Dirty Rotten Magic

It was late in the afternoon, and I had spent most of the day lingering just outside the guild's sturdy stone walls, quietly observing the constant ebb and flow of people coming and going. Now, clad in the plain clothes I had hastily purchased for a few coppers, I felt both invisible and conspicuous—a pair of trousers a tad too short and well-worn leather shoes that had seen better days, yet they were all I possessed in this world. Despite my tall frame, I deliberately slouched, attempting to blend in with the commoners bustling about the town square.

At lunchtime, as the sun began its slow descent, I watched the guild staff emerge from their offices for their midday respite. Among them, the angry man who had brusquely served me that morning caught my eye; his furrowed brow and tense manner hinted at stories untold, and I found him irresistibly intriguing. Keeping a discreet distance, I trailed him as he wound his way through the vibrant, noisy streets. The city was alive with the clamor of vendors, the rustle of newspaper pages, and the distant strains of a street performer's melody, blending into an urban symphony. To my delight, I discovered that he had chosen a local inn as his refuge, where he engaged in a curious game of chance. From the other side of the inn's fogged window, I observed him intently, watching how he bet thin slips of metal—fractions of a copper—with a seriousness that suggested these small fortunes meant far more than their nominal value. His concentration was so absolute that he barely acknowledged the modest meal served to him, the clinking of cutlery and murmur of other patrons fading into the background.

As dusk settled, I noticed him leaving the guild offices, stepping into an evening throng steeped in the aromatic haze of cooking fires and simmering stews, the air heavy with the scents of roasted meats and spiced vegetables. Keeping my head bowed to avoid drawing attention to my height, I followed him at a cautious distance. His path soon led into a poorer district of the city—a stark contrast to the well-tended groves and manicured gardens of the wealthier quarter I had left behind. Here, the architecture crumbled with neglect, and the garments of the passersby were as worn as the cobblestones underfoot. Beggars, many with wide, sorrowful eyes and children clinging to their skirts, lined the narrow, winding streets. Passing them, I hesitated to part with a coin or two, their needy gazes dredging up memories I would rather forget.

My pursuit took me along a narrow, shadowed street peppered with inns that bore the scars of time and neglect, their weathered facades hinting at forgotten grandeur. Here, poorly dressed women, adorned with faded trinkets and desperate smiles, tried to catch the eye of potential benefactors. In a rare moment of compassion, I handed out a few copper coins to some of the beggars, especially those tending to their little ones. Eventually, my quarry turned into a modest inn marked by a sign featuring a white stag painted on a blue background—a design now peeling and chipped, echoing the decayed character of its surroundings. As I stepped into the establishment, a pungent aroma of stale beer and musty floor mingled with the scent of old wood and spilled ale. Early in the evening, the inn was sparsely populated; most of the patrons lay slumped over rough wooden tables, their snores and murmurs blending with the creak of the floorboards.

The bar itself was an assembly of timeworn planks, uneven and sticky, propped up by barrels riddled with holes. On the bar lay a motley collection of earthenware bottles and rugged wooden tankards, while a cramped shelf behind the bar cradled several small barrels, each sealed with a timeworn stopper. Behind this counter stood the barman—a bored, disheveled figure wearing a grimy apron, intermittently sipping from a small jug and grimacing at each sour taste that hit his tongue. Just then, I noticed that the man from the guild had vanished from the main room, leaving only a fleeting glimpse of a back door being shut.

Standing tall, despite my earlier attempts at concealment, I approached the barman with measured steps. The creak of my boots on the worn wooden floor accompanied the soft rustle of my cloak. I placed a solitary copper coin on the sticky surface of the bar and announced, "I'm here for the game."

The barman's eyes flicked to the coin as he murmured, "What game?" His tone was a mix of curiosity and caution. As I reached to retrieve the coin, his eyes widened in sudden panic, and he instinctively placed his hand atop it. "It's in the back room," he stammered, gesturing vaguely toward a door obstructed by a battered mop and a bucket that reeked of old, stagnant water—a clear sign that the floor hadn't seen proper cleaning in ages. Nodding slowly, I released the coin and made my way to the door. Pushing it open revealed a dimly lit room illuminated by a solitary oil lamp whose flickering flame cast quivering shadows on the whitewashed walls, now marred by dirty smudges and streaks.

Inside, seated around a round table balanced atop a large, repurposed barrel, were five men and one woman. Their eyes met mine in a collective gasp of surprise. Without missing a beat, I hauled up a similar crate and positioned myself at an empty spot at the table, the crate's rough texture pressing against my legs as I settled in.

A burly man, his voice booming like a rolling storm, demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

With a friendly smile that belied the tension in the room, I replied, "Sorry I'm late, but I was invited to game with you," as I produced a small pile of copper coins from my inventory. I meticulously sorted the coins into neat piles, the soft clicking sound of metal against wood drawing every eye in the room to my display. Greedy smiles flickered across their faces, and even the guild man across the table returned a confident, almost condescending grin, as if I were an easy mark.

As the round with the ceramic tokens came to a close, I observed their play with keen interest, waiting for my moment to join in. At first, my lack of familiarity with the game led to deliberate missteps, an act that seemed to amuse everyone, even as I lost a significant amount of coinage. Gradually, as the rules unfolded before me like a well-kept secret, my fortunes reversed and I began reclaiming my losses.

Throughout the game, I couldn't help but notice the woman across from me, who emerged as the most aggressive player at the table. Clad in a no-nonsense demeanor, she kept two long daggers in worn leather scabbards at her side. Occasionally, with a flick of her wrist, she would extract one of the daggers and twirl it deftly, the metallic ring mingling with the murmurs and gasps of the other players. Her actions sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present, yet she maintained an air of indifference, as if her displays of skill were merely routine. At one point, I attempted a friendly smile in her direction, only to be met with a look of cold contempt that underscored her disapproval. Though not as classically beautiful as the women I had glimpsed in the upscale gambling halls the previous night, her athletic grace and fierce countenance commanded respect—and a few derisive sniggers from the other men punctuated her disdain.

In the second half-hour, urgency drove my play. Determined to recover my losses and claim victory, I unleashed every trick I had learned, my actions bold and unrefined as I sought to humiliate them with my success. Murmurs of discontent and dark, threatening whispers filled the room, while the woman's scowl deepened with each coin I won. Her fingers drummed restlessly on her dagger, and her eyes burned with a murderous intent that left little doubt about her simmering anger.

I returned her gaze with an unfeigned, genuine smile—a smile that masked my inner thrill at the unfolding challenge. Finally, after securing the largest pile of money on the table, the tension reached its peak. With a sudden, dramatic flourish, the woman pushed herself up, her movement fluid and defiant, and flipped the tabletop over in one swift, furious motion.

She bellowed, "You're a dirty rotten cheat! You've been playing us all along!" Her voice rang out like a clanging bell, sharp and accusatory, while the others recoiled, their bodies instinctively retreating in anticipation of an explosion. I sat back in my chair, maintaining my calm smile as I locked eyes with her, the room's silence punctuated only by the heavy thud of the overturned table. In that charged moment, she brandished one of her daggers and hurled it with lethal precision between my eyes.

At the precise moment the dagger sliced through the tense air toward my temple, the shield I had painstakingly charged all day ignited with a brilliant blue surge of energy, forming in an instant. The dagger froze mid-flight, suspended by the unexpected magic, as the guild man muttered a fearful, "Magician."

I kept my gaze locked on hers, unflinching and unblinking, my smile undisturbed by the near miss. With a resonant clang, the immobilized dagger clattered to the floor, and I remarked coolly, "Fire magician, actually."

Amid the ensuing chaos, one of the man's pipes tumbled to the ground. I stooped, picked it up, and with a deft flick, relit it with a small, steady flame before handing it over to the visibly trembling man. In a low, dangerous tone, I insisted, "I insist that we continue."

This had been my true gamble. After narrowly escaping death at the hands of a vengeful fire magician, I deduced that none of these men wished to endure such a fate again. Every moment of the afternoon had been spent charging my magical shield, and now it had served its purpose. Had she thrown a second dagger, my fate in this world would have been sealed, or at least that was the chilling possibility I had evaded.

As the game resumed, a palpable fear spread among the players, their eyes fixed on me with a mix of awe and trepidation as I methodically handled the tokens. The woman, her defiance now tempered by trembling resignation, reclaimed her seat and began playing again, albeit without ever meeting my gaze. I offered a magnanimous smile to each of them, my confidence unshaken, until one by one they excused themselves from the table, leaving only the man from the guild and me.

He had just risen from the table, his face a mixture of uncertainty and regret, when I addressed him in a warm yet assertive tone, "I need a favor from you." I maintained my friendly smile, though his expression resembled that of a deer caught in headlights.

"What do you want?" he implored softly.

"I want membership to the guild under a false identity."

After a moment's pause, he looked at me with a mix of resignation and intrigue, saying, "I can do that, but it's going to take some money."

I chuckled lightly, remarking, "You seem to have lost some tonight. Would you like a chance to earn it back?"

He nodded slowly, and with a friendly pat on his shoulder, I sealed our unspoken agreement.

--

It was early the following morning, and the cool air of dawn carried a whisper of promise as I clutched my guild identification close. In a shadowed alleyway just outside the imposing guild, a rugged man in a threadbare cloak had pressed the identification into my hand with a hurried urgency. His voice, gravelly from years of life's hardships, revealed that the item once belonged to a magician who had perished on a raid in a mysterious place called a dungeon—a term that resonated with both danger and intrigue, though its full meaning was lost on me. He explained that, though the relic should have been destroyed, it had been spared, and now I could employ its magic as long as I paid the fees.

I turned the identification over in my hands—a coin suspended from a simple chain, its surface etched with swirling magical markings that pulsed faintly in the early light. The inscription bore the name Reeda, a level twenty-nine magician, suggesting that in the eyes of the guild, I was now to assume his identity. A shiver of excitement mingled with apprehension ran through me as I resolved to avoid familiar faces, confident in my ability to navigate this subterfuge through experience earned in past infiltrations.

Determined to gather useful knowledge for my training, I set out for the guild—a vast, storied building with multiple courtyards that sprawled out like secret gardens behind sturdy walls. Inside the main reception, I unfurled a meticulously drawn map of the complex. The parchment detailed courtyards marked as training yards, interspersed with rooms dedicated to magical practice, and even revealed a surprising central location: a grand, ornate entrance to the dungeon. I paused, perplexed, as I recalled Reeda's fate in a dungeon raid; why would the guild maintain such a formidable gateway? The incongruity sparked a quiet curiosity that stirred my mind.

My next destination was the guild library, nestled in the attic at the top of a long, winding staircase. The stairway itself was lined with portraits of resolute figures clad in various armors, their eyes seeming to follow my ascent. Beneath my feet, a threadbare carpet—its colors faded from countless footsteps—stretched along the center of the stairs until I reached an open door. Beyond, a small, quiet room bathed in the soft glow of morning light revealed a solitary woman behind a desk, deeply absorbed in an ancient tome. Sparse chatter filled the background as a few patrons quietly perused the library's treasures: rows of sturdy desks flanked by tall, wooden shelves to which valuable books were chained, ensuring that these texts could be read only upon the desk. At the far end, behind sturdy, barred metal doors, more bookshelves hinted at further secrets locked away.

Eager to gain the librarian's attention, I made a deliberate, soft scuff of my shoe against the worn stone floor. The gentle sound echoed along the walls, drawing her gaze upward from the pages she held. Her eyes widened in a blend of surprise and measured curiosity as I greeted her pleasantly, "Good morning. I need to use the library for some research."

Her smile was shy yet professional as she replied, "Identification, please." I carefully removed the coin from the necklace and extended it toward her. With a graceful nod, she indicated a small, crystalline pedestal on her desk. Placing the coin on the crystal, I watched in awe as glowing text materialized in the air:

Reeda magician level 29: ¼ copper coin on the account.

Her voice, soft and matter-of-fact, broke the silent hum of the library, "You're quite low in funds—do you want to top it up?" Without hesitation, I produced ten copper coins from my pocket and watched as she deftly adjusted the crystal's display, the numerical value increasing before returning the guild identification to me. "Just to remind you of the rules," she intoned gently, "it's a quarter of a copper for every part of the day you spend in the library. The magic texts are on request only after you've paid, but the catalog is in the corner. Please keep quiet in here and no food or drink."

"Thank you," I replied gratefully, my voice resonating with relief as she returned to her book, though I could sense her eyes lingering on me as I moved away. Once free to explore, I began my search among the countless manuscripts and records for the information I needed.

A few hours later, the muted sounds of turning pages and distant footsteps gave way to the scratch of my quill as I recorded my findings in a worn book of life. I reviewed my notes with a quiet intensity:

(1) Where am I?

Town of Oakville in the kingdom of Neo-Nursia. Nestled at the southern edge of the realm, Oakville is one of the hundreds of small towns, governed by a mayor and a council of city counselors.

(2) Why is everybody so armored all the time?

A plethora of monstrous threats looms—dragons, orcs, and myriad creatures whose sole purpose seems to be the extinction of humanity. The land is a fantastical battleground of adventurers, and the relentless horde of orcs across the border is notorious for raiding towns. Even the cows, stubborn in their ways, seem to recoil at the mere thought of these marauders.

(3) How do I improve?

Practice, practice, and more practice. Every individual hones their craft continually—be it the barmaid refining her social grace, the warrior mastering combat, or the magician perfecting spells. The best way to learn combat is through experience: embarking on quests or venturing into the monster-infested dungeon, where each level presents fresh challenges and abundant resources.

I sighed softly at my summary, the weight of the new reality settling on me. I had also examined the catalog of magical spells available in the library; thousands of incantations sprawled before my eyes. The simplest spells began at level ten—far above my current reach. I knew then that the book I had purchased would have to be my guide until I could unlock even the most modest magical abilities.

The remainder of the afternoon melted away in the guild's magical training rooms, where the echo of incantations and the crackle of fire spells filled the space. Each burst of flame was accompanied by the sharp scent of burning herbs and the resonant pop of magical energy, creating an atmosphere of both boredom and relentless determination. Despite the monotony, my persistence drove me onward. As the evening deepened, I paused to check my stats:

Skill Table

  Name       Major    Level  XP to the next level  XP  Comment

Unarmed combat   Strength/Agility  0   100    11  Any fighting without weapons

Blunt weapon use  Strength/Agility  1   200   120  Use of a blunt weapon in combat

Trading       Charisma    0   100    32  Buying and selling items

Romantic       Charisma    0   100    48  -

Running        Strength/Agility  0   100    33  -

Gambling       Charisma    1   200    84  -

Shield Magic     Intelligence   2   300    150  Any type of shield magic

Domestic Magic    Intelligence   0   100    15  Useful for all type of work around the house

Fire magic      Intelligence   2   300    115  Any heat energy magic

I noted that I was at level two, so I added my 10 points to intelligence:

  Name:     Chris   Top Skill  Blunt weapon use

  Character Total Level    2

  Major     Strength    Fortitude   Agility

  Number     11      11     11

  Major     Intelligence   Charisma   Knowledge

  Number     25      16     10

  Minor     Shield   Magical Power  Stamina  Carry Limit

  Number     N/A     135     65   32

  Regen Sec    N/A     6     2.1   N/A

In that moment, as the echo of my footsteps mingled with the soft hum of magical energy and the quiet rustle of ancient pages, I realized that every piece of this complex puzzle—be it guild, dungeon, or identity—was a part of the grand tapestry of this fantastical world.