ã€ŠThe Seventh Bladeã€‹


 Chapter 1: Fated

    Nathan Farlance woke to an unbroken wall of black. It was a dark so complete that it had weight, crushing in on him from all sides. But that wasn¡¯t what disturbed him. While his eyes were useless, there was sensation. The air felt wrong as it pressed against him, sharp and crisp in a way that was unfamiliar. It seemed to almost have a taste, subtle hints of a sharpness and a spice he could not identify. He couldn¡¯t see the room he was in, but it felt¡­wrong.

    This was not his room.

    The thought was not even fully formed, a sense of dread began to descend, when the darkness broke, interrupted by the faint glow of blue lines swimming across his vision. They came so suddenly that he almost cried out, squinting his eyes reflexively to protect them from the burst of light. Yet there was no pain.

    Welcome to Farandway, traveler. Your orientation will begin shortly. Please wait.

    The words seemed to hover, just out of reach, as though displayed by a projector. Nate turned his head, looking for other signs of light in the room. The words followed, staying centered in his vision. That was¡­odd. Nate focused on the box for a moment. He could almost feel it. Like it was a distant part of himself. There was something in that feeling that¡­

    Click.

    There was a tactile rumble deep in his chest. Then the box was gone.

    What the hell was going on?

    There was a swish in the air, then a torrent of bright light. This time, the blaze did hurt his eyes, and he squinted against the doorway that had appeared. A figure was silhouetted there, tall and dark against the light spilling in all around it.

    ¡°Greetings, traveler.¡± The voice was feminine and smooth, not at all what Nate had been expecting from the imposing profile. ¡°Congratulations on your selection to participate in the seven hundred and seventy seventh Games of Farandway. You may know me as¡­¡± the figures head twitched to the side, as if in thought, before continuing, ¡°Jean. If you will follow me, we can conduct your orientation and assignment.¡±

    Nate swallowed hard, trying to work moisture into his mouth for a response. But the figure had vanished, leaving only the glowing doorway. Oddly, the light it cast failed to penetrate the room, leaving everything around him concealed in an impenetrable black gloom. A voice in the back of his mind was trying to scream, telling him to run, to get away. But there was nowhere to go. There was only the door.

    With no other options, Nate rose and crossed the room. There was no bed that he could detect. No sense of his limbs, of his breath. He wished to be at the door and, a moment later, he was. He hesitated for a moment. He could see nothing on the other side. It was more like a portal than a doorway, giving off light and nothing else. Cautiously, he moved through it.

    Data collection in process. Data collection complete. Analysis complete. Initial values assigned. Good luck, traveler. The future of Farandway depends on you.

    Nate found himself in a plain, circular room of stone, unadorned save for a large table set into its center, the surface slick and reflective. Looking behind in bewilderment, he saw that the doorway he had entered through was gone. The sensations that had been so noticeably absent a moment before returned in a rush, goosebumps forming on his skin as cold air caressed him, and his nostrils burned slightly at a pungent odor like disinfectant. Baskets, made of woven reeds, sat in recesses at regular intervals around the room, each glowing with a warm, diffuse light. His feet recoiled from the touch of the cold stone beneath him. He glanced down, bemused, wondering where his socks had gone. It was a strange thing to worry about, all things considered. But he always slept in his socks.

    His heart skipped a beat at seeing that it was not only his socks that had gone missing. He was completely naked. And the cold air wasn¡¯t doing him any favors.

    ¡°Approach this Tablet of Awakening,¡± the smooth, feminine voice intoned.

    Nate started, his face hot and his hands jerking forward to cover his sensitive bits, as he looked to the voice¡¯s owner. His jaw dropped, all thoughts of modesty vanishing.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    The figure was tall, lithe, and humanoid. But it was clearly not human. The limbs, torso, and head were smooth and angular, silver in color and completely without covering. The face, or the space where a face should have been, was as smooth as the rest of its form, though the eyeless mask was pointed at him as though it could still see somehow. Nate gaped.

    ¡°You¡¯re a robot,¡± he said, dumbly. The thing¡¯s head ticked to the side, as if considering, for a moment.

    ¡°Not accurate, but a close approximation. As I have mentioned, you may call me Jean. Approach the Tablet.¡± The words were said without emotion, but with more natural fluidity and inflection that Nate had heard from any AI bot.

    ¡°I¡¯m naked,¡± he said, his brain still refusing to catch up with events.

    ¡°Your starting equipment has not yet been assigned. This will be rectified when you choose your class. Please approach the Tablet.¡±

    ¡°Who are you? Where am I?¡± Nate eyed the table in the center of the room uncomfortably. Choose his class?

    Again, the head ticked to the side. The pause was longer this time, as those the creature¡­eh, Jean, was considering.

    ¡°I have told you; I am Jean. You are in the Grand Cathedral of Dawn. Dawn in a provincial capital within the autonomous world of Farandway. Please approach the Tablet.¡±

    ¡°Why am I here? How did I get here?¡± Nate asked, his mind swimming with the unfamiliar names. What the hell was an autonomous world? Again, the head ticked to the side.

    ¡°You are one of many who has been chosen to participate in this iteration of the Games of Farandway. You and these others were collected from your world of origin and brought here for this purpose. Please approach¡­¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, brought here?¡± Nate interrupted the litany, the shock finally easing enough for him to find some heat to put in his words. ¡°And what do you mean, world of origin? Are you saying that I¡¯m not on my own world anymore? That this isn¡¯t earth? That I¡¯ve been teleported somewhere else?¡± He tried to sound angry, indignant. But it came out as somewhat hysterical.

    ¡°Correct,¡± Jean said, passively. Nate shook his head at the simple statement.

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Incorrect. It is merely improbable. Therefore, it was inevitable.¡±

    Nate shook his head, his panic and confusion building. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

    ¡°That makes no¡­¡±

    ¡°The cosmos are limitless, infinite worlds across infinite planes spanning an infinite stretch of time. In a boundless universe, all possible realities, no matter how improbable, will ultimately and inevitably find expression. Therefore, Nathan Farlance, it is incorrect to state the impossibility of your current circumstances. In a very real sense, it would be most accurate to say that this version of you, in this time and iteration of reality, could be nowhere else. You are in Farandway because you are meant to be here. A cynic might call this determinism. I prefer another term. Fate.¡±

    Nate tried his best to absorb the torrent of words, but his mind rebelled. He had never subscribed to the idea of fate, never believed in a higher power. His worldview didn¡¯t allow for anything beyond random chance, coincidence, and free will. The choices he had made in his life, the ones that had put him in the mess he found himself trapped in back home, had been circumscribed, with no easy outs or obvious wins apparent. But they had been his choices. Now he was naked and cold, standing in a dark room while a robot named Jean lectured him on multiversal causality. he had expected today to be a rough one. They had all been rough lately. This, though, had not been on his list of possibilities. He hadn¡¯t even had his coffee yet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± He finally managed to get out.

    ¡°Your understanding is not required.¡± Jean shifted, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, a facsimile of sympathy tinging her (Nate had decided to think of it as a her) words. ¡°You are right to question. Much in this place will be unfamiliar to you, and an inquisitive mind will aid in your assimilation. But the time for such things in not now. The ceremony will begin soon, and you must not be late. The arrow of time moves ever forward, Nathan Farlance, and your orientation should not be rushed. Please approach the Tablet of Awakening.¡±

    Question after question warred within Nate, each struggling to be the first to bubble to the surface. He felt hot, despite the cold, and a tightness in his stomach threatened at any moment to erupt into full-blown nausea. It couldn¡¯t be real. None of this could be real.

    With a colossal effort, Nate closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath, just as he had been taught so very long ago. He pictured a calm, still pool, its water like glass reflecting the sky above. He imagined he was that pool. He sunk into it, letting the storm of emotions slip beneath the surface. The panic was still there, but surrounded by that pool of tranquility in his mind, they were concealed.

    Never let them see you sweat, a voice from the past muttered in a rough, raspy voice.

    Settled, Nate opened his eyes. Then, he stepped forward to the table. Deal with what¡¯s in front of you first. The rest could wait. Fortunately, the thing that needed to be dealt with first was painfully obvious. After all, Nate was still naked.

    He stood before the table, round like the room, unmoving. It wasn¡¯t obvious what he was supposed to do. Its surface was like glass, hard and smooth, as placid as the pool in his mind. He was about to turn back to Jean to ask what he was supposed to do. But, before he could, another of those strange prompts sprung to life before his eyes.

    Welcome, Traveler. It is time to complete your character creation. Your race and base statistics have already been set by system default. Your first choice in this world will be to select your character class. Choose wisely. This single decision will become the root from which all others spring. Touch the Tablet of Awakening to see your options.

    With another steadying breath, Nate reached out and tapped the surface of the table. Instantly it came to life, images and texts filtering across the surface. He scanned over the information, his eyebrows rising higher and higher.

    ¡°Am I going to a renaissance festival?¡±

 Chapter 2: Starter Character

    Nate considered the table top in front of him, which operated like a giant digital display, though with a smoothness of detail and vividness of color that he had rarely seen back home.  There were six tiles, each with a title and an image.  Nate took note of the text, thinking it odd, but convenient, that the characters were written in familiar English.  But most of his attention was taken by the images.  Each was of a figure, a young man with a firm jaw and wide, guileless eyes.  Each was dressed differently.  Yet the face on each was the same.  It was a familiar face.  After all, it was the one he saw in the mirror every morning.

    In the first image, he was dressed in dark, hardened leather, with thicker pieces on the chest and shoulders.  The right arm was raised in front, with a small shield if gray steel strapped to it.  The left hand, held lower, gripped a simple long-sword.  As Nate watched, the figure shifted slightly, the fingers on the sword hilt gripping more tightly and the body taking a slightly fiercer stance.

    Above the image was a single word.  ¡°Warrior.¡±  As Nate focused on it, the image expanded, dominating the tabletop.  The image of himself seemed to notice his regard, and the two made eye-contact.  The image gave a winning, open smile.  Nate smiled back, though his own smile was awkward and uncomfortable.  Below the image, more text appeared.

    The Warrior is the master of melee, never shying from a chance to prove his metal in combat.  Through the strength of his arms, the Warrior seeks to vanquish his foes and prove his martial prowess.  Of all the basic classes, the Warrior possesses the greatest number of weapon and armor proficiencies, though a lifetime of training in the arts of war have left little time to develop other skills.

    <u>Stats per level</u>

    Strength: +2

    Constitution: +2

    Dexterity: +1

    Free Points per Level: +2

    Nate read the prompt before looking back at the image, incredulous.  The image smiled wider and waved his sword in encouragement.  Nate looked over to Jean.

    ¡°This looks exactly like some kind of fantasy rpg,¡± he said in confusion.  Jean cocked her head again, in a motion that Nate was beginning to think of as thoughtful.

    ¡°That is not surprising.¡± Jean said.  Nate paused, waiting for the odd robot to continue, but it remained silent, offering no further explanation.

    ¡°Uh¡­why?¡± He finally asked.

    ¡°Farandway is governed by strict conditions established in its creation.  It is not surprising that the simulated environments created on your home world share similar conditions, as they are alike in their intent.¡±  Jean stopped again.  It wasn¡¯t much of an answer, but Nate didn¡¯t push.  He was distinctly aware of Jean¡¯s warning that time was limited, and while the consequences of dallying weren¡¯t clear, he had no desire to find out.  He pushed his questions away for the moment to focus on the task at hand.

    The second tile again bore his familiar face, but with subtle differences.  The lines of the jaw were leaner, the eyes sharper.  This figure wore a dark green, hooded cloak, with leather bracers on each arm and boots laced up almost to the knees.  In its hands were a long bow.  Unsurprisingly, the caption above the image reach, ¡°Archer.¡±  At his attention, this figure grew as the Warrior shrank.  Again, the figure moved with subtle signs of life, a shifting on the feet and slight raising of the bow.  This Nate didn¡¯t smile.  Instead, it inclined its head slightly, the face grave.

    The Archer specializes in all forms of ranged combat, striking from afar.  At a disadvantage in close-quarters combat, getting close enough to this crafty fighter is harder than it may appear.  The Archer is a master of stealth, often striking down foes before they even realize the danger.  Of all the basic classes, the Archer is best suited to moving through terrain at speed and striking from distance, though a lifetime of developing these crafts leave the Archer at a disadvantage in melee battle.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    <u>Stats per level</u>

    Constitution: +1

    Dexterity: +2

    Willpower: +1

    Free Points: +2

    The descriptions were straight forward enough, though Nate wished there was more detail.  What exactly did the Warrior description mean when it said that the class had fewer other skills?  And, while Archer seemed straight forward, Nate noticed that the description did not actually focus on the use of a bow, but instead mentioned the class being a master of ¡°all forms of ranged combat.¡±  Was that significant?  He also noticed that the Archer came with one less stat bonus point than the Warrior per level.  So, apparently leveling was a thing.  If levels were easy to acquire and went up quickly, that single point could be significant in the long run.

    Nate turned his attention to the third tile, which grew like the first two, though it seemed to expand more quickly than either of the previous.  This was, again, Nate dressed in leather, though with of a lighter and more flexible design.  The figure wore a short hip on one hip, a dagger on the other, but the hands were empty, hanging in a relaxed pose at either side.  This Nate was also smiling, but it was a sly thing, knowing and mischievous.  Above the figure, the script read, ¡°Rogue.¡±

    The Rogue does not specialize in any area of combat, instead striving to master a wide array of skills.  As such, Rogues have the widest array of possible paths, either narrowing their focus towards particular applications or becoming generalists, with abilities useful in almost any situation.  Rogues can achieve proficiency in a variety of weapons, though they are always more comfortable striking from the shadows than engaging in direct conflict.  They act as scouts, spies, bards, mercenaries, and assassins.

    <u>Stats per level</u>

    Dexterity: +3

    Charisma: +1

    Free Points: +2

    Nate looked back to the figure, taking in the lack of heavy weapons and armor.  All the descriptions so far had put a heavy emphasis on combat, leaving him with the uncomfortable impression that there was a lot of pain in his immediate future.  This class seemed poorly adapted for such a future.

    The figure was still grinning at him, that knowing smile.  As Nate considered the description, it raised an empty hand.  Then, with a flourish and a twist, the hand was no longer empty.  It held the dagger that had only a moment before been secured at the figure¡¯s belt.  The figure¡¯s grin widened.  Then it gave a wink.

    Nate shook his head, not sure what to think, before moving on again.  There were three more tiles.  In order, they were labeled Priest, Mage, and Naturalist.  Yet none contained an image, and they were grayed out.  He focused on the first, Priest.  Nothing happened.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with these ones?¡± Nate asked.  Jean answered immediately.

    ¡°As in life, your choices are yours to make, but they are not without limitations.  You have been analyzed, and the class options have been narrowed to fit your skills, potential, life experience, and temperament.  Those that would not fit have been closed to you.¡±

    Nate looked again at his six choices, now cut to three, and sighed.  The Priest was no great loss.  Faith had never held any appeal for him, and his experiences with organized religion had left a bad taste in his mouth.  He had no idea was a Naturalist was, so he couldn¡¯t tell what he was missing out on there.  But Mage?  The implications were intriguing.

    As for the choices that were available, he looked through them again with a lack of enthusiasm.  He sighed.

    ¡°You are dissatisfied?¡± Jean asked.

    ¡°These all seem pretty basic.¡± He murmured, somewhat apologetically.  He didn¡¯t want to come across as too critical of this strange entity.  Jean had been pleasant enough so far.  But she had stolen him off his planet in his sleep and teleported him across the Universe on a whim to participate in some kind of tabletop role-player¡¯s wet dream.  It didn¡¯t¡¯ seem smart to antagonize her.

    ¡°Initial choices are intentionally generic.¡± Jean said, with out any sign of having taken offense.  ¡°These are templates that will serve you for the first phase of the contest.  When orientation is completed you will have the chance to choose again, becoming more specialized.  You will not, however, be able to move to a new class template.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s something, I guess.¡± Nate said, somewhat mollified.  He looked over his choices again.  But it wasn¡¯t really a choice.

    Stick with what you know, that same gruff voice from the past.  The memories were tender, a wound he flinched away from examining closely.  But, when doubt stole in, it was always the voice her heard, guiding him.

    Nate let his concentration focus on one of the images.  The table responded, somehow reading his intentions.

    <b>You have selected the Rogue. Would you like to finalize this choice?</b>

    <b>Yes/No</b>

    He looked again at the figure.  It gave him another wink.

    He selected ¡°Yes.¡±

 Chapter 3: Particular Skills

    Congratulations, Traveler!  You have made your first choice as a citizen of Farandway.  You are now a Rogue.  You may now choose your starter skills.  At the end of this process, your character sheet and starting equipment will be generated.  You will also have your Affiliated World Attribute assigned.  Good luck!

    Nate read through the prompt, confused by one part.  Well, he was confused by everything that was happening.  But one part more than the rest.

    ¡°What is an Affiliated World?¡± he asked his robot caretaker, who continued to wait silent and eerily motionless.  Jean¡¯s head ticked.  It took longer than it had for any of his previous questions.

    ¡°The Affiliated World Attribute is automatically designated as the end of character creation.  For now, you should focus on your skill choices.  Do not take too long with your considerations.  The ceremony begins soon.  Many of your cohort have already completed their character creation.  You do not want to be late.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Nate grumbled at the reminder that he needed to hurry.  Some of the initial shock at his current situation was wearing off.  Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it had settled so deeply that it was having a numbing effect.  Either way, he was feeling a little less overwhelmed, and he found himself slipping back into a more familiar mind frame.  The cold was becoming more annoying, though.  He was still naked.  Maybe it was a good idea to get through this quickly.  That starter gear was sounding more appealing by the second.

    ¡°Computer, show me skills!¡± He declared in an overly dramatic voice.  Nothing happened.  Nate sighed and focused on the table¡¯s top.  It shifted in response.

    ¡°The Tablet does not respond to verbal commands, only to¡­¡±Jean paused, her head twitching only a bit this time.  ¡°Ahh, I see.  This is an attempt at humor.¡±

    Nate ignored her, though her cool voice rankled a bit.  It hadn¡¯t been the best joke, but he wasn¡¯t working under ideal conditions here.  He took in the prompt.

    The Rogue¡¯s relative weakness in combat is compensated by their strength in skill acquisition.  You have 9 skill points to spend, the most of any class.  Once acquired, skills grow in efficacy through extensive use and pushing them to their limits.  You will receive additional skill points as you progress in power, allowing you to gain new skills later.

    As soon as he had finished reading, the prompt vanished and the table came to life and a list of skills appeared.  Nate scanned the list.  Then he kept scanning as the image on the table scrolled.  And scrolled.  His eyebrows rose in alarm.  There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of skills listed.

    Like on the class list, many of the skills were grayed out.  He glanced at some of those.  Heavy armor proficiency. Improved aim-bow.  Basic scroll creation.  Basic runic inscription.  One in particular made him squint in confusion.  Simple machine proficiency.  That seemed like an oddball, but it was grayed out.  These all appeared to be designed for classes he had not chosen.

    Others were clearly intended for the Rogue archetype.  He saw improved concealment, lock-picking, and backstab, all staples he remembered from the early days of a misspent youth, when videogames and tabletop rpg¡¯s were an occasional indulgence.  He had never delved too deeply into those worlds, and that carefree youth had come to an abrupt end when his life spun in unconventional directions.  But they were familiar enough that he could guess their function.  He hovered over one with his mind, and was unsurprised when it expanded to provide additional information.

    Backstab

    A surprise attack to an opponents back that deals additional damage.  For this to be effective, the opponent must be under the condition ¡°surprised¡± and must possess an identifiable back.

    Cost- 3 skill points

    Nate relaxed his focus and continued scanning the seemingly endless list.  As he did, he found another section filled with odd skills.  He hovered over one of these.

    Improved Running

    Improves speed, balance, and stamina while running.

    Cost- 1 skill point

    ¡°What¡¯s the point of this one?  I already know how to run.¡± Nate said, glancing back at Jean again.

    ¡°You retain all proficiencies gained through practice and education in your life up to this point.  Skills, however, have a special significance in Farandway.  Possessing a skill allows you to extend an ability into a range that would not have been previously possible within the limitations of your biology or the physical laws governing nominal space-time.  In essence, taking a skill will allow you to become better in an ability than you would have ever been able to back on your home world.¡±

    Nate considered that for a moment, then glanced through the list again.  A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Nate still didn¡¯t know where he was or what was happening.  Maybe he was dead, and this was some form of afterlife.  Maybe he had slipped into a coma and was experiencing a hyper-realistic dream.  Maybe the simulation of reality that some of the futurists ranted about was real, and it had finally broken down.  There was no way to tell.  Not at the moment, at least.

    What he could tell was that he was entering a game environment with some familiar elements to it.  Nate was good at games.  He always had been.  But he was good in the way that made others refuse to play with him.  He¡¯d always been big on rules, but not because he liked to follow them.  He liked to exploit them, identify the winning conditions of a scenario and then find the shortest path to achieving them.  That kind of behavior usually led to a litany of accusations that he had cheated, or that he had not ¡®played fair.¡¯  Fair was a concept for chumps and marks, though.  The point of the game wasn¡¯t just to have fun.  It was to win.  Nate liked to win.

    Nate had never been the fastest or the strongest.  He wasn¡¯t even the smartest.  The source of all his greatest successes came from leaning into the things he was good at and finding ways to make that work for him.  It was why he hadn¡¯t taken one of the other two offered classes.  He knew how to throw a punch if there was no way around it.  But, at his core, he wasn¡¯t a fighter.  As his father had once quoted at him from somewhere, violence was the last refuge of the incompetent.  Nate agreed, though he didn¡¯t think he had taken it to heart in quite the way the old man intended.

    With that in mind, Nate stopped scanning and started searching.  He was looking for specific options now, taking things he was already good at and knew he could rely on, then giving them the extra boost Jean promised these skills had to offer.  He made his choices quickly and confidently, taking little time to consider pros and cons.  He was a man that could look at a restaurant menu and make a decision immediately, and had nothing but contempt for those who hemmed and hawed for twenty minutes before picking the sandwich they knew they wanted at the beginning.

    The process was quick, though he did hesitate a moment before making his final two choices.  They were slightly costlier, but given the martial leanings of all the descriptions, he figured they were necessary.  Choices done, he considered his final list.

    <u>Skill List</u>

    Improved Running: Cost- 1 skill point: Level- Basic

    Sleight of Hand: Cost- 1 skill point: Level- Basic

    Improved Aim-Thrown Objects: Cost- 1 skill point: Level- Basic

    Enhanced Concealment: Cost- 2 skill point: Level- Basic

    Dagger Proficiency: Cost- 2 skill points; Level- Basic

    Light Armor Proficiency: Cost- 2 skill points; Level- Basic

    Nate had only a moment of contentment as he congratulated himself on his choices before the screen changed again.

    Congratulations!  Your skills have been selected.  Your starting gear is being selected.  Your starting gear has been chosen.  Your starting gear will include the following:

    Cloth Clothing  Quality: Common

    Leather Vest  Quality: Common

    Leather Boots   Quality: Common

    Wool Cloak   Quality: Common

    Basic Dagger   Quality: Common

    Coin Pouch   Contents: 5 silver, 30 copper

    There was a ¡°Pop!¡± in the room like a sudden change in air-pressure.  The, between blinks, there was a large, simple wooden chest on the table in front of him.  Nate flinched at the sudden appearance, but the robot to his side did not react at all.  Cautiously, Nate reached out for the chest.  At his touch, the lid popped open.  Disembodied, triumphant music seemed to swell around him for a moment, then faded away so quickly Nate wasn¡¯t sure he had really heard it at all.

    Inside, Nate found all the items that had been listed on the prompt.  He didn¡¯t hesitate, but instead immediately began dressing.  He was tired of being naked.

    In short order, Nate found himself fully dressed and feeling¡­well, he felt ridiculous, frankly.  The clothes were a dark brown, a near match for the creaky leather vest wrapped around his chest, and the boots, while lacing up much higher than anything he had worn before, were surprisingly comfortable.  The dagger, plain though sharp blade with a simple handle and unadorned sheath, sat awkwardly on the belt at his hip, poking him in the ribs as he turned to test his range of motion.  The vest was going to be a problem, stiff and uncomfortable.  He had removed a few of the coins from the cloth purse he had found at the bottom of the chest, considering them.  The silver coins were slightly smaller than the copper ones, but their markings were identical, a stamped image of a castle with tall, thin spires on one side, and a stern looking man in profile on the other.  The purse had long cords sinching it closed, and Nate assumed they were meant to be tied to his belt.  Instead, he tucked it into the top of his vest, where it poked unpleasantly at his chest.  He would have to find a better solution quickly.

    There was no mirror handy, a fact Nate was slightly grateful for.  He wanted to think he looked like a character straight out of Lord of the Rings, but had a feeling he looked more like a low-rent cosplayer at a local convention.  On the bright side, at least his sensitive bits were now covered.

    He turned back to the table, then blinked in surprise to see that the chest had vanished.  He had no time to consider that, though, as another prompt was already on the table, blinking ominously.

    Congratulations!  Your choices are now complete.  Your skills and stats will now be locked in as your are imprinted.  When this step is done, your Affiliated World Attribute will be assigned.  Brace yourself.

    ¡°Brace myself?¡± Nate asked, with a sudden sense of foreboding.

    The music he had heard on opening the chest swelled again, louder and more intense this time.  In the same instant, heat seemed to spread through his body, starting in his gut and quickly diffusing out to his limbs.  His skin tingled.  His muscles clenched.  His head buzzed.

    Then, the heat inside him exploded, like fire running through his veins.  He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out as his throat clenched tight, stifling his breath.

    The music burst to a crescendo, and the lights around the room flared.

    It ended in an instant.  The music vanished, the lights dimmed, and Nate dropped without ceremony to the floor, his muscles twitching as sweat sprang from every pore.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?!¡± he groaned.

 Chapter 4: Critical Error

    Nerves still tingling, Nate prepared to force himself to his feet.  He expected everything to hurt.  Instead, he found that he felt¡­good.  Incredibly good.  His body felt light and lithe, his muscles smoothly responsive.  Even his head felt clearer, some of the haze of shock that had been clouding his thoughts burned away.  It was odd.

    ¡°Jean, what just happened?¡± he asked.  Before his guide could respond, another prompt popped up, not on the table like his character choices, but swimming before his vision again.

    Rogue                                      Level 1                                                 HP: 15/15   MP: 3/3

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 5

    Constitution: 5                                                 Free Points: 2

    Dexterity: 10

    Willpower: 5

    Intelligence: 6

    Charisma: 7

    ¡°You have passed through the Awakening process, and your initial stats have been assigned.  The realignment requires some modifications to your mind and body that can be quite jarring.  You will experience similar conditions at each level up, though they will not typically be so intense.¡±  Jean answered, unphased by his momentary collapse.

    Nate was half listening as he stood and stretched.  He had no basis for what a ¡°good¡± stat might be, but suspected that 5 represented something like average back home.  His eyebrows rose a bit at his dexterity, significantly higher than any of the others, until he remembered the +3 he was supposed to get as a Rogue.  That meant his base stat for Dexterity had been a 7, which was¡­well, not very surprising.  He had always been quick and good with his hands.  He was considering what tests he could do to figure out what this increase translated to in ability when Jean spoke again.

    ¡°Time is running out, and you have nearly completed the process.  Please approach the¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, I know, the freaking Tablet thing needs me.¡± He muttered, annoyed at being rushed.  He stepped to the table once more, touching the surface.  It shifted again.

    It is now time for you to gain your Attribute.  Each of the Affiliated Worlds has pre-selected an Attribute to assign to its members.  These can take many forms, ranging from additional skills and stat bumps to unique powers and passive abilities.  Attributes are intended to balance the discrepancies in resources and opportunities between worlds, with weaker Affiliates receiving more impressive Attributes.  Your chosen Attribute is as follows:

    Nathan Farlance

    Affiliated World:  Unaffiliated

    Attribute: Unassigned

    Nate read through the prompt twice, waiting for something to happen.  The moment stretched.  He touched the table top again, trying to jar it to life.  Nothing.

    ¡°Ah, Jean?¡±

    There was a flash, and the text box changed.  The font was different, and the box was now red.  Red was never good.

    Critical Error.  Participants world Unaffiliated. Unintegrated. Unaligned. Critical Error. Character creation aborting. Emergency protocols active. Purging participant from system.

    The words hit Nate like a fist.  Something was wrong.  He was about to cry out to Jean, but before he could open his mouth, the box disappeared.  The tabletop flickered.  Then a new prompt appeared.

    System update.  Critical Error resolved. Special Designation.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The prompt was there and gone in an instant, Nate barely able to absorb the text before it vanished.  Then the familiar blue box returned.

    It is now time for you to gain your Attribute.  Each of the Affiliated Worlds has pre-selected an Attribute to assign to its members.  These can take many forms, ranging from additional skills and stat bumps to unique powers and passive abilities.  Attributes are intended to balance the discrepancies in resources and opportunities between worlds, with weaker Affiliates receiving more impressive Attributes.  Your chosen Attribute is as follows:

    Nathan Farlance

    Affiliated World:  Iconoclast

    Attribute: System Blessed

    Again, there was a flush through Nate¡¯s whole body, but rather than the burning heat, this time it was merely warm and comforting, like a thick blanket settling down around him.  Faintly, as if from far away, there was a hint of music.  Not the orchestral, celebratory pomp of his character assignment, but the mournful trill of a single horn.  It faded as though swept away by a gentle breeze.

    Then the prompt vanished.  The table was again blank.

    ¡°Jean, what the hell just happened?¡± Nate asked, still trying to process everything.

    ¡°You Attribute has been assigned, Nathan.  The Factions of the worlds choose these for their representatives, additional boons to increase their odds of success while in Farandway.  As your world has no Faction, the System has designated an Attribute for you.¡±  Her voice hadn¡¯t changed.  Not really.  Yet, it was different.  More intense.  It triggered something deep in Nate¡¯s gut, a feeling he had come to trust over the years.  There was danger here.

    ¡°And that error message?¡± He asked, cautiously.

    ¡°You will see them from time to time.¡± Jean responded smoothly.  ¡°It is not something to worry about.  However,¡± there was an ominous pause, ¡°Factions and Affiliations are a significant factor in the workings of Farandway.  The Games of Farandway are competitive in nature, and many will strive to acquire information about you that will provide them with an advantage.  Should other participants learn that you are Unaffiliated, they may response in unpredictable ways.  Remember this, Nathan.  Be careful who you trust, and cherish your secrets.¡±

    ¡°Uh, huh.¡±  Nate said, noncommittally.  The core of what she said wasn¡¯t a shock to him.  He didn¡¯t need a lecture to explain to him that people were bastards, and he well knew the value of keeping his cards close to his chest.  But there was a gravity to his warning that hinted at something more profound.  And he didn¡¯t like it.

    ¡°It will not be as challenging as you might think.  The Attributes of some of the larger factions are well known, but there are many from smaller factions or recently integrated worlds that do not yet have factions that are quite secretive.  An attribute, after all, can provide a powerful advantage.¡±

    ¡°And what exactly is my attribute.  What does ¡®System Blessed¡¯ mean?¡±

    Jean¡¯s head did that annoying twitch again.  There was a long pause.

    ¡°Chance and randomness, like so many things, are governed by a different set of rules in Farandway.  In many cases, such as the flip of a coin, those differences are inconsequential and undetectable.  In others, however, the outcomes are determined directly by the System itself.  In such cases, your attribute will allow for more favorable outcomes than would otherwise be probable.  A proverbial finger on the scales of fate.¡±  Jean¡¯s head twitched again.  She was hard to read, having no face and all.  But, if Nate had to put a name to her expression, he would have called it considering.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in fate.¡± He said, echoing his thoughts from earlier.

    ¡°Your belief is not required.  However, if the concept makes you uncomfortable, you can instead choose to think of it as luck.  I believe you will find that you are quite lucky, Nathan.  And you will only become more so as you grow in power and your Attribute becomes more active.¡±

    Nate only nodded, his thoughts already cascading in other directions.  Disturbing directions.

    ¡°Jean, what is this System you mentioned?¡±

    Surprisingly, this question did not provoke her thoughtful tick.  She answered immediately.

    ¡°The System is a series of rules governing the unique environment of Farandway.¡±

    ¡°Like a computer?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not accurate, but as close an approximation as you are currently equipped to conceptualize.¡±

    ¡°And, does that mean that this whole thing isn¡¯t real?  That it¡¯s some kind of virtual world?¡±  His recent joking thoughts about a broken simulation suddenly rang uncomfortably loud.

    At this, Jean did pause a moment.  Then she answered.

    ¡°Your question is simple, but the answer is complex.  In many ways, Farandway is artificial.  In others, it is as real as any world in the cosmos.  In at least one way, it is the very realist.  I would advise you not to probe this line of questioning.  Not yet.  That time may come.  But you must grow first.¡±

    Nate nodded, though he didn¡¯t really understand.  The clarity he had felt after receiving his character sheet had evaporated, leaving his mind hazy and confused again.  He tried to push his questions back to that quiet corner of his mind, tried to picture that deep pool inside him.  But it wouldn¡¯t come.  Instead, he asked another question.

    ¡°Jean¡­are you the System?¡±

    ¡°If the System is a jewel, I am but one of its facets.¡±  She inclined her head, and somehow, impossibly, Nate had the impression she was smiling.

    ¡°Yeah.  Okay.  So, what¡¯s next?¡± he finally asked.

    ¡°Now you have a ceremony to attend.  Many of your questions will be answered there.  It starts shortly.  Follow me, Nathan Farlance.¡±

    Jean turned and strode to the far wall in an impossibly smooth gate.  She touched the wall.  Instantly, a glowing portal, a twin to the one that had brought him here from that place of darkness, appeared, its surface opaque.  Nate followed.

    He paused at the doorway and turned to Jean.

    ¡°Will I see you again?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yes.  If you survive.¡± She offered no further explanation, but motioned for him to continue.  Through the doorway.  Nate gulped.  Then he straightened, his bearing resolute.

    ¡°Surviving is what I do, Jean.  I¡¯ll be seeing you.¡±

    ¡°Best of luck.¡± Jean said.  Nate couldn¡¯t be sure, but it felt like she put some extra emphasis on the word ¡®luck.¡¯

    With a deep breath, Nate stepped forward.

    There was a flash.  A blink.  Then another prompt.

    By what name will you be known in Farandway?

    Current Designation: Nathan Farlance

    Keep/Change

    Nate considered for a long moment.  Then he smiled.  Mentally, he made his choice.

 Chapter 5: Nothing Stupid

    Waking to darkness, stumbling into the stone room with its odd lights and odder table, prompted continuously to hurry by the featureless Jean, Nate had just surrendered to the surreal. It had all been so strange, so utterly unexpected, that at some level his mind had treated it like a joke, an illusion. A trippy dream.

    After stumbling through the glowing doorway, that surreal quality of a world gone mad both faded and became more intense. Nate found himself in a massive, vaulted room. He was in the center of a short stone platform, its edges decorated with unfamiliar symbols that burned with a faint, bluish glow. The ceiling above was lined with stone buttresses, and sunlight flooded the room through a multitude of tall, narrow windows, a dazzling array of colors created by impressive panels of stained glass. He was immediately reminded of Notre Dame, a structure that had taken his breath away when he had seen it in Paris the year before. But where Notre Dame seemed permeated with the somber weight of history and tradition, this space felt somehow fresh and invigorating. Every color seemed to be sharper than he was used to, the light dancing through the glass banishing all but the most stubborn shadows.

    Like Notre Dame, the room was filled with a crush of people. To either side, Nate saw more glowing platforms, identical to his own, and these were the only spaces not crowded by bodies. In fact, it seemed his was the only one occupied. Even as he thought this, though, the circle immediately to his left flared with light, the glow of the odd symbols growing in an intensity that culminated in a blinding flash. As the light cleared, Nate saw that the platform was no longer empty. It now held a¡­

    ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± Nate muttered to himself.

    ¡°Never seen a gnome before?¡± A gruff voice came from behind him.

    Nate gave an undignified shriek and whipped around to spot the source of the voice. What he saw made him want to shriek again, though he stopped himself with a forceful snap of his hanging jaw, making his teeth click.

    The creature that had been lurking behind was around five feet tall, and clad in a long, loose green robe. The hood was up, but that did nothing to conceal the face, which jutted out from the loose garment in a scaled snout. Black, beady eyes considered him, then the snout opened and there was a terrifying crackling sound. It took a moment for Nate to realize the creature was laughing.

    ¡°The little folks are pretty rare, I suppose. You must be from a newly integrated world to have never seen one before, though.¡±

    Nate stared blankly for a moment before he remembered what the creature was talking about. With an effort, he tore his eyes from the lizard man and looked back at the gnome.

    It was tiny, around the size of a seven or eight year old child. Though it was impossible to mistake it for a kid. The skin was greenish and wrinkled, with a wide head and slightly wilted, pointy ears. It wore loose pants, a white shirt, and carried nothing that looked like a weapon. It was rooting through some kind of shoulder pack, nodding and muttering to itself as it catalogued its contents. Then, as if sensing Nate¡¯s eyes on it, the gnome¡¯s head snapped up to look directly at him. As it did, a small lens affixed to the side of its head rotated down to cover one eye.

    The gnome squinted and scowled at Nate, baring wide, flat teeth.

    ¡°They don¡¯t like being stared at.¡± Came the gravely, snarling voice from behind him. Nate whipped around again to consider the lizard creature next to him. It leaned in, its voice softening.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name, lad?¡± the lizard-man rumbled.

    ¡°Ahh¡­¡±Nate struggled to force moisture into his suddenly dry mouth. Then he forced out, ¡°Nathan. Nathan Sutton.¡± The new surname felt slightly odd in his mouth.

    ¡°Well, Nathan Sutton, you need to relax a little. It¡¯s a lot to take in at first, but by the time the city opens in a few days you¡¯ll have adjusted just fine. Just try not to do anything stupid right away.¡± The creature bared long, wicked fangs at him, and Nate almost recoiled before realizing that this was meant to be a comforting smile.

    ¡°Right. Of course. Nothing stupid.¡± He said, trying to sound earnest. It seemed to satisfy the creature. Its lips pulled back even farther, revealing even more pointed teeth.

    ¡°You had best hurry along. You must be one of the last to arrive. The commencement will be starting in the Great Hall soon.¡± The creature gave an encouraging wave. Nate just nodded and took a breath. He glanced again to his neighboring platform, but the little gnome was gone. Squaring his shoulders, Nate stepped off the platform and into the smothering crowd.

    Nate had never considered himself a people person. Yet, he had always loved crowds. He had long ago mastered the art of losing himself in an anonymous crush of bodies, dodging artfully through the crush while never moving with too much speed or purpose. In a sea of humanity, where most were simply waves, Nate was the fish that cut through the water.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    But this crowd was like nothing he had ever seen before. Mainly because this sea of humanity wasn¡¯t entirely human.

    Oddly enough, there were humans. More than half the figures he saw were recognizably human, a nearly even mix of men and women. Many had their hair in unfamiliar styles, and one woman he saw had her face almost entirely covered in dark tattoos. But they were human. Most wore simple armor or carried longbows, making it clear which of the class choices were most favored. He caught glimpses of others wearing robes with various designs, but they always disappeared into the crowd before he had time for more than a glance.

    Mixed in, though, were other, decidedly less human beings. He didn¡¯t see the little gnome again. Instead, he saw an impressively diverse array of creatures. Some were nearly human. The tall, lithe men and women with narrow faces and pointed ears were easily categorized.

    Elves, he thought.

    There were also a large number of hulking, grey-skinned monstrosities with deep-set eyes and tusks that gutted from wide jaws.

    Orcs, maybe? Did that really make sense? From what Jean said, he had found himself in the middle of some kind of cosmic, Universe-bridging event. Was it actually plausible that he was seeing aliens for the first time and, rather than the little green men from movies, it was the cast from some World of Warcraft fanfiction?

    The crowd shuffled forward, passing through an wide entryway into some room beyond that Nate couldn¡¯t see yet. As he approached, he dodged out of the crowd into a small alcove partially shielded from the crowd by a large stone, gaining a moment to stop and breath. He paused, closing his eyes. He tried to settle his breathing. Find his center. Find his pool of calm and sink into it.

    There was a thud, and then, with a heavy thump, Nate was slammed backward into the large stone.

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going!¡± A deep voice rumbled at him.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who slammed into¡­¡± Nate started, rubbing at the spot on his chest where a shoulder had struck him and opening his eyes angrily. The words died in his throat.

    Before him was the biggest of the grey-skinned brutes that he had seen yet. It towered above him, muscles bulging beneath metal studded leather shoulder pads. Narrow, deep-set eyes looked down at him with a cruel gleam over a face that looked like it had been caved in with the flat side of a shovel. The beast had a massive, double-bladed axe set through a loop in its belt. One of its meaty hands flexed over the axe menacingly.

    ¡°What did you say to me, little Rogue?¡± The monster asked, in a voice like a rockslide.

    Nate opened his mouth, though he wasn¡¯t sure what was going to come out, when he noticed a faint blinking light on the edge of his vision. Reflexively, he focused on it. A box appeared, hovering over the head of the brutish figure before him.

    Grundar Shieldbreaker Class: Warrior, Level 1 Race: Orc

    Nate gaped in surprise as the information hovered in view.

    ¡°You are an orc,¡± he said dumbly, surprised despite his earlier guess.

    ¡°And you are a worm!¡± The orc snarled. ¡°Why do you stare at me like a fish waiting for the mallet?¡±

    Nate had no idea why a fish would wait for a mallet. But he knew the feeling of being on a knife¡¯s edge. He decided quickly that some groveling was in order.

    ¡°Forgive me, mighty Grundar,¡± he begged plaintively, letting his eyes go wide and innocent. ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯ve never seen such a spectacular specimen as you before. I apologize if it caused me to stare.¡±

    The orc harumphed, but his chest swelled slightly at the compliment, and he looked at least somewhat mollified.

    ¡°You should be more careful around your betters, Nathan Sutton,¡± Grundar sneered, still unpleasant even if he seemed less angry. Nate was caught off guard by the use of his name, though he realized immediately that, to the orc, it was probably hovering in the air just above him. The orc also said it strangely, putting the emphasis on the wrong syllables.

    ¡°Oh, I will, I will. I promise,¡± Nate said, attempting to make a graceful bow. He stepped awkwardly, causing him to stumble and bump into the orc again.

    A powerful hand shot out, grasping him by the leather of his vest and lifting him to the tips of his toes.

    ¡°You must be the stupidest, clumsiest Rogue to ever live.¡± Grundar shoved hard, and Nate lurched backward into the stone again, wincing at the impact.

    ¡°Ha. That¡¯s very possible, mighty Grundar.¡± Nate said, giving a sheepish grin.

    The big orc gave a final grunt, then turned and strode away with the now dwindling crowd. Nate was apparently not worth any more of his time.

    Nate took in a deep sigh of relief, then paused a moment to study the stone he had now crashed into twice. Upon closer inspection, he could see that it wasn¡¯t a stone at all, but rather a statue. The clean lines that might once have adorned it had faded with age in a way that nothing else in the cathedral seemed to, making the details hard to discern. But it appeared to have the vague outline of a person, head bowed, hands hidden at its sides, the whole body draped in indistinct clothing.

    Nate studied the statue for a moment longer. There was something faintly menacing about it, though he couldn¡¯t put his finger on what it was. Then, with a shrug, he gave the statue a little wave before melting back into the stragglers of the crowd, soon to be among the last to pass through the massive entryway.

    He kept an eye out for Grundar as he walked. But the orc had vanished. Nate sincerely hoped they would not cross paths again.

    Jean had warned him to be cautious. The odd lizard-man had told him not to do anything stupid. He considered both as he hefted the weight of the purse in his hand, newly acquired from where it had rested on Grundar¡¯s belt.

    Eh, Nate thought as he tucked the purse into his vest beside his own, it¡¯s only stupid if you get caught.

    With that, he joined the others in the Great Hall.

 Chapter 6: Let the Games Begin

    The Great Hall was immense.  Nate had expected it to be impressive.  But he hadn¡¯t been prepared for the raw scale of the place.

    Like the room he had entered through, the ceiling towered high above, graceful buttresses of stone and wood reaching holding back the sky.  He could make out the swooping forms of what he assumed to be birds in those rafters, though the distance was so impressive that it was impossible to see them in detail.

    Past the entryway, the room sprawled out to either side for an impossible distance, and the large crowd, hundreds at least, filled only a small portion of the available space.  The white stone of the floor, inlaid with intricate geometric patterns, reflected light that poured in from the far wall, where a series of large archways looked out on the open air, unobstructed by glass.  Cool air and brilliant sunlight washed across the assembly.  Through the openings, Nate could see a city.  The sight sent a flutter through his chest.

    The Grand Cathedral must have been situated on a hill, for from his vantage in the Great Hall Nate was looking down over a vast complex of buildings.  Few of the buildings were taller than two or three stories, but they were neatly arranged in a spiraling pattern that stretched out from a central point.  At that center stood a slender obelisk, a pillar of white stone that stretched towards the heavens.  It towered over the city, yet strangely seemed to cast no shadows, letting the dazzling sunlight reflect off the surrounding buildings, the same white stone as the obelisk, making the whole scene glitter as though jeweled.  The sky was the picturesque, deep blue of an oil painting, marred only by the occasional fluff of cloud that shone with the same dazzling white as the city below.  In the distance, Nate could see mountains framing the scene in every direction, giving the impression that the city itself lay in a sheltered bowl, protected from whatever mysteries might lie in wait in the wider world.

    It was a beautiful view, a city unlike anything Nate had laid eyes on before.  Granted, he had only been in the world for 23 years.  But he had traveled more than most.  It wasn¡¯t the biggest city he had seen, nor, perhaps, even the most impressive.  But there was a vibrancy there, a glamour cast by the play of light on the pure white of the stone and the vivid blue sky clinging to the mountains that left him in a state of wonder.

    Still gaping, Nate did his best to shake away his awe and focus.  It was still a city.  That meant, like any city, it would have its back alleys, its dark corners, and its shady inhabitants.  He could not let himself be lulled into a false sense of security.  There were people here.  Some of them might not be people, in the technical sense, but his brief encounter with Grundar left him inclined to believe that, human, orc, or anything in between, the diverse beings of this Universe were fundamentally the same.  Where there were people, there was danger.  And opportunity.

    The crowd was a murmuring, restless mass, and there was a tension to the air that made it clear that some had been waiting for a while.  Despite the available space to spread out, most people were pushed together near a raised dais that sat beneath one of the open archways, framed by the sky behind it.  The dais was currently empty.  Nate was grateful he was in the back.  He used the space to experiment a bit.  He had been surprised when the text has appeared above Grundar¡¯s head, identifying the orc by name, race, and level.  Scanning over the crowd, he discovered that it wasn¡¯t an isolated incident.  If he focused on an individual for a few moments, a similar row of text would appear, floating in his vision above his target¡¯s head.  It was not instantaneous but required a few seconds of unbroken staring.  It might have come off as a bit creepy if it weren¡¯t for the fact that he could see many others clearly engaged in the same activity.  At least, that¡¯s what he hoped they were doing.

    As the last stragglers entered, the tension in the hall rose, impatience building.  Nate didn¡¯t know what they were waiting for, but the sense that something was about to happen was palpable.  Fortunately, he didn¡¯t have to wait long.

    The air was shattered by the ringing of horns as, with great pomp and ceremony, a man ascended to the dais.  And what a man he was.

    The man was tall and broad, with a flowing mane of dark, shoulder-length hair framing a chiseled face.  He was resplendent, in shining plate armor engraved with intricate floral patterns along the shoulders and breast plate.  A heavy looking broadsword hung at the man¡¯s waist, and despite the heavy metal encasing him the man moved with a fluid grace.

    Nate glanced down at his own armaments, his vest of plain leather and the dagger on his belt.  If he were forced into a fight with the man on the dais, he doubted he would last more than a few heartbeats before being slashed in half.  Nate¡¯s own blade was perhaps seven inches long.  He doubted it would even scratch that plate armor.

    As he studied his armor and weapon, his brow furrowed in confusion.  He shifted his weight around, testing.

    When he had first put on the vest and dagger, he had not been comfortable with them.  The vest was too stiff, hindering his movement, and the dagger had felt like it was in the way.  That discomfort was gone now.  The vest seemed molded to his body, moving easily with him.  Only the two coin purses pressed against his chest prevented him from completely forgetting he wore the armor.

    Before Nate had time to consider it further, his thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice.

    ¡°Greeting, Travelers, and welcome to Farandway!¡±  The man on the dais called out in a melodious baritone, sweeping his hair back with a flourish and smiling down at the crowd of onlookers.  He paused, as though waiting for applause, but only silence followed.  The man proceeded on.

    ¡°Today you stand in the Great Cathedral of the city of Dawn, also known as the First City.  Many of you come from established factions and may have been preparing for this moment all your life.  You may think you know what to expect.  Despite that, I warn you to pay close attention as I speak today.  Farandway is a realm governed by strict rules, and inattention or overconfidence may lead you to disaster.  Others are from the far reaches of the Affiliates, or perhaps even from newly Affiliated worlds.  I am Terral, Captain of the Dawn Guard.  It is my duty to ensure that you, Farandway¡¯s newest citizens, have a firm foundation for building your new life here.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    The man paused again, and the ground fell into quiet murmurs.  Despite the armor and title of Captain, this Terral did not have the bearing of any soldier that Nate had ever seen.  His voice was ringing and theatrical, as though the dais he stood upon was a stage and the armor a costume.  He gave the crowd a wide, artificial smile.

    ¡°As many of you already know, the population of Farandway is carefully maintained.  Whenever that population falls below a critical threshold, new recruits are summoned from all Affiliated worlds to replenish our numbers.  The five hundred assembled here are only the latest in a long, proud tradition.  The city of Dawn has been here since Farandway¡¯s first days to welcome these new recruits, a haven where you may train and build your skills before entering the wider world.¡±

    Nate focused intently as the man spoke.  As he did, the now familiar text appeared above his head.

    {Terral, Captain of the Dawn Guard        Class: Unknown                                   Race: Human}

    Nate noted the absence of information about the Captain¡¯s class and level.  He didn¡¯t know for sure why that was, but guessed it had something to do with the man being too many levels above him for Nate to identify him.

    After another dramatic pause, the man continued.

    ¡°This city and the surrounding valley are an established safe zone, protected from all beings, whether sapient or monster, above level 10.  That is not to say there is no danger here.  Within the valley reside many deadly beasts, forbidden ruins, and even the occasional dungeon.  There are also treasures to be found.¡±

    The man¡¯s smile widened still further as the crowd fell to murmuring again, this time excitedly.  Nate felt more dread than excitement.  Treasure was well and good.  He was a great fan of treasure, in fact.  But the mention of monsters had sent a chill down his spine.

    ¡°Be patient, be diligent, and grow your strength.  Find trustworthy companions.  When you feel yourself ready, you may venture into the world beyond this valley.  That is when the Games truly begin!¡±

    With a consummated wave, the man motioned to wide opening behind him and the distant mountains beyond the city.

    ¡°Farandway is a beacon at the very heart of the Affiliated Worlds.  The power the realm generates makes life as we know it possible.  Yet that power needs tending.  Left unchecked, crystals of wild, raw energy form and grow.  If these crystals are not dealt with, they become a cancer, stealing the very lifeblood of Farandway and threatening to destabilize the very order of the cosmos.¡±

    The excited murmuring shifted as some in the crowd began turning to their neighbors with dark, knowing looks.  Nate had no idea what any of this meant, but it was obviously well understood by most of his fellow Travelers.

    ¡°Fortunately for us all, the ancient seers who created this place, in all their wisdom, devised a solution.  Volunteers from across the Affiliated Worlds are brought into Farandway¡¯s unique System, tasked with finding these crystals, the Jewels of Farandway, before they begin to fester.  As the newest Travelers, all of you are now a part of that glorious tradition, making sure your loved ones back home can continue to life safe, happy lives.¡±

    Nate¡¯s eyebrows rose at this pronouncement.  Volunteers?  He didn¡¯t remember volunteering for anything.  The man continued.

    ¡°Many opportunities for gain and glory exist across the expanse of Farandway.  But the retrieval of the jewels forms the heart of the Games of Farandway.  Any who succeed in collecting one of these jewels may bring it to the High King¡¯s palace in the city of Lanivar, Capital of Farandway, to receive a rich reward.  Any Traveler who retrieves three of the jewels may ask a boon of the King, a prize beyond value.  Finally, any Traveler who succeeds in acquiring five jewels will earn a private audience with the High King himself and earn that most coveted of all prizes.  They may return home!¡±

    The Captain paused again, and for the first time he got the cheers he had been waiting for.  The crowd erupted in excitement.  Feet thundered on stone and fists crashed on shields.  Though not everyone seemed so jubilant.  Nate noticed several figures in the crowd who had not joined in, and some were exchanging knowing looks.

    For his part, Nate wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about this latest news.  It was true he was not here by choice.  But that didn¡¯t necessarily mean he wanted to go back.  Not right away, at least.  The last few months had been a daily struggle, and even within the last week the noose had started to feel like it was tightening around his neck.  A few months in a decidedly unreachable location might prove to be more of a boon than any the King could offer.

    ¡°You will surely learn more in the coming days and weeks.¡± Terral called, quieting the crowd.  ¡°For now, you should find a place to rest.  For those with permanent factions in the city, you should have no time finding your kindred.  For the rest, there are many fine inns throughout the city to choose from.  If you have neither the backing nor the coin for these options, all are also welcomed at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat, where lodging and training facilities are available free of charge, all funded by the generosity of the High King.¡±

    There was a smattering of chuckles in the crowd at that comment.

    ¡°Once night falls, there will be a welcoming celebration at the city center, under the Pillar of the Dead God.¡±  Terral gestured casually towards the city, indicating the direction of the incredible Obelisk.  ¡°Remember, violence will not be tolerated within the boundaries of the city.  The City Guard is  constantly on patrol, and they will quickly and efficiently end any conflicts.¡±

    The Guard Captain¡¯s eyes hardened, and for the first time his jovial, performative demeanor fell away.  He stared at the crowd with the gaze of a raptor in flight sighting a mouse.  The crowd stilled.  Nate swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

    Then the moment passed, and the smile returned.

    ¡°With that said, let me again welcome you and wish you all the best of luck!  I look forward to seeing you at tonight¡¯s celebration.  If you follow the path, you will quickly find yourself in the city.  Let the games begin!¡±

    Without pausing, the Guard Captain turned sharply and exited the dais before marching smartly toward the far end of the Great Hall.

    The crowd stood frozen for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden departure of their presenter.  Then, with a sluggish heave, the mass started to move, shuffling slowly in the same direction the Captain had exited.

    Nate shadowed the crowd, deep in thought as he cataloged his questions.  If he was going to survive here, without the background that many of his peers clearly possessed, he was going to need information.  He needed to find a base of operations where he could take stock and rest in safety.  He needed to test his new stats to determine what, if any, differences he could detect from his baseline.  He needed to find food and supplies, as well as figure out how far the money he had on hand would go.

    First and foremost, he needed to find somewhere he could purchase a needle and thread.  His clothing was serviceable, but there was a critical shortfall that needed to be rectified immediately.

    He needed pockets.

 Chapter 6: Whats in a Faction?

    Grundar Shieldbreaker, mightiest son of Erthel Stoneborn, vanquisher of the hordes of the Lonath Plains, and chosen of the Burning Brand faction, glanced furtively at the milling crowd as they exited the Grand Hall towards the shining white city below.  Satisfied that no one was looking his way, he reached under the knee-length leather and steel tunic to scratch himself.

    ¡°There you are, Master Grundar!¡± came a whining, nasal voice from somewhere behind.  Grundar cursed under his breath before turning.

    Bumping his way against the flow of bodies, Trenton Pixiebane emerged, a simpering expression plastered to his face in what Grundar assumed was supposed to pass for a smile.

    ¡°I have been searching for you everywhere, Master,¡± the weakling mewled, dipping his head in submission and wringing his hands deferentially.  Grundar suppressed a groan of revulsion.  Trenton, despite being one of the weakest of the younger generation, had been chosen as one of the two companions from home to accompany him to Farandway.  Even the creatures name was a joke.  Trenton had stumbled on a nest of Pixie¡¯s while out on patrol.  As he tried to flee, the orc had stumbled and somehow fallen on the entire cluster, crushing the tiny creatures under his bulk.  He had returned to the tribe covered in blue blood and smeared with the remains of gossamer wings.  Grundar had laughed for a week. How this miserable excuse for an orc had managed to convince the elders of that was beyond Grundar¡¯s understanding.

    ¡°If it took you this long, you haven¡¯t been looking hard enough.¡± Grundar said with a sneer, making no attempt to hide his disdain.  In truth, Grundar had spotted the other orc in the crowd earlier.  His sudden decision to walk the other way was the reason he had collided with that puny human Rogue.

    ¡°You are right, Master.  Apologies.  Please forgive this unworthy servant,¡± Trenton pleaded, dipping his head still lower.  As he did so, Grundar finally deigned to study his fellow orc.  His disgust only increased as he took in the leather wrapped over loose robes and the mace tucked into his companion¡¯s belt.

    ¡°You chose a Priest?!¡± Grundar barked.

    ¡°Yes, Master.  I assumed that you and Lady Kilth would choose warriors.  I hoped that, with the healing arts of a Priest, I would be better able to serve and protect you.¡±

    Grundar grunted noncommittally.  It wasn¡¯t the stupidest thing the moron had ever said.  It could be useful to have a healer.  But the restriction on bladed weapons was indecent.  An orc who wasn¡¯t covered in the blood of his enemies was no orc at all.  Grundar didn¡¯t linger on it, however.  The mention of Kilth Bloodsworn had pushed his mind onto another track.

    ¡°Have you seen Kilth?¡± he asked the priest hopefully.

    ¡°Not yet, Master.  But I¡¯m sure she will be us at the Burning Brand compound,¡± Trenton whined.  Grundar snorted, unsurprised by the orc¡¯s inability to be useful.  His annoyance was somewhat tempered by thoughts of Kilth.  There, at least, the elders had done right by him.  Kilth was one of the finest warriors he had ever seen, with a bloodlust that nearly rivaled his own.  She was also a fine example of a female.  Her tusks were stout, her skin of deepest grey, and her eyes were so small they were barely visible.  The memory of her crushing an enemy¡¯s skull in her bare hand during a recent border skirmish came to his mind unbidden, stirring a flame of desire in his belly.

    ¡°Come, then,¡± Grundar said, ready to move.  The itch under his armor was still terrible.  But he could ignore it for now.  The faster they could find Kilth, the better.  He turned and started moving through the crowd, not waiting to see if Trenton followed.  Had Grundar been paying attention, he might have seen the crack in Trenton¡¯s carefully cultivated fa?ade.  For just a moment, the groveling mask parted, revealing a gleam of hatred.  Hatred, and something else.  Something more calculating.  Then the mask was firmly back in place, the smaller orc scampering to keep pace with his master.

    Grundar strode down the wide thoroughfare confidently, fully expecting everyone to part before him.  Most did.  It wasn¡¯t just the orc¡¯s size and murderous glare.  The Burning Brand was a well-known faction.  One only great fools failed to step lightly around.  The few that failed to get out of the way in time were knocked roughly from the path.  There was some angry muttering and some dark looks cast Grundar¡¯s way, but he paid them no mind.

    It wasn¡¯t long before Grundar entered the city proper.  Shops were open, their owners displaying their wares, and street stalls had been set up selling everything from clothing to enchanted items, everyone trying to capitalize on the newly arrive Travelers descending on the market.  Several of the nearby stands were also selling food.  Grundar caught the scent of searing meat, and his stomach burbled greedily.  He immediately detoured.  The fees paid by his faction did more than just guarantee that his starting equipment was a cut above the average.  It also meant that his purse was unusually heavy.  He could afford to indulge.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Yet as he approached one of the vendors, a small, hairy creature that he didn¡¯t recognize with an oversized grin, he made a disheartening discovery.  As he pawed at his belt, reaching for the pleasantly full coin purse, he found¡­nothing.  He looked down in shock, staring for a moment.  But there was nothing there.  His purse filled to the brim with coins was gone.

    His broad face scrunched unpleasantly as he tried to think.  How could it be gone?  Had he dropped it somewhere?  He glanced helplessly from side to side, as if expecting to find the purse lying on the ground nearby.

    The furry little food vendor¡¯s smile had thinned, his eyes going dead as he watched Grundar paw at his belt and look around in confusion.  The beast grunted, turning away from Grundar and resuming his rehearsed smile as a different customer approached, this one a spindly human in leather.

    Grundar¡¯s eyes fell on the human.  This one had long, stringy hair coming out of the top of its head.  He assumed it to be one of the females, though honestly he had a hard time telling the difference.  But the sight of little runt stirred a memory.  A memory of another human in leather, though this one with short hair.  A clumsy human that had bumped into him.

    Grundar¡¯s mind ticked over slowly for a long moment before the thought clicked in to place with an almost audible groan.  His lips peeled back from his tusks in as a low growl escaped his lips.

    ¡°That little bastard!¡±

    Sentry leaned against a tall post just off the street sipping a hot drink that tasted like herbs.  She had made sure she was among the first to leave the assembly in the Cathedral, moving swiftly down into the city where she could find a perch to watch the crowd as it passed.  She carefully studied her fellow Travelers as they entered the market, making mental notes about a few while disregarding most.

    Sentry wasn¡¯t her true name, of course.  Only a fool would use their given name in Farandway.  That said, a great many seemed to be fools.  It was unsurprising.  It didn¡¯t matter while corner of the many worlds one found themselves in.  Fools were never in short supply.

    As she watched, Sentry allowed her mind to wander, playing again her strategy for the early game.  She had taken warrior as her starting class, but her path to power was a well-tread one.  Her faction had been cataloging these paths for time immemorial.  She had used her six skill points to purchase Long-Sword Proficiency and Heavy Armor Proficiency.  Both were only at novice, but if she could advance both to at least adept by the time she reached level 10, then she could choose Sword Master for her advanced class.

    That was easier said than done, of course.  With the initial skill purchased, there were two ways to advance it.  The first was to purchase the upgrades with skill points.  This was the path many factions focused on.  The problem with that was that, with the escalating cost of each upgrade, there was no way to earn skill points quickly enough to move both her skills up before choosing her advanced class.

    The other way to level a skill was through use.  For combat skills, that meant fighting.  Not just fighting, but fighting with ever more powerful enemies, pushing herself to her limits.  There was a reason the established factions didn¡¯t usually favor that method.  Namely, it had a high probability of ending in death.  Yet it was the path that Sentry had put herself on.

    She had struggled to contain her scoffs while listening to the old Guard Captain promise them all rewards and glory.  She had failed in that struggle only once, when the man had promised that anyone who collected five jewels would earn the right to return home.  Fortunately, her derisive grunt had been lost in the cheer of the other fools.  It wasn¡¯t technically a lie.  But it was nearly impossible.  Nearly.

    ¡°That little bastard!¡±

    The din of hundreds of conversations momentarily stilled as the outraged roar echoed down the street.  Sentry took in the sight.

    A massive orc, one of the biggest she had ever seen, was standing next to one of the food vendors.  He was shaking with rage.  Another orc, small for their kind and dressed in the ensemble of a Priest, stood beside him, making shushing motions and whispering furiously.

    ¡°That fucking Rogue at the Cathedral robbed me!  We have to find him.  I¡¯ll have his entrails for my dinner!¡±  The big brute bellowed.  The food vendor was shrinking back, clearly afraid the orc¡¯s wrath would turn on him.

    Sentry raised an eyebrow.  A Rogue had stolen from an orc of the Burning Brand faction?  Before even leaving the Cathedral?  It was brazen, at the very least.  The smaller orc was whispering again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember her name, you sniveling weakling!  But I know she was a human.  I¡¯ll know him if I see him.  And when I see him, she dies!¡± The big orc screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

    Sentry suppressed a grin.  The orc clearly wasn¡¯t sure of the gender of the thief.  Orcs had a hard time telling humans apart.

    The big orc, who Sentry had been able to identify as Grundar Shieldbreaker, was looking around at the watching crowd now, as if only just becoming aware that he was making a scene.  With a huff, Grundar turned and started marching from the market.  People quickly moved to make a path.  The smaller orc scampered in his wake.

    Sentry watched the two depart for a moment before returning to studying the crowd.  It didn¡¯t take long before the bustle returned.

    Sentry¡¯s future would be filled with combat.  To survive that at this low level required a strong party.  Sentry¡¯s faction, The Moon Blades, weren¡¯t powerful in the traditional sense.  Sentry had no companions in this cohort of Travelers to rely on.  She would need to identify and recruit worthwhile candidates if she was going to accomplish her goal.

    For Sentry had one goal.  One promise to keep.

    For most, Farandway was a death sentence.  Oh, it could take decades for the final blow to fall.  But, for most, becoming a Traveler was a one-way ticket.

    But not for Sentry.  She had promised.

    She would survive.  She would grow in power.  She would capture five of the jewels hidden in the heart of Farandway, and she would present them to the High King.

    And then, Sentry would go home.

 Chapter 7: You Get What You Pay For

    Nate made only two stops as he moved quickly through the market.  The first was in a large shop on the main thoroughfare that seemed to operate on a one-stop, Walmart style philosophy, selling a bit of everything.  He spied simple food rations, clothing, dried herbs with purported medicinal properties, lengths of rope, playing cards, water skins, and a thousand other items for which he could only guess the use.  The place was far too crowded, Travelers streaming in through the open doors to peruse the wares and make rapid purchases.  Nate spotted several employees beyond the human woman running the main counter, most of them mixing in with the crowd and just keeping an eye on things.  They had a tell, though.  When he identified them, he couldn¡¯t identify a single one of their classes or levels.

    Nate made a single purchase before leaving, a small pack on a sling that he could wear over one shoulder.  He didn¡¯t have anything to put in it yet, not willing to trust his coins to something so easily accessed by others.  But he was sure he would acquire other equipment over time, and he had no intention of shoving everything down the front of his vest forever.  His eyebrows raised slightly when he heard the price, two full silvers, but he quickly paid out of the purse he had received with the rest of his starting equipment.  As he left, he eyed up some of the other customers, their arms laden with goods.  The small bag had cost him a good chunk of his starting money.  Based on the amount he saw others buying, he assumed that many of them had wound up with much fuller purses than his own.  He had yet to check the contents of the purse he had pulled from the orc.  He wanted somewhere more private for that.

    The second stop required him to leave the main street.  The general store had not had what he needed, but a helpful food merchant had directed him around a corner to a smaller, less busy district.  There he found a store that specialized in custom clothing.  After a brief discussion with the gruff man who ran the place, he had the first items for his shoulder bag.  A length of simple cloth of roughly the same color as his clothes and a satchel filled with a few sewing needles and a variety of threads.  The store¡¯s owner had initially appeared confused by Nate¡¯s request, but had been happy enough to part with the materials.  It had cost him another 20 copper.  His purse, not particularly full to start with, was feeling depressingly light.

    As he continued to wander, Nate took in the sights.  The city was beautiful, the pure white stones used in all the construction giving everything a brilliant glow in in the light of a noon day sun.  He had expected the place to feel rustic and medieval.  Instead, it had an elegant charm that reminded him of Florence.  There were even cafes and restaurants, many with patio seating, dotting the many pavilions, and some were already occupied by Travelers clad in a variety of leather and steel.  Most of the buildings were only one or two stories, providing unobstructed views of the odd Obelisk in the city¡¯s center on one side and the looming Cathedral on the other.  The Cathedral was particularly breathtaking.  The interior¡¯s resemblance to a gothic Catholic structure was mirrored on the exterior, though with the addition of tall, fragile looking towers of various heights at odd intervals throughout.

    As he strolled, Nate took the opportunity to study his fellow Travelers more closely.  Released from the confines of the Cathedral, it was easier to focus on individuals.  His initial assessment of the number of humans seemed accurate, perhaps a little more than half the total.  The rest, though, were far more diverse than he had originally thought.  While his eye had initially been drawn to the stereotypical, and therefore oddly familiar, fantasy creatures of earth lore, there were some true oddities mixed into the bunch. He saw several more orcs and elves, their race confirmed by his still unfamiliar ability to generate textboxes over other¡¯s heads if he focused on them long enough.  He looked for but did not find the little gnome again, or any others like it.  But he did see a group of three creatures walking in a tight cluster that he could only describe as anthropomorphized fish.  They had eyes like saucers, wide flat mouths, and their bodies were covered in iridescent green scales.  They even had odd fin-like ridges running down the back of their heads.  Yet they wore the same mix of armor and robes as everyone else, walked on two feet, and had two arms apiece, though they ended in protuberances that looked more like flippers than hands.

    Nate was thinking how strange it was that these aliens, for that¡¯s what they were, were so basically human in their appearance, when he saw something that made him stop dead.  At first he thought that one of the monsters they had been warned about by the Guard Captain had somehow made its way into the city, and his heart instantly jumped to the base of his throat.  Yet no one else seemed to give the creature a second thought.  As he continued to stare, dumbfounded, text floated up above the creature.

    {Giltter                          Class: Priest Level 1                                                     Race: Oozoid}

    The blobby¡­thing burbled and squelched its way down the street, a semi-transparent, eight-foot-tall mass of jelly that seemed to slide along the cobbled street.  Nate watched the Ooze disappear around a corner.  It took a few minutes before he was able to shake himself off and continue towards his target.

    While most of the people in the street seemed to be moving toward the city center, Nate broke away and headed towards its eastern outskirts.  The streets became quieter, with fewer stores giving way to what he assumed to be housing.  After a few more minutes of walking, the streets became narrower, and while the buildings here were made of the same white stone, it didn¡¯t seem to gleam as brightly as it had in the market.  He saw few people as he walked, though the handful he did spot gave him bored glances as he passed.

    It was another quarter of an hour before he arrived at his destination.  Fortunately, the directions he had been given proved to be as good as those for the clothing shop.  What he found was a complex of squat buildings surrounded by a rickety fence made up of wooden stakes.  Many of the stakes leaned at odd angles, letting plenty of light through.

    There was a gap in the fence where it met the road.  Stretched across the road between fence posts was a wooden sign with faded, hand-painted letters.

    TRAVELER¡¯S RETREAT

    ¡°New batch arrived already?¡± came a surprisingly jovial voice.  Nate had already spotted the orc before it stepped out from the edge of the fence line, a short and rather skinny specimen with sallow skin and a missing tusk.  The orc¡¯s leather armor was worn and tattered, and the plain sword at its hip had stains on the pommel.  Nate had the impression this creature was very old.

    {Name Unknown                                   Class: Unknown                                   Race: Orc}

    ¡°You¡¯re the first to arrive here, in any case,¡± the old orc mumbled, apparently disappointed that he hadn¡¯t succeeded in surprising Nate with his sudden appearance.  ¡°Heard you can stay here for free, eh?"  The orc said, giving a wicked sneer that Nate supposed was intended to come off as a whimsical smile.

    ¡°Funded by the King¡¯s benevolence, I¡¯m told,¡± Nate said, giving a polite bow of his head.  The orc cackled, then broke off in a wheezing series of coughs.

    ¡°King¡¯s benevolence¡­that¡¯s a good one,¡± the orc rasped, catching its breath.  It squinted at him for a moment before continuing.  ¡°Well, come on, Nathan Sutton.  Let old Tully show you where you can sleep tonight.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The orc turned and started shuffling away.  As it did, Nate noticed that the text, still overing over the creature, had changed.

    {Name Tully                              Class: Unknown                                   Race: Orc}

    The name displayed now that he knew it.  The identify ability was proving to be almost useless.  It worked fine on his fellow Travelers, but gave him nothing that he didn¡¯t already know about any of the people he had seen so far in the town.  Again, he assumed it was related to level disparity.  Even for others at the same level, though, it was of limited value.

    Nate trailed after Tully, passing through the gate and into the compound.  The first thing he saw after passing the fence was a open, dusty field dotted with a few stone pillars and some mannequin-like dummies on metal poles dressed in tattered armor.  One had a dented kitchen pot for a head.  A bedraggled sign hung from the fence on the opposite side of the field, displaying the words ¡°Training Yard.¡±

    The first building they passed was long and built like a bunker, without a single window and only one door.  It was made of the same white stone as everything else.  But it was yellowed, almost as though the stone was sprouting mildew.

    ¡°That¡¯s the mess hall.  The food isn¡¯t free, but it¡¯s a lot cheaper than anything you¡¯ll find in the city.  Of course, you do get what you pay for,¡± Tully grunted as they passed, ending with another long, cackling wheeze at his own joke.

    They passed a few more non-descript buildings before arriving at the first of three multi-story structure on the grounds.  These, at least, had windows, though without any glass.  Most had their wooden shutters closed.

    Tully led him through a large wooden door.  On the other side was a long, narrow hallways, with closed doors at regular intervals.  The dark gloom was only partially relieved by small, glowing crystals set in to the wall.  None glowed particularly brightly, and several flickered fitfully.

    ¡°Most folks are out in the market right now.  Wanted to get a look at the newest Travelers.  Still, best to keep quiet in the dorms.  Some of the mages in particular like to study in their rooms.  Friendly advice, I wouldn¡¯t go making enemies of any mages.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  Best to avoid notice.  At least until you get a few levels under your belt.¡±  Sully gave Nate a wide grin, displaying several missing teeth, before he began shuffling down the hall.  Nate followed close behind him.

    At the end of the hall they turned a corner and ascended a flight of creaky stairs before emerging on a second, identical floor.  There, Tully turned to the first door.  He motioned Nate forward graciously.  Nate opened the door.

    Inside was a small, mostly empty room.  There were two low-slung beds pushed against opposite walls, both with sagging mattresses.  Next to each bed was a small desk and an equally mall dresser, making the two sides mirrors of each other.  Set between the sets of furniture, mounted on the wall next to the shuttered window, was a cloudy round mirror.  There was nothing else to see beyond the rough stone walls and creaking wooden floors.

    ¡°You have to provide your own bedding, of course.  There¡¯s a courtyard out back, shared by the three dorms, and the latrine is at the opposite side of that.  Watch your step if you go out there at night.  We have a seventh level Naturalist staying in one of the other buildings, and she likes to put her traps out there.  I¡¯ve tried to get her to stop.  But she says she¡¯s got to test them.  Any questions?¡±  Tully asked.

    Nate stared around at his new home.  He had been in dingier dives before.  But not many.

    ¡°How long am I allowed to stay here?¡± Nate asked, trying not to let his disappointment with the King¡¯s generosity show too obviously.

    ¡°As long as you want.  I¡¯ll add you to the register, and all we ask is that you let an administrator know if you decide to move out.  That way we will know we have a spot open.  Occasionally we have to kick someone out.  Usually over issues with their roommate.  But you seem like a good lad.  I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll have any problems.¡±  Tully grinned again.  Nate suppressed a shudder at the sight.

    He noted the mention of a roommate, though he had already guessed he wasn¡¯t going to get the room to himself when he saw the two beds.  It was something else Tully had said that truly captured Nate¡¯s interest, though.  He had said Nate needed to tell someone if he decided to move out.  Not when he moved out.  If.  And there was the mention of the Naturalist.  Nate still didn¡¯t know what that was.  But Tully had mentioned the woman was at level 7.  Six full levels above Nate.

    ¡°How long do people usually stay here?¡± He asked, following the thought.

    Tully¡¯s wide smile dimmed a bit at the question, his face suddenly more guarded.

    ¡°Oh, it varies, it varies.  Some aren¡¯t here long at all.  They find a Faction willing to take them on, or they decide to head out of the city.  Adventuring.  Others, well¡­once you get settled in and learn the lay of the land, you¡¯ll see.  Anything else?¡±  Tully was still being polite, but he now had the air of a person eager to be somewhere else.

    ¡°I¡¯m good for now.  Thank you.¡±  Nate said.  Tully¡¯s grin widened again.

    ¡°Of course, of course.  Tully is always happy to help.  Make yourself at home, and don¡¯t forget about the celebration in the city center tonight.  It¡¯s not everyday we get a new batch of Travelers, and city Lord always pulls out all the stops for the party.  Not to be missed, not to be missed.¡±  Tully nodded his head enthusiastically a few times, his excitement clear.  Then he left Nate alone, closing the door behind him.

    Nate looked around the room again, feeling the excitement that had been bubbling through his belly as he walked through the city dying with each passing moment.  Then he sighed, shaking it off.  He stepped over to the bed farthest from the door, dropping his mostly empty bag onto it to claim it as his own.

    He turned to the clouded mirror.  He used his sleeve to wipe some of the grime from the milky glass.  Then he looked at himself in his new attire for the first time.

    In most ways, he looked the same as he ever had.  He was shorter than most.  He often claimed he was 5¡¯8¡±, but that was only true if he was wearing shoes with a thick sole.  He was also of slight build, with medium brown hair cut short, wide brown eyes, and a smooth face that could never support a beard.  The combination made him look young, even younger than his true age of 23.  The leather armor and dagger might have made someone else look a bit meaner.  Maybe even fierce.  On Nate, it gave off ¡°squire to the mighty knight¡± vibes.  He certainly wouldn¡¯t be getting out of any sticky situations by relying on intimidation.

    If someone had to describe him, they might say plain.  Nondescript.  Unassuming.  The kind of person you could meet and then find yourself unable to describe a few minutes later.  In short, the perfect appearance for someone who did the kind of work that Nate did.

    Nate had held a lot of jobs in his life.  He had started working when he was 15 and, when he had found himself out on his own at 16, he had jumped on any opportunity he could find to make a bit of extra money.  He had bussed tables, swept floors in a cabinet making shop, delivered pizzas, taken tickets in a movie theater, and worked a dozen other odd jobs over the years, always just managing to keep his head above water.

    All that changed when he was 20.  Since then, life had taken him to places and situations he had never thought possible.  Travel. Wealth. Adventure.  It had all seemed too good to be true.

    Which, of course, it was.  His dream life had turned out to be a house of cards, and its collapse had left him on the run for months, watching every darkened doorway and alley with fear, wondering when his past would catch up with him.  As Tully had said, you get what you pay for.  Nate had been living on credit, never paying for anything.  Now the bill had come due.  It was far too high.

    He still didn¡¯t know what the hell was going on in this new world he had found himself in.  A world of monsters and magic.  A world, he was becoming more and more sure, he was not supposed to be in.  He still didn¡¯t know what exactly an ¡°Affiliated World¡± was.  But, whatever it meant, his home was clearly not one of these.  Everyone else here seemed to have some inkling of what was happening.  Nate was completely in the dark.  That kind of ignorance was dangerous.

    Yet his overriding feeling since he had woken up in that black room and found himself somewhere he had not expected to be was¡­relief.  Relief that he was far from the problems that had plagued him back home.  Relief that maybe, impossibly, he could get out of paying for his past.  He didn¡¯t yet know what Farandway was.  Not really.  But there was one thing he was sure of.  It was a fresh start.

    With another sigh, Nate dropped on to the bed and started rummaging through his bag, retrieving his sewing supplies.  He didn¡¯t know how long he would have the room to himself.  He had work to do.