A purple cloth pouch the size of grapefruit thunked down on the table in front of Max. It bulged around the middle and was cinched tight with a plain leather rope around the opening. Nesto had produced it from his bag and tossed it on the tabletop, still wearing that grin.
“Well?” he asked. “What are you waiting for? Open it!”
Max did so, tentatively. It looked like a coinpurse, but he was still a little on edge from the thumb prick. He unwove the leather cinch and peered inside. Thankfully, it was a coinpurse—and not an empty one! It was fat with money. “What’s this?” asked Max, expecting a joke at his expense.
“Consider it a… a welcome bonus!”
“It’s all for me?” Max frowned. He was still suspicious.
“Think of it like… your starting gold, see? All those backdoor spawns—” Nesto grimaced. “They do everything wrong. They don’t give you a starting bonus. You don’t choose your initial stats, they generate your name and worst of all… no Home Inn benefits!” The Innkeeper threw up his hands, as if the mere thought was incredulous. “Considering all that, someone like you is, by all intents and purposes, a new arrival. So I’m going to treat you like one, including all the benefits. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you like family?”
Once Max accepted the innkeeper’s gift, the coins were automatically deposited into his account. When he got the confirmation notice, his jaw dropped. The balance in his account had more than tripled. Max would’ve had to work three hard months in the mines for this amount of coin. “Wow… I, really… I can’t even thank you enough… really, it’s—” It’s lifesaving, Max wanted to say, but he stumbled over the words.
“Don’t thank me! It’s starting coin, should’ve already been yours. I’m only doing my duty. Just don’t spend it all on cheap thrills and twilight! Seen it happen too many times! New arrivals, at first bright eyed and full of purpose, only to quickly descend into lusty escapades and purple smoke…” Nesto leaned over and lowered his voice. “But if you must, I can recommend the worthwhile establishments… you won’t be robbed, or catch anyth—”
“Uncle!” scolded Kell, who’d overheard from the kitchen. ‘He barely looks sixteen.”
Nesto waved him off. “Quit eavesdropping, boy! This is private!” The innkeep suddenly became serious. “But really, stay away from the twilight. Dangerous stuff, that.” He cleared his throat. “Now then. Since the monies are settled, may we move on?”
Still not fully recovered from the shock of his sudden stroke of good luck, Max could only smile and nod, but he did so eagerly. Whatever doubts he had about Nesto were gone. This whole time, Max had been so focused on surviving and learning that he hadn’t had time to even think about his dire financial situation. Only now that some of the weight was lifted, did he realize just how much it had been in the back of his mind.
“To proceed, I need to hear you confirm,” said Nesto, kindly.
“Definitely,” Max managed, finally finding his voice. “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent!” Nesto rubbed his hands together and brought out a handful of white candles from his leather case. He then picked up the wooden slat with holes drilled into it, and set it between himself and Max. “Unfortunately, I understand those who spawn directly into an industry—like yourself—fill out a questionnaire before arriving in Aletheia for the first time.”
“That’s true.” Max remembered the questionnaire. It was fairly short, full of general questions and preselected answers. What is your name? What industry were you hired for? Have you played Starsword Online in any capacity before? That sort of thing.
“Right. Instead of choosing your own starting stats, they generate a profile for you, suited to the industry.” Nesto shook his head in disgust. One by one, he began setting a candle into each hole of the piece of wood, where they fit perfectly. “I’m sorry to say that you cannot re-roll your current stats, but at the very least I can bring you out of the dark.”
Nesto had finished inserting the candles into the wooden slat. It now held 8 candles total, in two rows of four. Curiously, Max noted that there were two empty spots at the very end. For whatever reason, Nesto hadn’t placed candles into these. The innkeep rotated the instrument so the small, brass tack was facing towards Max.
“Just one last little prick,” he said, motioning towards the sharp pin.
The wound from the larger tack still hadn’t closed up, so Max reopened the puncture and allowed a few drops to spill onto the brass surface of the tiny collection basin. Just like the larger tack, Max’s blood seeped into the metal as if it were thirsty or porous.
Almost immediately, the candles sprung to life, each a different color—blue, red, orange, yellow, among others. Some flames were strong and lively, while others burned low and weak. The brown flame burned high, but the green was slightly higher. The tallest flame was yellow-gold, while both the orange and purple flames looked weakest. Nesto studied these flames carefully, periodically scribbling in an open scroll and grunting when it seemed he’d come to a conclusion.
When the innkeep was satisfied, he blew out the candles in a single, practiced breath. Multicolor wisps of smoke replaced the burning flames, floating their snaking tendrils into the air. Nesto ripped a page from his scroll and passed it across to Max. On the paper, Nesto had drawn and filled out a small table:
Strength 7 Endurance 8 Agility 6 Dexterity 6 Intelligence 7 Willpower 7 Charisma 7 Luck 10
“Now you know what you’re working with,” Nesto said, smiling.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Max looked over the numbers more than once. "Funny, I've never felt lucky." Aside from that, nothing else surprised him. It was terribly average, as he suspected.
"That's not surprising. Luck is the ficklest of attributes. You were spawned into mining, I take it?"
"Yep." He remembered the day, six months ago. Once connected to the Dreamdrive and having filled out the questionnaire, the first thing Max saw when he opened his eyes was Rilliard's taproom. Skole's guards had been waiting for his arrival, and promptly took him to begin work in the mines. "I spawned into Rilliard's, the inn and tavern there in Brix."
"An unofficial first spawn, surely! The very thought offends me," Nesto huffed. "However, I suppose that brings us to the next important matter to discuss... your name."
"It's Max."
"Ah, yes, yes I know your name is Max. What I'm referring to is your assigned name. Though I don't use the term myself, others might call it a... well a—"
"My slave name?"
"Right, that's it. Knowing Entrails, I imagine he's filled you in on that bit."
"It's Max04428."
Nesto opened a book and began scribbling inside. "Max... 04428..." He set down his quill. "Well Max, now is your chance to put all that behind you. Time to turn the page and remake yourself, hmm? New name, new destiny. So what'll it be? Take your time."
Though it was an important decision, Max didn't need as much time as Nesto probably thought he did. Ever since Entrails had made him aware of having a slave name, Max had been thinking of the alias he might choose if and when the opportunity arose. At first, he tried on a rotating carousel of names he thought were badass, had presence... but did they really fit him? A name was an identity, and Max didn't really feel like a Demonkin, Terminator, or Bloodeye. He'd thought up some wizarding names as well, but nothing really stuck. Rogue-like names could be fun... but so edgy. When the right name had come to him, though, Max knew it immediately. Now, he gave it to Nesto.
"Pariah," said Max.
The innkeep raised an eyebrow. "Pariah... you're sure?"
Max nodded confidently. He'd made up his mind about this already.
"Then Pariah it is! An excellent name! A name for legends and bard's tales!" Nesto shouted, banging his fist upon the table. "You see yourself an outcast, eh? Good... Outcasts make the best heroes." The innkeep picked up his quill and again returned to scribbling in his book. "Pariah... arrived in... the year 517… fourth Nearstar. And that's that!" He laid down the quill with a flourish. "Now tell me, do you know what they say about adventurers?"
"What?"
"That an adventurer is only as good as the journal they carry! If you'll follow me please." Nesto got up from the table and led Max down a short hallway on the first floor of the inn. At the end of the hallway, he opened a squeaky wooden door that led into a small reading room. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with a variety of books in different colors and sizes. In the corners of the room sat two plush chairs next to end tables. In one wall, a glass-paned window looked into the garden of the Magnificent Dog's courtyard. "Our modest library," said Nesto. He moved to one particular bookshelf, the only one which contained books all of a consistent size. "Here we are!"
"And these are...?"
"Why, they're quest journals, of course. How do you expect to keep track of things without one?"
That was a good question; Max understood there were quests of a variety of different types throughout Aletheia, but he'd never stopped to think about the minutiae of completing one... In Brix, the only achievements were related to Gems. He started picking up different journals from the shelf. Some were simple, plain covers and simple bindings. Others were more elaborate, with leather or wooden covers, sometimes designs carved or painted along the face and spine. Some had flowers designed in gold ink; these Max put down immediately. Too feminine.
Eventually, he slid out a plain-looking journal, bound with black-dyed leather. In the center of the cover was a geometric, sun-like symbol—it was the same symbol he'd seen in the collecting basins of Nesto's brass bloodletting tacks. When he held it in his hands, a message popped up:
Select this journal?
To which Max pressed YES. For whatever reason, this journal felt right. When he opened the first page, Pariah's Journal was written across the top, in bold calligraphic strokes.
"Class obtained: teenage girl," Max joked. "Where do I put it?"
"Very funny," said Nesto. "You'll soon appreciate its usefulness, that I can guarantee. Check your satchel. There's a spot for it there."
Sure enough, when Max checked the satchel at his belt, a new slot had appeared. The journal fit perfectly inside the space.
"The pages will fill automatically, no need to keep a quill on hand," said Nesto. He then produced a skeleton key from the front pocket in his tunic. "Now then! All that's left is this—the key to Room 11 on the third floor. With so many currently unoccupied, I was able to give you one of the best rooms. Hope it’s to your satisfaction! And if you're luck, maybe Dusty will bless you with his presence. He only seems to appear to those with greatness in them.” The innkeep winked. "Say, what time is it? Gods! Forgive me, but I need to prepare for tomorrow's Meteor Day. I trust you can find your room. Remember this is your home now, feel free to wander! Let Kell or I know if you need anything."
With that, the innkeep bowed and left the room. Max stood there for a few moments, letting everything sink in. He realized then just how exhausted he felt... the past few days had been nonstop, and this was really the first time he could truly relax. Figuring that he could explore the inn at any time now, he decided to head up to his new room.
The stairs leading up the inn were steep and creaky, but Max could tell they were built with care. The wooden handrail, worn dull from the years, had curving vines and flowers whittled into them. Max found his room on third floor, partly down the hallway. He unlocked it with the key.
The inside was grander than anything he could have imagined. A four-poster bed sat near a curtained window overlooking the street. An old green rug stretched across the floor, the woven design not unlike the vines and flowers of the staircase. He had a desk in one corner and a wardrobe in the other. There was a mirror and a washbasin. Outside, the sun was almost gone, filling the room with honeyed, golden light.
After Max had investigated his room fully, he fell backwards into the four-poster bed. It felt massive compared to the tiny beds in Rilliard's, not to mention the mat in his pod in the real world. In his entire life, Max had never had so much room... and it was all his.
He could get used to this.
As he laid there, staring up at the dark wooden ceiling as the daylight faded for good, he felt sleep beginning to creep up. Max closed his eyes, welcoming it—but just before he lost consciousness, he sensed another presence in the room.
Max opened his eyes to see a semi-translucent, pale-blue dog with soulful eyes starting up at him from the bedside. Dusty. Despite the fact that the animal was clearly a ghost, Max didn't feel scared. The specter seemed to take his reaction as a sign of acceptance; the next thing Max knew, Dusty had jumped up onto the foot of the bed. There, the shaggy pale-blue dog circled around a few times, before plopping itself down on the covers and licking its chops contentedly.
Having a ghost at the end of the bed wasn't nearly as unsettling as Max thought it might be. In fact, Dusty's presence was kind of comforting... the Magnificent Dog was truly living up to its namesake. Max had no problem pressing back into his down-filled pillows and letting sleep find him again.