The fire whispered as it danced. Casting long shadows that flickered against the towering pines. Lethanda sat close to the flames with the heat caressing her skin, while she drew a whetstone along the edge of her new sword. Each stroke sang to her, as if the metallic note was resonating with the hum of the night. Her new blade filled her with pride, as it seemed to catch the firelight gleaming with a fierce brilliance, that mirrored the stars scattered across the velvet sky.
She savoured the moment—the scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp aroma of pine needles. The rough texture of the hilt beneath her fingers. The rhythmic motion of sharpening that lulled her into a meditative calm. The world felt alive here. Every sensation heightened. Every sound a part of an ancient symphony.
Across the flames Delsadar stretched his massive form, muscles rippling beneath tattered furs. His voice boomed as he recounted tales of his homeland. Of snow-capped mountains and battles against beasts of legend. His eyes sparkled with the fervour of his storytelling.
"...and there I stood the only thing between the frost giant and my village," he declared, gesturing grandly. "With nothing but my axe and the courage in my heart!"
Lethanda admired the artistry of his persona—the intricate war paint. The scars that told silent stories. The sheer presence he commanded. He must have spent hours crafting every detail. Yet a part of her couldn't reconcile the hulking barbarian with the loquacious raconteur before her.
Tanks were scarce these days. Good ones even more so. She needed him - chatty or not.
Beside Delsadar, PWNSTARRR fiddled with his staff. The crystals embedded in it pulsating erratically. His robes hung awkwardly, as if he hadn't adjusted them properly.
"So. Uh. Anyone know when the next event drops?" he asked. His voice cutting through the atmosphere.
Lethanda suppressed a sigh. "In due time mage. The winds will carry whispers when the moment is right."
"Cool cool," he mumbled, eyes darting around. "Just don't wanna miss out on any limited-time loot."
Mages were overpowered this patch. She couldn't deny that his abilities would be invaluable against the perils of the Forest. His name grated on her nerves, but he'd submitted a ticket for a change. Small mercies.
Ceri, a gnome thief, perched on a fallen log, deft fingers twirling a dagger that caught and scattered the fire's glow. "The creatures ahead grow more formidable," she mused. "It's almost as if an unseen hand wishes to impede our progress."
"Perhaps it's a trial we must overcome," Lethanda replied meeting her gaze. "A test of our unity and strength."
They'd danced around the topic before—the absurd difficulty-spike between zones. Without breaking character, they'd vented their frustrations. Launch issues on new games were common. Still the starting area of the Spine Mountains had had its charm. Grouping definitely seemed the best, and possibly even only, path forward.
Magladrone sat slightly apart. Her hood casting shadows over her sharp features. A faint smile played on her lips as she listened. "Every challenge we face hones our abilities further," she said softly. "Adversity is but a stepping stone to greatness."
Her words carried weight layered with meaning. Lethanda appreciated her ability to weave depth into their campfire exchanges. An experienced roleplayer clearly. Some players hated “camping” and the lack of plot-driven dialogue, PWNSTARRR in particular was clearly struggling with this new experience as his first-time playing on an RP server, but at least he seemed willing to learn.
Delsadar chuckled heartily. "With my strength, the mage's firepower and our combined skills - no foe shall stand in our way!"
"Assuming we don't draw aggro unnecessarily," Magladrone teased gently.
PWNSTARRR looked up oblivious. "What's aggro?"
Ceri giggled and even Lethanda, who would be usually displeased by such out-of-character banter, bit back a smile. "It's when you attract the attention of our enemies prematurely," she explained. "Best to proceed with caution."
"Gotcha," he nodded. "I'll be careful."
She hoped he meant it. They couldn't afford missteps.
The night deepened. Stars winking into existence overhead. The fire crackled, sending sparks spiralling upwards. Lethanda sheathed her sword satisfied with its edge. She stretched, feeling with pleasure the supple leather of her armour move with her, the cool night air brushing against her skin.
"We should rest," she suggested. "Dawn will come sooner than we think and the Forest does not forgive the weary."
Ceri faked yawning, nodding. "Agreed. I'll take the second watch."
"I'll handle the third," Delsadar played along, thumping his chest.
Magladrone inclined her head. "Then I shall take the final watch before sunrise."
As they settled into their bedrolls the camp grew quiet. The soft sounds of sleep soon followed – by common consent this was a brief offline time for bio-breaks or a smoke for fifteen minutes before they returned to the game – meanwhile in-game, it looked like the steady breathing of companions bound by a common quest.
Lethanda remained seated. Her eyes drifting over the tranquil scene. The forest whispered around them. Leaves rustling secrets, the distant hoot of an owl echoing through the trees. She closed her eyes allowing herself to slip into a meditative trance.
Elves didn't require sleep in the traditional sense. A few brief minutes of Reverie sufficed, a game mechanic that allowed her to also maintain her Ranger’s Sanctuary ability over the camp to cloak it from dangerous mobs stumbling their way.
Her vigilance. As she thought of it. It wasn't entirely immersive but sometimes efficiency mattered. Lethanda hated bio-breaks, and usually ensured she’d made herself fully ready for the quests ahead before logging on, but even she needed to go occasionally in an eight or twelve hour gaming session, and camping was the traditional time for them.
Her thoughts wandered to the challenges ahead. The Farmlands were under threat and only by braving the Forest, and finishing off many monsters, could they hope to reach the town of Aletra. Many had tried and failed. The difficulty-spike halting progress for countless players.
Worse in this hardcore realm, “halted progress” had a permanence of tens of hours invested - lost in an instant, and having to start over again. But together as a group they had a good chance.
She listened to the rhythmic breathing of her companions. Drawing comfort from their presence. Delsadar's strength, PWNSTARRR's raw power, Ceri's knife skills, Magladrone's summons - all pieces of a puzzle that might just fit.
She took in both the silence and the scent of the fire, mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest floor. She once again felt the texture of moss beneath her fingertips, trying to stretch out this moment of pure solitary peace, and she with her Ranger hearing, heard the distant murmurs of nocturnal creatures stirring in the underbrush. Every sense seemed alive and attuned to the world around her.
This was why she played—to lose herself in a realm of magic and mystery. To feel connected to something greater. But practicality tugged at the edges of her fantasy. They needed to level up to push past this bottleneck. The developers would patch things eventually. But for now they had to adapt.
She opened her eyes. Gazing into the embers of the dying fire. Determination settled within her.
In a few minutes “tomorrow” would arrive, their rest camp period would be over, the chatter would recommence, and they would forge ahead. For now, she embraced the stillness for a few more seconds, trying to further eek out every moment, letting the sensations of the night envelop her.
For some reason her face felt wet with tears, even though in-game she had none.
*
Lethanda stepped lightly through the forest while sunlight filtered through the canopy above. Casting a mosaic of golden light that danced across her skin, warming it. She could feel the gentle caress of the breeze carrying with it the sweet aroma of wildflowers, and the distant murmur of a babbling brook.
Beside her Delsadar's massive form moved with surprising grace. His new-found armour glinted dully, clearly worn from countless battles and the intricate patterns etched into the metal caught her eye. He spoke animatedly. His deep voice resonating like distant thunder. "And then the beast charged! Claws like daggers aiming straight for my heart!" he exclaimed, eyes alight with the thrill of his tale. "But I stood firm, my axe ready, and with one mighty swing—" Lethanda smiled softly, appreciating the texture of his storytelling.
The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the rough timbre of his laughter—it all added layers to his persona. He'd put considerable effort into crafting his character, and while his garrulous nature seemed at odds with the stoic barbarian archetype she valued his presence. Tanks like Delsadar were rare finds. Especially ones willing to brave the perils ahead.
PWNSTARRR lagged a few paces behind. His robes dragging slightly on the underbrush. He seemed engrossed in the play of light on his staff, the crystals embedded within pulsating softly. "This Forest is like - super mystical," he remarked, eyes wide. "Do you think we'll find any more good drops around here?"
Lethanda resisted the urge to sigh. "The woods hold many secrets," she replied keeping her tone enigmatic. "Stay vigilant - and perhaps fortune will favour us." In truth they’d already had many good drops, her own new boots were evidence of that.
He grinned sheepishly. "Right. Gotta stay in-character. Sorry."
Despite herself she felt a flicker of fondness. His efforts to adapt were earnest and his raw magical power had proven invaluable. Once his irksome name violation situation was resolved, he might even blend seamlessly into their roleplay.
Ceri darted ahead. The gnome's nimble form barely disturbing the foliage. She twirled a dagger between her fingers. The blade catching shards of sunlight. "Can't believe how smooth that run was!" she exclaimed. Her laughter like tinkling bells. "Those creatures didn't stand a chance against us."
Lethanda felt the corners of her mouth lift. "Our combined skills make for a formidable team," she agreed. The tactile sensation of her bow slung across her back. The slight weight of her quiver at her hip—it all grounded her in the moment.
Their return to the Farmlands was met with the warm glow of the setting sun. Fields of golden wheat swaying gently in the breeze. The familiar scents of tilled soil and blooming crops enveloped them. A comforting embrace after the shadows of the Forest.
Handing in their quests, Lethanda couldn't help but notice the repetitive responses from the villagers. The mayor's assistant greeted each of them with the same vacant smile. The scripted dialogue lacking nuance.
"Thank you for your service brave adventurer. Your deeds will not be forgotten," the NPC intoned for the third time. She felt a brief irritation.
The AI's limitations were glaring here, breaking immersion. But she brushed it aside. Focusing instead on the tactile reality of the parchment in her hands, the rough texture beneath her fingertips as she received her reward.
Magladrone approached, her eyes reflecting the warm hues of twilight. "It seems our efforts have not gone unnoticed," she remarked, her voice carrying a melodic lilt.
"Indeed," Lethanda replied, catching the subtle fragrance of lavender that seemed to surround the warlock. "The Farmlands can rest easier now."
They gathered before the mayor who stood upon a makeshift platform. His robes fluttered lightly in the evening breeze, and for a moment, the atmosphere felt charged - electric. "Heroes of the Farmlands," he proclaimed. His voice carrying over the murmurs of the assembled crowd. "You have driven back the darkness that encroached upon our homes. For your courage and strength, we bestow upon you our deepest gratitude."
A surge of pride welled within Lethanda. The weight of the moment pressed gently against her. The ambient sounds fading as she absorbed the collective appreciation. She could almost taste the sweet air, tinged with the faint aroma of hearth fires and spiced meats from nearby stalls.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Ceri stepped forward dramatically. "Perhaps my days of pilfering pies and sneaking through shadows are behind me," she declared with a mischievous grin. "Maybe I'll take up a more... respectable profession."
Lethanda chuckled softly. "Change can be the greatest adventure of all," she mused, the words rolling off her tongue like a melody.
As they prepared to set off for Aletra, the next town that the mayor had just given them a breadcrumbs, but necessary, quest for, the conversation flowed easily among them.
PWNSTARRR seemed particularly enthusiastic. "Can't wait to see what spells I can learn in the next town," he said excitedly. "Maybe I'll finally get that Firestorm ability everyone's talking about."
She admired his eagerness. The tactile sensation of the road beneath her boots, the cool breeze caressing her face—it all felt remarkably real. The game excelled in these details. Each sensory input meticulously crafted.
Magladrone slowed her pace, falling into step beside Lethanda. "I've enjoyed our journey together," she began, her gaze distant. "But now I must part ways. Old friends await and there are paths I must walk with them."
A pang of disappointment settled in Lethanda's chest. A subtle ache she hadn't anticipated. "I understand," she replied, her voice steady. "May your journey be filled with wonder."
"Perhaps our paths will cross again," Magladrone offered. A hint of a smile touching her lips.
"Perhaps." Lethanda echoed, the word tasting bittersweet.
Ceri suddenly leaped onto Lethanda's back with a gleeful laugh. "Onward noble steed! To new horizons!" Lethanda couldn't help but laugh - the sound genuine and light. The warmth of the gnome's small hands rested on her shoulders and she felt the rhythmic bounce of each step they took together.
Delsadar glanced back. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Careful up there little one. The road can be unpredictable."
"I fear no path with our mighty ranger leading the way!" Ceri retorted playfully.
The textures of the world enveloped her—the rough bark of nearby trees as they brushed past. The distant call of night birds, awakening the subtle shift of the air, signalling the approach of dusk. Each sensation anchored her. A vivid tapestry woven from sight, sound and touch. Yet, beneath it all she couldn't shake the lingering thoughts about the game's mechanics.
The Wight had fallen too easily. Its defeat lacking the grandeur she'd anticipated. It was likely just a random spawn, unconnected to any meaningful quest line. Druath’s dramatic sacrifice and death which allowed her time to escape, seemed lessened somehow in its intensity when melded with the new memory of just how easily her friends had taken down the monster. The system's design sometimes favoured efficiency over depth and while she cherished the immersive aspects, moments like that pulled her back to unwelcome reality.
She adjusted Ceri's weight slightly. The gnome's laughter ringing in her ears. "Hold tight," she advised. "The journey ahead is long, but the company makes it worthwhile."
PWNSTARRR jogged to catch up. A genuine smile on his face. "You know. I've been thinking of a new name. Something more fitting for this world."
"Oh?" Lethanda arched an eyebrow, the gesture almost imperceptible. "What did you have in mind?"
"Perhaps... Arcanis Flameweaver?" he suggested tentatively.
She considered it. The name rolling through her mind like a whispered secret. "A fine choice. It suits you."
He grinned. Visibly pleased. "Thanks! I'll submit the request tonight."
The path ahead stretched into the horizon. The first stars beginning to shimmer against the deepening sky.
Lethanda took a deep breath. The cool night air filling her lungs. The subtle scent of jasmine drifted past mingling with the earthy undertones of the Forest.
Despite the scripted nature of some interactions. The world felt alive and vibrant. The game was cutting-edge and pushing boundaries in ways that mattered to her.
She glanced back at Magladrone, already walking away in a slightly different direction than their group, and for one last time the warlock's figure was silhouetted against the fading light. A part of her wished things could be different, but she accepted it with internal regret.
"To Aletra and the adventures that await!" Delsadar proclaimed, raising his axe skyward.
"To Aletra!" they echoed. Voices melding into the symphony of the night.
*
She pulled the jack from her neck. Lucy stared at the blank wall ahead. Breathing steady and grounding herself in the simple act of inhaling and exhaling. The hum of the city seeped in—a distant siren. The buzz of a hover ad drone gliding past her window.
Her eyes drifted to the door. Heavy now, and reinforced. Yesterday's labour etched into the steel plates and bolts. She'd spent hours with power tools with the whine and grind filling the small space. The door was now a fortress, or as close as she could make it.
Stories floated around the net. Players deep-diving, lost in virtual realms, while reality crept in with a crowbar and ill intent. Some got robbed; others faced worse fates. The thought tightened her chest. Vulnerability wasn't an option.
She examined the setup. Hooks and rails fitted into the frame. Bolts sunk deep into concrete. Half-inch steel plates slid into place locking with a satisfying click. A wedge on the floor three feet back where a steel beam angled into a groove along the door's length. Solid. Secure.
Expensive too. The bounty funds drained into metal and tools, but peace of mind had a price. She couldn't afford distractions when deep-diving for hours.
In the kitchenette she boiled water. Tore open a packet of ramen. The noodles swirled in the pot, steam clouding her vision. Tasteless - but it filled the void. She ate standing up. The texture was rubbery and the broth soon lukewarm. Midway she felt the urge. In the tiny bathroom she sat, the physicality and mundanity of bodily functions grounding her further, and making the digital world fade even faster from her mind. Life’s essentials had a way of balancing extremes.
Back in the main room she noticed sunlight filtering through the blinds. Rare clear skies painted the concrete in muted hues. No rain today. A novelty. She almost smiled.
Dressed now. She checked herself. Sturdy boots and a new, if second-hand, worn jacket, hair tied back. The gun lay on the table looking cold and precise. Time to hit the range and sharpen skills that might pay the bills.
But first the door. It took nearly three minutes to dismantle her own barricade. Plates lifted. Bolts retracted. The beam pulled from its wedge. She moved methodically; each step practiced yesterday.
She swore she’d have it down to under two minutes soon.
*
She walked into the shop with the scent of gunpowder and steel hitting her senses. Boris looked up from behind the counter, a grin forming beneath his thick moustache.
Lucy knew from their many chats in recent weeks that his name wasn’t really Boris, but Yurii, but Boris just laughed loudly as he said every Ukrainian gun dealer should be called “Boris”. It was a joke of his to the world at large. If anything, Lucy understood well wanting to be called by the name you define yourself, and liked the joke.
"Lucy! Back so soon?" he called out, his thick Ukrainian accent colouring the words. "You're going to wear out my range at this rate."
She nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. "Got to keep practicing."
He chuckled shaking his head. "Gun links make you accurate - sure. But without muscle, without memory, you're just a machine's puppet," he tapped his temple. "Mind and body they need to work together."
She headed to her usual lane unzipping her bag. The pistol lay nestled inside sleek and cold. She loaded the magazine. Each bullet clicking into place. The weight felt heavy in her hand.
Boris leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Remember it's not about the shots you make. It's about making them when it counts."
She took aim. The gun link syncing with her neural implant. The target highlighted, data scrolling in her peripheral vision. She fired. The bullet punched through the centre. She fired again. And again. Each shot precise.
But her focus was on the draw, the lift, the steadiness of her grip. Her arms began to burn. Muscles protesting. The two-pound weapon felt like a ton after a while.
"Don't lock your elbows," Boris advised from behind. "Let the recoil flow through you."
She adjusted. Continued firing. The sound of gunfire was a steady rhythm - a harsh metronome. Her mind drifted between shots.
Boris was a good man. Their relationship was transactional maybe – no, certainly, Lucy thought - but there was sincerity in his guidance. He saw a good customer. Like Terrance the doc. People who saw so many faces come and go, but took a moment to offer something real.
Her arms ached. She lowered the pistol. Flexing her fingers. Boris had told her to pause every forty rounds to let the barrel cool. She set the gun down, feeling the slight tremor in her hands.
"Good," Boris nodded approvingly. "Pushing too hard you only hurt yourself."
She picked up the pistol again, resumed drawing and firing. The motions became mechanical and almost meditative. Her thoughts wandered.
Making friends had always been hard. In school she was just another face in the crowd. Maybe she didn't try enough. Didn't wear the right masks. Being into girls complicated things. Acceptance was a surface layer; underneath people kept their distance. Girls acted wary. As if friendliness had ulterior motives. Boys saw her orientation as a challenge - a game to win.
She fired again. The bullet tearing through the target.
Just four dates in her twenty-three years. None leading anywhere. Connections were elusive, and slipped through her fingers like smoke.
Her arm muscles screamed now. She stopped. Breathing hard. Time to clean. Boris had taught her well. Let the barrel cool first.
Take a moment.
She disassembled the gun with care, laying out the pieces on the bench.
The range buzzed with activity, others lost in their own worlds of metal and gunpowder. Boris watched her from a distance a hint of a smile on his face. She followed his instructions meticulously, wiping down each part, applying oil where needed.
Reassembling the pistol she felt a small sense of accomplishment. A task completed. Order restored. She packed up her gear, slinging the bag over her shoulder.
Boris approached as she headed for the door. "You're improving," he said. "Keep this up and that gun will feel like an extension of your arm."
She nodded in gratitude, and gave him a half smile that touched her face only for a second.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Just sharing wisdom. You take care out there."
She stepped back into the city's embrace. Neon lights reflecting off nearby windows. The early evening air smelled of ozone and distant rain, a nice contrast to her own metallic musk.
Her arms still aching, the need for caffeine suddenly and sharply like a spike rang through Lucy’s head, as she headed for a nearby busy diner she had started to know well.
*
She moved through the busy bustling early evening streets, boots slapping against pavement.
The city's grime clung to everything—buildings covered in soot. Air thick with pollutants. Homeless clusters huddled in doorways. Eyes hollow. Bodies wrapped in stained blankets.
Organ harvesters prowled these alleys. Predators in a concrete jungle. Lucy kept her head down hood up. Neural implant and gun link made her a target worth thousands. One unlucky turn and she'd end up on a slab and her parts parcelled out to the highest bidder. The thought tightened her chest. Homelessness wasn't just despair; it was a death sentence here for someone with her upgrades.
She'd been careful with her money. Scraped and saved, paid off debts, even got the rent a month ahead. The armoured door at home was a fortress worth every cent. But funds were dwindling. People with comfortable lives thought the poor were careless, squandering what little they had. Lucy knew better. Those teetering on the edge counted every dollar, planned every expense. No safety nets for them. In this random world, an unexpected event could shove you into the abyss. The bounty had been a stroke of luck she could hardly believe.
She glanced at a woman huddled under a threadbare blanket, eyes vacant. That could be me.
The diner came into view—a dingy hole squeezed between a pawn shop and a boarded-up storefront. Inside fluorescent lights flickered. Casting a sickly glow over chipped countertops. She slid into a booth. The vinyl seat cracked and peeling.
A waitress approached. "What'll it be?"
"Just coffee," Lucy said. "Cheapest you've got." She was still full from the ramen earlier. Boris had chided her for not consuming enough protein to build arm strength. She'd have one of those protein bars he’d recommended later.
The woman nodded and left without a word. Lucy glanced around. A couple of patrons nursed their drinks. Eyes lost in their own troubles.
She pulled out her datapad tapping into the local grid. "Riverside News" loaded quickly. Not much of a river left in this borough but the name stuck. The site was raw. Unfiltered—a daily dossier of the city's underbelly. Cops hated it. Even criminals had bounties on the writer's head. That made her smirk. Information was power, and this site had plenty. Three thousand subscribers paid for the privilege of knowing the local truths everyone else ignored.
This was where she'd learned about the Cuchillos Oscuros, about their habits. Their haunts. Even the detail that they pissed in the alleyway because the bar's restroom was busted. Small details but invaluable.
The coffee arrived. She took a sip. Grimaced at the bitter taste. Warmth spread through her, but the flavour was harsh, almost metallic.
Eyes scanned the latest posts. Murders and unreported bodies found. Names listed with crimes attached. She admired the audacity of whoever ran the site. It was no-holds-barred local truth. She suspected a disillusioned cop was behind it, selling secrets for dollars. Three thousand paying subscribers a month added up to a decent income. The crimes unreported elsewhere were laid bare here—the bodies that vanished, the murderers who walked free. Names and faces exposed for anyone who cared to look.
For two weeks she'd combed these pages, hunting for a lead. A place to stake out, or a routine to exploit. Something like before—a vulnerability she could leverage.
Nothing yet. Frustration gnawed at her, but she pushed it down. She was ready this time. She knew she could do it.
She drained the cup. Set it down with a soft clink. The diner's noises faded as she focused inward. No more hesitation. No more freezing up. Next time she'd claim a bounty. Take down a murderer. Or something worse.
She stood, leaving a few dollars on the table. The city's neon glow seeped through the diner's grimy windows, casting distorted shadows. Pulling her hood up, she stepped back into the busy urban labyrinth.
Finally, the long-promised rain had started.
The faces of the homeless once again blurred past her as she moved. She was acutely aware of how close she was to joining them. But she'd be careful, prepared. She wasn't about to let the city consume her.