“Bro, your stats are a mess,” Kellmen said, flipping through some of the various screens in front of him with his middle finger. He had offered to take a look at my class attributes and had spent the last minute or so looking horrified as he browsed.

We were in our room on the second floor of the Inn. It was a quaint, medieval-ish space, touting four simple beds resting in wooden frames. Each of them were immaculately made up in soft linen sheets and a throw at the foot for warmth. A single armchair occupied the spot in front of a fireplace, the neglected flames simmering peacefully in the hearth. There was rugged-looking animal fur draped across the back, adding to the “Dark Ages” feel.

The walls of our room were a blanched taupe and were interjected with dark wooden beams, the same color as the knotted planks of the floor. There were two windows behind the beds that faced the alleyway behind the tavern, and they gave me the perfect vantage point of the wooden building in the lot behind. On the wall to my right, another view faced out at the city.

The whole space was laid out very cozily and I felt right at home. I was also exhausted. The day’s events had really taken it out of me to the point that the sight of the plush pillows and fresh sheets was almost too inviting to resist. But first, there was a matter to attend to…

Kellmen scoffed as he continued his investigation of my strengths.

“Your highest Ability Score is Agility—which is great for a Scamp, depending on what you end up specializing in, but some of your other skills and abilities are a joke.”

He shook his head very disapprovingly and tutted.

“For instance—you’ve got a decent Intellect score, but low Might and Endurance. Not exactly world-changing, but with that makeup, you should definitely have your trained Skill be something like Sneak or Archery, but instead, you’ve got…”

He paused, scanning my stats, and I saw his face twitch.

“Cooking?” he laughed.

“Uh…” I started, but he interrupted me.

“That’s a dopey Skill to pour your Experience into, man. I’ve never actually seen someone do that, except for non-combat types. Are you planning to just set up shop as a chef or something?”

“I didn’t know that was something I could do,” I said, shaking my head, “but no, I want to fight. I need to find Lina.”

“Right, you’ve got a damsel in distress sitch going on. I get it,” Kellmen said, and his expression softened. “Look, man,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. You already seem to be dealing with whatever is going on with your interface. Normally you would have started in a Noob-friendly area with some tutorials. But here we are…”

I shrugged.

“Jesus, I dunno,” I said, “ I definitely didn’t decide on any of these stats. I figured they were just based on my real-life abilities.”

“You didn’t decide on them?” Kellmen asked, “what do you mean?”

“Well,” I explained, “this is how they were when I arrived. My assumption was that Skills were automatically generated or something.”

“I see,” Kellmen said, tucking his chin down and clasping his arms behind his back thoughtfully.

“Anubis said something similar, but I assumed it was because he claims he was a dog in the other world, which I took to be…confusion. But you weren’t a dog.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“...Were you?”

I shook my head.

“...and you referred to ‘real life,’” He mused, chewing on this information.

“Yeah…” I said.

Should I tell him the truth?

“You didn’t know any of this?” Kellmen asked as if hoping I’d have a sudden wellspring of information gurgle-on out.

“Dude, I don’t even know how to open my Menu,” I admitted.

“Well,” Kellmen said, perking up and smiling, “looks like you’re just fucked then.”

I frowned.

“What? Seriously?”

The Warrior chuckled.

“No, not really. There are plenty of ways we can work around what you have. You’re still Level One, man. There are some skills we can make sure that you take to balance your build. We will just have to train the shit out of them. Fortunately for you, I’m an expert instructor. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

He cracked his knuckles dramatically and sat down in the comfortable-looking leather chair with the bear skin throw. He propped his legs up on the matching ottoman next to the fireplace and crossed them at the ankles.

“So,” he said, leveling his gaze at me seriously, “let’s figure out your Menu motion. Because without that, you won’t be able to do much else. Are you right or left-handed?”

“Right-handed,” I said.

“Alright, so the default motion is a circle,” he said, tracing a sphere shape in the air with his middle finger. “Try that.”

I mimicked the same shape, but nothing happened.

“Maybe left handed?” He offered with a shrug. “It only works with the hand you choose at the start. For instance, I’m left-handed, so if I try to access the Menu with my right…”

He made a figure-eight pattern with the middle finger on his right hand, and no Menu emerged.

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I tried the default shape with my left hand but still no effect. Ugh.

“Well,” Kellmen said, leaning back, “a lot of people use the first letter of their name. Try that?”

I drew a 'V' in the air. Nothing. I did it again with my left hand. Still nada. I looked over at Kellmen for more advice. He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe it’s broken?” I suggested. “Nothing is hitting.”

“That sucks,” he offered, “maybe different letters of the alphabet?”

I sighed loudly and audibly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Hey man,” Kellmen said, shrugging again, “I’m just trying to help. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

I didn’t. The suggestion was actually pretty reasonable, and an excellent way to narrow it down if nothing else. So that’s what I did.

I went through each letter of the alphabet, carefully tracing them in the air with each finger on my right hand because Kellmen specified that the digit one used mattered as well. The process was painstakingly slow, and during each movement I silently cursed this world and its inflexible rules and lack of tutorial—at least just for me.

All the while, Kellmen explained things to me. His words had a remarkably cheerful effect while I went about my drudgery.

"So, you've got the three Base Classes," he began, holding up the same number of digits with his right hand, "Warriors, which of course you know, are the most martial class. We careen around, smashing stuff with weapons and have a great time while we are at it. There're Druids, which, here, is anyone whose majority output is Magick. Then there's you guys, the Scamps, you're, for lack of a better word, sort of the leftovers."

He saw my look and held his hands up defensively.

"I'm just kidding, man," he said, laughing, "Scamps tend toward the skill monkey variety, or the unusual abilities that don't really fit anywhere else."

I had already figured out the Warrior and Scamp part, but I had no idea that Druid was the Class name for Magick users. It was an interesting idea, but I supposed that with the whole Celtic theme this place seemed to exhibit, that it made sense.

"You said you were a Knight," I said, still attempting to trace letters. I had to make my responses shorter or I was finding that I'd mess up the pattern and have to try again. "I take it that means there are Subclasses, then?"

"Right-o," Kellmen said, touching his forehead, "though, they’re called ‘Order Classes.’ At Level Six you get to choose your Order, but you have to do that at a Darach Plinth."

"A what?"

"Darach means 'oak,’ though I’m really not sure why it’s called that, honestly. It basically exists as a tool for allocating what tree you’re trying to branch into. Each major city has one of these Darach Plinths. You swear your fealty, and choose your Order Class there. There's a bunch of them, but if you don't have certain requirements, it'll be locked out."

“Locked out?”

“Yeah,” Kellmen said. “Then you’ll, as far as I can tell, be stuck at a Base Class until…well, until we find out if you get a new one at a higher Level.”

"So, you could work hard and still not get the Class you were gunning for?" I asked.

"Sort of," Kellmen said, "if you’re a little light, you can turn down the Darach—but only once. So if you find that you don't have, say, a high enough Level with a Combat Skill you need, you can wait and return when it's improved and choose the one you want."

He chuckled.

"Tibbets had to do that," he continued, "his Stealth was garbage, so he turned down the Plinth. He didn't get his Order until Level Eight."

"Woah," I exclaimed, "that is... honestly not that surprising. He struck me as the kind of guy to take short cuts."

Kellmen nodded, but curtly.

"He had a tendency to put the cart before the horse, but he's a hard worker. When he found out he had a deficit, he seriously disappeared for a few days, and spent that whole time stalking around Skully dungeons, attempting to go unnoticed by really powerful creatures. I've never seen anyone Level so quickly."

I was taken aback. I had noticed Kellmen never had a harsh word to say about his companions, and any time I poked at them it seemed he would always defend them, though diplomatically. It was a refreshing trait, and something that I'm sure the others had noticed. It gave me the impression that Kellmen was a good leader. It was easy to follow someone you knew had your back, in combat and outside of it. I moved on.

"So you're in the Warrior Class," I said, "Tibbets is a Scamp, and Berieal is a Druid. Iam seems like a Warrior as well, but what exactly is a Templar? I got the impression it was similar to what a lot of games called a Paladin."

"You're right," Kellmen said, "it is in the Warrior tree, but it's a bit different from some of the other branches because, as a Templar, Iam has access to lots of Magick as well. He compromises between weapon combat and attacking with his Fey."

"I see," I said, "so he uses what, holy magick, or something?"

"Nah," Kellmen said, shrugging, "Templar's use Elemental-type powers. It's similar to what I've heard described as a Mageblade elsewhere. I've seen him use both casting and physical attacks at the same time. One time, in a duel, he blocked one-handed with his sword, and then blasted the dude in the face with a fireball. It was really fucking funny."

Iam seemed like anything but hilarious to me. The dude was seriously intimidating and gave me the impression that if I made one wrong move, he'd blast me in the face with a spell.

"What tree is Anubis in?" I asked.

"Ah," Kellmen said, his smile wide, "he's in the Scamp tree as well. His Order is Scout."

That put a smile on my face.

Aww. He's a Scamp just like his old man.

However, that didn't really answer much.

"...and Scout is?" I wondered.

"Scouts are experts with projectiles and ranged weapons. Not a bad hand at stealth either."

I remembered him switching weapons after the fight with Stratholm and his cronies. It made sense that if his Order was focused on ranged attacks, he'd feel more comfortable with a bow.

"So how many Orders are there?" I asked.

"Not sure, exactly," Kellmen said, "there's at least a couple dozen for each tree, but there's probably a lot more. Some pretty interesting ones exist out there, especially for Scamps. Like ‘Troubadour,’ which is essentially a Bard."

"So, if I wanted to be, say, a Knight or a Templar, I wouldn't be able to?" I asked.

"Nope," Kellmen said, folding his arms and plopping down into the chair by the fire, "not unless you can get your hands on a Dagda Egg."

"I'm just going to wait for you to tell me what that is," I said dryly.

Kellmen laughed.

"It's a Legendary item, and really hard to come by. But it allows you to reroll your Class. You'll start at Level One again, but it's a small price to pay to fix a hasty choice," he said, "there's also a rumor that there's a few other things you can do with a Dagda Egg, like re-select your starting Race as well, but I don't know if there's any truth to that. I've never met anyone who's found one."

That was food for thought. The idea of an item that could let you select all new stuff was enticing to me.

If I could get my hands on it, I wouldn't have to be stuck with the choice that was made for me.

"What Order do you think I should go for?" I asked, forgetting my Menu task. With a start, I began tracing in the air again.

Where was I? W? R?

"That's tough," Kellmen said, "fortunately for you, at Level One, you've got a lot of options available still. I'd work toward whatever seems the most interesting to you. There's loads of stuff you can vie for. I personally think Prowlers are pretty dope. But, I also have a buddy who is a Warden. Those guys get animal companions that they fight alongside."

He paused, giving me a good one-over before speaking again.

"You might be more suited to a less combat-oriented Class. You don't seem to be the biggest fan of fighting."

"I'm not," I admitted sheepishly, "I've always been one to try and get out of a situation as quickly as possible."

"Might want to look into something like the Scout or maybe even a Battleboffin."

"Battleboffin," I said, "that's a fun name."

"Yeah, Battleboffins set up traps and snares and tinker with objects to have as little contact in a fair fight as possible. They effectively use guerilla tactics and dirty up the playing field."

Staying out of arm's reach of another sword or ax is definitely in my desired skill set.

"I'll mull that over," I said, "as you said, I have plenty of time to decide."

"I'm excited for you," Kellmen said, "I wish I had more information when I'd started out. Consider this lesson free. The next one is going to cost you though."

I got confused where I was again and laughed.

"Well, Master Kellmen. As informational as this is, I think I have to focus on the task at hand or it won't matter what I decide on, because I’ll be stuck."

"Fair enough," he said, "I'll shut up. If you need anything, I will literally be less than three feet away, making schematics on how I'm going to min-max the shit out of you."

I set about my duty again, sighing regretfully at the tedium. It seemed to be taking forever. As the minutes passed, I sort of blocked out the rest of the world, pursuing the endeavor of identifying my symbol with a singular focus.

Tracing Z, I began to lament that I had not alternated with both hands. I decided that I’d take a break before moving on to my left hand after getting all the way down. Just that much repetitive movement had made my wrist sore and the tendons in my hand throb. It was quite the workout.

I hope this doesn’t give me Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

I looked over at Kellmen. He must've gotten bored watching me fail to activate my Menu because he was absorbed in a display with a lot of text. Every few moments, he would scroll down halfway and continue.

I shuffled over to the room’s small window. I unlatched it, sliding the two halves apart and out, allowing the evening breeze to flutter in. It was chilly but pleasant, and the scent was remarkably nostalgic. It reminded me of some time in my past—my childhood maybe, though I could only guess as to how. I took another deep breath and looked down at Gruoch.

The town had a happy bustle to it. The sun was just touching down on the horizon, and its red-orange glow filled me with a warm sense of comfort. I found the narrow, cobblestoned lanes and rufous, brick roads growing out from the market square that I had passed through on the path to the Inn, and I followed its length with my haze. In the center of the market was the tall and imposing statue of Shelor Mossbow, glowering with judgment at Gruoch’s busy denizens, his stone fingers wrapped around the handle of a threatening sword.

On the far side of the town, the red and gray spire of the church poked up at the quickly approaching night. At that moment, the toll of the evening bell sounded, and I looked back to the market to see that the stalls were closing.

I selected a stall at random near the statue and watched for a while as the owner carefully put away his wares. He was a human, a bit shorter than average with a balding head but with a small amount of brown hair still clinging to his scalp. I couldn’t divine much more than that save that as he turned, I was able to make out a big, bristling mustache.

The shopkeeper took a stick and pressed it to the underside of the mud-colored awning above his counter, tripping the catch that held it in place. The man eased the canopy down and then secured it with a length of rope, pulling a few times to tighten it. Then he threw a bolt of fabric over his shoulder and made his way out of my sight.

This is a living, breathing world. I thought to myself.

I thought of the beggar woman at the entryway to the city and felt a biting regret. I wish I’d been able to give her an offering like Kellmen and Berieal had. It gnawed at my conscience that I’d had nothing to offer.

The first bit of cash I get, I’ll be sure to share with her.

I turned to the door. Anubis still hadn’t returned from his errand, and I was beginning to wonder if he was going to be alright—though, Kellmen hadn’t seemed concerned. I looked over at him.

The Knight was starting to doze, his Menu still open, but both he and it were beginning to slump. He kept nodding off and then waking up with a mild start before returning to the process all over again.

I’d better get back at it. At this rate, I’ll be tracing shapes come Solstice!

Pleased with my obviously full immersion into this new reality, I looked down at my right palm.

I stretched my hand and forearm for a moment to ease the burning in my muscles. Then I set to work at going through the alphabet again with each finger on my left hand.