The black market.

Several hours later of fiddling with your stat and equipment spreads, you're all ready to go. Following the drider's recovery she gladly gave all your garments a once-over, providing reasonable disguises out of the salvaged clothing you procured. Replacing your cultist rags are the mage's robes you pilfered from the screaming newbie, with the lower half sliced off and modified to fit your midget measurements. Above your head dangles a conspicuous string of text, indicating your name and level. Even so, you can't help feel a little uncertain striding down the dirt road. How do players usually communicate? Aside from the usual screaming and battle cries, you realize that you're not actually sure.

"Hey, DillingerRayN," you attempt.

"Ya're not supposed to use the bloody full name, Chomski," snarls the thug as he saunters behind you, no longer decked out in his thief's rags. Since you couldn't salvage anything from the bigoted elf ranger, he had to make do with patches of Rynna's priestess robes, forming a clean tunic and loincloth that nevertheless retains a strange air of androgyny. "Ya're gonna look more like a scrub than usual, and I already feel fucking exposed like this. Why the fuck couldn't I take the mage robes before you chopped it up? Ya're the cocksucker who always wears a dress!"

You narrow your eyes. "Well, if you want to go back to wearing your Gritsheim rags you're more than welcome to it, Raynie."

"The fuck did ya call me?!"

"Can't we just go to town, get our gold and move on?" Behind the two of you stands the thrall, clad in Duranda's armor. Though her face is hidden behind a faceplate, the embarrassment in her uncharacteristically meek voice is unmistakable, as is the unsteadiness of her lance grip. "I don't like this any more than you two do, and the sooner we get this over with the less likely we run into trouble."

"Ugh. Fine, Tuska." Spitting to the ground, the bandit turns ahead. "I'll let ya know if I see any elves before ya lose yer shit again."

"Knock it off, will you?" you chide, and there is no more conversation. The character models render into view, and you half expect warning signs and messages to blare all around as you enter Dunkelthorpe territory - but nothing happens. You signal to your allies, trudging carefully through the open roads and shadowy alleys, stomachs in your throats while you avoid contact as much as possible. The last thing you want is to set something off in a crowd full of battle-happy players. "This looks like the place," you eventually hiss, pointing at a big dangling wooden sign, emblazoned with a logo of a sharp dagger slicing into a bag of gold. Trying to steady your hand, you push the door away and enter, making quite the sight as you attempt shuffling across the floor. Players huddle in various cliques, showing off their gear and haggling with each other. Luckily, even with the thrall looking almost hilarious as she tries tiptoeing incognito (and failing), no one appears to pay attention. Thank goodness for full-body armor, you think.

"Got something to deal?" growls the human character manning the counter at the far end of the room. He regards you with a glowering eye, the other hidden behind a scarred patch of cloth, exuding an aura of unpleasantness. It's clear that he's not someone to cross, and by his bulbous nose and jutting jaw he probably has some troll blood somewhere.

"These, this, and these." You dump your cultist robes and staff, beckoning to the other two to follow. You wince as they place the broadsword and lance on the surface with a resounding clatter, and you finish with the vial of drider fluid. "How much can we get?"

"Pfft. I don't know why you newbies even bother. No one's gonna pay for scraps like these," spits the manager. "25% asking price, that's as far as I'm going to go." With a careless sweep of his arm he sends your old gear crashing onto the ground behind him. "You'll have to excuse me. I'll need to find some chump change lying around for - hmmm." Narrowing his gaze, the man picks up the vial, his lip curling with roused interest. "Hmmmm..."

"Is something wrong?" you ask, trying not to tremble.

"Ah, I see how it is. This way, please."

You gingerly step behind the counter per the manager's direction, secretly sweating a storm underneath your new clothes. A dimly lit passage and flight of steps later, you're brought to another hall not unlike the one above, but a mere glance lets you know that this sector is far seedier and sinister compared to the setup upstairs.

"No idea how chumps like you managed to nab a find like this, but you know what they say, gold has no smell. I'll announce your loot when it's on so the others can bid for it, and we'll soon have your pay sorted out then," he smirks. "Find yourselves a seat, it'll be a while before we get to you." You hurriedly scamper over to an unoccupied table.

"Heh, this seems easy enough," grins Dillinger. "If being a player was this easy I shoulda set out on my own years ago."

"We're not in the clear yet," Tuska speaks up. "I don't think I like the way he was looking at us. For that matter, I don't think I like the way anyone here is looking at us."

"Calm down," you try to say, though the words ring hollow even as they come out of your mouth. You pick up a mug of ale provided at the table. "So long as we don't attract any attention - "

"Ah, there she is!" At the adjacent table a round of cheers and jeers ring out. "Finally she decides to show up!"

"Can it, Zaerix. I told you something came up, didn't I?" scowls the player in question. Almost immediately you nearly drop your drink. Why does that voice sound so familiar?

"Sheesh! Calm the hell down, girl! It wasn't that much of a disaster, we kinda managed okay without you!" booms another male voice. "...Sure, that gear probably won't spawn for next two weeks or so, but it's not something to get so peeved about - "

"Oh, trust me, I'm more than just peeved. In fact, I'd probably strangle someone if it wasn't for - ah, fuck it. Ale me up!"

"S-sure thing, Bethany. Yeesh, what's eating you? Anyone would think you had something shoved up your twat!"

Your blood freezes. Haven't you heard that name somewhere before?

"Har-de-fucking-har. Funny you should mention that." A swig, followed by a hefty slam as Bethany downs the **** in one gulp, smashing her mug on the table. "Of all the fucking things the devs could be doing you'd think they'd fix the bugs in this game, but noooooooo! Fucking ERPs messing shit up for the rest of the playerbase, now even the low-level mooks are screwing with us!"

"What... are you talking about?"

The voices trail off as you turn your gaze towards Dillinger, and reading his expression you can tell he's thinking the exact same thing. The first player you screwed is not only within striking distance, but from the sound of things she's probably fully equipped unlike before, and with the full **** of her guildmates at her back. Tuska looks between the both of you, with no idea of what's happened and shuffling in her armor, increasingly unnerved.

"We should go," you ****.

"Ya fucking crazy?! That assbag just took all our gear! And that poison bottle!" snaps Dillinger, as quietly as he can. "We walk out of this now, we're getting ourselves robbed here!"

"Is there something you two want to tell me?" Tuska asks, her voice a mixture of rising panic and annoyance.