It had taken Caertonn some time to fall asleep, and as habit, arose at dawn. Though tired, he was excited. Today they would reach Metraft and he'd be able to upgrade his drabs into something with a little more flair. Right now he wore a Renaissance shirt and long, cut-off shorts of white linen slightly yellowed due to the quality of the material (at least he hoped). Since he was now a level six corsair, he should be able to get better clothes. And not too soon; he stuck out like a knife in a spoon drawer, the pieces were too loose, and they itched.

To pass some time, he organized his items and read everything available in his Book of Yu'ai. Finally. The page on being the Chosen One was enlightening, if a bit dissonant. It was filled with grand exposition about the nature of being the Chosen One, of vanquishing evil, of triumphing all challenges, of eventually destroying the Dark Lord. It wasn't him. He was just Caertonn Jimson, a farmer, a boy who wished he had his family and his farm.

When he left his room, the innkeeper's wife was already making breakfast. He sat alone at a corner table and ate a hearty meal provided by the kind woman, whose husband was still nursing off he night before in their bedroom. She smiled at him and gave him extra portions of poached eggs, cinnamon rolls, toast, coffee, bacon, sausage, and grits. He tried to politely decline, feeling his pants start to fit.

Breithart joined him in his “plain armor”, a set without etching or plumes or anything fancy. It was freshly polished and shone highly even in the slanted morning light, but it was much more subdued than the other armor Caertonn had seen him in.

“How many sets do you have?” he asked.

“I can't say, m'lord,” he said, sliding an egg down the slot in his helmet. “I have several dozen modes programmed. Many pieces overlap their usage.”

“What kind of modes?”

“Oh, like I have one when traveling in cold regions that has frost resistance and extra padding. I have another for situations that call for agility, like climbing or feats of death-defying balance.”

Caertonn couldn't imagine a situation that would need either. “You take pride in your armor and weapons.”

“It has taken me some considerable amount of time to attain them.”

“When did you start adventuring?”

“I began training when I was around eight. My father sent me off with his blessing to Metraft when I was fifteen, so five years.”

“You're twenty and you've managed to hit level twenty-eight. That's amazing.”

His metallic armor was rigid, yet somehow he still managed to puff out his chest. “Thank you, m'lord.”

“You must have trained quite a bit. How was your childhood?”

“Busy, m'lord.”

“Did your father train you or an uncle?”

“My father.”

“Who else is in your family?”

Caertonn asked all his questions with a friendly, interested tone. He was genuinely curious about the newest member of their group. But, after his last question the brute sat there, quiet for many moments.

“I'm sorry, Breithart. I just wanted to get to know you. I think a sense of camaraderie might help us synergize or gel better and make us a better team.”

“It is a good idea, m'lord.”

“But, you'd rather not talk about yourself?”

“I feel that I will be worthy to meet you face-to-face once I have proven myself.”

“I think you've already done that, but it's your decision.”

“Thank you, m'lord,” he said pouring coffee into his helmet.

Metraft was not far from Starta, In fact, once they reached the highway, they could see the wall of the city's gates far in the distance. Roads began to intersect, first green, then yellow, then orange, and lastly red, just as Breithart had described them. He assured them that there was a one mile buffer surrounding the city that was filled with only low-level creatures.

“Oh, I see quite a few quests in the city,” Caertonn said. “Three, four maybe?”

“Are any for a dungeon, m'lord?”

“I'm not sure. We're still too far away to even see titles.”

Outside the wall was a moat with a drawbridge open for traffic. Caertonn remembered this, but not much else. He had been given instructions when he visited Metraft and he had followed them so precisely that he hadn't strayed one inch from his path. Afraid that he was going to miss a turn, he hadn't looked up, either, and had missed the wonders the city had to offer.

Inside the walls were rows and rows of merchant stalls with owners yelling out their wares. Lyd began to wander when Kinenhael yanked him by his somehow oversized drab robe. “Don't buy anything,” he said. “These guys are overpriced because they're near the wall. Don't talk to them, don't make eye contact, and keep a tight fist around your coin purse.”

“You are an astute businessman,” Breithart said.

“I know a few goblins who taught me a thing or two.”

Past the stalls were the beginnings of neighborhoods with proper stone and wood buildings and cobblestoned streets. “Welcome to Metraft, m'lord,” Breithart said of the sounds of people talking, carts moving, and chickens clucking. “What would you like to do first?”

“There is a lot to choose from. Oh! We are expected to check in at our class lodges.”

“Very good, sir. I will lead us to the Square of Brotherhood.”

“Okay. Hmm. We're getting close to one of the gold quests. It's down that way,” Caertonn said, pointing to their right.

“Oh,” Breithart said flatly.

“Oh? What do you mean 'oh'?”

“It's the Fae District, m'lord. It's...a colorful neighborhood.”

Caertonn didn't know what Breithart meant by “colorful”, so Kinenhael leaned in and said, “What he means is it's a place of ill repute, of low morals and low standards. Someone with a name like his would find it tarnished faster than his armor in a mud wrestling contest.”

“Sir, if you wish to go there, I would be happy to provide protection for you.”

“Is it dangerous?” he asked.

“Not if you play your cards right,” Kine said, smirking until he saw Caertonn's worried face. “I'm sure its reputation is worse than what people say.”

The same rang true for Lyd. Caertonn had noticed the wary, almost hostile looks people had been giving the minotaur since before they stepped in past the gate. He'd also watched Lyd, his ears twitching, his shoulders ducked, his eyes darting around. He slowed the group and moved out of the way. “Breithart, do we all need to be together to complete a quest?”

“It depends on the quest, sir. Some quests require each member to gather items that aren't shared. Others ask for teamwork in a way that all members must participate in. It would specify.”

“Wait here a moment, then.”

He set off in the direction of the marker until he finally could read script underneath the title. “Pass the Duchy: Take a package from A Girl's Best Friend and deliver it to a disguised Duke Kief on Baker Street”. There was a “0/1” after the description, but nothing else.

Caertonn jogged back and relayed this information to the group. “I was thinking that I could do this quest and you three could check in with your lodges. I'll pop in quickly, and then we could meet to find a place to stay for the night.”

“If I may, m'lord?” Breithart asked. “Your lodges will require you to stay longer for your orientation. Your room and board is cheap while in the city, if you stay in the lodge. And there will be free classes that will help boost your skills.”

“And if I may, m'lord?” Kinenhael asked. “I will be accompanying you on your quest. No way I'm turning that down.”

“All right, then. Kine and I will do this quest if you could bring Lyd to the Sage Lodge, Breithart. And we'll meet tomorrow.”

“Excellent plan, sir. Please call on me in the Paladin Lodge if you need me.”

He watched as his two new friends walked down the street, Lyd's massive shoulders hunched while Breithart strode confidently forward. “Us alone again?” Kinenhael said. “Let's get this quest done, son.”

As they walked down the street, Caertonn asked, “What do you know of the Fae District?”

“According to my adventurer friends, there's usually one in each city. It's a seedy place where a lot of crime goes on, or they're at least more blatant about it. Thieves, pickpockets, assassins, that kind of thing.”

“And we're headed into it?”

“Well, it's more that you can hire those people, not necessarily that they're out there. But, maybe hold on to your coin purse tightly.”

“I'll help you with that, sailor,” a man walking by said, smirking and raising his eyebrows as he appraised Caertonn.

“Um, thanks,” he said.

Kine put his hand on Caertonn's shoulder. “Don't talk to anyone, don't make eye contact.”

The Fae District wasn't laid out evenly. They would walk a few blocks and hit a T-intersection, then walk a few blocks more and be forced to turn a corner. All the while they passed several people, or creatures, that were dressed inconspicuously in heavy trench coats or cloaks. Caertonn was fairly certain he'd seen a tentacle slip out from them hem of someone who quickly walked, or perhaps slithered, away.

“Which way is it again?” Kinenhael asked.

“It's right over there,” Caertonn answered, pointing on the other side of a row of buildings. “But, we've been by this area before and there aren't any openings nearby.”

“Well. We could use the map.” He slapped his goggles down and looked around. “Yeah, so we'll need to walk two blocks that way, then over three, down one, over one, down one...Or, and bear with me, we could walk through a shop.”

“Walk through a...would they mind?”

“Not if we buy something. I saw a shop back a bit that piqued my interest.”

Not two minutes later they were standing in front of Snog's Yerbalist Shoppe. Kinenhael flashed a smile and opened the door. Bluish smoke curled out and the music grew louder, something pleasing and comfortable with sitars and singing bowls.

“Close the door,” a short man behind the counter said. It took Caertonn a moment for his eyes to adjust and to realize that the proprietor wasn't a human, but a diminutive, ugly creature with brown hair over his body. In fact, it was a gruagach, but Caertonn wouldn't know this nor would he know how to pronounce it.

“My good man,” Kinenhael began.

“Woman.”

“My good woman, what do you have in stock?”

Caertonn looked around and saw rows and rows of hand-sized burlap sacks with names written on the outside as well as many pipes, bowls, and long glass cylinders. The shop smelled like Kinenhael and patchouli.

“Depends on what level you're looking for. I just got a fresh batch of Feeblemind in yesterday.”

“Level three, two if the price is good.”

“Level two,” she said, teetering around the counter. “I've got Misty Step, Phantasmal Killer, and Astral Projection.”

“Hmm. Do you have any Dankwood Forest? That's a particular favorite of mine.”

“No. My Fog Cloud is rather fresh, as is my Magic Missile.”

“Uh, how about Moons of Endo?”

She shook her head.

“Hadoukush? Tokemon?”

Another shake of the head.

Kinenhael turned to Caertonn. “Maybe you want to start that quest without me. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Caertonn nodded and left out the back of the shop, fanning his drabs to aerate the smell out of his clothes. When he looked up from his task, his mouth dropped for a moment. Before him was a lush, open square with a dazzling array of colors. Glass globes hung from the branches of a tree, all hues present. Farther away on a pole silks scarves fluttered in the wind dyed every tint ever conceived. In the center, scantily clad men and women danced, sometimes flew, to the music being played on marimbas and drums and flutes. Perhaps Breithart had been literal.

“Hey, little chickadee, you look lost,” a man said as he approached. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm...on a quest,” he said, still watching the display.

“Oh? What kind of a quest?”

“I need to deliver something.” He finally tore his eyes from the square to look at the man speaking. Or, perhaps “man” was only half correct. On their right side they were a well-muscled man of bronzed skin and handsome, chiseled features. On their right they were a soft woman with long, dark hair and ample curves. There line of divide was blended, but the contrast was still startling.

They shifted their robe and frowned at Caertonn's stare. “Do you need help?”

“That would be kind of you, thanks. I need to find a shop called A Girl's Best Friend.”

“Dantylore's place, hmm. It's not far from here.” They set off and Caertonn followed.

It was easy to slow down and lose track of his escort. The party continued with lots of drink and food, but all sorts of people joined and left at a constant rate. And he meant all sorts. Tiny, winged creatures he assumed were fairies fluttered about in the hundreds. Tall tree people, with weathered brown skin and verdant locks swayed to the rhythm. Some were incredibly thin, some gargantuan, some rolling instead of walking they were so corpulent.

“You gawk a lot,” they said.

“I'm sorry. I grew up on a farm in Fallamari. I suppose that makes me a bit sheltered.”

“And rude? You haven't even introduced yourself.”

“Oh, Caertonn Jimson.” He found himself in a strange situation where he wasn't sure if he should kiss their left hand or shake their right. So, he did both, and his escort's eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Yanash'jit of Hebretre. I'm what the enlightened scholars of Mount Dumidjit call a machly. This half of me,” they said, pointing to their male side, “is in love with my female half, but my female half couldn't care less. You see, we all love a little strangely here, and sometimes we reap strange fruit for it. You ken?”

Caertonn nodded.

“Good. It's why we'd rather have wayward souls get their jollies somewhere else. Or here, and then move on, like a little starling or a chickadee.” Yanash'jit turned and leaned their arm against a door. “A Girl's Best Friend. Don't make me regret being kind.”

Caertonn thanked the machly and opened the door to the shop. Inside sparkled and dazzled with diamonds, crystals, and jewels of all colors that refracted in the light that streamed through the window. In the corner of the store was a fat, ugly little man with beautifully iridescent wings that fluttered so fast, they appeared to be stationary. Caertonn had learned in his brief time in the Fae District to be polite, so he didn't gawk. Well, perhaps he stared a little too long, but the man didn't seem to notice.

“Can I help you?” he asked, hovering behind a display case.

“Are you Dantylore?”

“Yes, who's asking?”

“I'm supposed to pick up a package for Duke Kief.”

“Ah, you must be the Chosen One. Hmm.” Dantylore looked him up and down quickly. “You don't look like much, but I like you better than the other one.”

“Other one?”

“The big one with the long hair. He sneers at everything. What's his name?”

“I don't know...”

“It'll come to me.” He plucked a set of jewelry from a case and placed it inside a deep red velvet bag. “Here ya go.”

“What, just like that?”

“What do you mean?” Somehow the man's face grew uglier when he considered things.

“You trust me? We've only just met and you don't know if I'm lying or pretending to be someone I'm not.”

“I was told by the Duke that the Chosen One would be stopping by at some point to pick up some jewels for the Duchess. He said that only the Chosen One knew about it. No one's ever asked for Duke Kief's jewels, so I'm going to assume that you're the Chosen One.” He frowned for a second. “Inciter!”

Caertonn looked around. “Pardon?”

“That's the other guy's name. Richard Inciter. Goes around saying he's the Chosen One and people gobble it up. He's a liar. You know how I know?” Caertonn shook his head. “He's never asked about Duke Kief's jewels. Bet he doesn't even have a proper birthmark.”

“Birthmark?”

“All Chosen Ones have them, you know?” Dantylore leaned on the counter and gave a devilish smirk, supposedly. “You have one?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“But what?”

“Just that.”

Dantylore blinked, then laughed. “You have it on your ass! I need to see it!”

Caertonn blushed furiously, snatching the velvet pouch.

“Sorry, kid, I was just kidding.” Caertonn quickly stormed out of the shop. “Please don't lose them or sell them! I'll get in big trouble!”

Once he was on the street, he tossed the pouch in his hand a few times. The temptation was there, but fleeting. He flipped his eyepatch down and set out towards the location of Duke Kief. A few people called out to him, interested in what was in his hands, until he scooted into an alley and put the pouch into one of the spatial spacer slots. The rest of the journey was uneventful.

The Duke's estate was a large house on the corner of a street. He could tell it was the house of someone rich by the ornate scrollwork under the eaves, the high quality of the tile used in the courtyard beyond the gate, and the rare blossoms drooping over the fence onto the street. Also, his name was on the mailbox.

Caertonn rang the bell outside the open gate and waited. He was about to take a seat on the rounded stone bench when he saw an absurdly thin man open the front door. His right arm was raised and held a cornucopia. His feet were tiny and en pointe, whisper quiet and ghost-like as he stepped shuffled one foot in front of the other. “You rang?” the man asked, his hair falling into big curls.

“I, uh, have a package for the Duke?”

“Do you?”

Caertonn pulled out his spatial spacer and opened one of the slots. The pouch floated out and expanded. “I'll take that,” the man said.

He was just about to hand the pouch over when he stopped. It was in Caertonn's nature to be agreeable. When he had done deliveries before, he hadn't balked when leaving the order of eggs or bushel of beans with someone else. But, this was a quest and the quest said he needed to deliver it to the Duke. “If it's all the same, I'd like to deliver it to the Duke himself.”

The thin man tittered. “The Duke is a very busy man. He doesn't have time to accept deliveries from every errand boy that comes to his gates. Now, give it here.”

“I'm sorry, but I need to put this in the Duke's own hands.”

“I can give you an accepted slip.” Caertonn shook his head. “Then I'm afraid you can't make your delivery.”

“What if I said it was from Dantylore?” he asked.

The servant cocked his head to the side for a moment, then closed his eyes. After a few moments his expression soured. “The Duke would like meet you.”

The gate was opened and he was escorted into the house, up stairs, through hallways, until the double doors of the Duke's office were opened. Caertonn was ushered inside the plush room where a man sat behind a desk. “Ah! So, this is our stalwart messenger!” he said.

“This is His Grace, Duke Kief,” the servant said.

Caertonn bowed hesitantly. The Duke seemed normal, his skin a healthy, golden color and his eyes a deep blue-purple, his coloring like a blueberry pie. “Hello. I just wanted to make sure it reached you.”

“You don't think my lares is trustworthy?”

“Well, no, sir.” His eyes widened. “I mean, I don't believe he isn't trustworthy.”

“That's a double negative.”

“Sorry, sir. I'm sure your lares is trustworthy, but my instructions were to give the pouch to you directly.” He stepped forward and placed the bag on the desk.

The Duke picked it up and Caertonn heard a rhythmic thumping noise coming from below the desk. He watched as the man gently opened the pouch and laid the pieces one-by-one on the palm of his left hand. “Exquisite. My wife will look ravishing in these.”

“I'm sure she will.”

He looked up from the jewelry, his eyes twinkling and his grin large. “I see you have an eyepatch, a viewer, if I'm not mistaken. I take it you're an adventurer?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood and came around the desk. His legs below his breeches were hairy, bent back with paws instead of feet. He had a shaggy tail that seems to have a mind of its own, thumping everything it came into contact with. Caertonn's eyes widened, but he had learned his lesson. Perhaps too well; he looked at everything but the dog-man's legs and the lares glared at him.

“Do you plan on going into Sahrazad?” he asked, putting his arm around Caertonn and leading him forward.

“I'm not sure. What is it?”

“It's the lowest level raid dungeon in Metraft.”

He remembered the term “raid” from his reading. That was a dungeon that needed two more members. “My group is rather new and I'm not sure if they'd like asking more people to come along.”

“It will happen sooner rather than later, unless your group sticks strictly with quests.”

The Duke's tail brushed up against his thigh and he suppressed a shiver. “I suppose you're right, sir, and we'll eventually do it.”

“Exactly. Inside Sahrazad is a jewel I'd like for my collection. It's an aquamarine with a cat's eye, as big as your fist. Find this for me and I will make sure you are rewarded.”

“I suppose it's worth a shot,” Caertonn said.

“Wonderful!” The Duke's tail thumped against his leg several times and Caertonn gave him a forced smile. “I wish you the best of luck.”

The chimes went off from his eyepatch once he reached the street. He grinned. He had leveled up to eight, saw that four silver were added to his pile in his spatial spacer, and almost missed catching a pair of gloves that fell from sky. His viewer showed they were for a level ten; he put them on anyway.

And then he looked around. He had no idea where he was. His map was guiding him to Sahrazad, not a place he wanted to go to yet. While he could see markers and names above them, there were a lot and it was difficult to parse out which one was the one he wanted. He turned to see if he could find anyone on his map, but their names were mixed in with everything. He pinched the air in front of him, as he'd seen Kine do, but reading maps was a skill he hadn't quite grasped. And his sense of direction was fuddled; in the forest, he'd know where he was, but the city was different.

He was lost.

Caertonn looked to the people walking around. Those that weren't in carriages pulled by fancy horses or elk were walking with servants or with their beaus. None seemed interested in helping a poor farmer find directions. He tried to get the attention of a porter or someone in simpler clothing, but his tentative, “Uh, excuse me?”s fell on deaf ears.

He knew that eventually someone would come and help him, a constable if not one of his group members. For now, though, he moved to the side feeling helpless and lonely.

Was there something he could use? Kinenhael had given him a Sphinx's Claw. No, that was only good for solving quests. He could use the Assistance Flair... No, that was only for dungeons and one of his teammates would have to be looking out for it. Maybe he could...

A young man walked down the street with an older one, deep in conversation. The youth was wearing drabs, like Caertonn, though of a different cut. As he watched the two men, the sounds muted and the background blurred.

The boy, likely not much younger or older than Caertonn himself, had curly hair that was fuller on the top of his head, wild and twisted like tree roots that sat waiting to trip a man who wasn't paying attention. His skin was darker than his own, like shaded sandstone. And his eyes that crinkled when he smiled were a pale green, like late frosted leaves or lamb's ear.

The two passed by and he cleared his throat. “Grootings!” he squeaked. Oh, the humility. His face burned red so quickly that he felt his legs tingle from the blood loss. There was a distinct possibly he had given himself gangrene. The green-eyed boy stared at him and Caertonn's shame only deepened. “Greetings. Good day,” he stammered.

“Good day,” the older man said. The boy continued to stare.

“I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the guild halls.”

“I see you have a viewer, corsair. Can't you find it on your own?”

“I'm still new at this,” he mumbled.

“You couldn't find any other passing pirates to help you out?”

“I'll take him!” the boy said, finally finding his voice.

“We don't help other-”

“You said rangers help everyone, especially those lost and downtrodden.”

“Yes, but I didn't mean-”

“He needs help. I'm just walking him to the guild halls. I promise I'll take a lesson tonight.”

The older man narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “Fine.”

The boy grinned and grabbed Caertonn's arm. “Come! You were pointed in the right direction, but it is a little complicated.”

“Thank you,” he said as they walked. “Who was that man and why didn't he want you helping me?”

“That's Kalor Greenstrider,” he answered, with a questioning lilt at the end that suggested Caertonn should have heard of him. “He's the Head of the Rangers for Metraft. The Heads and some of the members really get into the politics of the guilds and like keeping things separate. Better odds of winning the battlegrounds. And most houses don't like corsairs because they tend to be involved with criminal things. No offense.”

“None taken. I don't know any corsairs. And I really wouldn't have picked this class if given the chance.”

“What would you have picked?”

“Ranger.”

“So, why didn't you?”

“My...second-in-command, I guess, is a bombardier.”

“Ah,” the boy said.

Caertonn reached out for his hand and shook it, introducing himself. “I just arrived in the city today.”

“I gathered as much!” he said, laughing. “I'm Galen KoRelli, level six ranger.”

“I'm level eight,” Caertonn said with faux pride. “Though, I guess that makes me the same level as you in my class.”

He was about to say something else when the street they were walking on opened up into a massive square. (Well, a rectangle, really, but a square in the sense of the function, not the shape.) They were in the middle with a large swath of parks in the center, a cobbled street surrounding them. Across from the parks were massive buildings, each with its own style of architecture. There were eighteen, Galen told him.

“Each for a different class?”

“Exactly. Now, I believe the corsair building is this way,” Galen said, turning right. “Where did you come from?”

“Fallamari. It's not far from here. Just a small farming village near the coast.”

“Were you a farmer?”

“Yeah. My family died in a fire two years ago. I came home and they were gone. But, the animals were alive and the farm needed work. So, instead of starting my questing then, like I was supposed to, I stayed and took care of everything.”

“That sounds wonderful.” His eyes widened. “I mean, not about your family! Sorry. I mean taking care of a farm. Did you like it?”

“Loved it. I'd still be doing it if the animals didn't die and the plants didn't wither.” He spent a few minutes giving a timeline on those events.

“And you say that no other farm in the village had those problems? I mean, vampire gophers sucking the pulp out of your watermelons is really specific.”

“Yeah, no one I spoke with had those, nor the flock of acid-crapping robins. Not even a hint of chickens with chicken pox. It's fatal to them, I learned.”

“It's odd.”

Caertonn looked over at the forest on the corner they were passing by. “I like that one the best so far. It feels comfortable.”

“That's the ranger's park! Do you want to check each of them out? They're different for each city, so I've been told.”

“I don't have anywhere to be until tonight,” he said with a smile.

So, they walked through each of the gardens. Some were wild with an unkempt look showcasing a mess of flora and fauna. Others were highly manicured with beds of flowers and fountains. The witch's park was practical with many kinds of herbs for potions. There was even a cold marble slab with statues on it for the warriors. Warriors didn't have much use for shrubbery.

All the while, as they wended through each, they spoke of their lives. Caertonn talked more about his farm and his new group. Galen was a merchant's son from Jouwer on the Braquish Sea and had spent most of his life in the city, dreaming of escape on the sea or south to the forests. “Numbers and books, they weren't for me,” he said.

“What happened?”

“My father and I had a falling out over something and I left. This was after I had written to Kalor to ask if he could take me as an apprentice, so I knew I was leaving.”

“I didn't know adventurers did apprenticeships.”

“It's a faster way to level in your class. But, I have a contract that I have to hit level twenty by a certain time and Kalor gets a portion of my dungeon and quest loot.”

“So, you're not in a group?”

“Kalor has a deal with some other Heads where they all bring apprentices in to brute and heal with supervision. I've run Sahrazad about a dozen times now.” He sighed. “I ran away to get out of the city, and I'm stuck here again.”

“You don't get to go outside?”

“Until I'm level ten, no. Then I'll get more autonomy.”

Caertonn looked up and saw a building of bowed planks and port holes. At the top was a to-scale ship's deck complete with masts, yards, and sails. “I suppose this is me. It was a very long way to get here, but thank you. I enjoyed talking with you.”

“The same,” Galen said, smiling. “I'll see you around, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure. We're about the same level, so we'll be doing the same quests.”

Caertonn smiled and waved goodbye as he opened the door to the corsair's guild hall. The smell of beer was overwhelming as was the sound of sea shanties nearby. A man with a loose shirt and a bandana around his head greeted him. “Welcome, lad, welcome. You'll need to be signin' in if yer Communication skill be high enough.”

He took the quill and signed his name. Ghost ink appeared in a box and filled in his stats.

“Welcome aboard, laddie. It be dinner time, so go get yerself some grub.”

Dinner time? He must have spent hours talking with Galen. “Thank you.”

Caertonn walked down a half-flight of stairs and pushed open the swinging double doors. He took an involuntary step back when he saw the chaos of the mess hall. There were several long tables with bench seats occupied at half capacity. Of those fifty or so people, ninety-five percent were engaged in singing, eating, drinking, and swinging from the chandeliers, sometimes all four at once. There were already sizable puddles of beer on the ground and globs of mashed potatoes clinging to the wall.

In the front of the hall was an open counter where people were getting trays of food. He grabbed one and began helping himself to the food. It looked like high quality grub. There was plenty of seafood, including lobster and crab legs, steak, potatoes, salads, and chocolate cake. There were several already filled mugs of stout at the end.

“Um, excuse me?” he asked the chef, a man with eight arms who was dishing out for several people at once.

“What be it, laddie?”

“What if you, uh, don't like...beer?”

“Don't like beer?” He laughed, then stopped and eyed him. “Yer serious?”

“Yeah.”

The chef spit to the side and handed him a mug. “See me tomorrow mornin' fer yer education.”

“Thank you.”

In the opposite corner of the room were a few empty seats that had less food on them than the others. He sat and ate his meal with as much peace as possible, making his way through at least half his steak before a full mug of beer was spilled over his tray.

“Argh, laddie!” a burly man with a dripping beard said before flopping into the seat next to him. “Haven't seen ye around these parts afore.”

“I'm new. Caertonn,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. Instead, the man wrapped his massive arms around him and squeezed until he felt joints pop.

“We don't shake! We're all be brothers and sisters here. I'm John Beeredbeard, though most call me Little John.”

“Like the Robin Hood character?” he asked, but Little John ignored him.

“I'm guessing yer a newbie,” he said, gesturing to Caertonn's clothes. “Level five?”

“Six, in corsair. Eight overall.”

“You'll be takin' the courses on the morrow? Good way to boost yer skills.”

“Yes. And I can stay here overnight?”

“S'long as yer one of us, ye can stay dirt cheap. Just t'ree coppers o' night.”

Since he'd just made four silver just today and a copper was a hundredth the amount of a silver, he felt like it was a fair cost. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Well, mebbe avoid the chef's course on beer. Be respectful-like to those who be higher level then ye. And don't cross the Head.” Little John jutted his chin to a figure at a smaller table with only three chairs. He wore a gold-embellished tricorn hat with a red plume, a long coat, a frilly white shirt, and folded leather gloves. He was also a monkey.

“He's a monkey?” Caertonn asked. He must have said it much louder than he thought, since the whole room went deathly silent in three seconds. Every pair of eyes, including those not used for vision or extra pairs for certain creatures, turned to look at him. “N-no, that's, uh, great! That's a wonderful thing!” he said and the room erupted into song and dance once more.

“That be Yancy Fancypants, Captain of the Blue-Footed Booby,” Little John said. Caertonn bit his lip. “He's the scalliest wag that ever crossed the Assaulti Sea.”

“I bet.” He looked over at the human-sized monkey and saw him meet his gaze and grin with his lips peeled back.

“Argh, I think he be likin' ye, laddie! At least I think that be what he do with those he likes.”

“Swell.”

Little John slapped his hand on his leg. “Swell! That be a good one. You'll be making a fine corsair, yet. If yer done with yer grub, go past Yancy and to the right. There be a store and a place to get yer key for the night.”

“Thank you,” he said, grabbing his tray. He brought it up to the chef, who gave him a funny look.

“What ye be needin', laddie?”

“I was bringing up my tray?”

“Oh, ye don't need to be doin' that. Just...throw it on the ground.”

“Okay?” Caertonn said, dropping it and moving out of the way before it splattered all over his pants.

“There be a good lad.”

The shop shared a wall with the mess hall and was filled with items on shelves. The shopkeeper offered a discount to trade his drabs in for a pair of pants and a shirt. “Yes, please!” he said, though he was disappointed to find it was the same outfit in cotton instead of linen.

“You can get five other pieces, both your hands, and jewelry,” the shopkeeper said, a merman who sat in a tank of water behind a counter. Caertonn placed all the items he had on it. “Well, I can get gloves, but they would be replaced by those in two levels. You have a very nice off-hand gun and the best viewer until level ten. You'll probably replace your foil in a few levels, and I have a better one, but it's fine. I'd recommend, at minimum, a hat, a kerchief, a belt, and shoes.” He grouped those items together and swam over to an area with some jewelry. “Here are a few necklaces to choose from as well as rings.”

“Is there any difference?”

“It depends on what you want to boost. See, if you take all the items I suggested, your strength, integrity, agility, and stamina will be in a good place. This necklace,” he said, holding up a silver chain with an anchor as a pendant, “will increase your strength and integrity, while this one,” he said, holding up a gold chain with tiny fish for the links, “will increase your stamina and agility.”

“Which one's better?”

“Depends on your style of fighting and your group dynamic. Do you like burning the boss down as quickly as possible or do you handle the minions so that they don't swarm your healer?”

“Um, well, I was the brute until we got one. We haven't done any dungeons, yet. We have a bombardier in our group and our healer is low level. So, I suppose the second one.”

“You'll act like a secondary brute when fighting, then. You'll need strength and integrity.” He put the silver necklace on top of the pile of clothes, followed by a silver ring with an anchor on it. Caertonn paid for the items, wishing that everything wasn't so red, white, and navy, and was given a key to his room.

It was small, but had enough space for a dresser, a desk and chair, and a nightstand next to the hammock. He changed into his new clothes, feeling somehow much younger than his years, and placed his old items into his spatial spacer, looked at his stats, then crawled into his hammock. The building creaked every few moments, which kept him up far longer than he expected. He yawned and turned, thinking about his day and the people he met. He smiled and was soon fast asleep.