Jasper stepped out into the night, slouching to avoid jarring his injured arm.

The few bandits who were awake waved to him– they were a quiet lot, the night-watchmen, mostly older men like Dessim who kept to themselves and played cards. This was– as far as Jasper remembered– the first time they’d acknowledged his existence.

He was pleasantly surprised to find a bowl of cold stew waiting for him at his door. There were even chunks of actual meat in it. Clearly, his lot in life was moving up.

Pushing into his room, Jasper sat on his bed and ate all but a morsel of the stew in seconds. It wasn’t hot, and it wasn’t good, and there wasn’t any spoon, but gods, he was hungry. The taste of actual meat after days without was heaven, gristly though it was. But when only a chunk of the stringy beef remained, he forced himself to stop. Setting the remains by one of the crevices where rats hid, Jasper poured some of the witch’s concoction down into the bowl. Sitting back onto his bed with a sigh, he waited.

It wasn’t long before his poison-taster arrived. The rat’s nose twitched suspiciously as it leaned over the edge of the bowl, dipping its whiskers into the brew. It lapped it up, and Jasper watched until he was satisfied the test subject wasn’t about to drop dead.

Lifting the teapot to his mouth, he drank, half-hot tea pouring down his chin. It tasted peppery and herbal– there was a suggestion of mint and licorice. With each gulp, some kind of warmth gathered at his wound, washing away the lingering pain and giving him back a little motion in his injured arm.

When he stopped and peeled the bandages away, the injury was gone. All that remained was a patch of pink, shiny-new skin.

Digging into his pockets, Jasper took out the coins and the die.

Two different secrets…

Jasper turned the coins over in his hand. They were oddly old, for something that had popped into existence a second ago. The rough edges were grimy and laden with dirt. They weren’t perfect circles, but roughly cut with clear sides.

Imprinted on each coin was an image of a tree on the face, and on the tails side, a serpent.

As for the die, it was plastic, familiar, almost comforting. The only strange thing was the fact that it glowed and buzzed in his hand, pulsing with an energy akin to a heartbeat. It definitely hadn’t done that before…

Maybe some magic had rubbed off on the die, when it followed him between worlds.

The witch had known he was an outsider somehow. Maybe he was the same way, bleeding off magic without realizing it…

Maybe he was radioactive.

Grimacing at that last thought, Jasper shoved the die into his pocket, and pushed the coins under his straw mattress.

But he didn’t lie down.

With his arm healed, Jasper had no excuses. He picked a long, gray-black cloak off the edge of his bed, fixing it around his shoulders. He’d traded half his meals for three days just to get it.

Then, balancing atop his bed, he untied one edge of the tarp that served as a roof. Grasping the rough, uneven bricks, Jasper climbed his way up out of the tower and balanced on the edge of the broken walls, one leg swung over the side.

He was above the castle now, but not far above. The roof was only three or four feet below him. He went down slowly, careful not to set his full weight on the tiles before he was sure they’d carry him…

The wind howled across the castle rooftops. In the dark, the shape of the turrets and towers made the ancient fort look hunchbacked and strange. Gargoyles peered out from the edges of the gutters, and pigeons roosted at their feet.

Jasper shivered. He was exhausted, and this was another risk in a day where his life seemed constantly in danger– but he had to.

This was how he was going to train in stealth.

He moved between the gargoyles, wrapping his cloak around his body until he seemed like part of the stone; below, the night-watchers went on with their game, unawares. The brisk wind slid through his hair and tossed feather-light spots of thin rain against his face.

Jasper waited…

Jasper watched…

Until the rain was growing harsher and he had to retreat for the night. He sealed the tarp-roof behind him as the rain built to a drumbeat against the surface, dripping through the cracks and onto the stone floor. Sinking into his bed, Jasper slept the sleep of the damned…

— — —

The next day, Jasper found he had become a hero. People welcomed him around the breakfast cookfire, called him the raptor-slayer, clapped him on the back and inspected his wound and asked what sorcery the witch had done to heal it so well.

He was pulled into the bandits’ conversation, and not allowed to leave– but for once Jasper found he didn’t mind it so much. The tenor had changed. Where before he was a curiosity, forced to entertain them by unspoken threat, now…

Now he was one of them.

And he got meat in his bowl again. Privilege of saving the cook’s life, Jasper guessed.

By the end of the day, his ragged t-shirt had been stitched up across the shoulder with a pattern of black and red diamonds. Thicker than the machine-spun fabric beneath, the patch looked like an epaulet, bearing his rank of fool.

That night, he found himself wondering what he was doing as he sat on the roof, cowled in darkness. If he really planned to escape…

That night, two more iron coins fell from the sky.

— — —

It was two days later, out foraging, when Jasper finally got the Stealth skill he was looking for. He had been creeping up on a rabbit he’d spotted, moving cautiously, placing his feet so that they wouldn’t crush any fragile twigs and sliding ever-so-slowly closer…

The wind changed.

The rabbit’s nose twitched.

Jasper lunged, grasped it by the flanks, and yelled in frustration as the slippery little gray-furred beast kicked out and squirmed through his fingers. As it shot away, he noticed a little white square hanging in his vision.

The Great God Maerisk Blesses You

Skill ‘Hidden Movement’ is now Level 3.

There are two kinds of righteous action; that which can be done by daylight, and that which must remain hidden.

He smiled, despite the faceful of leaves and mud he’d gotten out of the endeavor. Three levels in one…

Skills had to build up in secret then; they were rising all the time in the background, but didn’t necessarily appear until a breaking point was reached. Maybe that was why his Performance - already level 9 - rose so rapidly. Constant pressure to perform well…

He shook himself off and stood back up to find Dessim a few feet away, holding the rabbit in his hands with a greasy, two-toothed grin.

Life was good.

That night, Jasper didn’t bother practicing his stealth on the rooftops; sleep was calling his name, and the tower-top room felt far less cold, hostile, and alien than it had when he first arrived. When the coins fell out of the sky and rattled on the floor, he just rolled over and lazily scooped them beneath his mattress with the rest.

— — —

The finale of the War Beneath the Stars was a roaring success.

The entire bandit camp was on their feet howling in victory as the black knight stumbled to the camp’s ancient well and hurled his dark master, the evil sorcerer, down into the pit. Jasper had rigged up a net below to catch the actor– but his cry of terror was very much real, since Jasper hadn’t bothered to tell him that.

The audience fell silent as the white knight lifted his father’s helm aside, revealing the ghoulish face Jasper had helped create with mud and sticks for makeup…

And as the show ended, Jasper took to the stage with the rest, bowing to thunderous applause. Even the Big Dog was watching, and Jasper could see a faint smile on the man’s grim face.

Yes, life was good.

Jasper felt like he was floating on air as he joked and laughed and ate with the actors and the audience, soaking in the glory of his achievement; everyone here wanted to talk to him, to learn what performance he’d be putting on next. Jasper thought Tolkein was his best bet, but he kept things mysterious, knowing better than to give away the game.

It felt like he had a place in the world…

And he lingered maybe a few minutes too long. He was just downing his fourth tankard of ale– and they’d broken out the good stuff, not the watered-down grog– when there was a ringing sound.

Everything paused as two iron coins dropped out of the sky and rattled across the table where they sat. One of them tumbled to a wobbling halt in front of Jasper. The other coin kept on going, rolling down the length of the table, only for the Big Dog’s hand to clap down and catch it.

Jasper winced.

The look on the man’s face was inscrutable. Beneath his salt-and-pepper beard and his heavy, furrowed brow, Jasper thought he was surprised, but there was no being certain. The Big Dog had, as best as Jasper knew, none of the emotions lesser men bothered with.

The bandit chief lifted the coin up to the light. It seemed to fascinate him.

“Knew he was magic…” Tyben muttered in the background.

Jasper would have gladly strangled him, just then. He very much considered it. “I…” He was trying to parse some way out of this– but the silence was deafening.

“Is this the first time?” The Big Dog asked.

“No.” Jasper admitted. “I have no idea where they come from.” He added, defensively.

“I do. Gather them up, and come with me.”

— — —

When Jasper returned, the Big Dog was waiting at the gates of the castle proper. For some reason, nobody was allowed within– Jasper’s tower was connected, but all the doors leading in were sealed, leaving only the exterior entrance at the tower’s base.

“Never venture inside without me. There are too many old things lurking…” With that cryptic warning, the chief pushed open the doors. They crackled and creaked on their hinges, dust groaning out on a stale, damp wind as the entrance yawned open.

Inside…

It was grand and ruined and sad. Ancient portraits had been torn down to strips of canvas hanging from the frames. Fire had left claw-marks of ash climbing up the walls. The rooms they passed as Big Dog led the way deeper were full of charred cinders and strange, unearthly lights– pale and ghostly fires that shivered in the air for a moment before flickering out.

“What happened here?” Jasper asked, pausing to stare. The shadows seemed wrong– too thick, almost liquid where they clung to the walls like a dripping tarry blackness.

“A demigod was slain.” The Big Dog rumbled. Jasper waited a beat, but no more explanation was given.

He was led to a chapel, deep within the castle walls. As they walked the gloom gathered about them, darkness closing in. Jasper felt something prickling at the back of his neck, a dull awareness of being watched, of being followed…

There was a rasp as the Big Dog drew his sword.

The chapel was untouched by flame. Rows of pews stood facing a lone altar. On the wall behind that altar, the stone had been carved into a depiction of four gods. The highest of them bore a crown and a sword; beside him was a goddess who carried an olive branch. Beneath them, clearly lesser gods, were a robed old man surrounded by a halo of strange runes, and a noble youth who stood beneath a ribbon of bells held aloft by two doves.

“Go place your hand on the altar, boy…”

Nervously, Jasper advanced. His every step echoed through the chapel. Here, and only here, there was no ruin or destruction. Everything was preserved beneath a shroud of dust.

He set his hand upon the stone.

Jasper Stone

Age – 0

Race – Outsider

Duty - The Fool

Mana Alignment – Unknown

War – Unattuned

Peace – Unattuned

Candle – Unattuned

Bell – [ Cutting Words ]

Blessings – The Forefather, the Child, the Knucklebones.

And blinked.

It was a completely different window than the one he’d seen before.