Amara arrived at the city gates with weary limbs, a parched throat, and a gnawing hunger that grew sharper with every step. She’d expected some form of pursuit from the monks, but none had materialized during her brief journey to the city. Either they hadn’t thought she was worth the effort, or they were afraid that she was dangerous. Brother Otto had seemed unnerved when he discovered her class.

The thought of anyone being afraid of her made a ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. Right now, she probably couldn’t beat a butterfly in a fight.

As she’d approached the gates, the roads had become clogged with oxen drawn wagons, riders, and others on foot like herself. Many of them appeared to be soldiers, while others wore little more than rags. She found herself waiting in a snaking line leading towards the city gates.

Her white robes and bare feet drew several stares, and when a richly dressed man focused on her, she felt an unpleasant prickling sensation—which was followed by an incredulous look from the gawker.

She didn’t know what the sensation signified, but she didn’t like it.

The line shuffled forward until she arrived at the gates, where bored-looking guards questioned each new arrival. When she finally reached the front of the line, she felt pins and needles across her exposed skin again. Then the guards lowered their halberds menacingly.

She stepped back in alarm and bumped into the mass of bodies behind her. Someone shoved her forward, and she nearly impaled herself on the sharp tip of the nearest guard’s weapon.

“We don’t want no thieves here,” the guard snarled, any trace of boredom gone. “Get out of here before we run you through.”

Amara fought down the anger rising in her chest and swallowed her retort. The one thing she’d learned living in her old neighbourhood was to never talk back to someone holding a weapon. Even though she didn’t always follow her own rule.

She glanced back at the crowd, where dark mutters were spreading like wildfire, and then at the guards with their lowered weapons who showed no sign of relenting. With a huff, she brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and then turned and marched away while biting her tongue.

Thankfully, the city sprawled beyond the walls, so hopefully she could find what provisions she needed without entering. The first thing she had to do was to find some food and water. And then she wanted to buy some clothing more substantial than her flimsy robes.

She wandered through the narrow streets, avoiding puddles and piles of manure swarming with flies, until she spotted a man pushing a pie cart. The freshly baked pastries gave off the delicious aroma of cooked meat. There was no one else nearby, so she approached him hesitantly.

The merchant looked her up and down, and then scowled. “I don’t see a coin purse on you,” he said. “And I don’t give out alms to the poor. So you’d best be moving on if you don’t want a knock on the head.” To back up his words, he lifted a club from behind the cart and smacked it against his palm threateningly.

She fought down an acerbic retort that would have combined her thoughts on his bulbous stomach, terrible comb-over, and stinking breath. Through gritted teeth, she said. “I’m a healer. Maybe I could trade you some healing for one of your pies?”

The man gestured at himself. “Do I look like I need healing? I’m a prime specimen, in nearly perfect health. Now, if you don’t have coin, move along, little girl.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cure whatever devastating condition is afflicting your face?” she said sweetly. “You look like something a child would scribble on a building.”

“What did you say to me?” he roared, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He rounded the cart surprisingly fast for someone of his size, and raised his club to strike her.

Amara back pedaled furiously, cursing herself for losing control of her temper. Her father had always told her that someday her mouth would get her in trouble. But then she slowed her retreat as the realization dawned on her that she wasn’t weak and helpless like back in her world; here she was a cleric with spells at her disposal.

She briefly considered using Cloak of Shadows to slip away from the merchant, but then instead decided to test out Charm Person. If it didn’t work, she could always use her other spell to escape.

Amara cast Charm Person and it took several seconds to weave together the strands of the spell in her mind. After the casting was complete, she expected to see impressive visual effects—almost like in a video game. But the only sign it was working was the merchant slowed and then looked around with unfocused eyes. Finally, his gaze landed on her, and he grinned broadly.

“If it isn’t my favorite customer!” he exclaimed, the club tumbling from his fingers. “What will you have today? Maybe one of my finest mincemeat pies? I also have this egg I bought from that gaudy elvish merchant. He says one out of every thousand is a dragon. Wouldn’t that be amazing to get such a pet? My family would finally respect me if I had one of those beasts at my beck and call.”

Amara watched him warily, looking for any sign that this was all a deception to lull her into false sense of security. But the man continued to gaze lovingly at her like a big, dumb puppy. “I’ll take one of your pies,” she said slowly. “Oh, and all the money you have on you. Also, why don’t you give me that egg?”

The merchant nodded and handed over a pie. Then he grabbed the purse off his belt and upended it over Amara’s palm; a stream of glittering copper and silver coins poured onto her hand. Finally, he reached under the cart and lifted out a metal bound lockbox. From inside, he took out a scaled egg and several more silver coins. “I was saving this money to send my daughter to a private school in the hopes of giving her a better life than I had. But it’s better that my best friend takes it.”

Amara swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as he extended the money towards her hand. What was she doing? She had a chance to make a new life for herself here—one where she didn’t have to lie, cheat, and steal. And while she had no love for this man, if she took his money, then she’d be stealing his daughter’s chance at a better life. And she knew what it was like to have your future snatched away.

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“You know what?” she said, wincing slightly. “On second thought, I just realized that I don’t need any coin. Why don’t you keep it for your daughter?”

“Are you certain?” He almost looked like he was going to cry at learning she wouldn’t take his money. “I don’t want you going away empty handed. What sort of poor friend would that make me?”

“It’s fine.” Her face burned as she spoke. Then she handed back the remaining coin. She hesitated with the pie and then tucked it under her arm. The man had tried to attack her. The least he could do was to give her a pie as an apology.

And she’d been hungry enough in the past to know that you didn’t give up free food—no matter your morals. It might be a long time before she found anything to eat again.

Plus, she could always pay him back when she learned how to make some money in this world. She wasn’t stealing the pie, so much as borrowing it from him.

Satisfied with her logic, she waved farewell to the merchant—who still looked crestfallen that he couldn’t give her his life savings—and then hurried away down the muddy street.

She didn’t stop until she reached a canal leading towards the river, and then sat down heavily on a barrel. A gust of wind sent a chill up her spine. She placed the pie beside her and then pulled up her legs before wrapping her arms around them. As she rested her chin on her knees, she gazed out across the murky water and wondered what she should do next.

“You’re lucky you gave that money back,” a deep voice said from behind her. “Otherwise, I would have been forced to report you to the guards.”

She glanced over and saw a young man standing nearby. He didn’t appear to be much older than her and wore leather armor with a pair of daggers sheathed on his belt. His hair was sandy and hung down past his ears. But it was his sharp blue eyes that immediately drew her attention, and they spoke of a firm resolve. As she examined him, he grimaced, his sharp jaw tightening.

“Are you the town watch or something?” she asked. “Or whatever they call it here?”

“I am Jonas of House Stein, seventeenth in the line of succession,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height. “And I witnessed the black magic you cast on that poor man.”

“Wow, seventeenth in the line of succession? So you’re somewhere behind the family dog and the maid?” she replied. “And that poor man was about to bash my brains out with that club of his.”

“Seventeenth is nothing to scoff at,” he said, frowning. “And I didn’t witness the first part you described, though I promise I would have stopped him had he attacked you unprovoked.”

“It wasn’t exactly unprovoked,” she said, wearily. “But I didn’t take anything, so just leave me alone.”

“What about that pie at your side?” He raised his brow. “I didn’t see any coin change hands back there.”

“Are you going to arrest me for taking a pastry?”

Jonas rubbed his chin and then frowned. “No… I will go remunerate the merchant for what you stole. However, this is your one warning—I won’t allow you to commit any heinous crimes under my watch.”

“I didn’t have any coin, and I’m hungry. If this is the most heinous crime you have around here, then you’re lucky you never lived in my neighbourhood. Plus, I figured that the merchant owed me for wanting to club me over the head.” She raised her eyebrow as she stared him down. “But if you’re not going to arrest me, then leave me alone.”

He coughed uncomfortably. “Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

She watched him turn smartly on his heel and march away. Then she returned to gazing out across the water. Was she going to meet anyone in this world who was actually friendly?

“I know how to get coin,” a tiny voice said from nearby.

She lifted her head again and scanned the area, but she didn’t see anyone. Where had the voice come from? A moment later, a painfully skinny girl emerged from behind a stack of broken crates.

The new arrival was dressed in filthy rags and looked gaunt to the point of emaciation. Her face was mostly obscured by dirt, and dirty strands of her hair stuck out in every direction. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her ragged dress. “But it’s going to cost you.”

“How much?”

“Half of any food you have,” the girl raised her chin defiantly. “And I won’t take any less.”

“Deal,” Amara said quickly. If this young woman knew how to get coin, then she would gladly give up half of her mince meat pie—she looked like she needed it more anyway. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Salamander,” the girl replied. “Like the dangerous kind that live in fire.”

“I know what a Salamander is,” Amara replied. “So, about that coin?”

“There’s one of those board things for quests close by,” Salamander said. “And I saw what you did to that jerk pie seller. You’d beat up some rats, no problem.”

“All I have to do is kill a few rats to earn some money?” Not that she liked rats, but if there was a bounty here for killing them, she’d happily hunt a few down.

Salamander nodded with wide eyes. “They’re pretty scary, though.”

How scary can a rat be? She thought to herself. I’d fight a dragon right about now for some clothes and sturdy boots.

“Alright, come on.” Amara stood up. “Show me where it is.”

Together, they strode through the muddy streets until they reached a board shimmering with magic energy. She stood underneath it and looked up at the shifting text. “What do I do?” she whispered to Salamander. “Do I touch it or something?”

“Put me in your group.” Salamander said solemnly. “I’m an adventurer, too.”

Amara pressed her lips together as she tried to figure out how to create a group. Then she decided to try to just do it the way she had accessed her character sheet. She thought about creating a group, and then off to the side of her vision, a little icon with Salamander’s face appeared. The image showed what appeared to be health and mana bars beneath it. And above it hovered the name ‘Persephone’.

She glanced down at the young girl. The more she was around her, the more she realized that she wasn’t as young as she’d first thought—just malnourished. She might even be eleven or twelve. The only way to tell for sure would be to scrub the layers of dirt off, but she had no plans to do that. “Are you Persephone?”

The moment she uttered the name, Salamander’s face screwed up in a scowl. “Don’t call me that. I hate that stupid name.”

“Alright, Salamander it is,” Amara continued. “Now what?”

Salamander stood on her tippytoes and shifted the clumped-up writing on the board until an image of a rat appeared. Then she pressed her fingers against it and the image dissolved.

Writing immediately appeared in Amara’s vision.

Slay the Rat!

A foul rat with wicked intent has made its den in the basement of the Dancing Gnome Inn. Brave adventurer, set out to banish this evil from the world.

Reward: 2 Copper Pieces

She skimmed the quest text and then grimaced at the reward. If even a humble pie merchant had a purse full of coppers, then she wasn’t going to get far on the money offered for defeating the rat. But at least it should buy her enough food to last the evening.

“I don’t suppose you know where the Dancing Gnome Inn is, do you?” Amara asked Salamander.

Salamander giggled and covered her mouth. “It’s right behind you.”

Amara turned around to face the ramshackle two-story building looming over them. Tiles were missing from the roof, and what little paint remained on the outside was peeling off. A one-legged man had fallen asleep leaning against the wall near the entrance, a jug held limply in one hand. The inn didn’t look very inviting.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she said as she marched across the deeply rutted street. “I want to do this as quickly as possible so I can buy some clothing.” But she stopped when Salamander didn’t follow. When she turned around, the girl was standing in the middle of the street with her arms crossed.

“I’m not going anywhere until I get some food.”

Amara was about to argue but then changed her mind and broke off a piece from the meat pie. She was starving herself and should probably eat before facing the rat. The soft crust crumbled in her hand as she walked over to hand the wedge of pastry to Salamander. Once they’d both finished with their portions, then she could dispose of the vermin making its home in the inn’s basement.

After all, how hard could it be to kill a rat?