‘Most betrayals never see the light of day. They begin and end inside our own mind, as expectations unfulfilled’
– Parcius Parelius
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“Right, questions.”
I had finished my story, recounting my journey from the moment I was dropped off to the moment I had arrived outside the outpost. I’d gotten through another two drinks and was beginning to feel the effects of the mead, my words not yet slurred but my tongue definitely loosened considerably.
Jorge had clearly noticed, as he spoke again quickly before the others could reply.
“And let’s get some more pastries to wash some of that mead down before we start, aye?” I nodded along happily, pulling out the coin pouch I’d looted and emptying its contents onto the thick oak table we were seated around.
“That’s it, all my material wealth and possessions. Other than the razor I guess, I’m keeping that one.” I gave a cheery wink to Jorge as I said it, and he just chuckled and shrugged.
“You’re welcome to it Runt, keep that pitiful excuse for a beard out of my sight and I’ll call it a fair trade. But no, keep your money, tonight’s on me. I got you tangled in a mess, and I’ll be getting you back out before we’re square. Besides, I’ve a proposition for you tomorrow and I want to make a good impression first.”
He wandered over to the bar to speak to Jacklin about the food and some more drinks, and the others looked expectantly at me. I opened my mouth, but Vera held a hand up to forestall me.
“No point repeating everything a second time when he gets back, just wait a moment.” Her smile took any sting out of the words, and so I just sat back happily, the hearty food and warm drink filling me with a contentment I hadn’t felt in months.
No need to watch my back, no cold weather or driving wind to ruin my mood. Just soft lighting, lovely smells, and people to talk to. I ran a hand over my short hair and sighed again. I liked the longer look but the blood and grime that had coated my hair had matted it into a disgusting mess and I ended up cutting most of it off. I was no barber, and likely looked a little silly, but since there was a distinct lack of mirrors at this outpost, I hadn’t really noticed yet.
“Right, me first!” Jorge plopped himself back in the rickety wooden chair and jumped into the conversation – or lack thereof – before either Vera or Nathlan could interject. “Your aura skill. What’s it called, what level, how can you keep it active for so long, and how does it compare to your other skills?”
I thought for a moment about keeping some of the information to myself but if they meant me harm, there was little I could do about it now. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Indomitable Prey, level 5, it seems to have a small…‘spirit’ drain? And what do you mean? Like thematically or in my visualisation of it?” My voice started rising with my uncertainty around the new term I’d heard earlier, and it made me realise that after only a few days of referring to my core and mana system, the nomenclature had stuck and become almost second nature. Using new terms just felt wrong somehow at this point.
“That’s an impressive sounding skill name, I’ll give you that. ‘Course the system has always had a slight flair for the dramatic, but you do have to earn it so who am I to argue?”
Nathlan shook his head at Jorge’s statement and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “bloody farmers” or something, and judging by Vera’s soft chuckle, I’d definitely understood the gist of the words, if not their exact form.
Jorge pretended not to notice and carried on, “Good level too for how recent it is, but given you said you’ve had it on constantly to ward off creatures around The Breach, it’s not too surprising. What is surprising though is you saying it has a low drain – I can see you’re uncomfortable with spirit as a term by the way, what do you prefer?”
I was thrown off by his tangent and blinked for a moment before catching up. “I…uh...I’ve been using ‘mana’. Why? I’ll go with whatever term you guys use, don’t let me set the tone here – I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”
My frank admittance made Jorge smile. “Because lad, the language we use to describe our soul is important. We’ll get back to my question in a moment, but this is an important point so bear with me. I said yesterday it doesn’t matter what word you use, its all the same. What I didn’t mention was that there’s a reason why every culture has their own way of talking about this stuff.
“It’s because the way we interact with our inner selves, our mana system to borrow your phrase, fits with the way we visualise it. You’ve clearly built a visual representation of your inner soul – you wouldn’t be able to compare the drain effects efficiently otherwise – and this representation will stay with you. Its enduring, and very difficult to change. The representation you choose will be reflected in the language you use to talk about it, hence why you don’t like using the word ‘spirit’.”
“But that makes no sense! Why can you talk about it so easily? Why do words matter? I’m not even speaking my own language so I’m clearly not responsible for picking out the right words anyway!” I tried to poke as many holes in the theory as I could.
While I could get on board with the idea of my core, mana system, skills, levels, soul and whatever else would have been crazy to me only a few months ago, deterministic language was apparently a step too far. Well done brain, +1 for arbitrary stances.
Jorge held up both hands placatingly. “Easy easy, we’ll get to that. I can talk about this for days without issue because my soul is steady as a rock. I have been playing this game for a while Runt, and my foundations are stable. You’ve only just started building the representation of your soul a few days ago – its unsteady, flimsy, and not very resistant to outside interference yet. The more time you spend reinforcing that representation by experiencing it, using it to guide your mana and grow your skills, the stronger your soul becomes. But right now, using a new heap of words is introducing new concepts to your soul and it’s trying to alter itself to fit them.
“Normally its simple for people. They grow up speaking a single language, experiencing the beliefs of a single culture, and their souls are shaped by that experience. By the time they hit level 15 and earn a class, their soul is already stable, and their foundations are built. They expect to see their skills represented as their culture teaches.
“For example, for the river-runners of the southern deltas, skills appear as roots entwining one another and creating a great mangrove, with mana being the great rivers and streams that feed the mangrove forests. They use different words to describe the representation as well, but I won’t use them because I don’t want to put more strain on you than needed.”
I nodded slowly at that, considering how my prior beliefs may have shaped my understanding of the soul, and followed it to the next issue. “I don’t believe in souls.”
I was met with three blank stares again before Nathlan turned to the others and said, “Well pack it in team, he’s an idiot.” Vera nodded, adding “He hid it better than most, I’ll give him that.” Jorge didn’t seem to disagree, just raising a questioning eyebrow at me.
I hastened to explain in the face of the ridicule levelled at me. “I mean, on my old world, we didn’t believe in souls, most of us. Well, I suppose that’s not true, but lots of people didn’t believe in souls. I’m not disputing that something is going on here and given the levels and all the other nonsense happening, not to mention the whole ‘god-touched’ thing, I’m inclined to just go along with it. But if I didn’t believe in souls, how were those cultural beliefs expressing themselves in my soul now? Isn’t that a bit paradoxical?”
I felt quite proud of myself, seeing their expressions turn from baffled at my stupidity to curious by the end.
Nathlan cleared his throat and spoke. “I can answer that – it’s a fairly simple question but one with a lot of background. The theories relating to the particulars of cultural expression of the soul are tied inextricably with the prevailing work on cultural transmission by Nathlan the Ancient. I gather you aren’t familiar with any of that work so I’ll give a brief runthrough-“
Jorge chose that moment to jump in, leaning over the table to give Nathlan a friendly pat on the shoulder and speaking over him, “I think we’re getting a little off-track. Anyhow, to answer-“
I chose to act as the deliverance of justice on behalf of Nathlan, and interrupted Jorge right back.
“Did he just cite himself?”
“What?” Jorge and Nathlan asked at the same time, sharing bemused looks with one another across the table. Vera caught on quicker and stifled a laugh, and that seemed to clue Jorge in.
“Ah! No, Nathlan the Ancient is one of the foremost scholars on Tsanderos. Nathlan here is simply the victim of parents putting a mite too much pressure on a young lad.” Nathlan shook his head at that description but didn’t protest it either.
Jorge clapped his hands together to get us back on track. “Right! So, we can’t answer your question without giving you a few years of grounded education in the history of modern Tsanderosian philosophy. Why don’t you just tell us about your soul representation, and that might give us a few hints?”
It was a sensible request and while Jorge clearly intended the first part to be a joke, the thought of learning about what philosophy an entirely new world could come up with was actually quite interesting to me. A layman’s perspective at least – I had no desire to trawl through dry and dusty treatises all referencing each other in a circular cascade of academic repetition.
I activated Heart of the Hills and spent a few moments centring myself, falling back into the abyss of my soul before I answered his question.
“I see my core as a void, an empty space with no discernible edges. But I can still feel how large it is. It fills with a blue/silver liquid but I can’t see where that comes from, only that it is ceaselessly bubbling up from the bottom of the void. If I try, I can zoom out the view. My core becomes a small pinprick of light, with constellations of light above representing my skills. They are linked by dim lines outlining their shape, and the shape corresponds with the skill. But it’s in ways I can’t describe. I can recognise Heart of the Hills as a whirling pattern of lights, but when I focus on it, I realise that none of the lights are moving.
“Anyway, they are all similar except my aura skill. That is enormous, orders of magnitude bigger, and I have to zoom out again to see it. It dominates the galaxy of my soul and shrouds all below it.”
I was running out of breath by the end, talking too fast and not pausing to breath, too excited to get to the end of the description. I could tell I wasn’t at the end even – there was so much more to say! – but a slight twinge in my chest was enough to wrench my mind back to the present from wherever it had been trying to escape to.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Jorge clapped me on the shoulder while I shivered. “Don’t worry about it. In these early days, the very act of talking about your soul is enough to shake the foundations. You’ll find it strengthens things, shakes out the cracks and lets you see the fault-lines. You can then work on shoring up those weaknesses.”
Vera nodded at that and leaned forward to interject. “Also don’t worry about getting pretentious. The system is at play with your soul and there tends to be a bit of leakage into the words you use. See what we mean about the way you talk being linked?”
I did, and as I absently rubbed a palm over my breastbone in an unconscious desire to ease the ache in my chest, I allowed the ideas I’d just heard flow through my mind. Jorge interrupted the reflection by pointing out the second part of the answer to the question I had already forgotten.
“I reckon it’s a bound skill.”
“What?” I asked in confusion.
“Your aura skill, it’s a bound skill.”
At my still blank look he ploughed on, “The reason it has such a low mana cost despite being inordinately powerful – it’s bound to your soul in a way your other skills aren’t, and so is less costly to activate and keep running.”
I sighed in response and said in a tone of defeat; “Whatever man, I don’t care anymore. I’ve got a soul and my words are magic, skills are yesterday’s news.”
Jorge looked stunned at my apparent lack of interest, and the others seemed to find his surprise amusing.
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The sunlight slowly faded from the world outside the window near us, and the tavern sunk into a brooding half-light, with the flicker of candles dancing across tables and the harsher glare of the deep crimson light emanating from above the bar completing the mood. I was kind of curious as to what was making that red light but there were too many revelations coming at me for it to even register past a mild curiosity.
Food was consumed and drinks were poured and finished in quick succession as I fielded questions from all three of them. Eventually they lost their enthusiasm along with the receding sunlight, and their postures gradually relaxed more and more. Previously straight-backed Vera had slumped her shoulders forwards, planting her elbows on the table and nursing a mug of Ale. Nathlan had finished the carafe of wine and was running his finger around the edge of his glass absentmindedly, creating a delicate ringing note with each rotation. Jorge seemed to be holding up the best, but he signalled the end of the discussion by leaning back and yawning.
“Oh no no no, my friends! Its my turn now.” I grinned evilly at them all as I received a round of groans in return. They were all tired from too much food, mead, wine and spirits – the drinks had gotten progressively stronger as the interrogation flowed on – but none more so than me.
My right eye was doing its droopy thing, trying to wink constantly in a fit of pique at being kept working long past its designated bedtime. But I was a grown man, with questions of my own, and I intended to get some answers! Jorge slumped back into his seat across from me and gave a weary nod, with a comment something along the lines of “fair’s fair”, although it was said in such a defeated tone that I wasn’t 100% sure.
Didn’t matter anyway, I finally had my turn in the interrogator’s boots so no time to waste.
“Right, first question: Where are we? Like in the world; what country, what continent? Do you have countries here? What political bodies exist to manage and run things? How is your society organised? Is this even your society? Or are you guys from somewhere else? And are you like high-level people, or just average? How strong is the average person?” my first question turned into almost a dozen as they bubbled out of my mouth in a rush.
Jorge raised his hands for mercy and Vera laughed. Even Nathlan smiled and started to reply, listing off the questions as he answered them.
“Trading outpost 17 of the Wandering States territory. On the continent of Tsanderos, with the Unclaimed Peaks at our back, the Salazar Pirate lords at our front on the coast, the copper canyons to the east and bordered on the west by the Panyera river.
“Yes, we have countries on Tsanderos, although the Wandering States are defined by geographical rather than political strictures. However, the lands from the other side of the Unclaimed Peaks all the way towards the Sunset Kingdoms are filled with various countries, empires and kingdoms, although borders are more fluid this side of the mountains for some reason.
“There are myriad political formations on Tsanderos, and it depends on many factors. No this is not our society – none of us are locals. Jorge and Vera are strong fighters but not unique and I myself am on the lower end of the spectrum in terms of levels. The strength of the average person varies tremendously and just as your previous question, there are many factors that influence it.”
I was staring at him as he rattled off point after point and when he finished, I was no more enlightened than when I started. “Okay let me try again. I have arrived in the wilderness of this world, and I’m completely lost. Please explain to me what I need to know about where we are and how things work so I don’t make some massive mistakes.”
Jorge grinned and Nathlan nodded before remarking “That’s a far more sensible request than I was expecting from you.” Jorge took over before the backhanded compliment could sink in and answered me himself.
“So, it’s a whole new world to you, and I don’t know where you’ve come from or how it compares but here are the bare bones: This world is shaped by periodic conflicts. The presence of the World Tree and the-“
He cut himself off and let out his breath in a burst. “You know? This is way harder than I was expecting.”
Vera chuckled and tried herself. “What Jorge means is that there’s a lot of background information that you need to be aware of. Its probably best to pick it up slowly over time rather than trying to cram your head full of knowledge right now. Unless you’re like Nathlan, burying your head in a scroll or book will probably just lead to more questions.” She tilted her head in consideration. “Especially if you’re like Nathlan.”
“Okay how about this, rapid fire round; I’ll ask a question and you say ‘yes’, ‘no’ or ‘it’s complicated’.” All three nodded so I began.
“Does everybody get a class here?”
Nods all round. “Yes”
“Wait - even kids?”
“No” and “it’s complicated” were said simultaneously by Nathlan and Jorge respectively. Nathlan rounded on the shorter man and seemed about to argue but I held a hand up to get their attention again.
“Is killing the only way to gain levels?”
“No” and “it’s complicated” were said at the same time again. Nathlan turned again but Jorge was quicker to speak up; “Depends on the class.”
I gestured for him to continue, so he did. “Broadly, there are two types of classes offered by the system, categorised by how the class gains experience to level. The most numerous and diverse are the support classes. They can be levelled by using the skills that are granted by that specific class – somebody with a fishing class will gain experience by fishing and using the class skills related to that profession. Soldiers, farmers, builders, artisans, cleaners, bureaucrats, and even some of the darker professions are usually filled by support classers.”
“The other type of class, and the one I believe you possess given your question, are the combat classes. While varied in application and effects, combat classes only gain experience by killing. Be it other people, monsters, animals and even in some cases plants, experience is only given for killing. Many cultures heavily regulate who can and can’t take a combat class and they are much rarer.”
I digested that before asking “so what are the advantages of each class type?”
Nathlan cleared his throat and began speaking, subtly nudging Jorge with his elbow to create space for his arms. I saw why as soon as he began talking and his arms started flying around with broad sweeping articulations to accompany his rather grandiose speech.
“Combat classes are by far the more powerful class type. They provide more attributes per level and their skills are often commensurately more powerful than those of a support class. They are also much quicker to level in most cases, as while the skills need training to be used effectively, there is no competence threshold required to increase their level, and the experience gained from killing stacks up much quicker than the long years and decades of practice required to level a support class. It is suggested by many scholars, and I happen to agree with this suggestion myself, that the skills provided by a combat class are so often more powerful because the system is utilising left over spirit or ‘mana’ from the souls of those killed and using that to create the potential for the changes seen upon levelling up or attribute allocation. Whereas support classers must make those changes directly to themselves through hard work and dedication, the system can step in for the combat classers and-“.
A polite cough from Jorge went entirely ignored by Nathlan as he really got into the swing of it, and only a subtle elbow from Vera managed to bring him to a somewhat stilted halt. Jorge raised an eyebrow at Nathlan before taking over again.
“What he means to say, is that the support classes are weaker but much more common.”
I nodded along. “So most people don’t take combat classes because they require constant killing and danger? I noticed that I barely received any experience from killing weaker creatures and the biggest jumps by far were seen by fighting those above my own level.”
Jorge agreed. “Yes and add to that the fact that a support class provides life-long benefits related to the profession, it’s an easy choice for most.”
“But surely there are many desperate people that look for a quick way to lash out. What happens when they get combat classes and start causing trouble?” I rejoined.
“Well, that depends on where you are. But generally, most communities have competent administrators and guards that are on the look out for that kind of thing. Plus, there are plenty of opportunities for most people with support classes rather than combat ones. Add to that the fact that you need to earn a distinct class in the first place after childhood and most people end up with choices between multiple support classes only, and if a combat class presents itself, its usually the result of a single moment vs a lifetime of support skills being levelled.” He could see that I was a little confused by his last statement, so he amended.
“Classes are offered based upon what you do, Runt. Spend your early years fixing shoes and you’ll be offered a cobbler class. Clean up after younger siblings and cook for the family and you’ll be offered a cleaner or cook variant class. On the flipside, if you spend your entire formative years fighting and killing to survive, you’ll be offered a powerful combat class. The system uses what you do as a basis for future specialisation.”
That made sense to me, and I thought back to how I had received starting attributes based on only the tiny amount of data the system had gained of my life through my short-term memory. I supposed that compared to most people’s 10-15 years of living, the month between me arriving and gaining my class would have looked like an absolute bloodbath.
“You said soldiers are support classers. Why not combat classers?” I asked.
“Its not a hard and fast rule, but most are support classers. Think long-term. Soldiers are not fighting most of the time. They are marching, training, digging, cooking, standing guard and helping with disaster relief and so on. There are wars every now and again between neighbouring principalities, and even a few large-scale invasions every few decades, but most political and economic disagreements don’t get that far.
“If you have a standing army entirely comprised of combat classers with no wars to fight….well, you have a low levelled army. Not to mention the incentives that gives states to start more wars to level their army. No, the standard model in Tsanderos is to have highly trained, high level support classers forming the core of the force, and then a small elite group of combat classers to act as champions, settling disagreements through small skirmishes and arenas battles. Sometimes support classers also take on this role but it varies from place to place.”
Vera then shared her wisdom around a mouthful of honey-soaked pastry. “Plus consider that combat classers die young, while a good support classer can live for decades, perhaps centuries if they get strong enough. They might have ‘commensurately’ weaker skills, but the weight of experience and wisdom is a heavy one to balance the scales.”
She looked at Nathlan pointedly when using his word, and I couldn’t be sure if she was disputing his claim or just mocking his word choice. The grin he sent her way made me suspect it was the latter and done with good nature rather than mean-spirit.
Much like the topic of conversation, I soldiered on, saying “Okay, that’s interesting and great news and all, but that’s brought up more questions than it answered.”
Jorge looked at me before replying “Nature of the world lad, each answer always brings further questions.”
We spoke long into the night, with Jorge, Vera and Nathlan giving me a crash course on the history, geography, general knowledge and context of my new world – or at least the continent on which I was currently based.
Apparently, little was known about other continents. Scholars knew there were others, but Tsanderos was surrounded on all sides by large oceans, and sea-travel was not particularly reliable by any measure. There were stories brought back by high-levelled and eccentric explorers, but they were often contradictory, and by the time they trickled down from the seats of power into the awareness of the common man, they were as much myth as factual accounts.
We retired separately to our rooms, mine paid for by Jorge without any chance for me to object, and he told me he would wake me in the morning. He had a proposition for me, I was reminded, and apparently I needed new clothes too. As I stripped out of my ragged apparel before hopping into the luxuriously clean bed – feathered mattress and thin cotton sheets – I had to admit he was right. The pile of clothes on the floor was literally unrecognisable as distinct items of clothing, and looked more like a mop made of rag-tag cloth strips.
My eyes were dropping as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I drifted off with the thought that it was odd I knew so little about the three people I shared the night with, and probably far more odd for them to know so little about me in turn. In fact, it was pretty weird that none of them had even asked any basic details about me at all.