Rimelion: The Exploiter

"Stupid kit!" I shouted as soon as I materialized on the market plaza of the nearest village. My voice echoed across the cobblestone square, drawing the stares of elven NPCs and players alike. Their expressions ranged from bemused to mildly concerned, as though they were watching a drunkard stumble through the street. I wasn't drunk—just furious.

"At Katherine!" I hissed, throwing my hands in the air. "Why... Why can't she listen to me just once?"

My frustration boiled over as I paced the plaza, muttering under my breath. How many times had I sent her strategies? Detailed plans to avoid getting PKed or tips for snagging better equipment. She never followed them. Never. All that mattered to her was content. That was a king—or queen—or whatever. Whatever.

I opened my interface, scrolling through my friend list to see who was online. The screen flickered into view before me, displaying the familiar names.

And... not a pleasant sight.

[Your friend Lucas is offline.]
[Your friend Lisa is offline.]
[Your friend Ry4n1 is offline.]
[Your friend Tramar is offline.]

I sighed, my frustration morphing into fatigued resignation. Midnight or not, this is Rimelion's early days! How could no one be online? This was the game everyone escaped from our reality, yet I stood alone in the middle of the square, glaring at a screen that didn't care.

Sorry, you care, I know.

"Talking to a blue-screen," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. My gaze shifted around the plaza until I found a nearby bench.

Architect designed it from a smooth stone, its edges full of faintly glowing runes that hummed with magic. I ran my hand along the seat as I sat down, feeling the gentle warmth radiating from the enchanted words. Nice touch, Uncle.

He can't be my real uncle, can he?

I leaned back, letting my eyes wander over the market. In a few weeks, maybe less, Irwen would crawl her way through here, conquering everything in her path and turning it into her property.

Well, she thinks it was always her kingdom; I guess. Future Charlie's problem, I told myself.

Right now, there was still a sliver of hope that Kit—Katherine with her shiny new prestige class—could win. She always loved proving people wrong.

A bard played softly near the fountain, grinding the skill, the melody spreading in the cool night air, over the quiet chatter of players haggling with vendors, trying to sell wolf's pelts for pittance. Overhead, twin moons shone, inviting me to sleep.

I waited, watching the comings and goings of the crowd.

Players in mismatched armor, their weapons glowing very faintly with enchantments, darted between stalls, showing off their new acquisitions. A trio of elves in emerald robes paused by a player's potion stand, fellow alchemist, and they exchanged vials of shimmering liquid.

After a while, I opened the friend list again, though I already knew what to expect.

[Your friend Katherine is offline.]

I let out another long sigh, my shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment. Of course, she's offline. Kit could never win. Not this time. Not without backup or a miracle. Draw at best.

Maybe it's time to call it a night.

Log out for a few hours, clear my head, and try again later. The thought of the real world didn't exactly appeal, but sitting here, stewing in frustration, wasn't helping either.