Arn wrapped up his story with an emphatic “I want to live” – a rather poetic close he thought – and mentally added “and sleep with Keana tonight.” Is that wrong after all this?

Arn emerged from his momentous thoughts to notice everyone staring at Val, who looked . . . not right. Arn asked, “what is it Val? After all that, you know you can tell us anything?”

Val stuttered a bit. “Ah, well…you see, that’s just it. Your stories. I thought I had a tough time myself. And I’m realizing I was wrong. I haven’t been through what you have, my dad is alive…”

Arn snorted. “Not having dead parents isn’t a crime. End us on a happy note. Tell us about your parents taking you for walks, holding hands while singing songs. The time when they bought you a cinnamon stick, you spilled it on the ground and thought the world was ending. Go on.”

Congratulations! Charisma is now 9! Arn silently laughed at the ridiculousness of the increase. I guess losing the rest of my fat got me most of the way? Arn’s silent musings were interrupted by Val beginning to talk.

“Right. Well it damn well wasn’t that either. I guess…I guess it makes sense to start with my great grandfather. No, with my class I suppose. Asterathi Warrior. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it. No one has. It’s a sect class. Not many have heard of those either. A classer gets to level 100, one of the things they can do is make changes to their own class, based on the way they developed it, use that to create a new class that theoretically others can get. I’ve seen it called a legacy class, but it isn’t, not really. Once they create the class, anyone can get it, if they qualify to unlock it. But it doesn’t always work out too well. Level 100, maybe they can move mountains, but there are still rules. Limits. Everything has a cost. Even when the new class is useful, its often so damn hard to qualify for it that unless the level 100 starts a school and designs a special training program, no one will get the class and it will be forgotten. That is why they call them sect classes – if there isn’t a sect somewhere specifically training students and preserving the class, it may as well not exist.”

“Valadian the First, they called him The Obsidian Tiger after his armor – supposedly some sort of living crystal. He was a legend in his time of course, but he disappeared a long time ago. Got bored teaching and . . . well it doesn’t really matter. The class, Asterathi Warrior, the inherent, Weapon Mastery, is powerful. Makes gaining mastery skill levels 30% easier and removes the level-based caps. You know, anyone can theoretically get a mastery to level 15 even without a class, but to get a mastery to level 20 you have to be level 10, to get a mastery to 25 you have to level 20, and then its 30 at 30. Removing those caps is huge. Well, huge if you spend your life training, anyway. Just one problem. To unlock the class, you need to obtain level thirteen in thirteen different masteries. Why? I have no idea. But it’s a monstrous requirement. Takes most youngsters a decade of training to reach level 13 in one weapon mastery. And its not just thirteen random masteries – its thirteen specific ones – some of which are much harder than others, like Dual Wielding, which somehow counts as a mastery. There are rare classes that offer more stats, also have great inherents and are much easier to unlock, like Blade Master. So its shit.”

“For a time there was a school. Who wouldn’t want to learn from a level 100? There was a vanity to it. My grandfather, Valadian the Second, tried to continue the school, but without The Obsidian Tiger there was no interest in the class. But he passed the class to my father – Valadian the Third – who restarted the school. Well, a school, anyway. No one wants to be an Asterathi Warrior, but sending youngsters to study under a weapon master that can help them figure out which of a dozen weapons and styles is best for them? That’s something routine, there are schools like that all over.”

“I’m Valadian the Fourth. After my mother died in childbirth, my father threw himself into training, and into the school. Me, not so much. Hired a wet nurse who may as well have been my mother and my father both. Third had no use for me. None. Not until I was old enough to hold a weapon of course. Have to start young for the class; no other way. That was my only relationship with my father, training. Training, and the occasional punishment when I tried to avoid the training. Later, I helped teach at the school.”

Val paused and looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t know how to talk to people my own age. Or anyone, really. I figured I could approach it like training. Laughable, but that is how I made my first friends. They humored me, I think. Extra free lessons, sure why not. Some took pity on me. There was even a girl. My father tried to end it of course. The girl, the friends, all of it. So I ran off, lived with friends, not staying too long in one place. Took him almost two months to find me.”

Val hesitated. “I expected rage. I didn’t get it. He seemed . . . broken. He made me a deal. Continue on, get the class, and he would support me doing whatever I wanted. I was 14 at the time, still not close to getting the class, but well, I felt some pity for him. And none of my friends were in position to support me, help me make a life. Well, there was one, but it turned out he didn’t want to be just friends, if you take my meaning. So I took the deal.”

“The day I unlocked the class – I’d like to say it was the happiest day of my life, but I mostly just felt empty. Made me realize that I don’t have a father, not really, never did.” Val, paused, sheepishly looked up. “Sounds stupid, saying that to this group. But it’s the truth. So I realized I was leaving.”

“I thought about where to go, what to do, over the years. Didn’t have it figured out though. Still don’t. Just know I don’t want to open a damn school, don’t want to be a guard and walk a wall, nothing like that. So I took some gear, some coin. Worked my way South, learned to hunt. Heard about the Festival, thought I would check it out.”

As Val wound down, Arn pondered. He seems so outgoing. Is the story BS? Or is this what he learned, to smile, to say encouraging things. To fake it until it becomes like breathing, just what you do. Another idea hit Arn like a divine message. I’ve still got three in sword mastery. I don’t know how I do it, but I have to talk him into teaching me. Sleep with Keana, train with Val. Goals!”

Keana elbowed Arn, hard. “Ahoy over there! Anyone home! We finished smelling each others’ shit or whatever the Hells we were doing while you were undressing Val in your head. I’m going up to the room and take a bath.”

* * *

Arn tried to spend some quality time with his pebble, but had other things on his mind; Keana specifically. After what he judged to be the right amount of time, he headed to her room and went to knock. Arn heard . . . noises. “Ah, ummm, oh yeah.” Moaning??? Damn it! Who the Hells is in there with her? Val? Sar? They did seem to really bond over their stories. Shit! Well, you would have had to listen to her babble before and afterwards. Maybe this is for the best.” As Arn headed back to his room, he tried to believe it.