Maiz’s vision snapped into focus, tendrils of blackness playing at the corners of his eyes. He took another step, and the darkness receded, as did the pain throughout his body. His balance, which had been wavering before, was suddenly steady as always. It was a strange sensation, not any sort of pleasure, simply the absence of pain. He didn’t even feel any relief at the healing, just as if he had never been hurt at all. But more pressing was the sound filling the space he was now entering. A light, breathless, and somehow smooth laugh.

Maiz took a quick glance around him. He was in some sort of… sitting room. The only light was coming from a fire blazing in a fireplace to the right. It illuminated two beautiful, comfortable-looking chairs facing each other, made of wood and some unfamiliar, glossy fabric. The floor was some sort of dark wood, each plank fitted together perfectly with a level of craftsmanship Maiz had never seen before. Standing in front of the window was a tall, slender man as pale as Riala, but with black hair. He was wearing a long sleeved, buttoned shirt very different from Maiz’s own belted tunic. Maiz couldn’t see his face because his head was thrown back, slender white throat exposed as he laughed.

“Um, hello?” Maiz looked around for Riala, but she wasn’t in the room. In fact… “What happened to the portal?” Where Maiz had expected to see a black portal, perhaps set into a door frame, there was only plain wood wall.

“Hi!” The man said breathlessly in between laughs. “I’m sorry, it’s just… have you ever heard of an animal called a ‘frog?’”

Maiz frowned. A what?

“Or, how about a d-donkey?” At this the strange man doubled over in mirth. Maiz opened his mouth, intending to demand answers, but he closed it almost immediately. Something about this man was off-putting. Maiz decided that caution was his best option.

It took a few minutes for the man to stop laughing. Maiz spent the time looking around the room surreptitiously. On the surface it seemed like a small, sparse space, with the two chairs being the only furniture. However, Maiz could tell that the level of craftsmanship that went into the construction of the room was incredible. He had rarely seen buildings made of wood in Caelos, but those he had seen seemed like piles of planks and nails compared to the seamless carpentry of this place’s floor and walls. To say nothing of the wood itself: it was a dark red color, smooth with grain illuminated by the firelight.

“I’m sorry,” the man repeated, “why don’t we sit down?” He gestured at the two chairs, and then took a seat facing Maiz.

Hesitantly, Maiz stepped forward and sat in the other chair. Again, he almost asked the man who he was, and what was going on, but something held him back. He sank slightly into the chair, marvelling at its softness, and stared at the dark-haired man.

“Now then, I hope you’ve realized that you’re no longer in the trial. Congratulations, you’ve passed!” The man chuckled a little more. “You know, it’s been a thousand years or so since I’ve laughed like that, but hells if you didn’t look like a frog jumping around that tunnel!”

Maiz had a moment of confusion. I passed? Then he remembered what Riala had said. The reward for completing the trial. A personal interview with a god.

Maiz almost knocked over the chair as he sprang to his feet, then prostrated himself on the floor. He smacked his nose onto the ground in his haste, but he hardly noticed the pain. “M-my Lord.” He fumbled trying to think of an appropriate prayer. Oh please, don’t smite me, please please please… He almost said the words out loud, but luckily his throat went too dry to speak before he could. Almost involuntarily, a dozen stories of men who had seen a god or goddess and irritated them flashed through Maiz’s head. Those stories often had different morals, about humility or kindness or whatever else the author felt like teaching the reader, but they all ended the same way.

Before he could speak again, the man laughed once more. Maiz kept his eyes on the floor, but he listened intently to the man--the god--as he spoke. “You’re quick! I was fairly impressed with how you did in my trial, you know. But that’s the first half of this test. I have one question, before you get back up. If you answer correctly, then we’ll be discussing your duties as my champion. If not... well, let’s not worry about that just now.” That last sentence held a hint of predatory anticipation, but the god continued in his casual, conversational tone. “Who am I?”

Maiz had been wondering the same question in a corner of his mind since he’d realized what he was talking to. There were five male gods: Nomenadon, god of Names, Haddad, god of smiths and creation, Viselys, god of deception and chaos, Massahn, god of trials and monsters, and Ulion, god of darkness and corruption. Of course, their actual roles in the various mythologies were much more complicated than those names implied, but Maiz had always remembered the children’s book where he’d read first read the titles. Focus on the all-powerful entity standing in front of you, idiot.

Right. There were no physical descriptions of the gods, and they could change form at will. He could not rely on the god’s appearance to identify him. What can I use? What had the god said just now? He was impressed with how I did in his trial. Clearly, there was something irregular going on with the trial. Riala had said there would be several more challenges to complete before he would meet a god, yet suddenly he was there. Sweat began trickling down the sides of Maiz’s face as he lay face-down on the wooden floor, thinking furiously. The only sound in the room was a low crackle from the fire. Focus. This… god must have changed the trial somehow, or created one from whole cloth. If that was the case, then perhaps Maiz could use the trial to determine who the god was.

Maiz thought for a moment about the tests he had taken for the trial. He could not see how any of the challenges related to Intelligence, Dexterity, and Strength aligned with the domains of any god. Perhaps Lord Massahn, if only because Maiz had taken a test, but Maiz had no doubt that every god would have put him through some kind of trial. No. I’m thinking about this wrong. He said I did well. What did I do differently in the trial? He had performed decently on the Intelligence and Dexterity tests, but he hadn’t really done anything special in either of them. Any person with enough attribute points could have done the same thing. Even with the Strength test, Maiz hadn’t done anything particularly impressive. He’d basically exploited a flaw in the trial’s design to cheat his way through. In fact, that was all Maiz had really done. Cheat. Starting--

--with when he’d lied. His entire success had been predicated on his decision to lie to Riala. He’d cheated to get her help to cheat more. He’d won by being deceptive.

“Lord Viselys.” The words flew out of Maiz’s mouth, and he instinctively cowered as he said them. Idiot! He’d intended to wait, to consider more, to think.

“That’s correct.” The words should have been a relief to Maiz, but he cowered even more as he heard them. The man’s smooth tenor suddenly had that predatory edge again, even stronger, and Maiz felt his blood run cold at the sound of it. "But it's only half the answer."

What? What did he mean? Maiz had answered correctly, after all. The test had been to see if he could lie and cheat, just like Viselys did in the stories. Maiz still felt bad about it, though. He’d had to to lie to…

Maiz’s throat choked up. He knew the answer, but even as his tears hit the floor below him he couldn’t speak.

“Say it, boy.” Satisfaction, even glee. Why does this god take pleasure in hurting me?

“You are Riala’s father. You created her.”

There was a moment of silence. Maiz felt numb. She lied to me. She was lying to me the entire time I knew her.

“Get up.”

Maiz rose, tears now streaming down his face. The light of the fire stung his eyes a bit, but he could not take his eyes off of the man before him. Now Viselys had hair somewhere between the color of a bruise and the outside of a fig. His eyes glowed the same shade of purple, shining brightly as they looked at Maiz. He was handsome, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw. His clothing hadn't changed, and neither had his height. He was sitting back in the chair, looking at Maiz with a mild disdain coloring his features. His arms were crossed, and Maiz could see the long fingers of his right hand terminating in neatly trimmed fingernails. Aside from the glowing eyes and the strange color of his skin and hair, he could have been a normal man.

“I would ask why you’re crying, but I know. My peers don’t really understand people, not even him. He just Names them, circumscribes their lives, and leaves them to their own devices. But I know what drives people, what makes them lie. A lonely boy, angry and confused decides that he’ll do anything to avenge his father.” Now the god frowned, and the light in his eyes seemed to darken somehow. “And a girl, left alone with no one to talk to for a thousand years, meets him. She feels sorry for him, and ruins her father’s plans.”

Maiz stared at the deity. He had a mild expression of annoyance on his face, which somehow seemed more terrifying than anything else Maiz had ever seen in his life. It was hard to quantify what made the expression so blood-curdling, but Maiz thought it was the sense of absolute power behind the god’s glowing eyes. This being had never failed to get what it wanted, and it never would. But what is he talking about? Maiz still felt a strange pain at the realization that Riala had been playing him the entire time. She probably thought that my story was pathetic. He remembered how he had come up with his plan to defeat the Strength trial in order to help her, and he felt a spike of shame and embarrassment. He’d been tricked.

“Ah well,” Viselys sighed, and the sense of power faded from his expression as he gestured at the behind Maiz. He himself turned to sit down. “Luckily, you are perfect for this job. The rest of the trial was just a formality.*

Maiz sat. His legs had been feeling wobbly, so it was a relief to once again sink into the ornate chair. He gripped the armrest, and noticed that his hands were shaking slightly.

“You can speak now, Maiz. After all, I have an offer to make you!”

Hm. Maiz had an idea. It was risky perhaps, but he had the evidence of a hundred stories that, among all of the gods, this one appreciated tenacity. ”M-my Lord. I intend no disrespect, but will you swear to me that you are, indeed Lord Viselys? I o-only ask so that I might better serve and honor you.”

As Maiz had expected, the god looked pleased. Delighted, even. “Very good, young man. Yes, I am Lord Viselys, I swear upon my Name and power.” That oath was enough for Maiz. Anyone who falsely invoked the name of a god in an oath like that would not live to speak the final word. But Viselys was continuing. “That was clever, and shows more of that… unconventional thinking you displayed in my trial. In fact, with what else you've done, I think it’s enough to earn you a small boon from me! I’ll tell you what it is at the end of this discussion.” The god paused, looking expectantly at Maiz.

“Th-thank you, Lord Viselys.”

“Yes, yes. Now then, the offer. Will you become my shoe-shiner?”

What? Maiz gaped at the god for a moment, then attempted to answer. He looked at the god's shoes. They were black leather, like the boots that he himself wore. Maiz had never seen such pristine footwear in his life. “Uh, I--”

He cut off as Viselys, the Lord of Chaos, the original source of ingenuity, doubled over in laughter. “You know,” he choked, “that wasn’t even a particularly good joke, but it doesn’t matter.” He let out another burst of mirth. “You humans have the most priceless looks whenever a god says something ridiculous. Back in the day, when my peers and I were still young in this world, I appeared to some of their priests. Those fools weren’t as smart as you, and I got them to write the silliest things in those books of theirs.” He flashed a smile. “For a while, everyone spent every other week having drinking contests. Pity they caught on.”

Maiz’s eyebrows rose involuntary. He’d read a similar story about Viselys as a child, but in that version, the god had told the priests to do things like run up and down hills and dress up animals in priestly-robes. The actual story sounded considerably more entertaining.

“Right then, no jokes this time. Will you be my Champion?” The god’s voice held an edge of humor, but Maiz knew the question was serious. No god, not even this one, could lie. It was a restriction Nomenadon had placed on them, and it was the reason for Viselys’ legendary hatred for the god of Names.

“Yes.” It felt strange to commit so easily to an agreement with a god: after all, there were tales upon tales of fools doing just that and paying for it, but Maiz knew what he wanted.

“Good! I will give you power, and you will do whatever I or my representatives tell you to do. Do those terms sound agreeable? If they aren't, say so. I promise I will not try to harm you directly for anything you say or out of spite.”

Hm. Maiz was feeling surprisingly calm about the entire experience at this point. That promise is pretty secure. Should he ask for more?

“With respect, Lord Viselys, it doesn’t really matter whether or not I like your terms. I want your power, and I have little to give you in return besides my service. I will say that I am more likely to be motivated to accomplish tasks that align with my own motives.”

“Hah! You’re a smart boy. Smarter than I’d realized, even.” The god seemed… proud? His white teeth gleamed at Maiz as he nodded. “You’re completely correct. If you’d tried to bargain with me, I would have laughed in your face.” His long finger tapped his chin in thought. "Well, more than I already have, I mean." Viselys stood up, purple eyes flashing. “All right, it’s time to make some history!”

With that, the tall entity took two strides forward and flicked Maiz in the forehead. Maiz tensed, half-expecting a flash of unbearable agony as divine power coursed through his body. Instead, his vision blurred for a moment, and his forehead stung. Almost immediately, Maiz opened his Name Sheet and saw what he had been expecting. Below his name was the prompt New Title Options Available. Selecting the prompt, Maiz saw the gift the god had given him.

Title Options:

Seeker (Current Title)- Seekers are applicants in the Gods’ Trial. They must prove their skill with no special abilities or talents.

+4 to Attributes of Choice per rank

Nameless- The Nameless is the God-Chosen of Viselys. This is a unique title, and can only be granted by Viselys to a Chosen. The Nameless is granted freedom from many of the restrictions faced by other humans, but at a price.

+4 to Attributes of Choice per rank

Starting Talent-The Mask (Passive ability which allows the Nameless to ignore title restriction for all skills, talents and spells. However, the Nameless is unable to use divine guidance for any skill, talent, or spell. Whenever the Nameless learns a title-restricted skill, talent or spell, the Nameless may change his/her displayed title to the title associated with that skill, talent or spell. The Mask ability is negated if another sentient, non-divine creature comprehends the Nameless’ identity. Note: Benefits/drawbacks of talent change as rank increases).

Assign Title? All title choices cannot be switched.

Maiz let out an audible gasp. “M-my lord, this says that I can… change the title I display?”

Viselys, already back in his chair, laughed again. Maiz probably should have been annoyed of the god’s laugh by now, but somehow it simply sounded right. As if the sound of the smooth chuckles were somehow integral to the fabric of the universe. “Yes, yes. It looks fun, doesn’t it? My champion clearly has the best powers of any of the God-Chosen.”

Maiz was floored. Everything about the Mask ability seemed impossible. He had been surprised and amazed to read the part about ignoring title restrictions for skills, but being able to change the title above his head? That was… disturbing. No matter what else was uncertain about a person, if they showed you their title, you knew that it was true. Keeping one’s title status open was considered a sign of honesty, and it was respected as such. There were a thousand rituals, from duels to marriages, which involved showing one’s title. To be able to display a different title than the one you actually had was unheard of, and absolutely insane. This is power.

Maiz thought about what it would mean to be able to learn any skill, and to display any title he wanted to whomever he wanted. Many titles, especially combat titles, were powerful in specific ways, but limited in others. Being able to cover the weaknesses of one title with the strengths of another had the potential to make him the most powerful mortal in the world one day. Being able to change his title at will could make him one of the most dangerous people in the world long before that. However, Maiz still had one question.

“My lord, forgive me, but what does this mean when it says that 'the Mask ability is negated if a sentient being comprehends my identity?'” It sounded rather esoteric to Maiz. How could this ability quantify what constituted his ‘identity?’

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out! I’ll give you a hint, though: there’s a reason why you’re called the Nameless. I wouldn’t let anyone know about your title or status as my champion if I were you.” The god gave Maiz a wink, a much more obvious gesture with glowing eyes. “Now then, before you accept my offer, I will tell you about my first task for you. Very soon, a major power will be contesting the area where you live. Do what you want while the struggle is going on, but afterwards I want you to join the losing side and help their counterattack succeed. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully! Your liason can answer your questions about it later.”

The god sent a questioning look towards Maiz, and Maiz gave him a flustered nod. He needed this power. He would do whatever it took to get it. “Excellent. Now then, accept your title, and bind yourself to me. And then I’ll give you a present!”

The god gave Maiz a smile which made him somehow uncomfortable. Viselys’ task sounded intimidating. What exactly was a ‘major power’ in Maiz’s area? Normally he would assume that meant that two noble houses would be engaging in a minor war, but considering the source, it was likely that the conflict would be on a larger scale. Perhaps even as much as the entire kingdom could be in some sort of conflict soon. And Maiz would be expected to play a part in it. Well, I am going to be a God-Chosen. A legend. The thought was surreal. But even as he pondered what his future held for him, Maiz focused on the prompt to assign his title, selecting the Nameless title. A line of text appeared across his vision. Unlike every other prompt he had received, this one was not spectral green. Instead, it was a translucent purple. The same color as the eyes of the god before him.

You have gained the title ‘Nameless’

You have gained the bonus title ‘God-Chosen of Viselys’

You have unspent attribute points to assign

Viselys nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Now, the gift. You have done me a small service, by making me laugh more than I have in a long time. I will give you an equally small gift in return.” The god’s eyes flashed and he grinned. Maiz had the sense that he was playing a part in some sort of trick. “You may choose to learn one of three talents. Your options are ‘Flaming Strike,’ ‘Minor Suggestion,’ or ‘Bind Undead.’”

That’s an interesting gift… wait, those talent names sounded familiar. They’re the starting talents for the three titles I had the option to choose before! Spellsword, Controller, and Dreadlord. Each was apparently an incredibly powerful and rare title, and learning a talent from one would undoubtedly be a blessing. He would also be able to display his title as that of whichever talent he chose, which could be extremely useful.

But which one should that be? Each talent was interesting in its own way, and each was incredibly powerful in the right circumstances. More importantly, the talent he chose would effectively decide what his title would be to the rest of the world once he returned--Father Gavrel would be taking down his title once the 'ritual' was complete, and he would need to show him whatever title he recieved here. That meant that Deathlord wasn't a real option. According to what Riala had said, choosing to display Dreadlord as his title would land him in trouble with many priesthoods. Though the clergy of Nomenadon did not judge such things, Maiz did not want to deal with the stigma of becoming a death mage in a major city, and where would he even find armies of undead to make the title useful?

Controller was... interesting. It seemed fitting for him somehow, considering his new status as Viselys' champion, and he could see the appeal of the ability too. He could use Minor Suggestion to gain access to new abilities, and perhaps even manipulate his way into something compromising for the Sharir. Tempting, but there was a problem. When he returned and Father Gavrel asked for his title, what would he do? Riala had said he would have trouble using a spell like Minor Suggestion on people higher ranked than he was, and if Father Gavrel saw that he was a Controller... actually, Maiz had no idea what would happen. But he had a feeling that he would either be lynched as a mind mage or put to work by the Sharir--he wasn't sure which would be worse. Maybe he could have tried to slip past the old priest somehow, but it was a terrifying chance, and there was another way.

The military. If he had a combat title, he would be forced to train in the nearby military compound before becoming a bonded soldier for the Sharir. During his training period, he would be able to take advantage of the military’s resources to learn more spells and skills, as well as learn about combat. It would be his best chance of gaining enough power to hurt the Sharir. There was only one option.

“I will learn ‘Flaming Strike,’ my Lord, and I thank you for the boon.” Ugh, my formal speaking is terrible.

“Ah,” Viselys replied, a hint of something strange in his voice. The slight inflection sent a shiver through Maiz's heart, and he wondered for an instant if he'd done something very, very wrong. The god stood again and... waved his hand in Maiz's direction. Suddenly Maiz knew how to perform Flaming Strike. It was a strange feeling.

“There you go. I’m getting bored, so I think that we’ll end this discussion now. Good luck, my champion. I hope that you stay alive.” The god stood, sighing. “A new Age has be--”

Maiz didn’t hear the rest of the god’s words as the world went black and all sound ceased.