The Ratman archer had a single golden ring on his tail; barely large enough to fit over my pinkie finger, I drop it in the bag with the others. My bag jingles as it sways at my side as I go into the building that I had first stepped into to being my search for the shrine. I start the search in the room that I had entered; the bedroom above the body of the first Ratman who had three golden rings along his tail.
I pull open the shutters to let more light in as I begin to search for the shrine. What was a shrine, anyways? I know the word and what it means, but what does it look like? I’ve never seen one in real life, nor have I ever been curious enough to look it up.
Some of the books on the bookshelf are still put together. They’re small. Almost pocket book sized, and the paper is worn and yellow. Some scrolls sit among the books as well, and within the drawer of the end table, I find a box small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Its corners are rounded perfectly; as if it had been carved out of a block of wood instead of crafted together. Even its hinges were invisible. It rattles pleasantly at my shake. Music to my ears. I open it. A golden locket sat in the middle of the box, surrounded by the wilted remains of flowers that I had never seen before, and red felt like cloth pinned to the wood. The strong fragrance of potpourri overwhelms my senses momentarily.
I pull it out; it dangles on the edge of a golden chain and has a single button on top, so I press it. The top opens up, and inside was a faded colored photograph of two creatures; cat-like in appearance. One had large amber eyes, and ginger fur that covered its angular face, and the other had the fur pattern of a calico with two large pale-blue eyes; with black and brown splotches covering its white fur.
They were happy in the picture; the calico pressing its lips against the fur-covered cheeks of the other. Perhaps it was a hero complex that I wasn’t aware that I had, but a fit of strange anger begins to well within me, mixed with a stranger sorrow for the two in the picture. I was pretending not to notice the bones piled up where I had landed near the fireplace. Two bigger sets — gnawed by filed teeth, in front of a much smaller set. I slide it into my backpack, along with the box, the scrolls, and the books.
I pull out the Shard as I sit on the edge of the small bed.
“So what is it that I’m supposed to be looking for?”
“A shrine.”
“But what does it look like?”
“It looks like a shrine.”
I sigh and squeeze the bridge of my nose in between my thumb and pointer finger.
“Do you have any other information for me?”
“No.” It answered, “It is hard to see into that world. The more doors are cleared, however, the information should become more succinct.”
I drum my fingers against the wooden post of the bed.
“Why was my magic so much stronger earlier?” I ask.
“The profound experience of stepping into another world had increased your magic stat. You also got an increase from your first time killing something, and for brushing so closely with death.”
“Really? Was that the boiling feeling?”
“Probably.”
“Can I check my stats here?”
The Shard changes to display the table
NAME: LAWRENCE ABLE
AGE:30
OCCUPATION: NOVICE MAGE?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
LEVEL: 2
EXPERIENCE: 25/110
ADDITIONAL STAT POINTS 3
STATS:
STRENGTH: 10(-3)
STAMINA: 10(-5)
PERCEPTIVENESS: 7
INTELLIGENCE: 14
CREATIVITY: 15
ENDURANCE: 12 (-7)
MAGIC: 5 (+2)
COMBAT SKILLS:
MAGIC
Lesser Heal 5/999
Ember 3/999
Ensnare 1/999
Meditation 6/999
CLOSE QUARTERS COMBAT
Jab 10/999
Straight 12/999
Hook 14/999
Grapple 15/999
WEAPONS:
SPEAR 1/999
KNIFE 2/999
PASSIVE SKILLS:
MAGIC AFFINITY 1/999
DUELING 1/999
HEALING AFFINITY 2/999
CRIME SKILLS:
LOOTING 3/999
“Oh, I leveled up and got some new skills? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You didn’t—”
“Didn’t ask. Of course. Can you just put the three stat points into magic?”
With that, the 5 becomes an 8. The familiar bubbling returns to my stomach, as a sudden bout of nausea brings me to my knees. It settles after a few seconds pass. I push myself up to my feet.
“I suppose I should find that shrine. You have no hints?”
“None.”
I sigh. I shove the Shard back into my front pocket and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Where would rats hide a shrine...wait, rats? I tap my chin with my finger before sprinting down the stairs; gripping the shaft of the spear parallel to the ground as I do so.
By the time I reach the middle of the stairwell, I stop my sprinting. I catch my breath and continue walking down the stairs. I hurry to the building across the street, throw open the door, and go to the hatch. I pull at the heavy metal ring and raise it.
A large basement sat beneath the floor. Rows upon rows of old, rotted food line rickety shelves sat up in the middle of the room. Gray stones held back the earth and, heavy black timber pillars held up the floor. At the left-hand side of the room, a large hole was tunneled into the wall; the gray packed stone that had once been there was scattered on the hard-packed earthen ground.
I knew it. Rats normally don’t live above ground, do they? I push into the tunnel; my bag snags against the ceiling, so I pull back out and remove my bag. I toss the bag further into the tunnel in front of me and do the same for the spear. When I get to the bag and the spear, I toss them in front of me again. This continues for another five minutes until the tunnel opens up. The spear clatters against the stone just beyond, as does the cheap canvas backpack. I pull myself out of the small crawlspace, and into an aqueduct.
To say it's beautiful is an understatement. Marble, straight walls span in every direction. Light emanates from stones embedded in the walls and on the arching ceiling. Clear water rushes beneath a marble, arched bridge. The fog walls stretched even here; blocking me from going too far in either direction. Figures moved beyond the wall of fog. Countless, moving figures.
On the opposite side of the bridge is a heavy iron door. I sling my backpack, lift my spear, and head toward it. I grip the blood-stained wand in my pocket as the iron door creaks open. The light of beady eyes shoots back to glare at me. A Ratman on the far opposite end of the room holds a dagger in front of him. It wore a white and red robe that brushed against the ground, and a heavy white hood with holes cut out for its pointed ears. It stood in front of a small table that held the flicker of candles. If my visualization was correct then it would just be about right below the chimney gate that I had stepped out of.
It chatters and squawks in a language I have no way of knowing while waving its curvy kris in the air. I brace myself as a purple light begins to flood the room.