Isaac was dimpling across the ocean on a patchwork of rafts. Crates were towed next to bunks and fish-shaped boats, a stone-iceberg peeking out of the water where it was ringed by a dozen smaller rafts for the little ones. It was a swirl of rope and garish influences. Isaac found himself leaning over the dark waters, reaching out with his fishing pole for a bucket that seemed to be emanating a lonely yowl.

He reached as far as dreams allowed and hooked it, reeling it in as the pink tiger holding his leg reeled him in as well.

“Thank you, dream tiger.”

“No problem, champ.” The tiger gave him a playful punch that rippled through the air thick as water. “If you need me, I’ll just go un-exist myself for a moment.”

“You go do that,” Isaac muttered through a cloud of pink tiger-dust as he stared down at the bucket. It was holding a head. The head looked vaguely feline. “Oh. Hello, you.”

The head turned to face him, looking annoyed. It opened its mouth, showing sharp teeth as it yawned wide, and wider.

BWAAAP!

“ATTENTION!” crowed its bird-like voice.

BWAAAAAAP!

“WAKE UP!”

The dream began to strain and popped like a bubble. Bleary-eyed and confused, Isaac leaned forward, only to get an airhorn shoved into his face.

BWAP-BWA-BWAP!

Jerking back, he squinted at the ball of light that was floating back and forth, illuminating the figure so intent on ruining his sleep. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at exactly. It looked like a wooden marionette as tall as a child, except it was carved or crafted in a way that really told that whoever made it had likely never seen a child before in their life.

It looked humanoid and sexless, but the way it was wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing up top made Isaac guess that it was supposed to be a boy. His cheeks were painted with red hearts and spades, his eyes perfectly crafted glass orbs rimmed by dark red eyeshadow that fell down in lines at the edge as well as from the side of his wooden mouth. His body was covered in markings and metal tattoos that variably swallowed the light, or reflected it against the small orb of brightness that seemed to be following his every movement.

“Awake? Awake! Goo-ood.” He clattered with every word and walked away with a chittering laugh that sounded as if someone had pre recorded it, then sped it up again.

“I would like to file a complaint,” Sophia moaned next to him. “My ears have been violated.”

“As were my eyes.” Isaac rubbed his face as he watched the marionette-kid dip into the big tent and unleash the unchained fury of his airhorn inside. “At least we got some sleep.”

“Yeah. Three hours.”

“So that’s why I feel like someone squeezed me through the intake tube of a jetski.” All the biking and running around yesterday hadn’t helped either, nor had sleeping on concrete. Andri wasn’t doing any better by the looks of it. His head was buried deep inside Isaac’s snack & tool bag. He leaned down to poke him in the side. “Hey. Wake up.”

All he got was a yowl and a groaning growl as Andri slowly pulled his head from it. He looked like a bomb had gone off in his face, and not just because his hair was standing each different way.

I should clean my backpacks more. Sorry, Andri.

“Feel rested?” Isaac asked.

<>

He sounds like someone drove a railroad spike through his neck, then filled the hole with sandpaper.

“That just means your senses will be that much more alert. Hammond always said as much.”

<>

“Our adoptive dad. Also, Claire’s… well, we don’t know, but something is up with them.”

Andri looked at him, blinked. He could say so much with just a few blinks. Like ‘how do you not know what your parents are up to?’, ‘why were you two sleeping next to me?’, or ‘would it be self defense if I stuffed that marionette into a wickerman’?

He didn’t seem keen on vocalizing any of those thoughts.

<>

“There are rumors?” Now it was Isaac’s turn to blink in confusion. “Care to share?”

<>

He stretched so hard Isaac thought he was about to turn two-dimensional.

<>

“There is a lot of that, huh?”

There were too many people to count, even though he could see over the heads of most of them. Here humans and canids, mink and merpeople represented the lion’s share. But then there were bloodlines that appeared more commonly elsewhere in the empire than on Wett, people related to ogres likely from one of the three ogre kingdoms, hooded figures that stood silently with mandibles chattering in secret, large round ones and small, mousey ones. There was one person made of a green slime, one seemingly entirely made of bronze gears and plates, and another one whose face was shifting constantly like a million leaves shifting in the wind.

He was trying to figure out if the pair of some avian stock were constantly picking at each other’s plumage as a show of affection, or if this place somehow had a lice infestation, when Andri tapped him on the shoulder.

<>

He nodded to a hooved man with a goatee ferrying around water bottles on a wheelbarrow.

“I mean, we have some water.” But having more never hurt, especially since they didn’t know when the next opportunity to refill was going to be. Isaac flagged him down, his eyes goggling as he read the price tag.

“Seventy gups the liter!? At that price I could buy… seventy liters of water!”

“Don’t hate the messenger man, I’m just trying to make some easy dough.” The hooved man raised his hands defensively. He had curly brown locks, a single horn atop his head, and a smile that could charm the habit off the most devout of nuns.

He looked kind of goat-like. Isaac’s gaze drifted to his horn again. A second stump was peeking out of his hair to the left of it. “Are you a unicorn?”

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that joke today.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I’m Baphomet. And yes, my parents loved human culture so much they didn’t mind naming their son after a demon.”

“Seems like something that would make for a rough childhood,” Isaac said, introducing himself, Sophia, and Andri.

After a bit of smalltalk, he knew immediately that Baphomet was the kind of person who didn’t let himself stay down after failing just once. He was just plain fun to talk to. There were no skills that could make someone control another person’s mind or emotions, though some of later illusions got fairly close. Maybe his boon just made him more noticeable and sympathetic, like the opposite of Sophia’s Bane.

“I’m here at the adventurer exam for the seventeenth time,” he said as he traded a furry-looking person three water bottles simultaneously. “No idea how I keep getting in. Must be my good luck.”

<>

Andri huffed. He didn’t seem impressed, not even as Baphomet pulled them in and whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m not here to win. As I said, I need cash. Scalping people with water is one way, but I also sell information. Winning the exam on your first try is unlikely, so lots of the competition here are regulars. You interested?”

“Depends. How much?”

“Two hundred gups.”

Isaac inhaled sharply. That was almost all the money he had left after paying for the bikes they had liberated. He looked to Andri.

<>

“Right. Crap.” He sighed and handed over the last of his savings.

“Can’t believe Wett still uses cash. Then again, you don’t even have UBI - universal basic implants.” he tapped his forehead and made a swishing motion. Isaac’s brick dinged with a new friend request, and an info package. It was… extensive, easily requiring an afternoon to peruse and use.

“What’s the short of it?” Isaac asked as he tried and failed to find any obvious scars or lines for said implant on the goatman’s face. “Anything we should be wary of?”

“Lots. Adventurer exams are brutal. Murder is disallowed, but anything up to it is usually condoned. Threats, fraud, blackmail. Even the consensual skill-use clause is temporarily lifted while you’re competing.”

“And the examiners encourage that?”

Baphomet shrugged. “They want to see you at your best and worst. People will sink low, but for most of them, it isn’t because they’re evil. Becoming an adventurer is just worth being an asshole. Adventurers are rich after all, and even just participating in the exam can net you quite a profit, if you know how. If you do manage to win, then after a year’s worth of effort you could buy a city on a low tier planet.”

Or an island, Isaac noted.

“Now, some folks to look out for. Pinhead and the Broose Krew are old faces. One’s a gang of scary ogrekin mercenaries working for some house or another. Pinhead, or so I hear, is a sadist who likes stomping newbies, but you’re better off steering clear of both of them.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Then there’s what I dub ‘rising stars’. Most of them are kids from established and active adventuring houses on Numa 2. We’ve got The Blob, who’se boon is probably about converting all that fat into mana or some other form of energy. There’s a full-blooded minotaur or two; their mana pools are tiny but they excel in every physical category, so steer clear. There’s Long-Short knight over there in full plate armor. No idea what his deal is, but he gives off bad vibes.”

“That’s a girl,” Isaac commented.

“What?”

“You can see around the hips. The armor is a bit more pronounced around the chest as well.”

Baphomet blinked at him, clearly in disbelief. “That’s a human. Human women don’t grow that tall.”

Isaac just shrugged. Maybe they did in space. “Anything else?”

Baphomet looked around, before returning with a hush-hush voice. “Kill Squads. There’s a lot of interest from high-rankers, noble houses, and other groups to have their representatives do well. It’s a show of force for some, a means to an end for others. For every golden child that wants to challenge the exam honestly, there’s a team of trained brutes and delvers supporting them from the sidelines. The kids usually don’t even notice until a few rounds have passed. ”

“That has to be illegal,” Sophia commented.

“People are good at hiding where their money goes. If you’re caught, your entire line is banned for a decade, then a hundred years, then a thousand for repeat offenders. Either way, if people have a uniform dress code or are acting awfully coordinated, keep away from them.” He squinted. “I see a lot of enchanted gear too. This year is starting to look a bit brutal. I might have to dip out early.”

Isaac gulped.

He would have to find some time to dissect the info package he’d been sent later. The package seemed worth it so far. After all, if he made it halfway and then got a decent job, two hundred gups would be nothing in comparison.

“By the way, what do you need all this money for?”

Baphomet smiled. “I want to make it big. I know I’m not strong or fast, but I’m lucky, I have a skill-boon-combo that gives me practically unlimited stamina, and I’m pretty good at making money too. If I just buy enough scratch cards and lottery tickets, I’m statistically guaranteed to win eventually.”

“Seems rather irresponsible.”

“Isn’t that how people like us tend to get their first skill?”

“I mean, I didn’t gamble with money…” He spotted a dash of purple skin, then a hand, and a very unwelcome face. It was Hrisp’s older leader-brother. He ducked, hoping that he wasn’t seen, as he whipped out his brick and quickly typed a message to Hrisp.

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

Isaac sighed. Barely five minutes awake and already the nervous drumbeat of his heart was rising. He’d have preferred to get his nerves frazzled after the exam started.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Right back?” Sophia asked with affront. “The exam’s starting any minute now!”

Her voice was lost among the murmur of hundreds of annoyed people putting on gear and getting ready for whatever was coming.

The press of bodies was something else. Isaac had to revise his earlier assessment. There were at least twice as many people stuffed into the tunnel. People stepped on his feet as much as he did on theirs. He got an elbow to the side that almost knocked him to the ground. Because of that he didn’t see what tripped and sent him sprawling to the ground, but he did hear the whoops and bellowing laughter that followed.

“Fucking ow, watch it jackass—”

Someone stepped on his hand and Isaac swore he almost heard a crack. He pulled it back, swallowing a cry of pain. Some people could go with an attitude adjustment, a diet, or both.

A hand reached out to him and Isaac took it, coming face to face with purple Hrisp. He was Ortho’Wuur’s agent, or maybe some other merman’s trying to get in the way of his plans. It suited Isaac right; judging by his reaction, he wasn’t beneath helping people in a personal sense, just against the orders he was given.

“You are alright?” the fishman asked. “You should have come with honorable Sophia and the catman, for protection.”

Isaac grimaced as he massaged his hand. “Maybe. Maybe I should swallow my pride and ask for your group’s help.”

Upon seeing Hrisp’s face scrunch up, Isaac threw up his hands.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! We might get disqualified for working together and besides, what kind of wannabe-adventurer would I be if I let myself be dragged through the trials?”

“...not a very distinguished one.” The merman was staring at him again in that odd Merman way.

“Ok, what’s up? You’ve seen enough humans that you shouldn’t be gawking at me like a tourist.”

“I am curious. Why is it that Ortho’Wuur is so fixated on an average-looking human boy? You don’t even have gills, so you don’t look like a halfsie.”

“I’m quite tall for a human,” Isaac countered. And he was pretty sure that half human, half mermen belonged to the realm of mythology. In general, species didn’t mix, though that didn’t stop them from mingling. “It’s more what he wants from Claire. She is special, and so he thinks I ought to be special too. Listen to this, the first time I met him…”

Hrisp’s face went through a variety of emotions and colors as Isaac told him about his life so far, about how Ortho’Wuur had lured him into doing something stupid, how he’d been saved by Claire both then and when they’d first met.

“It makes sense,” he said after a respectful pause. “In some interpretations of the books of orderly worship, there are stories about a youngling trapped on a raft for eighty days. Venerable Ortho’Wuur must be using this to meet his ends.”

Isaac blinked. “So, what, he’s really religious?”

Hrisp laughed. “He is as much a traditionalist as the clam that spat at the kelp leaf. He is a fiend who walks the split between tradition and renewal, offering sugary words to be sipped from the communal cup of either side while the water grows warm around him. Venerable Ortho’Wuur really is a unit of Quol’lkak.”

Isaac grinned. Calling his superior anything but ‘honorable’, ‘venerable’ was a big faux pas in mer-society. He really wasn’t on Ortho’Wuur’s side.

“Sorry, what does that mean? Quollkak?”

“Quol-lkak.It means ‘the excrement of a clade of see-through half-sessile critters.’ They have a wide head like an, ah, Dra’ppapp’ador, and nettles on long strings.”

“Jellyfish?”

He made a whistling sound purely by blowing air out of his nose. That was a yes. Isaac marked the vocabulary down as they slowly but surely pushed their way to a less claustrophobic part of the crowd.

“By the by,” Isaac said, “have you found out what the first test is going to be?”

“We have tried scouting the local competition out. People have been… not very forthcoming. Rumors have only contributed in part to this.”

“Rumors? That’s the first I’ve heard of—”

An exceptionally loud BWAAAP that could have woken the dead had them all turning their heads over to the far wall. The tattooed marionette was standing on a pile of crates so that everyone could see him.

“All awake?” he bellowed, his voice carrying unnaturally evenly across the tunnel. “Excellent. Welcome to the 3.152nd adventurer exam. That’s right, all you lucky fellows have earned the right to participate. Good job. You can pat yourself on the back already, because I sure as honk won't. Ah-hah-hah.”

There was a wide and unimpressed silence. The marionette boy carried on as if he didn’t care.

“This is one of one hundred such site. And statistics have shown that on average, one person per site makes it to the very end and gets chosen to join us in the sky. Only one. Look around you, count some heads, and realize that your chances are pretty slim.”

One hundred times four hundred is… forty thousand. Hey, I’m in the top forty thousand. That’s pretty good.

Isaac straightened up a bit. The toy boy raised arm and all of a sudden, people yelped as pistols, grenades, and all kinds of weapons Isaac hadn’t even thought of bringing were sucked into a great ball of violence above his head.

“Guns! Gunpowder.” His painted-on eyes seemed to search the four-hundred contestants, peering right through them. “Valid tools normally, but fun fact: Did you know that hitting your target gets exponentially more unlikely as the tiers go up? Conventional weaponry may be effective against you low-tiers, but that starts dropping off too. Are we here to breed a class that specializes in taking out tier ones, twos, and threes? No! We’re adventurers! We sail the sea of stars, fight against the odds, against leviathans, dragons, what-have-you, and at the end of the day return ever triumphant, heads held high.”

With a flick of his wrist, the ball of weapons crunched together. “My name is O-BEE ALLCAPS and I am your examiner for the first test. But first, a word or ten from my beautiful co-examiner, miss Miff.”

A rather prim looking office-lady took the stage, holding some sort of data-pad. The data pad had bunny ears.

“Thank you, O-BEE. I am Miss Miff, secretary in the Bureau of Disorderly Business. I am here to talk about rules,” she said as clipped and curt as possible.

“Rule number one: Examiners are god, thereby I am god. My judgment is absolute. You will not backtalk, you will not winge, you will not threaten us with whatever influence you think your daddy or mommy has. The interests of economic groups or fraternities will be ignored. Bribes of any sort are immaterial to us.”

That was… quite a start. Isaac didn’t think she hated everyone her eyes fell on, but she sure as heck was making her displeasure against specific individuals known.

“Rule number two: Always keep your contestant number visible. Failing to present your contestant token when asked by association staff will lead to disqualification. If you wish to drop out, hold your token in your hands, say ‘I hereby forfeit’, and we will get you out. There is no shame in knowing your limits.”

She sniffed and raised her glasses.

“Rule number three: We have a point system. If you succeed in a test, you get ten points. Those who exceed get more. Points can be used to buy refreshments, gadgets, potions, magical items, and more, all at the frankly atrociously cheap cost of simply being good enough. Never say the association skimps out on rewards, because if you do, it’s probably a skill-issue.”

“Lastly, rule number four: Even during our infamous exam, killing another contestant is illegal. At your Tier, that means anything that explodes hearts or is aimed straight for the brain. Accidents happen. That does not excuse you from responsibility. Take the gamble, go for the head shot, break the rules and see what happens.”

She almost said that last part softly, which for her standards was still ear-gratingly brutal.

“Wowzie, how depressing,” O-BEE cackled. “Let’s continue with our final bit: What does it mean to be an adventurer? It means to travel the galaxy and serve the people as you see best. It means to be intrepid and smart. It means to delve rifts and save kittens on trees, to discover unseen planets and sail the — and who the heck are you?”

A large ogrekin had taken the chance to approach O-BEE, who looked rather toy-like in comparison even while standing on a meter of wooden crate. The ogrekin clearly had a rather strong northern ogre bloodline, with tusks pierced with bronze and silver rings, the classic ogre-gut that proudly bulged his cuirass, and a wiry nest of white fur running up his body to ring his face in a ghastly, beast-like way.

“I want to challenge you,” he said in guttural Standard. “If I beat you, it will be proof that I am worthy. You will accept this.”

The marionette stared at him as if he wasn’t sure whether it was audacity or stupidity that was driving the ogrekin to do this. Isaac thought it might be peer pressure. The group of ogres they’d passed were stomping their feet and cheering him on. Their stomping filled the halls and echoed far into the tunnel.

“Su-ure.”

The ogrekin didn’t hesitate, raising a club and bringing it down in a flash. But as his large studded club came crashing down on the marionette, he caught it in one hand, the impact driving his legs straight through the wooden crate he had been standing on.

But he was still standing.

“Interesting! That’s a lotta force for a Tier 1. My turn.”

It happened so fast Isaac had to concentrate to recall what he had just seen. There were three sounds like thunderclaps. The mannequin moved and slapped the ogre in the belly, right where the armor was thickest. The shock traveled through like he was just a sack of water as he was lifted up. The second clap happened when he hit the ceiling, and the third when gravity had reasserted itself and he plummeted back to the ground.

Isaac winced. There was a stain left on the ceiling. Hrisp was also looking on in shock, his nostrils flared, staring forward with those large bulging eyes.

They wouldn’t kill someone due to disrespectful conduct. Right?

“There’s always one idiot,” someone said, laughing at his side.

The mannequin looked on with the same happy expression hewn into his face as he touched the ogre, and with an audible Pop made him disappear.

“Oh goodies, some loot.” He picked up his ogre club. It looked comically oversized on his frame. But when he put a finger through the pommel ring and began twirling it like a walking cane, it wasn’t all that funny anymore.

“Enough talk, enough bluster, it is time for action. The first challenge: Run.” The air filled with a crackle as lighting traveled up and down his newly purloined beat-stick. “And you better not fall behind me.”