"You herald the end of humanity Nestor. How certain are you that another pantheon has invaded us?" Asked Konrad.

"There are truths I cannot share. But, the Leviathans are all the proof you need. Forces greater than our own gods have are here." Said Nestor.

"Where is your daughter Nestor?" Asked Konrad, hoping to buy himself a moment to think.

Hattie tried not to cry as Konrad’s words dredged up the past.

“Her farm is gone, erased, had Hattie not been with the Matimeo she would not be here. For all my levels I was too late.” Lamented Nestor.

Konrad stood and slammed his hands on the table, his sudden movement sending his chair flying into the rear wall. It clattered against the solid wood wall and teetered, jittering against the wall.

“We’ll kill whomever did this. I’ll summon the other guilds if I have to!” Shouted Konrad.

“Oh? I was not aware that any guild possessed weapons to slay the Leviathans. His majesty would reward you handsomely if you did.” Goaded Nestor.

“Leviathans?” Gasped Konrad, the color draining from his face at the mention of the gargantuan worms.

“If vengeance were possible, my heaven’s blade would be unsheathed once again. No, old friend. We have come here for a very different reason. I need you to certify my granddaughter.” Answered Nestor.

He withdrew a vial from his cloak, placing it on the desk. Viscous yellow fluid filled the vial, opaque in the dim light that illuminated their midnight rendezvous. Disturbed by Nestor’s motion the fluid sloshed unevenly, as if there were chunks of snot concealed within the yellow ichor.

“By Hades’ balls. You bring me bad omens and vile concoctions. This looks like you jerked off a banana.” Groaned Konrad, scowling at the yellow sludge in front of him.

Konrad recognized the potion, it allowed one to share vision with another. A tactic used to certify those who could not be appraised, though it was made from distressing components. Most notably among them, human blood. He turned to face Hattie, activating his appraisal skill.

A soft glow lit up his eyes as the talent exchanged MP for understanding. He aimed the talent at the orange haired girl with a practiced boredom. Appraisal was something he did for hours on end every day, discerning magic items, checking the quality of bartered gold, and observing other’s talents.

Konrad frowned and his brow furrowed, sweat began to glisten across his forehead as he strained to appraise the scarecrow. She squirmed beneath his gaze but did not resist, wishing for nothing more than the appraisal to end.

“I thought you were a fan of bananas. Besides, this one ought to be fresh.” Interjected Nestor, chuckling at the Guildmaster’s consternation.

Konrad straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. Breathing heavily as he fought to regain his composure. Several moments passed before he moved. Silently turning and exiting the room without a word.

Hattie watched him go, fearfully looking from the back of his head to her grandfather as Konrad stormed out of the room.

“What was that? He didn’t do anything!” She hissed.

Nestor smiled and stood, sauntering over to the Guildmaster’s liquor cabinet and perusing the various vintages there. Moving aside some of the bottles he found one nestled near the rear.

“What are you doing! Go after him grandpa!” Exclaimed Hattie, covering her blushing face with her hands.

“Pursue the Guildmaster in his own halls? Come now! Don’t be ridiculous. Go on, prepare the potion.” Ordered Nestor, pouring himself a glass of the aromatic whiskey.

Alcohol tickled Hattie’s nose, making her eyes tear up and her mouth water. Dutifully, she obeyed Nestor, trusting in him despite his vagueries. Producing a slender dagger from within her cloak, she pressed it’s point into the tip of her index finger. Slowly pressing harder until the blade slit her skin. A drop of blood welled around the cut.

Hattie quickly opened the vial of yellow ichor and covered it’s mouth with her bleeding index. Waiting several seconds for the blood to drip into the potion. Nestor observed the process, sipping his glass of whiskey. He grunted in approval after the third drop of blood, leaving Hattie to replace the stopper.

Brining her finger to her face she stared at it. Furrowing her brow as she tapped the mana within her. An instant later one of her spells activated, illuminating the room with a faint glow of white magic. The spell vanished as quickly as it was cast. Nestor took note of the unusual spell, intrigued by the speed and silence of the spell.

“How much mana did that cost?” Asked Nestor.

Hattie jerked at the question, then her eyes flitted to her heads up display in the corner of her vision.

HP 100/100

MP 99/100

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As she read the HUD it ticked over, increasing the MP reading to 100/100.

“Uhm, it cost one MP.” Said Hattie, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nestor let out a long low whistle and said no more. He didn’t need to. One MP was more efficient than any spell had a right to be. Veteran clerics and diviners would expect to spend five to ten MP for a single cast of their weakest healing spells. Depending on class and applicable talents.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Shouted Hattie, makign Nestor jump in surprise.

“Of course not! Pay it no mind dear. Here, you’re an adult now and all Quades should know how a good drop of whiskey tastes. Tis a family tradition after all. I had meant to buy a bottle for your birthday in Fallbrook…" Began Nestor, voice trailing off as he recalled the calamitous events of the previous weeks.

“I didn’t mean to be grim… Here, have a sip before I put my foot in that too.” Offered Quade, handing her a shot glass half full of the brown liquid he had been sampling.

Hattie examined the brown liquor, swirling it gently as she tried to focus on it’s effervescent scent. She took a sip, savoring the burning sensation on her tongue, knowing she deserved this pain.

Tears sprang to her eyes, releasing the damn of emotions that had been holding back her tears. Dropping the glass she retreated into her cloak, wrapping it around her knees and over her head.

A faint breeze whistled. Nestor’s cloak enveloping her in a comforting embrace. His spindly fingers ran across her head, stroking her orange hair through his cloak.

A simple gesture, one he had performed many times in her life. Today it felt like an island of comfort in a sea of despair. Her tears flowed freely, bawling in the security of her grandfather’s embrace. How long she sobbed was lost to her, obscured by the heartache she felt at having lost everything in her life.

Her family was missing and presumed dead, along with her home. The twenty levels in the archer and thief classes were gone, erasing everything she had ever accomplished.

Experience or XP was a rare commodity as well as the foundation of talents. Talents were powerful abilities that could be selected once every five levels. While XP came from killing other living beings or by accomplishing a feat of proficiency within your chosen class. Humans gained experience at a slow rate. Usually only able to level up once per year starting around three or four.

Earning enough experience to reach level twenty before her sixteenth birthday had been a heroic triumph. One many adults would never achieve. Now it was gone, her life’s work vanishing with her family. Replaced by a single level of an unknown class on the morning of her sixteenth birthday.

Drained of tears, Hattie sniffed, drying her face on her cloak. She stood, squirming her way out of Nestor’s cloak.

Guildmaster Konrad Roark sat across from her once more, how long he had been there was beyond her ken. Long enough for him to be sipping on his own glass of whiskey. At his side stood a much younger woman, late twenties or early thirties if Hattie had to guess.

Her face unblemished and clean, with her hair pulled back into a loose bun. She was wearing an undyed shirt with pants to match, tufts of floofy white fur lined the clothes, like a spring cloud spun into fabric. The woman scowled at the trio, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Konrad Roark, I’m a diviner, not a comfort woman. Don’t wake me for crying children!” Growled the blonde woman.

“I wouldn’t share your comforts with anyone else. Not even my old friend Nestor Quade.” Chuckled Konrad.

Kendra balled her fist and aimed a punch at the Guildmaster’s face, lining up a shot at his nose. Clearly intending to make him pay for the untimely quip. She froze at the mention of Nestor Quade. Eyes going wide and mouth flopping open as her brain registered the name.

She whirled and activated her own appraisal skill, her class granting her a far greater version of the spell than Konrad could command. Her hand flew to her mouth as she read his stats then bowed at the waist, face narrowly missing the desk in front of her.

“Lord Quade! Forgive me!” She cried, voice quivering as she spoke.

“Lord Quade? Do you mean me?" Said Nestor, feigning ignorance.

"Call me Nestor! It is we who are intruding on your beauty sleep! Not that you need it.” Said Nestor, giving the flabbergasted woman a wink.

“It’s- blah- An honor sir Quade! I mean Mr. Nestor!” Bumbled the sleepy woman.

Konrad chuckled at the blurted titles, catching a backhand from his wife.

“A pleasure to finally meet you Lady Roark. But really, it’s the middle of the night. We can save the pleasantries. Give my granddaughter a peek. So we can let you return to bed.” Counseled Nestor, giving the guild diviner a cheeky grin.

“Yes sir Nestor! Or Mr Quade… Sir.” Bumbled Kendra, clearly not awake enough to process his request in full.

Kendra aimed her own appraisal spell at Hattie, blinking rapidly as the mana fizzled within her. She rubbed her eyes, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears and muttered an incantation, calling on the full weight of her class and talents to penetrate the gangly redhead’s defenses. Sweat appeared in pink dots on her brow and blood began to leak from her pupils. Collecting on her eyelid until they poured over and traced a red course down her cheeks.

“Kendra, that’s quite enough.” Ordered Konrad, producing a handkerchief and wiping away her bloody tears. She broke eye contact with Hattie, allowing Konrad to step between the women.

“Gods, what are you!” Shouted Kendra, angrily snatching the handkerchief from Konrad.

“No need to be harsh. She is just a girl, turned sixteen less than a week ago and had a new class override her levels.” Offered Nestor quickly, speaking before the others could.

They weighed his words, keeping quiet as Kendra wiped her bloody tears away, proceeding to fold the handkerchief and dab away the sweat on her forehead. All the while she glared at Hattie, keeping at least one eye perpetually trained on the girl. Not even looking away when she tossed the soiled handkerchief at Konrad’s face.

He smiled and caught the rag, whipping the item once to activate the magic contained within. Blue light enveloped the handkerchief, purging and folding it in an instant before it flew back into Konrad’s pocket. Clean as the day it was made.

“Hattie Theia, level one. That’s all I could see. No stats, no rank, no talents.” Reported Kendra, folding her arms and giving Konrad a meaningful glare.

“Don’t give me that look, I couldn’t even get her name! Thank Sir Nestor Quade for this enigma, and for it’s bitter key.” Jeered Konrad.

He gestured towards the vial Nestor had brought with him. At the introduction of Hattie’s blood the yellow fluid had clarified, turning a clear blue color. Though several chunks of yellow remained in the vial. Nestor retrieved the potion, giving it a few good shakes to break them up.

Kendra groaned as he filled two shot glasses with the blue liquid. As the guild’s head diviner she was familiar with the potion and it’s applications in her field. Not hesitating to do her duty, she snatched the shot glass and downed it in one gulp, chasing it with a much slower draught of whiskey. Savoring the rich tannins after the putrid blue ichor. Nestor copied her motions, settling into his chair and closing his eyes.