"Hello there, is this the way to Brightgrain's inn?" Jack winced internally as the pair of wagoneers, one well past middle age, the other looking like his grandson, identically furrowed their brows, glancing his way.

"Master Brightgrain's inn?" The younger, wearing well-worn grey and brown woolens and a straw hat, looked toward his elder. "Who the hell is he talkin' about, pop?"

The elder tilted his head. "I think he means the Black Swallow inn." The man dipped his head Jack's way as he gave a gentle flick of his reigns for the pair of impressive looking draft-horses leading his grain wagon, Jack only then noticing the pair of wooden staves topped with leaf-shape heads of steel that the pair kept in close proximity to themselves on the wagon seat. The youth's fingers drummed against one shaft thoughtfully as he frowned down at Jack before brushing his sandy locks away from his forehead, with the build of a man and the face of a boy maybe 15 years old, if that.

"Blackswallow inn is about an hour's walk straight ahead, if that's where you're headed, lad," the elder said.

Jack flashed the elder a grateful smile, nodding his head in turn. "That looks like an impressive haul of grain, if you don't mind my saying so," he said in deference to the many sacks he saw secured in back. "Here's to hoping for a profitable market day for you and your farm."

He held back from asking if he could hop on in the easy way he would have back home. He was a stranger out here, in a land full of unknowns and peril, as a certain innkeeper himself knew all too well. Jack had no desire to alarm or offend, almost positive that things wouldn't be as easygoing out here as they would have been back home.

Besides, the grain wagon wasn't moving any faster than he was at a brisk walk, and if he pushed himself in the slightest, he could easily outpace it. Far better just to walk companionably and exchange a few words before heading on his way.

The elder nodded his thanks. "Appreciate that, lad. May fortuna smile upon us both then."

The youth beside him chuckled. "Especially since we're doing our best to earn those fortunes! Since we're not wasting our time with the local market, Mitchum and the other merchants thinking they can set the prices, just because the rain was generous to everyone this year. It's about high time they learned not everyone is a sheep, baahing to their whim, and the savvy farmer knows it's worth going a couple days out of one's way to secure a profit for crops you spent a whole season growing!"

The elder furrowed his brow. "Forgive the young one," he said with a faintly reproving glance sent the now blushing youth's way, as if realizing he had said far too much to a stranger. "First time my grandson's been off the farm and more than a mile away from home. Name's Geoff the Elder, by the way. My grandson's Geoff the Youngest."

Jack grinned. "Something we have in common, then! This trip I'm on is the first time I've been away from home as well, Geoff. My name's Jack, by the way."

Geoff the Youngest smirked. "Really? Your father just happened to have rusted armor that fit you perfectly with a sword hilted fancier than the constable's, and you thought you'd get out and explore the world?"

This earned the youth a glare from his elder, but Jack just grinned. "As a matter of fact, that's almost exactly how it went."

The youth blinked. "You're serious... and you don't look that much older than me, either."

Jack nodded. "Left on my birthday. And yes, my parents did give me some parting gifts."

The elder looked strangely uncomfortable as the youth's eyes lit with wonder. "Wait, wait! You're not saying you're a twice-born, are you? One of the fellows who wake up with the memories of past lives... or with an angel or faerie whispering in their ears about a path of glory or adventure they can take, and before you know it, you're leveling up like a hero in the tales, or you're a character in a game of Glory's Gamble?"

Jack furrowed his brow at that. "Glory's Gamble? Would you believe I never heard of it?" Then in a flash and shiver, he got it. Recalling for just a heartbeat the exhilaration he had felt, holding a handful of finely made wooden plaques giving the details of a chosen hero and his hard-fought powers earned over a handful of adventures in a game played beside friends as the winter snowstorm howled beyond their snug manor. And what an odd frisson of deja vu it was to remember his own bemused smile, playing that game as a youth newly risen to the Path of Immortality who remembered with such haunting nostalgia playing even more sophisticated versions incorporating house rules from Gurps, Rifts, & D&D, games remembered from an even earlier lives. And now he felt that same nostalgic frisson of wonder as an animated Geoff instantly waxed into detail about the game, the rules of which were rapidly coming back to Jack, for all that now, this time, Jack gazed at the memories as a man who had taken a path he had never dared before.

Immortality forsaken for the peril and promise of limitless power, where one wrong step would forever doom the countless memories and visions of past lives that somehow unified his soul in eternal adventure. Now, when he died, it would be forever, and if any copies of him ever awoke in the future, they'd be no more connected to him than a brother, with no memories of past lives no longer their own to connect them to all they had ever been before.

But Jack was careful to hide all of this from his features, nodding gamely as the youth explained the game and the virtues of a straight class feat-heavy fighter, just like Mitch's build, careful to smile and nod at all the right places. "Sounds like a real blast."

The youth frowned. "What did you say?"

"Sounds like a lot of fun to play."

The youth beamed. "It is indeed. I even brought my character plaques, signed off by the town overseer, so I can use it official-like, if there are any game-masters playing at the tavern!"

This finally earned a frown from Geoff Senior. "We're stopping only for a drink, and to get a feel for the road up ahead. See if there are any truth to those rumors about wolves and the like. We're sure as shit not stopping for you to waste good copper and hours we don't have with your imaginary game and a busker who'd rather spin tales for a select few with guaranteed tips, than the tavern at large!"

The youth wilted under the older man's glare. "But pops, you said... yes, grandfather. It will be as you say."

Geoff the Elder gave a hard nod. "Damn right it will." He then gave his grandson's shoulder a friendly pat. "Once we safely get ourselves to Greyspeak, and we've tipped the guards and squared everything away, then maybe, if we made a halfway decent profit, then yes. We'll go to a city-certified gaming hall, and you can run your hero there."

The elder chuckled at his grandson's excited expression. "One run, mind you. And we'd best bring one of those magical pastries from one of the shops, so the game-master's less likely to make you roll the bones of fate every quarter glass. And we're not wasting more than 4 copper, no matter how interesting a tale the game master weaves."

The youth was beaming with excitement. "Thank you, grandfather! It will be just as grand as Mayor Groundheath's adventures, maybe even better!"

This earned a chuckle. "Maybe. But best you not let your mayor hear you say that."

Jack couldn't help smiling at their byplay, a part of him absolutely loving knowing there was a D&D-like game in a world catalized into existence at least in part by a gaming AI interface. And perhaps it even served as a training tool of sorts, preparing the handful who really could level-up to be cautious, smart, and carefully plan their future builds... or perhaps just inspire a taste for adventure.

"Glory's Gamble sounds fascinating. And they have a gaming hall in the capital city, you said? I might have to check it out at some point, since I'm heading that way myself."

The youth's eyes positively twinkled. "You're going to the Arcane Academy, aren't you! You're taking the Mage's Path, am I right?" he then furrowed his brow. "But that armor and your sword... are you some kind of Battlemage? Mayor Groundheath refused to let us play those. Warrior, Mage, or Ranger are the only three classes he allows in his campaigns."

Jack welcomed the youth's growing enthusiasm, but he couldn't help noting Geoff the Elder's sudden hard glare. "I thought you said you were looking for Master Brightgrain's inn?"

Jack nodded, smile fading. "I am."

This did nothing to alleviate the man's glare. Not until a sighing Jack held up the locket he had found. "I'm bound to return this to the man who needs to know it's tale." He met and held the elder's gaze. "And yes. The wolves you heard tales of are no myth. They are very real, very savage, and their eyes are lit with a cold intelligence that'll send chills down your spine, should you ever meet their gaze, knowing they're only after one thing. And that's your soft fleshy innards that they'd gladly tear from your still living body, assuming they don't first tear out your throat."

Jack swallowed a wince, realizing he might have laid it on a bit too thick.

The elder visibly paled, though his grandson was gazing at Jack with something close to awe. "Wait, so it's true? And that locket... you're on a quest! And you faced those beasts down! Did you kill them all? Did you use your magic?" He hooted with glee. "Can you believe it, paw? A real life adventurer! Who would have thunk we'd just meet one on the road?"

"Are you serious about those wolves?" The elder said, cutting his grandson off.

Jack nodded. "I am. They are man-killers, and they know exactly what they're doing. And when I looked into their eyes, I didn't see hunger." he locked gazes with the pale-faced elder. "I saw raw, primal hate. Like nothing I've seen before."

"The how the hell are you still even alive?" the boy asked, in a far more serious, even shaky tone.

Jack shrugged. "Part of it was dumb luck, I'm sure."

"And the other part?"

Jack grinned at the boy gazing so raptly at him. "Keep a secret?"

Boy boy gave an animated nod.

Jack pointed to the bee on his shoulder. "They don't like bees."

The boy blinked, then laughed. "Stuffed giant bee on your shoulder. Oh, you were having us on, you! The whole time! Can you believe this guy, grandfather?" The boy slapped his knee, grinning wide, though his grandfather looked coldly furious. "You should be a bard, that was brilliant!"

"Tale-teller, are you?"

Jack had to hand it to him, Geoff the Elder was good at keeping the anger out of his voice. But Jack sure as hell could tell the man was not happy at the thought of being frightened for no reason, or played for the amusement of a performer.

And with the tiniest whisper of his will, the crimson bee was flying a figure eight over his head.

"I've been known to enjoy telling a story or two by the fire as a kid, getting a gasp or a breathless swat from my elder sisters, years ago." His gaze hardened. "But what I told you was the absolute truth. I'd avoid the roads at night, if I were you. And frankly, with the way they tried to ambush me in the trees last night, I think it's a miracle they haven't struck us already."

The pair of farmers paled, fazes frozen in expressions of fear and cautious respect.

"Druid, are you?" said the elder, earning a scoff from his grandson.

"He's a Ranger, clearly, grandfather. Look at the sword he's carrying! I'll bet his absolutely brilliant with a bow."

"Only passing fair," Jack admitted. "And not a Druid or Ranger, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "Honestly, as of right now? I'm no class at all."

The youth blinked. "Wait, you haven't even picked a class yet?"

"Nope."

The boy frowned. "But... shit..."

"Watch your words, boy."

"Sorry, grandfather. Anyway, in all the stories I've ever read, only a fool leaves their home without a class of their own."

The elder nodded. "That's how the tale goes. No one's ever explained it, though."

"It's because, at least for some folk, there are more class options if they make a choice before they leave their starter zone," Jack explained. "Or their home village, if that makes sense." He flashed a wry smile. "But since I seem to have a knack for learning... or remembering things, my class selection's only been growing. Well, at least mostly," he admitted, forced to accept that maybe he was playing a bit of the fool, so obsessed with the insights he had gleaned looking over, and ultimately refusing, to choose the path of the Fire Adept, for all that it would have allowed him to stack class school and affinity for the final power level of his fire spells. Because the minute he had fused Blood and Fire in his soul, the only classes open to him were those that had at least some affinity for the Crimson Path, or the Path of Souls.

But it had inspired him, and led him on his present mad quest to find 4 elemental Orbs he could attune himself to. Because his ultimate goal, and one that he had absolutely no proof would even succeed, was to forge into existence his own Elemental Adept class that would allow him to take advantage of both a class sphere of spells incorporating all four elements, along with a separate elemental affinity he could rank up at the same time. Considering the steady increase in cost in points for every additional rank in a school sphere that a mage purchased, he would save an absolute fortune. In his wildest of dreams, it would one day allow him access to legendary Tier 9 spells after he achieved Rank 12 in both his Class school and affinity, stacking up to a combined total of 24 ranks.

Pure madness, he knew. But compared to having to earn 24 ranks in his underlying school with no stacking modifiers, it made what was utterly laughable even to think about, merely absurd.

In terms of raw points, that was the difference between paying 78 doubled, or 156 points, for earning rank 12 in school and affinity, and 300 points to actually buy 24 ranks in any school of magic.

Even if he was on the path to forging an Elite class, earning a whopping 9 points to spend in abilities and focused obsessively on earning class and affinity ranks alone, it would still take him a minimum 18 levels just to reach his goal of Tier 9 spells as an Elemental Adept. And if he tried achieve that without stacking class and affinity... He would have to achieve an absolutely absurd 34 levels.

And he wasn't sure if it was even possible to reach Level 34.

He didn't even know if reaching level 18 was absurd or reasonable.

He only knew that he had a goal pushing him forward right now. A path to power he was eager to see if he could put into effect. And since this was the only life he had left to live, he would do his best to make his class as powerful as he possibly could, so he would have no regrets in the decades to come.

Of course, that's when disaster had struck.

When he had the absolutely brilliant, by which he meant mad, idea to somehow synergize blood magic on top of all of that, a backdoor way of incorporating the power of life and massive spell boosts into his homemade adept elementalist scheme... and by some miracle, had actually managed what he thought of as the first step to his goal with the orbs he had already forged an affinity to.

A forging that had nearly killed him. It had taken days to establish an affinity with the second orb, and an entire month to harmonize the third elemental orb he had collected, now with Rank 1 affinity to Earth as well as Fire and Water, and if he hadn't been simultaneously thriving in a dream he knew he'd soon have to leave, real as it was for the friends he had left behind, he would have surely died, pushing himself so fiercely for so long.

And as for Air Magic affinity... he didn't dare even try to harmonize an Air affinity orb, at least not until he had achieved Adept rank with at least one Air spell. He was now certain that was a requirement. At least it was if he wanted to minimize the risk of disaster. And if he was truly going to harmonize it with the rest... he needed to fuse an Air spell with blood magic as well.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

And worse, thanks to his experiments, his selection of classes had dimmed to a mere handful of what they once had been, and almost all with ties to blood.

"You alright, lad?" said the elder farmer, now gazing at him with concern, perhaps even a bit of cautious fear.

Jack forced a smile. "Yes, I'm sorry. I was..." he shrugged, seeing no reason to deny it. "Maybe I was regretting not taking a different path, just a little bit. Maybe life would have been easier if I had picked a class to begin with, because the stories are right. One mistake after leaving the starter zone, and you really might be playing the fool for the rest of your miserable life."

He chuckled and waved away their sudden pitying looks. "No use crying over spilled milk. Besides, I'm still in the clear, I think, for one particular class I'm shooting for. And if I can actually manage to get it..." he positively beamed. "It makes everything I've gone through up to now worth it."

Geoff the Elder gave a pleased nod. "Glad to hear it, son. I always hate seeing young men stumble with the folly of a bad choice, but sometimes that's just a part of living life. The difference between a boy and man, as much as it is anything besides time, is about learning from those mistakes, accepting the bitter as you strive all the harder to make life sweet. It is what gives us the wisdom we need to be cautious and prudent in the years to come."

Geoff the Younger nodded. "Like, maybe we should have just accepted that merchant's offer, no matter how much he was smirking at us. Better prices on grain means nothing if we're dead."

His grandfather flashed a humorless smile. "I wasn't saying that, boy. There's such a thing as prudent, and there are times when calculated risks will always be better than letting ruthless bastards place a millstone around your neck." He gave Jack what was now a friendly nod. "I was thinking more along the lines of traveling with our new friend Jack here. Mayhap he wouldn't mind sharing bread and company along the road with us. Three spears are better than one, after all, and we have more than enough to feed our new friend." He gestured to Jack. "What say you, lad? If you're headed to Greyspeak already... Interested in company on the road?"

Jack couldn't help grinning at that. "I'd love to. For as long as we're traveling together," he quickly amended, seeing the tendrils of smoke coming from a tall chimney in the distance belonging to a sprawling edifice with a bottom story of rough-tooled stone and a second and third of stained wood with a thatched roof he could only hope didn't catch fire regularly, though he had no doubt it would keep the place nice and snug on a cold winter's day.

He then turned to the farmers with a smile. "There's something I have to do here first."

Geoff the elder nodded. "And you rightly should, lad. I'll stop in with you for a tankard while the boy watches the wagon."

"But grandfather..." the boy instantly quieted when his grandfather glared.

"I'll bring you your stein of small beer. Don't worry, lad. You won't die of a parched throat. But you will watch our livelihood."

"Yes, grandfather," the lad said, head lowered.

The wagon soon eased to a stop along the main road, just before the turn to the inn proper, Jack and Geoff the Elder proceeding up the path, the farmer looking askance at all the mounts being tended to by a pair of man kitted in identical suits of armor comprised of an open-faced helm with a sleeveless brigandine, or vest of steel plates riveted between leather and cloth, atop a quilted gambeson and shirt of mail, providing excellent protection, and full mobility for their arms. Their legs weren't quite so well protected as the torsos, but Jack had no doubt that their thick rawhide knee-high boots and thick quilted leggings were more than sufficient to catch any sword blade or spear point that didn't hit dead on with killing force. The pair of men had a definite military air about them, and were wearing matching tabards as well.

"Those are the duke's royal riders, don't be meeting their gaze!" hissed the suddenly alarmed farmer, and Jack winced, quickly lowering his eyes, faintly chilled by the cool stare he had received by the pair, looking at him not with warmth or hostility, but rather as if were nothing more or less than an obstacle that might, or might not, need removing.

"Damn," the farmer muttered as the thick inn door opened and the clink of dinnerware and quiet murmurs of people eating and drinking could be heard, though not as rowdy as Jack might have thought.

Jack stole a quick glance at the man beside him. "Geoff?"

The salt and pepper haired man, with a sprightly bounce to his step, despite his apparent age, just gave a quick shake of his head. "We're already going inside. Don't draw attention." With those words the man held open the door, gesturing Jack to go inside. Hedidn't hesitate to enter, whereupon he was immediately hit with the smells of roasted lamb, stew, wood-smoke, and strong spirits, and just a trace of the stink of too many sweaty bodies of men lacking the benefits of rented showers and 21st century hygiene.

In addition to the sounds and smells assaulting Jack's ears, the most prominent thing he noted upon entering was a bear of a man with haunted eyes and a forced smile who nonetheless waved them over. "Come in, come in, gents! What can we get you today? Janice is serving drinks and Elonia will see you seated at one of the tables in two shakes of a cat's tale."

Jack's heart was racing, feeling a strange sort of frisson, locking gazes with the man, not needing to be told that this was Master Brightgrain of Blackswallow Inn to know who it was he was even now approaching.

And the man immediately stiffened, eyes widening as he caught Jacks' gaze.

He began to pale and tremble, mouth open in a silent wordless protest, as if sensing the grim news this unknown stranger was about to bring. Yet his hand trembling hand reached out seemingly of it's own accord to claim the golden locket Jack solemnly placed within.

"My Angela's locket... by all that's holy... you found it."

Jack nodded solemnly. "I did."

The trembling innkeeper gazed for long moments at the locket now in his hands. He choked back a sob, tears freely streaming down his salt and pepper whiskers. Only then did Jack note that perhaps a dozen of the patrons present were kitted in a similar fashion to the pair outside, a handful of other men dressed in farmer's woolens were quietly drinking at a separate table, keeping themselves to themselves.

The man squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Please..."

Jack sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

The man could no longer hold back his sob, falling to his knees. Jack caught sight of a barmaid serving the soldiers now glancing their way, her soft green eyes filled with regret, a single hand patting her swollen belly, as if soothing the little one within.

"Yon?" her voice was filled with worry, by the man's side in what seemed the blink of an eye. "What's wrong?"

The man just swallowed, as if too shaken even to speak.

The pretty young woman furrowed her brows, only then seeming to take in Jack's odd collage of quilted gambeson, crimson armor, and sword.

Then she paled, gazing at what the innkeeper... her husband? held. "Heaven's mercy. They found Jamie's locket."

The man only sobbed in reply.

The girl turned to Jack once more. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Jack took a deep breath and did just that, holding back any reference to the numbers involved, or his own near disastrous manipulation of his magic, but gracious enough not to leave much else out.

"...So by the time I got there, after wounding a handful with my mentor's spell, all I could think about was making sure those three would never be able to hurt another soul again." Jack swallowed. "It was only after I survived my tussle with those wolves that I thought to explore the cavern they had made their own. That was when I found the locket and knew to come here. And when I heard the howls of yet more wolves, making it clear just how much of a fool I had been to dare those caverns as if those had been the only three, I exited with all haste. And soon enough, found myself back on the highroad once more."

As a story it would do, he thought. Keeping references to his own abilities to a minimum, and preventing any false sense of confidence, because Jack was almost certain that the alpha wolf was out there somewhere still, and had the pack not bolted and ran, Jack's own overcharged spell, draining his mana to zero within seconds, could have killed him, after leaving him so vulnerable that he had swooned with exhaustion.

"So it wasn't raiders after all. It was those damned abominations!" the man sobbed, caring nothing for the room full of gazes, some filled with pity, others with a hawk-like intensity, that both farmers and soldiers favored the devastated innkeeper with.

"Correct," Jack said. "Though bandits had kidnapped your daughter and her family, they were foolish enough to hide out in a den of Shadow Wolves." he sighed, giving a sad shake of his head.

Before a voice, cold as ice, froze him in his tracks.

"And just how the hell do you know she had been kidnapped in the first place?"

Jack's gut clenched, turning around to face the angry gaze of a man dressed much as the soldiers outside had been, the only differences being a gilded breastplate and a gold inlaid sallet helm, along with several golden pins that marked him as an officer of some sort, though the tabard he wore was identical to those of his soldiers.

The man slowly shook of his head, before flashing a cold smile. "You're story makes no sense... bandit." In the blink of an eye, he slammed Jack back, his armored head ringing with the force of the blow as he was smashed against the wall.

Jack bit back the surprised outrage he felt, not daring to backtalk a man with a dozen steel covered killers at his beck and call.