The woman standing in front of me was not what I expected from a bandit leader.

  Robbie was middle-aged, but it was hard to tell. She was one of those women who seemed ageless. She had worry lines and crow’s feet, but her eyes sparkled with life. Her muscles were smooth, the kind of solid build that came from years of real work, and she moved with the effortless grace of an athlete, or maybe a dancer. Her hair was thick chestnut shot through with grey, pulled back in a practical braid. She wore leather armor that had seen better days, and an unstrung bow rode on her back alongside a quiver of arrows.

  It was her face that caught me off guard. She had smile lines around her eyes and mouth, the kind that came from actually smiling, not the hard-set grimness I’d expected from someone who made their living robbing travelers. Or the face designed by an art director to invoke a ruthless crime lord. Lordess?

  “Welcome to Oakfend,” she said, and her voice had warmth in it. “I’m sorry about the rough treatment. My people are... cautious these days.”

  I blinked at her, still being held upright by two sets of hands. “Are you apologizing for kidnapping me?”

  “Not at all. And this isn’t a kidnapping,” she corrected with a slight smile. “There’s a difference. Kidnapping implies ransom. And we haven’t decided what to do with you yet.” She gestured to the people holding me. “Let her stand on her own. And cut those ankle bindings; she’s not going to run on legs like that.” She said as I wobbled unsteadily despite my best efforts to look strong and defiant.

  They released me carefully. I swayed, but managed to stay upright. Pins and needles shot through my calves as circulation returned. Around us, the village square was alive with activity. People moved between buildings with purpose. A group of children in an array of clothes played near what looked like a communal well, their laughter bright against the general tension. Everyone was wearing disparate fashion. They were oddly unmatched, as if they came from different sets from various medieval plays or tv shows. Looking around, I decided no; it was more like they had gotten into the wardrobe department of those shows. Some were in garish, well-worn finery, often that didn’t fit well; some were in armour; a few in what I had come to think of as peasant gear, and many in the dark brown or black of the bandit gear. There was one that stood out: standing by Robbie, dressed in hues of bright red from top to bottom, was a young man.

  I didn’t see the most important thing, though. “Where’s my dog?” I asked, desperation making my voice higher and less confident than I would have liked.

  Robbie raised an eyebrow. “Your animal companion?” She turned to a man who was as large as I had been in my barbarian form. “Jack?” she asked him.

  A man I hadn’t seen in the crowd, who’d been holding Dekka’s sack, stepped forward. He passed it to Jack. A lump formed in my throat; the sack was very still.

  “I need to see she’s okay,” I pleaded, tears threatening. “She’s been in that sack for—I don’t even know how long. She needs air.” The sack was so very still around her small form.

  Robbie studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. Jack, take care of it. But keep the beast secured.”

  Jack moved with surprising gentleness for someone so scarred and dangerous-looking. He set the sack down and carefully untied the top, loosening it enough to roll it down around Dekka’s shoulders as she sat there. Her head emerged, ears flat, fur ruffled, teeth slightly bared. Jack retied the sack around her neck, leaving her head free but her body still contained.

  Dekka sat there, glaring at everyone with profound terrier annoyance. She looked like a very small, very angry lion whose mane was made of burlap.

  Despite everything, I smiled as she fixed me with her glare. “She’s fine,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

  “It certainly looks displeased,” Robbie agreed. “Now. We need to talk. Privately.” She gestured toward a building on the far side of the square. “This way.”

  I was guided, hands still bound, across the square. Jack had picked up Dekka, again with a gentleness that I appreciated, even if in this moment she didn’t. People stared as we passed. Some faces were curious, others hostile, most — if they were adults — had marks of having seen battle. I struggled to climb the few steps to a building that looked like it might have once been a meeting hall or perhaps a wealthy resident’s home. My legs and back were tight from the ride.

  The door we came to was solid oak, reinforced with iron bands. Robbie gave a rap with her knuckles on the door. It swung open to reveal a large, open room with a large table, chairs, and maps covering one wall. It looked like a command center. Why did bandits need a command centre?

  Standing near the far wall was a woman whose beauty seemed out of place in this storyline. She was tall and willowy, with silver-blonde hair that seemed to catch the light from the windows. She wore a deceptively simple dress in pale blue; it fit her as if it had been made for her, unlike the people I had seen outside. The fabric was decent, and though not high quality, the construction was far better than on anyone I had seen outside of the nobles of Lord Ashburn’s court and the Prince.

  The way she held herself, the way she moved as she turned to look at us

  For a moment, I wondered if she was a fellow captive. Some noblewoman they had actually kidnapped for a high ransom. She had that same effortless grace that Sera had.

  “Robbie?” the woman asked, her mouth making a moue of displeasure at our muddy feet. Her voice was soft but clear.

  “We have someone to question,” Robbie said, and I noticed a note of contrition in her voice. “Elizabeth, she calls herself.”

  The woman’s eyes—pale grey, almost silver—studied me with obvious intelligence. This was no prisoner. Somehow this elegant person was one of this outlaw community.

  Robbie moved to stand beside the woman, and I caught the way their bodies oriented toward each other, the comfortable closeness. “Mary, would you give us the room? I need some place private to ask some questions. I promise to get someone to sweep up after ourselves.” The last part added with a small, knowing grin.

  Mary’s hand found Robbie’s, just for a moment. Their fingers intertwined. “Be careful,” Mary said quietly. “We can’t-“

  “I know.” Robbie squeezed her hand, then pulled Mary slightly closer and whispered, “Don’t worry. I will be careful.”

  It was an intimate, tender kind of moment that felt private even though I was standing right there watching it. Mary nodded, squeezed Robbie’s hand once more, then glided past us toward the door. As she passed me, she paused.

  “For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “I hope you’re no one important. It would be simpler that way.” Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Was I someone important? That was an interesting question. Not really, but maybe?

  Two men remained in the room with Robbie and I. Jack, the tall, heavily muscled man who’d carried Dekka, and a younger man who was monochromatic and whose name I hadn’t caught. He was maybe mid-twenties and most notably was dressed head to foot in shades of red from crimson to scarlet. Even his well-maintained leather armour was red.

  He had clever eyes and the kind of face that probably got him into and out of trouble with equal frequency. Leaning up against the wall near the maps, arms crossed, he watched me with undisguised curiosity.

  Jack set Dekka down at the opposite side of the room, where she continued to give everyone baleful looks, and took up a position by the door.

  “This is Jack,” Robbie said, gesturing to the large man. “And that’s Scarlock. They’re my...” she paused, seeming to search for the right word, “council.”

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  “Sit,” Robbie said, pulling out a chair for herself and gesturing to one across the table for me.

  It was a relief to sit, though it was awkward with my hands still bound. The chair was solid oak, worn smooth by years of use and more comfortable than it had looked. Robbie settled across from me, all hints of friendless dropped from her face.

  “So,” Robbie said, leaning back in her chair with deceptive casualness. “Elizabeth. So why were you out in the wilds on your own? Surely you had heard there were bandits about?”

  I thought back to the previous rounds where I had encountered the bandits on the road. I had known there were bandits about, but it didn’t seem wise to say so. How could I explain that they killed me but I am clearly alive, or that I had killed some but that they were probably fine?

  She noticed my hesitation, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “I had heard rumours.” I hedged.

  “So then why were you traveling alone? You knew there were dangers. No one travels alone if they’re smart. Not if they have a choice.”

  “I was trying to level up,” I said. “My friends are stronger than me. I didn’t want to be a burden when I met back up with them in Bistmore.” I wanted her to believe me, so I told as much truth as I could.

  “Level up,” Scarlock repeated, sounding suspicious “But why not do that in the direction of Bistmore? We found you heading north. Toward us. Why?”

  I looked back and forth between him and Robbie to see if I was expected to answer him. The bandit leader’s face was impassive.

  “There was a quest,” I admitted, having a feeling this was going to be a problem but not sure what lie to give instead. “To solve the mystery of the silent village.”

  The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

  “Of course there was,” Robbie said, her voice gone flat. “Let me guess. Some noble is offering gold, maybe even the King himself, to anyone who can ‘deal with the bandit problem.’”

  “I don’t know about gold. The quest just said to find out what happened to Oakfend.”

  “And what did you think happened?” Jack’s voice was surprisingly soft for such a large man. It was also the first time I’d heard him speak.

  “I didn’t know,” I said honestly. “I hadn’t even heard of Oakfend before I got the quest.”

  “And once you solved the mystery?” Robbie leaned forward now, her easy manner gone. “Once you found out we’re bandits, thieves, people who rob travelers and raid noble supply trains—what then? You’d go back and report. Collect your reward. Maybe lead an armed force back here to clean us out.”

  “Um, the quest didn’t say anything about that.” A prickle of sweat rose on the back of my neck.

  “That’s the problem with you bootlicker hero types,” Scarlock said. “You never think ahead. You just take quests from the nobles and do them without considering who gets hurt. Without considering that we’re people too, not just obstacles in your path to ‘leveling up.’”

  The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut.

  “I’m not—” I started, then stopped. Should I mention I did quests that benefited the peasants too? They seemed very sure quests came from nobles. I was pretty sure they came from the game system.

  I’d even had a quest that brought down nobility.

  “I helped bring down Lord Ashburn,” I blurted. “In Seabrooke. He was a tyrant. He was hurting people. I did a quest that put a stop to his tyranny.”

  The three of them exchanged glances. Robbie’s expression had shifted from suspicious to intensely interested.

  “Lord Ashburn of Seabrooke,” she said slowly. “We’ve heard of him. His reputation reached even here. A cruel man. Harsh taxes. Brutal punishments for even the most minor infractions.” She paused. “You helped bring him down?”

  “I did more than help. I did that quest on my own.”

  Dekka sniffed, and my eyes darted to her in her sack. “Well, with help from my dog,” I corrected. Dekka looked slightly mollified.

  “How?” That was Jack, his soft voice somehow making the question more intimidating than if he’d shouted it.

  So I told them. About finding the evidence of Ashburn’s betrayal, the blackmail, and of Sera. As I spoke, I watched their faces. There was interest and calculation. Moments that might have been respect — until I got the part about Lord James and his rightful claim. Then their faces became guarded again.

  When I finished, Robbie sat back in her chair. “Lord James,” she said. “The rightful heir. So you helped restore proper succession.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “But there’s still a lord,” Robbie interrupted. “Still nobility. Still someone who owns the land and the people on it. You just traded one master for a slightly nicer master.”

  I bristled. I was just playing the game. And Sera really was a kind and good person. She wouldn’t let anything happen to the people. “Lord James is nothing like Ashburn—”

  “I’m sure he is a much better person,” Robbie said, and there was no mockery in her voice. “I’m sure he’s kind and fair and wants the best for ‘his’ people. But they’re still ‘his’ people. They still work land they don’t own. They still give him a portion of everything they produce. They still need his permission to marry, to move, to make decisions about their own lives. The chains might be silk instead of iron, but they’re still chains.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Because she wasn’t wrong, exactly. Lord James was better. But this was a fantasy game. It was a fucking game. This wasn’t real or set up to be real.

  “You’ve never questioned it, have you?” Scarlock said, watching me. “The whole structure. Lords and ladies and peasants and serfs. You think that’s just how things are.”

  “It’s—that’s the game,” I said quietly. Though I should have thought of it. I had worried about the lives of the NPCs before. Why haven’t I thought of this?

  “This is no game,” Jack rumbled. “It’s our lives.”

  The room fell silent. Dekka, still sitting in her sack-prison at my feet, let out a small sigh and flopped over. Tired of sitting and bored with our talk.

  Should I try to explain the game? Explain why I hadn’t thought about politics at all. That I had met the prince and that he seemed like a real person trying to do a difficult job? I looked around at the three people watching me and knew it would do no good.

  The truth of it was I hadn’t, so I said, “You’re right, I didn’t question it. I just... went along with the quests, with what was expected of me. I thought I was helping by making sure the good nobles were in charge instead of the bad ones.”

  “And maybe you were,” Robbie said. “I won’t say Lord James isn’t better than Ashburn. Better is still better. But it’s not freedom. It’s not justice. It’s just... better oppression.”

  “So, what’s your solution?” I asked my voice growing hard. “What is it you guys are doing out here? What I know of bandits on the road is that you guys are killing or robbing people.”

  Robbie’s expression darkened, and she stood up. “People are already dying! They die from hunger when the taxes take everything. They die from exposure when they can’t afford shelter. They die from disease because healers cost coin they don’t have. At least when we take from the nobles, we can give to those who need it. At least we’re fighting back instead of just accepting that this is how things have to be.”

  “I get where you are coming from,” I said, twisting in my seat to face her as she paced. “But you’re still robbing people on the roads; not everyone you rob is a noble. You’re still killing—”

  “We try not to kill,” Jack said quietly. “Unless they fight back. Unless they give us no choice. And the rich merchants are beneficiaries of the oppressive system. The goods they sell they get from the nobles who have taken it from their peasants. Shouldn’t the money go directly to those who made it with their own labour?”

  I blinked. I was no political person, but I was pretty sure this was sounding like communist ideas or at least socialist ones. I wasn’t clear on the difference. I was clear on people being murdered, though. “The guards who protect those nobles?” I challenged. “The servants who travel with them? They’re not rich. They’re just trying to survive too.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. Uncomfortable.

  “You’re not wrong,” Robbie said finally, stopping to look at me. “This isn’t clean. It isn’t simple. People get hurt who don’t deserve it. Good people sometimes die protecting bad people. We know this. We live with it.” Her voice dropped. “We just made a mistake that cost us dearly. We can’t afford another one.”

  I was dying to know what mistake they were talking about. But I got the feeling it was a delicate subject, the way everyone danced around it.

  “So what are you going to do with me?” I asked instead.

  “That depends,” Robbie said. “On who you are. What you are. Whether you’re a threat. Whether anyone would care if you disappeared.”

  The threat was implicit but clear.

  “My friends would care,” I said. “They’re looking for me. One of them is on her way. Rose. She’s coming to meet me.”

  “One friend,” Scarlock said. “Not exactly an army.”

  “We’re not an army!” I said, my hands straining against the rope binding as I instinctively went to throw my arms up. “We’re just... players. You know, "Travelers’.”

  They looked blank.

  “Don’t you guys know what a traveller is?”

  “You say it like it is a title,” Scarlock said.

  “That is how my kind is often known. It is a kind of title. Meaning people who have come from far away. From lands far beyond this continent.” Still, they looked puzzled. How did all the other NPCs know what a traveller is? “Do you know what a player is?”

  Scarlock snorted. “You mean someone who toys with the romantic affections of others? Hardly something to go bragging about.”

  “I am not bragging! And no, I am not that kind of player. Never mind,” I said irritably, flustered.

  The man in red was still chuckling. Mocking me. My blood was trying to run hot. I was getting frustrated and was tempted to let it go. But I wasn’t a barbarian anymore. Fighter rage was a weak thing compared to what I had gotten used to.

  “Well, at least I am not so on the nose that the leader of your band of thieves, the leader of your band of robbers called Robbie — Rob-ee,” I said scathingly, sneering the last syllable of her name.

  Robbie sat and gave me an odd smile. “Robbie,” she said suddenly, chuckled. “You know, I had never put that together.”

  “It’s a nickname,” she said, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “My given name is Robin.”

  The room seemed to freeze. Robin. Leader of a band of outlaws in the forest. An archer with an unstrung bow. Robbing the rich.

  Well, fuck.

  YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE SILENT CITY QUEST- Find out why there is no news of Oakfend.

  +15xp + 2 Wis +4 Char

  You have received the trousers of the people + 2 to Char

  You have gained the title of Comrade