If his enemy was going to mess with him, the next screen would show where. In refusing any blessing, Parry doubtlessly opened the door for chaos, frustration or worse.
No sense hesitating, he pulled up the screen:
Blessing Curse of the Creator In the First Degree
Oh.
Oh...crap.
The small airy room, with its neat bed and tidy cubby, suddenly felt menacing. The world closed around him like a prison.
A curse at the outset? In all his thousands of lives, he'd never seen it. Wasn't living over and over torture enough? How many wives, husbands, mates, children and friends had he buried? Whole families, communities, prides and packs, nations, had he gathered, cultivated, built to prominence with his own hands, only to have it all wiped from existence? The curse of seeing a woman laughing as she walked down the street in the arms of a man--a woman who had been the love of his life or the harlot who murdered him or the spy he had to execute, a man who had once been his brother, rival, teacher, student. Everything in this world was a curse to him, dull and familiar with agonizing repetition or betraying him with changes and unexpected differences just when he'd needed it most.
And [Curse of the Creator]? What could it possibly...?
[Blessing Curse of the Creator]: Nyctalopia, "night blindness." You cannot see in low light.
That's...awful. No, it's unpleasant. It's trivial? That's it?
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Parry almost laughed. There had to be a million ways around that "curse." Was he missing something? Maybe it's tied to his fate? There'll be some moment soon where night blindness means the difference between success and failure, life and death? It seemed petty, overly specific, absurd.
I guess I can trade my second shirt in for a glowstone? Invest in extra flint and a quality tinderbox? Avoid eclipses?
He had to be missing something critical. It's a mistake to dismiss anything as unimportant: he was playing in another's game, and they did not like him.
This mystery isn't going anywhere, and this isn't the time to dwell on it. He'd test its limits later. For now, he decided to check his inventory, which he knew would be scant:
Wearing: Slack hose, linen shirt (x2), leather belt Wearing: Boots, soft leather w/ buckles (iron) Quill Inkwell Parchment (2 leaves) Pen knife False tooth
Another surprise. Parry probed with his tongue and felt an oddly shaped dull spot in place of a bicuspid. There was no pain or tenderness associated with it. He must have had it for some time. A false tooth wasn't unheard of, but hardly common. Another indicator of wealth or status? Maybe in this part of the world there's highly-developed dental magic? It's another mystery to investigate.
Parchment and inkwell tucked into a boot, pen knife in his belt, and quill behind one ear (might as well look stylish), Parry stepped out of the room, as ready as he could be for some answers.