“Do you remember speaking to a goddess of sorts before coming here?”
Hero Cooper seemed to think for a second. His eyes widened as he apparently recalled something, he then eventually gave a fake smile. “N-no... not that I remember...”
He remembered, of course. They all remember. The archmage's illusion magic always worked perfectly. The summoned imbeciles would meet a beautiful goddess upon arrival. It happened in a mere second, in such a way that the heroes would feel like they just had an important conversation, but they did not immediately remember it. Then the Questmaster would ask, and the memories would come back more easily.
It's always the same stuff anyway. Oh, hello, I'm bored, here's your new life, or, hello, please save my people, but don't mention to anyone you spoke to me!
How stupid. The gods of Pandristar couldn't care less about their people. The Questmaster liked them, because more often than not, their petty squabbles could make for a good quest, but only paladins, priests and clerics would manage to catch their attention with prayers and whatnot.
“So...” hero Cooper began, observing his clothes. They were his own, a grey tunic with a hood and pants of blue cotton that used to be an odd sight in the kingdom a few years ago, when summonings were still a rare occurrence. “Can I do hero stuff?”
The Questmaster gave a nod and waved a tired hand. “You can choose a class, that would be a good start.”
“Class? I have a class? Do I have stats too?” His frenzied eyes seemed to look around him, searching for something. That sometimes happened. “S... Status screen!” he yelled. “Stats! Skill list!” That also happened often.
Seeing the disappointed look on hero Cooper's face, the Questmaster sighed. “It isn't that simple, young hero.” He glanced to the side and spotted Yorm, the fencing master. “Yorm here,” he kept on, pointing toward the bulky man in armour, “will teach you all you need to know about your newfound abilities. Any question you may have, he will answer. Don't hold back.” Hearing that, Yorm grimaced. The Questmaster did not feel guilty one bit. The burden had to be shared, after all.
“Erhm, you talked about saving something? Do I have, like, a quest or whatever?”
“Ah, yes, yes, indeed.” The Questmaster cleared his throat and carried on in a thunderous voice. “Evil is roaming our lands! Forests are on fire, villagers are butchered, and the plunder never ends! Please, chosen hero, deliver us from the bandits attacking our farms, and, their, err...” he paused, and just by looking at the hero's expression he knew the lad had been expecting something more dramatic.
Oh, I knew it. Bandits don't interest anyone anymore...Years ago, people still found it exceptional to be brought from another world, and they had no objection when the king and the Questmaster would send them to do their bidding. Dangerous missions, shameful work, tiring monster exterminations... They'd gladly do it for free and even feel thankful for it. But now...
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They wouldn't say it, but recently all heroes more or less expected the same thing when they were summoned – going to some mage academy, building their own city, banging five princess at once... Some even asked if they could change race and become orcs, dungeon cores, or whatever. The hell is a dungeon core? And who wants to be an orc anyway?
“...Well, there is more,” the Questmaster eventually assured. “Even more dangerous trials await you, but first you must prove yourself against these bandits. Think of it as a... tutorial, for instance? A simple quest, for our new champion to get accustomed to his abilities.”
“I see,” hero Cooper said, nodding. “That makes sense.”
The king stepped forward, a large smile on his handsome face. “You must be tired, hero. We have prepared chambers and servants for you – if you need anything, don't hesitate. We shall talk some more this evening.”
A group of servants led the hero toward his private apartments, and the Questmaster accompanied them. “How did you know my name?” hero Cooper wondered, as he seemed to have calmed down at last after his death experience and his own summoning. “Ah, don't tell me... I have a status screen after all, and you can read it, right?”
The Questmaster raised his brows in surprise, or rather, did his best impression of a surprised old man in front of a brave hero. “Ah, it's much more simpler. We summoned you, we chose you – there's little we don't know about our precious saviour.”
“Oh, okay...” the lad said, almost disappointed.
“In any case,” the Questmaster said with his best smile, “no one can read someone else's information without their consent. You needn't worry about that. I'll teach you all there is to know about status screens, leveling, quests and guilds.”
“I look forward to that,” Cooper concluded with a nod.
The Questmaster grinned from ear to ear, and eventually left the hero with the servants. There were three of them around him – pretty girls the summoned idiots would be sure to appreciate every aspect of, and in front of which they'd certainly let their guard down. This one wouldn't even guess what the servants were up to.
The tall, busty blonde with cold eyes was one of the king's spies. The short-haired beauty with a cheerful behaviour and an annoying merriness was working for the archmage Neremniel. Finally, the cute girl with long black hair and a timid smile was one of the Questmaster's own spies. He smiled to himself as he saw her clinging to the hero's arm, making great use of her charms. As he observed them, his passive skill naturally allowed him to glance over his spy's status screen.
General Information
Name: Nemia Class: Rogue Level: 35 HP: 167/167 Race: Human Title: None EXP: 130/5250 MP: 82/82
Vitality: 8 Dexterity: 15 Willpower: 6 Stamina: 9 Intelligence: 10 Luck: 5 Strength: 6 Faith: 2 Charisma: 12
Everyone had their own reasons for spying on the newly brought heroes. The king, for instance, probably wanted to have another share of fun by hearing all sort of embarrassing tales about the people he summoned.
What a sick bastard, when I think about it. Still, it was probably better than brutalising commoners and kidnapping innocent maidens. To each his own. At least, the ones being tormented here weren't fellowmen, but people from another world.
Not that it really mattered. Right, let's get to work, the Questmaster thought, stretching his old, aching back, holding his long dark robes as he walked the castle's corridors in a vigorous pace. I'm sure there are a few interesting prophecies gathering dust in the library that I could use.