In another time and place, Dalthan would have had significant misgivings about stepping into a dark, mysterious portal. He’d heard the horror stories that adventurers swapped among themselves like grandmothers passing around recipes at a church social. It seemed like every warrior and wizard that passed through Wavecrest’s dockyards knew someone whose misguided desire to rescue a princess or save the world had sent them charging into an arcane portal.
Conversely, stories told from the perspective of those who’d taken the proverbial plunge were vanishingly rare. Virtually unheard of. Presumably, because all those foolhardy souls had ended up dead.
Dal had always scoffed at the sheer stupidity at play in those tales. Who in their right mind would blindly barge through a vortex of magical power? There was no way he’d ever let himself make such a bone-headed decision. There wasn’t a wizard on the planet that he trusted that much. And there never would be.
Now, ironically, he found himself staring at one of those oft-maligned portals. It was amazing how a bit of personal experience could change one’s perspective. That, and a lack of any other options.
Dalthan took a moment to admire the portal’s writhing darkness as it slithered across reality like living ink. Flexing and twisting, the blob of rolling shadows resembled a miniature thunderhead that was chained in place by some intangible force. Barely taller than the wounded [Rogue], the portal certainly looked like it should be filling the hallway with the raucous cacophony of a caged storm.
Instead, a deafening silence settled over the hallway. Colors became washed out and muted, casting the entire world in drab shades of gray. The air became thick and viscous, pressing down on his shoulders with the suffocating weight of an iron quilt. To make matters worse, the pressure seemed to increase with every passing second.
If his injuries hadn’t motivated him to leave, the odd sensation of the world being crushed like an ant beneath a giant’s heel provided all the additional encouragement he needed.
After breathing in as deeply as his broken ribs allowed, Dalthan closed his eyes and shuffled through the yawning portal.
One moment he was on the second floor of the Vaan family farmstead. In the next moment, he was standing beside one of the black altars that populated the lowest floor of the Well of Sins. The oppressive silence that had been a palpable presence a heartbeat before was shattered by the noisy drone of the crowd of men and monsters that surrounded him.
Dalthan had never imagined he’d be so relieved by the sight of goblins and bugbears.
Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived. Before he could track down a cleric to see to his wounds, the magic scroll that Lady Belial had given him materialized out of thin air. It immediately unfurled itself a few inches in front of his nose.
Quest The Archdemon Balerik has tasked you with selling three magic beans. By hook or by crook, you must find a buyer within five days. Asking price to be negotiated by quest bearer. Milestone 1/1 Bonus Achieved: +1 Milestone Quest Complete! Expedience Bonus: 220 Chips
After Dalthan quickly skimmed the now familiar document, it rolled itself up and vanished in a puff of acrid smoke that reeked of brimstone. The dark cloud gave birth to a green pouch that levitated for one gravity-defying second before it plummeted toward the floor. The thief’s reflexes, sharp despite his bruised arm and broken ribs, allowed him to snatch the falling coin purse before it could strike the floor.
The moment his deft fingers wrapped around his prize, Dalthan heard a strange musical jingle. This time he recognized it as one of the auditory hallucinations that always seemed to accompany a quest update. Since he had no quest, the rogue could only assume that it meant his character sheet had changed somehow.
That, or the steady diet of utter nonsense he’d been consuming since he woke up in the Mausoleum had finally caused his mind to snap.
Fortunately, Dalthan was spared further self-diagnosis when he tried to will his character sheet into existence. Not only did the sheet of jumbled numbers respond to his mental beckoning, but it brought an unfamiliar piece of magical parchment with it.
Level Up! You are now a Level 12 Rogue +1 Attribute point Choose 1 Feat: Two-Weapon Fighting, Mobility, Combat Expertise +15 Skill points +1 Bonus Feat: Evasion +4 HP, +3 MP, +0 SP New Skills: Forrestry, Strategy, Leadership (Evil)
Name: Dalthan Sol'Magor Class: Rogue
Race: Demi-Human
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Milestones: 0/2 Level: 11
HP: 45
MP: 33
SP: 0 Skills
Appraise 5 Jump 10 Search 14 Attributes
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 19
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 17
Wisdom: 9
Charisma: 20 Balance 14 Listen 10 Spot 7 Bluff 14 Move Silently 14 Disguise 9 Feats Climb 7 Open Locks 14 Read Lips 5
Silver Tongue, Devastating Backstab,
Ambidexterity, Uncanny Dodge, Acrobatic, Urban Stealth, [ Redacted ], Supremely Skilled, Identify
Escape Artist 12 Perform 14 Sense Motive 1 Forgery 8 Pick Pocket 14 Swim 7 Gather Information 12 Sleight of Hand 14 Use Rope 10 Hide 14 Tumble 10 Disable Device 10
The rogue’s emerald eyes shifted from scroll to scroll in a vain attempt to understand anything about the numbers and terms that populated his character sheet. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he should have asked Keysha or Zaplixel about the significance of the character sheet.
Then again, they had lied to him on numerous occasions and tried to kill him. Twice. So, their advice would have been suspect, at best.
“I’ve got no clue what any of this shit means,” Dalthan murmured, valiantly resisting the urge to rip the magical constructs to pieces.
The attribute was simple enough. He liked the way the word charisma rolled off the tongue and it was already his highest number so that clearly made it important. Dalthan felt confident that it was the obvious choice for his extra point. He did, briefly, consider raising his lowest score. Then again, he’d managed just fine with the points he already had in wisdom. Why would he ever need more?
In the end, all it took was a bit of focus, like trying to read the fine print on a contract, to increase his charisma score.
It was so easy that he immediately tried to alter his alignment and race the same way, only to find that no amount of mental pushing could correct the mistakes.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Motherfucker,” Dalthan hissed. “I went out of my way to teach that kid the easiest way to survive. And I didn’t even kill anybody! Except for that one asshole that I stabbed in the dick. But that was his fault. He practically ran into that arrow. Slitting his throat was a mercy.”
The [Rogue] continued to scowl at the offensive piece of magical paper. Even if you could argue that he hadn’t quite been good enough to slip free from his evil title, what was the excuse for the demi-human mistake? He’d given that some thought while he and his team were bumbling their way through the forest but he’d yet to conjure up an explanation that made sense. Had his mother fooled around with a sweet-talking elf? Or had she been tricked by a fairy?
Whatever the answer was, he wouldn’t find it at the bottom of the Well of Sins.
Setting that particular matter aside, for now, the thief grumpily turned his attention to the section that listed feats. Whatever those are. Luckily, he didn’t need to know what they were to make the correct choice. One of the options was about fighting with two weapons, as if one wasn’t enough, and the other apparently involved combat. That gave him all the information he needed to eliminate those choices from his consideration. He could fight, ol’Sloefoot had made sure of that, but Dalthan was a lover first and foremost.
The fact that ‘Mobility’ seemed to imply avoiding battle only reaffirmed the wisdom of his choice. It also sounded thematically similar to whatever ‘Evasion’ did. The importance of brand consistency should never be underestimated.
With the easy choices out of the way, Dalthan directed his attention to the long list of skills.
Or he would have, if he hadn’t heard Keysha say, “You’re a lucky bastard, I’ll give you that. I was sure that I broke that arm when I hit it with my bow.”
Dalthan frantically shoved his fifteen points into whatever skills would take them to make the scroll disappear. The sheet winked out of existence just as Dalthan spun toward the tall, willowy woman. His dagger rose, eager to reacquaint itself with the [Sharpshooter]’s neck. Though, perhaps, this time it would enjoy a deeper relationship.
Name: Dalthan Sol'Magor Class: Rogue
Race: Demi-Human
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Milestones: 0/4 Level: 12
HP: 49
MP: 36
SP: 0 Skills
Appraise 6 Jump 10 Search 15 Attributes
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 19
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 17
Wisdom: 9
Charisma: 21 Balance 15 Listen 10 Spot 7 Bluff 15 Move Silently 15 Disguise 10 Feats Climb 7 Open Locks 15 Read Lips 5
Silver Tongue Devastating Backstab
Ambidexterity Uncanny Dodge Acrobatic Urban Stealth, [ Redacted ], Supremely Skilled,
Identify, Evasion, Mobility
Escape Artist 13 Perform 15 Sense Motive 1 Forgery 8 Pick Pocket 15 Swim 7 Gather Information 13 Sleight of Hand 15 Use Rope 10 Hide 15 Tumble 12 Disable Device 10
“Easy,” Keysha said, her empty hands raised in a sign of surrender. “I’m not here to make a scene. The last thing anyone wants to do is fight in the Well. The clergy take particular offense to blood on the floor if they’re not the ones doing the cutting.”
“What do you want, Key?” Dalthan’s deep green eyes flickered from the archer to the meandering crowd around them. A crowd that was growing by the second. It reminded Dal of a shiver of sharks smelling blood in the water except the denizens of the Hub could sniff out violence from a mile away.
“I wanted to tell you that there are no hard feelings,” Keysha replied, dropping her hands and lifting her slender shoulders in a casual shrug. “Everybody knows you’ve got to do whatever it takes to fend for yourself. Sometimes people take it personally, but it’s just the nature of the Hub.”
“It felt pretty fucking personal when you tried to kill me, Key.” The dagger in Dalthan’s hand spun in agitation, but the rogue made no move to return the blade to its sheath. Nor did he move to drive it into Keysha’s stomach. “What’s next? Are you going to tell me that you tried to cut me out of the loot for my own good?”
The [Sharpshooter] rolled her gray eyes. “Don’t patronize me. You could have walked off into the woods for an hour. Instead, you came back to the farmhouse planning to take your cut by force.” Keysha hitched her shoulder, repositioning the massive bow slung across her back as she continued. “And that’s exactly what you did. You took your cut by force. Zaplixel wants his rings back, by the way. He said you could keep the finger since it's the one he used to scratch his ass.”
Dalthan made a show of patting the pouch that had held the magic beans he’d sold Jack. It’d been a handy bag to stow the three rings in since he had no intention of wearing them until an enchanter checked them out. It’d be just like that sick fuck Zaplixel to wear a Ring of Impotency or Band of Baldness.
“Now you’re babbling crazy talk. That prick owed me. He’s lucky I decided to settle the tab with a little bit of his jewelry instead of a whole lot of his intestines.” Dalthan’s voice was hard as a dragon’s scale and unforgiving as a sober judge. “I’m not giving him anything back, but if you all want to clean the slate, I can do that. It’d be entirely too much work to assassinate the three of you anyway.” To punctuate his statement, the [Rogue] twirled his dagger in a dizzying display of blade work before he deposited it back into its sheath.
The crowd that had gathered around Keysha and Dalthan like gnats around a bowl of rotten fruit began to drift away the moment the thief relaxed. Unhappy with the turn of events, a green-scaled kobold hissed at the [Rogue] like an angry adder. The overgrown lizard nearly swatted Dal with its tail when it turned around to stomp off.
It wasn’t the only dissatisfied onlooker. An eclectic group that ranged from knights in armor to bugbears in loincloths had been anxiously awaiting the free entertainment. There was even a harpy circling the scene like a vulture in the hope of getting a bird’s-eye view of the fight. All of them quickly returned to whatever tasks had brought them to the Well.
And all of them had something to say about Dalthan wasting their time.
“I heard that!” Dalthan yelled, turning to face the broad back of a retreating troll. The gangly monster in ill-fitting leather armor was dragging a gnarled club of petrified wood. “Joke’s on you, buddy. I’m nowhere near flexible enough to do that to myself. I know that for a fact because I’ve tried!”
Keysha covered her face with her hands.
“The nerve of some fucking people,” Dalthan seethed. “I need to get out of here, Key. Now that I’ve got some coins, I’m going to find myself a new set of clothes. Then I’m going somewhere to take a nice, long bath.”
“You’ll find all the tailors that you can afford here on the fourth tier,” the [Sharpshooter] said. “The sixth tier is where all the residential space is for the non-elite. Did you not get your living assignment from that priestess when you talked to her about leveling?”
Dalthan squirmed, a grimace flashing across his pale, handsome features for a stumbling heartbeat. As quickly as the expression slid across his face, the thief smoothed it away with a greasy politician’s smile. “Well, you see, circumstances beyond my control cut that conversation a bit short. I wasn’t actually read in on this whole ‘leveling’ thing.”
Keysha stopped tightening the straps of her leather gauntlets and slowly turned her stormy gray eyes toward the [Rogue]. “Wait a second,” the archer said haltingly as if she was scared to hear the answer. “Are you saying that no one ever told you about your stats? Or about choosing your feats?”
Dalthan dismissed Keysha’s exaggerated concern with a flip of his wrist. “Come on,” Dal said as he combed his splayed fingers through his dark hair. “That stuff was simple. I just picked the things that I’m already good at. It’s worked fine for me so far.”
For a long moment, the archer regarded the thief with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. “You leveled up without talking to someone first? You’re a fucking moron,” Keysha said when she finally found her voice. “Ancev have mercy, but you’ve got to be the stupidest piece of eye candy I’ve ever met.”
Dalthan recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “Well fuck you too, Key. It’s not my fault that people can’t look past this handsome package to see the genius inside.”
Keysha threw up her arms in disgust. “I can’t handle this. You’re way too high maintenance for me.” With a shake of her head, the archer turned and marched away.
“Fine!” Dalthan called toward the retreating [Sharpshooter]. “But don’t come crawling back when Zaplixel tries to sell you for a set of hoop earrings. You know it’s going to happen!”
Dal turned on his heel and began marching across the Well of Sins. He didn’t need Keysha. What he needed was a new set of clothes. And not just any set of clothes, but an outfit tailored with a discerning gentleman like himself in mind.
Fortunately, he knew exactly where he needed to go.