We collect our meals and depart the tavern. I leave a silver on the bar for Nyssa (which apparently accounted for a good tip) and another three to hold my room for two more nights. She says she’ll make sure there are clean sheets when I get back.

The day is bright and breezy with a chill in the air. I can see our breaths as I follow Flynt up the broad main thoroughfare, following signs that direct us toward the city center. It takes me a while to realize what’s weird about the signs: they’re not written in English. How I read them, I have absolutely no idea, but they make complete sense. City Center up the street, Docks down it. Other signs include the Merchant’s District, the Eastern Cliffs, the Noble Gate, and Temple Circle.

The city itself feels a little like downtown Boston without the skyscrapers. There are a bunch of row-house style buildings of moderately variable architecture with trees lining the street and cobblestone sidewalks. A few trees are starting to get buds on them, so it must be the equivalent of early spring. Most people are on foot or on the back of animals. The occasional cart passes through, often being pulled by one of those cat-donkeys with the multiple fluffy tails. Flynt tells me they’re called kyttles and (of course) he’s surprised I’ve never seen one before. Other beasts of burden include large wolves and cats that look like jaguars but three times the size. I also see a few more traditional creatures: oxen, and even a couple of horses, though they’re very rare.

Our meal is pretty good: eggs and cheese with some kind of fruit jam all baked into a crust to make it portable, like a pasty. She even included a piece of buttered toast for me.

“If you had to say, Flynt, how would you describe your level when it comes to adventuring?” I ask. Off his quizzical expression, I continue. “I mean, you’re not exactly a teenager. You’re older than Jonas or Meg. At least, I’m pretty sure you are. What has kept you from getting out there?”

He shrugs. “Helping Da with the Emporium, for the most part. But there also aren’t a lot of people willing to give an orkish caster much of a shot, even with my education. Not many people believe me, for one thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“Stereotypes, mostly.” He sighs. “Violent. Unreliable. And, supposedly, not a lot of magic— or, not properly taught magic.”

“That’s some elitist bullshit if I ever heard it.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But I’ve never had much of a chance to show what I can really do, until yesterday. It was a good chance to prove myself, and I think it encouraged the others to see beyond the green a little bit.”

“I wish I hadn’t gotten knocked out. I’m curious now.”

“It wasn’t that impressive compared to Lymiria Dawnguard. The caster on the Silver Swords team? She was the smaller human woman?”

“I didn’t see her.”

“Ah. Well, she’s a lesser member of one of the Four Families and a strong practitioner. Many levels ahead of me. We’re about the same age, and she was just ahead of me at the Gerai Academy. But she’s a Dawnguard, and she’s had a lot more practice and experience.”

“Hm. Okay. Let’s boil it down, there. Say that there’s an experience level between one and twenty. One is brand new, just starting out. Me, essentially. Twenty is practically God-like power, it would take an ancient evil dragon to take you out and, even then, it’ll be a close fight.”

“That is quite the scale, Keira.”

“Humor me. Where do you think you are? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” He frowns, thinking as we walk. There’s some saltiness to the air underneath the spring crispness, and sea birds fly high above us. They look like gulls of some sort, which feels comfortably familiar. “I would probably say a two. If I’m being honest.”

“Two?”

“I have a lot of book experience,” he explains. “But not a lot of practical application. I know strategies. I know how other people have made their adventuring career. I know theories on what spells to throw when, and I have a fairly robust number that I know. I’m not strong enough to use all of them, yet, using Essence is like any skill, but I know them. Yesterday was really the first time I’ve ever applied any in a real-world setting outside the Academy, though.”

“Okay. That’s kind of comforting. I suppose I could say similar. I have the basic idea of adventuring— not any of the theory about how you actually improve at it, but I understand the mechanics of what the job entails. And I can shoot my bow. I just. You know. Am not especially strong at it yet. I’m definitely level one though.”

“Yes, you definitely are.”

“You could at least think about it for a moment.” I ball up the wrapper from my now finished breakfast and, without a clear trash receptacle in sight, I shove it in my bag at my hip. He hesitates a minute, then hands his to me with a sheepish expression. I sigh and repeat the process. “Remind me to throw them out when we get back. Otherwise, they’re just going to fester.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Most magic bags these days have a preservation enchantment on them. There shouldn’t be rot.”

“Maybe not. That doesn’t mean I want trash in there, and they will take up space. Who knows, we might need it for loot.”

He pauses a moment, considering, but then nods. “Fair point.”

“I occasionally have them.”

We traverse another block and come up on the city center. It’s a big open square in front of what looks like a municipal building of some sort. The square is paved in light gray stone and has circular breaks for trees much like a real-world square might. There’s even a fountain in the middle; it has a giant statue of a majestic dragon, wings unfurled, reaching toward the sky. I pause, staring up at it, and Flynt stops beside me.

“That’s Zendriel. In many respects she was one of the great saviors of Qeth.”

“Sacrificed herself to destroy Zel’Rosh, right?” I ask, remembering what Tasha told me when I first signed in for what is now a much more immersive than originally anticipated Experience.

“That’s the story. Though, that particular telling of it is a little controversial, especially among the supporters of the Four Families.”

“Why is that?”

“They’d have you think Kellnor and the united peoples of Qeth did everything on their own. The dragons were, if not wholly evil, then at least just in it for their own gains. Zendriel included.”

“More of that black-and-white thinking?”

“Exactly. History is always more complicated than that.”

I follow him around the square toward the front steps of the building where we find Jonas and Meg waiting. Meg looks almost exactly like she did yesterday: an amazon of a woman with her black hair back in a thick braid that falls over her shoulder, and her sword slung across her back. She has chain mail over a blue linen tunic, and metal bracers on her shins and forearms. Jonas also looks exactly like he did before and flashes us a giant grin while Meg scowls.

“You’re late,” she says.

“It hasn’t hit ninth bell yet,” Flynt replies, jovially, taking Jonas’s hand in greeting. I do the same as it’s offered. Meg does not offer hers.

“She was hoping you would intuit that we’d be early,” Jonas explains. “Meg tends to get annoyed when other people aren’t mind readers.”

“I was thinking I might have finally found people as eager as we are, so I expected anticipation to bring you here before we agreed.”

Flynt looks at her and grins, though a light crease around his eyes suggests her wording needles him a little. “We’re here now.”

“Tyrus isn’t.”

I move toward the notice board, wanting to get a good look. “We can start without him.”

I expected something like the one in the town square at a Ren Faire, but instead it looks like the bulletin board of a local coffee shop. There must be two dozen fliers pinned to either side of the thing with—I kid you not—lost cat postings and an ad for lute lessons. Another point for It’s All A Dream.

“There’s a bunch of basic stuff,” Jonas says over my shoulder. “A lot of calls for merchant wagon protection, which I don’t think we really want to get into yet.”

“Good for when you want to travel to another city,” Meg agrees, “not so great when you want to start establishing your reputation in one.”

“Meg is big about establishing a reputation here,” Jonas stage-whispers this behind a hand.

“You should be too,” she says. “I’ve explained this to you.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t believe the myth of the wealthy patron.”

“Grandpa had one. They exist.”

“That was what, forty years ago? Things have changed.”

I listen to them bicker as I read the different notices, still in awe of the fact that I can make sense of the weird new alphabet. Maybe it’s dream logic, or maybe it’s related to an [Ability] or [Skill] I didn’t anticipate. [Sage], maybe? [Survival]? I wish I could find a [Help] function in my invisible [Interface] that could shed some light on it (not that it really matters).

Jonas is right: there are a lot of protection gigs. Protecting merchants going to Oasis. To Ruska. To Mornrise. One to Gerai— a place I vaguely recall from what that Embry woman hissed at me yesterday. That one specifically states they’re looking for an armed elven escort and will pay well too.

But there are others. Giant sightings near the western pass catch my eye at first, though that feels way too high level for us right now and, as I focus on it, I swear I see a pale silver gleam to it. I scan the others and note one with a slight green aura and another with a slight yellow one. Those are good colors. Those are entry level quest colors.

The green makes mention of an uptick in goblin activity on the road toward somewhere called Dragon’s Pass. It’s looking for someone to find and exterminate the new goblin den suspected to be in that area. That seems promising, so I tap at it to show Flynt, who has come up to my right. As I do so a screen pops up:

> [You have selected Quest: Goblin Infestation. Eradicate goblin nest off the Foothills Road. Accept quest? Yes/No]

No, I think at it, dismissing the prompt. At least not yet, though Flynt makes a positive hm noise.

The posting that glows yellow is looking for someone to investigate disappearances near the eastern portion of the dock ward. The flier says locals believe there is something living in the sewers near that area.

“People always think there’s something living in the sewers,” Flynt remarks, following my gaze. “It’s rarely true beyond a few rats. Nothing big enough to account for disappearances.”

“Probably organized crime,” Jonas adds. “Isn’t there some kind of syndicate operating in Oosal?”

“The Kartesians,” Flynt says. “Possibly. Probably not something to get involved in.”

“But it is local,” Meg replies. “We don’t have to travel far.”

I nod in agreement. “Road tripping with people you just met is rarely a good idea.”

“Road tripping?” she repeats.

“Yes, I know, I’m from somewhere different. I get it. Give me a break.”

“Apologies,” she says, frowning. “I liked the phrase.”

“You sounded critical.”

“I always sound critical. It’s just my voice.”

“There he is,” Jonas interrupts. We all follow his gaze toward where Tyrus is hastily walking up, his hands fisted at his sides and his face flushed as he marches with purpose. He’s really moving for someone of such a stout frame. “Now we can decide. Tyrus!” He shouts this before the dwarven man can get up close. “Goblins, or imaginary monsters in the sewer?!”