Malcolm stirred awake from a dreamless slumber. His eyes lazily glanced around to see Darion snoring quietly at the other end of the room. When they had walked into the Inn the other night they had nearly toppled over the owner, a burly dwarf with a face like a bulldog. He was going to toss the two of them out before Malcolm flashed some coins.

Malcolm looked around the room and sniffed in disgust. Damn room is barely big enough to fit two beds. But deep down he was thankful to finally get some decent rest on an actual bed, all those days roughing it while travelling to New Arcadia did a serious number on his back.

A powerful yawn racked through his body as he stretched, the muscles on his arms and legs tightening. The blubber he had once carried was now just a distant memory, all the constant exercise, aka fighting for his life, did wonders to help pack on muscle and shed weight. He rubbed his abdomen and grinned as he could feel abs beginning to take form.

Taking advantage of this moment of being alone he willed his character sheet to open and to finally set the attribute points he'd received after levelling up when he had claimed New Arcadia. Geez, had that only been a few days ago? Things seemed to be happening so fast. Back on Earth he was the prime definition of a loner, boarding on hermit. Now he was suddenly in charge of a budding settlement! With a sigh he looked at his stats.

Name: Malcolm Freeman. Active Titles: Harbinger, Lord of The Waste. Race: Human (Lichmarked)

Fame: 250 (Who are you?)

Level: 10. Health: 150 (+20 due to Ring of Life). Stamina: 140. Mana: 170

Unused Attribute Points: 6

Strength: 16

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 10

Endurance: 11

Constitution: 9

Dexterity: 12

Agility: 10

Charisma: 6

Luck:13

Resistances: +50% Dark (Due to Element Mastery) +15% Water (Due to Cloak of Mist-born) +15% Ice (Due to Cloak of Mist-born)

Malcolm winced as he looked at his constitution level. It was one of the stats that took a dip thanks to his Lichmarked affliction. Without a moment of indecision, he quickly set four points in his constitution to get it back to regular levels. The last two points he was about to set to strength but then hesitated. Maybe I should hold these for a bit. In his mind's eye he looked back on when he was fighting the massive scorpion monster and how having points set to the side saved his life.

Nodding, he closed his character sheet. If anything happens, I'll have points on the side to help, and if not then I'll set them later. He rolled out of the lumpy bed and stretched, his joints popping with satisfying clicks. Out of curiosity he decided to scan Darion's stats. He hadn't done so since they had become Companions and still, he didn't have a clue what that meant. His eyes bulged as Darion's character window appeared before him.

Name: Darion Oakwolf. Active Title: Chieftain. Race: Swamp Elf.

Fame: 100 (Just a nobody)

Level: 12. Health: 145. Stamina: 160. Mana: 120

Strength: 13

Intelligence: 11

Wisdom: 9

Endurance: 12

Constitution: 14

Dexterity: 15

Agility: 14

Charisma: 9

Luck: 10

Info: Swamp Elves choose to stay to the deepest parts of the Ever Rainforest, being so close to the potent power of "The Green" has forever changed them. They all have green hair and low crooked ears. Swamp Elves receive +2 points to DEX and AGI, as well as a point to CON.

"Whoa" Malcolm was astonished by the surplus of new info he was now able to see about his friend. Before all he could see was his current level and health gauge. Could this be because of us becoming Companions? Malcolm thought. Also, how the hell does he have the Chieftain title? He pondered for a moment then reserved to ask Darion about it later

With a grunt he kicked the side of Darion's bed. The elf shot up in a sitting position, eyes scanning the room.

"Wuh-what's wrong?" Darion said when his eyes finally began to focus on Malcolm.

"Shopping time, baby!" Malcolm beamed. His smile faltering as he took in his friends panicked stat. "Have a nightmare? You alright?"

Darion rose from his bed and suppressed a yawn. "I was just... No, I'm fine." He avoided Malcolm's stares as he began to get dressed and wrap a cloth over his green hair.

"You sure?" Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. "If you want to talk about anything, I'm..."

"Right," Darion cut him off. "It's nothing really. Where are we headed first?"

Malcolm stared at Darion for a moment then mentally shrugged. If he doesn't want to talk about it, that's fine. Malcolm thought to himself. He knows I'm here when he's ready. They both got dressed and left the small room. Descending the stairs to the main room Malcolm could hear voices in light conversation and the sour scent of alcohol and sweat greeted his nose.

"Is that piss or alcohol?" Darion pointed at a man crumpled in a chair, a small pool of a yellowish liquid taking form underneath him.

"Ah, could be elppa juice..."

"Right," Darion tsked in disgust. "Let's get the hell out of this dump."

"Hold up" Malcolm said as he walked over to the bar. Every gamer worth his stones knows that a bar is the best place to ask for info.

There was just barely a handful of people around the bar area, which wasn't surprising since it was still just the morning. But what was surprising was that a few of them were already slumped over in a drunk stupor. Jeez, starting the party off early huh?

"Hey Barkeep! Good morning." Malcolm greeted the bartender slash owner of the inn.

The pug headed dwarf just glared at him. "Mr'n to ya."

Malcolm could barely see the man's lips move thanks to his thick beard, his voice came out gruff and quick. Obviously, the man wasn't much of a talker, which struck Malcolm as odd since as a bartender and innkeeper you'd think he'd have to have some higher levels of social skills.

Malcolm forged on. "Hey, do you know where I can go to buy some farming tools and crops?"

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Again, he just glared, his beady dark eyes drilling into Malcolm. "General store has most things. Want more, go to docks."

"And that is..."

"Go down Main Street. Take the right at Temple’s tower. General Store be there. For Docks, go further."

"Ah, thanks. Nice talking with you." Malcolm began to turn away but then noticed that all eyes were on him. Everyone in the bar had turned in his direction. The attention was unsettling. Stiffening, he turned around. His hand resting on the handle of his hammer. "Let's go Darion."

<><><>

"It wasn't just me, right? That place was fucking weird, right?" Malcolm said as he brushed his shoulders, as if he could wipe away the moment that just happened.

"Yup, thanks for choosing that place to rest at by the way." Darion rolled his eyes as he grabbed the reins. "I can practically feel the bed bugs crawling all over me now."

"What? I didn't choose that place, the guards did!" Malcolm snapped.

"Always shifting blame, I'm glad we choose you to lead us." Darion smirked.

Smiling, Malcolm draped his arm around Darion's shoulders. "And you're my trusty left-hand man. Together we'll forge New Arcadia into something great."

"Left hand?"

"It's the hand I use to wipe my ass with."

"I hate you."

He looked back to the inn just in time to see a cloaked man exit the bar, the man looked over in their direction for a moment before turning away and heading to an alley across the street. The man's hood was up, and Malcolm couldn't see his face.

"Hmm." Malcolm arched a brow. But before he could put much thought into the man's strange behavior he was distracted by the rest of his surroundings.

Last night he couldn't fully grasp what the city looked like, but now in the morning sun he absorbed all the exotic details around him. The theme of the city was a fantastic mixture of the old west and steampunk with its horse stalls, dusty streets, and drunkards stumbling out of shady saloons. And then then there was the other side of the city with its metal pipes pumping out massive amounts of steam and the near constant hiss of pistons. It seemed whatever wasn't powered by steam had strange markings carved into it and was powered by magic, such as the ever-glowing streetlights.

Barefooted kids ran about, bright smiles on their small faces as they chased around a metal hoop, a shaggy haired dog yipping at their heels. People streamed up and down the walkways, none of them wore the same outfit or style of clothing.

It was either a strange array of steampunk garment items, leather corsets, brass buckles, and a pair of goggles that appeared to be more for style than actual use. Then there were the few who wore fanciful well-tailored suits and frilly dresses with hats made of colorful flowers. A handful of people clanged by with full suits of armor as well.

It's like Medieval Times spewed on top of a steampunk convention that was being held in the middle of Nowhere, Texas. Malcolm gawked about. It's so weird... But oddly it goes together so well.

Malcolm gasped in awe as a man on some sort of steam powered scooter rode past them. The man wore a very stylish leather coat with lots of buckles and clasps, and on his face, he wore shiny brass goggles. The scooter was near noiseless as the man zipped down the street and weaved through the crowds.

"Oh man! I want one of those!" Malcolm gushed. “How much do you think it cost?”

"You are such a child." Darion scoffed. "The mileage on those contraptions is pitiful."

The directions were helpful. The sweet old lady shopkeeper at the general store helped him get most of the things they needed, including a large leather pouch of blacksmith tools. A few large bags of seeds ranging from wheat, corn, potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, eggplants, and even some elppa seeds. Malcolm was thrown off by the names of most of the crops, some seemed to have their regular name, a few had their names in reverse like the elppa, but there were a rare few that had a completely different name all together.

Malcolm picked up a banana and turned to the shopkeeper. "How much for the banana?"

The shopkeepers face twisted in confusion. "That is a Ki-iro Fruit, it's only 2 coppers."

"Kiro?" Malcolm shrugged and handed the keeper a few small brown coins. He squinted down at the Kiro Fruit as he peeled it. "Looks like a regular banana to me." Biting into it, he smiled. "Oh, it's just a normal banana! Hey, Darion! Want a Kiro?"

Darion scrunched his face up at Malcolm. "Uncooked? No thanks. Excuse me, ma'am. Do you know where we might be able to buy some livestock?"

The shopkeeper nodded and smiled. "Down by the docks, they should be able to help you there."

"How about the blacksmith?" Malcolm asked the woman. He had been meaning to upgrade his gear. He was still wearing the tattered gear he had looted back at the orc camp. Minus the chest plate, it had to tossed thanks to the scorpions puncturing it.

"Oh, sorry dear the smithy shop is closed now. Old Bren just recently left for vacation, but he should be back within a few days."

Malcolm deflated. They didn't have time to wait around for the blacksmith, his people needed these supplies now. "Thanks ma'am."

They loaded their wagon with their goods, Malcolm was surprised that they didn't have to spend too much of their money. Apparently, Darion was quite the haggler, using his smooth voice to talk the old woman into bundling, stacking, and getting deals with a few well-placed compliments.

"How'd you get so good at haggling?" Malcolm elbowed Darion gently. "Nearly cut our cost in half!"

Darion grinned smugly as they turned down a tight alleyway. "My uncle would often take me with him to buy supplies for our village, I guess I picked the skill up from him..." His grin flipped into a frown. "I learned a lot from him, he's a good... was a good man."

"Sorry man," Malcolm said as they turned down an empty alley. " Was he..."

Just then a cloaked man pounced from a rooftop and landed directly in front of them. "Drop the reins and exit the wagon. Now."

Malcolm and Darion glanced at each other for a breath then made movements to reach for their weapons.

"Don't even think about it!" The cloaked man shouted, then motioned with his hands around them. "You're surrounded."

Two other cloaked figures looked down at them from the rooftops above them, crossbows armed and ready in their hands. Having little to no choice, both Malcolm and Darion got out of the wagon.

"Be ready to move." Darion whispered in a barely audible tone.

The cloaked man in front of them pulled back his hood and revealed the face of a grinning dark elf. He had long silver hair that stopped at his slender shoulders and rough features, a sharp chin, strong straight nose, he'd be handsome if it weren't for his serpent like eyes and sickening grin twisting up his face.

He discarded his cloak to the side and revealed an exquisite set of leather armor, the armor was a rich dark brown with practical metallic inlays and armaments. His boots were black and wrapped in such a way it reminded Malcolm of ninja shoes, every step he took was completely silent adding more to the ninja aesthetic. Is that how he snuck up on us?

<>Name: Lysander Rothe. Level: 18. Health: 100%. Race: Dark Elf. Disposition: Distaste. 

Info: Dark Elves come from a deeper and darker place than the rest of their Elven cousins. Not much is known of their people or where exactly they came from. It’s rumored they hail from the Dead Lands. Dark Elves receive +2 to DEX, AGI, and +1 to END.

"Well, looky here," he said with a voice as sweet as vinegar. He reached for Darion's headwrap and snatched it off with a yank unveiling bright green hair. "We got ourselves a swamp elf! Nice to meet you cousin. Your scalp will go for over a hundred gold on the dark auction." He turned towards Malcolm and grimaced. "What are you? Some sort of Human? Interesting."

"How about you fuck off and we won't shout for the town guards." Darion snapped.

The dark elf began to laugh, as did his compatriots who still had their crossbows trained on them as they began looking at their goods and urging them both to move.

"This is Rogues territory cousin! You can shout all you want, but not a single guard will come to your aid." He turned his back to them and gestured all around as he continued to rant on and on.

Darion shot a glance at Malcolm, who simply nodded in reply. Then quickly he dropped down low, turned around to face the two thugs behind them, and willed a few mana arrows into existence. At the same time, Darion lunged towards the man in front of them, a small dagger falling into his hand from within his sleeve.

"Torpori!" The man in front of them whipped back around, in his right hand was a wooden stick. A wand.

Darion fell flat on his face like a sack of potatoes, completely limp. A slight groan escaping his lips being the only inclination that he was still alive.

Malcolm felt a severe wave of nausea, his concentration faltering causing the mana arrows to fizzle into nothingness. It felt like his brain was being smacked around his skull, the thoughts in his mind swirled about in a scramble. He saw at the corner of this vision his stamina meter began to plunge.

You sonovabeech..." Malcolm's voice slurred as he turned. He tried to rush the man, but his feet felt like they were submerged in quicksand. Straining his mind, he willed a mana shield around him. Just in time as a crossbow bolt slammed into the side of it.

"A shield? I didn't hear him use a spell..." The man with the wand muttered. "He's resisting the sleep spell. Quick, grab the swamp elf! He's what we wanted anyway." He eyed Malcolm for a moment before jumping onto their wagon and waiting for his goons to retrieve Darion.

The two men scooped up Darion, easily dodging the wildly aimed mana arrows that Malcom fired at them.

"Dontchu touch'em!" Malcolm stubbled on his feet. Dammit, No! I can't let them take Darion. C'mon Malcolm, get your shit together! He crouched low and started forcing his mind to work correctly.

The Rogues paid him little mind as they stuffed Darion’s limp body into one of the many kegs they had loaded on their wagon.

You have successfully resisted the spell: Torpori!

Info: Torpori is a spell that can greatly affect one's mental and physical abilities. Can cause sudden unconsciousness, slurred speech, stamina drain, and muddled thoughts.

"Shit! He's recovering. Let's move! Go!" Innocent people on the sidewalk dived out of the speeding wagons way as it swerved wildly to dodge Malcolm's attacks.

Malcolm shot up straight and glared at the retreating Rogues. A flurry of mana arrows snapping into form around him. He shot them forward, aiming at the keg he thought he saw them load Darion into.

"Come on, come on!" Malcolm pleaded.

The arrows struck the back of the wagon, causing it to lurch, a keg toppled out of the back and crashed into the ground. The Rogues kept going, speeding down the alley, disappearing around a corner.

"Yes!" He ran to the keg. "Darion! You alright?... Darion?"

Malcolm gripped the handle of his hammer and smashed the lid off. He investigated the keg and gasped.

A bulky form crawled out of the kegs and loomed over him.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR KEGGING ME, SHYLA GRIPENTROG OF THE STARDEW TRIBE!" The enraged Orc screamed. "I WILL HAVE YOUR BONES!"

Malcolm looked up at the orc, whose face was a masterful artwork of pure defined anger and killing intent. "Shit on a stick!"