We carried along the path and came to the start of the bright molten bronze veins that ran through the walls. Alator approached one and held his hand to it.

“It’s hot! This is liquid metal running through the walls of the mountain! How does something like this happen?”

I shrugged. His excitement was a bit infectious, however, and I felt myself marvel at a few aspects of the city as we passed. One of the pillars on our right, carved to resemble a warg’s head, dripped crimson into a trough at our feet, which passed alongside us for a little while down the path before dropping through the ground.

“Foul! This carries the stink of blood! Of fiend or man?”

Good question.

As it poured underneath, the place opened up to the main cavern and we forgot the query as the thousand dim lights that made up Ur-Kadesh at night glittered before our eyes. Where during the day it felt near-abandoned, an aching silence marked only by the grumbling of craftsmen and the ringing of hammers on anvils, at night it absolutely pulsed with movement. Humanoid energy murmured beneath us, and from our vantage point high above we could see three or four main streets heaving with excited bodies.

As we neared the hubbub, to my surprise, Alator moved up close to me, even reached out and touched my arm every now and then. He didn’t drop his eyes or stare at the floor, though I could tell part of him would like to, but instead scanned the area, flinching and starting at every sudden noise.

A loud group of men passed bearing long scythe-like axes, and as they did they pointed at us both and whispered. I felt a ripple of irritation from Alator and, for a few minutes at least, the sheepish discomfort left him. He puffed out his chest and held his chin up high, and kept his bare shoulders raised and tense. To strangers, I’m sure he seemed purely intimidating, but having glimpsed another side of him, I saw this more like a cornered animal making themselves look big.

We turned onto one of the main streets and instantly found more than a handful of places that sold piping-hot food. We joined the queue of one of them almost at random.

“Hullo there! If I may compliment you, you don’t look local! So what’ll it be? We have fire-grilled kheft skewers — spiced cuts of the kheft bird, marinated in tangy fermented fruit and dusted with crushed herbs, a smoky, savoury bite that lingers on the tongue. There’s honeyed emberfruit — a sweet treat from the glowing orange fruits of the ember trees, delivered to us weekly from the volcanic basalt groves of Akhur'shet. We also have fresh, soft bloodrice cakes — crispy on the outside, full of kefir cream and golden onions, a favourite to satisfy after late-night revelry!”

“Two of each!” I handed over the three pieces of copper he asked for, which he gladly took, and we found a set of stone steps in a relatively quiet courtyard to eat.

The food was phenomenal. Tangy, as the seller had said, sometimes almost to being bitter, but each flavour was familiar and yet unique and I made sure to savour every last morsel. Alator took a little while to stare at his food and throw pieces of burnt herbs or crispy bloodrice away, before consuming the rest like a vacuum in a matter of seconds.

As we were finishing up, I heard a call from across the way:

“Talbot!”

Yorrick paced over to us, a lackey at either shoulder. The man stood tall, barrel-chested, and had meat juices smeared over his scarred face. As he approached, he absent-mindedly fiddled with the trophy-rope around his neck, upon which dangled long fangs, thick, coloured feathers, and a few human ears. Alator palmed the two skewers and steadied them against his thumb. I felt a bubble of aggression waver beside me and I raised a hand at him to try to calm him.

“This the man who insulted you?”

I nodded.

“Hey, Yorrick. Still hanging around Ur-Kadesh scaring newcomers?”

The man laughed, threw an elbow into the lackey beside him, who laughed as well. The men on either side of him were similarly thuggish, but less well-trained. Straightening my back on the stone steps in the plazza, I put a hand into the pouch and reached for the Analysis Card.

Name :

Yorrick the Collector, Level 9

Stats :

Str 12, Dex 7, Con 7, Mnd 4

Skills :

Battle Tactics Lvl 2

Vigour Lvl 2

Weapon Mastery Lvl 1

Special :

Give And Take

Inventory :

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Iron Longsword, Iron Scale Mail, 27 Copper Coins

Weakness :

Craves the spotlight

Home :

Poland, Earth

Name :

Thalnor the Scarred, Level 4

Stats :

Str 6, Dex 3, Con 6, Mnd 3

Weakness :

Fearful of fire

Inventory :

Bronze Axe, Boar-Hide Shield, Mead Flask, Caltrops.

Home :

Ur-Kadesh, Barbican

Name :

Morrak the Quiet, Level 5

Stats :

Str 5, Dex 8, Con 4, Mnd 3

Skills :

Shadowcraft Lvl 1

Weakness :

Vulnerable to flattery

Inventory :

Bronze Dagger, Hemp Rope, Venom Vial, Bone Lockpicks

Home :

Ur-Kadesh, Barbican

SYS, why can’t I see Thalnor’s Skills or their Special?

// SYS : They do not have any — these are class features bestowed upon users of the World Gates — those who have never left must earn their Skills and develop their Specials themselves, without a System to guide them. Clearly that one has not as yet been up to the task. Careful of the other, though — Shadowcraft can be tricky to deal with; if you take your eyes off him you might completely lose track of where he is. //

“Back with your tail between your legs, eh, Talbot? Outside life not really for you? Or d’you level up to 10 in a single day and decide on that greatsword?”

My ears burnt and my jaw clenched.

With his [Vigour] at Lvl 2, I do not want to push my luck.

But something about him got under my skin. Feeling my hackles raise, it was Alator’s turn to bring my temperature down . . . perhaps unsurprisingly, he did nothing of the sort. Instead, a thin smile crept over his lips.

“Old man,” Alator whispered, “Leave us to peace before we chase you off.”

Yorrick’s roadmap of scars throbbed red, then he forced them to twist into a cruel grin.

“I can see between your legs,” Yorrick spat, leaning down, “& you’re barely growing hairs. Who are you, anyway? The pup picked up a stray? You don’t have any armour, or weapons. Not like this one,” the aged soldier slowly drew his Iron Sword, the well-used and oft-sharpened razor-edge rasping against the sheath as he did.

Alator blew out his cheeks and leant back on the steps, using one of the bare skewers to pick his teeth. Yorrick squared up and took a step towards us — quick, how to exploit those weaknesses. . . .

Ah, of course!

I turned my head to one of the men behind him.

“Hold on, I know you, don’t I?”

He was a slender man in his late 30s, had a pale, bald head and wore his cloth and leather armour dyed black and tied around his limbs to limit noise. He lifted a finger and pointed at himself.

“Yeah, you — it’s Morrak, right?”

The irritation emanating from Yorrick’s pate was instant and obvious; he immediately started clicking his tongue and tapping his foot. The slender man nodded.

“I’ve heard,” I continued, “that you’ve a particular set of skills; a bit of poison here, a touch of silent entry there, maybe an assassination or two?”

Morrak beamed widely, his eyes rolling back in his head and his tongue, cut short and stubby, lolled out of his mouth, and he started to convulse in silent laughter. Yorrick instantly turned on his heel and punched the man hard in the shoulder with his free hand. The sword glinted in his left.

“Oi, eyes-on, if you want to earn that coin,” he spat at Morrak, who forced himself to stop laughing but was still staring at the high roof of the vast cavern and swaying, clearly replaying his exploits in his head.

LIGHTNING-flash, I took the opportunity to activate [Vigour], drive myself off the step with a sharp piston-push, and throw my whole weight forwards. I clenched my fist through the screaming effort of my muscles, layered on another [Vigour], and slammed it into the side of his head.

Yorrick sprawled.

That neglected Constitution Stat's not doing him any favours!

He skidded along the cold stone slabs, limp. His two lackeys looked at each other and backed up, then picked Yorrick up at each arm.

Gradually, Yorrick came to, his head flopping. The lackeys started to pull him away from the scene, but he broke free and stood, then stumbled and dropped, used his sword to steady himself like a crutch — the iron point sparked against the stone.

“D-don’t let this place go to your head,” Yorrick grunted as he slouched away, holding his crown. “This isn’t over.”

I stood panting, swaying with the sudden exertion of two Skill uses a moment apart from each other. He had drawn his sword, but hardly instigated it. I started, and ended, a fight in one punch. Even through the dizziness, I couldn’t help bouncing on my toes a second.

Maybe this place is just revealing my true self — who I have been all along, suppressed by office life and a diet of colourless sludge.

However, in the event that my behaviour is being subtly altered by my choice of the Warrior class, or the [Berserk] Special (no idea what it is, yet), then it seems Alator is not going to slow down that process.

“Such an enabler,” I jeered.