Samael lost the comforting safety of the group once past the walls of the large complex, which he later found out was called the Citadel. Past the walls, multiple streets branched outwards, splitting the crowd as the people went their own separate ways.

‘I’ve done it.’ Samael thought to himself. ‘I’ve escaped!... Now what?’ He felt that he should probably keep following one of the larger groups that had split off, but having no idea where they were going, they might turn around and ask him why he was walking up their driveway. What he really wanted was a place to rest and think out his next plan, a place where he could relax after the pretty intense day he’d just had, a place to find out what levelling up meant, and most importantly a place with food.

‘What places have food and somewhere to rest in a medievalish fantasyesc world?’ Samael asked himself rhetorically, ‘Tavern’s! Or inn’s...’ He wasn’t quite sure on the difference. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the money pouch he had looted from the dead guard. Hunching over to protect it, he loosened the strings and glanced inside. There were quite a few copper coloured coins of a uniform size, as well as a couple of shiny silvers. Samael had no idea how much this was worth, though he thought it would surely be enough for at least one meal and a bed for the night.

With his eyes on the lookout for a tavern, Samael began to wander. Close to the citadel, the buildings seemed to be mostly interconnected homes, squashed tightly together. Not that there were any poor vibes from them however, quite the opposite. Close to the citadel seemed to be the chosen location of the wealthy that weren’t allowed inside. Gilded gates blocked off tiny courtyards in the front of each home, sealing off areas filled with sculptures and lush greenery, all compactly squished into the available space.

Continuing to walk, the street he was on gently took him down a hill, the buildings either side seemed to get more spacious, at the cost of the quality of their facade. Only three or four hundred meters away from the citadel, the houses had devolved until they were nothing particularly special, but still well put together buildings of wood and stone.

Keeping to the main thoroughfare of the street, Samael eventually came upon a large open section of the city. And it was jam packed full of stalls and people, an assortment of smells and sounds fought for his attention as Samael’s wide eyes kept snapping to new things as he meandered through it all.

Vibrantly coloured clothes hung next to stalls full of invitingly appetising pastries, which in turn were next to stacked cages of clucking and cooing chickens. There was meat, sizzling juicy meat which crackled and spat above an open fire. Amphora and bottles of wine were stacked behind a ludicrously fat man in a yellow turban, but there was no time to look as a hawker wanted Samael to try his ‘extraordinary cure all elixir’ and would not leave him be until he marched far enough away.

The sound of a bang, followed by a cheer, caused Samael to turn to his left. A small crowd gathered in front of a stall, clapping as a woman made strange motions with her hands from behind it. Directly above the stall, around head height, a bright flame seemed to dance to the motions of the woman’s hands. Enthralled, Samael joined the crowd around the stall, and as he got closer he could see the flame more clearly, it had the form of a small humanoid creature, less than two inches tall.

Magic. Samael was seeing magic! The flame continued to dance along with the woman’s movements. Every now and then the tiny form of flame would enlarge and detonate, disappearing in a flash of many colours, only to be replaced as the woman began her movements again. So enraptured by the spectacle in front of him, Samael almost failed to notice the brief sensation of something touching his side, just below his hip.

Looking down casually, Samael was perplexed to find a hand in his pocket that was not his own. Yelling out in surprise, he grabbed at his money pouch through the fabric of his trousers. The hand withdrew as soon as Samael made a sound, and looking over his shoulder, Samael could just see the quickly retreating form of a young child, before it was lost in the crowd around him. Pulling out the pouch from his pocket, and ignoring the sound of tutting from around him, Samael was relieved to find the bag was still full and had not been switched.

Chastising himself for letting his guard down, he stepped out from the crowd around the magic stall and carried on walking through the market, this time much more aware of his surroundings. His rumbling stomach wouldn’t let him leave without some form of tribute however, and so Samael ended up buying a small pie from a sweet looking little old lady for three of the copper coloured coins. He hoped that was reasonable, none of the stalls displayed any prices and Samael felt too self-conscious to peer at anyone making a transaction.

Munching on his pie, which was descriptively ‘meat’ flavoured according to the woman, Samael strolled away from the market and down one of the main roads leading off from the square. He had not travelled far before the buildings seemed to lose some of the respectability. A crack in a wall here, a smashed door there. The style of building had not changed, just the desire of the occupants to maintain it properly.

In addition, an assault on Samael’s senses seemed to have begun, for the smell of shit and body odour was increasing every second. Samael had to sidestep a lumbering man who wheezed his way through the crowd, the smell of his passing causing Samael to gag at the mixture of halitosis and foulness wafting over him. Samael turned around, and rushed back, retracing his steps until he was back to the market square.

A sign post, pointing towards the direction he had come, informed him that way was “Riverside”. The {Common Tongue} skill also seemed to affect the written word which was doubly handy. Making a note to avoid that area in future, Samael walked around listlessly before finally walking up to one of the stalls at the market to ask for directions to an inn. After receiving a suspicious and distrusting look, which lessened after he bought a bread roll for a copper, he managed to get some simple directions.

Apparently Taverns and inns were mostly found around the gatehouses of the city, except the more pricey ones. Thanking the owner, and following their simple directions, Samael found himself stood outside a building called ‘The Buckled Helm’, only about ten minutes later. Ducking inside the door, Samael found himself in a large open area filled with tables and chairs, which had only a few patrons sitting on them at the moment.

Against the far wall an older man stood behind a bar, pouring a tankard of something brown and frothy from one of the many barrels stacked behind him. High up behind the man, Samael noticed a battered old lump of metal that could charitably have been called a helmet at one point. Walking over to him, Samael caught the man’s attention once he handed over the drink to a customer.

“Greetings, what’ll it be?” The bartender asked.

“Hi. Do you have any rooms available?” Samael enquired, unsure what the proper process for this was.

“Yea we do, how long you staying?”

“Just for the night.” Samael replied. He had no idea what he wanted to do after today; he just wanted somewhere to rest for a while and maybe a nice comfy bed to sleep on.

“That’ll be six coppers. I can throw a meal in there for two more coppers if you want?” Samael thought about it for a moment before agreeing, he was not quite so hungry any more after buying food in the market, but knowing he had a meal coming his way was worth two more coppers.

Handing over the coins, Samael received in turn two wooden tokens, one large with the number seven written on it, the other small and carved with a circular hole. The bartender explained those were his room tokens and meal tokens respectively.

“Don’t lose em.” The bartender warned. “It’s a copper each if you do. It’s still early so your room will be available shortly; I just got to get it cleaned up first. Do you want a drink whilst you wait?”

“Umm yea sure.” Samael replied. Parting with another copper coin in exchange for a tankard of the frothy brown drink he had seen before. The barman disappeared behind the counter for a moment, calling for someone and Samael decided to go sit further in the room.

There were a small group of men chatting away at one of the tables as he approached, they looked at him briefly as he sat down away from them, then continued their conversation. From the snippets Samael could hear, they were complaining about taxes, same as the people from the Citadel. Taking a sip of his drink caused Samael to scrunch his face, it was a lot stronger than any kind of beer he was used to but it was still good. ‘Could have done without having bits in though...’ Samael thought.

Glancing around the room Samael’s eyes were drawn to one of the walls, which looked to hold some sort of map. It was not a bird’s eye, modern type of map. It was instead an artistic drawing and was titled ‘Stradun circa 942 AE’. He could just about read the place names from where he was sat. There was the citadel, at the top of the drawing at the crown of the ‘High Quarter’. Other areas of the city were the ‘River Quarter’, the ‘Steel Quarter’ and smallest was the ‘Guild Quarter’.

Based on the map and what he remembered of his journey, Samael could see that he had bought some food at the “River Market”, and then strode over the “Riverside” which was situated at the bottom right of the drawing. He was now near an entrance to the city, which bordered the river and steel quarters at the drawings bottom edge.

Sipping his drink and committing the map to memory, Samael’s study was interrupted by the tavern’s door swinging open and a group of four older men and women stepping through.

“Well I think it was staged. It was too convenient.” One of the women was saying, clearly carrying on a conversation they must have been having for a while. The group headed straight to the bar as they continued their discussion.

“Rubbish.” One of the men replied. “To think Lady Crane would arrange such a thing. I doubt she has a deceptive bone in her body!”

“Garth, if someone with a fancy title told you, ‘you can breathe underwater’, we’d be fishing you out the river before breakfast.” Another man replied. Casually insulting each other, but in a friendly way, the group got some drinks and sat down near Samael and the first group.

“That captain had a decent swing on him though didn’t he?” The sceptical woman said.

“I heard he’s got {Sharpen Blades} and {Greater Strength}. That poor neck never stood a chance.” One of the men chuckled.

“What’s that?” A man who was already in the tavern asked of the new group. “Something happen up at the Citadel?”

“Yea, you haven’t heard yet?” The gullible man replied with a smile, eager at getting to tell a story. The group, as well as Samael who was shamelessly eavesdropping, then heard all about how the ‘heroic’ citizens marched up to demand an accounting of the higher tax rates. Then how the kind and selfless Lady Crane had eased their fears, warning of the dangers they faced and underscoring the importance that they, the people, had in stopping dangerous outlaws.

“Outlaws with enough power and influence to make an escape attempt, right in the middle of Lady Crane’s speech!” the man finished dramatically.

“Is that so...” One of the men replied sceptically. “And what outlaws might they be?”

Slightly flustered that these men had not shared his fervour, the man telling the story stammered out “Well err it was that fellow from riverside, the slicer fellow. Also some murderous vagabond that got into the city somehow. Killed some folks then attacked the guard when they questioned him. No Construct blessing either, filthy savage! ”

‘Murderous vagabond? Savage?’ Samael thought. ‘That’s probably me, but why am I murderous? Also is it a taboo here to not have a name or class?’ No longer listening to the groups chat away, Samael finished his beer whilst thinking about his ‘blessings’. With a will, he pulled up the last message box from the construct.

Congratulations!

You have gained enough essence to level up your class [Necromancer Lvl 1]

Level Class? Yes/No

It seemed that he could level up his class. To do so required ‘essence’, which he had gotten when Garren had killed those guards. ‘Was that how people levelled their classes? By killing things?’ Samael wondered. ‘It can’t just be that though surely, there was a level 7 baker back in the citadel. Did he stab someone with a baguette to get those levels?’

“Samael! Room’s ready.” The barman called out to him. He had not given his name and must have been inspected, ‘Must be hard to maintain anonymity in this world’ Samael thought. Standing up he walked over to the barman, who took him up some stairs behind the bar and showed him to a small and cosy room. There was no furniture except a bed, a trunk and a standing coatrack. After thanking the barman, Samael closed the door and lowered its latch. For now locking out the rest of this new world he had fallen into.

The bed was fairly comfy Samael was pleased to find, after sitting on it and bouncing up and down a few times. It was much harder than he was perhaps used to, however compared to the cold stone floors he had been laying on lately it was a godsend. Falling backwards onto the bed and staring at the ceiling, Samael once again brought up the blue box which asked him if he wanted to level the class. “Yes” he thought.

Congratulations!

You are now a [Necromancer Lvl 1]

You have been awarded a free stat point.

Please select a skill from the three options below:

{Decaying Blast}

Send forth a powerful bolt of necrotic damage, hastening decay. Living targets hit with this nefarious spell experience the horror of death whilst still very much alive.

{Reanimate Dead}

Animates the body of the recently deceased, bringing it under the control of the caster. Corpses under the influence of {Reanimate Dead} deteriorate at a reduced rate.

{Enslaved Soul}

Enslaves the soul of the target at the moment of death. This soul can then be summoned as a fearsome wraith to attack an enemies spirit

‘Wow’ Samael thought straightening up, ‘I get to pick one of these?’ Reading the descriptions again Samael tried to think what he would pick, if offered these choices in a game. Curiously he noticed that none of the skills/spells had any kind of mana requirement, ‘Do I have to guess how much each would use?’

{Decaying Blast} was the type of magic he would normally go with, it was damage dealing and he would not have to rely on anything being already dead. It didn’t sound particularly pleasant though, would he have to watch things turn to mush in front of him? The Construct even described it as being ‘nefarious’.

{Reanimate Dead} Seemed like your typical necromantic spell. Necromancers had dead things do their bidding for them; this seemed like the thing allowing that to happen. It still needed him to either kill something first before he could use it however, or stumble across something already dead. It seemed rather situational and could leave him defenceless in the wrong circumstance.

{Enslaved Soul} looked rather interesting. It had the problem of needing something to be at death’s door already, however once he had successfully cast it and enslaved a soul he would have a ‘wraith’ to call upon whenever he needed it. He was not quite sure what a ‘Wraith’ was, but it certainly sounded like the type of thing he wanted on his side.

Samael was coming around to the last one {Enslaved Soul}. It seemed like both the most interesting, as well as the one that might prove to be the most useful. Provided of course he was able to actually find something to cast it on. Samael’s mind hovered over choosing it, and was just about to accept when he felt another skill seem to... wiggle slightly in his mind. It was his {Karmic Meter}.

Pulling his mind back instantly, Samael had the sudden realisation. This was not a game, this was his life.

{Enslaved Soul}. The clue was in the name, if he chose this he would literally be enslaving another creature’s soul. It sounded like something an evil person would do, and his {Karmic Meter} must have agreed. {Decaying Blast} also sounded evil, and was according to its description. Wanting to test if he could recreate the sensation he felt before, Samael hovered his mind over the {Decaying Blast} skill, once again feeling a ‘wiggle’ in his mind.

It seemed {Karmic Meter} had another benefit to it which he had not realised. Knowing the karmic consequences of his choices would be incredibly useful in getting him back on the scales good side. He briefly wondered why he had not noticed anything before, when he had lost so much karma. ‘It could be because I didn’t commit the bad action, Garren did?’ Samael theorised. Turning his mind back to the blue boxes, he focused on the {Reanimate Dead} skill, fearing he would feel another ‘wiggle’ and have to doom himself further by choosing one of three ‘evil’ skills.

His {Karmic Meter} did not react at all however. ‘Interesting’ Samael thought, before reading the skill’s description again. ‘Maybe because I would be targeting the spell on an empty body, it is not considered evil?’ Samael wondered. ‘I would not be torturing or enslaving anything which the other skills implied, just moving around someone’s old flesh suit?’

‘It’s not a bad skill’, Samael concluded, ‘and there are plenty of applications to it’. Samael also did not want to lose any more karma if he did not need to. With a thought, he selected {Reanimate Dead} as his first Necromancer skill and then brought up his status.

Status Name: Samael Race: Human Class: Necromancer Level: 1 Title - Stats: Strength 6 Intelligence 15 Agility 9 Wisdom 15 Endurance 8 Willpower 12 Constitution 6 Perception 9 Free Points 1 Karma -110 Skills {Instinctual Interface} Rank: #N/A {Common Tongue} Rank: #N/A {Karmic Meter} Rank: #N/A {Reanimate Dead} Rank: 1