I looked out over the most beautiful field of blooms that I had ever seen in my life. Of course, I might have been prejudiced since this particular field wasn’t just eye candy, but might well save lives. I drug Ms. Wilkinson along and explained what needed to happen, and with no little bit of incredulity, she nevertheless set out to pull a large group together to GATHER all the Lady’s Heart we could find. Mixed in with the Lady’s Heart were the blue blossoms of the Star King. I made sure that all the GATHERers picked up some gloves from the kitchen and explained that the leaves were poisonous. I had them collect them, anyway, poison might come in handy.

Next, I rounded up the Doctor, some priests and a group of nuns who had migrated over from St. Mary’s Cathedral (from my home town, it had landed about half a mile away), and all the kitchen staff. The head chef assured me that the hotel was abundantly supplied with sterno for keeping chafing dishes warm that they could use to boil the herbs down for a tincture. The doctor briefly presented a problem, because he didn’t believe me when I described Lady’s healing properties, and outright refused to believe that magic even existed I was more than pleased to employ my first CLASS SPELL: VERIFY and used that to convince him that not only did magic now exist, but that everything I told him was true.

After that, he was my most enthusiastic supporter in the endeavor, especially when I suggested that it might be possible for him to unlock the ALCHEMIST SKILL while he tried making tinctures of the blossoms. I also told him I wanted the strongest concentration of the Star King leaves he could manage. As thick as possible so that we could coat weapons with it. He gave me a shocked look at that, but didn’t argue. He put his head together with the chef, who gathered his staff and they all headed off to the kitchens to brew potions, make poison, and lunch.

None of the people had eaten all day, after all. If they could manage to unlock something in the process, it was possible that the meal would boost everyone’s regeneration for a while as well as keeping us all on our feet.

My earlier depression had faded to a bad dream. I wasn’t completely convinced that we weren’t royally fucked, mind you, but any time I had a plan, I was happy.

The next item on the agenda was how to arm everyone who could fight and shore up the hotel’s defenses. In that regard, we were extremely lucky, the two stories that made up the ground floor had long, narrow windows too small for anything big to come through. If we could find some plywood or something—maybe chop up some tables or doors—we might be able to block those and the front doors off. There were two large interior rooms on the ground floor without any windows that were used for conventions or banquets, and we could fortify those as a last ditch defense for the non-combatants. As an added benefit, they could only be reached through the hall that exited from the lobby between two restaurants, then some shops and the clinic on one end and a bare hall that ran the width of the hotel that contained the employee entrance and emergency exits, which were solid metal. Of the three, only the employee entrance had an outside handle, and it could be locked from the inside. There was a service elevator in the back hallway, but the cars were on the ground floor and by that time even the emergency power had run out.

Ms. Wilkinson pointed out the Facility Manager, a gruff looking type in a blue maintenance uniform, and I was just talking to him about what materials he might have on hand to build up our defenses when a kid wearing a distinctive orange apron butted in.

“I come over from the Home Depot,” he said, “I don’t know how, but when all the shaking quit, we wasn’t in Amberline anymore, we’re right over behind the hotel, now.”

“Kid, you may have just saved our lives!” I rounded up as many able-bodied men as I could and sent them off to the Home Depot in search of plywood, tools, and anything that could be used as an improvised weapon. Things were looking up.

The next item on the agenda was walking people through the CHARACTER CREATION process. Earlier, before I fully understood what we might be facing, I’d instructed everyone to hold off on assigning their AVAILABLE STATISTIC points until they had a good chance to look through their class choices. I expected this process to take quite a while, and I was shocked when I heard that most of them had very few choices. Just general ones: Warrior, Priest, Archer and the like. I guess it made sense that there was a trunchated selection, since SCHEMA had waived the requirements for reaching LEVEL 1 and none of them had even a single EXPERIENCE point.

The kid and I put our heads together and came up with a plan. To be fair, the plan was mostly his, but it made sense. While it would be nice if everyone could fully explore their options and distribute their points for maximum effect based on their preferred CLASS, we had to survive first. It’s all well and good if you want to be a BARD (some type of musician character, the kid explained), but today you had to have the STATISTICS necessary to keep yourself and everyone around you in the land of the living.

We came up with two groups. We identified those who were either willing or could be drafted as FIGHTER characters, and those who couldn’t. These we labeled SUPPORT characters. We had everyone who didn’t know what CLASS they wanted to choose, or were sure that they didn’t want a FIGHTER or traditional SUPPORT CLASS character to hold off on their CLASS selection. It ultimately didn't matter what CLASS they chose, as long as they had the STATS to do what needed to be done. Those who were satisfied with FIGHTER characters, the WARRIORs, the ARCHERs, and the three hotel security guards who were offered the KNIGHT CLASS, to go ahead and lock those in.

Thank God that SCHEMA had optimized their CHARACTER CREATION rolls and everyone got an 8 on every roll. When I had looked at my CHARACTER SHEET at the end of the BEGINNER TUTORIAL, I’d noticed that it had a lot more information on it than before. Next to each STATISTIC it had something called a MODIFIER. The kid explained that these gave an extra boost or some kind of negative effect to that STATISTIC’s effects. It seemed like there was an average that got a zero modifier, like my CHARISMA and LUCK STATs, and some that got plus modifiers, like my STRENGTH, CONSTITUTION, DEXTERITY, and INTELLIGENCE STATs, and some that got negative ones, like my WILLPOWER, which had once been my major STAT, but since I lost all possibility to use my SPIRIT POOL, I’d left at 8, which gave it a - 1 MODIFIER.

The kid explained that our STRENGTH MODIFIER of + 3 (the Kid also had a 15 STRENGTH. In fact, his rolls had come out a lot better than mine, and he didn’t have anything in the negatives. I really tried not to be jealous) gave us a + 3 to every hit with a melee weapon and our + 3 DEXTERITY MODIFIER gave us a + 3 to all damage done by ranged weapons.

"What does that mean in English?" I asked.

"Okay, SCHEMA says that the mobs that we'll be facing are all in the LEVEL 0 to 3 range. In practical terms, I expect the marjority of them to be LEVEL zero like we were at the start of the BEGINNER TUTORIAL. That means they'll have only one point in every STAT. For us, that meant 10 LIFE points, but for them, it depends on what kind of mob they are. Humans, or humanoids, I should say, usually get better dice to roll their STAT POINTs with. We get D8s, but they'll probably only get D4s. Level 0s probably won't have but 3 LIFE points total, maybe less. That means that even if we hit them with our weakest shots, we should still one-shot them. LEVEL 1s won't be much better, maybe 8 points total, meaning we could conceivably take them out in one or two shots. LEVEL 3s might be a problem, depending on their size and all, but none of them should pose that big of a threat."

I looked at him skeptically, "do you not remember the rats? Someone once said that quality may beat quantity, but if the quantity is big enough, it has a quality all its own. If there's enough of them, it doesn't matter how much LIFE they have, they can still overwhelm us."

"That's why we need to make sure that every FIGHTER has at least a + 1 to hit and no minus physical stats. If they had minus stats, they could stab them all they wanted and none of their hits would even land."

I didn't like the sound of that at all. "That doesn't even make any sense, no matter where you are, a knife is still a knife, if you stick something with it, it'll cut."

"Unless they have armor," the kid answered with that look he got when he was trying to use words small enough for even a moron to understand, "If all you have is a knife and you're squaring off with a tank, you can hit it all day long and at best you might scratch the paint."

It still didn't quite make sense to me, but I knew I didn't have enough experience with these kinds of things to be able to decide, so I had to trust that the kid's way would work. We really didn't have any other options. I dropped it and took up the pages where we'd written down our STATs and worked up the ones for everyone else.

The kid had a 16 in DEXTERITY, since he hoped to concentrate on bows, but apparently my 15 rounded up, somehow, so I could match him. He’d chosen the SCOUT CLASS, saying that in his previous gaming experience, it often lead to being a RANGER or SNIPER CLASS that dealt damage from a distance and concentrated on that and STEALTH.

Rob’s CHARACTER SHEET:

Spoiler: Spoiler

MENU

CHARACTER

CLASS

SKILLS

ABILITIES

SPELLS

INVENTORY

CRAFTING

JOURNAL

MAP

CONTACTS

TOOLS

TIER 1 INFORMATION

GENERAL

SPECIFIC

MODFIER/RESTRICTION

STATISTIC

NAME:

ROB COLDITZ

RACE:

HUMAN

-1

STRENGTH

GENDER:

MALE

+1

STRENGTH

AGE:

16

+1

LUCK

DEITY:

ST. SEBASTIAN

+1

DEXTERITY

TITLE(S):

TIER 2 INFORMATION

CLASS:

SCOUT

LEVEL:

1

XP:

100

NEXT LEVEL:

250

TIER 3 INFORMATION

POOL:

AVAILABLE:

TOTAL:

RATE PER

SECONDS TO REGENERATE

LIFE:

132

132

1

10

STAMINA:

108

108

1

10

MANA:

57

57

1

20

SPIRIT:

42

42

1

20

TIER 4 INFORMATION

STATISTIC:

NUMBER:

MODIFIER:

STRENGTH:

15

+ 3

CONSTITUTION:

15

+ 3

DEXTERITY:

16

+ 3

INTELLIGENCE:

12

+ 1

WILLPOWER:

10

+ 0

CHARISMA:

10

+ 0

LUCK:

10

+ 0

AVAILABLE:

0

Once we decided on the best way to distribute the points, we divided everyone but the children into two main groups: FIGHERS and SUPPORT characters. We walked them through the CHARACTER CREATION insisting that they let us decide how to distribute their points. I had to use VERIFY to convince them that we weren’t trying to cheat them for our own benefit, and that it was the best thing we could think of to ensure everyone’s survival, but after we got past that hump, things went pretty smoothly.

Since nobody had been able to come up with any makeshift ranged weapon ideas, we optimized all the FIGHTER classes for a melee build with a + 1 MODIFIER for extra damage. We also made sure that everyone, regardless of whether they were SUPPORT or FIGHTER characters, had a + 1 to CONSTITUTION. We were under no illusions that we would be able to create a mighty victorious army in the rapidly dwindling time we had left before Phase Two Relocation began, we just wanted to keep as many of them alive as possible.

The SUPPORT characters were divided into two main camps. Though I tried with some of the people I felt sure would be MANA USERs, I couldn’t figure out any way to release their MANA POOLs. Besides, we didn’t have any SPELL BOOKs just lying around. Still, the way SCHEMA rewarded effort, I believed that there was a good chance that some of them might surprise us and manage to pop off a SPELL before the fight was over. That group we optimized for a MANA USER build by making INTELLIGENCE their other + 1 STAT. I wanted to make WILLPOWER their 10 score, but the kid convinced me that DEXTERITY deserved that, since it had a + 0 MODIFIER at 10, he explained they wouldn’t be falling all over their own feet while running away or trying to drag a hurt FIGHTER to safety. We compromised with the SUPPORT CLASSes by putting their STRENGTH as their 8 (- 1) STAT and either INTELLIGENCE or WILLPOWER as their other 12, depending on how they were bent.

Of course, some people, especially among the teens in the crowd, had already chosen a CLASS and distributed their STAT points. Some of those still chose FIGHTER or SUPPORT CLASSES and their STAT distribution didn’t totally suck. Some really messed up, at least as far as surviving the night went, in my opinion, but we’d try our best to keep them alive, anyway.

There’s always at least one in every group, isn’t’ there?

This is what most everyone’s CHARACTER SHEETS should have looked like:

Spoiler: Spoiler

FIGHTER

SUPPORT

POOL

AVAILABLE

TOTAL

POOL:

AVAILABLE

TOTAL

LIFE:

19

19

LIFE:

17

17

STAMINA:

17

17

STAMINA:

14

14

MANA:

11

11

MANA:

15 (11)

15 (11)

SPIRIT:

9

9

SPIRIT:

11 (15)

11 (15)

STRENGTH

12 + 1

STRENGTH

8 - 1

CONSTITUTION

12 + 1

CONSTITUTION

12 + 1

DEXTERTITY

10 + 0

DEXTERITY

10 + 0

INTELLIGENCE

8 - 1

INTELLIGENCE

12 (5) + 1 (- 3)

WILLPOWER

5 - 3

WILLPOWER

5 (12) - 3 (+ 1)

CHARISMA

1 - 5

CHARISMA

1 - 5

LUCK

1 - 5

LUCK

1 - 5

We couldn’t see their CHARACTER SHEETs, but when they told me their POOL numbers, any residual disappointment in my own disappeared. There wasn’t a person in the whole bunch who had a POOL over 20 points and both the kid and my main POOLS were in the triple digits.

The Home Depot team came back trundling carts with plywood for the windows and all the demo battery operated saws and drills that still had charges left, along with some hand saws, hammers, screwdrivers, nails, and screws. The guy who worked there found a bunch of wood axes and steel table legs for clubs and brought all that they could carry and went back with more people for a second trip.

In the meanwhile, we worked with the Maintenance workers to board over all the windows, and after everyone had returned from any trips abroad, we boarded up the doors and built a series of barricades in the long hallway as fall-back points. There was a metal employee door at the far end of the hall, and we put handwritten signs on the plywood-covered main doors informing anyone to go to the employee entrance and drew a little map, then we posted a couple of teenagers there to act as doormen if anyone came late to the party and needed to get in. Finally, we blocked off the stairwells to the upper floors; we knew we couldn’t defend the whole building, and we wanted to make sure nothing could come through any broken windows in the upper stories and ambush us from behind. We posted some more teenagers who wanted to fight at those barricades. Even if they got scared and ran, they’d at least be able to give us warning. In fact, I told them as much, that I didn’t want them to fight, I just wanted them to warn us if anything looked like it was going to be able to break through on our ass.

There were several ABILITY acquisitions among the crowd during this time, much to my relief.

The doctor, the priests and nuns, and their helpers who had been working on the potions and poisons had all gained the HERBALISM and DISTILlATION ABILITIES and the doctor and some of the others had also gained the ALCHEMY SKILL. Their healing potion wasn’t as potent as the ones the kid and I had forgotten in our INVENTORIES. When we tried them out on the broken limbs, concussions, and severe cuts, we discovered that they gave between 5 and 7 LIFE points apiece, depending on who’d mixed them. By repeated applications, we managed to bring all of our casualties back to full health. The doctor was amazed. He actually cried over all the patients he’d lost over the course of his practice. It wouldn't help to mention it now, but I gathered he wasn't a hotel doctor because he had been especially skilled.

“Look Doc,” I told him as I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him back into the darkened dishwasher area of the kitchen where they’d been mixing the potions, “You can’t do anything about that. The past is the past, but now you’ve got a chance to work actual, real-life miracles. We need you, we’re all depending on you to keep as many of the FIGHTERS alive as possible.”

“I don’t know how I can look at myself in the mirror,” he said, not meeting my eyes. He was one of those guys who had rounded shoulders and a permanent stoop. The crisp white shirt and impeccably pressed lab coat he’d started the day with were rumpled and covered with stains from the potions.

“I’m not really a very good doctor. My parents were both surgeons, and they pushed me to follow in their footsteps. I was a terrible surgical resident. Somehow, I managed to pass the board exams, but I was at the bottom of my class. I thought my father would never speak to me again when I chucked it all and went into family practice, and things have been very strained since I took a position here. I think his actual words were, “Why don’t you just get a job on a cruise ship and save yourself the trouble?”

Okay, that one was a little hard to maintain my caring expression, but I did manage not to laugh. Thank God it was dark.

“Well, that’s as may be. Whatever any of us think about all this: about SCHEMA and who knows what kind of monsters getting ready to storm the place, you’ve got a chance to make a clean start. You don’t have to keep on being a HEALER if you don’t want to, you can go into business selling potions, or chuck it all and do whatever you want.”

“I…I could, couldn’t I?” he looked up at me with something resembling hope in eyes that I don’t think just tears had made red-rimmed. That was some more of none of my business. As long as he did the job tonight, he could drink the bar dry in the morning.

“Yep, so why don’t you go make sure they’ve got the infirmary set up in the banquet room? I’m sure Ms. Wilkinson has everything under control, but you can get some people to help you carry supplies from the clinic so that you don’t have to be running back and forth once the action starts. You got this.” I ended, patting his shoulder and hoping to God he could hold it together and didn’t end up killing anyone by accident tonight.

The kid had taken the religious people aside, the priests, the nuns, and those of the guests who considered themselves spiritual in any way and explained our suspicions on how SCHEMA rewarded initiative. It helped that some of them had already gotten some ABILITIES from either GATHERING, BREWING, or DISTILLATION, so we appointed them as our PRIEST characters and explained that their job was to call on their Saint or DEITY in prayer and expect miracles.

I took the opportunity to take a little break from the preparations and concentrate on my own CHARACTER development. I borrowed Ms. Wilkinson's desk and pulled out my SCRIBE case to get to my primer.

The information section was little more than a series of templates for different kinds of official documents: birth, death, and marriage certificates, certificates of ownership, which appeared to be the SCHEMA equivalent of titles and deeds, bills of sale, and basic contracts. I was intrigued to learn that these qualified as SCHEMA registrations, so basically, if I gave someone a certificate of ownership for something, it was registered into the SCHEMA system. There was a set cost for each document given in coinage—handy for me, since I was completely ignorant on what anything was worth—and at the end of the section there was a handy conversion chart that could be used with barter goods if coins were not available.

The RUNE section was the most interesting. This is where my INSCRIBE SPELL came into the picture. Basically, I would write out the doctuments using a qulll, and after it had been signed by all required parties and stamped with my seal, I would use the MANA tool—those metal pens—to INSCRIBE the appropriate RUNE.

There were several examples that I had to learn. OWN, SELL, for deeds and sales, LIFE, DEATH, and BONDING for birth, death, and marriage certificates, and an IDENTITY RUNE that, if I understood correctly, that linked directly with their CHARACTER SHEETs and certified that the signatories were who they claimed to be.

I was practicing the MESSENGER RUNE, a RUNE that linked a document to a SCRIBE so that it couldn't be lost or stolen before it was delivered to the intended recipient (as determined by the IDENTITY RUNE on the document, itself) when I got my first commission.

A knock on the door frame pulled my attention from the sheet of printer paper I had been practicing with to Ms. Wilkinson.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your desk, do you need your office back?" I asked starting to stand.

"No, please, don't get up. I have a little situation that I've been told you can handle for me," she said, taking one of the chairs in front of her desk.

I felt a little guilty making her take the penitent chair while I sat back down behind her desk, but she continued before I could say anything.

"I just got an odd message from this SCHEMA, and it told me that you could help me," she began. "It seems that you weren't kidding when you said that the Regent Guest Management Group was no more. SCHEMA has just informed me that as the most senior manager on premises, I am now the owner of the Regent Hotel."

For someone who had just inherited a large hotel, she didn't look happy. She had recovered her poise remarkably in the time we'd been making preparations. The lump on her head had been completely healed with LIFE potions and she had obviously found the time to wash her face and comb her stylishly short brunette hair. It even looked like she'd managed to apply some tastefully understated makeup. She was neither young nor any great beauty, but she was one of those lucky women whose bones gave her face a timeless air that didn't fade with age. The almost pleading look on her face did nothing to detract from her air of dignity and professionalism.

"I really don't know what to think, this can't be right, can it?"

I started to tell her that I didn't have a clue, but past training in handling the unexpected came to my rescule. Maybe I was better equipped to handle this kind of situation than I thought.

"Well, let's find out," I said, and cast the VERIFY SPELL.

"Have you been notified by SCHEMA that the Regent Guest Management Group is no longer the owner of this hotel? I asked.

"Yes, of course!" she said, managing not to look offended.

"And has SCHEMA notified you that you are now the owner of this hotel?"

"Yes, I would never lie about something like that!" she replied with a little heat.

"I'm not implying that you are," I assured her, "I have to VERIFY the facts of the situation before I can REGISTER you with SCHEMA as the owner of the hotel." I looked at the slim primer volume which lay open to the MESSENGER RUNE page.

"I confess, I have never done this before, and I don't know if it will work, but I have a template for a certificate of ownership that I believe will REGISTER you as the owner. Since SCHEMA sent you to me, I have to assume that it will work. Why don't we give it a try? If it doesn't work, I guess you can wait until someone who knows what they're doing comes along," I added with a chuckle.

With her nod of agreement, turned back to the section on certificates of ownership and found the one for a piece of property. It contained specific instructions on the requirements down to the type of paper, color of ink, and even the size of the nib for the quill.

I reached into my travel case and pulled out a crisp sheet of vellium, a bottle of black ink, the rolling blotter, a new feather quill, and the correct size nib. I arranged these in what felt like a good setup on top of her desk, fixed the nib to the quill, opened the bottle of ink, and read the instructions for the certificate one last time.

With more nervousness than I expected, I picked up the quill and hoped I didn't make a huge mess. I'd never used pen and ink like this before, but I had some idea that it could make a mess in the hands of a novice, but I needn't have worried, SCHEMA to the rescue!

As soon as I dipped the pen in the ink, my muscles took over. It was like my brain went into a trance, and my body took over. Without a single drip of ink on the desktop or blot on the paper, the words of the template flowed from the end of the nib as if I were a printer controlled by computer software. The document quickly began to take form in a swirling calligraphy that was as much art as writing. It reminded me of the writing on the original Declaration of Independence. My hand moved with sure, precice movements and I never had to even refer to the template before the page was covered with all the correct flourishes and legalese. Even the signature lines were clear, straight, and exactly precice.

"Well," I said as the process released me. "I do believe that this will work." I knew that I didn't need to, but I double checked each line with the template in the primer; everything was exactly the same with the exception that the names of the former and new owners had been added in the appropriate places.

"Why don't you call in a couple of people to act as witnesses, perhaps two of the priests." I told her.

When she returned, she had one of the priests and the former concierge in tow. I used the VERITY spell again to confirm their identities and the truth of her ownership and they agreed to serve as wittnesses. Then, it was just a matter of signing my own name as the SCRIBE who had created the document and add my seal.

I wiped the nib and returned it to the tray with the others, replaced the quill, and chose one of the metal styluses for the RUNEs. Just like with the rest of the document, the process worked itself. This time, though, instead of ink, I used my MANA for four IDENTITY RUNEs next to each of our names and a single, large OWNERSHIP RUNE at the top of the document.

Ahem, I began, "Now all that remains is the fee. I would gladly waive my own fee, in this situation, but there doesn't appear to be any way for me to do so. In order for this to be a SCHEMA registered transaction, SCHEMA has to be paid. Since none of you guys has any SCHEMA coins yet, we'll have to work out something in barter. I have a conversion chart; why don't we go over that and you can figure out what you have that will do."

"Actually," she said, her face taking on a flush that in the soft light of the candles I'd lit, showed how attractive she must have been in her youth, "I think I do have some coins that will work." She moved to a squat safe that I hadn't noticed in the corner of her office and spun the dial. Taking out a rack that contained rows of packets that I recognized as collector coins, she sat it on the desk. None of the coins were what I expected to see. There were no Kugerands or American Eagles, each one of them was a SCHEMA gold or silver coin like the ones I had in my own INVENTORY.

"One of the first things I did earlier in the day was to check the contents of the safe," she began explaining. "Some years ago, during the banking crisis, the parent company decided to convert a portion of each location's petty cash into gold and silver in the event that we were unable to access our funds, so that we could continue to operate. At the time, I thought it was an outlandish suggestion, but it appears that I was wrong. How much do I owe you?"

I checked the table for property ownership. "I don't really know what the value of these SCHEMA coins is compared to American dollars," I began, "but apparently the dollar isn't worth squat, anymore. You're not paying for the property, so we're not talking sale value, here; it's more like a tax for transferring the deed into your name. Still, it seems quite a small amount for a property of this size, but the amount is pre-determined.

"The value in the property is land value only, regardless of what's on the property. The certificate itself determined that the property covers an area equal to fifteen acres, at a tax of one gold per acre. My fee will be deducted as 10% of that total."

She pulled fifteen gold coins from their slots, and when I indicated that she should, she took them out of their packaging and handed them over. I didn't know how or when I would have an opportunity to transfer it to SCHEMA, so I just slotted the whole amount into my inventory.

*DING* Certificate of Ownership of the REGENT HOTEL has been REGISTERED for Leslie Wilkerson and all fees paid.

A quick check of my INVENTORY showed that only my cut of the transaction had made it, SCHEMA had somehow taken their fee in the process. Magic, what can I say.

"Here," I said, my hand filling with one gold and 500 silver coins, "You can have my part of the fee back, I'd feel bad taking your money."

"Absolutely not!" She exclaimed pulling herself up straight. With deft movements, she took the tray of coins from the desktop and moved towards the safe and set it inside. "I always pay my debts. You performed a legitimate service for which I not only owed, but am very grateful. I got all these coins, which going by the tax rate, is a fortune, not to mention, I now own a hotel that I never paid for. I think I'm more than happy to pay your fee." She punctuated this by shutting the door and spinning the dial on the combination lock. "Thank you, Mr. Nobody, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

I laughed and finished packing the ink bottle back in my travel desk. "No, thank you! That's the easiest cash I've ever made in my life, and it's Tom."

"All right, Tom, and you can call me Leslie," she said. "You remind me of my son, Cade,"

Oh, she thinks I'm 16. I thought about explaining, but then with a shake of my head decided it didn't matter. I might be 16 physically, but I wanted no part of any relationships. They might be fun at first, but I'd never had one that didn't bring more misery than it was worth.

SCHEMA saved me from having to respond with the news that we were now one hour from the beginning of Phase Two Relocation. I had the Chef pass out the LIFE and STAMINA regen stew that he’d managed to cook. It didn’t improve regeneration double, but it improved it some, and we could use all the help we could get.

The kid and I shared out our own remaining meals with those we hoped would be the best front-line damage dealers. They spent some time coating their axes, kitchen knives, clubs, some of the kid's arrows and my shot with the thick sickly yellow-green poison that had been concentrated out of the Star King’s leaves, and I made sure that I had enough time left for my MANA to regenerate and IMBUED my staff, a bag of shot, and a quiver of the kid’s arrows with MANA.

I also took a chance and INSCRIBED several sheets of plain paper with STRENGTH RUNEs and sent some of the teens around to tape them to the barriers and barricaded doors, windows, and stairwells. They had been pissed that we weren't letting them fight on the front lines, thinking that we should be on board with the teens running the show, but I disabused them of that notion early on and they had to be happy with support FIGHTER roles. The RUNEs I sent them around with were for an ENGRAVER, which skill I didn't possess, yet, but I figured what the heck? It might help.

Looking around, I was painfully aware that everyone was looking at me with cautious hope in their eyes. I don't know how two seeming kids had managed to convince a large group of adults that we knew what we were doing, but I was grateful we had. We were all making our stand in the hallway that led back to the conference rooms, since that was the most defensible position we could manage on short notice. There were three fall-back barricades between us and the makeshift infirmary on one side and nursery on the other. Each of those were manned by people who we'd judged less able or inclined to fight. It would be nice if they didn't have to, but we couldn't take the chance.

The facility manager pushed and pulled at the waist-high barricade that we'd built just before the hall opened into the lobby, checking his work, hoping it held. Armed FIGHTER characters lined both sides of the hallway, ready to jump in if and when anything broke through, hoping to protect their loved ones, hoping that nothing made it that far. The PRIEST characters stood just outside the two doors, hoping for miracles, and the kid and I stood alone behind the forward barricade, the only distance dealers, and I added my own prayers, hoping that my growing anxiety was baseless.

We had done all we could. All we had left to do was hope.

It had to be enough.