The moon, in its celestial wisdom, was well-tucked behind a thick blanket of clouds, the woods around the six vilden bandits dark and enigmatic. Having bested an orc earlier that day, they'd managed to make themselves feel invincible. And as all those who feel invincible often do, they were blithely wandering through the dense undergrowth, chattering like birds in the early morning.

"See, that's what I don't get, Yarkle," Crag grumbled. "Why the Pentknight would want that piss-poor hamlet burnt to the ground."

Yarkle shrugged.

"Why ask why? They've got gold, we've got an appetite for arson."

"It was barely a hamlet, really," Warty said. "Ten people? You could hardly call that a village."

"The houses burned all the same," said Bluck. "Fire doesn't discriminate."

“True, true.” Grim said as he scratched his bark-like chin. “All wood burns, whether it’s a grand manor or a humble hut.”

“Unless it’s our flesh,” Perry added, flashing a leafy grin. “Thank the gods for that.”

There was a collective laugh, loud and wild, piercing the quiet of the forest night.

It was Bluck who first saw it—a small, strange object lying half-buried in the fallen leaves.

“What's this?” he murmured, nudging it with his root-like toe.

All banter ceased as they crowded around the mysterious item. It was an oddity, no doubt—a small cube, with sides of alternating metallic shades and faintly glowing lines that crisscrossed the surfaces.

Crag, who fancied himself an amateur archaeologist, leaned in closer.

"It looks old, possibly ancient," he declared, sounding utterly convinced of his expertise.

“A child’s toy, most like,” Yarkle contested. “Barely worth a glance.”

Bluck shrugged and, without a second thought, reached down to pick up the object. He barely had time to gasp before metallic wires sprung from the cube, wrapping around him, binding his arms to his sides.

"Shit!" Perry exclaimed, jumping back. "It's a—"

But the rest of his warning was cut off by a thunderous crash. Leaves and branches rained down as a hulking figure dropped from the trees above. His landing sent tremors through the ground, making the forest echo with the force of it.

“Howdy! Remember me?!”

It was the orc they'd killed earlier. Only now, he looked different—more savage, more fierce. Once wearing a strange amalgamation of comfortable-looking raiments, now he was covered in layers of fur and leather, his body adorned with savage-looking gear. He was not the semi-civilized orc they'd fought before, he was a primal, formidable warrior.

But it wasn't his appearance that made the vilden bandits recoil—it was his weapon. The broad, blotchy orc was wielding an absurdly terrifying knife, the likes of which they had never seen before. Its handle seemed to be a bone—maybe a deer's antler—banded and reinforced with a material that caught the moonlight, shimmering in an otherworldly manner. The blade, wickedly curved and sharp, emitted a disconcerting, ethereal glow, as if the essence of magic itself was woven into the very metal. The sight was at once awe-inspiring and stomach-churning.

"Well, fuck me," Grim muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "It's him again."

Yarkle was the first to break the silence.

"Oi, orc! We thought we killed you!"

The figure’s growled reply rang out through the night, his words thick with a promise of violence.

“Y’all were fucking wrong."

Bluck struggled in his bindings, his movements frantic and panicky.

"Get this damn thing off me!"

"Working on it!" Perry snapped, his fingers probing the metallic wires, trying to find a release.

As the vilden bandits scrambled to free their ensnared comrade, the orc watched them with a smile, his grip on his spear tightening.

"Well," Crag said, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips, "this is a right bit of fucked."

The once-dead orc couldn't have agreed more.

—

The look on their faces was priceless as I made my grand entrance, all decked out in my new gear. I looked like a proper Barbarian, if I do say so myself. Not just any Barbarian, mind you. An “enemies pissing and shitting themselves uncontrollably” kind of Barbarian.

"Right bit of fucked, you say?" I shot back at Crag, my smile splitting my face. "You haven't even seen the half of it."

You know, there's nothing quite like the thrill of springing a surprise on your foes. As the vilden scurried around like headless chickens, I took a moment to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of my new gear, and the weight of the Stag's Pique in my hand, its magical glow bright against the darkness of the forest.

Stag's Pique

Rarity: Marvel

Item Class: One-Handed Weapon

Durability: 120/120

Weight: 1 lb.

Attack: 156 - 199 Slashing / 100 - 130 Piercing

Defense: N/A

Bonuses:

Wound Ripper - Grants Bleeding Condition to successful attacks

Forest's Whisper - Grants additional Level Rank to Sneaking Skill.

Life Cycle - Grants Life Cycle Health Bar

Crafted from a stag's antler, this trench knife is as sharp as the wit of the one who wields it. While it does inspire a certain awe, it's less of the 'majestic creature of the forest' kind and more of the 'that guy just killed a deer with its own fucking horn' kind. Additionally, injuries inflicted by the Stag's Pique take longer to heal, disrupting natural and magical healing abilities. Also, the knife enhances the wielder's ability to blend with nature, providing Sneaking bonuses when in woodland environments. Lastly, with each enemy the wielder kills, the Stag's Pique channels a fraction of their life force, storing it as a one-time use healing boost that the wielder can activate at will.

Oh, yeah, baby! This thing was a gleamin’ dream. The sharpness of the blade, the shimmering glow, the fuck-off extras... I'd go so far as to say it was love at first stab.

I double-checked the extra-special boner-supporting stats on the rest of my fabulous fit, just so I could internally gloat.

Guardian's Bear Pads

Rarity: Elusive

Item Class: Pauldron

Durability: 80 / 100

Weight: 5 lbs.

Attack: N/A

Defense: + 20

Bonuses: + 5 to Intimidation

These pauldrons, despite their name, look less like they came from a Guardian and more like they've been liberated from a very surprised, and subsequently very naked, bear.

Torso Wrap of the Reluctant Warrior

Rarity: Rare

Item Class: Baldric

Durability: 150 / 150

Weight: 2.1 lbs.

Attack: N/A

Defense: + 50

Bonuses: Grants a +10 resistance to physical attacks

These crisscrossing chest belts are crafted with a sturdy leather that's seen more than a few scraps. It's the fashion equivalent of a hardened veteran: scruffy, well-worn, and decidedly intimidating.

Battle Skirt of the Feral Brawler

Rarity: Elusive

Item Class: Waist Wrap

Durability: 40 / 40

Weight: 2 lbs.

Attack: N/A

Defense: + 15

Bonuses: + 20% movement speed

This kilt is a study in practicality with a heavy dash of impending doom. The motley pattern is a jarring mix of earth tones that's a shout-out to the wilderness, and more importantly, a warning to anyone thinking they're about to face a pacifist.

Bracers of the Berserker

Rarity: Uncommon

Item Class: Bracer

Durability: 60 / 60

Weight: 3 lbs.

Attack: + 10

Defense: +15

Bonuses:

+5 to Unarmed Fighting attacks

These resilient leather guards have a strangely menacing air about them, like they've been to hell and back and had a grand old time doing it. Perfect for the vagrant who prefers to greet their enemies with a fistful of hello.

Shin Splints of the Stomper

Rarity: Rare

Item Class: Partial Greaves

Durability: 100 / 100

Weight: 3 lbs.

Attack: 20 - 48 Bludgeoning

Defense: + 30

Bonuses:

+5 to kick attacks

Crafted from boar hide and studded with iron, these leg guards make a statement. That statement being, "I'm going to kick you, and it's going to hurt."

The metallic groan from the cube pulled me from my gear-appreciating reverie. The vilden with stony, stegosaurus plates on its back was trying to pry the cube off Twiggy, to no avail. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

"Hurry up!" Twiggy squealed, wiggling like a worm on a hook.

“I’m tryin,’ dammit!” Stegosaurus wailed.

I held up my Stag’s Pique, the eerie glow of its blade reflecting off the petrified faces of my foes. Time for a little fun.

“Alrighty, boys,” I started, twirling the weapon like a major in a parade. “Who’s first for a taste of the motherfuckin’ bloodshed?”

As their eyes grew wide and their color drained, I laughed. It was going to be a fun night, no doubt about it. Goddamn, I do love a good revival.