《The Prince and the Pug - Book One of The Real(M) Saga》 Welcome to the Real(M) Elijah the Wise awoke in the Real(M) to darkness, a foul sulfuric odor and round dead weight covered his body. Immediately he knew something was wrong. He was supposed to be safe! Panic began to rise because he could feel the cold clamminess on his skin, something tickling his face and it could only be one thing, only one possible scenario. He was buried in heads. Severed heads. Elijah gritted his teeth and pushed away the revulsion, trying to come up with a strategy, a plan to escape this mess and find Jon - it was the only thing that mattered, to fail in this was to fail in everything. I have to find Jon. The Real(m) wasn''t a game. It wasn''t for sale, or advertised. It wasn''t streamed, or sponsored. And it certainly wasn''t talked about. Not in polite company, at least. It was the Dark Net of the RPG world, the bastard child of Project Asimov, as illegal as gateway drugs, and far more addicting - And Elijah the Wise wasn''t prepared for combat, he had no experience in it; his weapon was a cane. His only protection, a custom tailored suit from America''s past, formal black and white. His Class - Acrobat, and its Skills were about building a foundation of power, a slow start for later strength, they weren''t useful for fighting now. But right now is what Elijah needed; because the weight over him began to shift - his eyes widened as he realized it was too late to plan, to think his way out. A hand. It grasped his face, warm and sweaty. And Elijah the Wise, Scholar and Sage - a refined gentleman who enjoyed reading, philosophy and debate, history and politics, and had never been in so much as a fist fight - bit. Elijah bit into the hand, teeth sinking past skin and grinding onto bone, hearing a surprised, pain filled shout as the hand pulled back. He didn''t let go! Elijah followed it, bending and twisting, exploding out of this ball pit of doom with his right hand held around his only weapon, a cane. Skill:Canes guiding his body to grasping the weapon by the neck, how to hold it for the most leverage, the most striking power - And Elijah''s left arm was already reaching out, Class: Acrobat, guiding the motion for balance, maneuverability, so he could flee these - "Aaaaaaaah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" "Oh, Geoffrey!" Old people? Elijah''s mouth popped open in surprise, releasing the hand. He could taste blood, sweat - as he stared at the senior citizens in front of him. An old man, holding his bleeding hand against his chest. An old woman, reaching for the man as she cried out in fear and concern - as cabbages tumbled down and around them, across the busy city market they were in. ''Destiny Level Up. New Ability.'' What? Elijah gaped at the old people, the blood staining the man''s rough-spun shirt. The woman grasping at him with hands twisted both in arthritis and anxiety, "Oh, oh, Geoffrey, Geoff - please, oh no." Heads of Cabbage? Elijah blinked, I was buried in heads of cabbage? I was safe, in the city - then I bit a cabbage seller. His wife is worried. There are cabbages everywhere. "You bit him! You bit Geoffrey!" "My cabbages!" "Was this a prank?" A pedestrian asked, confused, "It isn''t funny." And Elijah realized that perhaps - with how he was posed in balance, his cane up ready to strike or like some performer''s baton, some could confuse it as the classic Ta-Dah gesture... "You can''t do this to people, you hurt him - it''s, it''s not funny." The older woman, shaming Elijah with an accusatory finger, eyes wet with tears, "You hurt Geoff." The gathering crowd agreeing, nodding, staring at Elijah with growing disgust, incredulity and anger. "He bit that poor old man as a joke? A prank?" "What''s wrong with him?" "Sick. Attacking the elderly for laughs?" What a nightmare. And it was bad enough to have the attention of all these bumpkins, dressed in their plain clothes, their market day best; but for them to think Elijah the Wise was the willing participant in some sort of prank? That he would engage in some form of activity for another''s amusement? Preposterous. "There has been a misunderstanding." Elijah said in a voice that could be used to correct children, "I was disoriented due to -" A cabbage smashed Elijah the Wise in the face. In the face. And if he had even just one hundredth of the power and resources he''d wielded this morning? But he didn''t, so he ran. His Class: Acrobat, already loaded in his mind, informing his movements, manipulating his muscles in a manner impossible this morning: Elijah jumped, flipping over pedestrians who shouted in surprise, turning his landing into a forward roll beneath a market stall, his cane snaking out to catch a hitching post; pulling his roll into a tumble as thrown cabbages fell short. He moved like a top launched from an excited child''s hand as he twisted and bounced over the cobblestone road before cartwheeling between a wainwright and a cobbler, into an alley. Regaining his feet, he jumped up to a window ledge and snatched a drain pipe as he stowed his cane behind the neck of his coat, then using both hands to clamber to the building top. Elijah sprinted across the roofs, leaving the situation behind him before guards could be roused or more just as likely, some powerful pedestrian took action. The entire event had occurred in less then a minute and only the confusion of the crowd, just as complete as his own, likely allowed him to escape. Because who does that? Just the idea of such a Class like Prankster filled Elijah with disdain, and for others to associate him with it? Of course this was all Jon''s fault; if Elijah hadn''t been so rushed - first to re-roll his character and then to reach his endangered, out of his depth, friend. Had Jon just listened? Just made a blanket attempt to prepare himself for where the world was headed vs. living out his almost Amish existence? Because just look at the Real(m). As Elijah moved across rooftops, further away from his awkward entrance into this magical world he could see the entire skyline; a magnificent mural of what the Real(M) offered. The Glass Palace, an enormous building that was better then the Emerald City of Oz, the spinerets and balconies, the tall towers. All grown from glass, not made but seemingly planted, erupting from the manicured grounds like a mushroom. Other buildings throughout Glass City matched its manner of creation, but were nowhere near as grand, in fact Elijah saw cracks and chips on structures. But that was to be expected, after all this land was referred to as the Shattered Empire, and though he wasn''t aware of what tribulations had brought it about, he recognized the signs of lost power. And as fascinating as it was, to explore a new corner of the Real(m), one small piece of an impossibly vast and exciting existence, the most pressing issue was finding Jon. So Elijah made his way back to the winding, twisting roads with their shops and apartments, townhouses and city squares, heading toward the very center of Glass City, to a fountain where he was to meet his erstwhile friend. Arriving at the monument, another glass creation that shamed the Trevi and any earthen art - Jon wasn''t there. "Jon!" Elijah shouted, making his way through the crowd, searching faces, "Jon!" Because it was the Real(m), Jon could be anyone. The dark man with a twisted mustachio and tall hat, pushing a cart, "Meat pies, tender rabbit and sweet sage, hot! Made with Advanced Cooking and Savory Bite! Three copper for a meal fit for the Emperor, may he rest eternally." If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Or the urchin, the street child eyed suspiciously by those that saw him in the crowd as he crept about, dirt under his nails and unkempt hair. Elijah checked his coin purse, patting it where it rested in his inside breast pocket, the single silver given by system felt like a hidden, hard button against his chest. Jon could even be that baby, its mouth noisily tugging at his mother''s teat, her face filled with adoration as she admired the child with a soft song, her hand toying with his blond wisp of hair. "Jon!" Elijah shouted as he continued his search. Of course Elijah didn''t actually think any of those people would be Jon; Jon was a jock, an amateur athlete that went running for fun and considered fantasy football an intellectual pursuit. Jon would be obvious. Elijah scanned the crowd of people who''d come to look at the statue, to pay tribute to a glorious past by tossing in a coin, or laying flowers upon the basin, lighting candles - he was looking for somebody wearing armor, likely with a sword too large for practical use, perhaps a thick beard and an already full mug of ale... Ridiculous. Elijah was looking for a person that didn''t fit, a person that looked ridiculous. But after an hour of searching, of calling out Jon''s name, perhaps a mile of walking in circles Elijah was still alone. He approached the fountain to sooth his parched throat, dry from yelling, and took in the glory of its construction, likely a scene from the pinnacle of the Glass Empire''s power. At the height stood a woman with wide arms of welcome; clothed only in wet radiance, her face was beatific and flawless. Flowing water formed a dress that poured down her, a promise of succor to all those beneath - and they weren''t just human. Within the pure pleats of her garment nymphs and satyrs frolicked as farmers tended their crops. Merchants traded with elven folk, exchanging sweet melons for alembics and vases for glistening berries. Merfolk navigated wide roads and rivers in extravagant, amphibious ships, their holds filled with water and luxuries for their journey over land. And at the very bottom, where the water seemed to boil and churn as it met the basin of the fountain, the more murderous races and monsters of the Real(m) seemed to fight against the flow, seemingly pushed away by this matron''s might as she protected the civilized folk that took shelter in her fold. Elijah''s eyes widened at feeling his entire body refreshed and it wasn''t just from seeing the beautiful fountain; as the water entered his body he felt refreshed. Such an enchantment was rare, exceedingly difficult and incredibly costly to mass produce efficiently - which must be the case for it to have continued to sustain itself all these years as the remainder of the Glass Empire appeared to be slowly crumbling into dust... He opened his Status in order to see the full effect of the water, also discovering a most disturbing change from his previous existence.
Elijah Fleming Class: Acrobat (5) Skills: Tumbling - Adept 2/500 Balance - Adept 1/500 Jumping - Adept 1/500 Flexibility - Adept 0/500 Abilities: Quick Recovery (Passive) Body: Human - Eastern Providence Base Human Adult - Male / Invested / Temporary / Actual Strength: 10 + 2 + 0 = 12 Resistance: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10 Agility: 10 + 3 + 0 = 13 Sense: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10 Mind: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10
Soul (Basic) Skill Canes : Adept 1/500 Destiny: Comedy (Level One) Abilities: Sense Humor - Divination - You have a funny way of finding what''s funny. Active Effects: Gift of the Glass City: You feel refreshed. All regeneration increased by 10%. Time Remaining: 09:59:47
"Comedy?" Elijah whispered, and to be honest, at that moment? Elijah had completely forgotten that Jon even existed, so large was his shock, "No. I''m Elijah the Wise, not Elijah the funny." His face was disgusted, as though he''d bitten into a wormy, rotten apple. Or a human hand - "Not funny." Elijah whispered, echoing the crowd from earlier, "They''re right, I''m not funny, I have no desire to be funny." Was there a worse way to be perceived? ...presence And it wasn''t funny. And yet he had an Ability, Sense Humor: You have a funny way of finding what''s funny. And he also had to find Jon. It was unexpectedly cruel, a knife twist from the unfathomable, unapproachable system that governed this universe, how it adapted to circumstance, how it functioned, providing tools to accomplish one''s desires, both warning and rewarding, always balanced and fair. And when Elijah had entered the Real(m) it had been with a singular goal. To find Jon, to help him. And he''d been given a way, his need answered. But the cost? "No." Elijah whispered, "This can''t be. This can''t be happening." Now, Elijah could find Jon. That''s what his Ability implied, because Jon was certainly funny, wasn''t he? A jock entering the Real(m) without ever even playing a video game? Bringing a pug with him? That should be funny...right? That should be hilarious... Except Elijah also needed a funny way of finding him...which meant he would have to be funny, and that was impossible. Elijah was stubbornly biting his lip, shaking his head and staring off into the distance at the unreasonable requirement of his Ability, how useless it was. Elijah wasn''t funny and that was the end of it. It was one thing to throw away years of development, to re-roll in order to guide Jon through the Real(m), so they could develop together as a team, organically. It was necessary, even, for optimal cohesiveness, for long term effectiveness, Jon''s growth would be stunted if Elijah power-leveled him, that never worked out, not in any game... But to be funny? Certainly not, certainly Jon would understand that there were some lines, some things a person just couldn''t do in the name of friendship. Yet Elijah knew he was lying to himself, he could feel the corners of his mouth tugging down in a long, defeated frown. Because Jon never wavered in their friendship, he''d never held back anything. Wasn''t Jon the singular reason Elijah was even financially capable of enjoying the Real(m)? Wasn''t Jon who enabled Elijah to be a patron, even, funding the Real(m)''s growth and proliferation... "He''ll be here." Elijah told himself, "He''s capable of at least finding a giant fountain that anybody in the city can point him to, there''s no need to take extremes." Yet Elijah was also licking his lips, remembered stories of Jon getting lost in the most inexplicable of situations: like the time he''d been drinking with friends only to suddenly disappear. As the story went, a tired and drunk Jon had wandered into an unlocked door adjacent to the drinking establishment only to find a large warehouse absolutely filled with the most comfortable blankets he''d ever encountered; he quickly went to sleep in what turned out to be a quilting convention. Upon waking, surrounded by friendly grandmothers and delicious treats, Jon had decided to stay until the end, admiring quilts and coverlets until the convention''s conclusion. To this day Jon was still getting hand sewn presents in the mail on a near monthly basis from all the ''friends'' he''d made. But they were in the Real(m) now, and Jon was infinitely more likely to find himself in a din of flesh eating gophers than kindly old ladies. An hour went by. Then another. Elijah stubbornly bit his lip, shaking his head. He wouldn''t do it. His stomach growled, the tempting scent of meat pies difficult to ignore, as well as the other hawkers offerings. He distracted himself by thinking about the Glass Empire, imagining its fall from grace, the story of the collapse reflected in the hard eyes of the poorer pedestrians as they passed by. Pedestrians that were exclusively human - which was a surprise considering the fountain''s diversity. Of course there was still wealth, women in silks and men with silver belt buckles, richly died leathers and gold rimmed glasses. But the lack of diversity in species implied a lack of trade as well. Something devastating had happened here and the population still hadn''t recovered, likely resulting in a more isolationist foreign policy. Elijah noticed frayed hems and missing sequins on silk blouses. There weren''t many large people and the livestock was limited to basic draft animals and horses, worn jewels being small and sparse. And still no Jon. With a final breath. A final shout. A final ember of hope, Elijah took another long walk around the fountain before resigning himself to his fate, the reality was Jon was lost or already dead. He would be forced to search for him, to dip his toe in the pool of depravity called humor. For Jon, just this once, Elijah the Wise would be funny. The real question was how? HIs Ability, Sense Humor, was divination based, which meant it likely required a foci; which his cane should easily work as. It also required a target, Jon. The additional barriers of use, that both the target, and the method in which he searched for it, were both funny was the actual hurdle. And Elijah had to admit it was a potent Ability, with no actual material or mana cost or even a cool down, it was powerful indeed. Or would be in the hands of some class clown or other degenerate. For Elijah it was practically useless. He found himself twisting his mind into knots trying to think of a way of being funny, a way of using his cane to channel that humor. The most obvious: to use his weapon to imitate a phallus - was far too crass and debasing. He wasn''t going to wave his cane about like some drunk marine who''d glimpsed an areola. No. With great dignity Elijah headed to the market and approached a vendor selling vegetables. Pointedly, he gave the cabbages a wide berth as he purchased a sack full of carrots, handing over his only silver and receiving eighteen coppers and three iron bits in return. Then he made his way into a secluded alley, glancing about to insure his privacy. "Alright...Nellie." Elijah said to his cane, patting the handle, "I need you to find Jon for me." Nothing happened. "Here, have a carrot." Elijah said, keeping a firm mental image of Jon in his head, poking the cane with a carrot. Nothing happened. Elijah scolded the sky, "Seriously? I''m feeding a cane horse a carrot, how is that not funny?" Elijah took a deep breath, then mounted the cane by putting one leg over it. He adjusted his suit. Then he made a clicking noise, "Getty-up. Getty-up." This was going to be more difficult than he''d thought. Player Killer "Neeaay, Neigh neigh neigh, Naaaaa." The discordant call echoed through the dense woods Jon and Fuss were lost in, tall trees blotted out the sun, and now that evening was near, a gloom had turned each low branch into a reaching, grasping claw. But the sound of that monster? It was terrible and Jon shivered; but a feeling of protective strength also existed within his mind, and was equally reflected by Fuss. It was their Soul Bond, an invisible link that united man and pug, or rather, lion. And didn''t Fuss have the heart of a lion? To be unafraid of this new world, this new life - to think only of protecting Jon. "We have to be quiet, Fuss." Jon whispered, also trying to send the concept of stealth though the link. Jon felt like the attempt was clumsy, that Pugs thought too differently - and if Jon implied their silence was due to them possibly being eaten? Instead Jon sent the idea of them hunting, crouching down to surprise their prey. Jon sent this as he ran through to the closest hiding spot he could find, a cache of boulders that he climbed behind, just barely poking his head out from behind them. That''s when he heard the voice. "If you do not find them soon, Nellie, our next target will be the glue factory. Ha, ha. ha." It was a deep voice, coldly confident and dichotomous to the words Jon had heard, but it was the stranger''s appearance that truly surprised him: It was a tall man with an athletic build, dressed in a suit from the oldest of photographs. Pale skin that seemed to catch the smallest light, revealing an expression so serious, so intense; even though the man was galloping on a stick, not a horse, it was somehow all the more terrifying. Terrifying because Eli had warned Jon about other players in the Real(m), people that came from Earth, how they acted strange and they wouldn''t just kill you. "I think it''s player killer, Fuss." Jon breathed, pulling his head back into concealment and sending Fuss an idea of what they faced - not just death, but this finely dressed stranger gloating as he murdered them, dabbing and dancing to their deaths, only to tea bag their corpses, "I know it''s confusing." The stranger passed but ten yards in front of the hiding spot then suddenly pulled back, "Whoa, whoa Nellie, where''s Jon? Speak clearly, you sound a little horse - " Jon shouted as he burst from behind the boulders, "Eli!" lunging at his friend and wrapping him in a hug. He was here! They were safe! Everything was going to be okay. "Thank you, Eli. Thank you for saving Fuss, for saving us. Thank you."
Elijah''s cane suddenly yanked him around, and coming right at him, something was attacking him! A blue skinned face framed in long, silvery hair. Bright white teeth in an open mouth, a baby monster that was mostly fur held at its chest. Elijah had never seen a humanoid so hideous, and he felt the shriek tear out of his throat as he realized he was about to be eaten. "Eli!" Of course. It was Jon. He''d found his best friend, and Elijah wanted to feel that welcome relief not just from finding Jon alive and safe; along with Fuss. But also because he wasn''t about to be eaten alive, a terrible experience - except? Seeing what Jon and Fuss had become? Wasn''t this almost worse...? Then Elijah was slammed to the ground in Jon''s embrace and squeezed into a bear hug feeling Fuss wiggling between them, Jon thanking him over and over, only to wrestle him into another position to hug him again, shouting about player killers and hungry horses. "You both made it." Elijah finally got out once free from Jon''s enthusiasm, who now lay back panting and petting Fuss, smiling as if the world was right. Jon nodded, "It''s a miracle. A miracle of miracles, and we could never thank you enough, not in a million-" "It''s the opposite, Jon." Elijah said, standing up and brushing himself off, adjusting his suit. And he couldn''t quite keep the disappointment from his voice, seeing how Jon looked, "I just wish I could have done a better job preparing you for the Real(m), I''d hoped-" "You did prepare us, Eli." Jon laughed. He took Elijah''s offered hand to pull himself to his feet, "If it wasn''t for you? None of this would even be possible." Jon finished by moving his hand to gesture at himself and Fuss, as though Elijah was somehow supposed to be impressed, or even proud at what they''d become. "Oh, Jon, you can''t even begin to understand what you''ve done. This is the Real(M), not Disneyland. You''re going to be chased out of the city with pitchforks, and that''s only if you don''t get a knife in your back, first." "It''s okay, Eli -" "It''s not. And look at poor Fuss," Elijah stared down at the dog, who you could hardly recognize as a pug anymore. He had a huge wad of tangled hair circling his neck, matted with pine needles and sticks, a long lumpy tail that drug behind him like a dead snake, "What did you do, give him a bloodline? How is that possi-" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "He''s a lion now." Jon exclaimed as he scooped up Fuss, holding him out proudly, "And he loves it, Eli!" "Ruff!" "What? No, Jon, that''s not how bloodlines work, Fuss isn''t a -" "And he loves it, Eli." Jon repeated, seriously. "Fuss loves being a lion." "Ruff, ruff!" And that''s when Jon turned right at Elijah, and smiled. And it wasn''t a regular smile, either, it was Jon''s signature smile. The one he must have picked up from Fuss in their years together. Jon cocked his head, opened his sky blue eyes as wide as they could go, and his normally handsome features would become so innocent, so endearing, Elijah had heard grown men gasp in awe, and the women? Except now? Jon was so hideous Elijah gasped, stepping back. And Jon''s appearance wasn''t even the worst of it; because Jon had no weapon to accompany his obvious strength build, he was wearing a blue silky outfit of a Social Class. Looking like that... "This can''t be happening." Elijah said, feeling his growing concern like a volcanic ulcer. "You''re nose is growing, Eli." Jon said. "What? No, no it''s not." "Yes it is, it did it again." Jon grinned, "My Ability makes your nose grow if you lie." "What!?" Elijah shouted, patting his face only to realize Jon was correct, his nose was now a full inch longer. "Turn it off, Jon. Change it back, and turn it off." "It goes away in a day, Eli." Jon laughed, "Just don''t lie and you won''t have to worry about it." Elijah slowly lowered his hands from his face as he tried to understand. How had this terrible day possibly gotten worse? All his carefully laid plans were spinning out of control within moments of contact with Jon - and how was he even surprised? "Jon." Elijah put steel in his voice, "I want you to listen to me. The Real(m) is not a game. Now we can work with all this, and hopefully even fix it, but only if you can comprehend this most important concept. The Real(m). Is not. A game." Elijah stared into Jon''s eyes, his only unspoiled feature. Then he watched Jon''s grin slowly dissolve as his friend bite his lip. And Elijah knew - how stressful it must have been for Jon, scooping up a lifeless Fuss and doing everything he could to save his dog - his brother, as Jon saw it... Which was why Jon had seized onto the Real(m) in the first place, after all other options were out. When Elijah presented this small hope for Fuss to continue on? Jon hadn''t asked questions or stopped to understand the risks...for Fuss? Jon would do anything. "I know that, Eli." Jon said in a small voice, "But if we can''t leave? We''re going to make the best of it." Elijah took the words like a punch in the face. He looked at Jon, trying to find regret or even sadness at being stuck within the Real(m), but there was just that goodness that made up most of Jon''s personality. "For how long, Jon?" Elijah finally asked, filling in the silence. "Until his mind heals." Jon replied, "I got an Ability, Soul Bond, and there''s a part of my mind in Fuss. It''s like a bandage and it''s fixing him. There''s a part of his mind in me, too, and we can feel what each other is thinking - I mean, we always could, but it''s just more real now, you know?" Fascinating. "But Soul Bond has a bar. It says it''s at one percent. When it fills all the way up, Fuss will be okay again." "Oh. I see." Elijah whispered, relieved Jon wasn''t stuck in the Real(m) forever. But then suddenly Jon''s other decisions made sense, "Damn it, Jon, I''m sorry. Of course you''d choose something like a Merchant. If you stay in the city you don''t need a weapon - and why risk death causing a setback to Soul Bond? Nobody is gonna rob you if they''re afraid of you, and you''ll have no problem making enough coin to support yourself. Hell, looking exotic is a smart play for a merchant out here once people get over their fear." Elijah shook his head at how wrong he''d been, how quick to judge. Was this why his Destiny had changed? Because he''d given up everything to help Jon, only to find Jon didn''t even need his help. That Jon already had a plan of his own, a good plan, even...Was this Comedy to the Real(m)? This tragic, terrible irony? "You''re not mad, Eli?" "No, Jon." Elijah sighed and shook his head, "I mean I''m disappointed. But that''s on me, I just thought we''d be adventuring. Taking risks. I''d be showing you the Real(m), exploring, teaching you how to survive, not selling cantaloupes." Jon smiled a little. Eli continued, "It doesn''t matter, this isn''t about me, it''s about you, about Fuss. We''ll do whatever we need to get him well again, whatever it takes." Elijah felt Jon''s arms crash around him again, and if he thought Jon had hugged him before, now his back popped, his ribs groaned, and he felt a wetness slip down his suit collar to land at the base of his neck. He waited for a sob in awkward stillness but none came, and when Jon pulled away his eyes were bright, his voice clear. "Thank you, Eli." Jon nodded, he sounded relieved, "I was really worried you wouldn''t like my Class -" "No, Jon." Elijah shook his head, feeling guilt over what he''d said, what he''d thought, and causing Jon - "-because I didn''t choose Merchant." "What." "Fuss, he doesn''t really like Cities. And he definitely didn''t like the idea of Merchant, I mean, Eli? He''s a lion, how would he even make change? He doesn''t have fingers. And even if he did?" Jon finished in a whisper, like Fuss was sensitive about what he was saying, "He doesn''t know how to count." "Ruff!" Elijah felt his eyes widen, and his throat suddenly felt dry and scratchy - "And you''ve always said the Real(m) was like the Jungle, wild and dangerous." "No, Jon!" Elijah gasped, but it was already too late. Jon wasn''t glowing, he was emanating. And Elijah felt the thunder of hoofbeats, a tribal chanting, the intro to a movie he remembered seeing as a child - when life was still good and innocent and the world felt fair and safe. A movie starring a lion. "And as we know, in the Jungle - One animal stands above the rest. One animal is feared the most. One animal is the best!" Jon''s Aura Ability - or rather Royal Aura Ability, pushed down on Elijah like a torrential rain, trying to force him to kneel - to give obeisance to royal blood as Jon grinned and gibbered in mocking laughter just as that stupid blue monkey had. Then Jon scooped up Fuss and held him high overhead - just as Simba had been. "It''s Fuss. The Lion King!" "Damn it, Jon. Lion''s don''t even live in the Jungle." "They don''t?" "We have to run, Jon. There''s a suicide button in your menu, it''s hidden unless you think about it. "What''s wrong, Eli?" Elijah grabbed Jon''s arm, tugging him - away from the city, away from the danger that was coming. "You used a Royal Aura Ability in somebody else''s Kingdom. You just took a shit on the King''s desk." "Oh. I didn''t know that." Jon said as he scrambled to keep up, Fuss tucked under his arm like a football, his lumpy tail dragging behind, "I don''t think I like this game, Eli." No Escape From Each Other *Awoooo Awoooo* Elijah heard the faint call of hunting horns long in the distance. He imagined the Glass City''s response to Jon''s Royal Aura Power, elite riders slinging their legs over warhorses, each platoon led by a tracking specialist, either magical or mundane. Orders to find the source of the Aura User, to capture them - bring them before the Throne to be interrogated, then ransomed or imprisoned, or just put to death. And that would just be the start, because certainly Glass City, and whoever the Royal Family was, had also mustered their entire military. Elijah knew this, because it was exactly what he would do in their place. There weren''t enough Royal''s running around not to treat the Aura as a credible threat or even a way to make the King look weak. They would be on high alert until they found the culprit. So they''d fled, ran as fast as they could for over an hour, Elijah leading them to their only hope of deliverance: a source of water, and to their luck a willing vessel to them aboard. "You know how to swim, Eli?" Jon asked, sounding surprised. Elijah looked up from where he was searching the water for lurking dangers, shoving his cane down the back of his suit collar so he wouldn''t have to hold it, "Yes, Jon. I know how to swim. And it''s the only way we have to confuse anybody scrying or tracking your aura signature." And then he dove. The water was cool, and Elijah''s clothes were heavy, resisting the pull of his strokes as he made his way to the ship and unknown crew that would take them aboard. A bigger splash said Jon and Fuss were just behind. But they weren''t halfway to safety when Elijah began to hear raucous laughter, rough voices cheering and catcalling, and Elijah immediately knew something was wrong. Were they leaving them to drown? Looking up at the boat he saw it was still waiting, the crew gathered and staring, but it was the act of focusing that allowed Elijah to recognize the problem. His entire body was going numb... The Real(m) didn''t have bars for health, for mana or stamina. His vision was no different than when he was on Earth, and wouldn''t change unless he got Abilities or Enhancements to do so. But those things weren''t needed, when you could rely on physical sensation, when you could sense your mana like a sugar rush - or open your status.
Active Effects: The Nose Knows: You have lied resulting in a curse. Your nose shows your dishonesty (x2). Time Remaining: 27:16:12. Gift of the Glass City: You feel refreshed. All regeneration increased by 10%. Time Remaining: 06:03:49. Sensation Deprevation: You are numb (x13) Time Remaining: ??????
"Jon, we have to hurry!" Elijah shouted, realizing something was debuting them, "Get to the boat, as fast as you can!" "Something''s on me, Eli!" Jon shouted back as his splashing sped up. Elijah didn''t even risk looking back, not willing to waste a second as he tore through the water. What was attacking them? With Elijah''s heavy clothes slowing him down, Jon soon passed him, Fuss riding on his neck. Then Elijah heard a mix of cheering and disappointment as Jon''s hands thunked against the wooden sides of the vessel. "Oy, it''s why I always bet on the ugly ones, they''re scrappier." A voice hooted. At least Jon and Fuss were safe. The complete numbness made it difficult for Elijah to coordinate his arms and his legs. Without any feedback, without sensation - he had to just kick and paddle, hoping for the best. And the laughter only got louder - because once Elijah reached the ship, he couldn''t climb aboard. He couldn''t feel when his hands had a grip on the side rail, or even if he was touching the wood. "He looks like a puppy trying to climb out of the crate!" A voice hooted as he struggled, then Elijah heard a splash and saw Jon who was trying to push him up into the ship. But Elijah was like dead weight, he was useless. "Aye, that''s enough fun, lads, let''s get ''em up before they start to pout." A burly voice called before rough hands grabbed each of them, hauling them onto deck where Elijah flopped like a landed fish. "Ruff! Ruff ruff!" "Leeches!" Jon shouted, and Elijah rolled to see Jon was in his briefs, small punctures across his blue skin oozed blood, and across his body, slimy, slug like creatures squirmed in their attempt to suck Jon dry. Jon ripped them free, tossing them back into the water. But Jon''s back was what truly had Elijah''s attention, because it was smooth golden skin holding a nice tan, exactly as it had been before entering the Real(m), which meant Jon hadn''t changed his race. The blue of his body, his hideous visage? They had been applied like rushed sunblock, spread only where he could reach and then preserved with magic and the help of the system. And Jon also wasn''t numb. Why? Elijah''s mind worked even as he tried fumbling his jacket off, shrugging as he was foisted by buttons, Jon moved to help him undress, stripping his clothes off and removing the leeches. "Don''t forget that little one, right there between his legs!" A voice shouted, and Elijah hoped his face wasn''t as red as it felt. But within ten seconds of the last leech being removed, sensation began to return. First his heart beating in his chest, then his fingers and toes tingling. Elijah didn''t look down nor had he tried to cover his shame to avoid giving his mockers more to laugh at. So when he felt his boxers, dripping wet and still around his waist he sighed in relief. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. "Thank you for the lift." Elijah said upon taking his feet, directing his voice to a man with an imposing build, a full beard - and an air of authority he assumed was the Captain, "How much do we owe you for your assistance?" "For your lives, you mean?" The man sallied forth, his face rough and wind-burnt. He held up Elijah''s small coin purse with its handful of coppers, alongside what must be Jon''s royal blue, bulging equivalent. The man leered forward, shaking the purses, "I reckon this about covers it." Elijah forced his hands to remain loose and responded evenly, "Half. For you to take us to the furthest port of call without delay. And I''ll provide something more valuable than double the weight of that purse in return." "Can ye now?" The Captain laughed, even as he leaned back at seeing Elijah wasn''t going to be aggressive, "We''re headed to Via''arto, Port of the Merchant Kings, a trip costing silver on even a scuppered bit of drift, and this kind lady you find yourself on is spry." Elijah gestured for Jon to relax, "I''m familiar with basic engravings. Hold onto our coin, if I haven''t earned it back by the time we dock, keep it with our thanks." "Captain Bry." Their greeter said, a smile suddenly bloomed across his bearded face, "And you''ll be sleeping on deck with the rest of my men, we''re overloaded as it is so it''s gonna be tight. Now if you''d said you were artsy and willing a bit ago, I''d of dove in there and carried you out myself!" The crew burst into laughter. "Yet it''s been a week on the water, and we skipped Glass City for better prices down south; so forgive the men their entertainments, a diversion was sorely needed." Elijah did notice the man''s growing nose at this, but carefully ignored it. Seeing the widening eyes of a vigilant crew-member, who also stayed silent, reinforced this as a wise decision. "I''ll need a sharp blade, copper dust or coin and a file or whetstone. Some pitch and a bit of heat as well." Elijah said, quickly changing the subject and allowing the Captain to guide them to a spot on the deck where they could rest and dry their clothes, "The enhancements I know can add variable light. I can do cooling runes for your hold to preserve cargo, or heat for your cabin or bed." As an Acrobat. Without even a Skill or a Class - Because you''re dealing with Elijah the Wise. And Skills and Classes only helped, made it faster and easier - a shortcut. They didn''t stop you from accomplishing a task without them, not if you had the knowledge, how else were you to breath, to walk and talk? The Real(m) didn''t steal that away when you died or re-rolled like it did levels, so if you took the time to truly comprehend, to understand? "You''ll have tools and materials." Captain Bry said, patting Elijah on the back. And rather he sensed their was more to Elijah, or some other reason, he held out their purses, "Do Dawnlight right in this, and you''ll have yourself a friend, as well." Do her wrong, and you''ll make an enemy. Something you won''t survive, the Captains words also implied. Elijah took their purses back with a serious nod, and turned to Jon as the Captain left. "Are you serious, Jon." Elijah rounded on him, a sharp whisper, "Did you make yourself look like this just to make a Lion King reference? Or was it to make me feel guilty so I''d agree to help with your broken Class - I know it''s just cosmetic, you''re still human. And Fuss is still a..." Jon''s eye''s went serious, his face - "Fuss loves being a lion." Elijah sighed, and Jon relaxed, "But you need to explain what is going on, because in case you haven''t noticed, we''re standing on the ship of unknown traders in our underwear! What is your Class, Jon? And why weren''t you numbed by those leeches?" "I''m a Prince, Eli." Jon said, but Eli stared harder, "Well, a Lost Prince. And I didn''t know it was broken, I thought I''d found a secret class, and that''s why it was red. Fuss got so excited because he really wanted to be a King and this was right after he almost died? It''s his dream, Eli, and look how happy he is." "Ruff!" Elijah turned to Fuss, mane dripping wet, he was a poster boy for the ugliest dog competition and looking anything but happy. "And I got an Ability when my Destiny leveled, after I used my Aura. That''s why I didn''t go limp like you." Elijah wasn''t done being upset at Jon, but the mention of his Destiny brought him a short reprieve. "What''s your Destiny, Jon?" "Ecnarongi." "That''s a strange one." Elijah murmured, "I thought for sure it''d be Valor, or Kindness, I''ve never heard of that...What Ability did you get?" "I don''t know." Jon said. Elijah frowned, "Jon, I want you to go into your menu." "Alright." "Now look right beneath where it says Destiny: Ecnarongi." "Okay." "Now read it to me." "I don''t know - "Damn it, Jon!" "Passive. What I don''t know can''t hurt me. I am immune to detrimental status effects if I don''t know what they are." Elijah felt his mouth drop open. "You don''t know. Passive. I can''t be magically tracked, traced, scried or divined." "Are you serious?!" Elijah burst to his feet, grabbing his cane, and it took everything he had not to bop Jon with it, "Jon, you can''t be serious!" "Eli, your nose!" "Why didn''t you say something earlier. Before we jumped into a pit of leeches, Jon! You can''t be tracked!" "I didn''t know! And you didn''t tell me why we were going swimming until just before you dove in. I was just doing what you told me to do!" "Well you should have told me your Abilities when you got them, you can''t keep claiming ignorance each time something goes wrong, Jon. At some point..." Elijah cut himself off. Ignorance. He felt his eyes widen, as he looked at Jon''s innocent, hideous features, his confusion and his hope. His ignorant decisions that had destroyed any chance he had of an easy transition into the Real(m), all because a Pug wanted to be a king? Ignorance = ecnarongI. Jon''s Destiny was Ignorance. "You didn''t know..." Elijah whispered, "You really didn''t know what it means to have a broken Class. Using the Customizer to turn yourself ugly and blue, or make Fuss a lion. You really didn''t know." "How could I, Eli?" Jon asked, "I know you say it''s not a game, but what does that even mean? We live here, it doesn''t get more real, so why would we choose to be a Farmer or a Soldier over a Prince? And who wouldn''t want to be a lion? We want to have fun, Eli. Not harvest turnips that grow 3% faster if I wave to them." And Elijah didn''t know what to say, so he began to laugh. It started small - just a chuckle - at how niave, about how technically correct, but absolutely wrong Jon was. And the laughter spread, up his chest, and burst from his lips loud and clear. And Jon had started laughing, too. "You''re Destiny is Ignorance. Mine is Comedy." They laughed even louder. "I have to learn to be funny to use my Abilities." "I''m sorry, Eli." Jon said, wiping tears from his eyes, "That''s not going to be easy for you." Elijah nodded, "And yours works best if you just stay stupid, it''s actually dangerous for you to learn the wrong thing." Elijah wheezed, because it wasn''t a happy laugh. It was painful, it was a laugh of last resort. Because none of this was funny. New Wounds "Heave lads!" Shouted Captain Bry, and Jon pulled on the rough rope, hauling it back, feeling it tear at his still soft palms, "Bind the cord and knot the lass; keep a tight hand on it, less the leeches get a taste of ya." Jon was sailing. Working aboard the ship as Fuss stood at the prowl, letting the wind catch his mane like he was already king of the world, staring out at the wildlife, at bears and jumping fish, bucks with huge antlers, massive birds that dove into the river for a drink or a meal, barking every time something new appeared. They passed nestled fishing villages and towns, forts and small keeps dotted the landscape, and other boats passed them going each direction, and every moment was a new experience, a new wonder. Jon moved his hands quickly, tying the rope into a tension knot as he''d been taught, pulling the rigging tight with all his strength before finishing. "Stand down." The Captain finally called, "With a breeze like this we''re not long for land, lads." Which brought a cheerful shout from Jon and the crew as they broke away from the rigging and went about other duties. Jon reached for a mop and started to clean the deck. "I''m really starting to like ye, lad." Gimp led with as he walked over to where Jon stood mopping, "And it ain''t just cause I''m no longer the ugliest bastard aboard this here boat." Jon laughed, pushing his long, white hair out of his eyes as Gimp cackled. "Or because you have about as much luck in dice as I do with women." Wasn''t the Dawnlight''s crew the best? And Gimp was the best of the best, literally showing Jon the ropes, and wasn''t this the life? "You''re not so bad yourself, Gimp. Thanks for showing me all those knots, it got me a Skill." "Easiest Skill to get and it still took you three days? - I guess you''re bout as stupid as you are ugly." Jon just nodded. Eli had told him only Skills under the purview of Prince could be learned faster, and the opposite was also true. Which apparently meant that tying knots wasn''t princely. Neither was cleaning, rigging, dicing, fishing, or wrestling - but it didn''t matter because those things were still fun. Jon put down his mop as he eye''d the big wheel that steered the ship, "So you think I can take the helm?" "Ha, ha." Gimp almost croaked, "Careful saying that too loud, Ugly. I''d sooner slap a man then ask to steer his ship, if ya kin? You as landed as a tree if ya don''t know that." Jon looked at the wheel with disappointment, and Gimp lowered his voice to a whisper and took a step closer, "Now there''s a place here for ya, Ugly. If you''re looking to escape the fetters of that tosh." Gimp jerked his head toward Eli, "The Captain won''t do any bad business, but he''d not break bread with a man who''d keep another against his will; so if you say the word and it''s three square meals on Dawnlight, and a copper a day as well." It took Jon a moment to realize what Gimp was offering. Not just a job, but to escape, if he was being forced to work for Eli? Like a slave? "It ain''t like that, Gimp." Jon said, trying to match the easy-speak of the crew, "Eli is the last man to take another''s will, he''s good people. The best people." And realizing that slavery existed here? Jon suddenly understood why Eli had made such a drastic change to his appearance. Why he was so concerned about how Jon looked... This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Gimp looked surprised, perhaps even disbelieving. "He gave up his old life to save us, Me and Fuss. He can be an ass but it''s only because he cares, he''s kind. Loyal and brilliant, hard working and -" Jon saw Gimp''s gaze, made his voice deepen, "a real bro, ya savvy?" "Eh, not how I reckoned this talk was going...so we''ll just leave it here before I start feeling the need to piss on the opposite side of the ship you two are on." A rough shove and a friendly wink allowed Jon to blush. Still, he shook his head as Gimp walked away whistling, was it so obvious to everyone but Eli? "Ruff!" Fuss said, jumping in. And because Soul Bond had gone up to 3%, Jon was able to get more meaning from the barks and the mental messages that came with them, but that didn''t mean they always made sense. "I''m not sniffing his ass, Fuss, that''s just a dog thing. And we''re both dudes, anyway, Fuss." Jon laughed as he tried to think of a way to explain to Fuss what was going on - realizing that Fuss was reading his mind, too. Fuss laughed, sending Jon the feeling of chasing his tail. "There doesn''t have to be a point when it comes to friends. It just is, and that''s good enough." Jon said it as he looked over to where Eli was working on the deck, almost non-stop since the Captain had brought him tools. The entire side rail at first had taken on an intricate web of charcoal lines like a tribal tattoo. Now Elijah was painstakingly carving them out with a small knife as he monitored a pot of burning pine pitch he was going to use to fill then back in. The pot was burbling, held over an open lantern that worked as a burner, safely heating the thick, stinky goo. "Almost done?" Jon asked walking over, crinkling his nose as the smell of hot pitch got stronger. "Hardly, Jon." Elijah murmured as he sprinkled the rest of the copper filings into the Pitch Pot and stirred it. Then he passed the empty bowl to Jon, "I need you to grind some more coins, Jon. These tools are barely sufficient, and as you may have noticed, this boat isn''t exactly still. It''s like writing a haiku from horseback." "It looks really cool, Eli. Is this what your Class does?" "No, Jon. This is part of what you need to understand to be successful in the Real(m). A Class is an advantage, it allows you to learn relevant Skills faster and rewards you with Abilities, but you can do anything without a Class that you -" *Clang Clang Clang* "Starboard, three scooters!" A voice shouted from above, "Take cover, they''re firing!" Jon was swinging his head to see, as twangs filled the air like a severed guitar, then sharp thunks started to sprinkle onto the deck, a crew-mate screamed as Jon dove on top of Fuss, turning his body into a shield against the arrows that were sprouting on deck. "You picked the wrong damn ship!" Captain Bry''s fierce voice called with a crossbow pulled quickly from somewhere, sending a bolt back. "Don''t risk it, Jon." Eli hissed, seeing Jon poking his head up, looking at the three small, sail-less boats made from rough wood and reeds, each holding four men firing bows and headed right for the Dawnlight, loosing arrow after arrow, "They''re just bandits, Bry has this or he wouldn''t be a Captain for long." As Jon looked through the rails, he thought Eli was right - one of the attackers was already down, the crossbow bolt struck through his eye and he was knocked back against another''s chest. The other three on that rough raft had bleak expressions as the rest of Dawnlight''s crew armed themselves with crossbows and started to return fire. But Drips, a crew-member, was already being dragged below, a trail of blood leaking from his thigh. And the Dawnlight crew was Jon''s friends. He saw Gimp cranking back a crossbow, then exposing himself to take a shot. The other men doing the same, faces that weren''t fearless, or even confident. Just men defending themselves, their jobs, with their lives on the line. "Protect Fuss!" Jon shouted, and without a weapon he grabbed what was available. The pine pitch pot and the lantern from Eli''s work. "I need that!" Eli shouted, but it was too late. Jon was running, shouting, "Make a hole!" before he flung the lantern first, it soared high, and before it splashed into the water to a loud hiss, he''d tossed the pot as well which also missed, hitting the water with a belch of steam, only to sink. Then Jon got shot, the arrow punching into his chest, cutting past his ribs and into his right lung. He heard nothing but his own scream of pain before the lights went out, his last thought belonging to Fuss. Cant Fix Stupid Fear grasped Elijah''s chest as he heard the warning of the bell right before arrows rained across the deck in a real life game of battleship. He hated combat, it was a gamble. It didn''t matter how talented you were, how brilliant, if you were unlucky? You were dead. Then Jon grabbed the pitch pot and lantern, charging into unnecessary danger. Even Fuss thought it was a bad idea by how he stared after Jon''s silky clothing, billowing ridiculously behind him as he shouted, "Make a hole!" only to toss a weeks worth of wages for the average crewmember - just in copper shavings, as well as the lantern and pot, right into the water. He missed completely. Then Jon got shot. "Awooo!" Fuss howled as Elijah grabbed his long tail, holding him back, "Stay here, Fuss! You know what he''ll do if you get hurt!" "Ruff." Fuss said, and this time Elijah could almost understand the barks, or maybe he was imagining it? "Ruff ruff!" Jon! Jon! Help Jon! Screams echoed across the water, a shout of triumph going up by the crew of Dawnlight, who now all had crossbows raised, firing as fast as they could reload. "We''ve got them now, Boys!" Captain Bry shouted, "Don''t pity their plight, kill them all!" So Jon had done something... the enemy firing had paused. Still, Elijah bundled his jacket over his neck and head, giving himself some protection from a kill shot, and cautiously began to low crawl to where Jon had collapsed, bleeding from an arrow in his chest. Elijah carefully rolled Jon, checked to see if the arrow had gone through, before dragging Jon behind the cover of the Captain''s Cabin. Elijah tried to focus on the injury but every twang, every shout caused him to tense, had him wanting to turn to the violence, to see what was happening. Hands shaking, he removed Jon''s shirt and saw where the arrow had entered him. Lung Shot. The bubbles of bloody air at the base of the shaft were an obvious sign of his injury. Was the arrow barbed? Elijah looked around, then scurried across the deck to look at another arrow. The head was small and stone, not larger then his thumb with no obvious signs of poison... Jon was immune to poison anyway. Returning, Elijah wrapped both hands around the shaft causing Jon to moan, his body to shudder. Hands slick with nervous sweat, he yanked, opposite to the arrows entry and the shaft came out like a wet reed in sloppy soil. Blood splasheed across Elijah''s face, Fuss howled, and Jon convulsed, his head thunking back against the deck. Jon''s face was pale-blue now, his breathing turbid, each struggling pull of air dribbled blood down his face. Worse, Elijah looked at the smooth shaft in front of him; the arrow head missing. He looked down at the hole in Jon''s chest leaking blood. "Oops." Elijah whispered as Fuss looked to him, Elijah tossed the empty shaft behind him into the river, holding his hands out, empty, "We need to stop the bleeding, Fuss." Jon would heal. If combat ended fast enough. Elijah had heard thousands of stories of combat vets living into their nineties filled with shrapnel, this was no different and maybe even serve as a lesson? If it ached a bit when it was cold, or when Jon exerted himself too vigorously? Jon could learn to not throw himself into danger so casually, forcing Elijah to risk his own neck to drag him back to safety. "You dummy." Elijah accused Jon, rolling him on his right side, keeping his left lung clear and encouraging the blood to drain. Elijah kept his hand on Jon''s blue chest, plugging the hole to keep suction when Jon breathed in, removing his hand as he exhaled to let the blood push out. But it was Gimp that secured Jon''s life, with just a slap of his hand, eyes closed. Elijah heard Jon''s wound sizzle, smelled flesh cooking, "Just burns it shut." Gimp explained, "Nothing fancy, but it''ll keep him from bleeding out." Then he moved off to help others. "Owwww." Jon groaned eventually, eyes blinking, breath wheezing, "This game is terrible, Eli. Why does it hurt so bad?" "It''s not a game, Jon." Elijah whispered automatically, "You weren''t offered pain immunity for your free Ability?" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. "Yeah, but Fuss wouldn''t be here if I took that." Jon whispered, cringing as his hand floated protectively over where the arrow had entered him, his other hand stroking Fuss "Did you take it?" Jon finished with a cough, blood misting from his mouth, Elijah grimaced. "No, Jon, that''s only for your first Build. But there are potions and items, a few magics that can do the same that we can look into." "Hell of a thing!" Captain Bry shouted, making his way over to Jon as he tugged his beard in excitement, his crossbow still held in his left hand, "Those bandit bastards were already pissing themselves when I pinned that whelps skull to his buddies chest, and then Ugly hopped right up on the rail!" "Did you see their faces?" Gimp crooned, twisting his face in terror, an expression likely similar to Elijah''s own when he''d first seen Jon, "I bet the river got a span deeper with how much they were pissin themselves." The crew roared. "What is this idiot doing? So I thought," Bry gestured at Jon, "First you throw my lantern at them, then my pot, missing completely! And I was bout ready to throw you at them until I heard their screams!" "It was like a swarm of fire hornets got ''em!" A crew-mate added to more laughter as he danced about, slapping at himself as if he was on fire, "Hard to aim when you got a ball of burning pitch on your pecker!" "It was like shooting fish in a barrel once they jumped in. Just wait for ''em to pop up for a lil air, and -" *Twang* "Bring out the beer, Sooty." Captain Bry shouted, "And we''ll quaff a brew to Ugly here, for giving that bunch a lizard lickers exactly what they needed!" "Hooray!" The crew cheered as they laughed, this time along with Jon instead of at him. "And another round, for the finest crew to sail the Shan''di. Taking double their number in an ambush without losing a man, not leaving a boat afloat to bother another honest soul. To Victory!" Bry shouted the last, his mouth wide and beard blowing, crossbow waving in the air - and wasn''t it grand? Captain Bry had presence, and Jon was looking up to him grinning just as wide, hand already reaching out for that promised beer - a few of the crew grasped and shook it, patting Jon on the head or bare chest, causing him to grunt in pain, to cough blood, but his color was back and his eyes were smiling. How did Jon make it look so easy? Elijah wondered. In just a couple days Jon had made friends with every man aboard. All while being hideous and completely new to this culture, his first time on a sailing ship. Now the men were celebrating him, congratulating him, toasting him. And there was Elijah, practically ignored. Even though he''d worked non-stop these last few days on making the ship worth more. When done, he would increase the amount every one of these monkeys would earn for the rest of their dull lives; yet it was like he wasn''t even there, nobody passed him a beer, nobody cared as he walked off to a corner of the ship to continue his work. "Here, Eli." Jon said, holding out a mug full of beer and pulling Elijah out of his carving, "Thanks for saving me. It was an...ignorant thing for me to do." Elijah looked at the wooden mug, filthy and stained, perhaps never washed, "Thank you, Jon. But you know how I favor wine." Still, he accepted it after Jon didn''t pull it back, and took a small taste, "Ugh, this is horrible...So you leveled?" Jon nodded, "Ignorance is Bliss. Passive. Ignore all pain." Elijah could only grunt, he was past being surprised when it came to their Destinies, but he couldn''t help but assume how Jon had gotten the level. "You didn''t know the pitch would do that...you were just trying to hit them with the pot? And the lantern? You didn''t know it would happen that way?" Jon just gave his special smile, and Elijah shivered. "Life doesn''t work that way, Jon. It shouldn''t work that way. We''ve been lucky so far but it''s going to run out, you very nearly died." Jon nodded. "Which is why you have to start being realistic. I know you''ve locked onto this idea - your Class. And you think it''s all just going to work itself out, but it''s not. A Broken Class doesn''t level, Jon, it devolves. Maybe not today, or tomorrow - at best you may have a few months if you''re working hard, but inevitably?" "But don''t you want to try, Eli?" Jon asked, "Isn''t this what you''re after? A kingdom? Isn''t this what you really want from the Real(m), is there anything better to work toward?" "Of course I want it, Jon, but just wanting something isn''t enough. You have to have a way of achieving it. Do you even know what you''d need to fix your Class?" Elijah looked into his friends face, and found only that easy expression, a growing smile as Jon nodded, "I have everything I need." "Oh, really? So you have land and a holding? A treasury? A Court and a Flag, and...and who know''s what else?" Jon shook his head, and Elijah was already rolling his eyes. "Then how can you pretend that everything is -" "I have something better than all that." Better? That was impossible. But Jon''s nose didn''t grow, "What, Jon? What could you have that''s better than all that?" "You," Jon said, "I have you, Eli." And wasn''t it amazing? Wasn''t it absolutely incredible? Elijah felt his face warm, his heart melt, like his whole body was covered in a honeyed hug - to see how much esteem Jon held him in, how much Jon believed in him. Which made it all that much harder to turn to his best friend and disappoint him. "Oh, Jon." Elijah frowned, looking down and shaking his head, "If only I could, but not even I can do that. I''m not that capable or clever, I wouldn''t even know where to start, I''m serious, Jon. Jon. Why are you smiling? Stop, this is serious, you can''t expect me to pull a kingdom out of my ass and just give it to - Jon! Why are you laughing?" "Because," Jon said, leaning back with a smug smile, "Your nose is growing." A Yearn to Earn. "Land ho! Land ho!" Jon shouted from atop the crows nest, giving the bell one solid ring, "The Port! Look, Fuss, we''re here! The Port!" "We''re on a damn river, Ugly!" Gimp shouted up, "There''s land everywhere! Now get your ass down here and raise the flag to call a tug!" Jon grabbed a rope, then jumped, swinging down and kicking his feet like he was running on air, and wasn''t it awesome! Wasn''t it great! "Careful, Jon!" Eli shouted. Fuss joined as he barked at the promised Port. Jon hit the deck, grabbing the bright yellow flag held out by Gimp, and clipped it to hoist, tugging at the rope and raising it up the mast where it flapped in the breeze, waving excitedly at the nearing port city, Viar''to. "Stow the Sails!" Captain Bry shouted as a Tug Boat changed course, heading for them, and then Jon was back to work, loosening line and stowing rigging, his attention spread to watch for a swinging boom and his other crew-mates, the minutes flying past with each one bringing them closer to land, to adventure! Because the Port was like nothing Jon had ever seen! It rose from where the river met the sea, like a nest of seashells placed by some proud penguin. Docks made of lava rock extended from it like a kraken''s tentacles, ships drawn into its grasp by the promise of trade. "Is it magic, Eli?" Jon asked, "How do they make buildings out of sea shells?" "A Massive Core, Jon." Eli said simply, as though that explained everything. Maybe it did? But Jon was back to work, stowing gear, and before he knew it the gangplank was being dropped. This journey was about to end, just as abruptly as it had begun. Elijah was running his hands over the last coat of varnish he''d applied to protect his engravings, and Captain Bry was approaching them: "You''ve outdone yourself." The Captain''s proud voice admired Eli''s work on his vessel before holding out his hand with a strange, ship shaped coin in it, the Dawnlight etched deep into the metal, "And I keep my word." Elijah nodded, taking the coin and tucking it away as the Captain turned to Jon. "By the size of your purse ya don''t need the coppers you earned working the deck, yet work you did and harder than most I pay." "I was just having some fun." Jon nodded, "I wasn''t expecting pay." Bry nodded, satisfied. And he didn''t offer any coins. But he held his hand out and shook Jon''s firmly, "Be well then, Jon. Be well." Not Ugly. Jon nodded, thankful, then he turned to the crew and shouted, "I''m gonna miss you bunch of bastards!" "Get out of here, Ugly!" Voices shouted back, Gimp waved him away, "Shoo, shoo! I''m about to eat, looking at you is gonna churn my craw." But Jon didn''t, he stood there taking in the Dawnlight and her crew one last time; he was leaving his first friends of the Real(m), and that was hard. Just as it always had been back on Earth, when he was in the Army...but Eli was tugging his arm, already lecturing, already planning - "Don''t make eye contact, don''t get distracted, don''t show fear..." But the Port! It was wild, and loud. People yelling, people of every color - wild haired red heads, men walking with noses up holding sheafs of paper, two women chatted, their breasts bare, nipples glittering with piercings - and Jon could see a lighthouse from here, a massive swirling conch shell, all mottled shades of blues and pinks as though it''d been plucked from some titan''s beach and planted here. And everywhere Jon looked, somebody was also staring at him; dark looks that didn''t seem friendly at all, some also held fear, but so what. There was food sizzling, and oysters offered at every corner, and while the hawkers ignored Jon they thrust everything before Eli''s impassive gaze to entice him. They shook necklaces of pearls, and held out warm hats and leather ponchos. Musicians played from open doors, offering bawdy tunes or more subtle entertainments. But the place they finally stopped at seemed almost plain. "Don''t say a word." Elijah said in front of the dull blue rock building, it was framed in stained driftwood and a sign swung in the light breeze: The Merchant''s Cove, a painting of a sleepy golden moon resting on a quiet beach, the surf like covers wrapping it in comfort. It was Jon''s first Inn, and from what Fuss could already smell? He was very excited.
Elijah was full, he pushed his plate away and leaned back, lifting his glass of port wine up, "To civilization and its comforts, may we never be parted again." "I liked the Dawnlight." Jon said, "It was a lot of -" If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "It was miserable, Jon." Elijah said, "I had to relieve myself over a gangplank." "I got shot." Jon laughed, "Nothing you went through was that -" "I had to relieve myself over a gangplank." Elijah emphasized, and perhaps he sounded pretentious; but civilization had wrapped him back in its comfortable cloak and they were safe, both dressed in simple pajamas as their clothes were cleaned and mended, Jon''s sold for something more practical. And they were cozy pajamas, very well made. And the Inn he''d found was only modestly expensive, yet still quite refined. The food prepared by an Advanced Class, and the ambiance of the establishment was both gentle and private, "But enough about the past, it''s time now to plan for the future." Elijah watched Jon still, practically holding his breath. "And if we''re going to make a run at this...Princedom," Elijah spat the word out, "Then we need to get started immediately." "Yes!" Jon shouted. "Ruff!" "You''re gonna do it, Eli? You''re really gonna?" Jon said, bursting from his chair and wrapping Elijah in a hug, the Inn''s server almost dropping everything in fright at Jon''s sudden outburst and grappling of Elijah. "Quiet, Jon." Elijah whispered as he pulled Jon''s hands away, already reaching into his purse for another tip for their server, "Sit, sit...this is serious." "Yes, yes, yes!" Jon whisper shouted - "Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!" "I don''t know how, but your Ability insists there is a chance." Elijah explained, "One I wish to explore, to research. But no matter the result - one thing I''m sure of is we''re going to need a lot of money." "Oh, I''ll do that." Jon said, practically raising his fist to volunteer, pounding his chest, "Eli. I can make the money while you research, me and Fuss can do it." "Ruff." Elijah tried to keep a straight face, but - but wasn''t this exactly what Elijah had planned? "Are you sure, Jon? You know it won''t be easy." "Yes, yes, Eli. You can''t do everything. While you''re doing research, me and Fuss can work so you can focus." Elijah nodded, "While I appreciate that, Jon, I actually may need your help with something even more important than money." "More important?" Jon whispered, his eyes practically sparkling. "Ruff?" "You see, if we''re going to truly take a shot at this I''ll need a different Class. A better one." Elijah nodded, "Now I''m close to finishing Acrobat, just a few more levels, but another Agility Class won''t help here, I need something on the Sage track." Jon nodded, but Elijah saw he didn''t understand. "What I''d like to get is an Advisor Class, a Royal Advisor Class, especially - it should speed my research incredibly, while also giving me useful Abilities specifically suited to acquiring knowledge that can help you, Jon." "But how can I help you get a Class?" "The nature of Class Evolutions is that they are influenced by your actions. What a person does determines their next class; but it''s actually even more than that - it''s their actions weighted by impact." Jon paused, and Elijah held his breath as he watched the little hamster that lived within Jon''s mind begin to run, the wheels slowly starting to turn before the light bulb finally lit up. "So I have to listen to your Advice - no, no I have to take, no. Eli, I got it, I have to make your Advice have impact, it has to actually help me for it to work." "Precisely, Jon." Elijah nodded, "You''re getting it." "Well, this is perfect." Jon laughed, "I can still make money, and you can just tell me - no, advise me, on how to make more money." "Ruff!" And it was so hard, for Elijah not to bring his hands together in a slow clap, not to Jon - oh, no, but to himself. Because he''d planned out this entire conversation already, and it was going exactly how he''d intended. Still, Elijah looked up and pretended to consider for a moment - stroking his chin before finally nodding. "That could work, Jon, if you truly do take my advice seriously and work to apply it. It will require a lot of thinking, because I won''t be able to just tell you what to do." "Of course, Eli." Jon nodded seriously, "I understand, and we will." "Alright then. I''m counting on you." Elijah said in formal assurance, "Then to get this started, let me give you some basic advice on how to make money within the Real(m); the first thing you have to do is find a problem." "A problem?" "Yes, Jon, a problem. People will pay coin for you to solve problems, and the Port is full of problems, some big problems, but also an endless amount of small problems. If you can teach yourself to see the profit in a problem? You''ll be well on your way to filling up your coin purse." Jon nodded, "I got it, Eli. Don''t see just a problem, look for a way to profit from it." "Excellent." Elijah chuckled, "Next - do you know how a Barter Economy works? Good, so all these coins that I''m dumping on the table, they don''t have a set value like CBDollars or Red Imperials do, they''re only worth the metal they''re made of. The best thing you can do is just don''t deal with anything more valuable than copper, not only will you avoid counterfeits and the hassle of converting values, but a whole host of other problems as well." "Okay, Eli. I won''t. I''ll keep everything as a copper or less." "The last thing, Jon, and the most important: No job is too small if it results in a useful skill." Jon nodded, as he repeated Elijah''s words. "That''s right, Jon. Anything is more then nothing, and the true reward is the Skill, because Skills will help you earn far more in the future, do you understand?" Elijah watched Jon and Fuss nod along, both of them ready to jump out of their chairs and head out to work immediately. "It''s okay to take it slow, Jon. I''m glad you''re so enthusiastic but it''s just as important for you to learn about the Real(m) as it is to make money. I want you to really look around, see how people live and what it would be like to be them and to rule them. I can make us plenty of money, so don''t worry if you struggle at first, we won''t be destitute." Elijah scooped all the coppers off the table back into the coin pouch and passed it to Jon before adding the silvers to his own pouch, "Here, to get you started." "You don''t think we''re going to be able to earn as much as you? Even with you advising us?" Jon asked innocently, taking the offered pouch. Elijah took a moment to think over how to answer. Jon''s stupid Ability was truly his bane, he couldn''t even lie to Jon for his own good "It''s not a competition, Jon." Elijah said, "I just have some very valuable knowledge, and - " "It is a competition, Eli! Not to win, it''s win-win, but we want to contribute. You don''t need to worry about working and everything else you have to do, so we''re going to do it. We''re going to find a way to make plenty of money. Even more then you." Elijah did roll his eyes at this; when Jon was stubborn there was no getting through to him, "Fine, Jon. The week you make more money then me, I''ll quit working for coin, I''ll fully focus on your Class." Which brought a bright smile to Jon''s face as he held out his hand to shake, "Deal, Eli. So what do people normally do, when they''re just starting out like this?" "Traditionally, Jon?" Elijah said shaking Jon''s hand with a smirk, "They kill rats." Nothing Ruins Library Day Jon and Fuss had woken up early, put on the plain clothes they''d gotten the night before, and headed out after eating breakfast. It was still dark, but the port was starting to wake up. The day before there had been so many people, so much newness, that Jon hadn''t looked at the details. He hadn''t really seen what was around him. People. Garbage. Poverty. It was a city, the type of place Jon had always tried to avoid because it always seemed to be filled with strangers. In a city, you didn''t know the cashiers name or the best Mexican food restaurant. People didn''t wave or smile, they didn''t care, and Jon did. And when he did, people stared at him grimly, and that was before he was blue... In a city people didn''t trust you - "Excuse me?" Jon called to a man who hurried away. And Jon wasn''t the only person avoided, there were beggars out as well, calling out, just like Jon, hopelessly out of work because nobody would speak to them. "It''s sad, Fuss." Jon said, "And even they seem afraid of us." Fuss said. "I don''t think it''s because we''re strong, buddy." Jon shook his head, "And getting work is going to be a lot harder than we thought." Fuss barked. "You''re right, it is a problem, but this one''s our problem. And Eli is right, too, I would pay for somebody to solve it, but it defeats the purpose, you know? We''re supposed to be making money, not - oh, shoot!" Jon jumped, kicking his legs up - as a rat darted across their path. Fuss lunged at the threat, but it was quick. "Ick." Jon shuddered, "That''s the third one, no wonder there''s so many dang cats around here." "Ha, no Fuss. Cat''s aren''t really a problem, especially not when rats are around." Jon gave Fuss''s mane a guilty glance, "They solve that problem, a lot of people even like them. But you''re right, there''s just way too many." Of course that made Jon shudder again, because they''d only seen a few rats. But there were cats absolutely everywhere. In the alleys, on the roofs - crossing the streets or just lounging about. And not one of them appeared particularly hungry. "Yeah, that''s a problem. Are you thinking we should open a food stand? Like a taco truck. There''s a lot of people selling food so they must be making money, though I''m not sure if anybody will buy from us." "Starve the cats, so they''ll leave? Oh, you mean kill the rats? Wait, you think Eli was serious?" Jon laughed nervously, "I thought it was another one of his bad jokes he''s been trying to make lately, it''s hard to tell...I guess we better check, if that was really Eli giving us advice we have to take it seriously, even if we don''t like it."
Elijah woke on a soft feather mattress with a big, long yawn. Even though the sun was just rising, Jon''s side of the bed was empty, already made up. And Elijah was all alone. Gloriously alone. "Elijah the Wise, if ever the name was deserved, be it this today. Could this plan gone any better?" With Jon occupied, not only was Elijah free to pursue his own passions, but he''d maneuvered it so that he''d be helping Jon at the same time! "Brilliant! You''re absolutely brilliant." Elijah said to his reflection, admiring his freshly laundered suit, his smoothly shaved face, "You brilliant, beautiful bastard." And Jon needed help, needed to understand, because his Destiny was literally Ignorance! And Elijah knew exactly why - Jon had been born into money. And that substantial wealth had always been a barrier that prevented Jon from understanding how the world truly worked - how difficult it was for most people - just to survive. Jon had never had to climb that ladder to success, where everybody above you was kicking you back down, everybody below holding you back, and Elijah? He''d started at the very bottom, hell! He''d practically started in the basement! And yet that same affluence is what had made Jon so special, so incredibly innocent, because unasked - Jon had reached a hand out to Elijah in friendship, and then began to pull Elijah up that impossible ladder. He pulled until Elijah was Jon''s equal, both in wealth and status, and Jon didn''t stop there. Once Elijah had ''made it''? Jon started to push. He pushed Elijah up and up, never asking for anything in return, all while giving that same friendship and support, his personality unchanged. And Elijah wanted Jon to understand just how huge - how incredible, what he''d done was. That''s what this whole thing was about! Elijah would take Jon the ignoramus, who had no clue as to how the Real(m), the world, worked - and he''d put him on a Throne. The head of a Kingdom. He would raise Jon up from rags to royalty, far higher than Elijah desired to go - Just as Jon had done for Elijah back home...starting right after breakfast. The food was a delightful sourdough loaf, whipped butter and honey spread across it. A slab of smoked ham and fresh fruit deftly cut into stars and coins just waiting for a taste. Elijah savored every bite before taking a calming breath as he finished his tea, then headed out to make money - more money than Jon was likely to see this entire month. And Elijah would do it before lunch. And then Elijah would celebrate. He would indulge his truest pleasure absolutely guilt free. Elijah would go to the Library.
"You were right, Fuss! There''s a bounty and everything, and even if it''s not much?" Jon laughed, making his voice sound like Eli''s. "''No job is too small if it results in a useful skill'', right!?" "Thank''s Fuss, but I''m supposed to tell you that. And you better be watching my back while I work, since you don''t have thumbs." Jon held up his hands in victory, gloating as he wiggled his thumbs back and forth as Fuss barked, telling Jon what he could do with those thumbs as they searched out a quiet alley to begin work. "Saw, hammer, metal cutters and pliers." Jon said laying them out, "And plenty of wire, springs, wood, and sheet metal, I think we''re set, Fuss." Jon began sawing the wooden board into inch thick rectangles - about the size of his hand. He made ten, then twenty, not bothering to measure. Once he had a nice pile he started to bend the metal wire, using the wood as a guide - it wasn''t hard, he just had to remember how it - "Hey, now." A voice interrupted, causing Jon to fumble, *Snap*. "Ouch!" "Ruff Ruff!" Fuss burst up from where he''d dozed off. "Sorry, sorry." The whistling warble of a voice called. It was an older man a couple yards deeper in the alley dressed in rough, stained clothes. A beggar. Had he been there the whole time? "It''s an Ability, as to why you didn''t notice me? Saves a fair bit of hassle when most folk don''t know you''re there. You can call me Whistler, most do." Whistler explained before gesturing at what Jon was working on, "And it looks like you could use a hand?" The man pushed back messy, greasy gray hair with a wrinkled hand, his missing teeth causing each word to whistle past his scruffy beard as he spoke. Whistler took a step closer, "I can saw wood and bend some wire; it wouldn''t cost ya more than say a drink? Nothing like an ale after a hard bit of work, I say, or even a whiskey? Boy, I can''t remember the last time I had so much as a taste of whiskey." The man''s whistling voice held a hopeful longing, even as his nose began to grow. Alcoholic. Fuss added. Jon couldn''t smell the man from here, but could imagine if Fuss was complaining? And Jon felt bad for the man, wan with yellowed eyes and skin, mostly skin and bones. And Jon felt he owed the man an explanation as to why he couldn''t afford to help him out. "I don''t havre much money to spare right now, I spent almost everything on these tools and supplies to build some traps, you see we''re trying to kill the rats." "And shoo away the cats." Jon agreed. "Traps? Is that what they are?" Whistler asked, coming a bit closer and looking at the rectangular wood, the shaped wire in Jon''s hands with a frown, "Cats? Are you sure you couldn''t spare just an iron bit?" Whistler had picked up the trap and his trembling hands caused the cut square metal trigger and the wire to rattle almost mournfully, the withdrawals causing his entire body to shudder. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. And Jon didn''t know what to say, but that was okay; as a boy he''d been told over and over what to do:
''Smile Jon.'' The stranger said as he held up his camera, ''Tilt your head. Open your eyes, wider, wider - oh, so innocent, so - oh, yes...yes... now Smile.'' *Snap*
Whistler saw Jon''s expression, quickly dropping the trap and taking a few hurried steps back, and wouldn''t it have been better? If Jon''s smile had always been this scary, for him to be born ugly and blue? Nobody would have wanted his picture, or more from him. "I...I''m..." Whistler stared at Jon as though surprised, or perhaps he saw something deeper, beyond Jon''s appearance and got a small glimpse of that past, because he didn''t flee as Jon had expected, "I need a drink." It was a plea. Spoken in desperation, and Jon felt his resolve begin to crumble. Because as Whistler looked down at Jon, where he crouched next to Fuss - the man''s eyes were filled with empathy. And for as rough as his life had obviously gone, he still found compassion for Jon, still found a moment of concern - for Jon. "Here''s a bit." Jon said, wanting to get those invasive eyes away from him, he reached into his coin pouch and removed a squashed piece of iron, the lowest valued currency, and held it up. Whistler gave Jon a last look, then snatched the coin and fled.
"Elijah." He announced his presence, entering the sales side of a workshop, a brief glance taking in the displays and merchandise. Bolts and screws, adhesives, nails, a long list of alloys by weight. Wood by the inch and the foot, custom cut or in bulk. But Elijah wasn''t here to buy. "I have some skill in artifice, and I''m new to the Port - looking for contract employment that is mutually profitable, my primary skill set leans toward industrial applications and I''m capable of unsupervised work of some complexity." The woman, who stood behind the counter waiting to help customers examined Elijah head to toe, she was well presented and professional, her eyes discerning before they flashed in decision. She pushed one button amongst many at the left of her workspace, and nodded, "Corbyn will be with you shortly." Then she turned her attention to a customer to transact his business. A minute later Corbyn entered from a side door. Elijah made note of his shrewd, impatient expression, his glasses and their intricately engraved frames that had the lenses glowing softly, a decorative etching stylus absently rolled and manipulated by well muscled, but manicured hands. The man''s educated demeanor and comportment, a cross between an electrician and a concert pianist, was only curious to a person that didn''t understand the nuances of artifice. "Elijah is looking for contract work, I was thinking of the Bradyn Manse project?" The woman explained, and Elijah could tell from her spitfire tone that Corbyn did not enjoy interruption. Good. Corbyn only glanced at Elijah, then frowned in dismissal along with some frustration aimed at his employee. But Elijah was moving to a slate board, snatching a chalk stick in one hand, the other swiped away a price list for small cores to make room for a demonstration: "A fire suppression system." Elijah spoke as he worked, his hand dancing across the board, not sketching a rune overlay, but instead a list of numbers, boxes - variables like building size, ambient mana, and material prices he pulled quickly from the room around him - he didn''t turn, but Elijah didn''t hear the door Corbyn had entered from - open, or close, either. Finally Elijah graphed out his equation, freehand and rough, but where all the lines intersected - the most important place to Corbyn, the spot on the graph that represented the highest profit. Elijah circled it before placing the chalk down and headed toward the door. "Commission. I get half of whatever profit I increase a project by. Consider it, while I introduce myself to the other -" "Done." Corbyn said, not surprising Elijah at all. The man made a flicking motion and Elijah caught the heavy coin out of the air. Gold. "Your advance. When can you start?" "Tomorrow." Elijah said, reclaiming his cane, filling his voice with all the dignity and pride that he''d just earned, "Today is Library Day." Then he nodded politely and walked out.
A dead rat lay pinned by a trigged trap in the back of the alley. It had only been there for two minutes; long enough for Jon to walk away, to start assembling another. *Snap* "Already, Fuss?" Jon said with a jump at the sound, as he got up to approach the trap, "Maybe it broke, maybe it''s a misfire - Oh, oh, no." Jon stared down. Fuss stared down. "Is it even a rat? I think it''s a monster, Fuss. I think this is a monster." "I don''t know, Fuss. Are you sure this was what Eli meant? I mean - maybe we should have thought this through..." It wasn''t just how filthy the rat was, or even the creepy, claw like nails, or the scraggly, wiry whiskers. It was the absolute size of the rat! Big as a beer bottle! "I mean, we only get one iron bit for five tails, and that''s twenty five tails just for one copper. I know there''s no job too small, but..." "Really, Fuss? Talk about a hypocrite, I don''t see you running over to cut its tail off, you know that''s how we prove we killed it, we have to turn them in!" And Jon could hear the laughter, right in his own head! "Fine!" Jon huffed, puffing his chest out, "I''m a man, I''m not afraid of...many things." Jon hurried back and grabbed his metal cutters, then returned to slowly, carefully extend the snips out in front of him. He lined the blades up to the base of the huge, dirty rats tail and - it twitched! "Ahhh!" Jon shouted, throwing the shears down and jumping back, slapping and brushing at his arms, his legs, his hair, trying to get rid of the sensation of the disgusting rat tail slapping his hand! "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!" Jon shouted as he paced, shuddering, with Fuss just behind him, howling. When he finally returned to the trap, it was with a very different expression... "Does this even give us a Skill, Fuss? Does it? Is there a Tail Cutting Skill, do you think? That doesn''t sound right to me, Tail Lopper? I don''t think so..." "Wouldn''t Eli be mad? Us wasting time cutting tails when we could actually be gaining valuable Skills cutting wood? Or bending wire? Remember, there''s no job too small if it results in a useful Skill. That''s an ''if'' Fuss, and it''s a big if, if you ask me." "And don''t forget about Whistler. He was practically begging for a way to earn some money, and wasn''t he happy after getting that bit? Don''t you think he''d like to earn just a few more?"
Elijah carefully made his way through the Port and unfortunately found himself in some of the poorer, filthier parts of the city on his stroll to the library. It was an unwanted reminder of his childhood. Seeing the Beggars with their dead eyed gazes, their zombie like shuffling as they moved from one hopeless place to the next as they wasted their existence, or they twitched on a street corner, the victim of some mental disease of substance. It had frightened Elijah as a child, and it disgusted him today. But the true fear he harbored was deeper, and it wasn''t the beggars, it was the gangs. The dangerous men played dice, threw bones. And it didn''t matter if the Port''s gangs wore bright colors, or didn''t listen to blaring music or have guns hidden amongst baggy clothes. They were still arrogant cowards, lazy in their confidence of overwhelming numbers, ready to pounce and punish the innocent over a trifle, ready to take what another had earned fairly for themselves. Or worse. Elijah could still feel that cold metal. How he''d been forced, as part of their hazing, as part of their fun. He would never get the taste of that shame from his mouth. He didn''t even fight back. He just obeyed. Had he even tried to run, surrounded and alone, afraid? Would he have gotten away, was he just a coward? His heart was hammering, his hand white knuckled on his cane - he was Elijah the Wise, now! That was all in the past, that feeling of helplessness, that victimhood. Yet it still took everything not to sprint, to hide his discomfort as he kept walking, his head high, his cane tapping steadily on the street in a patient rhythm until he was finally safe again, back in the nicer part of the port. Private guards were visible protecting store fronts, or nicer apartments, Peoples clothing were clean and their faces washed, their expressions dignified and decent. And then he could see it, his destination right ahead like a beacon of hope. The Library. And he looked up at the structure that was so much more then a church to him, ornate and vaulted, fluting architecture, smooth stones jointed together so perfectly and massive double doors at the top of a grand staircase that had him humming, climbing up to his heaven. *Thunk-Thunk* Elijah knocked on the giant door, and a moment later a section of it opened with a silent whisper. A young man with an expression both bookish and keen emerged, looked at Elijah before giving him a welcoming nod and a gesture to enter. And wasn''t the inside even grander? The polished marble floor reflected soft and natural light, plush overstuffed leather seating sprawled out in quiet nooks, tall shelves creating pockets of privacy like a maze - of books. So many books, organized and neat, their covers clean and maintained - filling the room with a smell found nowhere else, parchment and refinement, self-mastery and improvement. It was as enchanting and magical as any other wonder the Real(m) held - this house of knowledge. "Welcome to the Library. I''m Gunther, how may I be of service to you...?" There was a pause from the soft voice, and Elijah realized the youth was waiting for a title to address him with, his posture still in a half bow. "Please, just Elijah is adequate. I''m seeking access to the library." Elijah explained, trying not to sound rushed as he stared at the ripe shelves. The lack of a title obviously surprised his greeter, who rose from his bow, voice unsure, "Temporary memberships are offered to those without an introduction by a member of good standing, unfortunately they are five silver a month Mr. Elijah. There is a quarterly social taking place in a few weeks -" Exorbitant, an amount an average family could save in a year. A good year. Yet Elijah merely placed his gold coin on the counter, enjoying the surprised expression it brought. Next to it, Elijah placed a silver coin, pushing it toward Gunther with one finger. "I may be in need of some assistance as I''m woefully unfamiliar with a few categories of my intended research. If you are able to rescue me from the difficulty of digging though useless tombs and unreliable sources, I couldn''t be more grateful." "Sire." Gunther gushed in thanks, his lips tugging into a smile as his hand hovered hungrily over the silver piece, "I''d be pleased to provide whatever assistance I can to your satisfaction, no payment is necessary..." "Please, call me Elijah, I insist - we are but comrades in this house of knowledge, are we not, Gunther?" Who nodded hesitantly, seemingly unused to being treated so agreeably. "And I also insist you take this small token of my appreciation, and more; should you be able to expedite and satisfy my search. You appear competent, something I am sorely missing in my life at the moment, while coins I have plenty." Gunther beamed, making the coin disappear in his breast pocket, then hurried off with Elijah''s gold to make change. He returned out of breath, with fifteen polished silver pieces that he handed over. Gunther then led Elijah to a private nook that was comfortably decorated as any Gentleman''s Den, a single pleasing chair that reclined beneath an adjustable core-light lamp at its center, various other comforts within arms reach, "May I take your coat, Elijah? And what sort of information are you seeking?" "Certainly," Elijah said, resting his cane on the recliner and unbuttoning his jacket, "Let''s start with, say - a condensed history of the Shattered Empire focusing on the last century. A summary of, say, the top fifty Noble Houses, who they are, their assets and interests, nothing tawdry. Maps, both political and natural, skimp on anything overly detailed, I''m looking for mostly big picture at this time, and then...something funny." "Something funny?" Gunther asked, ready to dart off, but suddenly thrown by this request. "Yes." Elijah nodded as he leaned back in his recliner, feeling more like his true self by the second, "Jokes, stories, a primer on humor if you have one - but anything will do as long as it''s funny." And wasn''t comedy - wasn''t humor, just another body of knowledge to be researched and understood? To be mastered? All Elijah had to do was study and he''d no longer be a victim of his Destiny, once more Elijah would be its driver. "Knock knock." Elijah whispered, "Who''s there? It''s Elijah. Elijah who? Elijah the Wise!" From Bad to Whores "The way I see it, Fuss," Jon said, "Is we just hire a Beggar, they can use our traps and bring us fifty tails, that''s two coppers worth, and we''ll just split the money and everybody is happy." "Good point," Jon rubbed his face, "That''d be bad if they took all our traps and didn''t come back. Maybe if we just give them one trap at a time? They come back and we''ll give them more." "True. More people would be better and faster, but can we get them? You saw what a difficult job this was, they need to be almost fearless." "Right. They need thumbs, too, and to be sober enough to function, and probably both legs...They shouldn''t be blind, either - it''s not like we''re asking a lot, I don''t think, but look around." Jon was having trouble spotting just one Beggar that met all his qualifications, and when he did? "Wait, wait! I just want to talk, I want to help you!" Jon shouted as he chased a fleeing beggar down the street. "Maybe just one leg, Fuss? That way we have a chance of catching them long enough to talk?" Thus Jon approached what appeared to be a group of veterans deformed through past injuries. One man had a crushed femur that twisted his leg out at an agonizing angle, another with just a thumb on one hand, a face split in half with a puckering, unsightly scar across it making his eyes appear bulging and angry. "Excuse me." Jon said carefully, approaching as carefully as possible, "I''m looking for some help, and am willing to pay you - if you aren''t afraid of rats and a bit of blood, and if you''re looking for some work?" Jon paused, already excited that the five Beggars in front of him hadn''t shuffled off, instead they turned to him in curiosity. He squatted down to give them his pitch: "It''s not hard, we built some traps, but with how busy Fuss and I are gaining useful Skills, if you''d be willing to just cut the tails off and bring them -" "Jon...Jon." Elijah''s voice sounded strange. Jon started to stand, only to feel Elijah''s grip wrap his forearm and begin to drag him away. "What are you doing with the Beggars? I thought you were working, what happened?" "I am, Eli." Jon nodded, "It''s just nobody would hire me, so -" And Jon realized the sound in Eli''s voice had been like a rattlesnake''s warning, his next words were sharp and filled with venom - "Jon, it''s just after lunch, hardly half a day, and you''re begging?" "Eli -" Jon tried. "We just went over this, I mean - are you trying to become a Beggar Prince? Because I can''t think of a faster way to devolve your Class. There''s no worse Class then Beggar, Jon, not only are you entirely reliant on other''s generosity to advance, but -" "Eli." "But the Skills and Abilities you get are for just staying alive, and barely, I mean - imagine a Skill that would make you look even more pathetic just to con some grandma out of bit, or an Ability that -" "I didn''t beg, Eli." Jon said, only to see his own nose grow - the stupid thing! Jon saw Eli look at it, and for the first time in Jon''s life, he saw Eli''s eyes wet - But Jon hadn''t been begging in the Real(m)! And that had been years and years ago, anyway, it shouldn''t count. "I mean, Eli - I was going to give them money to help me." "Help, Jon?" Eli used one hand to wipe his eyes, the other to gesture at the circle of Beggars Jon had approached, "Money? Look at them, Jon, do you see those bowls? They''re not asking for coin, their only ambition is something to eat." "Are you serious, Eli?" Jon whispered, his eyes suddenly bright, "You think they''d work for just food?" This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Of course. That''s all they could hope to earn until they got a useful Class. But who''s going to hire them? Go through the expense of training them? If they''re not disabled or depressed, they''re dirty and disgusting with absolutely no self-respect, they''d suck a dick for a sandwich." "That''s terrible." Jon said. "Is it?" Eli asked, "I think whoring is better then begging, at least whores can feed themselves and keep a roof over their heads while they learn Skills and Abilities good for more than just selling their bodies. Where do you think all the women are?" Jon looked around, and Eli was right. There wasn''t a woman among the sad scavengers. "They''re out shopping?" Jon asked hopefully. "No, it''s the opposite, Jon. They''re selling. And even if it''s unpleasant, and most of them probably would rather do something else if they could, anything else, they don''t beg. Because they know what a hopeless, disgusting, terrible life it leads to. The beggars have it far worse than the whores do." But what was really going through Jon''s mind just then? Because what were the odds - of Eli suddenly showing up the second he''d hit a wall? Everything had gone perfectly until Jon had realized he would have to cut off those nasty rat tails, so Jon was about to hire Beggars. About to make the mistake of paying them. Imagine how much cheaper it would be to just give the Beggars a bit of food for their help? And using whores for selling the traps? What a great idea. Jon was just going to use the traps to collect tails, he hadn''t even considered selling them yet. Which caused Jon to realize what was really going on, Eli was giving him advice - but with something this important he wanted to make sure he understood: "So, Eli." Jon asked in a knowing voice, "What you''re saying is the Beggars, the Prostitutes? They''re a problem?" Then Jon winked. "Yes. Yes, Jon. They''re a huge problem." Elijah said, exasperated, "One of the biggest to ever plague society, isn''t that obvious?" "Of course." Jon said, "But isn''t it too big? I mean, is there even a way to fix it?" "Absolutely. And it''s actually simple, it''s all about Skills. If people have useful skills, they have a way to support themselves, and if they continue to use those Skills they''ll also get a useful Class, earning even more money. It''s both compounding and recursive, as it creates both supply and demand, especially with bullion currency." Elijah was panting, his eyes wild. And Jon was just shocked, because the implications of what Elijah seemed to be saying, and how obviously passionate he was bout it? "Whoa." Jon said, "Whoa, Eli, was Fuss right? Did you really plan all this from the beginning?" Eli looked surprised, caught, his face shifting between surprise and embarrassment before finally settling on disappointment and determination. "Yes, Jon." "I planned this. But I did it for you could learn. So you''d see what it was like on the bottom and could get the real life experiences you''d need to be successful here. I just - the lesson of homelessness?" Eli shook his head, his eyes sorrowful, "I don''t think you need to learn that, do you?" "No, Eli." Jon agreed, and he''d always been afraid that it would change something if Eli knew, that both of them avoided talking about their past. But of course Eli was smart, he''d likely known for a while and never brought it up out of consideration to Jon, "I don''t." "You must know," Elijah''s voice became softer, sincere, "There is nothing I wouldn''t give you, nothing I wouldn''t leave behind for you, our friendship. You''ve earned that from me and so much more, just say the word - you don''t have to work, you don''t have to worry. It may take longer - it may take me forever, but I''ll do it. I''ll make Fuss a King, and you a Prince, and I''ll do it happily." And what did that mean? To a person who''d once been sold, to hear a voice that promised to hold nothing more valuable than him? A voice that couldn''t lie. "But that''s not what you wanted, Jon. You wanted to earn it, and I will help you. Because you are my friend, but also because I believe you, that you are capable of so much more than this." "Alright, Eli." Jon said numbly, and at this moment? If Eli told him to jump off a cliff, he knew he''d be halfway to the ground before he even thought to ask why. "You''ve got this. Everything you need is right there." Elijah said pointing at Jon''s head, "I''ll see you at dinner." Jon watched Eli leave, the only thing fuller then his heart was his mind, which was practically exploding. "This is crazy, Fuss. I thought we were going to surprise him by coming up with the traps but of course he''d know that was the only way to kill so many rats, but this?" Jon''s eyes widened at Fuss being able to ''speak'' so clearly, at how much these last few minutes had caused their Soul Bond to grow. But it wasn''t surprising, Jon knew Eli''s words meant as much to Fuss as they had to him because they''d been through everything together. "How big is his plan, how far ahead is he thinking if he knew I''d approach the beggars for help, and then to ''advise'' me of a better way? I mean, think of how many more we can hire, no help. If Eli''s right, and he always is, we''re going to make a real difference in these peoples lives if we can teach them valuable Skills so they can earn real money and get a good Class." Jon wiped at his eyes, "He doesn''t care we were homeless, Fuss." "He said nothing is more important, and he meant it." "But the whores, Fuss? Tell me you think that''s crazy, because normal people do not think to use whores to sell rat traps, I mean." "I know it''s smart, Fuss, that''s the point, I mean - but how smart do you have to be to come up with that? To plan it all ahead, and then to say it like he did, like he was mad? Just to make it a hint so we''d figure it out, so he wouldn''t tell us, so he could get that Class?" "Crazy smart, Fuss. Stupid crazy smart. Now let''s go get the stuff to start a soup kitchen, we''ve got some Beggars to feed." Elijah the Wise There were markets all over the port, like parks in a rich neighborhood. Every few blocks an open plaza would emerge and there would be tables and wagons, hawkers and moneychangers, and you never knew what you''d find. But it was mostly food. And there were shops as well that looked far nicer, but Jon and Fuss avoided those places, even the more humble merchants eyed them suspiciously, but they had a mission: "You have some cabbage that you can''t sell?" Jon asked a pot bellied merchant who turned to him in surprise, "That''s gone bad?" "Aye, I keep the scraps for the hogs at days end, how''d you know?" Jon pulled out an iron bit and held it up, worth one fifth of a copper, each a random shape that weighed as much as a heavy nail. "We could smell it - and I''ll take all I can off your hands for a bit, if you''ll sell it?" "Take it all, if it stinks that bad...I must be getting use to it." The merchant said with a worried sniff, a concerned look at his perfectly arranged stall of cabbages; probably afraid a bad odor was scaring off customers. Jon smiled as he moved behind the stall to a wagon filled with scraps of torn cabbage leaves, mostly wilted but perfectly edible. Jon began to stuff them into his three empty potato sacks until they couldn''t hold anymore. "Thank you, sir." Jon said as he waved, the merchant nodding back with a humored expression, "Potatoes. Cabbage. A few bones and a couple onions. We''ve had worse, Fuss. All we need now is some bread. Stale bread should be cheap enough, and it''s the same as fresh bread if you dunk it in the broth." "You''re kinda getting snobby, you know that? I think being around Eli has got you spoiled." Jon carried his load of cabbage scraps back to the alley where he''d first begun working, and where Whistler now waited. The man practically jumping up to greet Jon as he approached. "Oh, finally. Whiskey." Whistler said, smacking his lips, "I knew it the moment I saw you, you wouldn''t let me down." Jon sighed, dropping his sacks next to his other ingredients and a big clay cook pot. Whistler had already put some stones under it to make room for a fire beneath, and he''d filled the cavity with a mix of sticks and... "Why is there poo beneath the pot, Whistler?" Jon asked, scrunching up his face. "To cook with!" Whistler chortled, "You really are a rich snot if you didn''t know that!" Jon stared in horror as Whistler extended a filthy finger with a flame burning at the end, "No cheaper way to cook! And no use wasting good coin that could go toward a dram of something tasty, now get pouring!" Jon watched as the dried poo and tinder began to catch fire. He reached into his pocket and produced a small flagon of whiskey he''d also purchased, pouring a cap of it out and passing it to Whistler. And he didn''t feel guilty doing so because of how much better Whistler was since getting a drink. His shakes had subsided, his yellowed eyes were no longer darting, and he was more able to focus. Beyond that, he had been incredibly helpful, a man of the streets that seemed to know everything and everyone. "I''m going to go get some water." Jon said, "Where''s the closest fountain? And can you start tearing up the cabbage leaves while I''m gone?" Jon grimaced at the idea of Whistlers filthy hands touching the food, but if it was already being cooked with poo? "I''m going to eat some, Fuss. It wouldn''t be right to give them something I wouldn''t eat. We''ll just burn it a bit, make sure all the germs are dead." "I''ve already got water." Whistler said cheerfully, and Jon watched as he produced a dried gourd from a pocket and twisted the top off. Turning it over he started to pour a stream of water into the pot. "We''re going to need more than that." Jon said, shaking his head. The clay pot was huge, and it should hold more then enough food for everyone that was helping him, but he''d offered them soup, not stew. Water was the cheapest ingredient, after all. But Whistler just hummed, ignoring Jon, as the gourd continued to disgorge water. Way more than it could possibly hold, "How are you doing that?" Jon asked. "Just another Ability." Whistler gloated, finally closing the gourd and putting it away when the pot was three quarters full, "With a Class like Survivor, you don''t need a magic canister, well - unless you need to carry something besides water." Jon nodded as he tore cabbage leaves into smaller pieces, tossing them in with the other ingredients as Whistler chewed on a bit of bread, occasionally stirring the pot with an old wooden spoon. "Done yet? I''m hungry." Jon turned to the new voice and saw it was the Vet from earlier, the one with the scar bisecting his face, and a single thumb. "Hey, TwoFace." Jon nodded, "You''re back already? You got five?" The man nodded, unslinging a bulging bag from his shoulder. "Where ya want them?" "You can just put the tails in that jar." Jon said, gesturing at the container he''d set out toward the back of the alley. Then he watched as TwoFace approached it, pulled out a small knife, then put each nasty rat under his armpit as he sliced off their tails, tossing them into the jar and letting the carcasses fall to the ground. Jon stared at the five dead rats and thought maybe it wasn''t the best idea - to have food, and...that, so close. Where he''d have to look at it. "Hey, TwoFace. I just need the tails, you know. If you don''t mind?"
Elijah was a mix of emotion, there was no way Jon could understand how it made him feel to see him begging. Revulsion warred with the loyalty he had to Jon, and of course the loyalty won easily, but still - was Jon trying to mess with him? Was this like the Lion King thing all over? Because he''d told Jon what to do to change back to normal, it was easy, the push of a button and a healing potion or spell, but Jon refused because it would also change Fuss as well. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Fuss loves being a lion, Eli. Ridiculous. Jon would rather be a hideous deformity and spend his time begging than to burst Fuss''s bubble. "Jon, Jon, Jon." Elijah muttered, shaking his head and trying to push the mounting frustration away, but he couldn''t help it. His trip to the Library had been perfect, relaxing - and his research had revealed much, a way forward. He was ready to ask Jon if he wanted a Mountain Kingdom, or an Island Nation - because there was more then hope, there were options...They could do this, maybe even soon - in a few weeks they could mount an expedition, do a land survey, get estimates from guilds, order building supplies. Except seeing Jon begging? Elijah pushed that timeline back, and was hesitant to even think about a date before Jon showed some real maturity and progress. Fuss would be King. Not Jon. And for once, Elijah began to think of that as a net positive, the silver lining. Fuss was competent, wasn''t he? Dog''s were...logical, and Elijah could work with that, maybe he should focus more of his strategy around Fuss, for everyone''s sake. Perhaps he should try talking to the dog more, just the two of them? He knew Fuss understood what he was saying. But a shop window suddenly stole all of Elijah''s attention. because displayed on a long wooden table was an absolute mountain of gems. Not real ones. Obviously glass. They were so massive they couldn''t be real: rubies the size of his thumb, pearls as big as marbles, and diamonds cut to every shape and style a person could imagine. It was a massive selection made to showcase the jeweler''s Skill in way that wouldn''t be stolen, or if it was - it could be cheaply replaced. Elijah didn''t care, he wanted them and was already at the counter with purse in hand. Because wouldn''t it be great? If Jon had a crown? Because he was struggling, and Elijah knew he''d be sad at the end of the week, when he pulled out his empty coin pouch. And wouldn''t he feel terrible? And he''d look up at Elijah and make that stupid smile, then maybe bite his lip, ''I didn''t know, Eli, that it would be this hard...'' He''d probably even level from it. But then Elijah would pull out a crown, so gaudy, so fake - yet this was Jon. He''d think it was real! And of course he''d love it! Only Elijah would know it was fake, and absolutely everybody else that had a brain and saw him wearing it. Wouldn''t that be funny? Jon, all blue in the face, smiling and wearing a ridiculous crown, he''d probably start dancing or singing, and of course Elijah would tell him it wasn''t real. Eventually. And wouldn''t that make it even funnier? They''d laugh. Oh, how''d they laugh. And wouldn''t Elijah level, just from that? Which was why he bought the gems, paying four silver for a large pouch full, then hurried back to the Inn to plan, to sketch out some designs, which improved Elijah''s mood tremendously. By dinner time, Elijah was sitting at their table waiting for Jon to walk through the door with relaxed expression and a glass of wine. "Tough day?" Elijah asked as he saw Jon''s bedraggled appearance. Turning, he waved down a server to bring them their meals, "You look beat, Jon, did you find something to get into?" Elijah watched as Jon looked at him strangely, then turned to Fuss, who barked. The waitress arrived, delivering their plates along with milk for Fuss, Elijah''s glass of Port Red got a refill, and Jon accepted a tall beer. "I was at a brothel." Jon said once the waitress left in a low voice. "Really, Jon?" Elijah almost shook his head, but didn''t, "You know what, I''m not even mad. I could use a bit of relief myself, you know, a book isn''t the only thing I like to stick my head in. Though with how you look, I''m surprised they even let you in." "I had to wear a bag over my head." "Did you?" Elijah laughed, pounding the table before raising his glass to a toast, "And I bet they still cleaned your purse out; to money well spent!" "I went there to make money, not spend it." Two minutes later - after the sprayed wine had been mostly wiped up, and Elijah had stopped coughing long enough to breath. "Jon, Why?" The words came out in a terrible moan, "Why would you do that?" "Eli, because you Advised me to. It was your idea." "What? No. No, I didn''t." Elijah said, but - "See, your nose grew. You said whores get useful skills and abilities, and they can use them to sell more than just their bodies." "I may have said that, Jon. But I didn''t intend for you to go there." "Why not? It was great advice, look." Jon said, shaking his purse that rang with the sound of copper, "And you just said you were going to go yourself." "Why not? Why not? Because, Jon - you''re not applying yourself, you''re not looking at the opportunities that are available, instead you''re taking the easy way out, how do you not see the obvious and just - just make the worst possible decision?" "I thought I was doing what you wanted." Jon said, "I thought I was doing good." "Damn it." Elijah heard the hurt in Jon''s voice, and he was biting his lip, half-furious at himself, but there was only so much blame he was willing to accept for Jon''s stupidity, "Do what you want, Jon. Just make sure you use protection." "What? Why?" "Because of the birds and the bees, Jon. The Birds and the Bees. Haven''t you seen Game of Thrones? You are a Prince, and the last thing we need is a bunch of bastards running around trying to kill you." "Oh." Jon said, "I didn''t know -" "Where babies come from? Because the Real(m) is real. And in real life, babies don''t pop out of cabbages or get delivered by storks. Which isn''t to say that can''t happen here, because of magic. It would be in addition to the way things naturally work. You can''t just change the fundamental method of the proliferation of life and motivating force of society, without everything else collapsing around it. Do you understand? You can''t just throw out common sense because your dog can suddenly talk to you." "Ruff!" A silence fell over their table - and there was notable absence of other patrons eating as a silence filled the room, they''d kept their voices civil, but - they had caused a scene. Elijah cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He also attempted to order another glass of wine, however he was ignored. "The point is, you need to use your eyes." Elijah said, his voice softer, exhausted, "Look at the world around you and ask, what else could I be doing?" Jon had a strange expression on his face, as though Elijah had given him some profound revelation he just needed time to unpack. When he finally spoke it was a whisper. "I leveled." "So did I." Elijah admitted, shaking his head. He couldn''t meet Jon''s eyes, couldn''t believe his friend turning tricks for coppers. "I have to go back to work, Eli." Jon said as he stood up, walking around the table to give a brief hug before he left. Elijah stared at the vacant seats and pushed his plate away. Even as he did it, an action no more mature than slamming a door, or stomping his feet, he knew something was wrong. Why was he so upset? He stood up, approaching the bar and paying for a full carafe of wine, something distracting to fit his mood, he settled on the green plum. It was Jon''s body...And he was earning money, had even followed Elijah''s advice to do it. Was that why his Destiny had leveled? The irony of it? That Elijah''s advice had pushed Jon into a life of prostitution when he was only trying to help his friend excel? And Jon had done it, he''d ran off and whored himself out at the drop of a hat, just to help Elijah get a better Class? It was ridiculous - and terrible, but also incredibly selfless to the level of stupidity, and yet? Wasn''t that Jon in a nutshell? Then Elijah had lambasted Jon over it. Shamed him. Was that ironic? Was that worth a level in his Destiny? Elijah shook his head, sipping his wine until he was staring at an empty vessel before stumbling up to bed. He undressed, crawled in, shut his eyes only to not be able to sleep. He tossed and turned over their conversation, and the growing realization that he''d been wrong. And the reason was simple. Jon didn''t belong to him. Jon''s body was his, and Elijah had no right to be upset at how Jon used it, no right to condemn Jon''s choices. And so he decided to apologize, to explain, and to ask for Jon''s forgiveness. But when Jon finally did return, fresh from the shower, the smell of soap accompanying him - Elijah suddenly felt anxious, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep until Jon and Fuss settled in. Then before he could open his mouth, he heard Jon''s voice, quiet but clear: "Goodnight Fuss. I love you." "Ruff." "Goodnight Eli. I love you." And a moment later Jon began to snore. Almost immediately. His breathing untroubled. And Elijah realized something else, that he had planned to apologize to make himself feel better, not Jon. Jon didn''t need his apology, Jon loved him. Even after those poor words, Elijah''s rants - his frustrations. Jon loved him. No, Elijah was not going to apologize to make himself feel better, he was going to try harder. To be more patient. And to lead Jon out of his life of prostitution, if Jon chose - or to support his particular path if Jon didn''t. Elijah would even find ways of giving him advice, no matter how hard difficult, it would be. He''d be the friend Jon needed and the one Jon deserved. "I love you, too. Both of you." Elijah whispered before finally falling asleep. Women are Dangerous It was just before dinner, before their argument. And Jon sat on the edge of a bed in a poorly lit room in a run down brothel, a sack over his head and Fuss beside him. Waiting. "Fuss, this is not what I expected." Jon whispered. They both nodded. Then Jon heard the loud footsteps coming down the hall, they were heavy, long strides that carried a deep voice filled with mumbled cursing. This was the boss he was supposed to meet? The door to the room was thrown open; it slammed into the wall with a bang, boots landing like a bass drum, voice like a tuba: "You trying to take my girls!? Come to my house, come to steal my girls, my money - think I wouldn''t find out!?" *Bam* The sound of a bat, smashing into the wall. A deep hole, crumbling pieces of plaster pattering down. "Who sent you! Who hated you so much they sent you here to die!?" To Jon it sounded like a 300 pound raging beast of a man was in front of him, a bat angled right at his head. And it should have been terrifying. "Can I take this off now, Suzy?" Jon asked the middle aged, plump woman who had greeted them minutes ago as they''d entered the brothel. "Damn it!" Suzy shouted, smacking the wall again, "How''d you know?" "Fuss told me." Jon said, removing the hood and seeing the woman more clearly now in the light. Her short blond hair rough and wet with sweat, bright makeup painted across her face in an attempt to hide the wrinkles that tugged at the tired corners of her eyes, she sagged back against the damaged wall. Suzy stared at the lion beside Jon and frowned, then grunted. "What do you want? I can''t tell if you''re just crazy, or just stupid." Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "I''m Jon, and I''m here because Eli told me that a lot of girls working here would like a better job, one where they didn''t have to sell their bodies?" Jon reached into a potato sack he''d brought, "If they''d like, they can use their skills and abilities to sell these instead." Suzy leaned back, her grip tightening on the bat wrapped with rusty, sharp wire, as Jon pulled out a trap and held it up. Suzy stared at his hand, slowly leaning forward, "It''s not drugs?... what is that?" "Traps." Jon said, pushing the button - *Snap* "For rats." - Suzy jumped back with a shout, her bat already in the back swing. Jon just stared at it. "Idiot." Suzy spat, her sheer clothes a whirl around her body, her breath heavy. Jon just nodded, then slowly playing "...I hate rats." She murmured, "How much?" "A copper." Jon said, "And an even split to whoever wants to sell them." She examined the trap closer. Her face thoughtful, but remained suspicious, "Who''s this Eli? Is he a Boss?" "Not really. He came up with all this, but Fuss is really the one in charge." Fuss said with a wink. Suzy looked at Fuss, rubbed her eyes, blinked. Then she pulled a tiny vial from somewhere on her and took a small sip. "What''s in it for me?" She asked. "You can sell them, too." Jon said, "There''s plenty. And you get to kill rats, what''s better then that?" "Gold." Suzy said, "Because what you have here will cost me money. I get half of everything a girl brings into my joint, and if they''re out there selling these?" "Oh." Jon said, his shoulders hunching before he began to stand up, "Alright. I''m sorry." He headed to the door to leave. "Sit back down." Suzy glared at him. Then she stared at him for a long minute, her face twisting, "You really were just going to leave?" Jon nodded. "No threats? No...you really came in here to just offer them a job selling these stupid things?" Jon nodded again. "You''re fucking insane." Suzy said, laughing and shaking her head, "Of all the stupid things, I was really going to kill you. I almost did." "I know, that''s a mean bat, Suzy." "And I don''t know why I''m doing this." She muttered, sticking her hand down her low top, digging between her breasts then pulling out a silver coin and slapping it on the bedside table, "But if I don''t, at least one of my shit for brains girls is gonna follow you out the door." "We did it." Jon cheered. "But this is how it''s going to work. You do business in my house, it goes through me. I''ll give the girls the choice to sell these things if they want, but they buy them from me. If they want to leave and you want to manage the housing, food, health, and drama - of twelve women?" Jon and Fuss shook their heads rapidly at the threat. "I didn''t think so." And with that she shoved the coin at Jon. Who stared at it. "Thank you, Suzy." Jon said, "But do you have anything smaller?" Suzy glared at him, and of course Jon just smiled. After We Argue - But leaving the Inn, Jon and Fuss felt the night approaching; shadows were slowly swallowing the streets, disguising the dirt and grime as the rising pink moon revealed it in new light. Second story windows were alit with warm candles and oil lamps, others awash with the unusual, steady iridescence of a core as the bottom stories darkened, the shops closing to customers with the bang of shutters, the locking of doors. The call of gulls softened as they sought shelter in the rafters, their song was picked up by drunken sailors and hurried hawkers, trying to make a quick sell to an inebriated audience. Horses whinnied, hungry for oats and a chance to lay their bridles down, and the cats finally awoke from their naps to hunt, their lazy guise forgotten as they stalked the looming night. "You don''t think they know what we''re doing, do you Fuss?" Jon asked as they walked toward the alley. "The cats." Jon said, "What if they can think, you know? What if they''re smart?" "How do you know?" "I don''t mean smart like you, I mean smart like a monster. Eli told me about monsters but I haven''t seen any, what if there''s a monster cat?" Fuss was silent but Jon sensed he really didn''t like that idea. Jon shuddered, but it was a good point. "Jon!" Whistler called as they entered the mouth of the alley, "By the moon and her daughters, I thought you''d never be back, I''m dryer then an old boot over here." "Sorry, Whistler." Jon said, approaching the fire, taking in the alley. There were about fifteen beggars spread out resting, leaning against the wall. A few more sat by the fire, chatting with Whistler, "How many tails did we get?" "Are you gonna pour, or you gonna just stand there?" Whistler griped as he looked down at a piece of scratched wood and started counting, "About 325 since you left..." "What?" Jon grimaced, almost spilling Whistlers capful of whiskey. "Hey, be careful with that." Whistler said, reaching - his hands like baby birds before Jon passed it to him, "We would have a lot more if you hadn''t left with all the traps, I had to tell people to come back tomorrow, and we''ve still got a few here waiting." He gestured at the beggars against the wall. "More, and..." Jon looked again at the Beggars against the walls, their eyes staring at the big pot of soup, practically drooling. To Jon, who''d just ate - it smelled decent, but imagine how it was to someone who hadn''t? "Oh, no. No wonder Eli was furious, Fuss." Jon nodded, digging into his pocket, "Do we have enough food? I''ve got a few traps left, Suzy didn''t buy them all." "For these few, sure." Whistler said, "But I''m still gonna have to stretch it, there''s a lot more that want to eat then you can feed." "Alright, Whistler. From now on I don''t want you to turn anybody away. I''ll find something for them to do to get a Skill and get plenty more food, I want to make sure everybody who wants to eat can." "Really?" Whistler looked at Jon like he was crazy, "You''re gonna need a lot more pots than this one. And a lot more work." "Yeah. I know." Jon said, sitting down by the fire after he''d passed out his remaining traps, "But once I turn in those tails? I''ll have thirteen more copper. I can buy everything we need, we can have twenty times as much tomorrow because I don''t need to buy the tools again." "It''s fine." Whistler nodded, "It wasn''t like anybody was counting on you doing this, they''ll last a few more hours and can eat tomorrow. Now are you gonna taste this, or just stare at it?" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Jon nodded cautiously, in truth he''d hoped he wouldn''t have t0, seeing as how it was made but Whistler brought the spoon to his mouth and Jon took a small sip of the broth, "Wow, that''s not bad." "Just another Ability. It''s nothing fancy and don''t help things taste good, but Survivor''s Rations keeps it from tasting bad and the worst I''ve ever gotten was a bit of the runs; you know I once ate a dried up fish I found, who knows how long it''d even been there, but I''ll be damned if after I chopped it up, it didn''t taste just like salami." Jon grimaced, especially at the way Whistler licked his lips, like remembering a favored childhood treat. "I once ate my belt." TwoFace added, scooting closer, "We were under siege. We boiled the leather we had, belts, gloves, you name its we ate ''it, Just added a bit of salt...best damn belt of my life, I had a second helping, so I did." There was a chuckle from somewhere and Jon joined it, and TwoFace looked at him and smiled. It seemed a rare thing for him to do, and it made Jon happy to share it as other''s also added their stories of great and terribly things they''d eaten. "I put that pie right there on Lady Williams lap, and I told her I forgot the fork." Cutter said with a sharp smile. And the laughter spread, men on the wall scooted closer. New faces came and others left to trap rats, to get another scoop of soup, and by the time the pot was scraped clean Whistler could have used his nose to stir it. "The ship was wrecked and I was stranded, nothing to eat, no hope in the world, and there she was. Her hair green as the sea, and her eyes were like sapphires. She had the firmest breasts just floating there, like bobbers and boy was I ready to be the bait! That''s when I noticed her fin." "What''d you do?" Spud asked, using his arms to scoot closer. Without any legs he was practically in Whistler''s lap. "What anybody would in that situation...I ate her!" "What!?" Spud shouted rolling backwards. "Tasted like tuna." Whistler said as those still awake groaned. The sound of snores were piling up, and Fuss gave a long yawn. "Hey, Whistler." Jon asked, "Are monsters in the port?" "Sure." He said it as if it aught to be obvious. "What do they look like?" Jon asked. "Like you." He cackled, only for his nose to grow again, "I''m getting tired of that, Jon." "I''m serious." Jon said, "I need to know." "Oh. Well they look like they do everywhere, no different then where you came from. There''s a few menageries if you''re really curious, but they aren''t cheap if you''re looking to level quick. Most people just go down to the shore, try to get lucky with the Rockies that pop up there, but I wouldn''t count on finding anything with more then a small core. Those go quick." Jon had heard of the cores, Eli had mentioned them and he knew they were what made things like lights and stoves work. Jon hadn''t realized they came from monsters. "Do you have a core?" Jon asked, and Whistler looked at Jon funny, "That I could hold?" "Perhaps. How much you got left in that bottle?" Jon shook it, "Trade?" Jon felt like a trick was coming, but he nodded. Whistler then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dead rat. Jon jerked back in surprise, and then horror as Whistler pulled out a knife and scalped the rat. Fuss shouted. ''Look at what''s right in front of you, Jon.'' He could hear Eli''s voice telling him, a finger tapping him on his head, ''You have everything you need right here.'' Whistler brought his finger up, covered in blood and brains; and what looked like a grain of sparkling sand rested at the center of it. "It''s worth hardly anything, isn''t it Whistler?" Jon asked. Fuss laughed. "And Core Harvester is a skill, isn''t it. A useful one?" "Of course, just Harvester is better, lot more useful." "What else?" Jon asked, looking at the limp carcass with disgust, "What else is worth hardly anything?" But didn''t he know already? ''Use your eyes, Jon.'' "I reckon an apothecary would buy the hearts for sure, that''s how they make healing potions, not that I''ve ever heard of using a rats, you''d probably need a good thirty - maybe the eyes if rats see good? I''m sure they do, they must have some essence, if they''re out at night so those might sell." Jon sat there listening, shaking his head as Whistler poked at the rat with his knife. "Probably the whiskers, do rats have livers? I''m sure they do but let me check, oh, this is just a mess without a Harvesting Skill, those lungs are going to be hard to get to without destroying them." ''You don''t see the opportunities right in front of you, you''re taking the easy way out.'' "I don''t know, maybe a bit''s worth per rat? Altogether? Maybe two? It''d sure be a lot of work though." Jon felt both guilt and relief wash over him. He was such an idiot for not thinking of it earlier, he''d literally had the Beggars throwing away money and an opportunity to gain useful, valuable Skills. But he''d finally understood Eli''s hints. His anger. It finally all made sense. "I was just going to sell them as bait, get whatever I could, since you were just tossing them out." Whistler explained. Jon nodded. He''d been so focused on the idea of selling the traps and how much he''d earn, that he''d completely ignored the entire point, the entire purpose. Eli had said from the beginning to take his time, to get to know the Port and it''s people. Had he really talked with Whistler, or probably any of the beggars? "This is crazy Fuss." Jon said, "We''ve barely started." "We don''t even know what we''re truly capable of." Jon finished, looking at the butchered rats exposed innards. Then he turned to the side and puked.