his most prized possession for what it was now: a functional weapon.

DB stirred in his hood, pulling him out of his reverie. He quickly wiped the tears away and reached back to give DB a scratch, who responded by sniffing his ear and crawling out onto his shoulder. DB then yawned and stretched and hopped down onto the ground and sniffed around looking for something.

“Hungry, buddy? Let’s go see if we can do something about lunch for us both. Come on,” Peter surged to his feet. “Maybe we can put a dent in this quest while we’re at it.”

Peter took in the fields around, scanning for targets. Not far away, over a waist high stone wall that separated the road from a field, he could see the heads of a pair of foxes as they bounced around, yipping at something out of sight.

“Bingo.” He thought. He began crawling along the wall, keeping his head down and being careful not to scrape himself along the stone surface. He could hear the excited yips getting louder on the other side and prepared to strike. Leaping over the obstacle, he whipped the blade back and forth in a hard left/right cut...

“YAH!”

Both foxes flashed red and a small notification in the corner of his vision informed him he had struck a critical hit on both creatures as they slumped to the ground. A sudden rush of warmth through his body left him breathless and tingling. Looking down he could see a golden glow fading from his body and the light itching from his arm told him something momentous had occurred.

Quickly rolling up his sleeve, Peter checked to see what had changed. For a start, each of his character statistics had a small (+) beside it. Below them was a new line that read Unassigned Stat points: 5.

Revelling in the sensation as he thought to himself, this must be what levelling up feels like. I like it.

“Wow, what a rush,” he breathed. “Ok, what to spend these on?” While he pondered what would be the most useful stat to build, he checked through the rest of his sheet to see what else had changed. Stealth had grown 0.1% more than any other for a single action before. Clearly double critical kills were a rare occurrence and were rewarded appropriately. The newly added Weapon Specialisation: Polearm had received a 0.05% bump as well.

One strange skill he had never noticed before had been appended to the end of the list and caught his eye. Avatar attunement (Bani): 10%. TEN whole percentage points! He stared at the statistic, perplexed. That was the largest jump of all, and he could not say when it had appeared. Who the hell was Bani? Had his repeated deaths in such a short time caused this? Was an A.I. watching him die, over and over again and getting its kicks? Look at the stupid human writhe in agony, ha-ha. Damn machines.

“Squeak?” DB was pawing his leg, trying to climb up.

“Ok, buddy, maybe not all machines. I know you’re not a ratty player somewhere in a cage with a little wheel and a VR connection. That would just be weird. Come on up.” Peter bent down and held out his hand for his companion to climb up. “Now, let’s get these skins off.”

Running the stone skinning knife along the spine of the fox in front of him, Peter received the same message about simplified resource gathering. He did not even bother pushing too hard, it was not worth the effort if the system was suspending realism for younger players. Two neatly folded skins appeared in a pile, along with two other items. a fox steak and three predator teeth. DB immediately began sniffing at the meat, but Peter picked it up and popped it into his inventory.

"Hold that thought buddy. We'll cook up all the food we get later. I've got an idea for starting a fire out here, and it doesn’t even need magic." Peter chided his companion gently. “Let’s get the rest of the pelts first.”

DB let out a squeak that could only be described as sheer disappointment. Still, he sniffed around in the leaves for a moment, then pointed his nose in a westerly direction. Probably western, anyway. Away from the rising sun at least. Peter felt that maybe the next thing he should make was a map. Magic GPS is all well and good if you have a quest marker, but there is a high probability he was going to get lost one day and end up somewhere he should not be. And then end up back at Jacob’s soon after.

Scooping up DB and waiting until the little guy settled into the hood, Peter set off in the direction indicated by the twitchy nose. In the distance, a large copse stood at the intersection of several fields. It was not part of the forest, but stood apart some fields away. It was still thick enough to hide a small army of foxes and who knew what else though.

Peter stopped and thought for a bit. “You’re not trying to get us killed, are you?” he whispered over his shoulder. “The last time I went near the trees I got eaten by a mutant rabbit.”

Shrugging, he entered the shade of the trees. Moving as quietly as he could, Peter strained his ears to hear. It was deathly silent once past the outermost trunks. The soft leafy floor absorbed all footfalls. The thick underbrush blocked the light and sounds from the fields. There was no wind to stir the leaves far above. His breath sounded loud in his own ears.

Slowly he became aware of noise over the sound of his breathing. A low growling, gnawing and snapping sort of sound. The growling grew in intensity, then faded then grew again. As he approached, Peter caught sight of what was causing the sound. In a clearing ahead, three foxes were having a three way tug of war over a red circle of some material. As one or another would try to jerk it away, the other two would growl louder and pull it back. They clearly had no idea what was going on around them – their entire attention focussed on the struggle.

Behind them on the other side of the clearing the earth rose in a shape not unlike a wave. A dark cave mouth about half as tall as Peter himself led down into the underground. The remains of the foxes last meal were strewn about between the combatants and the entrance. At first it was very difficult to tell, but after a moment of gruesome concentration Peter was sure they had once been a dog.

Peter checked his quests list and thumbed the tracker for the find my puppy one. Sure enough, the blinking fairy lights surrounded the glade. “Well, buddy, looks like we get a two-fer here. Fox pelts, and I’m guessing that is a collar they’re fighting over.” DB just snuffled behind his ear. “It’s ok, you stay back there. I’m going to test out the new hotness.”

Peter slunk into the clearing, staying low and approaching so that only one of the animals would be able to see him if it looked up. Moving with a measured step, watching for anything that could crunch underfoot. He held his cloak close to his body and with the hood up, gripping the shaft of the scythe firmly in the other hand. Closer and closer he inched, until he could smell their breath as they growled at each other, intent on the prize locked in their jaws.

Dropping his cloak and grabbing the shaft with both hands, Peter ripped the blade of the weapon left, right, then thrust and ripped back. Three yelps were all that escaped the trio before the bodies slumped to the ground. Peter stared in awe at the wonderful gift held in his hands.

A snuffling sound inside his hood drew him out of his trance. DB ran down his arm and launched himself at the bodies on the ground. He landed on the head of the nearest fox, scampered along it’s nose and grabbed the red item they’d been fighting over. Dragging it over to Peter feet, he reared up on his hindpaws with the it in his mouth with a triumphant

“Squeaf!”

Peter accepted the offering with a grateful “thank you”, and checked the quest log for an update. Or tried to, his weapon kept getting in the way so he stashed it in his inventory first, making a mental note to have a holster of some sort made. Like the one Dani had had, but made for someone somewhat larger.

With his hands free he scrolled to the quest section of his Traveller’s Mark. Two quests had updates flashing to attract his attention. Quickly checking the one at the bottom, it merely noted how many fox pelts acquired against how many were needed for completion. The one further up, one accepted from the quest board in the tavern so long ago, had a more lengthy change to it.

You have failed to rescue the puppy in time, but it seems that you might never have been able to do so. Somewhere in town a small child waits for news, it is up to you to bring them the collar of their beloved pet and give them closure. Or, you could find an alternative solution. What will you do?

“Well, DB. Another fine mess we’ve gotten into,” Peter sat down next to his companion cross-legged. He pulled out the skinning knife and began adding the pelts to those in his inventory. “What should we do here? The message says that there’s another way, but what might that be?” DB shrugged in an entirely too-human manner and curled up in Peter’s lap and was soon asleep. Peter checked the results of each skinning action, noting that as well as the quest items he received a fox’s foot, a small handful of copper pieces, more fox steaks that he made a note to cook up for himself and DB at a later time, predator teeth and a smashed pocket watch.

Stuffing everything else – including DB since he was no longer going to be much help - into his inventory, he examined the watch. It was a brass windup watch on a chain. Pressing a button on the top popped open the lid to reveal the shattered glass face and, inset into the lid, a small painted picture with the inscription “To Gerald, for all the good times.”

Vowing to discover who Gerald was, Peter was just dropping the watch into his inventory along with his other prizes when he felt a hot gust of wind on his neck. The blood in his veins turned to ice water. His mind raced as he realised he himself just fallen for the very same mistake that had allowed him to sneak up on his three victims. A single warm droplet landed on his neck.

“Fine,” he whispered. “I take full responsibility for this.” He tilted his head back and raised his arms. “Death, take me.”

Bark!

Snap!

Darkness…