Brass shook himself out of his awe. Enough gawking; he needed to keep moving or risk looking like some country bumpkin. Following the lively sounds of clanking mugs, frothy ale, and hearty laughter, he quickly located the tavern, marked by a swinging sign helpfully painted with a pint on it.
As he stepped forward to open the door, he paused, sensing movement from the other side. A mountain of muscle—a big, grumbling orc—shoved his way out, barely acknowledging Brass as he lumbered down the street. Brass blinked, watching the orc go. Orcs just roam around here freely? He’d always thought of them as crude, battle-thirsty beasts. Most of what he’d read in Asteria: A History had described them as savage marauders. But then again, he did recall that one of the legendary heroes, a God now, was an orc… maybe there was more variety than he’d expected.
With a shrug, Brass stepped into the tavern. His first thought was that the place felt comforting. From the warm glow of the fire to the rich, dark timbers forming the walls and the smooth stone floor, the place exuded a rustic coziness that immediately made him feel at home. The din of patrons, laughter, and clinking mugs filled the air. Over by the bar, Brass spotted a round, mustachioed man talking earnestly to a larger, buxom female orc—likely the chef, given her apron and chef’s hat.
The chef was surprisingly attractive, her broad frame softened by curves in all the right places. She was a good inch taller than Brass, and while she had a bit of chub, it only added to her endearing quality. Her face, broad and warm, had a touch of mischief to it, and her laughter boomed over the other voices as she threw her head back, apparently amused by something the man had said.
Brass noticed a couple of barmaids weaving through the tables, balancing trays and laughing as they served patrons. The skirts and low-cut blouses they wore were more than a little eye-catching, adding an extra charm to the already lively atmosphere. Deciding that approaching the mustachioed man and the chef was probably his best bet, Brass walked over, catching the man’s eye.
The man placed a hand on the orcish woman’s arm, giving her a quick nod toward Brass as he approached. Brass raised a hand in a friendly wave. “Hey there! Nice to meetcha, name’s Brass. Remember it!” He threw up a thumbs-up, then suddenly worried if the gesture would even be understood, luckily it seemed it was universally recognized. The man grinned and gave a thumbs-up in return.
“Will do! I’m Zachariah, the proud owner of this fine establishment. Tell me, what can I do for you?” Zachariah’s tone was welcoming as he gestured for Brass to join him at the bar.
“Actually, I was hoping for some information. I was wondering if there’s an adventurers’ guild in this town—or any other guilds, for that matter?” Brass leaned in, not wanting to block any of the bustling barmaids or patrons.
At his question, the orcish chef let out a belly laugh that drew curious glances. “Adventurers’ guild? Hah! What, are you playing some child’s game?” She smirked, eyes gleaming with humor. “A guild just for adventuring? That’s the silliest thing I’ve heard in years.” Chuckling, she disappeared through the door to the kitchen, leaving Brass feeling slightly sheepish.
Zachariah smiled apologetically. “Ah, don’t mind her. She’s had a rough day—just had to chase off another suitor who wanted to prove himself by challenging her. Orcish custom, you know. To earn a mate, they’ve got to best them in combat. That was her third challenger this week.” He chuckled, taking a seat and motioning to the bartender, who promptly set a frothing mug of mead in front of both of them.
Brass took a sip, savoring the honeyed taste that reminded him of cider. “So… uh, was that a really odd question?” he asked, still feeling a bit foolish. “I’d read about some of the guilds across Asteria, and I just assumed adventurers would have one too.”
Zachariah raised his mug, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, where you’re from must be a bit different. See, Asteria’s got its fair share of guilds, sure it's a continent after-all. But there’s a process. For a guild to be officially sanctioned, it needs backing from the Council of Rulers—a realm-wide recognition. That way, they’re able to compete for funding and resources.”
“So… no adventurers’ guild here, then?” Brass ventured, looking a bit disappointed but intrigued.
“Not that I’ve heard of,” Zachariah said with a grin, clinking his mug lightly against Brass’s. “But who knows? Maybe it’ll catch on.”
Before Brass could think of his next question, the room suddenly burst into noise and energy. Excited voices called out names, chairs scraped across the floor as people angled for better views, and above, a massive crystal descended from the ceiling, projecting shimmering screens around the tavern. Each screen showed a different arena, each one alive with movement. Men, women, and beast-men alike rode on the backs of wyverns, navigating elaborate obstacle courses that stretched as far as the eye could see. Brass’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Ah, yes, it’s time for the Drake Games,” Zachariah said, eyes fixed on the screens with the same fervor that one might have for the Superbowl. “Best part of the week, if you ask me.”
Brass stared, captivated. Wyvern-mounted riders stood at the edge of massive ledges, each preparing their drakes with careful attention. The arenas themselves were fantastical landscapes—a bone-ridden valley of massive skeletons, another filled with towering stone spires, and a third set along a rough, cliffside coast with looming pillars rising from the waves. Each course seemed designed to test every skill a rider and drake could possess.
Unable to look away, Brass asked, “What’s the objective? Are they supposed to fight each other?”
Zachariah shot him an odd look. “What? You don’t know the rules of the Drake Games? Lad, it’s only the biggest event in the whole kingdom of Albion—no, across all twelve kingdoms of Asteria! Nations have been known to call off entire battles so everyone can watch. People grow up dreaming of becoming drake riders. Be honest with me now—you’re not from Asteria, are you? Did you manage to get here from another part of Threa?”
Brass’s mind raced, but Zachariah was already charging ahead, curiosity lighting up his face. “How could that be possible, though? We’ve been closed off from the rest of the world for two thousand years, ever since the twin fires of Evermoore went up! And that’s to the far southwest. You’d have to have crossed half the realm to get here, and there’s no way you’d have stayed so oblivious in that time…” Zachariah trailed off, eyeing Brass with deepening suspicion.
This isn’t like a game at all, Brass thought, struck by how close the man was to piecing things together. If he wanted to keep his origins secret, he’d have to be much more careful about his questions.
Zachariah took a deep breath and leaned in, his tone lower, more speculative, as the patrons settled down to watch the Games. New faces streamed into the tavern, each as excited as the last, yet Zachariah’s attention stayed fixed on Brass.
“You couldn’t have crossed the Lake-Sea to the east—just as well, since the dwellers of Krilyiania are… possessive of their waters. And brutal to trespassers.” He shuddered slightly. “No, the western route would be endless dunes. No one’s crossed that. The only other option would be the Magnetic Desolation to the north. Impossible for anything living to cross that cursed ground.”
Zachariah hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he came to his last guess. “That would leave only… the Darklands.” He paused, his voice barely a whisper now. “But that would mean… by the gods, are you from there?” His gaze was a mix of intrigue, worry, and the faintest trace of fear as he stared at Brass, waiting for some kind of answer.
Remembering what he’d skimmed in Asteria: A History, the Darklands was a name heavy with fear for a reason. According to the book, the region earned its reputation thousands of years ago when Cyan Dread, an unrelenting Overlord, rose to power there. Even with all twelve kingdoms uniting against him, Cyan could only be forced back—not defeated. So, the Darklands became his exile, a place of darkness held in check by the Ayneshys Geniocracy. For five millennia, they had patrolled that border, reinforced by funds and support from all across Asteria. Raids were made regularly to keep Cyan’s forces at bay, though many people now believed the tale of Cyan to be a myth.
Quickly deciding it’d be safer to tell a lie than risk any more scrutiny, Brass cobbled together a half-truth, leaning on an idea he’d once seen in an anime. “You got me,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in feigned embarrassment. “I’m not from around here. There was this… freak accident, a mass teleport. Whole village got swept away to parts unknown. I only just arrived yesterday, so I have a lot to learn about how things work here.” He tried to look a little lost, his tone trailing off with just the right amount of uncertainty.
The story wasn’t entirely untrue; he was out of place, and “a different continent” was far more believable than “another world.” He could see Zachariah’s expression soften, curiosity still there but tempered with a touch of sympathy.
“Well, lad, I’ll say you picked a hell of a place to land. Briarheart’s a good town, friendly to travelers, even the odd one.” Zachariah’s grin was warm. “If you need help, just ask around. The folk here are decent enough. Just keep an ear out for the rules, aye?”
Brass nodded in thanks, raising his mug before taking another sip. He watched the screens flicker with scenes of wyverns soaring through intricate arenas but kept his attention on Zachariah. “So,” he began casually, “why do they call this place Briarheart, anyway? Seems like an odd name for a town.”
Figuring that Zachariah now knew he wasn’t local, Brass decided to make the most of the man’s willingness to share. After all, the last few days had been anything but normal—dying in a hail of bullets, waking up in a new world, discovering he was an immortal hybrid vampire-werewolf-thing that might be more chimera than hybrid. Yeah, totally standard stuff. Best to focus on something grounded for a change.
Zachariah beamed, happy to launch into the story. “Ah, that’s an easy one. This whole area’s famous for its elderberry fields,” he explained. “The bushes grow wild around here, and the villagers cultivate massive fields of them just outside the town. The berries are versatile—great for making wine, alchemical potions, syrups, and even pies.” He chuckled. “The root’s popular too—tastes damn good and is supposed to be great for stamina and, ah, virility.” He winked knowingly.
“Got it. Briars from the bushes, heart from… I dunno, the pie?” Brass joked, earning a hearty laugh from the tavern keeper.
While they chatted, Brass kept one eye on the drake games. The matches were fast-paced and varied, with rules that seemed to change each round. In one match, riders snatched bags of gold from griffins while trying to fend off enemy teams. Another round reminded him of capture the flag—teams competed to retrieve a mystical spear and return it to their base, all while evading the opposing riders. Each match felt like a spectacle, and the energy in the tavern mirrored what a sports bar back on Earth felt like during a championship game.
After a while, Brass leaned closer to Zachariah. “Alright, I’ve got another question for you. How can a guy like me make some coin around here? I lost all my stuff during, uh, the teleportation incident.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Zachariah didn’t seem fazed by the question, waving a hand as if this was a common problem. “Plenty of ways, lad, depending on what you’re good at. The hunters are always looking for folks to bring in game or pelts, and the alchemists pay decently for anyone willing to gather rare herbs and ingredients. If you’ve got muscle, the farmers around here often need help—especially now, during the harvest season. Berry fields as big as ours don’t tend themselves, and hauling crates of elderberries to the storehouses is back-breaking work. They’ll pay for a strong set of arms, that’s for sure.”
Brass tilted his head. “Berry farms? But how much could that kind of work pay?”
Zachariah scratched his mustache thoughtfully. “Not much, I’ll admit, but honest work’s never made a man rich. Still, for a newcomer like yourself, it’s enough to keep you fed and housed, at least until you find something better. You could also try your hand at woodcutting in the forests outside the village—though watch out for wild beasts. Hunters bring in extra coin selling furs and trophies they collect while protecting the lumberjacks.”
Brass nodded thoughtfully. “And what’s the deal with money around here? How’s the currency work?”
Zachariah’s explanation was simple enough. The economy in Albion was thriving under the rule of King Henrick, a leader Zachariah described as “the best ruler ever, anywhere.” Copper was the common coin, used for everyday transactions like Brass’s mead, which had only cost one copper. Silver came next, with one silver equaling 100 copper. One gold equaled 100 silver, one platinum equaled 500 gold, and finally 1000 platinum equaled one astral, with platinum and astral coins being far beyond the reach of common folk.
“That’s a relief,” Brass said, swirling the last of his mead in his mug. “Sounds like I won’t need a fortune to get by, at least not right away.”
As the games wound down after four hours of cheering and drinking, Brass remembered his initial inquiry. “By the way,” he said, turning back to Zachariah, “are there any guild branches in town? I’m looking to figure out my options.”
“Oh, plenty of guilds here,” Zachariah replied, ticking them off on his fingers. “There’s the hunters guild, the merchants guild, the alchemists guild, and the mages guild, if you’re into that sort of thing. The warriors guild’s got a branch too, of course. Even the chefs have a guild here.” He smirked. “Not to mention the artists guild, if you’re feeling creative.”
Brass grinned. “Artists guild, huh? Might save that for later.”
The tavern began to empty as the games ended, and Brass decided it was time to move on. Thanking Zachariah for the information—and the drink—he slipped into the crowd pouring out into the quiet streets. Most of the shops were closed now, and the town’s lights were fading as the last of the tavern-goers made their way home.
For once, the stillness felt welcome. The faint hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves whispered through the quiet streets of Briarheart. Brass inhaled deeply, letting the crisp night air cool his thoughts. The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos, and his mind churned with unanswered questions. Chief among them was how he’d handle daylight—hiding away during the day would raise suspicions faster than his enhanced reflexes could dodge.
A memory of his sister’s TV shows flickered to life, where vampires used enchanted rings to walk in the sun. Would something like that exist here? The thought danced around his mind, equal parts hopeful and doubtful. As much as this world seemed rooted in fantasy, he wasn’t ready to assume anything.
His boots scuffed softly against the cobblestones as he made his way toward the outskirts of town. Briarheart slept peacefully, its homes dimmed for the night. Just as his thoughts began to drift further, a sharp sound sliced through the stillness—a muffled gasp, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.
Adrenaline snapped him into motion. Without hesitation, Brass tore through the winding alleys, vaulting over crates and barrels like they were nothing. When an alley became too cluttered, he planted a foot against the stone wall, running along it in a fluid sprint. The wind whipped at his face, carrying a mix of smells that sharpened his focus: sweat, alcohol, and a pungent musk that made his stomach churn.
He rounded a corner and found the source—a hulking orc pressing a woman against a wall. The brute stood over seven feet tall, a mountainous figure of corded muscle and layers of fat, his thick hands pinning her wrists as she squirmed helplessly. The acrid tang of fear rolled off her, mingling with the sharp stench of the orc’s arousal, making Brass’s stomach lurch. His enhanced senses amplified everything—the stifling closeness of the alley, the rasp of the woman’s breath, and the overwhelming cocktail of odors.
Rage boiled inside him, cutting through his revulsion. The orc, oblivious to his presence, barely had time to register the blur of motion before Brass crashed into him. His fist struck the creature’s side, sinking into its thick flesh where a liver might have been. The blow had its intended effect—the orc stumbled back with a pained squeal, releasing the woman as it clutched its side.
The orc snarled, its piggish features twisting in rage. Its face reminded Brass of the orcs from Skyrim, with a flat nose and jagged tusks jutting from its lower jaw. Before it could fully recover, Brass shifted his weight onto his back foot, pivoted, and surged upward with a devastating uppercut.
The impact was far greater than he anticipated. Instead of simply stunning the orc, his fist tore through its jaw with an explosive crunch, sending shards of bone and a spray of bluish-green blood into the air. The orc’s head snapped back, its lifeless body crashing against the stone wall with enough force to crater it.
Brass stood frozen for a moment, his knuckles stained with blood that was already cooling in the night air. His enhanced senses picked up the coppery tang of the orc’s lifeblood mingling with the damp earth below. A soft chime echoed in his mind, breaking his trance.
[You have defeated—Orc (common): 2 XP awarded.]
[You have gained the feat: Unarmed Combat, Level 5.]
He blinked at the notifications, dismissing them as his gaze shifted to the woman. She was disheveled, her dress torn at the seams, and her pale skin was flecked with bluish-green blood. Yet her expression wasn’t one of panic or hysteria—she was steady, composed even, as she straightened her clothes with trembling hands.
As she adjusted her dress, Brass caught a brief glimpse of her ample breasts, her skin smooth and pale under the moonlight, and a hint of a pink nipple peeking through a tear in the fabric. Embarrassed, he quickly looked away, focusing instead on her face—but not before noting her breathtaking figure. Her dress clung to her curves, highlighting a narrow waist and a round, perfectly shaped butt that seemed to defy logic.
“Are you alright?” Brass asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
The woman glanced up, her red eyes meeting his. In the faint starlight, her features came into focus: fiery red hair cascading down to the small of her back, framing a heart-shaped face with soft yet striking angles. Her skin, pale as porcelain, caught the moonlight in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly. Despite her ordeal, her movements were graceful, her posture composed.
Her dress clung to her figure, accentuating her hourglass frame—full, firm curves that Brass couldn’t help but notice, though he quickly redirected his gaze to her face, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.
She bowed deeply, her voice calm but carrying a weight of sincerity. “I thank you. If it weren’t for your intervention…” Her voice faltered slightly, but she pressed on. “I would have lost my chastity. I cannot express my gratitude enough. My name is Serra. Please, if there’s anything I can do to repay you, tell me.”
Brass stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. Serra’s beauty wasn’t like Elyssia’s ethereal allure—hers was earthy and magnetic, a classic, intoxicating kind of appeal. Her crimson eyes held a faint glow in the darkness, giving her an air of mystery.
“It’s… alright,” he managed, glancing down at his bloodied hands. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
Serra offered a faint smile, but her crimson eyes lingered on Brass, unreadable in their intensity. “I can’t accept not repaying this deed. Most wouldn’t have dared antagonize a fully armed and armored orc, let alone kill it outright. You must allow me to repay this favor somehow. I am a skilled fire mage and an enchanter—perhaps I can assist you with my skills if you have need of them.”
“A fire mage, huh? Is that why your eyes glow?” Brass asked, his curiosity piqued. He had been wondering if her glowing eyes were similar to his own, though his seemed more… unnatural.
She nodded. “Indeed. Fire mages often develop this trait. Is it not the same for yours?”
Brass shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, I guess it’s got something to do with magic.” He paused, a thought forming. “Wait—you said enchanter, right? Can you enchant objects for specific effects?”
Her eyes lit up, a spark of excitement crossing her face. “That’s right. I can imbue enchantments into various objects for all sorts of effects. Did you have something specific in mind?”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Actually, yeah. How are you with enchantments for resisting the elements? Like, say… something to block the effects of sunlight entirely? For someone who burns easily. I was actually planning to head to a dessert soon..” He trailed off looking hopeful.
Serra tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “Hmm, that’s a rather unique request,” she murmured, tapping her chin. After a moment of consideration, she nodded. “It’s possible, but I’d need a sun opal. It’s a rare stone found in the caves of the Skor foothills to the south. We could retrieve one together. It’s a few days’ journey on foot unless you have a mount?”
Brass shook his head. “Nope, but I’m fast, and I’ve got decent stamina.”
“That works.” She bent down and picked up a staff he hadn’t noticed before, its carved surface etched with intricate flames that seemed to shimmer faintly in the moonlight. “I’ve just finished a quest for the Mages’ Guild, so I’ve got nothing pressing at the moment.”
Brass seized the opportunity to search the orc’s remains. His enhanced senses recoiled at the lingering musk, but he pressed on, retrieving a sturdy steel war axe, a leather coin pouch, a foul-smelling waterskin, and a collection of practical odds and ends: a tinderbox, whetstone, and a small vial of oil. Counting the coins, he tallied 56 copper and 5 silver.
“Mind if I keep this?” he asked, glancing at Serra.
“By all means. By law and right, the loot of the vanquished is yours.” Her tone was approving, her gaze steady.
“Nice. A protected loot policy. I can work with that.” Strapping the axe and pouch to his belt, Brass stood. “I’ve got some things to handle tomorrow. Let’s meet at the southwest road at dusk, yeah?”
“You want to leave at night?” She seemed momentarily surprised but nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll see you then.”
With their plans settled, they bid each other farewell. Brass moved quickly, slipping out of the city before anyone could question the bloodstains or the ruined wall. Sticking to the shadows, he skirted the village’s outskirts, marveling at how naturally his body clung to the darkness. Each step felt instinctive, his movements fluid and silent, as if the night itself welcomed him. In no time, he was back at the knoll by the twin junipers.
Reaching out for the Nexus point, Brass felt the familiar shift as the ground seemed to invert beneath him. The world dissolved into the writhing, twisting blackness of the webways. Treading the silken bridge, he reached the central Nexus Cortex and reappeared in his crypt. The cool air of the chamber settled over him like a second skin, calming his thoughts.
With a few hours until dawn, he brought up his quest log, surprised to see two new entries.
[Quest: Recover a Sun Opal]
You have made contact with an enchantress who has agreed to assist in the creation of a daylight ring to protect you from the sun’s deadly rays. Travel to the foothills of Skor and retrieve a sun opal.
•Objective: Collect 1 sun opal (0/1)
•Reward: 10 XP, Affinity Selection
The second quest, however, gave him pause.
[Quest: Echoes of the Past]
The weight of your sister’s loss lingers heavily on your heart. To honor her memory and begin your journey toward healing, construct a shrine that embodies her spirit.
Objectives:
1.Reflect on your sister’s life and gather inspiration.
2.Collect materials for the shrine:
•Lumina Petals (Elderglen Forest)
•Silverwood Planks (Lionbark Trees)
•Memory Stone (Mines or Alchemist Guild)
3.Confront the grief manifesting as a spectral enemy during the shrine’s construction.
4.Complete and dedicate the shrine, reliving a cherished memory through the Memory Stone.
Reward:
•Serenity Aura: Resistance to fear and despair; improved focus in battle.
•Access to the shrine for moments of solace and small stat boosts in its vicinity.
•Emotional growth and clarity for the road ahead.
Brass stared at the details, his chest tightening. Fighting a specter of grief? That sounded more like a cleric’s job, not a warrior’s. But then, maybe the system didn’t care about his class. It felt personal—too personal, really.
Still, the rewards were enticing, and the idea of honoring his sister’s memory stirred something in him. He glanced at the fading moonlight filtering through cracks in the crypt walls.
“Guess I’m not sleeping tonight,” he muttered, a grim smile tugging at his lips. With determination, he set out to collect Lumina Petals from the Elderglen Forest.