Yarn looked up across the smoky bar as the bell jingled at the front door. A knight pushed it open, strolling in, not seeming to care about the cigarette or pipe smoke that filled the tavern’s low roof.

He came to the bar, and Yarn smiled as she recognized him. His name was Bennin, and he was a knight of the Legion of Valor, an organization of knights who made it their mission to protect various citizens from the large population of player killers who resided in Marksville, and it’s surrounding areas.

“Hello, Yarn,” the knight greeted when he got close enough. “Still working the bar?”

“Unfortunately,” Yarn replied, with a sigh, and swiped at the bar top with her cleaning cloth. “What’cha doin’ here, Bennin?”

“I came here for a drink, of course. Can I get a beer?”

Yarn raised an eyebrow at him, and Bennin reflected that with her lip ring and pixie-cut curly hair, she scared him even more than his mother.

“Drinkin’ in daytime, Ben? Somethin’ bad happen?”

“You could say that,” Bennin replied, and grabbed a barstool, climbing onto it. “Remind me why you’re working as a barkeep, Yarn?”

She sighed and spat on the floor.

“Cause bein’ an adventure don’t pay shit, not with ‘ll the pk’ing goin’ on.”

Bennin sighed in his turn.

“You’re not wrong.”

Alpine was a virtual reality RPG that had made millions when it came out. It was the first of its kind that allowed players to make money that could transfer into real life, but had an annoying and unique quirk - it attracted player killers in large quantities due to the game’s setup. The game itself had been designed with several playable areas, including Necart, Kilbos Village Alliance, Jilf, Dildon Fiefdom, Magician’s Tower, The Haunted Forest, and The King’s Keep. Respectively, the areas focused on certain types of players, making it easier for people playing to get off to a good start. Necart was a human city, Kilbos Village Alliance was inter-racial but mostly human, Jilf was an elven city, Dildon Fiefdom was purely inter-racial with an even population of all races, Magician’s Tower which was playable by quest only, The Haunted Forest which was open to all, and The King’s Keep which was open to all but almost unreachable. The most popular area to live in, of course, was Necart, being the most welcoming, but Dildon Fiefdom and Jilf weren’t far behind.

However, while Alphine offered so many areas in which to play, it came with a strange condition. The quests in Alphine were finite, meaning once they were spawned or triggered and completed, they would not respawn or trigger for the next player. When players discovered the almost unfair condition, it became clear that the only ay to get rare quests was to attack players who had already unlocked them but hadn’t cleared them to steal them, and so player killing (pk’ing) had become absurdly common. 

The developers of Alphine had put out a cryptic warning that player killing would not be in the players’ best interests, but not many people cared. It wouldn’t have been a big issue if Alphine was designed like a typical MMRPG, with easy-access save points that allowed players to respawn with their equipment and their inventory intact. But Alphine was designed in a way that, if the player died, they lost everything, down to the last coin in their possession, meaning those who were killed in player killings not only lost their quests but all of their belongings, equipment, and assets as well.

For those who poured money from real life into the game, or those who bet their entire possessions on the game, this ‘quirk’ of the game caused them to lose everything in real life in addition to losing everything in the game.

The final nail in the coffin was a strict condition that could not be avoided. If a player remained without anything in their inventory (equipment, assets, items, anything whatsoever) for 24 in-game hours, their character would be deleted. The reason this condition was so dangerous was that the system was set up so that the game could not be played twice, a fail-proof design to prevent players from making multiple accounts who would use it to farm and gain profit. It relied on a retina scan, preventing even the most determined players from skirting around the rule. This resulted, however, in many players dying, spending their 24 hours desperately trying to get back to the beginner’s area to grind and acquire a single item, and then getting their character deleted when they couldn’t make it back in time, keeping them from playing Alphine ever again.

Yarn sighed, gaining Bennin’s attention.

“What happen’d this time?” She grumbled, scrubbing at a sticky spot on the counter, and Bennin rubbed his forehead.

“The player killers have doubled.” He muttered, completely exhausted. 

Yarn passed him a tankard, which he accepted gratefully.

“As a knight of the Legion of Valor, I took an oath to protect other players and NPCs from player killers, but as a result, now local player killers are targeting ME instead. I was ambushed three times alone today.”

Yarn gave him a sympathetic look.

“Do ya need a job ‘ere at the tavern?” She inquired. “I can ask boss to clear space for ya.”

Bennin shook his head.

“Thanks, Yarn, but unfortunately, I can’t. As you know, class changes aren’t allowed unless they’re part of the quest, and while I could quit and stop trying to help people, player killers would still come after me, because knights often trigger quests, and so we’re often targets.”

“I see. Wish I could ‘elp ya, but I quit adventurin’ for a reason.”

“I know, Yarn. You needed money to feed your family, right?”

“Forget family,” Yarn grumbled, wringing out her rag, having successfully removed the sticky spot. “I barely scrape up enough to feed myself on the shit I make.”

Bennin looked at her in silence as he sipped his beer. The half-elf barkeep was somewhat of an enigma to those who lived in Marksville, a small town not far from the Magician’s Tower and the Haunted Forest. Marksville sat between the two, as a sort of sanctuary for those fleeing the Haunted Forest and a resting place for those who had a quest to the Magician’s Tower. Yarn had been living in Marksville for as long as any could remember. To most of the residents, even the NPCs, it seemed like she’d been there before them, just part of the land. She ran the Captain’s Tavern single-handedly, keeping both the bar and waiting tables. Occasionally, an NPC would help her air out the bedding of the rooms she rented out, but that was only once a week, and other than that, Yarn was alone. More importantly, she seemed just fine with being alone, something Bennin had noticed before. He couldn’t imagine what she did with her free time, but wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, either.

“What? Somethin’ on my face?” Yarn demanded briskly, and Bennin realized he’d been staring.

“No, sorry, Yarn. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Starin’, huh? What’s to stare at?” She tucked her cleaning cloth behind the bar. “This is a tavern, nothin’ new ‘ere.”

Bennin awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask ever since I met you, but what type of adventurer were you? What did you do before coming here?”

“Bold of ya ta be thinkin’ I’d be willin’ to tell ya,” the half-elf replied, a bit angrily. “If ya plan to smoke crack or somethin’, step out on the porch, don’t drag the ‘est of us into it.”

“Yarn!” Bennin pleaded, but she was done listening and had already lit a cigarette, which to the residents of Marksville indicated a dismissal. Trying to talk to her after she lit a cigarette was useless, although Bennin did find it interesting to watch her while she smoked, especially when she realized that there wasn’t much work to be done. Her eyes would half close as she leaned against the wall, and her green eyes would glow like a cat’s in dim light as she surveyed the tavern. Those who were new to Marksville would always wither under her gaze, unsure of what she was thinking, while the residents would just acknowledge her gaze with a nod and move on with their lives. To them, besides being an enigma, she was nothing special. Bennin got up to go, and the bell on the door chimed as the door swung open again. Three swordsmen came in and grinned when they saw that Bennin and Yarn were the only two people in the building.

“Hey, I told you this town was a jackpot!” One laughed. “All these idiots are isolated!”

Yarn’s ears twitched, and Bennin could tell she was paying close attention to their every movement while she didn’t turn their way.

One of the swordsmen stalked towards Bennin.

“Hope you have a nice quest for us,” he purred, and Bennin cursed silently. He’d left his armor and weapons in the room he always rented out above the tavern, and he was weaponless.

Bennin had always figured he’d be killed at some point, but he wished it hadn’t been when his gear and kit were in the room above the dining room. Worse, somehow, he didn’t want to get killed in front of Yarn.

“Cut the crap an’ get out,” Yarn ordered, without turning away from her cigarette. “This ya only warnin’.”

“Oh yeah? And what will you do, Miss Barmaid?” One jeered, and Bennin winced.

“Well… I hope you wrote your will, sir.”

“What?”

“I think you just made Yarn angry…”

“That pussy? Who cares! It’s you I’m after.”

He reached towards Bennin.

There was a loud growl, which seemed to come from the very walls of the tavern itself, and the wooden floor creaked and groaned. There was a sharp snap, and plants burst through the floorboards, reaching and climbing up the swordsman at an amazing rate.

“What the hell is this?” He yelled. “Hey, you guys, help me! Hey!”

There was no reply from his friends, and he turned his head, freezing in place. Two giant vine cocoons stood where his friends had been. As he watched, the vines constricted, and there was a loud pop. The vines fell to the floor, the cocoons now empty, and two blue sigils floated over each space.

768 gold. 203 gold plus quest, Bennin thought, deciphering them. “Yarn, did you kill them?”

She nodded and walked over to the final remaining swordsman, whom she had immobilized. 

“What’d ya come ‘ere for?” She asked and flicked her cigarette ash in his face. “Did ya think this place was defenseless?”

“Please, spare me!” The swordsman whimpered, realizing what she meant. 

Yarn raised an eyebrow.

“After the hundreds of others who ask’d ya that same question died? Yeah, no. Go to hell, bastard.”

She snapped her fingers, and the vines swarmed him before constricting in the same manner as before. Another pop and another sigil, but this time, the sigil was green.

Yarn whistled.

“900 gold and quest? Not a bad haul. Bennin, ya want one?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Bennin replied, a little out of breath from anxiety.

She nodded and kicked the vines with her foot. Immediately, the vines rustled and got sucked back underneath the floorboards, leaving no remnants of what had just occurred.

“Need’a refill?” Yarn asked and jerked her head as his tankard, which had been knocked over as he’d sprung to his feet to face the swordsmen.

Bennin blushed.

“No, I couldn’t! It was my fault that it spilled, and besides, you have a business to run!”

But Yarn was already moving back behind the bar, picking up a new tankard and filling it with one hand, while carefully cleaning up the spilled beer with the other.

“Yarn…” Bennin whispered, and she tilted her head at the new tankard.

“Stop bein’ a sap and drink,” she growled, but there was a kind undertone to her voice.

Bennin, hearing it, stopped protesting and accepted the beer.

Best not poke the bear.