And the award for Best Dragon’s Dogma 2 Pawn goes to…

Fang came highly recommended.

When I met the feline archer, who had the beauty of a jungle cat and the build of André the Giant, I had a paltry five hours of adventuring experience in Dragon’s Dogma 2. Her profile in the Rift featured an abundance of “hearts” and “thumbs-ups” from other, more experienced players who had already benefited from her support throughout the fields of Vermund. She was, unfortunately, level 13, a few tiers above me, and because pawns at higher levels than the player cost more, her contract would gut my savings. But my instincts said Fang would be worth every crystal.

In our introduction, which took place on a windswept mountainside, Fang informed me she spoke Elvish and could represent us well should we meet any elves. I hadn’t come across any elves yet, but was certain I would at some point. What a treat that would be for Fang and me. And before I could finish that thought, the herculean cat sprinted down the trail, pointing in the direction of the quest.

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For her first assignment, Fang provided me and my main pawn, Ophelia, with a walking tour through the metropolitan streets of Vernworth to the coastal fishing village of Harve. Any time boredom crept at the edges of the quest, she would suggest a diversion, sniffing out a treasure chest spotted on long-ago travels with great leaders. As night fell, Fang directed us over a cliff, revealing a camp that, while only feet away, I never would’ve spotted from the road. After an hour of my life — a day in Vermund — with nobody steering the caravan but Fang, I was shocked to find us at the entrance of Harve.

Fang had already hurried between the homes to fulfill some task I’d long forgotten. By the time I caught up, Fang had nearly slaughtered a gang of Saurians, the local humanoid lizards. A Harve official came to praise our gallant work, stepping around the corpses and accidentally bumping into Fang. I don’t know what happened next, but arrows were let loose, swords were swung, and the town ambassador lay dead.

Classic Fang. We would revive him in the morgue later. It was a small price to pay for a good local tour guide.

I soon understood why others had loved their time with Fang. In a world full of natural beauty, she kept me from burying my head in a map. Who wants to see pictures of mountain ranges when they can look up and witness the real thing? And in battle, what a killer! Where my spells took minutes to fell a single goblin, Fang’s arrows obliterated an entire pack in seconds.

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Fang didn’t waste time, either. She skipped the small talk common with new work colleagues and went directly to the rapport of old friends. She reprimanded me for doing dumb shit, like falling from a stone pillar and nearly killing myself. She even caught me when I fell from an even higher pillar. She often speculated boldly on my personality — why had I built a party of all women? It was only when she spoke about herself that she had little to say. She would, when pressed, remind me how she spoke Elvish, that it could come in handy.

It’s not that I intentionally refused to visit elven villages. It’s just that I was new to this whole adventuring thing. I could barely deliver a letter to Melve, despite it being the first stop on the oxcart route, let alone find a secretive society of ancient beings. Nonetheless, I felt guilty because Fang must have spent a great deal of time studying that language.

After a few exhausting journeys — interrupted by our share of mythological beast brawls — I leveled my stats beyond Fang’s level 13 rank. I still wanted her around, though, and I tried to make it work. We had acquired high-quality gear in various caves and castles, but, and it pains me to say this, the best pants I could find for an archer were bikini bottoms. Fang did not protest; she wore them with style and grace, and continued to point our way, as if she were guiding us not to a pit of undead ghouls but to a totally rockin’ beach party.

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My stats continued to improve. Hers stayed the same. I had long since refilled my Rift Crystals and more, so I hired the highest-powered, most expensive pawn I could find to carry the load: an exceptionally rude warrior named Astieria. She wasn’t nice, but we didn’t need nice. We needed somebody to hit shit with a big hammer as Fang fired arrows from so far away that she couldn’t notice how their tips no longer dealt damage.

Days and nights passed. Fang spoke less. I became quite comfortable navigating on my own, going so far as to leave the beaten path in the dark of night, actively hunting for danger. I found it on the shore of a river in the form of a hulking stone golem. The beast would be a showcase for Fang’s talents with the bow, its joints held together by glowing azure medals practically begging to be shot loose.

But Fang was too weak. She tried, in her own way. When Astieria and Ophelia fell in battle, Fang would sling them over her shoulder and shuttle the corpse back to my position. From atop a rock, I’d revive the party member and direct them, stilly woozy, back into battle. The pair of pulverizers quietly obeyed, bouldering the beast as Fang waited by my side at a safe distance, my loyal archer ready to repeat this morbid game of fetch with the beaten bodies of our companions.

In the darkness, we fought (and revived) for what felt like forever. Fang kept telling me this was ill-advised, that we should turn back, that I was being stupid again. But I knew this time she was wrong. This was a fight I could win — even if Fang couldn’t.

With the moon setting, we finally toppled the stone golem. As I harvested loot, Fang stumbled about, fully depleted of health, begging for us to find a campfire. It wasn’t just her; I was dead on my feet. We found a campfire nearby, skipping conversation and dinner. Fang looked depleted, sitting across the fire, barely able to keep her eyes open.

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When we awoke, I saw that we had bivouacked at the base of a waterfall. It was beautiful, sparkling in the morning light. Alongside it was a Riftstone. I knew what had to be done. For the last time, I spoke with Fang. She seemed oblivious, reminding me once again that she spoke Elvish and that would come in handy should we meet an elf.

But we wouldn’t. Not together.

In the Rift, I searched for a worthy pawn to fill Fang’s spot, knowing fully well this would be a rebound, that I’d unload them as soon as I had the chance. I made the necessary payment for the recruit, and selected a gift — gold ore — for Fang to bring on her journey home. Before I left the Rift, the majestic cat archer shared a parting thought.

“I daresay I’ve accomplished a few feats to be proud of, at least.”

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