The thing that burst from the forest cut through the remaining orcs. That was the only way Ethan could describe the figure, it was moving too fast to make out any details. All he saw was the flash of steel and the confused looks on the orcs’ faces. Luca, whose health had dipped to dangerously low levels, watched on with amazement. It was all they could do in the face of such overwhelming power.
There were a few moments in the fight where Ethan caught sight of his savior. But the details he drew in his mind were vague. A brown cloak, a hooded face, and one terrible eye that caught the light of the sun. Before he could process what had happened, the orcs fell to the ground. The Caller gained no experience for the display, and was left standing there. Finally facing the person who’d saved him.
Standing half a head taller than Ethan, the figure cleaned their blades. Twin knives, more like shortened swords, were rubbed against the fallen bodies of the orcs. They were clad in a long brown cloak with a hood drawn over their face. A criss-cross of belts holding knives and vials were strapped across their chest. Boots clasped with brass buckles connected with leather pants, but the most striking feature was the mask. A stone mask that covered the person’s face, the left eye completely covered. Etched into the mask was a placid face, but underneath Ethan saw the single eye darting around.
“Caller?” the figure asked.
He was a man, judging by the tone of voice. Speaking the same language that Luca did back in the temple.
“Ethan,” the Caller responded, holding a hand out for the man to shake. But he didn’t. “Thanks for saving me.”
“Twist,” the figure responded, turning on the spot to walk away.
“Wait! I need to get to Oudsted,” Ethan said, reaching out. Luca bounded over, sinking his teeth into the stranger’s boot leather.
At least he stopped.
“Rank 0. Straggler,” Twist said. “Come.”
And that was all the strange man said. From the moment Ethan fell in line behind the stranger, through the entire hours-long journey in the forest. Twist didn’t say a word, simply fording a path at a reasonable pace. No matter what the Caller asked, the masked man did not respond.
“Kinda a wild forest, isn’t it?” Ethan asked, stepping over a log. “You know, I’m kinda chosen by Lucantele.”
Twist didn’t respond.
“I had those two orcs before you showed up. But five of them?” Ethan scoffed a laugh. “No way I could handle them.”
“Targe,” Twist said, pointing ahead.
Ethan had been smelling more smoke in the air. An hour or so into their aimless walking, the scent had wafted through the trees. A stiff breeze seemed to blow from the east without end. The pair passed into a clearing, spotting a large man sitting by a fire.
Unlike Twist’s slight form, this guy was a monster. They were the same height, but the man by the fire wore some kind of armor. From a distance, Ethan could see layered scales overtop a padded shirt-thing.
“Targe?” Ethan asked. If Twist had a fake name, then the big guy had one too.
“You were supposed to scout, Twist,” Targe said, rising to his full height. “Not bring back a stray.”
The masked man shrugged, then sat down by the fire.
“I need help getting to Oudsted,” Ethan said, coming as close as he dared to the armored man. He reached his hand out, expecting nothing but appreciating his own gesture.
To Ethan’s surprise, a smile spread across Targe’s face. He had a great mane of brown hair, and a bushy beard. Everything else about him seemed well put-together. His armor was clean, even the shield, sword, and spear near the fire seemed polished to a shine. And the smile was magnificent.
“Targe,” he said, shaking Ethan’s hand. “Out here in the middle of nowhere on business with the Guild.”
“I’m foreign,” Ethan said, digging into the story he’d created with Luca. “On a pilgrimage to the sites of the Great Spirits.”
Targe shared a look with Twist. The man with twin-knives simply nodded, tossing a stick into the fire.
“Twist thinks you’re alright. Then again, not sure I’d want his approval. Come. Sit by the fire. Rest.”
Ethan could do nothing but obey. He didn’t know how Twist knew he was Rank 0. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t examine the two men. They could be any rank. Despite the warming day, the fire was nice. It was only at that moment that the Caller realized he’d left his entire supply of food back near the rise in the forest. But it was good to be alive.
“Your story could use work,” Targe said, digging through a nearby satchel and withdrawing a waterskin. He passed it over.
Ethan took a tentative sip, finding that it was more than just water. Watered down wine, by his estimation. Enough to add a touch of flavor. He drank his fill before handing it back. Would it be proper to respond to the comment? The story was fine enough, even if it had holes.
“I’m a [Caller],” Ethan said.
“An Outworlder,” Twist said, not taking his single eye away from the fire.
Targe drank from the waterskin, nearly draining it. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, barely clearing the liquid from his beard, before speaking again. “You’ve got a few options.”
“I’m listening,” Ethan said with great reluctance.
“Stick with old Twist and Targe. Get a sponsorship for the Guild. Run some dungeons with us, do some contracts,” Targe said, tapping his nose. “Or go it alone. Brave the forest and… Well, you’re likely to be eaten.”
“Does the first option require the truth?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t really care,” Targe said, shrugging. “How about we lay our cards on the table, Twist? Think that’ll make him feel better?”
“Yes.”
“Adventurer parties. People who work for the Adventurer’s Guild. We roam the land, taking out dungeons when they pop up. Putting down monster waves. Stray monsters. So on and so forth. Healer-types are rare enough. Mages, too. Summoner-style classes? Let alone a Caller?” Targe laughed. “May as well be grabbing at mist in the air, trying to hold onto it. Rarer than seeing the Great Spirits themselves.”
“What are you implying?” Ethan asked.
“That you’d be a good addition to the team. Twist and I are at the peak of Rank 1. Late bloomers, ya know?”
“I don’t. Outworlder, remember?”
“Oh, right. You came over with your core. Well, not everyone gets a core. And not everyone who can have a core starts with it. Some of us have to buy some real expensive stuff to make that happen,” Targe said. He dug through his bag again, withdrawing a length of dried meat. Ethan took it when offered. “So, old Twist and I have been saving our coppers. Finally got the chance to get out here. Make a difference.”
“So you’re working a job for the Guild.”
Ethan was putting things together, but it was a rush of information. He wouldn’t be able to adapt his flimsy story if he wanted to with knowledge. So there was no point in hiding his identity as an Outworlder. If these two Rank 1 dudes had done it, how easily would someone at a higher rank figured it out?
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“A job. Yeah, just a checkup on the temple. Is that where you landed?”
“It was. Lucantele brought me over,” Ethan said.
“Really? The Great Spirit Lucantele brought you here?”
“Yep, watch this,” Ethan said, channeling his [Summon Lucantele] spell.
After the spell fulminated, the silver squirrel jumped from the circle. Even Twist gasped when the creature appeared, muttering something in a foreign tongue. Targe let out a long whistle, shaking his head.
The big man bowed his head to the spirit. “Sorry for what’s happened to your temple, Great Spirit.”
“It’s not really him,” Ethan said, ordering the Symbol over. The squirrel curled into his lap, making chittering noises at his command. “Just a reflection.”
“You have to be the first Caller in the region in… I dunno. Twist, do you know how long?”
“No.”
“Hundreds of years. According to Luca.”
“Damn. Close enough with the Great Spirit for a nickname,” Targe said, whistling again. “So there’s my offer. You join our adventuring party, and we’ll show you the ropes. No crap about it. No fussing, no negotiation. Just a three-way split of profits, and pick of gear that applies to you.”
But that meant these men needed him more than he needed them. Judging by Targe’s appearance, he was more than just a late bloomer. Edging into his forties, the armored man had more to make up for than him. And people seemed to treat Callers and the Great Spirit with reverence. That might open doors for them.
It came around to the idea that Twist had saved Ethan. That was the fact that helped the Caller make his mind up. They already knew he was an Outworlder, and they were willing to help him along in his journey. Even if it was only to Oudsted, where he could meet with the Great Spirit there, it would be worth it.
“I have conditions,” Ethan said.
“Of course you do. Not an idiot, are you?” Targe asked. “I just hope they’re reasonable.”
“Nothing insane. I assume there are other temples in… Ah, where are we?”
“The Duchy of Wexenhal,” Twist said.
“Right. In Wexenhal. I need to visit them. And we need to return to the Temple of Lucantele when we can to purge the orcs,” Ethan said.
“Well, then we have some conditions,” Targe said. “Again, nothing crazy. You don’t have a subcore. Right?”
“Correct.”
“Take a support subcore. Healing, shields, enhancement. Whatever, so long as it supports us in battle,” Targe said. “Deal?”
“That works for me,” Ethan said, holding his hand out. Targe shook it.
Settling in by the fire, Ethan dismissed Luca and considered his position. Latching on to the first group that he came across might not be the best idea. But when he couldn’t even pass as a foreigner coming to see the Great Spirits, what hope did he have? Things would be easier if he attached himself to these people. Once again, Twist’s selfless act was set in clear focus.
Targe came up with a story that was better than Luca’s. The Great Spirit hadn’t seen Ethan finding a group of people that would lie for him so the mistake was understandable. Targe and Twist were escorting Ethan from a distant country. Somewhere beyond the southern sea, where the Great Spirits were in short supply. As a Caller, he’d come to Wexenhal to visit all the temples. To grow in power.
“That’s a common strategy for classed folks,” Targe said. “Wanting to be stronger is an easy way to tell someone to back off. They don’t need to know what you’re doing, and it won’t matter. Because both Twist and I are going to spend our sponsorships on you. That’ll fast-track you to a trial mission.”
“Which involves?” Ethan asked.
“Well, you have sponsors. So they’ll find an official judge, attach them to the party, and send us off on some job,” Targe said. “We’re going back to Oudsted, anyway. Gotta report on the temple, don’t we?”
“You’ll have a full report. I slept in the temple for a few days,” Ethan said.
“See? You’re already helping us out.”
It was hard to judge the distance between Lucantele’s temple and Oudsted. Targe revealed that there was a large river to the east, providing the largest obsticle to their journey. But traveling in the forest wasn’t going to be quick. Two days to reach the river, then another half-day to a day to reach the town.
The group packed up camp, Twist and Targe showing Ethan how they did things. They traveled with minimal supplies, relying on hunting monsters for their meat while they were out. Still, they both carried packs stuffed with supplies. Watered wine, bedrolls, and emergency provisions as well as various potions and herbs.
Ethan even got to see currency for the first time. A small sack of rattling coins was strapped to Targe’s pack. Peeking inside, he saw a small copper coin. It was embossed with a flower on one side, and a strange creature on the other. As the group traveled, the Caller fired questions.
“So the Guild pays in these coins?” he asked.
“Well, they do. But these also drop from monsters and dungeons.”
“I’ve killed a few monsters. Never seen a single coin.”
Twist, in the head of the formation, laughed.
Targe turned for a moment, offering Ethan a smile. “You need a ritual, or an item to loot monsters.” He pulled the sleeve of his padded armor up, revealing a copper bracelet. “They’re common enough, but the low-level ones only have so many charges.”
“You’re saying I missed out on some sweet loot?” Ethan asked.
“Low-level creatures? Maybe. Likely just crafting materials. But you can still butcher the monsters and eat them. People say eating monster meat makes you stronger. Not sure about that one.”
The journey through the forest was arduous. Twist was an excellent scout, often ranging ahead of the pair. Ethan decided to join him, summoning Lucantele and ordering the spirit to search through the forest ahead. Everytime Targe saw the squirrel, he muttered words of admiration. But the journey wasn’t without danger. By the middle of the second day, they’d been attacked by strange forest monsters more than a few times. The Caller couldn’t keep up with the rapid pace of battle, but he did his best.
When the group reached the edge of the forest, near dusk, they were treated with a magnificent sight. Crawling far into the distance was a wide river. From this distance, Ethan couldn’t make out what was on the other side. Even finding a decent vantage point didn’t help with seeing the rolling hills below. When they camped on that rise, lighting a small fire, other flames flickered to life on the far side of the river.
There were even lights that drifted like fairies on the river, catching the current and riding it downstream. While traveling with the pair was enjoyable, Ethan noted a sudden lack of experience-gain. He was no longer prowling the forest alone, killing every monster he found. When combat came, Luca got a few hits in but it was nothing compared to Twist or Targe. They were too far ahead of him for the rare class to make up the difference.
They promised that the gap would close, just as soon as he got a decent subcore. But they also didn’t promise to pay for that core for him. The implication was that he needed to buy it himself, which was impossible. His mind spun as he thought about that, but it wouldn’t do to worry. This was a natural part of the adventuring life, wasn’t it? Traveling from place to place. There had to be times when he wasn’t just grinding experience out.
Things were made worse by the next morning. Where he could normally get a few hits on the monsters in the forest, the plains below were barren. Farmer’s fields spread out, and there were regular patrols by guards. Those guards were unclassed, according to Targe. Another interesting quirk of the world.
Ethan let out a sigh of relief when the group finally found their way onto a packed dirt road. There were no more hidden roots trying to foul his steps, or camouflaged rocks attempting to twist his ankle. The unclassed workers in the fields even shouted words of encouragement to the group.
“An unclassed trained soldier can fight in a unit against most monsters up to Rank 1,” Targe said. “But when something above Rank 1 shows up, it comes down to adventurers.”
“How are wars fought?” Ethan asked.
Targe shrugged. “Depends. Nations rarely settle disputes with all-out war. Sometimes they’ll send their classed military to fight it out. But I’ve heard of mundane wars being fought. Wars where classed folks aren’t involved.”
It was too grim of a thought for Ethan to entertain. He wished he hadn’t asked about war, but the thought was on his mind. Instead, he looked around at the surrounding industry. The farmers here grew many different crops. It must have been summer, or this world’s analog of that, since the fields were packed with high-standing plants he’d never seen before. Targe explained they were primarily textile crops, subsidized by food crops.
When they reached the crossing at the river, Ethan regarded it with a skeptical eye. There was no bridge here. He watched as a group of farmers removed their shoes and pants before crossing. The Caller swore he could see a smile forming on Twist’s mask. Refusing to remove either his boots or his robe, he entered the shallow stream of water. It was ice-cold.
“Now we don’t need a bath in Oudsted!” Targe shouted, showing no shame for his bare behind.
“I’d really like a bath, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t go soft on us now, Caller.”
As promised, the journey up into Oudsted was about half a day. Ethan walked with sloshing boots. Even after emptying them, he couldn’t completely remove the moisture. It made for an uncomfortable trip, but the more of the sprawling town he could see the more excited he was.
Oudsted was, as far as Ethan could tell, a medieval-style town. He remembered seeing images in school and on the internet about towns in medieval Britain. As they approached a tall stone wall, he was reminded of those castles. Clusters of buildings surrounded the exterior of the wall, not shielded from whatever would attack. But inside was a maze of well-kempt buildings. Outside, they displayed thatched roofs and mud walls. Inside, every building was made from timber and plaster with multicolored slatted shingles on the roofs.
The town, if it could be called that, was buzzing with activity. Targe and Twist showed a small medallion to the guard at the gate, saying something about a sponsorship before they were let in. Sights and sounds Ethan never expected washed over him. The bustle of a city in the middle of a work day. People in various levels of fancy clothes walked around. Vendors barked their sales for the day, offering increasingly generous discounts. Eyes turned, watching as three classed men walked down the wide avenue.
“More heads turning than normal,” Targe said, jabbing an elbow into Ethan’s side. “Eyes turning to see the Caller. The Caller and his new party.”