Pom looks disappointed in me. I told him my choice of calling, and he smiled that smile again and said “Very well. But I have to say, I had you down as more of a Delic.”

“How’s that?”

“There’s a certain dishevelment about you and those brown eyes of yours have a blood shot tinge. You look like the kind of person who enjoys letting go, freeing their mind and so forth. Slayers tend to be a little more… no matter.”

“Say it Pom.”

“Well, dashing. Athletic. More of the swashbuckler type.”

“Why did you suggest it then?”

“I threw it in as a wild card. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

He’s pissing me off now. The stubborn teen inside me is getting riled, and making me even more determined to stick with my chosen path. Who says I can’t be a swashbuckler? I have my moments. I can buckle swashes just as well as the next person.

“I’m positive Pom. One hundred per cent.”

“Very well. Your ability statistics will of course help compensate for any um… natural inadequacies in the places that matter for your calling.”

“Ability statistics? I’m guessing strength, dexterity, charisma - that kind of thing?”

“Yes! Very good Doon. Exactly that kind of thing. One moment.”

He gets up out of his chair and walks over to one of the wardrobes. He opens it, and I catch a glimpse of several rails inside it. Silver bracelets hang from every rail. Pom runs his finger over them until he finds one he likes the look of, unclasps it, and brings it over to me.

“Here, take this,” he says, offering me the bracelet. “Put this on your wrist.”

“I’ve seen these before. Slobber had one. You have one I see. And I met a dwarf who helped me, he had one too. Called it his ‘thine’ or something.”

“It is a thy, yes. Please place it on your wrist.”

I take the bracelet from Pom, snap it on and feel a tingle in the back of my head. It’s the oddest sensation, a stimulation of latent awareness. I feel a vague notion of understanding - of myself and my abilities, and a greater perception of the world I’m in. No specific information is brought to mind. I just feel like I belong here a little more than I did before I put on the bracelet.

“I can tell from your expression that you felt something,” Pom says. “Like pins and needles, but in your skull. It will settle.”

“OK. I quite like it Pom, if I’m honest.”

“Yes. Many do. Now twist the bracelet like so.”

He shows me the movement, which I copy, and a screen appears in thin air. It’s translucent and has green type.

Doon of Tooting

Xeni

Level 0

Calling: Undefined

“You see the screen?”

“Yeah. You don’t?”

“No. The screen appears only to the person who summoned it. Now, if you would please step on to the tile.”

“OK.”

I move on to the marble tile between the chairs and stand with my arms to my sides, unsure of what I'm supposed to do.

“Are you ready?” Pom asks.

“I am.”

“Because bestowing will change you. It can be a vexing experience.”

“I’m good to go.”

“Then Doon of Tooting, I must ask you formally: Do you accept Slayer as your calling?”

“Yes.”

“You need to say, ‘I do’.”

“OK, I do.”

“Then as the Guide of Talwen and the Caerwold, I bestow this upon you.”

He begins casting a spell. He shuts his eyes and mutters some nonsense words, and waves his arms about like he’s trying very subtly to flag down a taxi. I watch as a purple shimmer materialises around his hands, and follows their movement like an aura. I look down and see that the marble tile has begun to glow purple too and then suddenly I feel a jolt, a bolt of energy, shooting upwards through the soles of my feet, traveling through my legs and my body until it overwhelms my senses for a split second.

I feel fantastic. I mean, really fantastic. My asthma has gone. The ache in my right knee that’s been there since I fell down the stairs at the Bedford Pub has also gone. I look at my arms, and they are large. I have guns! I lift up my t-shirt and find myself staring at an impressive set of abs. Abs! They’re things I have dreamed of and half-heartedly pursued, but never attained. And now I have a whole set of them just, by saying two little words.

Fucking hell. If only Ella could see me now.

I relax and look at the screen.

Doon of Tooting

Xeni

Level 1

Calling: Slayer

“Congratulations Doon,” says Pom. “Your calling is confirmed.”

“Amazing.” I lean forward and hold out my hand for Pom to shake, because it feels like the right thing to do. He just looks down at it, confused, and so I awkwardly withdraw it. Clearly it was the wrong thing to do.

“So what now?” I ask him.

“We shall review your attribute statistics. At level one, these are assigned in a way that defines your calling. But whenever you gain an additional level, you will gain points which you can spend boosting your attributes.”

“All sounds pretty standard.”

“You can flick between screens with your finger like so, or you can change screens with voice commands. To view your attributes, you simply hold the bracelet and say ‘attributes’.”

“OK, attributes.”

CORE ATTRIBUTES

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Dexterity: 4

Fitness: 3

Strength: 3

Subtlety:

Learning:

Wisdom:

Savvy:

Perception: 2

Will: 3

Deception:

Persuasion:

Presence:2

Magic: 2

SPECIAL ACTIONS

None

I scan my eyes down the list of stats. They appear to follow standard RPG conventions. I guess that presence is the same as ‘charisma’, and fitness is the same kind of thing as ‘constitution’. The numbers seem pretty low though. If I have muscles like these with a fitness score of 3, what would they be like if that score was 20? I’d be able to arm wrestle a bear. And I have no points in learning or wisdom. Do I have the intelligence of a cabbage now?

“Do you have any questions?” asks Pom.

“Yeah. What’s the top score? The numbers seem low.”

“Ten is the maximum. Any more than that and you have achieved godhood.”

“Alright. That makes sense. Not so bad then. I can see I’ve got low scores for learning and wisdom. Has my brain shrunk in the same way that my muscles have grown? I don’t feel any dumber than I did before I stepped on the marble circle. How does that work?”

“If by ‘real life’, you mean your life in the world you came from, then I can explain. When you are in this world, your ability statistics will change you. But only if they have a positive effect. So if you were extremely fit in your world, and you came here and chose the calling of a wizard, you would retain your existing level of physical fitness. It would not reset to zero. Your muscles would not wither. But also, your fitness would not progress at a faster than a natural rate, as it would for a brawler or a brute.”

“Alright, seems a bit unfair though. Seems like I’m cleverer than a Slayer should be. Without wanting to sound like an arrogant dick.”

“The learning and wisdom you have in your head is of your own world. Things work differently here. Most of your existing learning will not help you in this place.”

“OK. I think I understand.”

“I would advise you not to dwell unnecessarily on your attribute statistics. Most adventurers don't spend a lot of time obsessing over them. You will have an inherent understanding of what your attributes are by simply existing here and learning what you can and can’t do by trying to do things. You won’t feel the need to review the statistics screen often.”

“Great.”

“Far more important, is the actions screen.”

“OK.” I hold my wrist and say “actions,” and a screen appears. Lucky guess.

SPECIAL ACTIONS

Attack specialisation - enchanted blade [passive] +1 to hit when wielding a magic blade, +1 blade effect]

Surgical strike [special move] increases chance of critical hit, at the cost of chance to hit]

“I don’t get to choose?”

“No, not at first level. At first level, the most appropriate starter actions are assigned for your chosen calling.”

“OK, fair enough. So I get a magic sword then? Nice.”

“All in good time.”

“I do have a question though. How do I use these actions? I mean, I understand what passive means. But if I wanted to try out a er… surgical strike. How would I do that?”

“For special moves, you’ll find it's instinctive. When you engage in combat, it will come naturally to you. In the moment, you'll consider whether a surgical strike is the best option, and if you decide to attempt one, your body will obey. It's important to note that you can only use one special move every fifteen seconds, unless more advanced skills or gear modifies the cool down time.”

“Alright.”

“You don’t look sure. It will make sense when you actually try it. You must trust me Doon.”

“OK.”

“Wyrds work in the same way. You simply decide them as an action to take, in the way you would decide to pick up a mug of beer, or jump over a stream.”

I hold my bracelet and say, “wyrds”.

WYRDS

Flare [wyrd] temporarily blind up to 3 creates in a 10ft cone in front of you

“OK. Maybe a bit underwhelming that one?”

“Flare is extremely useful. An opening stratagem would be to shout flare to lower your foe’s defence, thereby increasing your chance to hit them. Then surgical strike with an enchanted blade. It would give you quite the advantage in a straightforward melee.”

“I see, OK. Sounds handy then.”

“But beware, you cannot shout wyrds indefinitely and unlike special moves, they don't cool down. At level zero, you may shout them once per battle. For each additional level, you may shout an additional wyrd each combat. So at level one, you would be able to shout flare twice. At level three, you would be able to shout it four times.”

“OK.”

“You should also be aware that some foes will be warded against them. And some may also interrupt or silence your shout. It is not guaranteed to be successful every time.”

“Got it. I’ve got to say, this does all sound familiar. I’ve played a lot of games in my time. I get the general rules.”

Pom looks annoyed by this.

“All xeni say the same thing. That this world is a game to them. That there are tropes and conventions that they already know. For all of us that live here, it is simply how our world works. It is not a game to us.”

“OK, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you Pom.”

“No matter. No matter.” He takes a breath. “Please follow me. We shall select your starting armour and gear.”

I follow Pom as he heads towards one of the other wardrobes in the Room of Selection. He opens it, and there’s a single set of armour inside. There’s a dark grey leather chest piece with metal diamonds sewn into it. The trousers are also dark grey and leather, with red stitching at the side. They look like something that the drummer of Mötley Crüe might wear. There are a pair of matching boots that look more sleek than the dead man’s shoes I’m currently wearing. But most exciting of all to me right now, is a pair of underpants that appear to be made of cotton rather than horse, with a white undershirt to match.

While Pom gives me some privacy by turning around, I take the clothes and try them on. Of course, they fit perfectly and ditching the itchy pants feels incredible. Pom turns around and gives me an appreciative nod.

“I take it back,” he says. “You are capable of cutting a dash.”

Pom then goes on to hand out my starting gear, which as expected is standard RPG fare. I get a small pouch of 50 silver coins called ‘bits’. I get a cloth backpack with some flint and a couple of rations that look like stale bread. I have a dagger that I strap to my leg - Bray would surely approve - but there’s no sword as yet.

“When do I get my magic sword?” I ask, with just a hint of impatience.

Pom nods. “That is the final step in your initiation. We shall return to the circle, and I will conjure your inaugural chest.”

“Why not just give me the sword?”

“The gods themselves decide what is in an inaugural chest. It is different for every adventurer. There is a chance of a legendary blade, or something more mundane. You will only know when you open it.”

“Great,” I say sarcastically. “So there are loot chests here as well?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

We head back to the marble circle, and once again Pom closes his eyes and waves his arms about. The purple shimmer returns, this time with a few swirls of orange and then with an audible ‘poof’ and a cloud of literal smoke, a large gleaming golden chest appears in the middle of the title.

“Wow.”

“Well. Go ahead Doon of Tooting. It is yours to open.”

I step forward and, praying for the shiniest kind of loot, lift the lid with some reverence. Inside, laying on a red velvet cushion, is a plain looking sword in a plain looking scabbard. I lift it from the chest, draw it from its sheath, and feel the weight of it in my hand. Unlike the griefer’s weapon that I so clumsily shook about, this weapon feels right. It feels natural. I give it a few practice swings, and they almost feel elegant. Like I know what I’m doing.

While I’m pretending to be Zorro, I see Pom fiddle with his thy and mutter a quiet command. He looks at the sword while doing so.

“It is a Mundane Ishkurian Longsword,” he announces. “You can now view its detailed attributes in the equipment screen of your thy.”

“'Mundane' doesn’t sound good.”

“It is ordinary, yes, but it will do you well to begin with. It's elementally enhanced. Its enchantment will cause additional water damage to voltaic foes, such as Storm Curs and Deepwater Pike."

“Water damages electricity, got it.”

"Plus of course, the passive attack speciality of your calling means you will do more damage with this sword to all foes, than you would if wielding an ordinary blade. Was there something else in the chest?”

“No, just the sword and a cushion. Why?”

Pom points his finger, gesturing for me to look behind myself. I turn around to see that the lid of the chest has closed, but it’s now shaking from side to side. There are banging noises, like there’s something trapped inside that's trying to get out.

“Is that normal?” I ask Pom.

He shakes his head. “Quite the opposite. It's never happened before.”

We both stare at the shaking chest as it suddenly goes still, and the lid pops open.