ã€ŠTHE SEVENTH BLADE- A Slow Burn litrpgã€‹


 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.  That wasn''t the disturbing bit.  While his eyes were useless, there was sensation.  The air felt strange 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 where he was, but it felt¡­wrong.

    This was not his room.

    The thought was not even fully formed, a vague sense of dread only starting 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?

    The room shuddered, a vertigo inducing swirl. 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 Games of Farandway.  You may call me¡­¡± 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.  He didn''t walk.  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 the pungent odor of some disinfectant.  Crystals 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.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    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.

    ¡°An accurate observation. 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 though 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.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    <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 sword 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 what 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, without 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.

    You have selected the Rogue. Would you like to finalize this choice?

    Yes/No

    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.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    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 obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    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.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    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.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    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 7: 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 author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    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 8: 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.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    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.

 Chapter 9: The Wonders of Magic

    The first thing Nate did was take stock of his cash reserves.  He had already spent a good portion of his starting gear funds.  He dumped out that purse and counted its contents, finding three silver coins and 10 copper.  He now knew that it took 100 coppers to equal a silver.  Nice and simple.

    Next, he poured out the contents of the purse he had stolen from the unfriendly orc.  The weight of the purse, much heavier than his own, had filled him with a thrill of anticipation since he lifted it.  Still, he couldn¡¯t help but give a small gasp at what he saw.

    The first thing he noticed was that there wasn¡¯t a single sign of rusty copper in the bunch.  A quick count showed there were around twenty silvers, all identical to the three he had already examined.  What drew his eye and his gasp, however, was the single, gleaming gold coin, the last to tumble out, landing on his saggy bed with a solid thunk.

    Nate had no idea what a gold coin was worth.  He had watched several transactions at the general store to get a sense of what things were worth, but he hadn¡¯t seen a single glimmer of gold there.  If the conversion rates were consistent, though, that meant this single gold coin was worth 100 silver.  Which meant that orc he had robbed had started with over twenty times the starting capital that Nate had.

    Nate glanced at the door to his little room furtively, making sure he was still alone.  He did not want anyone to see him with his pilfered fortune.  He was excited at the sudden windfall, sure.  But he also knew this was dangerous.  A handful of silver going missing could be shrugged off as bad fortune.  This kind of sum, though, would be missed.  Rich people had a habit of reacting badly when their stuff was taken.  That was a lesson Nate had learned the hard way.

    Scanning the room quickly, Nate spotted a floor board slightly raised from the others.  Working carefully with his dagger, he was able to lift it just enough to reveal a dark space filled with dust between his own floor and the ceiling of the floor below.  He cut a small portion of the cloth he had purchased and wrapped most of the pilfered coins, including the gold one, in the cloth before stuffing it into the space, tucking it as far to the side as he could comfortably reach.  He then shoved the lifted board back into place, pressing firmly with his booted foot until it almost matched the others.  The coins out of sight, he gave a small sigh of relief.  It wasn¡¯t a particularly original or secure hiding space.  But it would do for now.

    That done, Nate turned to his second task.  The available tools were extremely limited.  Nate had his cloth, a few different types of thread, and a small pouch of pins.  He cursed himself for not thinking to obtain a pair of scissors.  He would have to use his knife to make cuts.  Also, while he did technically know how to do a stitch by hand, it had been years since he had attempted these kinds of alterations without the assistance of a machine.

    Despite that, the modifications to his clothing went surprisingly well.  He found that, even using the dagger, his cuts were surprisingly sharp, and even without any kind of marking tool he was quickly able to form the pieces he needed.  He added an inseam pocket to one side of his pants, fully expecting the results to be a disaster.  But his fingers felt nimble and strong, his stitching straight and precise.  The pocket was completed so quickly and so cleanly that he was left in a mild state of shock.  Then he remembered something.  With a mental click, he successfully pulled up his character sheet.

    {Nathan Sutton                          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}

    He had noted the relatively high mark he had for dexterity before, but hadn¡¯t really considered the implications until now.  Nate had always been deft with his hands.  His brief experiment with needle and thread, however, proved that these stats were not just for show.  Somehow, those numbers represented real increases in his abilities.  With curiosity, he considered the two free points listed.  As he focused on it, the point value started to blink.

    {You have 2 free points available.  Would you like to assign them?

    Yes/No}

    After only a moment¡¯s thought, Nate selected ¡°Yes,¡± then added both these points to his dexterity, raising it to 12.  He felt a faint rush of warmth, though it was a distant echo of the flush of heat that had rushed through him back in the dark chamber with Jean.  Then it was gone.

    Nate returned to his work, quickly forming and attaching two inset pockets, one hidden near the mouth of each of his sleeves.  He didn¡¯t have anything like elastic to keep the open mouth of the pocket taut, but he made the pockets as tight as he could.  He also angled them so that, when his arms were extended in front of him, the open side of the pockets was pointed directly up.  It wasn¡¯t a perfect solution.  But it would do for now.

    Nate had some other alterations to his clothing in mind, but those could wait until later.  He had no way of measuring the passage of time other than the general impression that the sun was lower in the sky than it had been when he started.  Perhaps a few hours had passed, but that was just a guess.  He packed up his sewing supplies, making a mental note of others he needed to acquire, before turning back to considering his coins.  He tucked two silver coins into the new pocket in his left sleeve, moved his arm around a bit to see if the coins stayed secure, then added a third to the pouch just to make the fit tighter.  Satisfied, he placed a few more silver and all his copper back into his original pouch before throwing it in his new pant pocket.  He then took the now empty pouch he had stolen from the orc and tied it to his belt.

    He had only just finished tying the simple knot when there was a groan from the door behind him.

    ¡°Right this way, right this way, young man,¡± the gruff voice of Tully the orc said as the door swung open.

    The boy who entered, for he couldn¡¯t have been more than 16 or 17 years old, had wide, owl-like eyes, narrow shoulders, and a weak chin.  His sandy brown hair was long and disheveled, giving him the look of someone who had just rolled out of bed.  He wore loose, billowing robes that looked like they had been stolen from a father or older brother, so comically large did they hang on the young man¡¯s frame.  The boy started, skittish as a mouse, when he saw Nate standing there, watching him.

    {Name: Christophe                                 Class: Mage Level 1                             Race: Human}

    The information popped into view above the boy¡¯s head a moment later, though it didn¡¯t tell Nate much that he couldn¡¯t have guessed.  Still, he tried to give a warm smile.

    ¡°Here we are, nice and cozy,¡± Tully said, smiling wide enough to display his missing teeth.  ¡°You two will be roommates for a while, so get along and don¡¯t cause any trouble.  I¡¯d say you should get to know each other, but there will be time for that later.  The celebration in the central plaza will be starting soon, and you don¡¯t want to miss that.  If you need anything, you just find old Tully and I¡¯ll do my best to take care of you.¡±  The old orc gave another wheezing laugh, as though this was a great joke.  Then he nodded to the both of them and left, closing the door behind him.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Nate the newcomer just stared at each other for a long moment.  Nate was the first to break the silence.

    ¡°Nice to meet you.  I¡¯m Nate.¡±  Nate extended his hand, but the boy just stared at it, his eyes wide with fright.  Nate drew his hand back.  Maybe shaking hands was an earth thing.

    ¡°Oh.  Yes.  Sorry.  Nate, you said?  I thought your name was Nathan Sutton,¡± the boy finally forced out, the words tumbling over themselves in a rush.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s my whole name.  But people just call me Nate.¡±  Nate said.

    ¡°I see,¡± the boy said, though his tone said that he was still confused.  As he spoke, the boy¡¯s eyes flickered around the room, taking in the shabby beds and shuttered window.  He did not look overly impressed.

    ¡°And you must be Christophe,¡± Nate said, taking another swing at provoking a conversation with his new roommate.

    ¡°What?  Oh, yes.  Well, no.  Not really. That¡¯s just the name I chose for Farandway.  You know, like in the stories.  But I guess it¡¯s my name now.  So yes, you can call me Christophe.¡±

    Nate, of course, had no idea what stories Christophe was referring to.  But he continued to smile and nod, trying to put the young man at ease.  He was searching for something to say when Christophe¡¯s eyes fell on Nate¡¯s sewing kit sitting on one of the beds.

    ¡°Oh, is that your bed then?  That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll take this one.  I don¡¯t really care.  I must say, I was really hoping that the Traveler¡¯s Retreat would be a bit, well, nicer, I guess.  Not really a surprise, though.  After all, it is set up for the unaffiliated and the factionless.  I bet you don¡¯t have a faction, either.  How much money did you get to start with from the character creation?¡±  Christophe looked at Nate with wide, expectant eyes.

    Nate blinked, trying to process the word vomit the young man had just spewed all over him as he cursed internally.  This was his roommate?  Jean had told him that he his bizarre attribute meant that he was going to be very lucky.  It didn¡¯t seem to be working.

    Still, Nate kept his smile plastered on as he thought about what to say.  Again, he was struck by the fact that everyone he met seemed to have access to a pool of knowledge about what was going on in this strange place that Nate didn¡¯t share.  It seemed best, for now, to keep his ignorance to himself.  He decided to try diverting Christophe into a new topic.

    ¡°I see that you are a Mage,¡± Nate said, completely ignoring the boy¡¯s question.  He gave a silent sigh of relief when his new roommate¡¯s eyes lit up with excitement.

    ¡°Oh, yes!  Yes, I was very happy when I saw that Mage was available.  I thought it would be, but you never know.  Stats are hard to predict, after all.  But when I saw Mage, I just knew I had to take it.  A lot of people don¡¯t want to be a Mage, of course, because they start so weak.  But just wait until I start leveling up!¡±  Christophe was bouncing with excitement by the end of his little spiel.

    ¡°So, can you actually do magic, then?¡± Nate asked, and this time he was genuinely curious.  He had accepted the idea that magic was a thing in this world in an abstract sort of way.  But he was still having a hard time wrapping his brain around it.

    ¡°Of course!  Nothing too impressive yet, of course.  I only have my one starter spell.  But it¡¯s a good one.  Watch!¡±  Christophe stood a little straighter, letting Nate see for the first time that the boy was actually surprisingly tall, perhaps around six foot.  The boy puffed out his chest, squinted his eyes in concentration, and began moving the fingers of his right hand in some kind of intricate pattern

    There was a sudden stillness to the air in their confined room.  Nate tensed, unsure of what to expect.

    Then, with a shimmer, the dark space was lit up.  A small globe of pure, pale light around the size of an orange was suddenly hovering just over Christophe¡¯s outstretched hand.  The boy stared at it with obvious awe.

    Nate watched the light float there for a few seconds.  Then, with a very faint pop, it vanished, plunging the room back into gloom.

    It was¡­well, it wasn¡¯t what he had expected, if Nate was honest.  Sure, it was kind of cool.  But looking at the chipper, talkative young man in his thin robes and with no weapon in sight, he couldn¡¯t imagine how a floating lightbulb was going to be all that useful if he found himself in a jam.  He had expected magic to be a little more wonderous.  Still, the kid was looking at him expectantly.  Nate decided to humor him.

    ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± Nate said, doing his best to sound impressed.  Christophe beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

    ¡°I know, right!  I¡¯ve already thought of dozens of uses for it.  It¡¯s only a Level 1 spell, of course, but if I can advance it, I think I could do some really impressive things.  I was planning on heading straight over to the welcome celebration.  Want to walk together?¡±

    Nate blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic.  His smile faltered just a bit as he tried and failed to come up with a reason why he could not, in fact, walk with Christophe.  The idea of spending the next twenty minutes listening to the kid blather made his teeth itch.  But he didn¡¯t want to alienate his roommate on his first night in Farandway.  So, with a resigned set of his shoulders, Nate nodded.  With one last glance to make sure his special floorboard was good and settled, he followed Christophe out of the room.  The boy was already talking.

    Nate paused briefly as they passed the rundown practice yard, searching over the grounds for a bit until he found a handful of rocks he liked the look of.  They weren¡¯t ideal, but he could look for a better alternative later.  He tucked a half dozen of the rocks, all roughly the size of a walnut, into the empty purse on his waist, then secreted a last rock in the pocket sewn into his right sleeve.  Christophe watched him curiously the whole time, but didn¡¯t ask what he was doing.

    With that done, they resumed their walk through the spiraling streets towards the city center, the massive obelisk always visible as a guide.

    The light in the sky was fading as the sun set, painting the scene splashes of crimson, gold, and deepening shadows.  The previously empty streets that Nate had passed through on his way to the Traveler¡¯s Retreat were now filled with a wide variety of people, all moving towards the city center.  Christophe spent most of the walk giving a long, rambling description of the many ideas he had for using his light spell.

    ¡°Oh, and let¡¯s say I was out exploring a dungeon.  Only the floor collapses, and I suddenly find myself deep underground, without any of my party around to help.  And what if that part of the dungeon is a maze, and I¡¯m trapped until I can find my way out?  Well, most people would be lost forever.  But me?¡±  Christophe gave a little smug flourish of his hand, as though he were again holding the floating orb of light.  ¡°No problem.¡±

    The boy talked and talked, though most of his scenarios involved him unexpectedly finding himself somewhere dark, only to be miraculously rescued by his conjured light.  Nate spoke little, getting by with nods and the occasional grunts of agreement.  His eyes wandered constantly, studying all the buildings and side streets as he formed a mental map of the city.

    After what seemed an eternity, they arrived at their destination.  The central square was a massive, circular space of cobbled stones surrounded on all sides by multi-story buildings, each of which had a large balcony packed with people.  There were the now familiar figures of Nate¡¯s fellow travelers, most clad in armor or some kind of robes, scattered everywhere in clumps, and the din of conversations and laughter filled the air.  Street vendors called out to passersby, each claiming that they had the finest goods at the best prices.  Near the center of the square, massive tables, each at least twenty feet long, had been laid out end to end.  Each was laden with mountains of food, though much of it looked quite strange to Nate¡¯s eyes.  People milled around the tables, helping themselves to morsels and talking.  The scene reminded him of Time¡¯s Square on New Year¡¯s Eve.

    Towering above the scene was the strange obelisk.  The structure, which had seemed supernaturally tall even from a distance, was truly jaw-dropping close up.  It looked to be made of the same white stone as the rest of the structures in the city.  It was perfectly round, and the base had to be as wide as an entire city block. But it was perfectly smooth, with a flaw or blemish, and it rose from the center of the square until it seemed to disappear into the sky above.  Despite the deep shadows being cast across the square by the falling sun, the tower itself cast no shadow.  In fact, Nate realized with a start that the entire structure was glowing slightly.  It was a subtle thing, almost imperceptible in the light of day.  As the sun sank lower, though, and the darkness in the surrounding city deepened, it became more obvious that the surreal light the tower was somehow casting would ensure that the city center was constantly bathed in a mild twilight.  Just looking at it made Nate feel slightly dizzy, his mind refusing to accept the impossibility of it.

    Nate and Christophe both stood there, stunned, for a full minute.  It was the longest the boy had gone without talking in quite a while.  Then, almost in unison, they both seemed to break out of their trance and looked to each other.  Nate smiled.

    ¡°Hungry?¡±

    They wandered toward the heavily laden tables, drawing closer and closer to the tower at the heart of Dawn City.  While it cast no shadow, there was an oppressive sense of weight to being so close.  Most of the crowd seemed to pay it no mind, however.  Nate tried his best to put the odd tableau out of his mind.  He was hungry, and tonight¡¯s festivities were funded by the city¡¯s lord. He wasn¡¯t going to let some creepy magical tower ruin his chance at a free meal.

    He had barely reached the end of the nearest table, however, before all thoughts of food went out the window.

    ¡°You!  Human!¡± came a deep, snarling bark from behind him.  Nate felt his heart drop into his stomach.  With a cold sense of dread, he turned.

    Only a few feet away stood a massive orc.  A familiar orc.

    Grundar¡¯s beady eyes narrowed, his lips curling back from his glistening, yellow tusks.

    As Nate watched the great brute, he wondered again when this supposed luck that Jean had promised was supposed to kick in.

 Chapter 10: Fates Align

    Grundar was not having a good day.  On discovering the theft of his purse, he had marched straight to the Faction Hall, refusing to even look at the sniveler, Trenton.  There was a smug, satisfied twist to the obnoxious orc¡¯s face that made Grundar want to smash it.  And what kind of an orc name was Trenton, anyway?  Grundar started imagining ways he could torture his companion, each more brutal than the last.

    The new thoughts lifted Grundar¡¯s spirits so much that he had almost forgotten why he was so angry by the time they made it to the Burning Brand outpost.  Grundar was quickly escorted through the outer compound and into the inner courtyard.  The sight of so many of his brethren improved Grundar¡¯s mood still further.  Here there were proper orcs, battle tested veterans who, despite all being of higher level than Grundar, bowed or nodded respectfully as he passed, as was his due.

    Then the chieftain had appeared.  That¡¯s when things really went to shit.

    ¡°Greetings, Nephew Grundar.  We are pleased by your arrival,¡± the big orc rumbled.  He was even larger than Grundar, which was rare, and his arms and face were covered in honor scars, each representing a powerful vanquished foe.  Grundar¡¯s lips pulled back in a sneer of annoyance and outrage at the familiar form of address.  Until he saw the brand mark on the other orc¡¯s neck.  He grunted in surprise, then inclined his head slightly in the barest show of respect.

    Grundar had expected the chieftain of this outpost to be some outcast who held power in name only.  The brand forced him to reevaluate.  This was a true war leader, one who had commanded battlefields even before coming to Farandway.  It was possible he was even truly Grundar¡¯s uncle.  He had over 100 of them.

    ¡°Greetings, great chieftain,¡± Grundar intoned, trying to sound like a proper subordinate.  He did not attempt to identify the orc, knowing the chieftain was of too high a level.

    ¡°I am Dolarth Oathbreaker.¡± The scarred orc rumbled.  His eyes narrowed in satisfaction when he saw Grundar start.  The Oathbreaker.  The banished.  Grundar suppressed his anger.  Anger, and something else.  Not fear.  Grundar feared no one.  Just¡­caution.  Yes, he would be cautious.  It was best to tread carefully around one you might have to kill.

    ¡°You have arrived at an excellent time.,¡± Dolarth continued.  ¡°We have a crop of nearly 50 young warriors approaching peak level, and it is fitting that a prince of the burning plain should lead them out of the valley and on to conquest.  With the resources of the Faction behind you, we can quickly get you up Level 10.  Then we can muster our forces for excursion.¡±

    Grundar grunted, satisfied.  This was the way of the Burning Brand.  While most Factions supported the growth of their Traveler candidates, success or failure was usually an individual pursuit.  Grundar¡¯s faction, though, usually held back their candidates, gathering a cohort of Level 10 warriors and holding them in reserve until a war leader arrived.  Then, they would muster out into the wider world of Farandway as a great horde.  It could take many years to gather a sufficient force, and in that time, other Factions would often steal glory.  But when the Burning Brand did march, they did so in strength.

    Fifty warriors was an impressive number.  Whatever his reputation, Dorlath had done well.  Perhaps Grundar would not kill him.

    ¡°We were joined by another of your companions just a short while ago,¡± Dorlath said, gesturing to the ring of orcs that had surrounded them to observe.  A familiar figure stepped from the crowd.  Kilth Bloodsworn looked particularly fetching in her cloak and black leathers, a bow strung over her back and a short sword at her side.  Normally Grundar would have disdained her choice of archer.  But, in Kilth¡¯s case, he recognized the wisdom.  She was lean and quick by the standards of orcs, and the addition of a ranged damage-dealer to his party would be useful.

    Kilth bowed slightly to Grundar, though her coy eyes never left him.

    ¡°Did your arrival go smoothly?¡± Dorlath asked.  Grundar, who was eyeing the bowing Kilth with hunger, didn¡¯t respond immediately.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Trenton spoke instead.

    ¡°I am Trenton, Lord Chieftain.  Sworn companion of the mighty Grundar.  We made good time from the Cathedral.  We were not able to acquire any supplies, though.  Lord Grundar¡¯s purse was stolen, and I lacked the necessary coins.¡±  Trenton¡¯s practically purred as he announced Grundar¡¯s shame to all assembled.

    ¡°Stolen?¡± Dorlath scowled at Grundar.  ¡°How were you so careless?¡±

    ¡°I was not careless!¡± Grundar growled back, heat burning in his face.  He saw Kilth cast her eyes down, no longer looking at him.  His gaze flicked to the treacherous priest behind him, and his fingers flexed, longing to crush Treton¡¯s throat.  ¡°It was a sneaky human Rogue.  He tricked me.  But I will find him.  I will have my coin and his head before this day is done!¡±

    He tried to sound proud and confident, but he could hear the muttering and snickering from the assembled orcs.

    ¡°I hope that you do, nephew,¡± Dorlath rumbled, still scowling.  ¡°The Faction takes care of its own.  But we do not look after those too weak to look after themselves.  The incompetent cannot lead.  No matter who their father is.¡±

    The words were harsh, but they were met with muttering agreement from the other orcs.  Grundar had to will himself to stillness.  Otherwise, he would have grabbed for his axe and tried to slaughter the whole lot of them.  But he couldn¡¯t deny the truth.  Grundar had dozens of siblings, many of them older than he.  He was his father¡¯s chosen only because of his strength.

    Grundar and his two companions were dismissed and quickly shown to a small building where they could prepare for the celebration in the town square.  Grundar stared daggers at Treton for a while, but the other orc refused to meet his eye.  There was little he could do at the moment.  He needed to reclaim his honor before he could just kill the little beast.  Kilth also barely looked at him, which stung his pride even worse.

    Grundar accosted six different humans as the three marched to the center of Dawn.  In each case, he believed for a glorious moment he had found his thief and would soon taste blood.  Two turned out to be mages, not rogues, and one of them was an elf rather than a human.  The three others, two men and one woman, each had only a single name when he identified them.  He didn¡¯t remember much about the Rogue that had taken his purse, but he knew the stranger had two names, both odd.  He left a trail of ashen faced Travelers in his wake, his rage growing by the moment.

    He had milled around the central square for a while, growing more and more despondent as he saw the sheer number of Travelers present.  The odds of him finding the correct Rogue and salvaging his reputation with the Faction was beginning to seem impossible.  Finally, he had decided to put the thought aside for a while and at least fill his belly.

    It was as he approached one of the tables covered with food that he saw the Rogue.  He had refused to get his hopes up.  The figure was the right size, but all humans looked puny.

    Then his identify activated, and he saw the name.

    ¡°You!  Human!¡± he cried with a growing sense of triumph.

    The Rogue turned to face him.

    Sentry had arrived early at the celebration, quickly finding a perch on one of the balconies surrounding the central square.  The buildings were mostly restaurants and inns, even the cheapest costing a disturbing number of coins to gain access to the elevated position.  But she wanted a spot that would allow her to watch.

    So far, the day felt like a waste.  She had seen a few potential party candidates.  But how could she properly evaluate recruits when she was just watching them shop or eat meat skewers?  Her hopes weren¡¯t much higher for the evening.  The celebration might offer some entertainment, but she doubted it would provide a chance to see the true character of any of her fellow Travelers.  Still, she had a mission, and she would be diligent in carrying it out.

    Several strangers approached Sentry and tried to stir up a conversation.  She was polite, but dismissive.  She had no interests in the games and politics that consumed most of the elites representing their Factions in Dawn.  Within the confines of the valley, their petty squabbles might seem important to each of them.  But Sentry had no intention of staying in the valley for years, as most of them did.  She had loftier goals.  Each of the interlopers lost interest and drifted away quickly.  Others must have witnessed her disinclination to engage, for after a short time the approaches stopped.  She was left alone at a small table, sipping but not truly tasting an odd, sweet wine.

    The sun was nearly down, the crowd below still visible due to the odd glow emanating from the unnerving tower at the heart of the city, when a cry drew her attention.

    ¡°You!  Human!¡±

    Below, she saw the same massive orc she had observed in the market earlier.  He was looming over a small, slim human Rogue.  The Rogue turned to face the orc.  He looked quite young, and even from this distance Sentry saw his eyes widen in alarm and recognition as he took in the orc.

    Finally, something interesting, Sentry thought.  She leaned over the railing, waiting to see what happened next.

 Chapter 11: Party Crashing 101

    The orc and the Rogue stood, unmoving, as they stared at each other for a long second.

    For a heartbeat, Nate froze.  It was all too much.  The strangeness of the world around him, of his entire situation.  The massive, hulking figure of the angry orc, just a few feet away.  The eerie glow of the impossible tower cast the scene in a pallid, ethereal light that gave the feel of a lucid dream.  In that instant, Nate¡¯s carefully cultivated calm, the lifetime of honed instincts that had kept him alive, always one step ahead, it all failed him.

    Even as he froze, Nate read the orc¡¯s face.  The uncertainty.  The indecision.  And Nate knew.  He knew that Grundar hadn¡¯t been sure.  He had approached Nate, but he hadn¡¯t been confident.  If Nate had kept his composure, he might have been able to talk his way out of it.  He might have been able to feign enough fear and confusion to convince the orc he had the wrong thief.

    But that instant of distress had betrayed him.  Even as he watched the orc, the orc was watching him, and Grundar had seen the tension in his body, the shock on his face.  The orc¡¯s uncertainty vanished.

    Grundar broke the stillness first.

    A booted foot the size of a ham shank crunched into the middle of Nate¡¯s chest like a sledgehammer.  His feet left the ground, and he flew through the air until he landed on the flat of his back on the table behind him.  Pain blazed through his body as trays of meat and strange fruits went flying.

    {You have suffered 5 points of bludgeoning damage.  You have suffered a cracked rib.

    Current HP: 10/15}

    Nate gasped in a lungful of air as the message flashed in front of him.  A third of his health gone from a single kick.  What would happen if he dropped to 0?  Would he just drop dead?

    He had no time to think about that, though.  He caught the swift whirl of something moving towards him.  With a grace and speed that shocked him, he rolled, flipping his legs back over his body and pushing himself into a back handspring.  He landed lightly, then almost slipped as his right foot came down in a giant tureen filled with something that looked like purple jello.

    There was a solid Thwunk, and the table rattled.  An axe lay buried several inches in the table exactly where Nate had been lying only a moment ago.

    Grundar ripped the axe free with ease and bellowed a deafening roar.  The crowd around them was yelling and pointing, but Nate couldn¡¯t give them any of his attention.  With a surge, Grundar shot up to land on the table in front of Nate.  The heavy timber trembled beneath Nate¡¯s feet.  He backpedaled, deftly dodging two quick strikes from the axe as he managed to place his feet between two trays of roasted¡­rats?  It didn¡¯t matter.  He needed space.

    Grundar tensed, and Nate could see the enraged brute was going to launch himself.  Just then, though, a small ball of pale light popped into existence only a few inches from the orc¡¯s eyes.  Grundar yelled as if struck, jerking his head back.  Nate glanced quickly to the side of the table and saw Cristophe, his hand extended and his eyes fixed on the orc with intense concentration.  Nate instantly felt terrible for not listening more attentively to young mage¡¯s diatribe on the wonders he could work with a floating globe of light.

    Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Nate did what he did best.  What he always did when his back was to the wall and the bloodletters came to collect their due.  He turned and ran.

    He streaked down the length of the banquet table at speeds that would put an Olympic sprinter to shame, each step finding the gaps between trays of food as if by magic.  In an instant, he had covered the full twenty feet.  He didn¡¯t pause as he reached the edge.  Instead, he leapt.  He cleared the ten-foot gap before landing lightly on the next table, not even breaking stride as he continued his flight.

    The sounds of crashing dishes and splintering wood from behind told him he wasn¡¯t in the clear yet.  Risking a glance back, Nate saw that Grundar was pursuing, not bothering to dodge around the banquet in his way, but simply smashing everything beneath his booted strides.  The orc was slower than Nate.  But not by much.  Grundar reached the gap as Nate landed on the other side, leaping after him.  The crash of his landing rocked the table, almost causing Nate to lose his balance.

    As Nate turned to focus on his path again, he caught sight of another orc, just at the edge of the crowd.  This one was leaner than Grundar and wearing a cloak.  The warrior had a bow and was raising a knocked arrow to point right at Nate as he flew by.

    He didn¡¯t have time to think.  With a practiced ease, he flipped the rock he had tucked in his sleeve into his palm and whipped his arm towards the archer.

    It was an impossible throw.  Nate was throwing with his right arm across his body towards a target to his left and behind him, all while at a dead sprint on uneven footing.  He hoped the projectile would at least distract the archer long enough to spoil the shot.

    Then he watched in astonishment as he stone struck the archer dead between the eyes.  The orc squealed and dropped as if hit with an anvil.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    There was no time to process.  Another gap loomed, and, again, Nate leapt.  He was gaining distance on Grundar, who he could still hear clomping along behind him.  But now he watched the crowd out of the corners of his eyes nervously.  The orc had allies, and if Nate didn¡¯t find a way to make good on his escape soon, he might find himself surrounded.

    He did not see any other orcs rushing to help his pursuer.  But he did notice several figures in shining armor forcing their way through the crowd of onlookers towards the feast tables.  Guards, Nate realized.  That might be something he could use.

    Ahead, another gap loomed closer and, beyond that, the last table in the row.  Stationed at the end of that far table was a guard, maybe forty feet away, and she was staring right at Nate.  Her face was hard, his jaw set in anger.  As Nate ran closer, he saw her eyes practically burning with rage.  Then he almost tripped as he realized her eyes were, in fact, burning.  They were a dull yellow, the glow intensifying with each moment.  A tingle of dread ran over his skin as he felt some terrible intent pushing down on him.

    As Nate neared the end of the table, he could still hear Grundar crashing along behind him.  The sound had drawn closer as Nate slowed slightly to watch gathering guards and keep an eye out for other attackers.  He could feel the huge orc¡¯s axe drawing closer like an itch between his shoulder blades.

    Nate reached the end of the table.  But, this time, he did not leap.  Instead, he launched himself forward in an awkward, feet-first slide.  He flew forward into the gap, dropping quickly before feeling his backside make contact with the ground with a jarring thump.  His speed was still impressive, and his forward momentum caused him to slide like he was stealing home base.

    Even as he dropped, Nate saw the eyes of the distant guardswoman flare with a brighter intensity than before.  In a surge of power that he could feel like heat on his skin, a blast of yellow light burst from her eyes and surged towards him.  Then, Nate was on the ground, sliding under the wave of yellow as it passed over him.  Past him.  And collided with the orc.

    Grundar howled as the yellow light engulfed him, congealing and spreading around him to form a pulsating net.  The net constricted, and Grundar¡¯s movement lost all cohesion as he plummeted.  The orc bounced off the edge of the table and tumbled into the dirt behind Nate.

    Nate¡¯s slide slowed then stopped as he came to rest just under the last of the banquet tables.

    {You have suffered 1 point of friction damage.  This damage counts as a type of burn damage.

    Current HP: 9/15}

    Nate lay still, catching his breath, as Grundar continued to howl and wriggle just behind him.  The yellow net of light held him fast, though, and it had constricted to the point where all the orc could do was flop around like a fish.

    The sound of boots on gravel gave way to the sight of several pairs of feet standing on either side of him, their owners obscured by the table above.

    Nate took a deep breath, then rolled out from under the table.  Immediately his arms were seized in vice-like grips as several guards took him in hand.

    The guardswoman that had cast the magical net approached, her eyes still hard, but, thankfully, no longer glowing menacingly.  She was tall for a woman, taller than Nate, and solidly built, filling out her plate armor impressively.  A sheathed longsword swayed at her side, but she made no move to draw it.

    The woman gave Nate an impassive look, then turned to the other guards.

    ¡°Bring these two as well as the orc archer and the little human mage.  The Captain will want to speak with them.¡±

    Nate fought down a sigh as two of the guards started pushing him towards one of the buildings lining the square, catching sight of Cristophe, his eyes wide with fright, being led by two others.  Nate remembered the little ball of light that had saved him from having his skull split in two, and felt an annoying pang of guilt.  He had gotten his new roommate into this situation.  Now he felt a responsibility to get him out of it.  The thought rankled.  Nate hated responsibility.

    All in all, the day could have been going better.

    Sentry leaned back in her chair as the guards led their prisoners from the square, signaling to the waiter to bring her another glass of wine.  With the drama over, the crowd quickly returned to their laughing and chatting as servants of the city Lord going to work to clear the mess below.

    Sentry considered what she had seen.  The orc, Grundar, was an impressive specimen.  Big, strong, and surprisingly fast.  Sentry was confident the orc must had taken some movement enhancement ability during character creation.  Not very bright, true.  But his kind rarely were.  It wasn¡¯t that they lacked the capacity for intelligence.  But theirs wasn¡¯t a culture that rewarded the thoughtful approach.  Still, with a few levels under his belt, the brute would be a menace in a fight.

    But it was the Rogue that truly held her interest.  Based on what she had overheard in the market earlier, she assumed this must be the same human that had robbed the orc of his purse at the Cathedral.  It was a reckless move, and after that first stunning kick Grundar had delivered, Sentry had fully expected to the see the Rogue pay for that recklessness with his life.

    Yet the man had surprised her.  He moved with the speed and grace she expected of a Rogue, but his dexterity was truly impressive for a level 1 Traveler.  And the throw he had made to take out the archer before she could fire on him had been a thing of beauty.  Sentry didn¡¯t understand why the Rogue, who she had identified as Nathan Sutton, was carrying a rock, or where he had snatched it from before the throw.  She hadn¡¯t seen him dig into any purse or pouch, and there was simply no way he had access to dimensional storage yet.  But the skill and accuracy of the throw were undeniable.

    Still, it wasn¡¯t his speed or his skill that had truly made her take note of him.  It was the care with which he moved.  The way he surveyed the crowd, even as he fled.  She had seen him take note of the orc archer, seen him monitoring the guards as they moved, and watched as he timed his drop from the final table so that the entangling array meant to capture him took his pursuer instead.

    This Nathan Sutton was bold.  Possibly too bold.  Stealing from a ranked member of a powerful Faction on his first day in Farandway was the action of someone who might not be long for this world.  Yet his mind was sharp, and he possessed carefully honed instincts that must have come from the life before.  He had potential.  If that potential was nurtured, he might become truly useful.  And if he was currently unattached to any Faction¡­

    Sentry sat quietly with her thoughts, disregarding the discussions around her as she slowly finished her wine.  Then she paid her tab and made her way downstairs, searching for the nearest guard station.

 Chapter 12: Prisoners Dilemma

    It was a small room with blank walls and no windows.  Other than the glow crystals, the only features of the room were the solid door, the cracked wooden table, and the uncomfortable high-backed chair that Nate now found himself in.  One of the legs of that chair was just a bit shorter than the others, making it shift and rock beneath him so that it was impossible to get comfortable.  For all of Farandway¡¯s weirdness, it was nice to see that some things were the same as home.  Interrogation rooms, it appeared, were universal.

    The guards hadn¡¯t been particularly gentle when they hauled Nate, Christophe, and the two orcs into an unmarked building just outside the central square.  They had all be quickly separated, and Nate had been sitting alone in this room for an indeterminable amount of time.  Waiting.  They liked to make you wait.  It let the anxiety build as nerves did their work.  The first time Nate had found himself in a room like this he had been 16, and the waiting had done its work.  But that was a lifetime ago.

    They had searched him before depositing him in the room.  They had taken his dagger and purse, then forced him to remove his leather vest and patted him down.  They had been thorough.  One of the guards had raised an eyebrow when they found the coins secreted in his sleeve, but Nate had just shrugged as they took those, too.  It was only three coins.  There were two more, plus a few coppers, in the purse.  Beyond that, the only thing they could accuse him of possessing were a handful of small rocks that resided in the purse with his coins.

    From the guard¡¯s perspective, Nate¡¯s role would be the hardest to determine.  They had surely seen most of the conflict, and there were plenty of witnesses who could describe how it started.  Grundar¡¯s attack had been obvious and obviously unprovoked.  But the guards would want to know why it happened.  That probably meant they would question Nate last.

    He knew what Grundar¡¯s story would be.  Nate had accosted him at the Cathedral, stolen his money, and disappeared.  There would probably be some embellishments about that encounter.  Someone like Grundar would have a hard time admitting he had been taken so easily.  The other orc would back his story.  She might even claim to have been a witness, though that would be a lie.  If the interrogators were any good, they would figure that out.

    Christophe was a wildcard.  They hadn¡¯t known each other for long.  But Nate¡¯s read was that the young mage was the honest and earnest type, and he had acted quickly to defend Nate when the attack came.  Nate¡¯s best guess was that Christophe would simply report what he had seen, and, from his perspective, Nate had been the victim.  Fortunately, Nate¡¯s new roommate didn¡¯t know anything even potentially incriminating.

    By the time the door opened, Nate had decided how he would play it.

    Two guards entered the room, each carrying a chair which they quickly set down and sat on opposite him.  One of the guards was the hard-eyed woman who had cast the energy net that trapped Grundar.

    They eyed him for a while in silence, waiting for Nate to speak first.  He didn¡¯t.  He calmly studied them back.

    Finally, the woman spoke.

    ¡°I am Guard Lieutenant Silvan.  And you are Nathan Sutton.  Level 1 Rogue.  Human.  No known Faction, probably from one of the Unaffiliated Worlds.  Surprisingly high dexterity for a level 1 Traveler.  And an odd skill set.  Improved running?  Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen someone take that before.  Can¡¯t argue with the results, though.  I¡¯d love to get a look at your character sheet and see a description of its effects.¡±

    Her tone was warm, even friendly.  But the words were meant to establish a power dynamic.  She knew a lot about him.  How did she know his skill?  Just a guess, or possibly some form of improved identify?  And what did she mean about seeing his character sheet?  It didn¡¯t matter for now.  She was trying to make him uneasy, make him wonder what else she knew.

    ¡°What can I say?  I like running,¡± Nate said with a wide, guileless smile.  Then he let his smile shift a bit, giving Lieutenant Silvan a grateful look.   ¡°I¡¯m so glad you and the other guards were there to step in when you did.  I thought that monster was going to kill me.¡±

    Silvan gave a quick glance to the other guard, a clean-cut, middle-aged human with a steely gray beard.  The man cleared his throat.

    ¡°Yes, very strange behavior.  Especially for a scion of one of the Great Factions.  You can¡¯t think of anything you did that might have provoked him?¡±  He said with a hint of a growl, an edge of accusation.  Nate suppressed an eye roll.  So, this was Mr. Bad Cop.  Outwardly, he switched to his best confused look.

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s possible,¡± Nate admittedly reluctantly.  Silvan¡¯s eyes sharpened for a moment, but relaxed in disappointment as Nate went on.  ¡°I¡¯ve never met an orc before today.  I don¡¯t know what they might consider offensive.  But I didn¡¯t even notice him before he yelled at me.  The next thing I know, he kicked me in the chest.  Even cracked one of my ribs.¡±  Nate rubbed meaningfully at his chest which, to be fair, did still hurt, though not as much as he thought it should.  He had checked his status screen shortly before the two guards appeared, and he had already recovered 2 or his 6 missing HP.

    ¡°Is it possible you encountered him somewhere earlier in the day?  Maybe he was carrying a grudge over something,¡± Silvan said, leaning in conspiratorially.  I¡¯m on your side, her body language screamed.  I can help you.

    ¡°I spent most of the day out at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat.  That¡¯s where I met my roommate, Christophe.  Is he okay?¡±  Nate asked.

    ¡°He¡¯s fine,¡± the male guard, who had still not introduced himself, grunted.  ¡°Grundar says you two did meet before.  Up at the Cathedral.¡±

    ¡°The Cathedral?  Maybe.  I mean, we were all up there.  Maybe he has me confused with someone else.¡±

    The two guards glanced at each other again, and Nate could feel their uncertainty.  Whatever Grundar had said, he hadn¡¯t completely convinced them that Nate had actually done anything.

    ¡°What happened at the Cathedral that made that orc want to attack me?¡± Nate asked, pushing on those uncertainties.  ¡°Did someone insult him?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°His purse went missing.  He believes it was stolen,¡± Silvan said, still exchanging an intense look with her companion.

    ¡°Ahhh,¡± Nate murmured, nodding his head appreciatively.  ¡°And he saw a Rogue he thought he recognized and jumped to conclusions.  I understand.¡±

    Barely, almost unconsciously, Silvan nodded.  That clearly made sense to her.  The man seemed less convinced.  He turned back to Nate.

    ¡°Nathan Sutton.  A strange name.  Is Sutton some kind of title?¡± he asked.

    Nate inwardly cursed himself.  The orc was called Grundar Shieldbreaker, with the second name obviously some kind of title.  Christophe had a single name.  He had chosen his name without thinking that the conventions might be different here.  It made him stand out, and it was clearly something the orc had remembered.

    ¡°After a fashion.  There was a famous man on my home world that was called Sutton.  I chose it during my character creation as a way of showing him honor.¡±

    It was sort of true.  Almost.  Willie Sutton might not be widely famous, but he was at least infamous.  Nate had chosen it more as a joke than as an honorific, but the details weren¡¯t important. Of course, Nate left out that the man had been a thief.

    Lieutenant Silvan seemed to reach a decision.

    ¡°Nathan Sutton¡­¡± she began.

    ¡°You can just call me Nate,¡± Nate interrupted.  Silvan inclined her head slightly.

    ¡°Nate, please wait here for just a bit longer.  We will be back shortly,¡± she said as she rose from her chair.  The other guard followed.

    ¡°Of course.  Anything I can do to help the authorities,¡± Nate said, without a trace of sarcasm.

    Grundar was seething.  His skin still prickled from where the energy net had constricted, but the real wounds were not visible.  He had been humiliated.  Again.  The chair beneath him creaked ominously under his shifting bulk, and it was all he could to not splinter it against one of the walls.

    He had seen Kilth for a moment before they were separated, a bright welt forming between her eyes from where the miserable little thief had pelted her with something.  She had looked away from him in shame, though whether it was at Grundar¡¯s failure or her own, he couldn¡¯t tell.  Either way, it twisted in his guts, feeding the flame of his rage.

    The door opened, and the two human guards returned.  He had told them how he had been wronged and expected them to immediately promise they would deliver the Rogue¡¯s head to him on a spike.  But they had left, and they had been gone for a long while.  Now they were back, and they did not look happy.

    ¡°We have spoken to the others involved in today¡¯s altercation, Grundar Shieldbreaker,¡± the one who had shot him with that accursed net said.

    ¡°Good.  When is the thief going to be executed?  I want to see it.¡± Grundar growled.  In truth, he wanted to swing the axe himself.  But watching the thief die would be good enough.

    ¡°I think you should be more worried about yourself,¡± the other guard said.  This one was slightly smaller than the net shooter.  A female, then?  ¡°You attacked another Traveler in the center of the city, in front of hundreds of witnesses.  That has consequences.¡±

    Grundar stared blankly for a long moment, trying to process.  Then he snarled.

    ¡°Consequences?  For me?  What are the consequences for thieves in this idiotic city?¡± He thundered, his barely contained rage bubbling over.

    ¡°About that,¡± the net shooter said.  ¡°Just to be clear, you said this Rogue stole your purse.  You saw this happen?¡±

    ¡°Saw it?  Of course I didn¡¯t see it!  If I had seen it, I would have torn her arms off on the spot!¡± Grundar yelled savagely.

    ¡°Right.  And how do you know that ¡®she¡¯ is the right Rogue?¡± The net shooter paused oddly on the word ¡®she,¡¯ but Grundar took no note.

    ¡°I would recognize that thief anywhere!¡± Grundar barked, his eyes burning.  The guards exchanged a look.  Grundar hastened to add, ¡°And the thief had two names!  Just like the one I attacked!¡±

    ¡°Right, you did mention that,¡± the smaller guard said, nodding.  ¡°Remind me, what was this thief¡¯s name?¡±

    Grundar opened his mouth, then stopped.  He thought hard.  He had read the Rogue¡¯s name, but he hadn¡¯t really processed it after noticing that there were two of them.  It was right on the edge of his memory, but refused to rise to the surface.

    The silence stretched for an uncomfortable moment while Grundar¡¯s mouth worked, no sound coming out.  Finally, the net shooter sighed.

    ¡°Some of my guards will accompany you and your companion back to your Faction¡¯s compound.  We will also be delivering a notice of fines to your chieftain for the damage done tonight.  The City Lord may have additional penalties to add later, though I think banishment from the city is unlikely for a first infraction.  Still, you should step more carefully from here on out.¡±

    Grundar stared in disbelief at the guard.  What were they saying?  Grundar was the one who had been wronged.  Were they saying that he was going to be punished?

    ¡°You can¡¯t!¡± He finally managed to bellow.  ¡°Do you know who I am?  Do you know¡­¡±

    ¡°I know that you are a new Traveler, a Level 1 Warrior who has disturbed the peace in my city,¡± the net shooter snapper.  ¡°I could break you like a twig with my bare hands right now and no one, not the City Lord, not your Faction leadership, no one, would do a damn thing about it.  My advice is to go back to your Faction tonight and think about that.¡±

    Grundar¡¯s mouth clicked shut in shock at being spoken to like that.  Like he was weak.  Like he was nothing.  The two guards turned and left.

    Nate stepped out of the guard station into the quiet street to find Christophe already waiting for him.  The young man stepped to him quickly, his eyes wide.

    ¡°Oh, thank goodness you are okay!  I told the guards everything that happened.  I can¡¯t believe that orc just attacked you like that.  Are you okay?  Do you need healing?¡±  The words came out in a tangled jumble.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Nate said, though he added the mention of healing to his mental notes of things to check on.  ¡°Thanks for your help back there.  It probably saved my life.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it was nothing,¡± Christophe said, though Nate noticed his chest puff out a bit in pride at the praise.  ¡°It¡¯s what friends do, right?  Not that I¡¯m saying we are friends.¡± Christophe looked down sheepishly.

    ¡°Of course we are friends,¡± Nate said, giving the mage an easy smile.  Christophe brightened back up immediately.

    ¡°Ah. Yes. Good.  Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay.  I¡¯m surprised the guards kept you so long.  I¡¯ve been waiting for a while, but they just told me they were still questioning you.  I¡¯m glad it worked out.¡±

    ¡°Me, too.  Has that orc that attacked me come out yet?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Christophe said with a nervous shake of his head.  ¡°But I¡¯m sure he is in a lot of trouble.  The ban on violence with city limits is strictly enforced.  His Faction is going to be furious with him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a real shame,¡± Nate said.  He glanced up and down the street.  He could hear the sound of the crowded celebration in the square not too far off, but the area around the guard station was deserted.  Despite that, Nate felt an odd unease.  As though he was being watched.

    ¡°We should head back to the party!  We haven¡¯t been gone that long.  I don¡¯t think the City Lord has made his welcome speech yet.  If we hurry, we can still catch it!¡± Christophe squeaked, practically bouncing with excitement.

    ¡°Sounds like a plan.  Lead the way,¡± Nate said.  The words were barely out of his mouth before Christophe was bounding off, with Nate following in his wake a moment later.

    As they started the short trek to the square, Nate caught a flicker of movement in one of the shadows on the other side of the street.  There was a figure there he hadn¡¯t noticed before, almost completely hidden by shadows.  The figure wore a long cloak with the hood up, making it impossible to identify.  But the dark mouth of the hood was pointed directly at him.  Watching.

    ¡°Come on!¡± Christophe called, and Nate glanced back to see that Christophe was pulling away from him.  He looked back to the shadows, but in the span of moments, the hooded figure had vanished.

    Nate watched the shadows for another moment.  Then he hurried to catch up with his excited companion.

 Chapter 13: Rodents of Unusual Size

    They walked the block back to the central square at a brisk pace, Nate in silence, Christophe blabbering the whole way.  Nate half-listened, the rest of his attention focused on the street around them.  The mysterious cloaked figure made Nate uneasy, but he quickly put aside that concern for later when he saw a familiar form slink out of the guard station only a few moments after they had started walking.  He had never gotten the second guard¡¯s name, the brusk one with the steely gray in his beard.  The man had never introduced himself, and Nate¡¯s identify had told him nothing other than that the guard was human.  Nate had taken to calling him Bad Cop in his head.

    Bad Cop was trying to be stealthy, and he wasn¡¯t doing too bad a job at it.  Other than the initial sighting of him, when he had been framed in the doorway by the light spilling out, Nate had only caught one or two more quick looks at him as he moved silently from one building to another.  If it weren¡¯t for the fact that the streets here were so empty, Nate wouldn¡¯t have even caught that.  He was certain he would quickly lose track of the man when they reached the crowd.

    Nate groaned entirely.  The interaction at the guard station had gone better than he expected, and he was hoping that, after releasing him, the guards would quickly forget about him.  Once again, his supposed luck was mysteriously absent.  At least one of the guards didn¡¯t believe Nate was quite as innocent as he professed, and he now had a tail.  One day in, and he had already angered a key member of one of these powerful Factions everyone kept yammering about and drawn the suspicion of the city guard.  He would need to be more cautious going forward.

    On the bright side, he had managed to pick up at least one ally.  He didn¡¯t put a lot of faith in his new friend¡¯s floating lightbulb to save his ass a second time, though.

    That thought drew Nate¡¯s attention back to Christophe.  Who was still talking.

    ¡°¡­over 100 years.  I¡¯m sure the speech will be the same generic welcome he gives every time, but I¡¯m still excited to see him!  I¡¯m more interested in what the trainers at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat might share tomorrow.  I¡¯m hoping to get some insights on the best way to start adventuring, and I¡¯m hoping to be ready to join a sponsored excursion as quickly as possible.  My family has put a lot of faith in me, and I need to¡­¡±

    Nate nodded along, though he lacked the context to understand much of what the boy said.  Fortunately, his monologue didn¡¯t seem to require any external inputs to keep going.

    Then they rounded the corner, saw the square, and even Christophe seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

    Their timing seemed to have been perfect.  The chaotic noise of the crowd was quieting to a soft buzz, as a small group made their way onto a large platform that had been erected on the far end.  There were three of them, with some kind of large, furry bag being dragged along between them.  All three had dark skin that reflected light from the glowing tower like obsidian, and rather than the collection of armor and robes everyone else wore, these three were nearly naked, with only a series of leather straps to hold weapons and equipment in place.  They were completely hairless.  Nate tried using identify on the closest one.

    {Name: Unknown                                   Class: Unknown                                    Race: Geomancer}

    Morgan snorted in annoyance at the almost useless text.

    Fortunately, Christophe rediscovered his voice.

    ¡°We made it!  The City Lord is about to speak.  And look, her personal guard!  I¡¯ve never seen a Geomancer, have you?  They are supposed to be quite fierce.  These ones are only level 10, of course, but still, they are an impressive sight.¡±

    ¡°How do you know what level they are?¡±  Nate had no idea what a Geomancer was, but, if he asked, he might never get Christophe back to this more important question.  ¡°Can you identify them?¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, my identify is as novice level.  But 10 is the level cap for the region, and the City Lord¡¯s guards must be max level.  So, it just makes sense.¡±

    Nate thought about that as he watched the small group continue to shuffle awkwardly towards the edge of the stage, their progress slow under the weight of the strange lumpy bag between them.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°So, where is the City Lord?¡± Nate asked absently, tracking the progress of the party.  Christophe gave him an odd look.

    ¡°What do you mean?  He¡¯s right there.¡±  He pointed at the little cluster of Geomancer¡¯s with their strange burden.  Nate stared in confusion.

    It didn¡¯t click until all three Geomancers stepped away, taking up positions around the lip of the stage.  The bag they had been carrying did not collapse as Nate expected.  Instead, it took an unsteady step forward.  Then it spoke, yelling at one of the retreating Geomancers.

    ¡°Frankie, you bastard!  This isn¡¯t the whorehouse!¡±

    That¡¯s when it clicked.  The furry bag the Geomancer¡¯s had been carrying was actually a massive rodent.  And, apparently, the City Lord.

    ¡°What!...Oh.  Fuck.  This again.¡±  The furry creature, who looked more like the world¡¯s biggest prairie dog than a rat, swayed again as he slurred out the words.  His voice was high and nasally.  Like the Geomancers, he wore no armor or robes.  Unlike them, he carried no weapons or equipment of any kind.  He was a just a big animal, his brown fur mottled and patchy in places.

    The crowd had gone silent at the spectacle.  The bleary-eyed City Lord looked over the assembly.  Then he belched.

    ¡°Fine.  Whatever.  I¡¯ll do the damn speech, if it will make you happy,¡± he snarled, staring daggers at one of the Geomancers.  ¡°But I¡¯m not doing it with a dry throat.¡±

    A bottle materialized from nothing in the City Lord¡¯s clawed paw.  He threw back his head and took a long, noisy swig.

    Which is when Nate realized that the creature was drunk.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s see,¡± the City Lord said with a dramatic sigh as he attempted to focus on the crowd.  ¡°Travelers.  New Travelers.  You¡¯re here¡­well, most of you probably don¡¯t want to be here.  Tough shit.  I don¡¯t want to be here, either.  Yet here we are.¡±

    The rodent chuckled darkly and took another swig from the bottle before continuing.

    ¡°I am Darlish, your City Lord.  Yes, Lord of the shithole of Dawn.  Where no one wants to go, and almost no one ever leaves.  Ain¡¯t that some poetic bullshit?¡±

    Darlish cackled, then staggered and almost collapsed before righting himself.  One of the Geomancers, the one the City Lord had been yelling at, took a step towards Darlish and seemed to whisper something.

    ¡°I know!  I¡¯m getting to it!¡± Darlish snapped.  The Geomancer didn¡¯t seem bothered by the reprimand, but returned to his post.

    ¡°Anyway, my job is to tell you the rules.  So here it goes.  One, no fighting in the city.  I mean, you can, obviously.  But if you get caught, the guards will be pissed.  If you have a Faction, they make them pay out the ass for any trouble you cause.  If you can¡¯t pay the fines, they toss you out of the city.  It would be kinder if they just killed you.  But there you go.¡±

    Darlish continued to sway and slur, but he seemed to gain strength as he went, clearly familiar with this speech.

    ¡°Outside the city, all bets are off.  There¡¯s monsters and shit out there.  Most of them aren¡¯t very strong, but then, neither are any of you!¡±  Darlish laughed so hard he started to choke, and the crowd was silent for a full minute while the rodent hacked and coughed on his own flem.  Finally, he regained his breath.

    ¡°If you want to survive out there, you¡¯ll need to go with people.  A party!  Just don¡¯t trust any of those bastards.  Remember, everyone¡¯s in it for themselves.  Better to stab a friend in the back then wait until he decides to stab yours.  Do it right, and you¡¯ll get stronger.  Gain levels.  Do it wrong, and you¡¯ll get dead.  Or worse.  Hell, they might make you the fucking City Lord!¡±

    Darlish attempted to take another drink, but discovered he had already drained the bottle.  He grumbled and hurled the bottle into the crowd with surprising force.  Nate saw it plink noisily off the helmeted head of a Traveler in the front row, who instantly collapsed from sight.

    ¡°Oh.  Sorry about that.  Anyway, if you make it all the way to level 10, you can go to the System Palace up in the mountains for class reassignment.  That will give you a power boost, and qualify you to leave the valley.  Of course, once you leave, you can¡¯t come back.  The whole area is System locked to anyone above level 10.  Which is why most of you won¡¯t even bother.   I know most of you don¡¯t give a shit about the quests or the rewards the fucking jewels or any of it.  You know the truth.  You were mostly sent here to die by people who didn¡¯t want you, and running around Farandway risking your lives doesn¡¯t benefit you in the slightest.  So, my advice, find a nice little spot here in Dawn and get cozy.  Learn a trade.  Find the best pubs and the best whorehouses.  You¡¯re going to be here a long time.¡±

    Darlish stumbled back from the stage, looking like he was ready to be done.  The same Geomancer from before approached, whispering again.  Darlish scowled.  At least, Nate thought he scowled.  It was hard read expressions on a rodent of such unusual size.

    ¡°Oh, yeah.  Tonight¡¯s a free night, but shit gets real tomorrow.  By the time you wake up, the quest system will be activated.  You¡¯ll see it added to your menus.  Taking quests will help you level up.  Not that it really matters.¡±

    With that, the strange creature stumbled back, and the Geomancer guards rushed in to support him as he staggered back across the stage.

    Christophe turned to Nate, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.

    ¡°Can you believe that?¡± Christophe whispered.

    ¡°Yeah.  That was¡­¡±

    ¡°City Lord Darlish himself!  What an honor!  Come on, let¡¯s get some food before its all gone.!¡±  Christophe rushed off into the crowd.

 Chapter 14: Open Menu

    ¡°Nathan Sutton.  Are you awake?¡±

    Nate peeled one eye open and groaned.  Then he jerked back with a start, the sudden motion making his head swim.

    ¡°Jesus Christ, Christophe!¡± he croaked through a gritty throat.  The young man was inches from Nate¡¯s face.

    ¡°Oh.  Sorry, Nathan Sutton.  I was just going to breakfast and wanted to see if you were up yet.  What is Jesus Christ?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± Nate tried to think of a short explanation.  Then he abandoned the attempt.  He was much too hung over to try to explain Earth religious figures right now.  ¡°I told you to just call me Nate.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes.  Sorry, Nate.  I forgot.  It¡¯s just such a big day. The quests are active!  Did you see?¡±  Christophe¡¯s face was alight with excitement.

    Nate tried unsuccessfully to suppress another groan.  The party had gone late into the night, and the food and drink had been free.  Nate had lost track of how many of the myriad strange cocktails on offer he had indulged in.  He had only vague memories of stumbling back to the Traveler¡¯s Retreat, Christophe beside him propping him up.

    Nate finally opened his other bleary eye and noticed the dim light just beginning to peak around the shutters.  It must be close to dawn.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen anything yet, Christophe.  Why don¡¯t you go ahead without me?  I¡¯ll catch up with you later.¡±  By later, Nate meant after the pounding in his head had subsided.  That likely wouldn¡¯t be until well after noon.

    ¡°Hmm.  Yes, I could do that.  Only¡­¡± Christophe twitched uncomfortably.  ¡°The first training session of the day is coming up soon.  It¡¯s on how to use our interface screens.  It¡¯s not required that everyone attend, of course, but¡­¡± the mage trailed off, giving Nate a wide-eyed, pleading look.

    Nate sighed.  Then he cautiously rolled to a sitting position.  He desperately wanted to go back to sleep.  But he couldn¡¯t afford to miss out on any information when it was being given out for free.  He had already realized that his unique disadvantages could be a problem.  There was so much that everyone else seemed to already know that he did not.  Even Christophe, who hadn¡¯t been shy about sharing that he was from what most would consider a backwater world, possessed a wealth of knowledge about Farandway.

    The problem was that Nate wasn¡¯t sure it was a good idea to reveal the level of his own ignorance.  The error message he had received during character creation gave the definite impression that people from worlds the System regarded as ¡°Unaffiliated¡± were not supposed to be here.  Nate had no idea what made him an exception to this rule.  But it wasn¡¯t something he wanted to share with just anyone.  Who knew what kind of reaction he would get.  That meant he had to be careful what questions he asked.  Being obviously unaware of facts that everyone else took for granted would make him stand out like a sore thumb.

    ¡°Yeah, okay.  Let¡¯s go eat,¡± Nate said, though the idea of food at the moment made him feel a bit green.  Christophe didn¡¯t even wait for Nate to get out of bed.  He bounded out of the room.

    Nate stretched and tried to collect himself.  That was when he noticed the blinking icon in his vision.  He focused on it.

    {Congratulations, Traveler!  Your Quest screen has been activated.  You currently have 1 Active Quest.

    <u>Quest:</u> Retrieve a Jewel of Farandway (Mandatory Quest; Universal Quest)

    While the paths tread by Travelers are varied, they all lead towards the same destination.  Obtain one of the fabled Jewels of Farandway to become a true adventurer.

    <u>Reward</u>: Quest reward box equal to player level.  Infusion of power.}

    Nate read through the prompt twice before dismissing it.  Then he stumbled out of bed.

    A few minutes later, the two found themselves in the crowded mess hall.  It was dark, with a low, squat ceiling that made the atmosphere oppressive.  The place was packed with Travelers, and while many of them read as Level 1, a majority provided almost no information when identified, proving they were of a higher level.  Nate and Christophe plodded through a slow-moving line until they arrived at a buffet style spread that reminded Nate of a school cafeteria.  Or a prison.  He looked closely at the food offered.  No, definitely more like a school.  The food in prison was usually better than this.

    Nate and Christophe took their thin grey gruel and hard biscuits to a nearby table and scarfed it down as quickly as they could.  Despite the crowd, there was very little discussion.  The tight, uncomfortable quarters didn¡¯t encourage people to linger.

    The food was bland, but not as disgusting as it looked.  As Nate ate, he found, to his surprise, that his headache and general sickly feeling eased substantially.  He commented to Christophe that he was feeling better.

    ¡°Oh, yes, the food in the mess hall has mild buffing qualities.  It can restore small amounts of health and get rid of some status ailments.  I heard some people saying last night that it was great for hangovers.  That¡¯s why I wanted you to come.¡±

    After breakfast, Nate followed Christophe into the rocky practice yard.  There was a group of about twenty other Level 1 travelers milling about, with a few more wandering in over the next few minutes.  It wasn¡¯t long before the commotion ceased as a familiar figure strolled into the yard, drawing all eyes.

    ¡°Good morning, good morning.  I hope you all had some fun last night,¡± Tully, the withered orc chuckled.  ¡°Nothing a good breakfast can¡¯t fix, I hope.  I am Tully, the caretaker of the Traveler¡¯s Retreat.  I met most of you last night when you checked in, and I¡¯m running this session to get you oriented on your menu system.  We¡¯ll have other sessions throughout the day.  There will be lessons on combat, magic, basic survival, and a few more subjects.¡±

    Tully took a seat on the dusty ground facing the group of onlookers and motioned for them all to follow suit.  With a minimum of grumbling about the dirt, the crowd complied.

    ¡°The goal, of course, is to get all of you to a point where you can survive outside the city walls.  Now, now¡­¡± the orc chuckled again as he heard some muttering in the crowd, ¡°I know it won¡¯t be easy.  None of you has a Faction, and many are from recently Affiliated worlds.  That might make you think you¡¯re just lambs to the slaughter here.  But, if you hang around long enough, you¡¯ll figure out those advantages aren¡¯t all they are cracked out to be.  I¡¯ve seen plenty of promising stars from the mighty Factions fall in their first week in Farandway.  And more than a few who started their journey at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat have moved up quickly and left the valley to join the hunt for the Jewels.  It¡¯s all about opportunities.  And what you do with them.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    There was more murmuring, though this time it sounded a bit less dour.  But not everyone was satisfied with this.

    ¡°Easy for someone who never left the valley himself to say!¡± yelled a¡­well, Nate wasn¡¯t really sure what he was.  The speaker was vaguely human, but with thick limbs, brick red skin, and heavy ridges across his forehead and jaw.

    Tully didn¡¯t seem offended by the comment.  He nodded and grinned.

    ¡°Aye, Tully decided to stay put here in the City of Dawn.  Never fancied adventure much, myself.  I was old and on my last leg when I came here.  My world picks travelers through a lottery.  My grandson was chosen.  I volunteered to take his place.  Didn¡¯t expect to survive the first week, to be honest.  Yet here I am, many years later, still kicking.  And at Level 10, to boot.  Decided I could do the most good by sticking around and training up you youngins.  But you, friend¡­Clarnek, is it? You seem like a stout, strong youth.  Surely you can go farther than old Tully ever dreamed, if you just put some effort into it.¡±

    Clarnek continued to glare at Tully.  But he kept his mouth closed for now.

    ¡°We¡¯re starting off today easy-like, with the most basic skill you¡¯ll be needing on Farandway.  Menu navigation.  Mastering your interface isn¡¯t just useful.  It can save your life.  Let¡¯s get started.¡±

    They spent the next hour learning how to pull up menus.  There was a lot more than Nate had thought.  He knew he could pull up his character sheet, which is what they started with.

    {Nathan Sutton: Rogue                                       Level 1                                                 HP: 15/15   MP: 3/3

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 5

    Constitution: 6  (+1)                                         Free Points: 0

    Dexterity: 12

    Willpower: 5

    Intelligence: 6

    Charisma: 7}

    There were two changes from the first time Nate had seen it. The first was that his health had topped off.  The second was that, for some reason he didn¡¯t understand, his constitution had gained a point.  He didn¡¯t have time to think about that as they kept going.   From there, though, he learned that there were was a lot more information he could access with the right focused thoughts.  His inventory list was interesting, but didn¡¯t provide any insights.  It listed his starting equipment, and included a line for him money.  Interestingly, it only included the money he had on him physically, ignoring the stash that was still hidden away under the floorboards in his room.  He also had a sheet for his current skills.

    <u>{Skill List</u>

    Improved Running: Novice

    Sleight of Hand: Novice

    Improved Aim-Thrown Objects: Novice

    Enhanced Concealment: Cost- Novice

    Dagger Proficiency: Cost- Novice

    Light Armor Proficiency: Novice}

    ¡°Remember, you can improve a skill by spending skill points,¡± Tully called to the group.  ¡°but they cost doubles for each level up.  Your best bet is to spend your skill points on getting new skills, then advance them through use.¡±

    Many, including Christophe, nodded at this as though it was obvious.

    Next they looked at the Quest page.  He only had the one quest to find Jewels of Farandway currently, but Tully told them they would acquire new quests as they went, with most being given to those who left the city.  At that comment, Nate leaned over and risked a hushed question to Christophe.

    ¡°Why does he keep talking about leaving the city and leaving the valley like that?  Do a lot of people just stick around here?¡±

    Nate was worried that Christophe might get suspicious at the question.  But the young man was so focused on the lecture that he didn¡¯t even glance at Nate, just gave him a hushed, hurried response.

    ¡°Most Travelers who aren¡¯t part of a Faction don¡¯t really want to be here.  They don¡¯t have much hope of surviving if they join the actual hunt for Jewels.  I don¡¯t know what the percentages are, but a good number of people who come to Farandway never leave the city or the valley.  Everyone you see in Dawn is a Traveler that chose to stay for one reason or another.¡±

    Nate thought about that as the lesson continued.  These were all menus Nate had seen before.  The rest were all new to him.  There was a page that showed status conditions, either buffs or debuffs.  The only one currently listed explained the mystery of his higher constitution.

    <u>{Status Conditions</u>

    Temporary status buff gained due to enhanced meal.  +1 Constitution.  Expires in 3 hours, 27 minutes.}

    Nate casually wondered if hours and minutes worked the same way on Farandway, or if the System was simply converting things into units of time he could understand better.  He made a mental note to try to track the length of the day.

    There were several other screens they looked at, though they went through them quickly and Nate didn¡¯t really understand their uses.  He schooled himself to be patient, hoping it would become clear later.  The last screen, however, was very interesting.

    ¡°Your activity log is probably the single most useful screen in your menu,¡± Tully yelled.  ¡°It tracks everything.  And I do mean everything.  That can make it a bit daunting to scroll through.  But it also means that, provided you check it frequently, you¡¯ll rarely be caught by surprise.  Take a few minutes to look through your log from your first day.  I bet you¡¯ll find a few surprises!¡±

    Nate started scrolling.  And scrolling.  And scrolling.

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± he whispered under his breath.  Christophe gave him a look, but Nate ignored it.

    He learned several interesting things as he looked through his log.  For example, he had imbibed 12 ounces of alcohol the night before, and produced 154ml of urine that morning when he stopped by the latrine.  The log also indicated events that had earned experience points.  Nate had never been big into gaming, but he knew enough that these points for successfully completing tasks were likely the key to advancing levels and skills.

    He had received experience for several things during the brief fight with Grundar and his associates last night.  He had gotten a chunk for running down the row of tables, and a smaller amount for the rock he had thrown at the archer.  Both of these sets of points were listed in yellow, with the associated skill next to them.

    {Thrown rock strikes target.  Critical strike.  30 XP (Improved Aim-Thrown objects)}

    There was nothing to indicate how many XP were necessary to advance the skill.  Scrolling back further, Nate saw the biggest chunk of experience he had gained.

    {Successfully stole Grundar¡¯s purse.  XP adjusted for value of purse.  125 XP (Sleight of Hand)}

    Nate¡¯s eyebrows rose at that.  If someone else could access his character log, they could see exactly what he had done.  Come to think of it, hadn¡¯t the middle-aged guard that had followed him out of the station last night said something about making Nate show them his character sheet?  This seemed like a decidedly unpleasant foil for a would-be thief.

    As if hearing his thoughts, Tully spoke.

    ¡°You can always show others your menu screens.  It just takes a little willpower to project.  This can be useful for sharing quests and the like.  But, under no circumstances do I recommend showing someone else your log sheet.  It¡¯s considered rude to ask, and it is illegal to try to force someone to share their log inside the city.  Out in the wilds, though, there are no rules.  Of course, if you run into someone strong enough to force you to share your log, you probably have bigger things to worry about.¡±

    They continued to play with the menus for another twenty minutes or so before Tully announced they were done.  As he stood, he gave them one last set of directions.

    ¡°There¡¯s a notice board back by the dorms with a list of lessons that will happen each day.  You aren¡¯t required to attend any of them, of course.  But I recommend checking out at least a few.  The first one is going to be basic combat, and it starts in an hour.¡±

    Christophe looked to Nate, and he recognized that wide-eyed excitement.  Nate groaned internally.  It looked like he was going to be learning how to fight today.

 Chapter 15: Into the Woods

    Nate crouched low against a tree.  His wide eyes scanned the forest around him, his ears listening for any movement.  A scuff to his right made his heart jump into his throat, then he let out of a tight breath of relief when he saw a small mammal scurry away under some overgrowth.

    He was outside the city walls for the first time.  Out in the wilds, his first mission, and he had been assigned to scout ahead for his ragtag party.  Their party leader, or, more accurately, their babysitter, was a level 10 human named Clive who smelled like old sweat and constantly had an expression that made Nate wonder if the man was constipated.  Nate did not like Clive.  Clive had warned them repeatedly about staying close to him.  Wandering off, they were told, was the fastest way to get killed.  Then the man had turned Nate and, with no sense of irony, told him to run ahead and scout.

    ¡°What does that mean?  I thought you said we need to stay together?¡± Nate had asked, trying not to sound scared.

    ¡°You know.  Scout.  Go look around, see if there¡¯s any danger.  Then come back and warn the group if you see something,¡± Clive had said, his face locked in a perpetual scowl.

    ¡°Why me?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re a Rogue.  Rogue¡¯s scout.  They¡¯re good at hiding, finding traps, sneak attacks.  That kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have skills for any of those things,¡± Nate had pointed out.

    He had argued a bit longer.  But, ultimately, he had found himself in his current predicament, all alone in the middle of a forest.  The forest he had been hearing about for weeks as he trained.  The forest that he had been assured was a death trap for level 1 characters like himself.

    Being a scout was a fucking scam.

    Finally satisfied that there were no dangers lurking in the immediately vicinity, Nate popped to his feet and ran back the way he had come.  That was one thing he was growing increasingly confident about.  His running skill boosted his already impressive dexterity while he was in motion, and he flew through the forest, his steps skimming effortlessly over the uneven ground as the trees blurred by.

    A minute later, he skidded to a halt just before colliding with Christophe, who had jumped out from behind a tree in his path, nearly giving Nate a heart-attack.  The rest of the group emerged from the trees around them.

    Christophe was the only member of the party that Nate actually knew well.  In addition to the mage, there was Triska, their archer, Olander, their warrior, and Gwen, their priest.  They all looked like scared kids on a cosplay excursion.

    ¡°Did you see anything?¡± Triska asked, leaning on her longbow.  She was a demon.  She insisted she wasn¡¯t a demon, and his identify said her race was Ikarshi.  But she had dark red skin that looked like leather, narrow eyes that glowed a strange purple, and a forked tongue.  Nate knew a fucking demon when he saw one.

    ¡°There¡¯s a little trail through the trees off that way,¡± Nate said, gesturing vaguely.  ¡°Other than that I just saw trees and some small animals.¡±  He tried but failed not to glare at Triska.  He had suggested that she should be the one to scout.  She actually had a skill for moving quietly, and she was better armed than he was.  But Clive had shut it down.  Scouting was a Rogue thing.

    ¡°No sign of the Barclave?¡± Clive grumbled, materializing from behind of the trees.  He blended into the forest seamlessly and carried the short sword at his waist and the shortbow on his back with a practiced ease.  He had initially been a warrior, but he had proudly revealed to the group that he was one of the few level 10 travelers to actually make the trek to the mountain fortress where one could go and have their class upgraded.  He was now a Ranger, ideally suited for fighting in the forest.  Or scouting, Nate had suggested.  That, too, had been shot down.

    ¡°Not unless it is six inches tall and likes to scurry under bushes,¡± Nate answered.  Clive grunted, shaking his head.

    This was supposed to be an easy first outing beyond the wall.  Despite the dangers of the forest, the area immediately around the city was regularly cleared, and the Factions had started taking their new Travelers out weeks ago to build their experience and their levels.  The odds their little group would actually see anything today were low.

    Then, only minutes after leaving the safety of the walls behind, Clive had noticed some footprints.  Big ones.  With claws.

    ¡°Barclave,¡± he had muttered to himself, before whispering some kind of curse and looking around nervously.  He hadn¡¯t given them much of a description, just said it was big and that they would, ¡°know it if you saw it.¡±

    ¡°Should we go back now?¡± Gwen, their priest, whispered, looking around nervously.  She was human, though so small that Nate had assumed she must be something else at first.  Even in the practice yard she was the nervous sort, and now she looked absolutely terrified.  They had brought her anyway because priests were rare, and even her novice healing spell could be invaluable. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°Stop being such a coward!  We are supposed to keep going until we find the first marker,¡± Olander said, his booming voice making everyone else wince and look around to be sure he hadn¡¯t summoned a calamity down on them.  Olander was humanish, but big, bald, and his shirtless body was a bright pink.  He looked like something from a deranged Saturday morning cartoon show, but the heavy two-handed axe he carried in his bulging arms gave Nate some comfort.  Unfortunately, the big man wasn¡¯t particularly bright.

    ¡°We keep going,¡± Clive cut in, ending the bickering before it could truly get going.  ¡°Barclave aren¡¯t territorial.  They tend to move around.  Those tracks were old, and it is probably out of the area by now.  Let¡¯s just get you to the first marker, then back to camp.¡±

    Their first mission was simple enough.  The city authorities had set up a series of markers out in the woods, and reaching one would allow everyone in their party to complete their first quest.

    <u>{Quest:</u> Reach the first marker of the Dawn Woods.

    The City Guard of Dawn has established markers outside the city that establish zones of increasing danger.  The first marker indicates the edge of the low-danger zone.  Touch the marker and return to the Guard Garrison.

    <u>Reward</u>: Small amount of XP.}

    Nate led the group back to the farthest area he had explored.  It was almost noon by the time they reached it, the intense, crystalline light of Farandway¡¯s sun beating down through the canopy overhead.  It was a beautiful day, as every day had been so far.

    ¡°We should be getting close to the ravine,¡± Clive said, as the group paused to rest.  ¡°We¡¯ll need to find the bridge to cross.  Nathan Sutton¡­¡±

    ¡°Just Nate,¡± Nate interrupted, correcting the man for the 10<sup>th</sup> time.

    ¡°Whatever.  We¡¯ll wait here while you scout ahead.  Come back and get us when you find the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± Nate muttered to himself.

    He pretended to ignore the slight clink of coins changing hands behind him, just as he had pretended to ignore the whispered conversations among the other members of the group when the betting pool had been set up.  He needed to find a way to work in at least five more ¡®Jesus Christ¡¯ comments before the end of the day to make sure Christophe won the pool.

    It was during the first week that Nate figured out that, despite appearances, not everyone was speaking English.  It was some weird System bullshit going on that translated everything so effortlessly that it was almost imperceptible.  Almost.  There were occasionally terms that didn¡¯t translate well, with proper names and, oddly, most curse words being the main candidates.  The group had quickly caught on to Nate¡¯s favorite, and he was currently having some fun with it.  When the money got bigger, he planned to force Christophe to cut him in on the profits.

    Before long, Nate found himself again alone in the woods, moving as quickly and quietly as he could.  Scouting wasn¡¯t all bad, he decided.  He hadn¡¯t actually seen anything dangerous yet, and he liked the solitude.

    He had only been looking for about 15 minutes before he found the ravine.  He gawked at it for a full minute.  The crack in the earth was at least thirty yards wide, a yawning maw of sheer rock on both sides that disappeared into impenetrable darkness.  The sight made of it made him strangely uneasy.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  He felt like he was being watched.

    Nate looked up and down the length of the ravine.  It didn¡¯t run in a straight line, but cut off at strange angles, disappearing behind screens of trees.  He was trying to decide which way to start looking for the bridge when the sound of something crashing through the trees behind him made him freeze in panic.

    Nate turned, ready to run, when a hulking form burst through the low growth with a terrifying roar of triumph.  Nate¡¯s eyes went wide.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    Sentry had been busy.  She had a dozen candidates now, and she split her time between keeping an eye on their progress and making her own solo forays into the wilderness, building levels.  It was risky leaving the city alone, and there had been a few close calls.  But the rewards had been impressive.  She was already at level 3.

    Most of her candidates were lagging far behind that.  It wasn¡¯t surprising.  She couldn¡¯t recruit from any of the major Factions.  They would have their parties set by their Faction leaders.  That left her sifting for rare diamonds in the lesser Factions and the unfortunates out at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat.  Still, a few of them had already shown promise.

    Today she had decided to follow Nathan Sutton¡¯s group as they made their first escorted trip outside of Dawn.  She was still of two minds on the young man.  She had watched him spar a few times in the practice yard, and he was almost useless in a fight.  He was also trouble.  She had watched him steal a few more purses on his occasional trips into the city.  He was good, and he hadn¡¯t been caught so far.  But it was only a matter of time.  Then things might get unpleasant for the young thief.  Despite that, there was something about him.  Sentry often found her mind drifting back to his fight with the orcs on feast night.  Most of the Travelers without major backing were meek and hesitant, something she would have to work hard to train out of them.  Nathan Sutton was bold.  Sentry still hadn¡¯t decided if that was a good thing.

    Today would be an interesting test.  Sentry had noticed early in the day that she wasn¡¯t the only one following the group.  Nathan Sutton had already made enemies.  That wasn¡¯t inherently a bad thing.  It was impossible to be great without drawing ire.  But one had to be strong enough to survive when their enemies came in the night.  This would be an opportunity to see what the Rogue was really made of.

    She watched from her concealed perch as Nathan Sutton examined the ravine, clearly overwhelmed.  She watched him freeze as his pursuer finally made his move, rushing from cover and moving in to attack.

    Yes.  It was going to be an interesting day.

 Chapter 16: Take the Plunge

    Dolarth, the chieftain of the Burning Brand, hadn¡¯t been angry that Grundar had gotten into a fight at the celebration feast.  He wasn¡¯t even angry about the resulting fine.  He had been angry that Grundar had been publicly embarrassed by a puny human Rogue.  Grundar¡¯s failure to exact his revenge was a sign of weakness, and the light of that weakness reflected on the entire Faction.

    The weeks since then had been hard for Grundar.  He had not been banished.  But it was damn close.  He was sent to live in the outer ring of the compound in a hovel fit only for paupers.  He hadn¡¯t seen Kilth in weeks.  Trenton, on the other hand, had attached himself to Dolarth, following the chieftain everywhere and whispering his poisonous lies.  Meanwhile, Grundar, intended to be one of the shining stars of his generation, was left to fend for himself, just another meaningless sacrifice to Farandway.

    Grundar had seethed.  He had raged.  It was unacceptable.  He was meant for greatness.  He would show all the petty fools who had wronged him.  He would grind them to dust.  And it would start with the one he hated most.  Nathan Sutton.

    He had the name now.  Learning to use his log sheet had shown it to him, bright as day.  Nathan Sutton.  The human who had to die.  Not just die.  Suffer.  Grundar would bring the Rogue¡¯s broken corpse and lay it at the feet of the chieftain, proving his strength and reclaiming his position.  Then he could take his time with the others.  Trenton.  Even the chieftain himself, once Grundar was strong enough.  Dolarth was level 10, an impossible foe.  For now.  But Dolarth had hit the level cap.  Grundar would catch up.  Then even the foul Oathbreaker would fall.

    Grundar had been smart.  He had been patient.  He could not risk another attack inside the city.  That might get him truly banished.  He waited and watched, looking for the right opportunity.  And today it had come.

    When the little Rogue had left the city at dawn with his pathetic party, Grundar had followed.  He had been so sneaky, so stealthy, that not even their high-level guide had noticed him.  Every fiber of his being screamed to ignore caution, to charge to battle and tear the Rogue and his entire group apart.  But the guide that led them was too strong.  He had silenced his blood lust.  Waiting for the perfect moment.

    Now, the perfect moment was finally here.  The thief was alone, staring like an idiot down into the bottomless ravine.  With a roar of triumph, Grundar burst from cover, his skin prickling with excitement.

    He paused for a moment, waiting for Nathan Sutton¡¯s satisfying scream of terror to wash over him.

    His vision went white with rage when, instead, his hated enemy spoke.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    It was the goddamn orc again.  The murderous brute must have followed him.  Stupidly, Nate hadn¡¯t noticed.  Some scout.

    Grundar¡¯s meaty jaw worked up and down, as though trying to find words to answer Nate¡¯s.  Then, with a bellow that shook Nate¡¯s bones, the orc plunged towards him, his massive axe already swinging.

    Nate moved.

    He hadn¡¯t been idle in the weeks at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat.  He had excelled at the Gauntlet, an obstacle course that he breezed through at record breaking speeds.  He had learned how to dress a wound, break down an animal carcass, search for snares, and a dozen other things.  Most of all, though, he had studied combat.  Every day he had sparred.  Every day he had gotten his ass kicked by someone.  But he had gotten better.  Today was the real test.

    Nate pivoted smoothly, ducking and weaving to the side as the axe tore through the air above him in an arc that would have taken him in the chest if he had stood still.  With skill born of hours of practice, Nate drew his dagger, flowed in beside the orc, and struck.

    The tip of his blade left a barely perceptible mark in the orc¡¯s tough leather armor before skittering off harmlessly.

    ¡°Shit.¡± Nate breathed out.  It was all he had time for before a gauntleted fist backhanded him across the face.

    Nate flew several feet through the air before crashing to the rocky ground.  Pain exploded through his body.  His face felt molten hot where the fist had struck him.  His vision was filled with black spots, and he could taste blood in his mouth.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    {You have suffered 3 points of bludgeoning damage.  You have suffered the affliction minor concussion.

    Current HP: 12/15}

    Nate rolled three times before pushing himself back to his feet, trying to gain space.  As he rose, he realized with a flush of terror that he was right against the lip of the ravine.  One more roll would have taken him over the edge.

    The orc roared again, stomping closer and raising his axe.  But Grundar hesitated.  Nate saw the dilemma.  Nate was too close to the drop.  If Grundar rushed in too aggressively, he would risk falling.  It was a paltry advantage.  But it was all Nate had.  He wanted to run.  He knew that, if he could make the forest, there was no way the orc could keep pace with him.  But he would have to get past Grundar first.

    Nate spit out a mouth full of blood before dancing to the side a few steps, looking for an opening to escape.  Grundar moved with him, slashing out with his axe and forcing Nate to dodge.  It was a game of cat and mouse.  That rarely ended well for the mouse.

    Nate twisted his right hand, letting a hard object drop from his concealed sleeve pocket into his palm.  He feinted another sidestep then, just as Grundar moved to block him, he snapped out his arm, hurling his rock at the orc¡¯s exposed face.

    Grundar reacted faster than Nate thought possible, twisting his axe head to intercept the projectile.  The rock clinked harmlessly off the blade.

    Grundar lowered the axe and grinned wickedly at Nate.

    ¡°I know your tricks now, Nathan Sutton.  Your little rocks won¡¯t¡­agghh!¡± The orc¡¯s taunt was cut short as the second rock Nate had thrown just as the first struck caught him on the tip of his snout.

    Nate didn¡¯t hesitate.  He ran.  Not at the orc, trying to get past him, but directly along the lip of the ravine, moving along the edge like a tightrope walker.  One wrong step, and he would fall.

    Grundar was after him in a heartbeat, the rock causing more surprise than pain.  Nate could hear the orc stomping after him as he bellowed a guttural scream of rage.  Nate refused to look back.  He was so clearly overmatched that fighting didn¡¯t even occur to him.  Escape was his only hope of survival.

    Something flashed through the air past Nate¡¯s shoulder, startling him so bad that he had to windmill his arms to keep his balance.  Grundar screamed again, but the timber was different this time.  Pain.  Nate looked.

    The orc had stopped, staring his disbelief at an arrow protruding from his shoulder.  Nate scrambled to make sense of it.  Then he heard a yell from the forest.  A familiar voice.

    ¡°Hold on, Nate.  We¡¯re coming!¡± Christophe called.

    His party was coming to rescue him.

    Another arrow buzzed from the trees, and Nate caught a glimpse of Triska perched on a branch twenty yards away.  Grundar executed the same move with the axe he had against the rock, the blade sweeping up and swatting away the incoming arrow with such perfect timing that Nate was certain the maneuver had to be a skill.  Nate couldn¡¯t see the rest of the party, but he could hear them moving through the undergrowth.  They were close.  He only needed to hold on for a bit longer.  Maybe his supposed luck was finally showing its worth.

    Grundar howled in frustration and lurched forward, taking another awkward swing at Nate.  He side-stepped as he had before.

    Then it all went wrong.

    As Nate stepped, a minor wave of vertigo washed over him.  It was only a fleeting sense of imbalance, brought on, no doubt, by his minor concussion.  It made his step slightly unsure, though it wasn¡¯t enough to send him over the edge.

    Instead, his foot came down a fraction of an inch farther to the left than he intended.  His weight came down on the foot, but rather than the hard rock and packed earth each previous step had found, this time he came to rest on a small patch of loose gravel.  He slipped.  He stumbled.

    Even then, he didn¡¯t panic.  His momentum was still taking him parallel to the ravine.  As he started to fall, he saw a dry, scrubby bush in his path, a lone survivor growing just at the edge of the craggy chasm.  Nate put out his hands, hoping to use the bush to brace himself and regather his balance.

    But the bush was not a living, growing thing.  It had been once.  But the rocky soil had failed to sustain it, and the plant had died at some point in the past, leaving only its corpse behind.  The branches did not bend to support Nate¡¯s weight.  They snapped and disintegrated, turning to slinters and dust under his weight.

    Nate plunged forward.  The lip of the ravine, a knife¡¯s edge up to this point, had a chip in it.  A single section, concealed from his view by the bush, where the open air of the crevasse invaded just a few feet farther than anywhere else along the rim.  A dark shaft of smooth stone that seemed to reach for Nate, pulling him into its embrace.

    There was nothing he could do.  He tumbled, headfirst, into the shaft.  And he fell.

    Grundar screamed in rage at the world as he saw the Rogue¡¯s body disappear into the small shaft on the edge of the ravine.  He gripped his axe so hard he could feel his knuckles crack as he revenge was, once again, stolen from his grasp.

    Another arrow whizzed by, this one narrowly missing Grundar¡¯s head.  His deflection skill was still on cooldown.  The rest of the Rogue¡¯s party would be on him in moments.  If it was just the level 1 riffraff, he would have stayed and killed them.  Then he could check and make sure that Nathan Sutton had died.  He needed proof the thief had died.  The Burning Brand would never believe him without proof.

    But they had their guide with them, and Grundar was no fool.  The man looked like a miserable specimen.  But he had levels.  The tyranny of levels wasn¡¯t something that could be lightly overcome.  Grundar had no choice.

    With a final cry of despair, Grundar turned and fled back to the forest.

 Chapter 17: A Light in the Dark

    The fight was over before Sentry could decide whether to intervene. Just like that, her prospect was lost.

    She had watched the orc attack and hung back to watch, as she had before, to see how the thief handled himself. It had looked like he had a chance to escape, especially when his friends joined the fray. Then he had slipped and fallen into the ravine.

    Now she was at a loss, unsure what to do. Nathan Sullivan had not been her best candidate. To be honest, she wasn¡¯t sure why he fascinated her so much. But, now that he was gone, she was surprised at the sense of loss she felt. Some part of her had already decided that she would approach him soon. Now the opportunity was gone forever.

    She sat in a well-concealed spot on the tree-line listening to Nathan Sutton¡¯s companions argue. The majority of the group was certain the Rogue must be dead, an assessment that Sentry couldn¡¯t help but agree with. They wanted to return to the city. Their case was strengthened by the fact that their guide was severely injured. She had heard them talking about suffering their own surprise attack. Something called a Barclave had ambushed the group. The guide, who looked to be a Ranger, had killed it, but had gotten himself pretty badly mauled in the process. His injuries were well beyond the ability of the party¡¯s low-level priest to heal.

    But there was one hold out insisting on a rescue mission.

    ¡°We can¡¯t just abandon him! Nate is my friend, and I refuse to leave him alone out here!¡± The little mage, Christophe, stormed, his back ramrod straight as he stared down his party members.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot!¡± yelled the Ikarshi with the bow. ¡°Nate is dead! I don¡¯t like it any more than you do. But no one could survive that fall. He¡¯s gone.¡±

    ¡°But will you look!¡± Christophe answered, his face flushed red. ¡°He fell into this gap. It¡¯s like a channel, and its angled. He could have slid down a ways and just got stuck. He might be climbing back up right now. If we leave, he might get back to the top, hurt, and find himself alone outside the city at night. We have to be sure!¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t be climbing that,¡± their guide said through teeth clenched with pain as he leaned against the group¡¯s priest for support, the small woman nearly buckling under the strain. ¡°The angle is too steep, and the sides are too smooth. Even if what you¡¯re saying is true, there¡¯s no way he could get back up.¡±

    ¡°If he can¡¯t come up, then he¡¯ll have to keep going down.¡± Christophe insisted, switching tact instantly. His jaw was set in stubborn determination. ¡°We¡¯ll have to find some way to the bottom so we can get him.¡±

    ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡± the giant pink warrior roared. ¡°Get a grip, Christophe. Nate is dead. If we don¡¯t get Clive back to the city, he¡¯ll be dead. And if we somehow found our way to the bottom of this hole, I¡¯d bet we¡¯d all be dead, too. We¡¯re all level 1. We can¡¯t survive out here without Clive to watch our backs. I¡¯m sorry about your friend. But we have to go!¡±

    There was a long silence as Christophe continued to stare down the group. Sentry agreed with the others. Even if Nathan Sutton had somehow survived, attempting a rescue was suicide. There was no other choice but to leave him behind.

    ¡°Fine. The rest of you take Clive back to the city. I¡¯ll stay here and look for a way to help Nate,¡± the little mage finally said.

    Sentry¡¯s draw dropped in surprise, and the rest of the group erupted into yelling and wild gestures. They argued for several minutes. But Christophe would not be persuaded.

    ¡°Fine! You want to die. Who are we to stop you.¡± The warrior, Olander, spat. Sentry could tell that the other two weren¡¯t comfortable with this pronouncement. But, at that moment, their guide groaned, and sagged, nearly pulled the priest down on top of him. Olander had to step in and grab the two, keeping them upright.

    ¡°When we get back to the city, we¡¯ll notify the guard. Maybe they can send some people out to help you,¡± the archer said to Christophe, though there was no hope in her eyes. It was well known that the guard never left the city. What happened in the rest of the valley was beyond their purview.

    More words were exchanged. But, in surprisingly short order, Sentry was looking down on one small mage, all alone in a dangerous world, as he walked along the lip of the ravine, searching for some path to its bottom.

    Sentry should have taken her leave then. Instead, she found herself following the mage, though maintaining her concealment. She was oddly moved by Christophe¡¯s loyalty to his friend. And she had taken the opportunity to examine the shaft Nathan Sutton had fallen into after Christophe moved on. The mage was right. It was an odd irregularity in the rock wall, and almost perfectly smooth tube a few feet wide that descended away into darkness at a steep angle. It did not look even remotely like a natural rock formation. Very odd.

    She followed for another quarter of an hour before she made her decision.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said. She had approached to within a few feet of Christophe. She had made no real effort to disguise her approach, yet the young man was still completely taken by surprise when she spoke. He whirled around in terror, and for a moment she thought he might hurl himself over the ledge he was walking near. Then he steadied and stared at her, wide-eyed.

    ¡°Who¡­who are you!¡± She was sure he was trying to sound firm and commanding. The squeaking break in his voice spoiled the effect. He raised a hand menacingly at her.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Sentry watched him cautiously, but felt no real sense of danger. He was a level 1 mage, and she doubted he had the resources or time to learn any spells beyond whatever he chose as his starter. It was probably some kind of attack magic, as that¡¯s what most mages chose. But it would be weak, and he wouldn¡¯t have the MP to cast it more than a couple times. Low-level, unarmed and unarmored, a mage like this was nearly helpless without a party.

    ¡°My name is Sentry. I was walking through the woods nearby, and I saw what happened to your friend,¡± she said, keeping her voice calm and even.

    Christophe licked his lips nervously. Then his eyes widened in alarm.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­wow! You¡¯re level 3! I haven¡¯t seen anyone who is level 3. Everyone is either level 1 like me, or else their level is too high for me to read, like Clive. How did you get levels so fast? Has it made you stronger? How much stronger are you? Are you out here alone?¡±

    Sentry blinked several times as the cascade of words washed over her.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been making trips outside the walls by myself every day since we all arrived a few weeks ago. It¡¯s dangerous, but if you are careful, you can slip out, kill some low-level monsters, then get back to the city before it gets too dangerous. That¡¯s how I¡¯ve leveled up.¡±

    That made it sound a lot easier than it had been. Sentry had almost been killed several times by those low level monsters, and almost every coin she had to her name had been spent on healing her body and mending her armor. But it had been worth it.

    {Sentry Warrior Level 3 HP: 30/30 MP: 5/5

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 12

    Constitution: 11 Free Points: 0

    Dexterity: 8

    Willpower: 4

    Intelligence: 7

    Charisma: 6}

    ¡°That¡¯s amazing. Of course, I don¡¯t think I could do something like that. I only have 8 hit points, and I don¡¯t have any weapon proficiencies. I¡¯d be dead right away if I went out by myself,¡± Christophe said, eyeing her appreciatively.

    ¡°That¡¯s probably true,¡± Sentry said, opting not to point out that Christophe was, in fact, outside the walls by himself right now. ¡°About your friend,¡± she continued before Christophe could start talking again. ¡°I overheard you talking with the others. You are trying to find a way down into the ravine? To look for him?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Christophe said, a little of the fiery defiance he had shown earlier settling back onto his brow. ¡°So what? You came to tell me it¡¯s a stupid idea?¡±

    ¡°No, actually. I thought I might offer to help. And to tell you that you¡¯re going the wrong way.¡±

    Now it was Christophe¡¯s turn to stare dumbly for a moment. Eventually, he found his voice.

    ¡°What?¡± he said.

    ¡°There is a path that leads down into the ravine. But it is back the other way. It¡¯s a bit of a hike. But we should be able to get there in a couple hours. I have no idea how long it will take to make our way down, though.¡±

    ¡°I¡­oh. Well. Thank you. That¡¯s very kind. Only¡­¡± Christophe looked closely at her, his eyes narrowed. ¡°Why would you help me? Do you know Nate?¡±

    Sentry considered what to say to that. She wasn¡¯t sure how to make Christophe understand why she wanted to help. Mostly because she wasn¡¯t sure herself. Finally, she shrugged.

    ¡°It seems like the right thing to do.¡±

    Christophe thought about that for a moment. Then, apparently satisfied with the answer, he nodded. A huge grin split his face.

    ¡°Okay! Then let¡¯s go save Nate.¡±

    ¡°There is one small problem, though,¡± Sentry said, even as the two of them turned and started walking.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Christophe asked.

    ¡°It will be incredibly dark down in the ravine. I didn¡¯t bring any lanterns or torches with me. I suppose we could try to cut some branches and fashion them into¡­¡±

    Sentry trailed off as she caught the smile on Christophe¡¯s face growing even wider than before.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, confused by the look.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about the darkness. I¡¯ve got it covered,¡± he said.

    Nate opened his eyes. At least, he thought he did. It made no difference in the inky darkness that surrounded him.

    Everything hurt. He had slide down the nearly smooth chute of stone at breakneck speeds. Nearly smooth being the important point. There had been sharp rocks, outcroppings, and switchbacks that had pummeled his body. At some point during the fall, he had cracked the back of his head hard enough to lose consciousness.

    He was awake, and he was a live. That was a start. He checked his status screen.

    {Status HP: 4/15 MP: 3/3

    You are suffering from the status affliction minor concussion.

    You are suffering from the status affliction broken nose.

    You are suffering from the status affliction bruised collar bone.

    You are suffering from the status affliction sprained ankle.}

    Nate groaned again and rolled so that he could look up towards the sky. The darkness above was completely unbroken. That didn¡¯t make sense. He should be able to see daylight at the top of the ravine. Unless he had been out longer than he thought and the sun had already set. Nate didn¡¯t want to think about that possibility.

    He was lost. He was alone. He had few supplies. He was hurt. And he was outside the city walls.

    Basically, he was dead.

    He lay there, groaning and feeling sorry for himself, for quite a while before he noticed the change in the environment. Slowly, ever so slowly, the darkness around him eased from an absolute black to an oppressive gloom. It took a while for Nate to realize what he was seeing.

    Veins in the rock wall were giving off a pale, almost imperceptible glow. The light was incredibly dim, so dim that it had taken this long for Nate¡¯s vision to adjust enough for it to be noticeable. The color of the light was strangely familiar. It reminded Nate of the massive pillar at the heart of Dawn City.

    In the dull glow, features of the ravine¡¯s floor began to stand out. It was relatively flat, broken only by sharp spires of stone like stalagmites at irregular intervals. These, too, pulsed faintly with light, and while some wouldn¡¯t even come up to the middle of Nate¡¯s shins, others were easily twice as tall as him. Nate found that he was lying roughly in the middle of the ravine, with impossibly sheer walls rising up until they were lost from sight roughly 10 yards off to either side.

    It was as Nate studied those walls that he noticed something else. The walls were moving.

    No, not the walls themselves. Figures. Figures were moving along the walls. Nothing but dark swirls in the gloom, a flicker here, a sweeping motion there. But there was definitely something out there in the darkness. Several somethings. Creatures.

    And they were getting closer.

 Chapter 18: Level Up

    Nate gave a small gasp as his ankle buckled for what felt like the hundredth time, the pain radiating out in waves.  His brow was slick with cold sweat, and his chest heaved with ragged breath.  Still, he gritted his teeth and kept moving.  He wasn¡¯t sure what he was moving towards.  He had picked his direction at random and started winding his way through the ceaseless gloom with an almost frantic sense of urgency.  He had to find a way back to the surface.  Back to the city.  Otherwise, he would die.  That wasn¡¯t what kept him moving long after his body had wanted to give up, though.

    The dark figures continued to swirl at the edges of his vision.  They were indistinct, but he didn¡¯t doubt they were there.  He hadn¡¯t gotten a clean look at anything yet.  Nothing had attacked.  Yet the sight of those figures moving through the darkness filled his with an instinctual dread.  He didn¡¯t know what was out there.  But he knew it was dangerous.  Nate trusted those instincts.  And so he moved.

    He had made two surprising discoveries before beginning his flight through the ravine.  The first was that, somehow, impossibly, his dagger was there, lying on the ground only a few feet from where Nate himself had landed.  The miracle wasn¡¯t that the dagger, which he had dropped when he tripped, had made it all the way to the bottom of the ravine with him.  The miracle was that he hadn¡¯t impaled himself on it during his trip down the chute.  However it happened, he was armed again.  For all the good it would do.

    The second was that he had a new icon blinking in his vision that he had never seen before.  When he focused on it, a prompt appeared.

    {Congratulations, Traveler!  You have earned enough skill experience through use to successfully raise the level of your Improved Running skill from Novice to Amateur.  Your new level in this skill comes with the following benefits.

    <ul>

    <li>Dexterity bonus +3 while running (previously +2)</li>

    <li>Your running speed has increased</li>

    <li>Running will be less fatiguing}</li>

    </ul>

    It had been a surprise, as had the sudden rush of warmth through his body as the skill leveled up, though it was more like a tingle compared to what he had felt before.  It was gratifying to see, especially since the impression he had gotten from the trainers at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat was that it took a long time to level skills without spending skill points.

    Unfortunately, the improved skill was useless at the moment.  Nate¡¯s ankle made running impossible at the moment.  More concerning, he had noticed that none of his hit points had regenerated so far.  He knew now that HP only regenerated on its own when he was resting.  He wasn¡¯t really moving that fast right now, but with his ankle and other wounds, even his modest pace was far from restful.

    Nate struggled on for what felt like hours, but might have been only minutes.  His ankle pulsed angrily every time he took a step, that one bright spot of pain making all the others feel like dull, distant echoes.  He hobbled around another sharp turn in the ravine.  Then he stopped.  And stared.  At a building.

    The building was not very big, and it was perfect square, the hard lines of its frame broken only by the sloping dome that capped it.  Set in the wall facing Nate was an arched doorway.  There didn¡¯t seem to be a door set in the frame.  Yet Nate couldn¡¯t see inside.  The inside of the building was completely dark.

    It was an odd design.  But the oddest thing about the building was not its construction.  It was that it was here.  Solitary and unadorned, sitting at the bottom of a bottomless pit.  Why the hell would anyone build a structure down here?  What was it for?  And who did it belong to?

    Nate was suspicious.  But he was also intrigued.  This was a sign of civilization.  That meant someone had been down here before.  That, in theory, meant there was a way back to the surface.  And that was something worth investigating.

    Nate had taken only a single step towards the building when the wraiths made their move.

    The darkness in front of him solidified, congealing into a writhing mass of black unaffected by the pale, ambient glow of the rock walls towering above on both sides.  Nate gasped and tried to draw back.  But the dark form was too close.  It lashed out faster than Nate could react.  Tendrils of darkness plunged into his chest.

    The touched was like ice, the cold radiating through him in pulsing waves.  He threw back his head to scream.

    Then the pain was gone.  Nate blinked.  The unnatural darkness that had surrounded him was also gone.  Instead, he found himself in the more familiar gloom of a poorly lit room.  He looked around himself in confusion.  He knew this room.  A seedy office in the backroom of a rundown bar.  Cabinets and bookcases lined the walls, none of them a match for any of the others.  A desk sat in the middle of the room, the only light coming from the desk lamp reflecting off the wooden surface.  Nate sat in a chair facing the desk.

    His wounds were gone.  He felt¡­good.  His clothes were different.  Gone was the increasingly familiar leather armor.  Gone, too, was the knife at his belt.  Instead, he wore jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt.

    He wasn¡¯t alone in the room.

    ¡°You¡¯re in real trouble this time, Nate.¡±

    The gruff voice came from a man seated on the other side of the desk.  He was just at the edge of the reflected light, his form vague barely discernable as he rocked back in his chair.

    ¡°Someone at the party saw you.  They recognized you.  Words already out.  The Menzini family is looking for you, Nate.¡±

    Nate blinked.  He remembered this conversation.  Of course he did.  How could he forget?  It was when everything changed.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you help me?¡± Nate heard his own voice, though he hadn¡¯t spoken.

    The man opposite him chuckled, though it was an oddly sad sound.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°I wish I could.  I really do.  You¡¯re a good boy, Nate.  And you¡¯ve done good work for us.  But you knew why we picked you for this job.  You¡¯re not part of the family.  If things went bad, we could wash our hands of it.  And things have gone bad.  I¡¯m sorry.  There¡¯s nothing I can do for you.¡±

    Nate¡¯s insides squirmed, a faint echo of how he had felt the first time this had played out.  The anger.  The loss.  The sense of betrayal.  And the cold resignation.  He had always known this day would come.  He still hadn¡¯t been prepared when it actually did.

    ¡°What do I do?¡±  Again his voice came, though he hadn¡¯t opened his mouth.  Silence answered for a long moment, heavy in the air.

    ¡°You run, boy.  Run as far as you can, for as long as you can.  It won¡¯t save you.  They will find you.  Eventually.  But it might buy you some time.  And that¡¯s what life is, isn¡¯t it?  It¡¯s time.  So grab as much as you can.¡±

    Nate gasped, collapsing to his knees as all the pain that had vanished so suddenly swept back.  The office was gone.  He was in the ravine again.  The dark figure was gone.

    Nate knelt, shuddering in the darkness, trying to hold onto consciousness as the pain overwhelmed him.  What the hell was that?  In confusion, he pulled up his activity log, scanning it for clues.  The last few lines told him everything without revealing anything.

    {You have been targeted by a mental attack.

    You have failed your willpower check.

    Mental attach successful. }

    Slowly, Nate pulled himself back to his feet.  The path to the building was once again clear.  But the sense of motion, of darkness swirling just at the edge of his vision, was growing.  The shadows had been following him for some time, but this was the first time one had made a move towards him.  But he could feel the others now.  They were pressing in.

    Nate took stock of himself.  His health was still painfully low, but it hadn¡¯t dropped further from the mental attack.

    Cautiously, he took a step forward.  Nothing happened.  He took another step.  Then another.

    He made it three more steps before the second attack came.

    Again, the darkness before him congealed, and again the strike came too fast to dodge.  The dark tendrils struck, and the cold rushed in.

    ¡°That one.  That¡¯s our mark.¡±

    It was the same gruff voice from the last memory.  He was in a different place again, a crowded city street.  Nate turned to look at the speaker.  An older man, his back slightly stooped, but still lithe and strong despite that.  His beard and hair were mostly gray, but there were patches of the black that had been so striking in the photos from his youth.  His brown eyes twinkled as he looked back at Nate.

    ¡°How do you pick?¡± Nate¡¯s voice asked.

    ¡°I could pretend there¡¯s a science to it.  Body language.  Clothing.  Demeanor.  But its more about instinct.  We¡¯re predators, Nate.  Predators can always find the weak ones in the herd.¡±

    Nate remembered this day.  He had been 16, and he had not felt like much of a predator.  But the old man¡¯s easy smile and confident words filled him with a sense of strength he had never felt before.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± Nate¡¯s voice again.

    ¡°I¡¯ll create a distraction, then you make the lift.¡±

    Again, the memory vanished, and, again, Nate collapsed.  He heaved for breath like he had just run a sprint.  He checked his log and his status sheet again, but it was the same as before.  Another successful mental attack.  No new damage.  But there was a feeling.  A nervous energy coursed through him, the same quivering buildup that he associated with being on the edge of a manic episode.  Last time he had one of those, he had stayed up for three straight nights and burned through $20,000.  This felt worse.  Darker.  More dangerous.

    With an effort, he pulled himself to his feet again.  The ominous pressure, the sense of hands reaching for him in the darkness, had intensified again.  He didn¡¯t know what these things were.  But they were watching him.  Probing his mind.  Tasting his memory.  Apparently he tasted good.

    Nate ignored his aching body as best he could and burst into motion.  He wanted to cover the rest of the distance to the building before another attack could come.  He hobbled along, more of a trot than a run, covering the space.

    He was within twenty feet of the building when the next shadow struck.

    ¡°Get up.  Get up, you little shit.¡±

    Nate was lying on the ground.  All he could see were a set of heavy black boots right in front of him.  The voice was gruff, but it was a different voice than the other memories.  There was no warmth in the tone, no compassion.  But this one, too, was familiar.

    ¡°What did I do?¡± Nate¡¯s voice, but not.  Younger.  Much younger.

    ¡°Stop whining.  What did you do?  You were born.  Now get on your fucking feet.¡±

    Nathan rose, though he didn¡¯t want to.  But the memory played out, and he didn¡¯t seem able to change it.  He looked up into the angry, beet red face.  He looked far older than his forty years, with deep lines scarring his face.  He was still strong, though.

    ¡°What are you going to do?  Don¡¯t you know how to fight?  How to defend yourself?¡± His father asked, a sneer of disdain marring his features.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight,¡± Nate¡¯s youthful whisper answered.

    He didn¡¯t see the blow coming.  But he felt it.  He was on the ground again.  Looking at the boots.

    ¡°You¡¯re weak.  All you know how to do is run.  You can¡¯t run from everything forever.  You have to learn to fight.¡±

    At those words, something snapped in Nate.  He gritted his teeth.  He pushed at the memory, fighting against it like it was a nightmare he was trying to wake up from.  He felt a strange, ephemeral resistance.  He clawed at it.

    He felt something tear.

    He was back in the ravine again.  His limbs were shaking, his breathing ragged.  He pulled up his log.

    {You have been targeted by a mental attack.

    You have partially succeeded in your willpower check.

    Mental attack by Wraith of Ulvar partially successful.  You have partially succeeded in resisting this attack.

    Experience gained.}

    Nate shuddered, but he pushed forward.  He had no idea what a Wraith of Ulvar was, but apparently his partial resistance of its attack allowed its name to appear in his logs.  He didn¡¯t have time to think about what that meant right now.  He moved as fast as he could, trying to close the distance.

    The building was before him.  The archway was right there, just a few feet away.  The darkness inside was deep, but Nate could see what he hadn¡¯t been able to before.  There was only one thing inside the building.  A steep staircase led down, disappearing into the earth below.

    Again, a Wraith reached out from the darkness and struck.

    A vision started to form.  A room.  A low bedframe against the wall.  A small desk in the corner.  A recent memory.  He had stayed in this room for a month, rarely leaving.  Hiding from those that pursued him.  It was in this room he had gone to sleep one night a few weeks ago, only to wake up in a new place.  A new world.

    Nate didn¡¯t let the vision settle.  He pushed back as he had before, feeling for the edges of the pressure in his mind.  It resisted, pushing back much harder than it had the last time.  There was a sharp stab of pain that seemed to penetrate Nate¡¯s very soul.  Yet he pushed, frantically resisting.

    The vision popped, vanishing.  He didn¡¯t wait.  With a roar, he threw himself forward, through the archway and onto the staircase.

    His injured ankle gave out as it hit the first stare, twisting beneath him.  With a cry of renewed pain, Nate fell.  He disappeared into the darkness.

    As he fell, a text box filled his vision.

    {Congratulations, Traveler!  You have successfully resisted a mental attack.  Experience gained.  You are now Level 2.}

 Chapter 19: Jesus Christ, Lizards!

    Sentry found herself in quite the quandary. On the one hand, the light spell her new mage associate could cast was invaluable. Without it, she would be at a loss. On the other hand, she desperately wanted to murder the mousey little chatterbox. It was a pickle.

    ¡°¡­and so I told him that the size was only part of the problem. The last shape is just as important. For someone with a wide foot and a high arch, the traditional lasts used in dress boots are never going to be comfortable, regardless of size. And then there is the type of leather. I tried to convince him that he wanted something softer so it would mold more easily. But, of course, he was worried about creasing. So, I told him¡­¡±

    Christophe had been rambling for almost an hour about boots. Apparently he had worked as an apprentice cobbler before coming to Farandway. It was a dull, tedious topic. But it was better than the previous hour, which Christophe had spent explaining why he liked his food spicy, but not too spicy. Before, Sentry had a hard time understanding why the mage¡¯s companions had been so willing to leave him on his own in the wilds. Now she understood.

    It had taken just over an hour to find the steep, narrow trail that led down into the ravine. It was in an area that clearly saw little traffic, and it was by pure luck that Sentry had come across it the previous week while out on one of her excursions. She hadn¡¯t ventured down at the time, and she wasn¡¯t sure it led all the way to the bottom. But it was worth a try.

    They had been descending for less than ten minutes when the sky disappeared. That was the only way to describe it. They had been walking down the path, the blue sky above still clearly visible. Then it was gone, and they were surrounded by nothing but darkness. That had stopped Christophe¡¯s mouth, if only for a moment. They had walked back up a short ways, and the sky had reappeared. Descending again, the darkness returned almost instantly.

    It was clearly unnatural. For reasons that defied explanation, the ravine was immune to the penetrating light from above. Perhaps it was some type of ward. Maybe the ravine was the entrance to a self-contained realm or a pocket dimension. Whatever the cause, it made Sentry uneasy. She wondered, not for the first time, if this was really a good idea. It wasn¡¯t like Nathan Sutton was her friend. She didn¡¯t even know the man. Besides that, the most likely outcome of his fall was that he was dead. It was unlikely they would even find the body. So what was the point of taking this risk?

    Yet she continued, her quiet march soon interrupted by the resumption of Christophe¡¯s verbal assault. Something pushed her onward, despite her misgiving. An intangible sense that this was the right course. She followed that feeling. After all, she had a secret ace.

    {Attribute: Uncanny Instincts

    Your instincts are honed to a razor¡¯s edge, serving you almost like a sixth sense. Whether it is detecting approaching danger, choosing the right path, or finding the weaknesses in an opponent¡¯s defense, your intuition will rarely steer you wrong.}

    The description was short and rather vague. But this was the same attribute used by generations of her people, and Sentry had a better understanding of its capabilities than what the System prompt offered. When her attention was focused on a problem or task, she would receive a subtle sense about what to do. It wasn¡¯t perfect, and it was weak at her current level. Yet it had already served her well, allowing her to survive encounters in her early leveling crusade that would have otherwise been too much.

    She wasn¡¯t certain it was her Uncanny Instinct that guided her now. The feeling she had about searching for Nathan Sutton was less focused than those earlier experiences. She followed it anyway. The odds were stacked against her. The only chance she had to achieve her goals was to take some risks.

    It was hard to judge the passage of time without the sun to act as a guide, but just as Christophe finished explaining the different methods for curing leathers, the trail suddenly ended and they were standing at the bottom of the ravine. The pale glow from Christophe¡¯s floating orb only allowed them to see about twenty feet ahead, revealing only odd, pointed racks jutting up from the ground at random intervals. It was an eerie sight.

    Then Sentry felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She narrowed her eyes, studying the ravine more closely.

    ¡°¡­so I tried to explain that using a Blake Stitch would make resoling more difficult later. But, did he listen? Of course not. So¡­¡±

    ¡°Be quiet,¡± Sentry cut in. Christophe paused and looked at her, startled and a bit offended. Then he saw the way she was peering into the gloom and the tension that had filled her body. The mage went still.

    There was a faint scraping sound. It was a soft rasp, but it echoed off the walls of the ravine, making the source impossible to detect. Then there was another sound, like the hiss of steam escaping a kettle. It made the hairs on the back of Sentry¡¯s neck rise.

    Christophe slowly extended a hand, the glowing orb moved away from them. As it did, the light stretched, casting more of the ravine in pale light even as the darkness edged in around the two of them from behind.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Finally, Sentry detected a small shift of movement at the edge of the light. She lifted a hand, signaling to Christophe to stop there.

    A form lurched lazily into the light. It was a massive reptile, at least six feet long and covered in thick, shimmering scales. It¡¯s long, narrow head held four dark, lifeless eyes. The mouth was closed. Yet long fangs were still visible, jutting out around the edges of its maw.

    A tongue flickered out, tasting the air. The beast¡¯s head turned, as if searching. Sentry focused on the monster.

    {Stone Monitor Level 4 HP: 30/30

    Special Attack: Petrifying Bite}

    Sentry froze. The first skill she had purchased after going up a couple levels was an improved version of identify. So far, it hadn¡¯t been particularly useful. But that was because she had never before encountered a monster above level 2.

    The Stone Monitor was only two levels higher than the strongest creature she had fought so far. But those two levels were a gap as wide as the ravine. A level 4 monster had significantly higher stats and more hit points. Also, monsters didn¡¯t gain a special attack until level 3. Sentry didn¡¯t know the exact effect of Petrifying Bite. But she knew she didn¡¯t want to find out.

    Sentry was trying to figure out a way to skirt around the lizard when a terrible, yet utterly predictable, thing happened. Christophe spoke.

    ¡°What should we¡­¡± he attempted to whisper to her. But the ravine¡¯s walls caught the words and cast them back and forth, echoing off the rocky surfaces.

    The Stone Monitor¡¯s yead jerked, its narrow eyes fixed right on them. Then it blurred into motion.

    The long, low-slung body scampered forward on four powerful legs, shooting across the ravine as a shocking speed. Sentry barely had time to react. With one hand, she reached out and shoved Christophe. Hard. The little mage went tumbling away from the charging monster, crying out in alarm as he fell. With the other hand, Sentry drew her longsword and made a frantic slash towards the oncoming beast.

    Her blade struck the lizard¡¯s snout just as it opened its mouth with a snarl. The force of the blow knocked the Monitor off its charge, staggering it to the side. But rather than feeling the satisfying tug of a clean cut, Sentry¡¯s arm buzzed as the blade bounced off the creature¡¯s hard scales, generating a faint spark.

    The Monitor whipped around, letting the momentum of Sentry¡¯s blow carry it past her. As it did, its tail slashed out. Sentry managed to block the with her sword, though the blow staggered her back a step. The monster was fast and strong. The realization was all she had time for before the lizard was turned and snapping at her again.

    Sentry parried and slashed, constantly retreating as she did so to stay out of reach of the snapping jaws. She struck the lizard multiple times, but each cut bounced off the monster¡¯s impossibly hard scales. One flick of the tail managed to catch her cheek as she dodged, opening a shallow cut under her eye, bathing her cheek in warm, sticky blood. It wasn¡¯t going well.

    Sentry was trying to figure out some way to retreat when both her and the lizard froze at the sound of a high pitched scream. The Monitor snapped its head to look at Christophe, who was waving his arms and yelling as loud as he could with a mixture of terror and concentration.

    Even as the creature tensed to charge the new target, Christophe¡¯s blow ball, which had hung above the fight this entire time, suddenly swirled and swept towards the creature. The lizard pulled back slightly as the light approached. Then it opened its jaws wide and lunged forward, snapping down on the orb.

    There was a pop. The light vanished. Everything was plunged into darkness.

    For two whole seconds, Sentry was blind. Then two things happened simultaneously.

    The first was that there was a sudden twinge deep in Sentry¡¯s chest. It screamed of danger, and she reacted instantly, swiping her sword in front of her face.

    The second was that the light returned, a new glow ball forming just above her right shoulder.

    A heartbeat later, the Monitor was on her, teeth snapping for her throat. Had her sword not already been in motion, those jaws would have torn her to ribbons. Instead, she caught the Monitor on the side of the head with the flat of the blade, battering it aside. She leapt back, gaining distance.

    In the instant she had seen the open mouth descending on her, Sentry had felt another tug at her Uncanny Instincts.

    ¡°Christophe! Send your orb at it again. Straight at it! Now!¡± She called.

    To his credit, Christophe neither hesitated nor questioned. His jaw set in determination, the mage raised his hand.

    The glowing orb shot forward, moving over Sentry¡¯s shoulder and straight at the Monitor even as it regained its bearings. Seeing the hated light approaching again, the Monitor opened its jaws, preparing to extinguish the orb just as it had the first time.

    The second it did, Sentry activated one of her skills.

    {Skill: Executioner¡¯s Thrust}

    Sentry moved like an arrow, lancing straight at the Monitor. As she did, the tip of her blade blazed with a radiant light, far brighter than Christophe¡¯s orb.

    The lunge was so quick that even the Monitor, with it¡¯s impressive speed, had no time to react. Sentry¡¯s sword passed over the glistening teeth and directly into the open jaws of the beast.

    There was a detonation as the tip of the blade made contact. Then the sword ripped through the creature¡¯s mouth, emerging bloody and streaked with gore from the back of its head.

    The Stone Monitor shuddered. Then it collapsed to the ground. Dead.

    {Congratulations, Traveler! You have defeated a monster of a higher level than yourself. Bonus experience awarded.}

    Sentry pulled her blade free, careful not to touch any of the Monitor¡¯s teeth. Then she let her shoulders sag in relief, pulling in deep breaths of cool air.

    Christophe shuffled over to stand beside her, looking down at the dead lizard with wide eyes.

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± he whispered. Sentry looked at him in confusion.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s something Nate says. When he is surprised. Or annoyed. Or scared. Actually, it seems to have many uses.¡±

    ¡°Oh. What does it mean?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I think it is the name of someone obnoxious that he knows.¡± Christophe shook his head sadly. ¡°I needed him to say it three more times today so I could win the bet. Now I¡¯m going to lose two silvers.¡±

    Sentry was still staring at Christophe, trying to formulate an appropriate response to that, when she saw the young man¡¯s eyes go wide. Then she heard it. That same rasping hiss.

    Sentry turned and looked out into the dimly lit ravine. Two more of the giant Monitors were slithering into the light.

    ¡°Jesus Christ," Sentry muttered.

 Chapter 20: Feel The Power

    Consciousness didn¡¯t return all at once.  It crept in, like a thief in the night, replacing the pleasant nothing cocooning Nate¡¯s mind with the dry, dusty pains of reality.  He cracked open one eye, then the other.  Even that small motion of his eyelids caused pain.  His head felt like it was smothered in white hot cotton, making it impossible to focus on his surroundings.  He couldn¡¯t remember what had happened, other than some vague details.  He had fallen.  Again.  He had been knocked out.  Again.  It was becoming a bad habit.

    There was something at the edge of his senses.  An annoyance.  Blinking incessantly.  He thought it might be an alarm clock.  He tried to swipe at it, but his arm refused to obey.  Reluctantly, he turned his attention to it.  A textbox appeared instantly.

    {STATUS CRITICAL                                          HP: 2/15

    You are suffering from the status condition severe concussion

    You are suffering from the status affliction broken nose

    You are suffering from the status condition broken wrist

    You are suffering from the status affliction bruised collar bone

    You are suffering from the status affliction sprained ankle}

    Nate stared at the screen, not comprehending.  Then it blinked.  Nate blinked, too.  Something was different.  It took him a moment to identify it.  His HP had dropped.  It now read 1/15.

    He was dying.  He wasn¡¯t sure what happened when the counter got to zero.  The knowledge was there, somewhere, but his foggy brain couldn¡¯t latch onto it.  All he could think of was death.  No more running.  No more games.  No more Nate.  The end.

    He wanted to struggle.  But there was nothing in him to struggle with.  Nothing to struggle against, either.  The emptiness that was descending, ready to consume him, wasn¡¯t something he could resist.  The futility of it all settled on his chest, threatening to crush his last feeble point of health.  There was nothing he could do.

    Even as he thought that, another blinking light tapped out its staccato rhythm, demanding his attention.  There didn¡¯t seem to be much point.  But he focused on it anyway, just to make it stop.

    {Congratulations, Traveler!  You have achieved level 2.  Proceed with level up?

    Yes/No}

    Nate considered selecting ¡°no.¡±  But he was afraid that would just make the message turn back into a blinking icon.  So he selected ¡°yes.¡±

    Nate¡¯s body jerked as a rush of warm energy poured through his limbs.  His mind filled with the distant sound of stringed harmonies playing a victorious melody.

    It was over in seconds.  Nate gasped for air.

    ¡°Holy shit!¡± he choked out.  Then his eyes widened further as he felt¡­fine.  Better than fine.  He felt good.  The fog that had clouded his thoughts was gone.  The pain from his many injuries had vanished.  The sudden absence made his skin tingle with pleasure.  Quickly, he checked his expanded character sheet, giving a low whistle as he viewed the results.

    {Rogue                                      Level 2                                                 HP: 20/20   MP: 5/5

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 5

    Constitution: 5                                                 Free Points: 2

    Dexterity: 15                                                    Available Skill Points: 3

    Willpower: 5The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Intelligence: 6

    Charisma: 8

    Attribute: System Blessed

    Improved Running: Amateur

    Sleight of Hand: Novice

    Improved Aim-Thrown Objects: Novice

    Enhanced Concealment: Cost- Novice

    Dagger Proficiency: Cost- Novice

    Light Armor Proficiency: Novice}

    There was a bit to process there.  But one fact overshadowed all the others.  Leveling up had healed him.  Completely.  His health pool was full.  All his status conditions were gone.  He carefully rotated his wrist and his ankle.  Both felt perfectly fine.  A warm sense of relief flooded Nate¡¯s chest.  He was not going to die.  He was going to live.

    Even as he thought this, there was another flicker at the corner of his vision.  Light.  But not the annoying blinks of a System message.  True light.  Something was flaring to life.

    The promise of living to see another day suddenly restored, Nate shut his system message and turned his attention, for the first time, to his surroundings.

    The darkness, even more absolute than in the ravine, was gradually subsiding into a murky gloom as more and more faint lights came to life.  He was in a stone corridor, narrow with a low ceiling, that disappeared in the distance as it stretched out in a straight line in front of him.  Behind him was the staircase, surprisingly long and steep.  The building he had entered on the ravine floor wasn¡¯t even visible above.  Nate couldn¡¯t believe he had tumbled down those stairs and not broken his neck.  His was¡­lucky.  The thought came, unbidden.  He thought about his Attribute, chosen for him by the System.  It made him uncomfortable.  Like he was an animal being led by the nose.  That rarely turned out well for the animal.

    There were only two options.  He could go back up the stairs, or proceed down the dark hallway.  The light was coming from glow crystals set into the wall, though they were dim and flickered as though they were on their last dregs of power.  It wasn¡¯t a hard call.  Going back up would only take him back to the ravine and those odd phantoms that had attacked his mind.  The thought wasn¡¯t appealing.

    The memory of those phantoms did, however, raise another thought.  Nate pulled his character sheet back up and, without hesitation, dumped his two free stat points into willpower, raising his score to 7.  It was a modest increase.  But the feeling of having something inside his mind, toying with his memories, made his feel sick.  Anything he could do to increase his resistance to that kind of invasion was worth it.

    He also pulled up his skill list and, with another thought, opened the expansive menu of available skills.  He had three points to spend.  He first looked at his existing skills.  He could increase any of them by spending his skill points.  But each new rank cost twice as much as the one before it.  Improved Running, for example, had cost a single point at Novice, and would have cost two points to move to Amateur.  He had advanced to that by himself through use, so the next available upgrade was to move from Amateur to Adept, at a cost of 4 points.  More than Nate had.

    Spending his three available points on an upgrade wasn¡¯t appealing.  He didn¡¯t think moving any of his existing skills up a single level would to much of increasing his odds of survival, and, now that he had seen how it was done, he was confident he could progress those skills through successfully using them.  Adding new skills to his repertoire seemed like a much better use of his points.

    The list of available skills was so massive that it made Nate¡¯s eyes water.  Many of them were still grayed out, unavailable either to his class or current level.  Fortunately, Nate had spent some time over the previous weeks perusing this list, and he had some ideas about what he wanted.  Given the current situation, though, one of the skills that he had previously scanned by hadn¡¯t really considered became more interesting.  He went to that one.

    {Darkvision

    Improves ability to see in the dark

    Cost- 2 skill point}

    As usual, the description wasn¡¯t particularly informative.  Nate wasn¡¯t sure just how effective the skill would be at Novice level, and it would take two of his three available points.  Despite all that, he took the skill.

    There was a faint rush of warmth, and Nate¡¯s vision blurred for a moment.  When it cleared, he looked around.  The walls of the passage before him were suddenly much cleared, the stonework clearly visible.  He could also see farther down the passage, though it still faded into obscurity in the distance.  It was as though all the lights had been turned up several notches.  Nate doubted his new skill would do much good in complete darkness.  Not as its current level, anyway.  But, in the low light, it was a marked improvement, and he was satisfied with the result.

    That left only a single skill point left to spend, eliminating many of the options Nate had considered.  Instead, he went to one of the options he had intended to save until later.

    {Improved Sense of Direction

    Tired of getting lost?  This skill gives you an innate sense of the direction you are heading

    Cost- 1 skill point}

    It might be useless.  After all, at the moment there was only one way to go.  But Nate didn¡¯t care for the idea of getting lost underground in some kind of Daedalean labyrinth.  He took the skill.

    Again, there was the rush of warmth.  This time it was followed by a faint sense of vertigo that quickly passed.  At first, Nate didn¡¯t feel any different.  Was it possible for a skill to be a dud?

    Then he concentrated.  And there was¡­something.  A feeling that, if he turned around and walked straight, he would arrive back at the point in the ravine where he had emerged from the stone chute.  Of course, he already knew that.  But he could feel it now, with a certainty that he couldn¡¯t explain.  It was subtle.  But it was definitely there.  Odd.

    With no more points to spend, Nate drew his dagger, tensed, and proceeded forward into the unknown.

 Chapter 21: The Spiders Lair

    Nate made quick progress down the dark, silent hallway. The knowledge of the weighty stone hanging over his head and the dry, dusty smell of the passage gave off an oppressive air. But his swift, confident steps and newfound ability to see clearly even in the dimly lit corridor let him move with speed. His new, odd sense of direction let him somehow feel the growing distance between him and the entrance. Yet he moved on. He had already decided to see where this all led. Or, perhaps more accurately, where he was being led. For he had little doubt he was intended to be here. The strange twists of circumstance that had put him in this underground structure were more than just a coincidence. Jean¡¯s cryptic words about fate from his character creation hung heavy on his mind.

    On and on the hallways led, the view never changing. One long, dark tunnel lit by fading glow crystals. It looked straight. But it wasn¡¯t. There was a subtle curve to the corridor. So subtle, in fact, that were it not for his new skill he wouldn¡¯t have detected the veer. Nate didn¡¯t know where he was going. But, after what he estimated to be almost an hour of walking, he was confident he was no longer under the ravine. Nate was starting to feel hunger and thirst setting in. He had some provisions in his pack. But he didn¡¯t stop. A wild, manic energy kept him moving forward.

    Finally, the view ahead changed. The corridor game to a sudden end in a massive set of stone double-doors that filled the entire width of the passage. Nate approached cautiously. There was no movement. No sound. Grasping his courage, he reached out a hand and placed it on one of the doors. Both doors responded instantly, swinging inward on silent hinges.

    The room beyond was massive. It reminded Nate of the interior of the Pantheon in Rome, with a marble-tiled floor and a vaulted dome rising high overhead. Like the Pantheon and the Cathedral where Nate had first emerged in this world, the place had a weighty grandeur that whispered of centuries long past. Hundreds of flickering glow crystals lit the space, filling it with dancing shadows.

    In the center of the room was a small, round fountain. At least, it looked like a fountain. There was no trace of water. Instead, there was a black chasm that disappeared into the earth below. Apart from that, the room was empty.

    Nate continued to advance, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the empty fountain. The glow crystals flickered more intensely, as if reacting to his movement. Nate¡¯s knuckles tightened around the dagger, still held firmly in his hand. Every muscle vibrated with unreleased tension. He was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

    He had made it less than halfway to the center of the room when he felt the ground shudder underfoot. The smooth stone of the floor visibly rippled, a wave of motion that started at the edges of the room and shot, with increasing speed, towards the empty fountain at its center. Nate staggered slightly as the wave passed under him.

    The ripple struck the fountain. Nate tensed, watching. For a moment, nothing happened. Nate did not relax. Still, he was caught off guard by what happened next.

    A pillar of fire erupted fountain, firing like a rocket thruster straight towards the domed ceiling towering overhead. The light was so bright that Nate cried out with pain, lifting and arm to shelter his eyes, and he could feel the heat prickling his skin.

    In the same instant, hundreds, then thousands, of tiny black beads started pouring over the fountains rim and scattered across the room. They were packed together so tightly that the floor vanished beneath them. As the wave of black drew nearer, Nate got a better look at them. His cry was more of a scream this time. They weren¡¯t beads. They were spiders. Tiny, black, glistening spiders, like nothing he had ever seen before. Their hair like legs scampered across the floor, eating the distance to Nate at surprising speed. He froze, every nerve in his body going dead at the thought of those legs crawling all over him. When the wave reached him, though, the spiders parted, flowing around him, only to close back behind him, leaving him in a small circle of untouched ground. In moments, the spiders had filled the entirety of the rest of the room. The floor seemed to pulse and undulate with their movement. Nate¡¯s mouth was dry, his eyes wide, as he took in the horrific scene around him.

    Nate didn¡¯t consider himself a brave man. But he was no coward. He had been in his fair share of scrapes. Dangerous people had tried to kill him, and he had kept his cool. He had run, at full speed, across rooftops, where the slightest slip would have meant a fall that would break every bone in his body. He had nerve.

    He had also once thrown a brand new cellphone at a wall, smashing it to pieces only hours after he had bought it. The reason was that he thought he had seen a spider crawling towards him on that wall. It turned out to just be a dark spot in the paint. Of all the things this world could have in common with his home, it made a perverse sense that one of them would have to be spiders. Nate hated spiders. A lot.

    Nate was so focused on the ocean of arachnids that he didn¡¯t notice that the pillar of fire had descended, leaving only a few feet of flame licking up from the fountain. He also didn¡¯t immediately notice when a figure formed in that fire.

    ¡°So. Here we are again. It has been long this time.¡±

    Nate noticed when the voice spoke. It was cool and dry, like a fine grit sandpaper. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from the floor and look to the fountain. There was a man there, standing in the flames. Or, at least it was the image of a man. It was strangely insubstantial, shifting and writhing with the cadence of the flames.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The man was old. Incredibly old. The skin on his face sagged like the limp sails of a mighty ship caught on a windless sea. He was thin, with pale grey hair and a beard so thin it barely hid his jaw. He was clothed in brown robes. But they weren¡¯t the robes of the priests or the mages that Nate had seen. These conformed to the man¡¯s body in in a sinewy way, making him think more of a warrior monk.

    The man¡¯s eyes were wide and bright, a pale blue that stood out starkly from the flames. And they were fixed on Nate.

    ¡°Ahhhh¡­.hey. What¡¯s up,¡± Nate managed, careful not to shift his weight. He was looking at the man. But his attention was still focused on the floor. The spiders continued to churn all around him. But they did not enter the small empty space around him.

    ¡°What¡¯s up,¡± the man repeated flatly. He tipped his head to the side in a way that was oddly familiar. ¡°I see. A colloquialism. What is up, Nathan Farlance, is that you have been chosen for a task. A task of terrible importance, both for yourself and for everyone else. And I have a task of my own. It is to evaluate and judge you worthy. Or not.¡±

    Nate felt a pit open in his stomach and a cold sweat break out on his forehead. It wasn¡¯t just for the man¡¯s ominous words. It was for how he had been addressed.

    ¡°You called me Farlance. That¡¯s not my name,¡± Nate said.

    ¡°It is your name. Sutton is the fiction. But that is no matter. Ulvar has chosen you. It is a great honor, though not so rare as you might believe. Many have been chosen. Few had been found worthy. And, of the worthy, none have succeeded in the task. Perhaps you will be different. I must confess, though, that I have doubts.¡±

    ¡°¡±Ulvar,¡± Nate said, the name tickling at his memory. ¡°Like the wraiths in the ravine?¡±

    ¡°Ah, so you have met some of the other chosen. The unworthy. Those too weak to shoulder the task. I cast them out. Or what was left of them, in any case. Now they roam, drawn to memory, seeking to restore some vestige of the lives they once had. It is likely you will join them soon.¡±

    For the first time since the man appeared, Nate ignored the spiders and focused entirely on the strange entity.

    ¡°And who the hell are you?¡± Nate asked with a bravado he didn¡¯t really feel.

    ¡°I have had many names. I was the first of Ulvar¡¯s chosen. The name I have most commonly been known by is Clayrell. The Spider.¡±

    The man watched Nate, though if he was disappointed that there was no flash of recognition, he didn¡¯t show it. Nate narrowed his eyes. The Spider. Of course. Nate knew there was something about this guy he didn¡¯t like.

    ¡°And what is this task I¡¯m supposed to do?¡± he asked.

    ¡°First, I must test you. Behold.¡±

    Clayrell lifted a hand towards Nate. Nate braced himself, expecting an attack. But nothing happened. Then he noticed a shifting on the floor in front of the figure. The spiders packing the floor bulged out as something moved through them towards where Nate stood, like a vole moving through loose soil. Nate watched it approach, his heart racing.

    As the bulge neared the edge of his untouched circle of ground, the spiders scattered, revealing what was underneath. It was¡­another spider. But not like the others. Each of the thousands of black insects that surrounded Nate was tiny, the size of a bean. This one was the size of Nate¡¯s clenched fist, with thick, hairy legs and wet, quivering pincers. Its multifaceted eyes fixed on Nate with something like intelligence.

    ¡°To face the task, you must show resolve. Even in the face of that which you fear. Kneel, Nathan Farlance. Kneel, and extend your hand.¡±

    Nate¡¯s breath caught. A primal, instinctive part of him screamed at him to run, or to lash out and crush the giant spider. But he controlled himself.

    Never let them see you sweat.

    Slowly, Nate lowered himself to the ground. The writhing mass of tiny black bodies all around began to churn faster, as if excited.

    Jaw clenched in determination, Nate extended his left hand. It didn¡¯t even shake. Well, not very much.

    The giant spider raised its two front legs in the air and waved them in his direction, as though testing the air. Then, with deliberate steps, it climbed onto the back of his hand. Nate grunted in surprise. The little thing was heavy.

    Nate stared at the spider. It stared right back, its eyes reflecting the light of the glow crystals and the dancing flames of the fountain.

    You fear.

    Nate almost jerked back. But he held steady. The voice had come inside his head. He stared at the spider, questioning. It lifted its front legs again, as though waving at him.

    You fear.

    The words came in his mind again. There was no sound. But there was a feel. And it felt¡­feminine? The voice gave an almost dainty aura.

    Yes, Nate thought, feeling stupid. Was he trying to think at a spider? Yet he wasn¡¯t surprised when he heard the voice answering.

    You fear, yet you pretend you do not fear. Why?

    Because fear is not my master, Nate thought, the words coming from deep in his memory. Because fear brings the predators. And I am no one¡¯s prey. He paused. Then, with a recklessness fueled by a sudden anger that was an old friend, he glanced to the figure still hovering in the flames and added, and because fuck that guy.

    There was a tinkling, musical sensation in his mind. It felt like¡­laughter?

    Nothing happened for a long moment. Then Clayrell spoke again.

    ¡°It looks like you have been judged worthy. Congratulations, Nathan. Trini seems to like you.¡±

    Nate looked down at the spider still standing on the back of his hand in surprise. Trini?

    He didn¡¯t have time for more thoughts that that. The flames exploded out again, tearing through the room is a blazing inferno. Nate tried to scream, but the fire was there before he could even draw breath. It passed over him. It tore through him. He felt his skin singing away, could smell his hair as it burned, feel the heat in his very soul.

    Then it was gone. Not just gone. Vanished, as though it had never been. Nate looked at his arms. They were perfect, untouched by heat or flame. He looked around him. The floor was bare marble again, all signs of the sea of spiders now gone. The fountain at the room¡¯s center was again cold and black. But the room was not empty.

    Standing by fountain stood Clayrell. But he was no image wreathed in fire. He was a solid, flesh and blood man, stooped and watching Nate. He nodded a greeting.

    ¡°Come, Nathan. We have must to discuss. After all, you have a task to complete. You are now one of the marked.¡±

    Nate stared at the man, dazed and confused. Clayrell lifted his left hand and tapped the back of it with his right. Nate gave him a quizzical look. Then he got he. He looked down at the back of his own left hand.

    There, in deep, dark lines, was the tattoo of a giant spider. Right where Trini had stood.

    ¡°What does it mean?¡± Nate asked, still trying to process.

    ¡°It means you are the newest blade of Ulvar. There have been six before you. All have failed. You are the seventh.¡±

 Chapter 22: The Seventh Blade

    Nate found himself sitting on the edge of a dark pit that disappeared into the bowels of the Earth.  The towering inferno was gone, but the hole was no less intimidating for that.  But the old man had beckoned Nate over to sit beside him, and Nate couldn¡¯t think of a polite way to refuse.  Still, the feel of all that empty space at his back made Nate a little edgy.

    ¡°I must say, Nathan, you are handling this surprisingly well,¡± Clayrell said.  ¡°Most who find themselves in this place are angry, or at least confused.  Then again, I have never seen Trini arrive at a positive judgement so quickly.  Her intuition is never wrong.¡±

    ¡°You can just call me Nate.  And don¡¯t get it twisted.  I¡¯m definitely confused.  But¡­¡± Nate considered his feelings for a moment.  Then he shrugged.  ¡°Honestly, everything that has happened to me since I arrived here has been so surreal that I¡¯m not sure what would phase me at this point.  Control the things you can.  Roll with the things you can¡¯t.  That¡¯s what I¡¯ve always tried to do.¡±  Not that it had always worked out well.  Typically, the balance sheet of life tipped firmly towards out of control.

    No longer.  You are the Blade of Ulvar.  You are the agent of change.

    The voice was so sudden and distinct that Nate jerked, then had to windmill his arms for a moment to avoid tipping and falling into the abyss.  It was the same dainty, oddly echoed voice in his head from before.  With a startled expression, Nate looked down at the tattoo that now adorned the back of his left hand.  It was wrought in exquisite detail, each fibrous hair on the creature¡¯s legs almost vibrating with life.  As he watched, the tattoo shifted, undulating slightly.

    ¡°Trini is bonded to you now.  She can be a bit stubborn, but she is surprisingly resourceful.  I think you will find her quite useful,¡± Clayrell said calmly.

    Nate swallowed the sudden taste of bile in his throat.  Of course.  A fucking spider.

    There was a sudden twinge of pain from his hand.

    Be careful the small voice hissed in his mind.

    Stop listening to my thoughts! He hurled back.

    Then stop thinking them so loud.

    Clayrell, watching him carefully, chuckled.

    ¡°You will get used to her.  Now,¡± the man said, clapping his hands together in excitement, ¡°we had best get down to business.  I have nothing but time, of course.  But you have places to be.  I doubt your companions will survive if we dally too long?¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Nate said, suddenly alarmed.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get to that.  But first, your questions.  Let¡¯s start with the most obvious ones.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Nate said, though his mind was desperately scrambling to figure out what Clayrell could mean by that comment about his companions.  He had no companions.  ¡°Obvious.  How about, what the fuck is a Blade of Ulvar?¡±

    ¡°Good.  Direct.  The answer is less so.  But I will try.  As someone from an Unaffiliated World, you have no reason to be here and no base of knowledge about it.  So tell me, Nathan, what have you surmised so far about the world of Farandway?¡±

    Nate froze.

    He had decided early on to keep his status as an outsider to himself.  Context had made it clear that the Affiliated Worlds were a vast collection of realms that were all connected to Farandway, though exactly how they were connected was still beyond him.  Everyone within that system seemed to possess at least some basic knowledge of Farandway, with the vaunted Factions, who Nate had very little contact with, at the top of the pecking order.  At first, he wasn¡¯t sure how rare it was to be from a world beyond this coalition.  But time had made it clear that it wasn¡¯t rare.  It was unheard of.  It didn¡¯t happen.  Ever.  Like all assumptions that were so deeply engrained that it was impossible to consider an alternative, it was simply never discussed.  Even Nate¡¯s frequent slipups and blatant displays of ignorance weren¡¯t enough to make anyone suspect he was an outsider.  It was too unthinkable.

    Yet this man knew.

    ¡°Do you know Jean?¡± Nate asked, the words coming out in the same instant the thought struck.  The man only smiled and shook his head.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get sidetracked.  Farandway?¡±

    Nate considered everything he had managed to glean so far.  Then he shrugged.

    ¡°Honestly, I have no idea.  I mean, I get the basic idea.  People are brought here from all over the Universe and tossed into this gamified world.  Dawn and the valley around it is some kind of training zone, though a lot of people, particularly those from weaker worlds, tend to just stay there.  It seems that going to Farandway is some kind of honor or reward for those at the top of the pyramid, but a lot of the folks at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat were sent here as a punishment or just through random bad luck.  But¡­¡± Nate paused.

    ¡°Yes?¡± Clayrell leaned in, his eyes bright.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what it is all for,¡± Nate finally admitted.  ¡°What¡¯s the point of it all?  I get that we are all supposed to scour the countryside looking for these crystals.  But I don¡¯t get why.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised you haven¡¯t figured it out,¡± Clayrell said.  ¡°Oh, there are those who think they could explain it to you.  But, if you really pressed them, their explanations would wear thin.  We don¡¯t have time for the full mystery.  But I can share a few of the secrets with you.  Let¡¯s start with the most basic.  What, exactly, is Farandway?¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Nate waited, expectant.

    ¡°Long ago, maybe even before the Universe we currently reside in existed, there were beings.  For lack of a better term, let¡¯s call them Gods.¡±

    Nate grimaced.  He already didn¡¯t like where this was going.  Clayrell noticed his expression and shook his head.

    ¡°Forget whatever baggage you associate that term from your planet¡¯s culture.  God just rolled off the tongue more easily than ¡®ancient beings of inscrutable power.¡¯  Anyway, you don¡¯t have to worry about them.  The old Gods are gone.  Dead.  Vanished.  Most disappeared without a trace.¡±

    ¡°Most,¡± Nate said, noting the emphasis the man had put on the word.

    ¡°Indeed.  No one knows what happened to them.  A war, perhaps.  A cataclysm.  It doesn¡¯t matter.  What matters is that they are gone.  And the traces they left behind.  The occasional relic.  A region of space that is not like any other.  And, most important, Farandway.¡±

    ¡°So Farandway was left here by some ancient dead God?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°No, Nathan.  Farandway is some ancient dead God.  The rotting carcass of one, at least.  This entire world is a pocket universe contained within the corpse of a dead God.¡±

    ¡°Ahhh¡­gross, I guess,¡± Nate said, eyeing the cavern they sat in with trepidation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the details.  Let¡¯s keep it simple.  Long ago, millions of years in fact, a few civilizations came across these remains.  It took millennia for them to piece out what they had found.  Millennia more to understand what it contained.  But, eventually, they recognized what Farandway represented.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°Power.  A nearly infinite source of power.  Even a whisper of the Old God¡¯s former power could do things that were previously unimaginable.  And so, those civilizations found ways to harness that power, siphoning off bits to make use of it back on their home planets.  Magic, as they came to call this power, was born.  And the first of the Affiliated Worlds made use of it.¡±

    Nate tried to concentrate, but the scope of what Clayrell was describing was so vast, so alien, that he couldn¡¯t even manage an emotion in response.  To his earthly sensibilities, it simply sounded ludicrous.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s say I buy all of this so far.  How do we get from that to a thousands of people running around in the forest bashing at things with swords?¡±

    ¡°Over time, problems developed,¡± Clayrell went on.  ¡°The power was apparently inexhaustible.  But it was also unpredictable.  Periods, sometimes lasting thousands of years, where the flow of magic dwindled to a trickle became more and more common.  It was only then that these newly Affiliated Worlds discovered the System.¡±

    Nate perked up at this.

    ¡°And what is the System?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The final traces of the will of that long dead God.  Perhaps you have already guessed the name we know him by?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to go out on a ledge and say, Ulvar?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.  The System isn¡¯t Ulvar.  Not even a sliver of him.  The System is more like an automated system, a code that was left running long after its creator vanished.  It was through interfacing with the System that the Affiliates learned that there were pressure points that built up in the magic, like an ulcer or a blood clot.  These were responsible for the fluctuations in that magic.¡±

    ¡°The crystals.¡±

    ¡°After a fashion,¡± Clayrell confirmed.  ¡°The reality is far more complex.  But the Jewels of Farandway are a representation of those magical clots, if you will.  The System offered a solution.  Each of the Affiliate Worlds would send champions.  The System would accept these champions into a constructed space, and they would collect and clear these build-ups of power.  This would allow the flow of magic to continue unabated.  Thus, progress could march ever onward.¡±

    Nate considered that.  It was interesting, he supposed.  But there was a problem.

    ¡°What exactly does any of this have to do with me?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s imagine, Nathan, that you had something rare and precious.  Something powerful.  Let¡¯s imagine that precious thing was left unprotected, where thousands of people had access to it.  What do you think would happen?¡±

    ¡°Someone would take it, obviously,¡± Nate said without hesitation.

    ¡°Exactly!¡± Clayrell chimed, clapping his hands again.  ¡°Exactly so!  And that is where you come in.  The Jewels of Farandway, once collected, are meant to be recycled.  Returned to the world.  A cadre of custodians was created to complete this task.  But they have become corrupt.  They are now a parasite on Farandway, siphoning the power for their own purposes.  And their plans are reaching a critical point.  When the pressure in a system becomes too high, some of that pressure must be released.  This requires a cut.  To cut, one must have a Blade.  The Blades of Ulvar exist for this purpose.  To cut away the cancer.¡±

    ¡°Wait.  What do you want me to do exactly?¡±

    ¡°The High King of Farandway and his minions are stealing the divine magic of Ulvar, corrupting their purpose.  Who better to catch a den of thieves than a thief?¡±

    ¡°A policeman?¡± Nate suggested caustically.

    ¡°And when the police are the ones turned thieves?¡±

    ¡°We call that a Tuesday,¡± Nate said back.  Clayrell chortled appreciatively.  It was annoying.

    ¡°Very quick.  The System has fail-safes for everything.  You represent one such fail-safe.  An outsider, uncorrupted by the politics of the Affiliates.  A man possessing unique skills and a rare mindset.  You could say, Nathan, that you were born for this.  It is your destiny.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t know Jean?¡± Nate asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.  ¡°Let¡¯s say I buy in to all this.  What exactly do you expect me to do?  Murder the High King?¡±

    Nate¡¯s voice dripped with sarcasm.  But Clayrell didn¡¯t laugh this time.  He just gave Nate a level look.  Nate¡¯s eyebrows rose.

    ¡°Are you serious?  I¡¯m no killer.¡±

    ¡°Yet you have killed.¡±

    Nate froze at that.  His pulse quickened, and sweat beaded on his brow.  He tried to speak, but his throat clenched in protest.

    ¡°The point is moot at the moment.  The High King is beyond your reach, both too far away and far too powerful.  In fact, it may be too late.  Six times before you, Blades have been chosen to hunt down the High King.  Each has fallen short.  Now, he is more powerful than ever.  Your task might be impossible.¡±

    ¡°Oh, good,¡± Nate croaked, his mind stuttering back to life.  He pulled his thoughts away from the darkness they had been circling a moment before.  It wasn¡¯t my fault, he thought.

    Why feel guilt for killing your enemies? Trini dainty voice asked.  Nate ignored her.

    ¡°There is much to learn.  Far too much for now.  Our time is almost gone.  For now, know this.  To destroy corruption, you must eliminate all traces.  Otherwise, it will simply spread again from what you left behind.  You will be given a series of tests, each more challenging than the last.  Completing each will result in rewards, preparing you for what comes next.  Your first task is simple.  The corruption has spread to Dawn.  The Factions have turned the trial grounds into their personal plaything, and the champions of countless worlds sit rotting in comfort and safety.  You must change that.  Break the grip of the Factions.  Return Dawn to its former purpose.  This is your fist task.¡±

    ¡°Of course.  How simple!¡± Nate laughed, a bit hysterically.

 Chapter 23: Whos Rescuing Who?

    ¡°There is still much you will need to know,¡± Clayrell said as he stood. ¡°But our time has run short, I¡¯m afraid. So, I will condense the main points quickly.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the rush?¡± Nate asked. This was the first time he had gotten any straight answers in almost a month, and he wanted to milk the opportunity for all that he could.

    ¡°Your companions,¡± Clayrell said. Nate shook his head in confusion.

    ¡°You said something about that before. But I have no idea what you are talking about.¡±

    ¡°Two Travelers descended into the ravine to search for you after you fell. It was foolish, and the foolish usually die quick and painful deaths in Farandway. But it was also brave. To be successful in the tasks ahead, you will need companions. It would be a waste to lose two such so early on your path.¡±

    ¡°People came down to look for me?¡± Nate asked, surprised. His thoughts immediately leaped to Christophe. But that would be idiotic. The little mage was too weak, and too meek, besides. But who else would risk themselves like that for Nate?

    ¡°Indeed. And they are in dire straights at the moment. I am going to send you to them now. If you save them, their burgeoning loyalty may well be yours forever.¡±

    ¡°Me? What exactly do you think I¡¯ll be able to¡­¡±

    ¡°Quiet now, Nathan. Listen.¡± Clayrell turned intense eyes Nate, who went still. ¡°Ulvar asks much of you. But he gives something in return. Your tasks are great, and so, therefore, you must be clever and powerful to accomplish them. The clever part you must handle yourself. But Ulvar gifts will help you grow in power.¡±

    ¡°Gifts? What gifts?¡± Nate asked. Clayrell smiled. There was something wicked in the smirk.

    ¡°It will not be so easy. Nothing is given for free. For now, you will notice only a small difference, and it will be only become clear what that difference is when you gain your next level. As I told you, Ulvar will give you a series of tasks. Accomplishing each task will result in a new empowerment. See for yourself.¡±

    Even as the man stopped speaking, a familiar icon began blinking in Nate¡¯s vision. With a sigh, he focused on it, expanding the text box.

    {New Quest!- Disturb the Peace

    The governors of Dawn are figureheads, with the true power lying in the Factions. This is one of the key factors that has led to the corruption of Farandway¡¯s training system. The Factions must be broken. Within the next 14 days, you must insight at least two of the city¡¯s factions into open hostility with each other. This will be the first step in their downfall.

    Conditions for Success: Formal Declaration of Hostility from at least 2 Factions within Dawn City. Time limit of 14 days.

    Reward: ????????? }

    Nate read through the prompt twice, sure he had misunderstood it the first time. Then he looked at Clayrell.

    ¡°You want me to get the Factions to declare war on one another?¡± He asked, incredulous.

    ¡°Succinctly put.¡± The old man murmurered, nodding.

    ¡°How the fuck am I supposed to do that?¡± Nate yelled, his eyes wide.

    ¡°I have no idea. But don¡¯t worry. You have 14 days to figure it out.¡±

    ¡°And what happens if I don¡¯t pull it off? Or make the deadline?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°Then you will be the seventh Blade to fail in your mission. But don¡¯t worry. Only two others have failed on the first task. I think your odds are good.¡±

    ¡°And what if I just say to hell with all this? Tell Ulvar to fuck off and forget about the whole thing.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Clayrell said. Suddenly, the old man didn¡¯t seem so old. Physically he was the same. But there was an unmistakable aura of menace around him. ¡°As long as you are a Blade, Ulvar¡¯s intent will keep you hidden from the High King and his agents. But as a former Blade? No such protection will extend to you. The High King is very aware of the Blades of Ulvar. As soon as he becomes aware of your existence, he will stop at nothing to eliminate you.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Nate¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°If I don¡¯t succeed on every task, the High King will kill me?¡± Nate felt like a rat with his tail caught in a trap. ¡°Why? If I fail, I¡¯m no threat to him.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no threat to him now. It¡¯s not about the danger you represent. It¡¯s the knowledge you have. Even the little I have shared with you is known by precious few. He will kill you simply to make sure that knowledge does not spread.¡±

    Nate opened his mouth, though he wasn¡¯t sure what he was going to say. He wanted to scream. He wanted to protest. Clayrell didn¡¯t give him the chance.

    ¡°We are wasting time. Time your companions do not have. You have one more new resource, and this one is available to you already.¡± Clayrell glanced down meaningfully at Nate¡¯s hand. Nate followed his gaze to the spider tattoo.

    Do not fear. I will help you. You will not fail.

    Nate flinched at the voice in his head. He looked to Clayrell, his anger still bubbling.

    ¡°How the fuck is a talking tattoo going to help me incite a war?!¡±

    ¡°Trini is far more than you think. First, she knows far more of this world than you do. She can serve as a guide. Second, she is more than just a tattoo.¡±

    Nate flinched again as he felt the skin on the back of his hand almost ripple. With an odd shimmer, the tattoo shifted. And it was a tattoo no more. A spider with the weight of a stone was standing on the back Nate¡¯s hand, its two front legs waggling in the air as if it was waving. Before he even had a chance to recoil, there was another shimmer, another ripple, and the tattoo was back.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°She is small, yes. But she is a master of stealth. And her venom is like nothing else in this world. You must guard her, as she is relatively weak in her current form. But her power will grow as yours does. Now, enough chitchat. It is time for you to go.¡±

    Nate shook his head in consternation, but steeled himself, nonetheless. But nothing happened. Clayrell just continued to stand there. Nate squinted at him.

    ¡°I thought you were going to do something,¡± Nate muttered, glancing around the room. Nothing had changed.

    ¡°What can I do? You¡¯re the one who needs to go to your friends,¡± Clayrell said. Then he waved a hand casually, pointing. At the empty fountain with its bottomless pit. ¡°Enter the portal, and it will deliver you to them.¡±

    Nate¡¯s mouth went dry. He glanced over the edge, but he could see nothing. Nothing but endless black.

    ¡°What, just jump in?¡± His voice sounded a bit frantic, even to his own ears.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It will be fine.¡±

    Nate continued to stare for a long moment. Then a thought occurred to him.

    ¡°You said these friends, whoever they are, are in trouble? Does that mean they are being attacked?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes. I doubt they can last more than a few more minutes.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to show up and save them?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure they will appreciate it.¡±

    ¡°How am I supposed to do that?¡± Nate snapped. ¡°The only skill I have that is worth a damn is for running away!¡±

    ¡°Ahh, yes. I almost forgot.¡± Clayrell smiled wickedly.

    This had been a stupid idea. A very, very, painfully stupid idea.

    ¡°Another one behind you!¡±

    Sentry snapped around, her blade whipping out to bang uselessly off stone hard scales. The blow managed to deflect the creatures lunge, but it still clipped her shoulder with the side of its head, sending her toppling to the ground again. She groaned, but immediately rolled, dodging a lashing tail and leaving blood from a dozen streaming cuts to mark her trail.

    Ahead of her, Christophe was frantically trying to hold off two more of the big lizards. One of his magical lights was darting and zooming around the creatures¡¯ heads as they snapped their jaws, trying to catch it. The little mage¡¯s face was dripping with sweat. He had to be near his limit. When he fell, the light would vanish. Then they would die.

    When the pair had managed to kill the first of the Stone Monitors, Sentry had felt a rush of excitement and pride. When two more appeared, she had been worried, but not terrified. They had managed to kill one of those two, and her confidence had grown. Then, while they were still dealing with their third lizard, two more had appeared. Then another.

    Now there were five of the monsters, and all hope had fled. They couldn¡¯t even run. The Monitors surrounded them, and they were surprisingly fast. The only miracle was that neither Sentry nor Christophe had been bitten by those poisonous jaws yet, though both were covered in bruises and cuts from claws.

    {Sentry Warrior Level 3 HP: 11/30 MP: 5/5

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 12

    Constitution: 11 Free Points: 0

    Dexterity: 8

    Willpower: 4

    Intelligence: 7

    Charisma: 6}

    With an effort, Sentry struggled to her feet and activated her most powerful offensive skill again. She blurred towards the closest Monitor, blade extended in her Executioner¡¯s Thrust. The glowing tip of her sword hammered into the lizard¡¯s side, managing to penetrate one of the scales. The Monitor hissed and jerked away, dark blood flowing down the new wound in its side.

    It wasn¡¯t enough. The beast¡¯s scales were too tough. If she was only facing one, she could probably wear it down with enough time. But outnumbered by a stronger opponent? There was no chance.

    ¡°Ahhh!¡± Christophe¡¯s voice rang out.

    Sentry glanced over in panic, more out of fear of suddenly losing her only source of light than concern for the mage. The glowing ball still hovered above two Monitor¡¯s heads, just out of reach of their snapping jaws. But a third had emerged from behind Christophe. He was dancing back, just managing to stay out of its range. But the lizard was quick. It would have him in moments.

    This was it. All Sentry¡¯s plans. All the promises she had been so intent to keep. All of it was about it end. And all because she had been stupid. Nathan Sutton was just a Rogue. There were a hundred others just like him, and she could have taken her pick. Why had she risked so much for this stranger? Because of a hunch? She had been stupid. And her stupidity was about to cost her everything.

    The Monitor she had wounded approached again, jaws wide and long tongue flickering. There was something cruel in its four eyes as they fixed on her. It knew, too. Knew that she was doomed.

    She lifted her sword, searching for the will to fight on.

    There was a cracking noise, and the Monitor¡¯s head jerked to the side. Something had struck it, and an unidentifiable liquid had splashed across the creature¡¯s face.

    The Monitor roared, a terrifying sound that echoed off the ravine¡¯s walls. But there was another sound. Like sizzling meat.

    As Sentry watched, the scales on the Monitor¡¯s face began to bubble and blister. The creature writhed back, slamming its head to the stone floor of the ravine and twisting around, trying to rub away noxious liquid that was scalding it.

    Crack! Crack!

    The same sound as before, and this time Sentry caught the blurring motion in the air as two objects sped through the air to strike two more of the Monitors. Again, there were the roars, the sizzling, and the swirls of motion as the lizards writhed in pain. The remaining two Monitors stopped their attempts to snuff out Christophe¡¯s light and looked to their brethren, something like fear on their reptilian faces.

    Crack!

    This time Sentry got a better look. A small object, no bigger than a stone, has blurred across the battlefield. This one wasn¡¯t as well thrown as the others. It landed next to one of the untouched Monitors and shattered like it was made of glass, casting that same liquid out in a small wave. Some of the liquid splattered, splashing across the monster¡¯s feet. It recoiled as if stung.

    The lizards who had regained been struck had regained their feet, though they still twitched and cawed in pain. The nearest turned its gaze to Sentry, and the sight made her blood curdle. One side of its face had been melted away, and two of its eye sockets were now empty. The beast snarled, and Sentry prepared for its charge. Instead, it raised its head and made a rough coughing noise.

    All the other Monitors responded instantly. With a series of hisses and snarls, they all turned and fled, disappearing back into the darkness.

    The leader glared at Sentry for a moment longer, hatred blazing in its two remaining eyes. Then it, too, turned and ran.

    In moments, only Sentry and Christophe remained. The mage, covered in sweat and blood, walked over to her on shaky legs, smiling broadly.

    ¡°Well done, you! What were those things you hit them with? I wish you had done it sooner. Not that I¡¯m complaining,¡± Christophe said, struggling to catch his breath.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± Sentry said. Christophe looked startled.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t? Then who¡­¡±

    ¡°Hey there, roomie,¡± came a voice from the darkness. Christophe and Sentry both turned.

    A figure emerged into their small circle of light. Nathan Sutton stood there, grinning, bouncing what looked like a small stone on his palm.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be coming back. Those scales of theirs might seem tough. But it turns out they have a weakness to water. Can you believe it? Water.¡± Nathan Sutton chuckled and shook his head. Sentry looked at the stone he was holding and saw that it wasn¡¯t a stone. It was some kind of glass capsule, with a small amount of liquid bouncing around inside.

    She noticed something else. He had a dark mark on the back of his hand. A tattoo? Sentry had been observing this man for weeks. How had she never noticed that before?

    ¡°Nate!¡± Christophe cried, darting over to the man with surprising agility. In moments, he had wrapped Nathan Sutton up in a tight embrace. ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡±

    Nathan Sutton patted the smaller man¡¯s shoulder awkwardly.

    "We came to rescue you," Christophe said, his voice muffled against his companion''s shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m good, buddy.¡± Then he looked at Sentry. They locked eyes.

    ¡°Hey, there,¡± the Rogue said, disentangling himself from the still exuberant Christophe. ¡°I¡¯m Nate. Who exactly are you?¡±

 Chapter 24: The High Kings Regard

    Booted steps echoed off marble floors in the vast corridor. Janis, right hand of the High King and Grand Inquisitor of the land of Farandway, kept his gate stately on the off-chance some interloper observed him carrying out his duties. Maintaining the proper dignity of his position was essential, after all. Nonetheless, his steps were quick. The High King did not care for tardiness.

    Two guards stood at attention as Janis approached the inner sanctum, their armor gleaming and their eyes sharp for threats. They nodded at Janis and immediately moved to open the double-doors. Inwardly, Janis tisked. These two put too much trust in their guardsman¡¯s skills, no doubt high level, but still not immune to deception. They should have challenged him rather than immediately grant entry.

    The moment Janis saw the two, their secrets were revealed, his ever active skill peeling them bare. The Penitent Eye.

    {Ryder Kingsworn Guardsman level 50 (bodyguard specialization)

    Secret Sin: Gambling addiction

    Chesser Kingsworn Guardsman level 52 (bodyguard specialization)

    Secret Sin: Murderer}

    Janis said nothing as the two guards gave perfect salutes as he passed through the doorway. But he made a mental note of their failings. The gambler was a liability. A man in debt was a vulnerable man. But the other one could be useful.

    The inner sanctum, private study of the High King, was the kind of place to excite gasps of awe from the unprepared. Passing through the doors was like passing through a portal to another world, a feeling that Janis knew to be close to the truth. Bookcases twenty feet tall were laid out in neat rows, the towering weight of their contained knowledge enough to crush a lesser mind. But the atmosphere was open and airy, not the stuffy, smothering feel of a library. Above was a clear blue sky, without a wisp of cloud, though birds could be seen as spiraling pinpricks far overhead. It was an illusion, Janis knew, but exquisitely wrought.

    In the wide-space directly ahead were a variety of projects in various states of completion. Some were mechanical monstrosities, levers and whirring gears that revealed nothing of their true purpose. Several were more arcane, odd objects and artifacts that radiated mysterious power. There were also several cages, though their occupants were mostly docile at the moment.

    Amidst the chaos was a heavy desk the size of a small carriage. Nearly every inch of its surface was hidden by a curious object of some kind. Standing beside the desk, closely examining a small porcelain figurine, was the High King himself.

    {High King Bereden High King level ????

    Secret Sin: Go fuck yourself, Janis}

    Janis grunted in amusement. The text changed almost every time he viewed the High King.

    Bereden looked up, as though only just noticing Janis approaching, though Janis knew his presence had been noted long before he passed through the double-doors. Janis made a deep bow.

    ¡°Janis. A fine day, isn¡¯t it?¡± Bereden said, placing the small figure he had been holding back on his cluttered desk. The High King was tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes. He appeared to be a human of roughly middle years, and his face was handsome, open, and kind. Janis was not deceived. Bereden was ageless and ancient, and while he might have been human once, he was far beyond that now.

    ¡°I suppose it is fine, as much as a day can be anything, my Lord,¡± Janis said with great deference.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°You have no sense of wonder in you, old friend,¡± Bereden said, shaking his head sadly at the High Inquisitor. ¡°I assume you are here with another tedious report?¡±

    ¡°Indeed I am, though perhaps not as tedious as you anticipate. Much is going on in Farandway at the moment.¡±

    Bereden nodded, though he gave a great skeptical sigh.

    ¡°Alright, then. Let¡¯s here what¡¯s happening out in our little fishbowl.¡±

    Janis started with the usual updates. Tax revenue was up from the coastal cities, with the discovery of new veins of mithinium on Oria leading to a boom in trade. There had been a few Faction skirmishes, but hostility was rather muted, and diplomacy was holding the status quo for the time being. Most importantly, the number of Jewels retrieved by Travelers had exceeded the monthly quota again, bringing the Kingdom¡¯s stockpile to an all-time high.

    Bereden listened closely, but Janis could tell he did not have the High King¡¯s full attention. The tell-tale flickers of the King¡¯s eyes betrayed that he was browsing through System messages, as he did almost constantly.

    Janis paused for air, and Bereden sighed again.

    ¡°Wonderful. It¡¯s all running like a well-oiled machine.¡± Bereden chuckled darkly, as though this were some great joke. If it was, Janis didn¡¯t get it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve saved the most interesting bits for last, My Lord. We believe a new batch of Travelers was inducted into Dawn Valley recently. Details on what goes on there are difficult to come by, of course, as even our highest level scryers cannot fully penetrate the protections laid down by the System. But they claim it happened no more than a month ago. It shouldn¡¯t be long before the more ambitious begin to emerge.¡±

    Janis expected some kind of reaction to this. New cohorts weren¡¯t unheard of, of course, but they also weren¡¯t particularly common. It had been a decade since the last one. But Bereden only sighed again.

    ¡°Wonderful. Make sure we have people in place to screen them and recruit the more exceptional. You know the drill,¡± the High King said. His hands had wondered back to the oddities littering his desk.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Janis said. ¡°On another note, a Traveler just turned in her fourth Jewel.¡±

    The High King¡¯s attention snapped back to Janis at that. This truly was a rarity.

    ¡°Really? Who was it?¡±

    ¡°Valerie Ravenheart, my Lord. Just turned it in yesterday. She has already departed for the Razor¡¯s Edge.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Bereden said, sighing yet again. It wasn¡¯t boredom this time, though. There was sadness in that sigh. ¡°That is truly unfortunate. I always liked Valerie. What would you rate her chances?¡±

    ¡°50/50, I¡¯d say,¡± Janis answered. ¡°Valerie is powerful and cunning. But¡­well, we shall see.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I suppose we will. Pity. I always liked Valerie.¡± Bereden¡¯s eyes flickered again, studying one of the System messages that only he could access. Then he shook his head. ¡°Be prepared. The mountains might claim her. But I she has better odds than you¡¯re giving her. She might take the Jewel. Have a Fist ready to intercept her if she does.¡±

    ¡°It will be done, my Lord,¡± Janis intoned. He was disappointed, though his mood had nothing to do with eminent death of one of the realm¡¯s most storied Travelers. He had hoped these bits of news would pull Bereden out of his lethargy, sparking some of the High King¡¯s old intensity.

    Janis was preparing to press on with the rest of his report when the double-doors again swung open. A small man dressed in dirty, greasy clothes ran into the room. Janis inwardly cursed. His spymaster was a useful man. But his presence was obnoxious. Janis quashed his distaste when he saw the look on the man¡¯s face, however.

    {Alistar Merchant level 22 [false display] (Master of Whispers level 78)

    Secret Sin: Murderer, gambler, drunk, lech, con man, blackmailer, fraud, liar, betrayer}

    Alistar darted to Janis and bowed his head before handing the High Inquisitor a small piece of parchment. The spy then turned and darted back for the double-doors. He was careful never to look at the High King.

    Janis opened the parchment, frowning. When he read what was written there, his eyes went wide with shock.

    ¡°Something noteworthy, I take it?¡± The High King said, showing some true interest for the first time.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±Janis struggled for a moment, then cleared his throat. ¡°It is a message from the scryers. A new Jewel has manifested.¡±

    ¡°What level?¡± Bereden asked.

    ¡°It is a level 1 manifestation.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± the High King said. His interest popped like a bubble. He sighed. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem worth sending your greasy friend all the way here to tell you that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­there is more, my Lord. The manifestation¡­well, it was in the Valley of Dawn.¡±

    The air in the room shifted. Janis nearly buckled as a pressure like the depths of the ocean descended on him, squeezing his mind in a vice grip.

    Bereden had turned his full attention on his servant.

    ¡°Dawn? A Jewel in Dawn? You are sure?¡± Bereden¡¯s voice was soft. Yet it echoed through Janis¡¯s mind like the blows of a smith¡¯s hammer.

    ¡°The scryers say they are certain, my Lord,¡± Janis gasped, trying to maintain focus. ¡°But they must be wrong. There has never been a manifestation in the valley. It¡¯s impossible.¡±

    ¡°You are wrong, Janis. It has happened before. Six times before.¡±

    Bereden seemed to grow, though nothing changed physically. But Janis¡¯s sense of the man, the aura that held his essence expanded. It poured through the room like thick syrup, sweeping out and almost carrying Janis away with it. Janis gasped, but steeled himself. He activated several skills, reinforcing his mental defenses, stabilizing his consciousness.

    ¡°What does it mean, my Lord,¡± Janis managed to wheeze out.

    ¡°It means we are close. Closer than we¡¯ve ever been,¡± Bereden said. ¡°And it means the System has chosen a new champion to try to stop me. Prepare one of the Fists. We will be sending them to the valley. We have a Blade to break.¡±

 Chapter 25: Misdirection

    ¡°Winner!¡± Nate hollered, sliding five coppers across the table, where they were quickly snatched up.  ¡°Well done, sir.  You clearly have a keen eye.  Want to play again?¡±

    ¡°Yes.  Two silver this time!¡± the blunt-faced orc grunted, his eyes hungry with greed.  The gathered crowd whispered and pointed, excited by the increased stakes.

    ¡°Two silver?  I don¡¯t know sir,¡± Morgan said, feigning hesitation.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Rogue?  Don¡¯t have the stones for a real wager?¡± the orc taunted, placing his silver in front of him.  Morgan fought down a smirk.

    Nate did his best to look affronted and slammed two silver coins down on his rickety folding table.

    ¡°No one questions my stones!¡± Nate scowled at the orc.  The orc sneered triumphantly.

    ¡°Now keep your eyes open.  I¡¯m not going to make it easy on you this time,¡± Nate said, as his hands flew across the table-top.

    It was a classic game of three cup monte, though with a few twists that Nate had developed over the years.  Originally he was planning to use the old-school street scam as an excuse to be in one spot long enough to do a bit of spying.  But, much to his surprise, his display had quickly drawn a crowd.  Apparently, in a universe where real magic existed, the close-up sleight of hand tricks that Nate practiced were a bit of novelty.

    The three metal cups Nate had picked up from the Traveler¡¯s Retreat mess hall blurred in an intricate, interlacing pattern while the watching orc licked his lips in concentration.  Finally, Nate stopped, drawing his hands away.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the ball?¡± he asked, looking at the orc expectantly.  The orc furrowed his brow, then pointed at the cup on his left confidently.

    ¡°Right there.  Pay up you little weasel!¡± the orc snarled.  Several people in the crowd nodded in agreement.

    ¡°Oooh, so close, sir,¡± Morgan said consolingly as he reached out and picked up the indicated cup, revealing there was nothing inside.  As the crowd¡¯s eyes followed his motion, his other hand reached for the middle cup, deftly slipping the small metal ball in his palm under it in the same motion he used to lift it.  The crowd whispered frantically as he appeared to reveal that the ball had been under the middle cup the whole time.

    Nate swiped out and stole up the loose coins while the orc still stared in shock at his empty cup.  Even in his old life, he had been good at this kind of thing.  Now, even the novice level assistance provided by his Sleight of Hand Skill made it child¡¯s play, every grab and drop proceeding with silky smoothness.

    A stupid waste, chimed a feminine voice in him mind.

    Quiet, you.

    Trini had insisted Nate share his list of skills with her, then horrified at the selections he made.  Trash skills, she called them.  Sleight of Hand, in particular, had earned a strong dose of scorn from the spider.  Yet Nate had no complaints.

    ¡°Care to go again?¡± Nate asked, as the orc regained his composure.

    ¡°That was all my silver!¡± the orc protested, his grey face going slightly pink around the edges.

    ¡°Then get out of the way, fool,¡± another orc jeered.  ¡°It was obvious the ball was in the middle.  Let me have a try!¡±

    Nate continued his verbal patter as his hands swept through the familiar motions, though he was careful to lose enough to avoid suspicion.  He didn¡¯t want to be forced to run away.  His vantage from his current spot was too good.  Even so, he still couldn¡¯t believe that no one had accused him of cheating yet.  It just didn¡¯t seem to have occurred to anyone as a possibility.  The con man in him salivated at the possibilities.

    Even as he continued to play, he kept part of his attention focused on the cluster of buildings across the street.  This was the third Faction compound he had checked out, and the home of the Burning Brand fit the pattern of the other two.  It sprawled across nearly an entire city block, small outbuildings surrounding several larger structures on the interior.  Little but the rooftops were visible, everything concealed behind high walls with armed orcs lazily patrolling their perimeter.  But he was watching the Faction members, keeping track of those that entered and exited.

    In the two days since his bedraggled party of three returned from the ravine, Nate had been in constant motion.  He still participated in daily training exercises with the others at the Traveler¡¯s retreat.  But his mind was on other tasks.

    He was still coming to terms with Christophe¡¯s nearly suicidal decision to launch a rescue mission to retrieve him after he fell into the ravine.  Nate liked the guy well enough, even if he was chatty enough to annoy the dead.  But he¡¯d been shocked that someone he barely knew was willing to take such a risk for him, with no apparent ulterior motive.  When he¡¯d asked Christophe why, the little mage had just said, ¡°You¡¯re my friend, Nate,¡± as though that explained everything.  It was unnerving.

    Sentry was both easier and harder to figure out.  She, at least, clearly wanted something from Nate, though he hadn¡¯t figured out what yet.  She had asked him to join her on an excursion out of the city twice since they returned.  He refused both times, claiming to be too busy, which she took well enough.  But he knew it was only a matter of time before he found out what she really wanted.  He had pretended not to recognize her when they met for the first time in the ravine.  But he had clocked her immediately.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Over the weeks since his arrival in Farandway, Nate had noticed at least three people following him on different occasions.  The first was Grundar, the massive orc that attacked him.  The big warriors attempts at stealth were almost laughable, and Nate had noticed him watching from a distance a half dozen times after their initial conflict on the night of the feast.  It had been clear the orc was planning some kind of retribution, but Nate had let himself get complacent, confident that he would see the threat coming before it could do him real harm.  The day of the ravine had taught him the danger of underestimating his opponents.

    The second of his stalkers was the steely-haired guardsman who had participated in his questioning on the same night he had first fought with Grundar.  Nate had only caught sight of him twice, though he suspected he had been tailed more than that and simply missed it.  The guardsman was far more skilled at concealment than the orc.  In this case, too, Nate didn¡¯t have a hard time guessing at the motive.  The guardsman had been less than convinced by Nate¡¯s na?ve display of innocence, and was now hoping to catch him transgressing in some way.  It forced Nate to be more cautious about some of his illicit activities than he otherwise would.  But at least it was something he could understand.

    The third and most frequent of his followers was a mysterious figure in a cowled hood.  He had first spotted them on the same night as he left the guard¡¯s station, watching him from across the dark streets.  He had spotted the same figure several times over the following weeks, always at the edge of a crowd or up on a balcony, always concealed beneath their hooded cloak.  He had been unsure what to make of it, but chose not to confront the person until he had a better lay of the land.

    The moment he had seen Sentry, covered in wounds and Monitor blood, in that ravine alongside Christophe, he had known.  She had not been wearing the familiar hooded cloak.  But something about her stance and figure had immediately clicked in his mind.  This woman, who had just happened to be out of the city on the same day as his party, who had out of the goodness of her heart volunteered to go on a dangerous mission with Christophe to save a complete stranger, was the mysterious figure that had been dogging his shadows almost since the day he arrived in Farandway.

    It was shady as hell.  But Nate didn¡¯t have time to worry about it too much right now.  After all, he only had 12 days left to start a war.  And he still had no idea how he was going to do it.

    Guards approach, Trini whispered in his mind.  Nate scanned the crowd and didn¡¯t see any guards.  But he had learned to trust Trini¡¯s senses, which were much better than his own.  Despite the fact that she was a fucking tattoo.  He wasn¡¯t sure how the local law enforcement would react to his little game.  But Trini had warned him that, if any of them had gone through the class upgrade at level 10, they might possess a skill that would tip them off that he was up to no good.  He had decided not to risk it.

    ¡°That¡¯s all for today, folks,¡± Nate said, deftly scooping up all three cups with one hand.  There were some grumbles and complaints, but Nate ignored them.  He broke down his folding card table, a quick custom job by a local craftsman, and gave a small bow.  He had been careful to lose as often as he won, but he had kept close track of the amounts at stake and knew he was walking away five silver richer than when he¡¯d arrived.  It was a cold comfort, as he was no closer to a breakthrough on his true objective.

    As Nate melted away into the crowd, card table tucked under his arm, he tried to think of an angle he had missed.  His intelligence gathering over the last two days had only succeeded in impressing upon him the impossibility of his task.  The Factions were strong.  Far stronger than he would have thought possible.  There were always a few first level Travelers wandering around, even now easy to spot, even without identify, but the awe-filled looks they cast at everything around them.  But there were far more people at each compound with levels too high for Nate to discern.  The security at even the smallest of the Factions, the Wailing Harpies (who, disappointingly, were humans and not harpies) was impregnable for someone with Nate¡¯s current resources.

    In short, Nate couldn¡¯t see anything he could do that would even draw the notice of the Factions.  He was just too small and insignificant.  To go even further, and somehow provoke them into conflict with each other, was beyond his grasp.  True, there was obvious tension between the Factions.  Their members often eyed each other on the streets of Dawn, and Nate had even seen a nasty bar fight that led to one Faction member getting a knife in the guts.  But, in general, the Factions seemed to exist in an uneasy state of truce.  Each controlled their respective part of the city, and none seemed ambitious enough to be tempted into threatening the status quo.

    He needed something.  Some kind of edge.  Some break.  Simply put, he needed to get lucky.

    Nate was pulled from his inner monologue by a commotion moving through the streets.  It was a palpable tension, the usual background noise of the city was overrun by a sudden din of voices as everyone turned from their daily tasks and began talking, until, in a matter of moments, the sounds of shouting voices were overwhelming.

    Nate trotted up to a small cluster of humans speaking animatedly with one another.  As he did, the crowd shifted.  As a mass, everyone in sight seemed to be turning in the same direction, all milling simultaneously towards one of the nearby gates to the forested land outside.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Nate asked, injecting himself into the conversation.  A red-faced archer turned him, eyes wide.

    ¡°It¡¯s a Jewel!  A Jewel of Farandway!  One has been found here.  In the Valley of Dawn!¡±

    The other humans in the little group turned to each other, shaking their heads in wonder and muttering.  Nate wasn¡¯t sure why this was such big news.  He opened his mouth to ask, but he needn¡¯t have bothered.

    Jewels form in areas of great concentrations of power, Trini told him.

    So what?  That¡¯s rare here?

    Very rare.  No one currently living will remember the last time a Jewel formed in the Valley of Dawn.  It is only happening now because there was a System event in the area.  One that has happened only six times before.  This was the seventh.

    Nate didn¡¯t ask what the event Trini alluded to was.  He didn¡¯t need to.

    ¡°A training party from one of the Factions found it.  They are bringing it into the city now!¡± the archer continued.  ¡°Everyone is going to try and see it.¡±

    ¡°Which Faction is it?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°Omen,¡± the man said, his tone colored with something between fear and respect.

    Omen.  The most powerful and prestigious of the Factions.

    Nate nodded his thanks, but didn¡¯t immediately turn to follow as the small group joined the rest of the crowd in their march.  His thoughts were churning madly.

    A Jewel of Farandway.  Nate still wasn¡¯t entirely clear on the significance of that.  But it certainly had the crowd excited.  And it had fallen into the hands of the city¡¯s most powerful Faction.  The other Factions wouldn¡¯t be thrilled about that.

    Only moments before, Nate had been thinking that only an incredible stroke of luck could provide the edge he needed if he wanted to fulfill his quest and stay off the High King¡¯s radar.  He wasn¡¯t sure how he could use this yet.  He didn¡¯t even have the faintest glimmer of a plan.  But he had a feeling.  This might be just the thing he needed to stir the pot.  Get the Factions looking just where he needed them to.

    Nate was pretty sure he had just gotten lucky.

 Chapter 26: Spreading Blaze

    Word of the discovery spread through the city of Dawn like a bushfire, leaping from one set of ears to the next and leaving in its wake a world set ablaze. In its wake, some saw only the bleak desolation to come. But, just as new shoots find nourishment in the blackened leavings of the flame, there were those who looked ahead to the new growth.  There was danger here.  But also opportunity.

    The courtyard outside the City Lord¡¯s manor was a simmering stew of tension. The Lord was touchy today, even more than usual. He was always irritable. But his mood followed a familiar cadence, starting from a grumbling snappishness when he arose each morning, hungover, then gradually improving as the day progressed and he gradually wore down the symptoms of sobriety, reaching a zenith of debauchery in the early hours of the morning. Over the years, his typical courtiers and hangers-on had learned to avoid him until well past noon, and the requests for favors never started until the moon was at its peak in the sky. It was a well-worn system.

    But he was beyond irritated today. Twitchy. Distracted. Most just saw it as a sign to save their requests for tomorrow. Those who knew him better were more concerned. The Geomancers who guarded the Lord were on alert, their eyes turned towards the city.  Darlish, despite his reputation, had not achieved his position as Lord by happenstance. He had a gift for sensing danger before it approached. When the twitches set in, the guards were wary. It usually meant trouble was coming. Either that, or the Lord had fleas again.

    When the messenger arrived, covered in sweat and gasping for air, the guards had followed his every move with flinty eyes. The young man had to force his way through a press of bodies that gathered around Darlish, who lay at their center, dazed and grumbling under the unrelenting sun. Several empty bottles lay discarded around him, the sour smell of cheap wine and bile permeating the air.

    ¡°Lord Darlish!¡± the messenger called, trying to get the senseless rodent¡¯s attention.  His large, hairy body twitched, almost convulsively, sending a wave of trepidation through the Geomancers.

    ¡°Wha¡­?¡± Darlish grunted, staring at the messenger with bleary, blood-shot eyes. ¡°What is it? Who sent you? If it is that she-devil in the market, you can tell her to fuck right the hell off. That baby looks nothing like me.¡±

    ¡°Ahhh¡­no, my Lord.  I have news from the city. Amazing news,¡± the messenger said, carefully muting his reaction to Darlish¡¯s comment.  ¡°It¡¯s a Jewel! A Jewel of Farandway has been discovered.  Here, in the Valley of Dawn!¡±

    A wave of murmurs passed through the crowd, most excited, some nervous.  The Geomancers all turned to look at their Captain, whose own eyes were locked squarely on Darlish.

    Darlish¡¯s reaction was subtle.  A slight widening of the eyes. A strange ripple that passed through his body. He didn¡¯t react for a long moment, almost as though he hadn¡¯t heard the messenger.  Then he yawned, a dramatic, overly loud expression of unconcern.

    ¡°No kidding? Never heard of that happening before. Who found it? If it¡¯s some random Travelers, get the word out to them. I¡¯ve never seen a Jewel of Farandway myself. I¡¯ll pay them a good bounty to bring it to my manor.¡±

    Darlish¡¯s words were casual, as though he wasn¡¯t really that interested.  But the Geomancer¡¯s knew better.  They were tense, and a few had let their hands wander to their weapons.

    ¡°It was a party from the Omen Faction, my Lord.  The Jewel is on its way to their stronghold now,¡± the messenger said, his face flushed with excitement.

    ¡°I see,¡± Darlish grunted, and some of his casual indifference sluffed off.  His red-rimmed eyes darkened, his shoulders slumped.  ¡°Well, fuck.¡±

    Dolarth Oathbreaker, Chieftain of the Burning Brand, watched the courtyard below his residence with disdain. The new batch of Orcs the home worlds had sent him were a pitiful crew. A few could fight, but all were stupid. Not that he expected anything else. The bullshit the elders fed them all when they were young, that being sent to Farandway was some great honor, was a lie, and one that Dolarth himself had seen through even as a welp. This was where they sent their misfits, their liabilities, and their weaklings. Or their traitors. Tribute must be paid. But Farandway had never cared for the quality of the offerings. Only that an offering was made.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    An arrow streaked across the practice yard, passing dangerously close to a pair of scuffling morons who wouldn¡¯t have lasted more than a moment in a real battle, before plunging deeply into a practice dummy designed to look like a human. The wood of the dummy¡¯s chest splintered under the force of the impact, and the arrow quivered as it stood out proudly from the target.

    Dolarth followed the path  of the arrow back to the one who fired it, unsurprised to see it one of his newest recruits. Kilth. A rare exception to the rule of mediocrity in his forces, and a fine figure of a female besides. She had been sent to keep his idiot nephew alive, at least for a while, though why anyone from the home clan cared if Grundar lived was a mystery. Dolarth was glad to be free of the fool, his nephew¡¯s string of failures providing the necessary excuse to banish him from the Faction. It wasn¡¯t a permanent exile, much as Dolarth would have enjoyed that. But it didn¡¯t matter. By the time his nephew was allowed to return, Dolarth planned to have drawn Kilth into his own inner circle.

    ¡°Chieftain,¡± a sibilant voice came from behind. Dolarth turned to find that the other new addition, Trenton, has snaked his way into the room, somehow unnoticed until he was only a few feet away. Dolarth suppressed the pang in his chest, somewhere between rage and fear, that washed over him at being surprised. Dolarth did not like surprises. Truthfully, he didn¡¯t much like Trenton. But the priest had his uses.

    ¡°What is it,¡± Dolarth said, trying to keep his voice level. He must not have hidden his emotions as well as he hoped, for Trenton drew back slightly.

    ¡°I have just heard word from the city. A rumor, but on so many lips I fear it must be true. The streets are buzzing with the news that a Jewel of Farandway has been found. Here. In the Valley of Dawn.¡±

    A shiver, and this time Dolarth could not suppress it. A true surprise. The worst kind. The unprecedented kind.

    ¡°It is probably something else,¡± Dolarth muttered, his mind reeling. ¡°Some crystal that an idiot Traveler misidentified.¡±  Even as he said it, Dolarth knew that was impossible. He had never seen a Jewel of Farandway. But the artifacts were supposed to be impossible to mistake for anything else.

    ¡°I checked as best I could before bringing this to you, Great Chieftain. It¡¯s not just the common rabble saying it. The Jewel was found by members of Omen, and I have confirmed through my sources that the find is genuine.¡±

    Another surprise. Not so much at the Jewel¡¯s authenticity this time as at Trenton¡¯s claim to have sources keeping tabs on Omen. The priest was still new to Farandway. How could his spy network already reach so far?

    Then the true import of Trenton¡¯s words settled in, wiping away all other thoughts.

    ¡°Omen? Omen has the Jewel?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Great Chieftain. I am certain of it.¡±

    Dorlath turned from Trenton to look down again on the orcs bumbling below. Omen. His guts twisted inside, and this time there was no rage. Only fear.

    ¡°Call in my commanders for a war counsel. And have the guards around the compound doubled. This will get ugly.¡±

    It still didn¡¯t make any sense. Not here. Not now. Jewels didn¡¯t form in the Valley. Not ever. It was a training zone. A safe zone. A place to plan and prepare. The true prizes of the game world did not appear here.

    Yet something inside Sentry rung like a bell at the news. It felt right. She couldn¡¯t explain it. But, somehow, it was almost like she had known this would happen.

    It meant changes to her plans. She had expected to spend at least a year in Dawn, building levels, recruiting a party, and charting her course. But some opportunities needed to be seized when they presented themselves, and this was one of those. She needed to escape this reality. She needed to get home. For that, she neede five Jewels. And one had just been practically dropped in her lap. She needed to get it. That was all there was too it.

    A part of her mind, deeply buried and ignored, was trying to scream at her that it was impossible. She was too weak, too new to this world. She didn¡¯t have the allies or the resources. And the Jewel was currently in the hands of Omen, the most powerful and most secretive of Dawn¡¯s Factions. This news would disturb the carefully maintained balance of power in the city. The other Factions could not allow Omen to rise any higher than they already had. They would all want the Jewel. It would be war. In the midst of what was coming, the desires of one puny Traveler would mean nothing.

    The thoughts were there. But they were feeble things, unable to distract Sentry from her purpose. None of it mattered. She needed that Jewel, and either it would be hers or she would die. And she had no intention of dying.

    There was a problem, though. She had no idea had she would even begin to go about acquiring it. Fighting was clearly out of the question. Fighting was all she knew. But, for this, she would have to find another way.

    Those thoughts propelled her, as if guiding her, as she marched across the city, treading a path she had taken before, though never with this same sense of conviction.

    That something inside her, the thing that had pushed and prodded her for her entire life, was what told her that this was her chance. But that wasn¡¯t all it said. It whispered that there was a way, but it would require a road she could not walk alone. A road paved in secrets and deception. Subterfuge.

    Sentry rounded a corner and saw the Traveler¡¯s Retreat, its dilapidated sign swaying slightly in the breeze, on the trail ahead.

    She trusted that feeling inside her. And it told her that, if she was to succeed, she needed something.

    She needed Nathan Sutton.

 Chapter 27: Know Thy Enemy

    ¡°Jesus, Christophe.  You move like my grandmother.  Hurry up!¡±

    Nate stopped and waited for the little mage to catch up. He hated group outings.  Alone, he could move through this crowd like a fish in the sea, its currents and eddies an open book before his practiced eyes. Christophe, on the other hand, floundered and sputtered like a toddler who had been accidentally pushed into deep water for the first time. He stuttered forward like thick molasses, constantly obstructed by clumps of Travelers or momentarily waylaid by a particularly insistent shop keeper, eager to hock wares.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Nate. I¡¯ve just never seen a fruit like that before. The merchant says it never goes bad, and it provides a +1 constitution buff for up to six hours. Isn¡¯t that amazing!¡± Christophe panted as he finally got close again, his face bathed in the sweat of excitement and exertion.

    Nate eyed the vendor, who was scowling after Christophe, displeased by his lost sales opportunity. It was amazing. It was also almost certainly a lie. In his first days in Dawn, Nate had been wide-eyed at the range of goods offered in the market square, all with incredible abilities. But he had quickly noticed that none of the more experienced Travelers, those with levels too high to read, stopped long enough to talk to any of these cart merchants in the streets. And so he had caught on. All worlds possessed swindlers, it seemed.

    ¡°Save the shopping for later. We still have a stop to make, and I don¡¯t want to be late for our meeting with Sentry.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Again, I apologize. Though I don¡¯t understand why you are suddenly so eager to meet with Sentry. The first few times she stopped by the Retreat, I had the definite impression that you were wary of her.¡±

    ¡°I still am. She wants something, and I don¡¯t know what it is. That makes me nervous,¡± Nate admitted, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

    ¡°She did save your life,¡± Christophe said with a hint of a scold, though his face remained open and guileless.  ¡°But, you are right. It is always best to be cautious here. That leaves my original question, though. Why the rush to go see her now?¡±

    ¡°Because now I want something from her, too,¡± Nate said. ¡°Come on. We¡¯re almost there.¡±

    Nate practically dragged Christophe the last two blocks to their destination.  As they wove through the mass of bodies, Nate decided he couldn¡¯t really blame his companion for struggling to make his way. The streets had always been crowded. But there was an electric hum to the air now that hadn¡¯t been there before. Ever since word had spread of the discovered Jewel of Farandway, a tension had settled over the city. It was a mix of excitement and anxiety that stirred some primal part of Nate¡¯s mind, giving him an almost manic energy.

    The shop was slightly off the main street, though those few steps felt like entering another world. The shops here bore no flashy signs, and no merchant stood at the door attempting to entice passersby. The street and the shops here were almost empty. But everyone Nate could see had their levels concealed. It was how he found the district. He followed the veterans and saw where they shopped.

    The two went inside. Nate kept a close eye on Christophe as they entered the shop, allowing himself a small grin as he saw the other man¡¯s face light up at what he saw. It was a menagerie of light.  Sunbeams poured through the slat windows of the storefront and were reflected in a thousand colors that danced across the walls and the ceiling.

    ¡°Ah. Nathan Sutton. As expected.¡±

    Nate and Christophe both turned to face the small, wizened gnome emerging from the store¡¯s backroom. It was only the second gnome Nate had seen, the first being just moments after his arrival in Farandway. The creatures were, as he had been told at the time, quite rare. They were also, as far as he had been able to discover so far, the only race that regularly chose the Class Naturalist.

    {Name: Clarence                                 Class: Naturalist Level ???                             Race: Gnome}

    Nate glanced through the identification box, internally sighing. The only reason it displayed a name and class was because the little Gnome had told him both the last time he visited. He really needed to work on getting his Identify skill higher.

    It will be difficult to do before reaching level 10. Unless you are willing to spend skill points.

    Nate twitched involuntarily at the voice in his mind.

    Quiet! He yelled internally.

    You should listen to me, the voice said. It will help you not die so fast.

    Nate shuddered, but didn¡¯t respond. On his hand, the tattooed spider seemed to pulse faintly before going still.

    ¡°I told you, Clarence. Nate is fine,¡± Nate said, nodding politely to the old craftsman.

    ¡°Of course. And who is your friend?¡±

    ¡°This is¡­¡± Nate started, turning to Christophe. But he grinned again when he saw that Christophe hadn¡¯t even noticed the shopkeeper yet. His mouth was wide open, his eyes still taking in the room.

    ¡°Christophe?¡± Nate said, catching the mage¡¯s attention. Christophe¡¯s mouth clicked shut as he tore his eyes away from the shop and finally noticed Clarence. Christophe blinked. Then he gave one of his warm, open smiles.

    ¡°Ahh. Yes. Hello. I¡¯m Christophe, Nate¡¯s friend. Your store is incredible!¡±

    Clarence nodded his head in appreciation, a wide smile cracking his equally wide face. Nate tried not to stare. Clarence was tiny, barely over four feet tall, and covered in green, wrinkled skin. He wore plain clothes covered by a thick leather apron, and a pair of round glasses sat perched on a wide, flat nose, the arms draped over long, drooping ears. The gnome¡¯s resemblance to a certain creature from a galaxy far, far away was distracting.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Thank you very much, young man,¡± the gnome croaked, his voice disconcertingly high. ¡°I am Clarence. As you can see, I specialize in glass.¡±

    Every space in the store was covered in the gnome¡¯s wares. Detailed, intricate sculptures of glass sat on racks and stands all around, catching the sunlight and splintering it into a soft rainbow of color. Above them, more figures hung by thin strings from the rafters, swaying gently and occasionally releasing small, musical tinkled as they brushed each other.

    ¡°How did it go?¡± Nate asked, hopeful. Clarence¡¯s smile grew wider, exposing flat teeth.

    ¡°Not the kind of work I normally do, but it was no challenge. I think you will be quite happy with the results. If you would assist me?¡±

    Nate followed Clarence, who hobbled slowly, to a case sitting near one of the display counters. Christophe ignored them, caught again in studying one of the jewel-like glass figurines on display. It was of a small bird that resembled a sparrow, its wings wide in flight. Even at a slight distance, Nate could see that each feather had been meticulously etched into the glass surface, so life-like that Nate had suspected on his first trip to the shop that these were real creatures that had been turned to crystal through some magic.

    At a wave from Clarence, Nate lifted a large, black case from the floor and laid it on the counter. He undid a latch, opened the lid, and looked at the contents.

    Inside, sitting in a soft crate like material to keep them separate, sat fifty perfectly smooth glass balls. Each was the size of a large marble, or a Bumper, as Nate had called them as a kid.

    ¡°The only mildly tricky part was creating the shaft connecting the hollow interior to the surface. I kept it narrow, as you asked, so it should be easy to seal,¡± Clarence said, a note of pride in his squeaky voice.

    Nate picked up one of the balls and examined it. He found the small hole in its surface with a finger, and, looking closely, he could see the empty, hollow space in the balls interior.

    He had gotten the idea from the odd orbs that he had been gifted by Clayrell to drive away the Stone Monitors in the ravine. Those shells, made of some material he couldn¡¯t identify, had shattered when they hit something hard enough, releasing the water contained inside. He had only one of those left, and he had shown it to Clarence. Filled, as it was, with water, Nate doubted he would find much use for the orb unless he found himself fighting Stone Monitors again, something he sincerely hoped would not happen. But the concept of breakable projectiles filled with something nasty had been appealing.

    ¡°Just be careful what you put in there,¡± Clarence admonished. ¡°Acid is a good choice. Glass holds up well to acid. But only up to a point. Some of the more powerful concoctions will eat right through these beauties unless you find a way to magically reinforce them. And the plug will be a weak point. I would recommend sealing them with wax, but that probably won¡¯t work. You definitely don¡¯t want these things leaking in your pocket.¡±

    ¡°No worries,¡± Nate said. ¡°I¡¯ve got it covered.¡± He had already picked up a small batch of powerful acid from a chemist in this same shopping district. Powerful, but not magical. He had tested it on glass, and the stuff had shown no signs of wear. The same test on his skin had led to an uncomfortable burning sensation after only a few seconds. Nate could only imagine what it would feel like if some of that stuff splashed into a person¡¯s eyes or nose.

    That same chemist had sold him a jar of thick gray gunk specially formulated as a match to the acid. It dried and hardened if exposed to air, but did not dissolve in the acid. A small dob of it spread over the opening on his new Bumpers should seal the payload in nicely.

    ¡°These are perfect, Clarence. Well done.¡± Nate reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin, the second half of his payment, due on delivery, and tossed it to the gnome. The coin vanished in a flash, Clarence¡¯s hands surprisingly quick. Nate glanced to the front of the store, peaking through the windows, but saw no one outside. He was being careful about how he spent his money, more than he should have. He hadn¡¯t seen the nosey guardsman in a while. But he wasn¡¯t willing to assume the man had just given up on following him.

    ¡°No problem. It was sort of fun, actually,¡± Clarence said. ¡°I enjoy making these ornaments. But it was exciting to think that something I made would be used in combat. That¡¯s what a Naturalist is meant to do, you know.¡±

    Nate nodded, though, honestly, he had no idea what a Naturalist was before Clarence explained it to him. The gnome was the first person he had met with the mysterious class, though he had soon discovered it wasn¡¯t uncommon in this district of craftsmen. A Naturalist, it turned out, was something like a Scientist, or perhaps more accurately an Engineer. Their skills were all based around crafting and building things. Nate wasn¡¯t sure how useful someone like that would be in a fight. But as support personnel on a team, he could definitely see the appeal of having one around.

    ¡°I¡¯ll stop by and let you know how they work. And I¡¯ll try to come up with some other projects for you. I have a few ideas,¡± Nate said, lifting the case.

    ¡°Yes, yes, of course. I made the shell thick enough to be durable for handling and throwing, but thin enough to break if they strike something hard enough. The only way to really tell if I got it right is to test them, though. So, give me an update when you need more. I can update the design as needed.¡±

    With another word of thanks, Nate collected the gawking Christophe and set out again. Soon, they were back in the press of bodies, screaming street hawkers all around. Nate kept a hand around Christophe¡¯s wrist, guiding him. The mage, for once, seemed lost in thought, his mouth unusually still.

    As they approached the restaurant where they were going to meet Sentry, Christophe seemed to come back to himself.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand what we are doing here. I¡¯m happy to see Sentry again. She was very nice to me. But you said you want something from her. What is it?¡± Christophe asked as they paused to examine the building.

    Nate didn¡¯t answer immediately. He was thinking of his meeting with Sentry the day before, when she had shown up, again, at the Traveler¡¯s Retreat. The woman had seemed agitated, or perhaps excited. She had been as roundabout as usual, only asking Nate if he would be willing to talk sometime, think about making plans, forming a party, exploring outside the city. But there was an eagerness to her that he hadn¡¯t seen before. He had no doubt it was related to the news of the Jewel that had swept the city.

    He was ready to dismiss her again, when Christophe had said something that made him stop.

    ¡°Why do you want Nate in a party so bad? Doesn¡¯t your Faction have people that could help you?¡±

    The question had given Nate a shock. He hadn¡¯t realized that Sentry was part of a Faction.

    Sentry hadn¡¯t really answered those questions, and had made an excuse to leave shortly after. Before she went, Nate surprised her by agreeing to meet her the next day for lunch. To discuss things.

    The clock was still ticking. Nate needed to start a war, and he wasn¡¯t any closer to accomplishing it. But he was starting to form the outlines of a plan. The appearance of the Jewel had sewn a note of discord into the community of Dawn, and Nate was sure he could use that in some way. But first he needed information. He needed to know more about the Factions. And here was Sentry, apparently a member of a Faction, dropped right into his lap.

    Know thy enemy, a raspy voice from Morgan''s past whispered.

    Yes. This is good advice, a small, feminine voice murmured in agreement.

    Nate shook both the memory and the present away.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Nate said, ignoring Christophe¡¯s question. ¡°We¡¯re already late.¡±

 Chapter 28: Home Invasion

    ¡°This is a bad fucking idea,¡± Nate muttered to himself as he hauled himself over the ledge onto the balcony.

    Enemies approach, Trini whispered in his mind.

    Nate crouched low against the wall and held his breath. As he did, a cool, tingling sensation spread across his skin.

    {Your familiar has used the skill Concealment.}

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why everyone is so paranoid all of a sudden,¡± came a whiny male voice from distressingly close. Nate kept his breathing slow and shallow.

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re an idiot,¡± answered an annoyed woman. ¡°Haven¡¯t you been paying attention? Omen found a fucking Jewel. Everyone is on high alert.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot,¡± the man said, clearly stung. ¡°It¡¯s a big deal, sure. But why do we need to increase patrols? Why would anyone want to come after us?¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re dealing with something that has never happened before. Who knows what the other Factions might do? Everyone is acting crazy.  Better to be on our guard.¡±

    As the two patrolling guards spoke from the dark interior of the building, Nate felt a presence wash over him, a brief sense of weight that pressed down for a moment before it seemed to slide away.  The tingling on his skin intensified.

    Be still, Trini warned.

    {A Detection skill has failed to break your Concealment. Experience earned.}

    ¡°It¡¯s all clear up here,¡± the woman said. Her companion grunted.

    ¡°Of course it is. I told you, everyone is just being paranoid. Why would anyone try to break in here, anyway?¡±

    Nate waited for a long while, listening carefully long after the sound of departing feet disappeared.  Then he let out a long sigh of relief. He hadn¡¯t been sure this would work.

    I told you it would work, Trini scolded in his mind.

    Nate didn¡¯t answer. He rarely did. A part of him was still trying to pretend that the tattoo on his hand was purely decoration. But he did listen. It was the only reason he was even trying this. Trini claimed she had a skill that could hide him, even from the senses of those at a higher level, provided they didn¡¯t look right at him and he kept still. Without that assurance, Nate would have given up the whole idea as a suicide mission.

    As for his objective, he had to credit the idea to Sentry.

    ¡°Why do you want to know about the Factions?¡± Sentry asked.

    Nate, Sentry, and Christophe sat at a table in a well-appointed restaurant. It was tasteful and expensive, not the kind of place Nate could afford, or at least not somewhere he would want others to see him spending money lest questions arise about where he was getting his funds.

    ¡°They are the power here,¡± Nate said with a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.  ¡°Christophe and I don¡¯t come from Factions. But you do. I figure I might be in Dawn for a while. I¡¯d like to get a better understanding of the lay of the land.¡±

    Christophe nodded enthusiastically, though Nate didn¡¯t think he was really listening. The mage was eagerly shoveling small pastries from a serving dish into his mouth, humming contentedly.

    ¡°That is wise, I suppose,¡± Sentry said, though she still seemed a bit suspicious. ¡°There are many Factions across the universe, of course. But there are three that have established a base of power here in Dawn, dividing the city between them. One you¡¯ve already had some dealings with.  The orcs of the Burning Brand.¡±

    Nate snorted. He had been keeping an eye out for Grundar, though the orc hadn¡¯t shown himself since the attack at the ravine.

    ¡°There is a human Faction, the Clear Eyes,¡± Sentry went on. ¡°From what I¡¯ve gathered, they are roughly equal in strength to the Burning Brand. Each has around fifty members capped at level 10, and maybe another two hundred at lower levels.¡±

    Nate only nodded, though inside he suppressed a shock. Those numbers were far higher than he would have guessed.

    ¡°The third Faction is Omen. Everyone agrees they are the strongest, though I haven¡¯t been able to find anyone who can put numbers to their strength. They are an odd one. It seems that the core of their membership is made up of elves, but they have members from many other races. They are also the group that found the Jewel of Farandway.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Nate didn¡¯t respond to that last part, though he noted the interest in Sentry¡¯s voice when she mentioned the Jewel. That was good. That was where he wanted the conversation to go, too.

    ¡°What about you?¡± Nate asked. ¡°Which Faction are you in?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t belong to any of those three,¡± Sentry said, and there was a hint of scorn in her voice. ¡°We have never tried to establish a base of power in Dawn. It¡¯s supposed to be nothing but a staging area, a safe zone to build levels and master some basic skills before venturing out into the wider world. The Burning Brand, the Clear Eyes, and Omen aren¡¯t big players in the universe outside Farandway. They have power here because they don¡¯t even try to play the game. They horde their members in the city, refusing to join the hunt for the Jewels. They have made themselves big fish in a very little pond.¡±

    Nate didn¡¯t miss the fact that Sentry hadn¡¯t actually told him what Faction she belonged to. But he was fine with leaving her to her secrets for now.

    ¡°What about the City Lord and his guards? Where do they factor into all of this?¡±

    ¡°Darlish? In theory he is in charge. But all the guards really do is police the unaffiliated and try to make sure the conflicts between the Factions don¡¯t boil over into open conflict.¡±

    Sentry studied Nate for an uncomfortable moment, as though trying to read him. He saw her glance down to the tattoo on the back of his hand. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment, but, unlike Christophe, she didn¡¯t ask him about it.

    ¡°Why do you really want to know all this?¡± she asked suddenly. ¡°If you just want to get strong enough to leave the Valley, your best bet is just to avoid the Factions. Quest outside the city and build your levels. I can help you with that.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s a good idea,¡± Christophe interjected, crumbs spraying from his still full mouth. ¡°Fighting those Monitors was exciting! I want to get back out there.¡±

    Sentry gave Christophe a half-smile, though Nate could see her thoughts. She hadn¡¯t actually invited Christophe to join her. Only Nate.

    I¡¯ve just been thinking,¡± Nate said.  ¡°The whole point of being here is supposed to be to get strong enough to go out and find some of those Jewels, right?¡±

    ¡°That is the purpose of Farandway,¡± Sentry acknowledged. Nate watched her eyes. There was a glint of something there.

    ¡°And one of them was just found, right outside Dawn. So, what happens next? What will Omen do with it?¡±

    Sentry was quiet, as though considering this question for the first time. But Nate saw that same glint in her eye, sharper and more focused than before.

    ¡°It is difficult to say,¡± she finally spoke. ¡°If I were in charge of their Faction, I would assign a party to leave the Valley and take the Jewel to the High King. That would earn them a boon, gain recognition for their Faction, and set them on the path to greater rewards. But I don¡¯t think that is the way Omen thinks. They have focused all their resources on dominating Dawn. Whatever they plan for the Jewel, I think they will keep it here.¡±

    ¡°That seems like a waste,¡± Nate said. ¡°Maybe one of the other Factions will decide they have a better use for it and try to take it away.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯d like to,¡± Sentry said with a wry grin. ¡°But I don¡¯t think it will come to that. They will all want the Jewel, even if they don¡¯t know what they would do with it if they got it. It represents power. But none of them wants to risk breaking the peace of angering Omen. Tensions will be high for a while. But I don¡¯t think it will lead to conflict.¡±

    ¡°What would lead to conflict?¡± Nate asked. He tried to make the question sound casual. But Sentry raised an eyebrow.

    The conversation was going better than Sentry could have hoped. Her only goal with this meeting had been to get Nate to agree to party with her to gain some experience and levels outside the city. She was even willing to accept the inclusion of Christophe, if that¡¯s what it took. The mage was odd, and his magic wasn¡¯t particularly useful. Still, he had proven surprisingly resilient in their fight in the ravine. She would do her best to keep Christophe alive if it meant gaining Nate¡¯s trust.

    But now the conversation had moved away from that short term goal to the prize that Sentry truly coveted. Nate was clearly interested in the Jewel, though he was trying to hide it. If she could engage him in her true cause, it would be well worth the ridiculous price of this lunch.

    She glanced again at the tattoo on Nate¡¯s hand. The black spider was oddly menacing, and it was clearly magical. Something had happened down in that ravine. Nate hadn¡¯t talked about it, and she refused to ask.

    She recentered herself and tried to hide her excitement at the turn in the conversation.

    ¡°If either the Burning Brand of the Clear Eyes made a move against Omen, that would certainly do it,¡± she said, answering Nate¡¯s question. ¡°Short of that, if Omen was convinced that one of the other Factions was planning to try to claim the Jewel, that might be enough. Especially now, while everyone is still trying to adjust to the idea. Tensions are high.¡±

    ¡°And if the Factions started openly fighting with each other, there would be chaos,¡± Nate said, as though musing to himself. ¡°The City Lord would almost have to get involved, making things even more unpredictable. Who knows what kinds of opportunities that might create?¡±

    Sentry gave Nate a sharp, appraising look. He gave her a mischievous wink.

    Yes. This was going far better than she could have hoped.

    The door to your right, Trini whispered.

    Nate stopped, pressing his ear against the door. His body was bathed in sweat, though from fear and tension rather than exertion. They had skirted past three more patrols. Each time, Nate was sure he would be discovered and brutally executed. Each time, Trini¡¯s mysterious concealment skill had succeeded in keeping them undetected. Now, apparently, the had reached their target.

    Hearing nothing from inside, Nate eased the door open. He was surprised to find it unlocked considering the security he had seen, but was less so when he saw what was inside. It was a simple storeroom filled with unmarked crates. A single glow lamp cast a dim light over the crowded space.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Nate asked aloud.

    Yes. Two crates in the back. They are old, but still functional.

    Nate moved to the back corner. He didn¡¯t know how he knew which corner the spider was indicating. Somehow, he could just feel it. The sensation made his skin crawl.

    You should not fear me. I am your ally, Trini said.

    Ignoring the voice, Nate used his dagger to pry the lid off one of the crates, working as quietly as he could. He grinned when he saw what lay inside.

 Chapter 29: The Long Haul

    ¡°The first part won¡¯t be too bad,¡± Sentry said, refilling her wine as she watched the other two.  ¡°The Clear Eyes are a weak Faction, and I doubt their security is anything to write home about. If you can conceal yourself as well as you claim¡­¡± Sentry¡¯s paused for a heartbeat, skepticism tinging her words, before shrugging, ¡°then you should be able to get inside fairly easily.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.  It should work,¡± Nate said aloud.

    You¡¯re sure this will work? he asked internally.

    I have told you I can conceal us. It will work, if we are careful.

    Nate didn¡¯t like having to rely on the promises of his creepy tattoo.  He didn¡¯t like acknowledging Trini¡¯s presence at all.  He had been ignoring the spider and everything its presence might mean as best he could since escaping the ravine. But the small numbers in the top corner of his vision, the countdown to zero, was a constant reminder that things had changed. More importantly, without Trini¡¯s promised aid, none of this would work.

    ¡°I have a question,¡± Christophe murmured around yet another mouthful some kind of sweet pastry. ¡°If the Clear Eyes are so weak, then why are they one of the three Factions that seem to have all the power in Dawn?¡±

    ¡°Because they got lucky,¡± Sentry answered, shaking her head.  ¡°Each of the three holds their influence because they control an important resource.  The Burning Brand controls the docks. Omen controls the farmland to the South. The Clear Eyes have something else. Something a bit more unique.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Christophe asked with a gulp, already reaching for another pastry.

    ¡°It¡¯s what Nate is going to sneak in and grab. After that, we need to get him into the docks.¡±

    Getting out of the Clear Eyes compound had been anticlimactic, the only challenge coming in the form of the burden that Nate had been forced to carry rather gingerly. He was bathed in cold sweat by the time he was clear of the outer walls, but Trini¡¯s concealment had continued to work as advertised, and he had never come as close to discovery again as when the two guards had almost stumbled on him at the balcony. The sweat running down the small of his back wasn¡¯t from the fear of discovery, though. It was fear of what might happen if he dropped his pilfered treasures.

    He was still moving a bit nervously now, though he had been somewhat reassured by Sentry¡¯s promise that the small parcels carefully wrapped in his backpack were safe for the moment.  Christophe had been able to link to the devices somehow, and they were now apparently under his control.  Nate didn¡¯t completely trust those promises. But he didn¡¯t have much choice.

    He peeked down from the top of a building on the edge of town, watching the nearby docks.  A few orcs were on patrol, their movements easy to track, even from a distance, in the baleful light of the nearly full moon above. But the moon wasn¡¯t the only source of light.

    The docks were a simple affair, a handful of wooden jetties extending out into the almost glass smooth water. It was a section of the city Nate hadn¡¯t ventured to before, and so this was his first real glimpse of the Dawn Lake, an impressive of reflective distance that disappeared in the distance, framed only by mountains and cliffs forming the edge of the valley. Sentry had explained to him that the lake itself was surprisingly shallow, never more than 20 feet deep, but vast, stretching beyond the boundaries of the valley into the mysterious land beyond. The rules governing the Valley of Dawn covered the waterways as well, with an invisible barrier halting anyone not authorized to pass at the edge of the domain. But there were some odd exceptions.

    Two long, narrow ships lay anchored at the docks.  They were made of a pale wood like nothing Nate had ever seen.  Even in the bright light of the moon, it was clear that the ships themselves were luminous, casting a cold, pale glow over the scene all around them.  The patrols of orcs were thickest near the ships. But nothing moved on the surface of those ships themselves.  The ships had no crews, after all, propelled through the water by some unknown magic, arriving at regular intervals laden with supplies for Dawn¡¯s inhabitants.  They drew up to the docks, waited patiently while they were unloaded, then disappeared back across the lake.

    It was a creation of the System, there since time immemorial, keeping the new Travelers of Dawn fed and supplied while they learned the intricacies of their new home. It was also meant to be a free resource, managed by Dawn¡¯s civil authorities. But that hadn¡¯t been the case for a long time. A constantly rotating series of groups had seized control of the docks, with the Burning Brand only the latest. Like so much else in the city, the rules of the System had been subverted, made to serve the interests of the Factions that now dominated the place.

    Nate took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needed his wits about him for this next part, far more dangerous than infiltrating the Clear Eyes encampment.  He sought his center, searching for the serene pool of calm at his core. It was a trick that normally came easily, but tonight it was hard.  For one thing, he was tired. Tired in a way that he hadn¡¯t experienced yet in Dawn. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish.

    For another, his thoughts were churning with new discoveries. It was a night for disturbing revelations.

    ¡°Hey, you leveled up again!¡± Christophe exclaimed, interrupting Nate and Sentry¡¯s discussion of the plan.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Nate asked, confused, quickly checking his display to find nothing changed. But then he saw that Christophe¡¯s gaze was firmly fixed on Sentry. Nate, too, glanced at the woman.

    He had gotten used to ignoring the identifying script that popped up over the head of anyone he stared at for too long. It was distracting and rarely useful. But he focused on it now, quickly seeing what had caught Christophe¡¯s attention.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    {Sentry                                      Class: Warrior, Level 5                          Race: Human}

    ¡°I¡¯ve been making almost daily trips out of the city,¡± Sentry said with a shrug.  ¡°As I¡¯ve said before, I¡¯d be happy to bring you with me, Nate. Adding a few levels would give you a power bump that would make all of this easier.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s impressive growth!¡± Christophe exclaimed, saving Nate from making yet another excuse for avoiding Sentry¡¯s invitations.  ¡°Nate and I both gained a level after the ravine.  That¡¯s more than I expected to get in the first year. Still, its going to take us a while to get to 10 at this rate.¡±

    Nate had been annoyed at Christophe¡¯s interruption, eager to continue working on the plan. But these words brought him up short.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what did you say?¡± Nate asked, looking at Christophe in confusion.  ¡°What was that about a year?¡±

    Christophe sighed and gave a sad nod.

    ¡°Ambitious, I know. But that was the goal I set myself.  When I came in, my goal was to hit level 2 before the end of my first year here.  Then I wanted to stick to that pace as long as I could.  I know things tend to slow down after level 5, but I want to push myself as much as I can. The sooner I can join the hunt for the Jewels, the better!¡±

    Nate stared at his friend for a long moment, his mouth open. He turned to Sentry, expecting to find the same incredulous look on her face. But the woman only smiled.

    ¡°That is an ambitious goal,¡± she said, sending Nate¡¯s mind reeling further, ¡°though not as outlandish as you might think. Some of my Factions oldest records state that in the early days of Farandway, Travelers advanced through their starter levels much more quickly. Things were different then, though. The city was less of a safe haven, and Travelers pushed themselves to advance quickly. It¡¯s why I¡¯ve been leveling so aggressively.  I¡¯m hoping to hit level 10 before my first anniversary here.¡±

    ¡°That would be incredible!¡± Christophe exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration. Nate¡¯s mouth was only just catching up with his scrambling thoughts.

    ¡°What are you two talking about?¡± he finally managed to splutter out.  ¡°I¡¯ve seen loads of high level people all over the city. It can¡¯t be that hard to move up.¡±

    Sentry gave Nate a sharp look, and some of that predatory gleam he had first noticed in her gaze was there. It made the hairs on the back of Nate¡¯s neck rise, and he was certain he had said something very stupid.

    Christophe saved him.

    ¡°Nate is from a real backwater,¡± Christophe said.  ¡°His world doesn¡¯t prepare new Travelers the way most do. There¡¯s a lot he doesn¡¯t know.¡±

    There was something in Christophe¡¯s tone, an uncharacteristic restraint that hinted at words unspoken. Nate had no idea what the little mage was hinting at, but Sentry apparently did.  Her gaze softened to something else. Something that looked a bit like pity.

    ¡°None of those high level individuals you have seen are from the same intake group as any of us,¡± Sentry explained. ¡°Many of them have been here a while. A long while. Particularly those at level 10. In theory, they should leave the valley when they reach that point. But most don¡¯t. 10ers are usually members of Factions, and those that aren¡¯t don¡¯t have any problem finding employment with one. They stay here, where it is comfortable and safe.¡± The last words came out with a derisive snort.

    ¡°How long?¡± Nate asked.  ¡°How long does it take to reach the level cap?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it varies a lot,¡± Christophe jumped in, eager to help with the explanation.  ¡°Some never reach Level 10.  But I think most that do get there is twenty or thirty years.¡±

    ¡°Longer, for some,¡± Sentry added, not noticing the way Nate¡¯s eyes bugged at the news. ¡°And many of the 10ers have been here much longer than that. Some may have arrived in Dawn more than a century ago.¡±

    ¡°A century?¡± Nate said, his voice strangled. ¡°But how? I haven¡¯t seen anyone that old?¡±

    Again, Sentry gave that sharp look for a moment, but something flickered between her and Christophe, and she settled.

    ¡°Time is different here, Nate,¡± Christophe said gently, as though explaining something to a child. ¡°No one really ages in Farandway. At least, not like they do on the outside.¡±

    Nate took another steadying breath. The conversation with Christophe and Sentry had shaken something inside of him, something he hadn¡¯t known was there.  He had spent his time in Farandway moving from task to task, ignoring the larger questions about his situation in favor of watching the ground right in front of him. It was a well-worn survival strategy, compartmentalizing his worries and ignoring those he couldn¡¯t do anything to address in the moment. But the revelation about how long he might expect to spend in Dawn has rattled something loose, and he was having a hard time putting it back.

    And he was so fucking tired.

    Looking for a distraction, Nate pulled up his information, checking to see if he might be suffering some status affliction he wasn¡¯t aware of.  He didn¡¯t really expect to find anything. So, he was surprised when he did.

    {Rogue                                      Level 2                                                 HP: 20/20   MP: 1/7

    <u>Stats</u>

    Strength: 5

    Constitution: 5                                                 Free Points: 0

    Dexterity: 15                                                    Available Skill Points: 0

    Willpower: 7

    Intelligence: 6

    Charisma: 8

    Attribute: System Blessed

    Status Affliction: Mana Fatigue}

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Nate muttered. His mana had increased during his last level-up, and it didn¡¯t take much work to realize it was tied to the free points he had put into willpower. But the point had been purely academic, as Nate still didn¡¯t have anything he could actually do with his mana, possessing no spells or skills that used magic. Yet 6 of his available mana points had gone somewhere. What had happened?

    There is a cost to my concealment charm, Trini¡¯s dainty voice echoed in Nate¡¯s mind. He groaned.

    ¡°You¡¯re steal my mana?¡± he asked aloud.

    You are alive, and the cost was low. Why do you whine?

    ¡°I¡¯m not whining,¡± Nate grumbled. ¡°It would have been nice if you told me first, though.  I feel like shit now.¡±

    Your mana will regenerate in time.

    Nate had a few other choice words in mind, but he suppressed them, knowing the odd spider would be able to hear his thoughts. Trini was another of tugging anxieties he was doing his best to keep in the background, but he knew he couldn¡¯t do it for much longer. He needed to get a handle on what exactly Trini was, and what her presence meant for him.

    With a final sigh, Nate pushed away his exhaustion and focused on the task ahead. He would move up the shore a ways before moving into the docks. He would have to get wet. But the odds of discovery looked low.  The orcs were numerous, but they weren¡¯t particularly alert. It was clear they didn¡¯t think there were any real threats to their position. It should only take a few minutes for Nate to leave them a few of the gifts he had acquired from the Clear Eyes earlier. Then it would be time for the final phase of the night.