The orc and the Rogue stood, unmoving, as they stared at each other for a long second.

For a heartbeat, Nate froze. It was all too much. The strangeness of the world around him, of his entire situation. The massive, hulking figure of the angry orc, just a few feet away. The eerie glow of the impossible tower cast the scene in a pallid, ethereal light that gave the feel of a lucid dream. In that instant, Nate’s carefully cultivated calm, the lifetime of honed instincts that had kept him alive, always one step ahead, it all failed him.

Even as he froze, Nate read the orc’s face. The uncertainty. The indecision. And Nate knew. He knew that Grundar hadn’t been sure. He had approached Nate, but he hadn’t been confident. If Nate had kept his composure, he might have been able to talk his way out of it. He might have been able to feign enough fear and confusion to convince the orc he had the wrong thief.

But that instant of distress had betrayed him. Even as he watched the orc, the orc was watching him, and Grundar had seen the tension in his body, the shock on his face. The orc’s uncertainty vanished.

Grundar broke the stillness first.

A booted foot the size of a ham shank crunched into the middle of Nate’s chest like a sledgehammer. His feet left the ground, and he flew through the air until he landed on the flat of his back on the table behind him. Pain blazed through his body as trays of meat and strange fruits went flying.

{You have suffered 5 points of bludgeoning damage. You have suffered a cracked rib.

Current HP: 10/15}

Nate gasped in a lungful of air as the message flashed in front of him. A third of his health gone from a single kick. What would happen if he dropped to 0? Would he just drop dead?

He had no time to think about that, though. He caught the swift whirl of something moving towards him. With a grace and speed that shocked him, he rolled, flipping his legs back over his body and pushing himself into a back handspring. He landed lightly, then almost slipped as his right foot came down in a giant tureen filled with something that looked like purple jello.

There was a solid Thwunk, and the table rattled. An axe lay buried several inches in the table exactly where Nate had been lying only a moment ago.

Grundar ripped the axe free with ease and bellowed a deafening roar. The crowd around them was yelling and pointing, but Nate couldn’t give them any of his attention. With a surge, Grundar shot up to land on the table in front of Nate. The heavy timber trembled beneath Nate’s feet. He backpedaled, deftly dodging two quick strikes from the axe as he managed to place his feet between two trays of roasted…rats? It didn’t matter. He needed space.

Grundar tensed, and Nate could see the enraged brute was going to launch himself. Just then, though, a small ball of pale light popped into existence only a few inches from the orc’s eyes. Grundar yelled as if struck, jerking his head back. Nate glanced quickly to the side of the table and saw Cristophe, his hand extended and his eyes fixed on the orc with intense concentration. Nate instantly felt terrible for not listening more attentively to young mage’s diatribe on the wonders he could work with a floating globe of light.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Nate did what he did best. What he always did when his back was to the wall and the bloodletters came to collect their due. He turned and ran.

He streaked down the length of the banquet table at speeds that would put an Olympic sprinter to shame, each step finding the gaps between trays of food as if by magic. In an instant, he had covered the full twenty feet. He didn’t pause as he reached the edge. Instead, he leapt. He cleared the ten-foot gap before landing lightly on the next table, not even breaking stride as he continued his flight.

The sounds of crashing dishes and splintering wood from behind told him he wasn’t in the clear yet. Risking a glance back, Nate saw that Grundar was pursuing, not bothering to dodge around the banquet in his way, but simply smashing everything beneath his booted strides. The orc was slower than Nate. But not by much. Grundar reached the gap as Nate landed on the other side, leaping after him. The crash of his landing rocked the table, almost causing Nate to lose his balance.

As Nate turned to focus on his path again, he caught sight of another orc, just at the edge of the crowd. This one was leaner than Grundar and wearing a cloak. The warrior had a bow and was raising a knocked arrow to point right at Nate as he flew by.

He didn’t have time to think. With a practiced ease, he flipped the rock he had tucked in his sleeve into his palm and whipped his arm towards the archer.

It was an impossible throw. Nate was throwing with his right arm across his body towards a target to his left and behind him, all while at a dead sprint on uneven footing. He hoped the projectile would at least distract the archer long enough to spoil the shot.

Then he watched in astonishment as he stone struck the archer dead between the eyes. The orc squealed and dropped as if hit with an anvil.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

There was no time to process. Another gap loomed, and, again, Nate leapt. He was gaining distance on Grundar, who he could still hear clomping along behind him. But now he watched the crowd out of the corners of his eyes nervously. The orc had allies, and if Nate didn’t find a way to make good on his escape soon, he might find himself surrounded.

He did not see any other orcs rushing to help his pursuer. But he did notice several figures in shining armor forcing their way through the crowd of onlookers towards the feast tables. Guards, Nate realized. That might be something he could use.

Ahead, another gap loomed closer and, beyond that, the last table in the row. Stationed at the end of that far table was a guard, maybe forty feet away, and she was staring right at Nate. Her face was hard, his jaw set in anger. As Nate ran closer, he saw her eyes practically burning with rage. Then he almost tripped as he realized her eyes were, in fact, burning. They were a dull yellow, the glow intensifying with each moment. A tingle of dread ran over his skin as he felt some terrible intent pushing down on him.

As Nate neared the end of the table, he could still hear Grundar crashing along behind him. The sound had drawn closer as Nate slowed slightly to watch gathering guards and keep an eye out for other attackers. He could feel the huge orc’s axe drawing closer like an itch between his shoulder blades.

Nate reached the end of the table. But, this time, he did not leap. Instead, he launched himself forward in an awkward, feet-first slide. He flew forward into the gap, dropping quickly before feeling his backside make contact with the ground with a jarring thump. His speed was still impressive, and his forward momentum caused him to slide like he was stealing home base.

Even as he dropped, Nate saw the eyes of the distant guardswoman flare with a brighter intensity than before. In a surge of power that he could feel like heat on his skin, a blast of yellow light burst from her eyes and surged towards him. Then, Nate was on the ground, sliding under the wave of yellow as it passed over him. Past him. And collided with the orc.

Grundar howled as the yellow light engulfed him, congealing and spreading around him to form a pulsating net. The net constricted, and Grundar’s movement lost all cohesion as he plummeted. The orc bounced off the edge of the table and tumbled into the dirt behind Nate.

Nate’s slide slowed then stopped as he came to rest just under the last of the banquet tables.

{You have suffered 1 point of friction damage. This damage counts as a type of burn damage.

Current HP: 9/15}

Nate lay still, catching his breath, as Grundar continued to howl and wriggle just behind him. The yellow net of light held him fast, though, and it had constricted to the point where all the orc could do was flop around like a fish.

The sound of boots on gravel gave way to the sight of several pairs of feet standing on either side of him, their owners obscured by the table above.

Nate took a deep breath, then rolled out from under the table. Immediately his arms were seized in vice-like grips as several guards took him in hand.

The guardswoman that had cast the magical net approached, her eyes still hard, but, thankfully, no longer glowing menacingly. She was tall for a woman, taller than Nate, and solidly built, filling out her plate armor impressively. A sheathed longsword swayed at her side, but she made no move to draw it.

The woman gave Nate an impassive look, then turned to the other guards.

“Bring these two as well as the orc archer and the little human mage. The Captain will want to speak with them.”

Nate fought down a sigh as two of the guards started pushing him towards one of the buildings lining the square, catching sight of Cristophe, his eyes wide with fright, being led by two others. Nate remembered the little ball of light that had saved him from having his skull split in two, and felt an annoying pang of guilt. He had gotten his new roommate into this situation. Now he felt a responsibility to get him out of it. The thought rankled. Nate hated responsibility.

All in all, the day could have been going better.

Sentry leaned back in her chair as the guards led their prisoners from the square, signaling to the waiter to bring her another glass of wine. With the drama over, the crowd quickly returned to their laughing and chatting as servants of the city Lord going to work to clear the mess below.

Sentry considered what she had seen. The orc, Grundar, was an impressive specimen. Big, strong, and surprisingly fast. Sentry was confident the orc must had taken some movement enhancement ability during character creation. Not very bright, true. But his kind rarely were. It wasn’t that they lacked the capacity for intelligence. But theirs wasn’t a culture that rewarded the thoughtful approach. Still, with a few levels under his belt, the brute would be a menace in a fight.

But it was the Rogue that truly held her interest. Based on what she had overheard in the market earlier, she assumed this must be the same human that had robbed the orc of his purse at the Cathedral. It was a reckless move, and after that first stunning kick Grundar had delivered, Sentry had fully expected to the see the Rogue pay for that recklessness with his life.

Yet the man had surprised her. He moved with the speed and grace she expected of a Rogue, but his dexterity was truly impressive for a level 1 Traveler. And the throw he had made to take out the archer before she could fire on him had been a thing of beauty. Sentry didn’t understand why the Rogue, who she had identified as Nathan Sutton, was carrying a rock, or where he had snatched it from before the throw. She hadn’t seen him dig into any purse or pouch, and there was simply no way he had access to dimensional storage yet. But the skill and accuracy of the throw were undeniable.

Still, it wasn’t his speed or his skill that had truly made her take note of him. It was the care with which he moved. The way he surveyed the crowd, even as he fled. She had seen him take note of the orc archer, seen him monitoring the guards as they moved, and watched as he timed his drop from the final table so that the entangling array meant to capture him took his pursuer instead.

This Nathan Sutton was bold. Possibly too bold. Stealing from a ranked member of a powerful Faction on his first day in Farandway was the action of someone who might not be long for this world. Yet his mind was sharp, and he possessed carefully honed instincts that must have come from the life before. He had potential. If that potential was nurtured, he might become truly useful. And if he was currently unattached to any Faction…

Sentry sat quietly with her thoughts, disregarding the discussions around her as she slowly finished her wine. Then she paid her tab and made her way downstairs, searching for the nearest guard station.