The dwarf quickly obliged my orders, scrambling back the way we’d come. I envied him. Chiefly because it felt just like my old life, IRL. Some rich asshole paying me to be the buffer between them and the ugly bastard who’s trying to kick the shit out of them. Just once, I’d like to be the guy with the lackeys to do his dirty work for him. Or just say ‘fuck it, there’s more to life than money’, and leave them to fight their own battles. But I couldn’t run, even though every fiber of my being demanded it. I intended to stand my ground and fight. Because I’d never take down the Dungeon Warden if I couldn’t fend off a lowly mob. Besides… I was currently level 2. That gave me one whole level to gamble with before I was essentially on my ‘last life.’ It was time to go hard or go home.

It would be hard to tell from the panic on my face, but in truth, the creature was exactly what I needed. A lot stronger looking than I’d hoped to encounter, admittedly. But hey, didn’t that helpful young apprentice tell me that the harder they were to kill, the sweeter the meat? By that logic, this ugly fucker was going to be delicious. Surely this would be enough to satisfy NoobSlayer’s tastes? The dumb mob couldn’t possibly know it, but he was as much my meal ticket as I was his.

As I mentally prepared myself for what was potentially going to be a very short battle, the slobbering creature quietly regarded me with too many eyes, looking like something Death himself would choose to ride into the apocalypse. I could swear the panting thing was a foot taller than any of the foals I’d previously encountered. Not a patch on the shadow stallion, thankfully, but I didn’t need a perception skill to know that it easily outclassed me... the smaller foals did not give up easily, so who knew what kind of HP this one was packing behind its hulking frame. Worse still, what was to say that there weren’t more of the bastards lurking in the tunnel that lay behind it, waiting to rip my noobish avatar to shreds the moment I stepped forward.

As I hastily scanned the area for further threats, I realized that a cave mouth wasn’t the only thing it was standing next to. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one having thoughts of breakfast. At its hooves, as if imprisoned by the beast’s eight spindly legs, lay the sprawled-out body of a warlock. He looked disheveled and barely-conscious… in fact, I’d first mistaken him for a dusty pile of rags. But I could tell that he was alive. In truth, he was probably the only reason I was, too. He was evidently the shadow foal’s chief priority.

I gripped my stolen blade a little tighter and readied myself to (attempt to) save the stranger’s life or die trying. Had I still possessed my sword, I would have repeated my earlier tactic, cleaving away the beast’s spindly legs to disable it, this time finishing what I’d started. Alas, I couldn’t imagine that the ugly bastard would just stand there while I sawed those spindly legs off one by one with my paltry new dagger. As for the warlock, I’d like to say that my intentions were purely heroic. (If they were, perhaps I would have got a nice little rep boost out of my actions.) But cold as it was, all I saw at the creature’s feet was a potential ally. Someone to rain down ranged attacks on the mob, while my impressive resilience hopefully kept me alive. I didn’t know the terminology at the time, but there was one plus to my repeated ass-kicking’s and the resilience boost that often followed them: I was shaping up to be a pretty impressive tank.

All right Shade, you can do this. You have speed, strength and resilience. Make them all count.

I rushed the creature, drawing back the blade against my ribs as I ran. Registering the threat, the mob snarled a warning, winding back as if preparing to lunge forward on its spindly yet powerful legs. I’d seen how the creatures moved, back in the boss lair. Their first instinct was always to lunge at the throat of their prey, hoping to incapacitate them as quickly as possible. So with that in mind, I ducked, diving forward with my impressive speed as its snapping jaws soared overhead. Then, using its own momentum against it, I thrust my dagger forward with all my strength, driving it deep into the creature’s throat. An ear-splitting howl erupted from the beast. It convulsed, yanking my assassins’ blade from my fingers as it rolled onto its powerful back, legs frantically kicking in the air as it shrieked in agony.

-[ Assassination failed. You do not have the proficiency to use this weapon to its full potential. ]-

Or in other words, I missed the important bits. Damn. I guess the assassination skill increases the statistical probability of a critical hit. And I haven’t got it. Yet.

A bit of luck couldn’t have hurt either, admittedly, but alas I didn’t have that either. Still, while the powerful strike hadn’t killed it, I had certainly hurt it. The deafening howl was proof enough of that. There was no sense trying to press the attack with my puny ankle-dagger: rescuing my potential ally was my priority. Without a second glance to the writhing beast I dashed to the warlock’s side, hooking him under his arms with the intention of dragging his avatar to safety.

He spluttered as if awoken from a daze, then shoved me away in his confusion, fighting from my arms and returning to his feet under his own power. There was no time for explanations, not yet. We needed distance. Besides, I was fairly certain that the thrashing beast behind me was explanation enough. We needed to move. So I lunged at him, hoping to hustle the confused old codger to safety. But instead, I felt an explosion of pain as I rushed right into a devastating uppercut.

Owwwwww! What the hell?

The warlock’s boney fist struck my jaw with unexpected speed, using my momentum against me just as I had with the shadow foal. For a moment I was stunned, a status message confirming as such. Fuck! This was the last thing I needed. As I staggered and gasped for words, my ungrateful rescuee kicked my legs out from under me, causing me to fall face-first to the cold hard floor. A foot found my back, and the animal-skull staff that I’d hoped would be laying down ranged attacks on the mob by now was instead pointed firmly at the back of my head. The creature returned to its hooves, as a crackle of what I could only assume to be mana warmed the back of my neck.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” I gasped, twisting my head to meet the warlocks gaze, but failing as his boot held me firmly in place. “I’m trying to save you, you asshole. That fucking thing was about to eat you.”

The warlock looked to the oddly restrained beast as it watched us converse. Then he let out a deep, hearty laugh.

What the hell? Was this a trap? Have I been played?

“I wasn’t in danger, you damn fool, I was having a kip. I spent the whole damn night widening that tunnel. I’m bloody exhausted.”

“But the shadow foal-”

“That’s my pet,” he cut in. “She was just guarding the entrance for me, is all. Come over and say hello to the dumb noob, Gluefactory.”

The foal strode closer on its spider-like legs, leaned in toward my face and snarled, its warm drool spattering my face. I grimaced. The creature’s malice I could understand, though… I did stab it in the throat, after all, the blade hanging out of its flesh a gruesome reminder to all assembled. But I’d yet to figure out the warlock. I still wasn’t sure that the pair didn’t have an understanding of some sort… perhaps the warlock gets my items, and the mob gets everything else. Literally.

Oh fuck, please don’t let me get eaten again.

“Your pet?” I gasped. The pressure of his foot had eased, allowing me to twist onto my back and stare my ungrateful damsel in distress in his hairy wrinkled face. For the first time, our eyes fully met.

“Hang on, you’re that guy from the boss raid,” I gasped.

“Well I’ll be buggered,” the warlock replied, slinging his staff over his shoulder. “You’re the magically-materializing swords-noob, aren’t you? I was hoping to run into you again.”

With that, he withdrew my blade from the creature’s neck, wiped it on his robe, and tossed it onto my chest. Then he shooed away the thing that haunted my nightmares as if it were little more than an attention-seeking puppy, and offered me his boney callused hand.

“You may not have saved me today fella, but you sure as hell saved my ass yesterday.”

I took his grip, and he yanked me to my feet. As I stood there wiping mob-slobber from my face, I received an unexpected status message.

-[ Special award. You have earned a title: Scrappy Dude. You repeatedly get your ass kicked, and you never seem to win a fight, yet you keep coming back for more. Additional XP bonus to resilience: +20. Alert: you have reached the resilience cap for this level. Resilience XP will be unlocked when swordsman level 3 has been achieved. To aid this, an XP bonus has been awarded to your primary skillset: swordsman +20. ]-

Hmmm. Not the most glamorous way to earn XP, admittedly, but I’ll take it.

The warlock introduced himself as Kriabal. Sensing that the danger had passed, I returned my dagger to my inventory and called to Samusk. He looked surprised as he poked his furry head around the corner. In all honesty, he probably expected my yell to be a lot more tortured, followed by a short journey back to our respawn point to collect his traumatized bodyguard.

“What the hell’s goin’ on,” he demanded, “why is that thing jus’ standin’ there, lookin’ at ye?”

“The shadow foal is the warlock’s pet,” I began, by way of explanation, and because I couldn’t help myself: “I just made a deal with him. Apparently, the poor thing’s on a diet, and a whole swordsman would go straight to the hungry mob’s hips. So, in the interests of portion control, I offered him you instead. Kidding, stop looking at me like that.”

He took a little convincing (the growls of the warlock’s pet only served to endorse my playful threat) but eventually, Samusk joined us.

“Samusk, this is someone I met when I first arrived here. Well, sort of. His name is-”

“I know what his name is, ye muppet” snapped my delightful dwarven employer, “it’s hoverin’ above his smug shiny head.”

“Oi, we don’t all have magic eyeballs, you know,” I rebuked. I was getting fed up of the way the dwarf pointed out my limitations at every possible opportunity. “Anyway, Kriabal, this grumpy little asshole is Samusk. He’s my seeing-eye dwarf.”

“You know this reprobate?” asked the grumpy rude little asshole, as he glared at the disheveled looking warlock. Granted, he was underworld class, and his robes were coated in dust as if he’d spent the night sleeping in a quarry. But surely ‘reprobate’ was a little harsh.

“This lad saved our raid party,” announced Kriabal, slapping me hard on the back. “You should show him more respect.”

Samusk immediately switched his glare to me, mouth aghast.

“Um, yeah I kinda materialized into a boss chamber when I first arrived. My actions were brave and heroic and I’d rather we all focused on that part and not the fact that I eventually got myself eaten.”

“This has somethin’ to do with the secondary skill ye arrived with, hasn’t it?”

I nodded. I’d wondered if he’d noticed that. In truth, I doubted that very little got past him.

“Hell’s bells lad, why the fuck didn’t ye say anythin’ about this to me?”

“I thought it was normal,” I replied, awkwardly. “Y’know, welcome to the dungeon, you’re fucked, that sorta thing.”

“You ask me, the fella’s assessment of dungeon life is pretty spot on,” piped up the warlock. “But no, that’s not normal, lad. You aren’t aware of any anomaly that might have sent you there, are you? Glowing porthole in the floor? Wee baldy fella in a red dressing gown handing out quests?”

“None. I was sentenced by Siriso, and then I ah… might have gotten into a fight with some of the goblin guards. Next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the goriest human waxworks exhibition imaginable.”

“You fought Siriso’s guards?” came the next question, voiced by two shocked prisoners in unison.

“Uh, yeah. I broke one of their noses,” I admitted. I probably said it a little more proudly than I should have. Old habits die hard, I guess.

“Ha. Nice one,” beamed the dusty warlock, throwing a heavily tattooed arm around my shoulder. “I’m liking you more already, Shade.”

“You, ah… don’t want to punch me, then?” I asked, adding: “apparently everyone else wants to, thanks to my sadly lacking charisma stat.”

“Don’t worry, mate,” he laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Already got that outta my system, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, rubbing the reminder that was my aching jaw. For a scrawny warlock, he threw a pretty mean uppercut.

“And don’t worry, that’ll be the last time I smack you around. Unless you decide to give me good reason to, of course.” He leaned in, pointing a bony finger hard against his forehead, furrowing the skin. “I’ve learned how to recognize when the systems are trying to manipulate my actions… been here long enough to spot the telltale signs, see? I can get around the charisma skill, most of the time. Anyway, you can’t be putting too much emphasis on stats. Your dwarven mate here has 5 charisma points, but I’d happily feed him to ol’ GlueFactory, regardless.

Samusk has 5 charisma points? That’s good to know. Especially if the system is making me more susceptible to following his orders because of them.

I was starting to get the impression that the dwarfs non-existant combat stats had left him with a lot of base points to distribute into other areas. As for Kriabal, if he really has learned to recognize when his thoughts are being manipulated, I need pick his brain when Samusk isn’t around, find out what signs of manipulation I should be keeping an eye out for. With our 0-5 charisma ratio, who knows how much power the devious dwarf actually has over me. For all I know, it’s the only damn reason I accepted his job.

“As for your sudden appearance during our boss raid, if you don’t know why it happened, be sure to tell General Nyx exactly that. And I mean do your damnedest to convince her… if she thinks you’re holding back, she’ll try to beat the information outta you, instead.”

“Thanks for the heads up, I owe you.”

“No lad, I owe you. And I appreciate you trying to save me there, misguided as it was. Takes balls to charge toward a shadow foal.

He does owe me, doesn’t he? Shit, I have to think fast, in case this is my last chance to cash in. How can I take advantage of this? In fantasy novels, wizard-y types hand out magical weapons all the time, and I desperately need a sword. But that’s potentially being taken care of by my employer. What can a warlock do for me that no one else can? Ah, the vice-hungry Knight…

“Um, you wouldn’t know where I can find dark crystal meth, would you?” I asked, somewhat awkwardly.

“You… think I look like a meth head?” he replied, his tone sharpening and his gaze narrowing. He straightened up and began to reach for his staff.

Shit! “Um, I… I…”

“If so, then your perception’s better than your stats led me to believe,” he added, bursting into laughter. “Sorry lad, I couldn’t resist. But alas, I can’t help you there. I’m all out at the moment, needed my last bag to steady my nerves on the way to the boss raid. I used to brew it in my spare time, but I haven’t had much of that, lately. That damn amazon’s working me to exhaustion.”

Damn, so close.

“Do you ah… happen to know where I can get some, then?”

“It’s almost impossible to obtain at the moment,” he replied with a sigh. Thanks to the damn guards…”

“They’re clamping down on drugs in the prison?”

“Nah, much worse than that. They’re starting to develop a taste for it, expecting a share of every batch. The greedy bastards are really hitting the supply chain.”

Which means it might be all the more valuable to my would-be trainer if I can find some…

“If demand is high, wouldn’t it be worth yer while brewin’ some more?” asked Samusk. I knew what he was up to. He had as much to gain from my training as I did.

“If the guards were actually paying for it, then yeah. But handing most of it over as ‘prison tax’ would wipe out any profit I’d make from the leftovers. Alchemical ingredients aren’t cheap. It just isn’t worth the effort.”

Oh well. Aside from a sudden influx of perception and charisma, or a vial of Dungeon Warden repellant, there was still one thing I needed. And perhaps it was best not to place myself in Samusk’s debt, if it could be avoided. My mind made up, I returned to my original train of thought.

“You ah… wouldn’t happen to have a spare sword tucked away in your inventory, would you? As you witnessed earlier, I’m stuck with a puny dagger, at the moment.”

“Apparently it’s not the size that matters, but what you do with it,” scoffed the warlock.

“Whoever said that obviously hasn’t tried to take down a shadow foal single-handed,” I rebuked with a smirk, adding: “Um, I’m sorry about stabbing your pet, by the way.”

The warlock strode over to the panting beast and began to stroke its back.

“Don’t worry, fella. Whatever doesn’t kill old GlueFactory here just makes him stronger. And I mean that literally, the bugger’s level 3 already, and surviving that scratch you dealt him can only help his resilience.”

“Hang on, was he a mob from the boss fight? Did he gain a level or something?”

“Yup, and I see you did, too.”

“Didn’t you?” I enquired, wishing I shared the warlock’s perception.

“Almost. Fell slightly short, what with the piss-poor deal we contractors get, thanks to the penalties. We do all the work, and the chosen few reap the XP, eh? All cos we ain’t body dysmorphia weirdos who fit into their damn Conan club.”

“The lad asked you if you could get him a sword,” butted in Samusk, abruptly.

“What do I look like, the lady of the lake? Granted, I could use a wash…” His face softened as he returned his gaze to me. “Sorry lad, I scavenge what I can, but my contractor status limits what loot I can and can’t pick up on duty. They only let me keep the staff because I destroyed my old one saving their loin-cloth covered assets. I found a few swords in the tunnel, along with the remains of their previous owners, but they were all rusted to buggery, not even worth lifting. One of the poor bastards did have this, though.”

-[ You have been gifted a low-quality wooden shield. Defense +1. Durability 19/30. ]-

“It’s piss poor,” he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed as he handed it over. “But your own defense is just as weak, and anything’s got to be better than trying to shield a sword-strike with those shitty cloth bracers of yours. They’re purely cosmetic.”

“The chance to double my defense?” I asked. “I’ll take it.” I did just that, graciously accepting the merger payment.

“He saved your lousy party and all he gets is a shitty wooden shield?” butted in Samusk, his expression now one of anger. GlueFactory growled, and the dwarf quickly backed off.

“Whoa, who’s this, your manager? Relax, grumpy, this is by no means a payment for what the boy did for me. Just a token of my gratitude, is all.” His hand found its way to my shoulder, his eyes now locked onto mine. “I still owe you, swords-noob. And us contractors have to stick together, we sure as hell can’t rely on the barbarians to watch our backs.”

“Can we hurry this touching reunion along please?” piped up my employer. “It’s our first day, and we can’t afford to be late.”

“Ignore him,” I sighed. “He’s just jealous because I got a free shield and he didn’t.”

“The wee buggers right, though,” replied Kriabal, his own expression now worryingly serious. “If you’re here to work, you’d better get on in there. Everyone else arrived ages ago. That’s the only reason I thought I could finally get a moment’s kip.”

“What! Spluttered Samusk.”

“Seriously?” I added. “But how? We came straight here first thing.”

“If there’s one thing the warden needs, its more real estate. Signing up for manual labor when there’s a chamber to terraform is a literal get-out-of-jail-free card, regardless of what time it is. Same reason raid party members like myself get to wander blowing holes in the wall around after lights-out. Once you’re on the list, you can willingly bypass your own cell’s door, regardless of the hour. Most of the workers arrived two hours ago.”

“Shit. How could I not know this,” grumbled the dwarf to himself.

More importantly, why the hell would you expect to? was my own thought on the matter. Seriously, where are you getting your information from, Samusk?

“You screwed up there, short stuff,” continued Kriabal, savoring the opportunity to rub it in. “We could really have used your shifty little eyes last night, too. Dwarven scouts make good money, what with the danger involved.”

Samusk grumpily presented our work-passes and stormed into the cavern. I thanked the warlock for his gift, adding a subtle reminder that I’d be mulling over that favor he owed me, and followed.

The fact that I was following a grumpy dwarf to work was not lost on me. My impromptu rendition of the only song that seemed appropriate for such an occasion did not, however, go down particularly with my dwarven employer, despite the distant chuckles of the warlock. In fact, that was an understatement: my vocal performance was met with a torrent of expletives and hand gestures that would never find their way into a Disney animation. Not unless they finally ran out of fairy-tales and decided to remake ‘Goodfellas’ instead.

Yup, definitely the grumpy one, I thought to myself.

Non-combatant or not, I was starting to think that I might need my new shield sooner than expected. Eventually, the dwarf calmed down, beckoning me to follow him.

And off to work we went.