The guards were kind enough to let him in the moment he announced myself as an adventurer, looking to make his fortune in the dungeon. He could tell that they found him pathetic, which was probably reasonable since he looked like he had been dragged over 20 miles of rocky road. But no matter his looks, they were lax enough to buy his story about being an adventurer and let him in.

He immediately began asking around the locals about the various Familias of the city. Familia is the term that was given to the groups of adventurers who came together to explore the dungeon, which was so dangerous that doing so as a group was apparently borderline mandatory.

Every Familia was based around what was referred to as a god or goddess, though Adama had to hold himself back from scoffing at those terms. Most extremely powerful sacred artists wormed their way into somebody’s pantheon of divinities back on Cradle, but anyone who got arrogant about that was chipped in the head, so far as he was concerned. Akura Fury, for example, was a god of war in several civilizations, and he was technically the Sage’s peer. Used to be, anyways.

He didn’t think much of sacred artists who strutted about with god complexes. That didn’t seem to be what was happening here, though. Apparently, these so called “gods” descended from some sort of higher realm, called Tenkai, to live amongst the mortals where he now was, a realm commonly called Gekai. In doing so, they checked their heavenly powers at the door and decided to live as mortals do, without any madra whatsoever. Though they called their godlike powers Arcanum, apparently. Anyways, they ostensibly did this because they were bored, and now they mostly ran around and indulged whatever frivolous desires they may have while managing their newfound weaknesses, like the need to eat and sleep.

He normally wouldn’t bother with them, of course, but there was a reason adventurers formed groups around them. The divinities had apparently held onto two useful attributes from their godlike days. One would be their seemingly endless lifespan. The other, and much more important one, was their ability to bestow their blessing.

A god’s blessing, apparently, was the closest this world got to a madra system. Adventurers advanced purely through combat, growing stronger and stronger the more adversity they overcame, and they were able to go beyond the bounds of normal mortal limitations as their blessing’s status increased. It was a system that was practically made for Adama, enough to make any sword or combat artist drool. Any god’s or goddesses blessing was essentially interchangeable, so he certainly wasn’t going to be picky. Any divine being with a spine and a brain would do, so long as they would give him their blessing and let him chase after a shadow of his former glory. Even the brain was optional.

Which brought him back to asking about Familias. Many of the locals gave him the cold shoulder but a few were kind enough to point him to a couple of the lesser-known ones that were looking for talent. He wasn’t exactly much of a team player, but if this was the way things had to be done then he would live with it. Once he had the lay of the land, he meandered around to see which jokers might have openings.

“Sorry, but we don’t have any remaining openings.”

“Apologies, but at least 2 years of experience is the minimum requirement.”

“A swordsman? Sorry, but we already have plenty of those.”

“Get lost, scrawny.”

This last rejection had come with the slamming of a door in his face before he even got a word in edgewise. This round of “interviews” had done a serious number on the Sage’s pride, even more than death had, and his final stop wasn’t looking to change that.

“So, what can you do?”

He was in a seedy looking bar on the northwest side of town, owned by one of the low ranking Familias of Orario. There was a reason he came here last, and he fought back his temper as the barkeep, a greasy looking man with dark hair and a tan complexion, leered at him from across the bar, polishing a glass as smugly as one could with a filthy rag.

“I am a swordsman.”

“A swordsman, eh? Then where’s your sword? Look more like a supporter to me.”

A rather buff looking and shirtless pale man, with a reddish brown mohawk and beard, presumably another member of this Familia, interjected from a barstool to his left. He grinned malevolently as he turned to size the weak seeming farm boy up.

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Before he could respond, the barkeep piped up:

“You’re right, Bill! We could make use of him as a supporter. Country boy should be able to carry a pack, at the least!”

Bill was still grinning evilly as he opened his mouth to respond, doubtless relishing the power he held over the young man to berate him further, when a well-placed right hook took him right in the jaw. Bill was physically stronger than the newcomer to Orario, but the punch was so well placed, and caught him so off guard, he fell right off the stool, reeling in pain and surprise. Anger flowed through the Sage’s veins as he snatched the glass right from the hands of the barkeep and smashed it over his forehead.

He wasn’t going to get what he wanted from these men, he realized now. The totally rational thing to do would have been to walk away and find something else. But he had been disrespected one too many times today.

The barkeep fell back, and he was already on top of Bill, pummeling him with lightning-fast jabs while he was on the ground, giving him no chance to recover. “Show me a fair fight and I’ll show you a fool.” he had once said to his disciple, and he meant it.

Soon, though, the entire bar was on top of him.

The entire Familia had apparently been on break today, so the customers around him weren’t largely neutral, as he had suspected, but were all the same crew. He had been watching some of the others, but he was caught by surprise when they all jumped him. They beat him, searched him, cursed him for having no valuables, then threw him right back into the alleyway, slamming the door shut. They definitely took his advice about fair fights.

He managed to drag himself through the alleyways and back towards Main Street, before collapsing in a heap nearby. He was dizzy, malnourished, and dehydrated, and he needed to rest a bit as he planned his next move. His whole body ached with bruises, and he was certain he had a broken rib or two. One eye was gummed shut with blood from a cut on his forehead. He stared up at the overcast sky with his one good eye and tried to think as a light rain began to fall.

“Oh my, what happened here?”

He turned towards the sound of the voice and saw an interested looking woman gazing at him from and the entrance to Main Street, people bustling right behind her. She was of average height and dressed in simple brown robes that were extremely clean despite the poverty that such simple dress indicated. Beautiful black hair cascaded in waves behind her back, reminding him vividly of Akura Malice, but her face was older looking. This newcomer’s face had a healthy dose of smile lines, especially around the eyes, alongside a mature countenance that made her look like a woman who had aged naturally into her 40s. Also, in contrast to the Akura Monarch, who had always been an ivory skinned beauty, her skin was slightly tanned, like she spent a lot of time in the sun. That said, she was strikingly beautiful, with well-aged good looks that might have been called handsome. Her eyes were a brilliant orange and they shone with curiosity and a bit of humor as they blinked at Adama from the entrance to the main thoroughfare.

He blinked at her for a bit, then turned towards her, giving her a lopsided grin before responding:

“Bit off a bit more than I could chew, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry yourself, Miss. I’ve dealt with worse than this.”

That brought a grin to the strange woman’s face, her eyes glowing with the merry flames of mirth:

“A tough guy, are we? That’s a rare thing to find in one so young.”

Reaching into the folders of her robe, the woman retrieved a vial of blood red liquid and held it out to the fallen man. Patiently, she watched as Adama slowly slunk forward and accepted the strange liquid, examining it critically. He had been poisoned enough times to not be totally credulous. Continuing to grin warmly, she elaborated:

“It’s a potion. Designed to heal your physical wounds.”

Timothy Forrester had heard of the concept, though he had never seen one in person. Adama continued to glare critically at the liquid, before shrugging. If he could come back from the dead once, why couldn’t he do it again, if he had to. He downed the contents and was happy to feel his bruises fade away, the wound in his head closing. This truly was like a recovery elixir, and the strange woman had spent it on him. What did she want?

“My name is Hestia, young man.” She said with a small curtsy, “What’s yours?”

“…Timaias. Timaias Adama.”

“Hmmm. That’s an unusual name.”

The rain began to fall more heavily as they spoke. She gestured back towards the street:

“Why don’t we continue this elsewhere?”

Hestia led Timaias to the rain shielded veranda of a café nearby called the Benevolent Mistress. It was obviously very popular, but they managed to get one of the last open seats. Adama shamelessly ordered large quantities of food when Hestia indicated she was paying. He was starving and would take what he could get. She showed no sign of irritation at this and watched quietly and patiently as he devoured his food. When he finally came up for air, she spoke:

“Tell me about yourself, Timaias.”

“Anybody who buys me food can call me Tim.”

“Tell me about yourself, Tim.”

He gave her the abridged version of Timothy Forrester’s backstory. There was no way he was going to tell her about Cradle, or anything about being a Sage. Based on what he knew about this world, that type of story would get him written off as a nutcase. Then again, doing things this way would probably end with her judging him to be no one special, since nothing in Forrester’s history screamed “combat prodigy” or “brilliant strategist”. He suspected she was someone important who had helped him on a whim but would give up on him if he proved boring, though he was content with that.

On the contrary, she nodded patiently when he told her about his aspirations to become an adventure and the misfortune he came upon while coming to Orario and while looking for a Familia in the city. Once he finished his story, she gave one final nod, clasped her hands, and said:

“Okay, that should do just nicely then. Tim, why don’t you join my Famillia?”

While he raised his eyebrows at her, she added a half smile that was slightly mischievous as she continued:

“I didn’t fully introduce myself earlier, did I? My name is Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, and divinity of Hestia Familia. If you want to be an adventurer so badly, when why not join me?”