Miracles make the Saint, rather than the reverse.

Muzi, Critiques of post-Fall Churches

Douglas Moore pondered the descriptor sheet he’d just looked at. The two men in that store had been just that, “human”. But what had made him jump to the occasion was when Milton had shaken the older one’s hand to conclude whatever deal she was negotiating that included that IOU she’d been handed for one night in town.

That was when he’d gotten a new sheet to roll out of the view from Milton. Some weird instinct had warned him while their hands were locked in contact, and time slowed to a halt, as he focused on it, and got two separate descriptors to pop. The familiar one for Milton, but her encounter’s character sheet as well.

Norman Zweller Grievar

Male human, 42 years, 2 months

No specialization (merchant)

Level: 4 (5000 XP needed)

4 unallocated skill points

XP: 13638

STR: 15

AUT: 16

AGI: 16

PER: 17 (3000XP needed)

DEX: 14

EMP: 16 (2000XP needed)

The name wasn’t a surprise, given the weird iron-wrought panel in front of the store. And the absence of specialization, he’d somewhat expected. The man was merely identified as “human” rather than some real specialization, after all.

The first interesting bit was the XP requirement for the next level. If it followed the linear course, it should have been 4000. So, why 5000 this time? And why so much unspent experience.

Not only that, but he had no skills whatsoever, yet… had managed to somehow raise some of his stats. And twice for Perception.

His first inclination had been to fix that. But nothing happened. There was no interaction, no way to add levels, select skills, to tweak further the stats. Norman Zweller Grievar was a read-only sheet.

Fuck. I’m sure I could fix him good. So much XP.

But as it stood, Moore couldn’t even toggle the specialization. Not that it would matter, without a skill to provide a good multiplier to. But the lack of a class bothered him. A character, even… what amounted to an NPC?… should have one.

Well, he could qualify for some kind of merchant, based on the suggestion. Did it exist in class form? His team had been noted as scavengers, but Moore had been unable to find it as an actual specialization. Maybe because it required stats they did not have.

Nothing in his still-short list of known specializations seemed to qualify as a merchant or similar type, so, while the hands of the two slowly crawled up and down in acknowledgment of the final deal they were sealing, Moore delved into the massive morass of the skills he could actually see, looking for things that might apply to a merchant’s class feature set, for curiosity’s sake. After all, with the time distortion, he had some time while Milton finished her handshake.

He almost immediately closed the virtual view.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Maybe I need to figure out a skill with some form of mental resistance. Those skill check passives? Based on a few skills I can see, if anyone is a true Merchant or whatever specialization is out there, my team might get robbed blind, and smile while it’s happening.

Norman Grievar waited a whole ten seconds after the door closed, and then called out his son.

“Anthony?”

“Father?”

“Get out and find me some kids to keep watch on them. There’s probably a handful who will do it for a couple of dimes. I want to know if they meet someone.”

The younger Grievar frowned at the unusual request. His father enjoyed the regular supply of random things coming from those four salvagers. For a bunch of farmers, they were pretty good at picking the right stuff, and while the elder Grievar told him he didn’t expect it to last beyond a few years “once they get older”, he tended to let them do their best and not bother any further. Anthony shot a surprised glance at his father.

“There was something off. They’re not novices at this, the threat of some pack of Canids prowling around the ruins shouldn’t get them running back for no good reason. Maybe hide for a day until they move away,” the father explained.

“Then why?”

“They also didn’t seem to have that much, compared to the last few times. It’s usually in the two-thousand range of goods. My guess? They found something particularly interesting, unique maybe, ran back with it, and they’re not going to sell it right now. They want either an independent appraisal or someone who may be willing to buy it for more than I will.”

Anthony’s face lit up in understanding.

“Is that why you said you didn’t have money?”

“Well, it’s slightly true. Piturca brought in lots of Alium this summer, after all. But we do have a slush fund for emergencies and I don’t need to get to the bank. Farmers like her hate gold coins – not liquid enough, and the bank will get their 1% share if you change there – but I could have offered one to pay for the lot with just a few silver dollars. But I’d rather not have them leave the city while I figure this out. Now go. Don’t show your face and spook them into hiding. That’s why you use random kids for that. Get enough to follow them at all times, even if they split,” the elder Grievar insisted.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know everything,” Anthony assured his father. “I’m on it!”

The Wandering Inn was a small establishment in the middle of the city, not too far from the center, tucked behind the marketplace. There weren’t that many inns in Valetta anyway. The two cheap ones were closer to the entrance of the city.

The inn itself was an impressive three-story building that looked positively ancient while not exactly Ancient itself. Johanna remembered her father talking about it. It had been in operation for generations now, long enough that no one knew why an inn would be wandering anywhere, or what the barred circle with a small stick child figure with a sword over it that the Inn used as a symbol since its founding meant. All the previous times she and the team had been in the city, they had stayed at the cheapest one they could instead.

Well, after their adventure, they could use the best stuff. Lord knew they deserved it.

So, they went into the main room of the Inn to check. It was spacious, well lighted with large windows letting the sun in, multiple lanterns hanging from the ceiling, ready for the evening. There were comfy chairs and large tables, well-spaced, all but one empty at this slightly early time. A huge counter with several flagons on wide shelves behind – including a couple that Johanna’s expert eye could guess were Ancient ones. Not that she expected they would have anything Ancient in them. Any century-old spirits still drinkable would end on a wealthy aristocrat shelf, possibly in some distant land. Certainly not a public inn in Valetta, even this one.

The man behind the counter read carefully Grievar’s note, before confirming the deal.

“You got… two rooms for one night. With a large bed in each. Dinner is included, a premium meal with no supplements. And one round of standard drinks of your choice. Breakfast tomorrow is early, from six, until eight. Like dinner, miss it, lose it.”

Johanna looked at her team, who nodded in unison. They all took the large key fob for their respective rooms and headed upstairs to drop their packs and unlimber.

The room was small but clean, and the bed like was something from home. It was a lot larger than Johanna’s old one, but very obviously full of feathers rather than straw. With embroidered linen covers and sliding storage drawers under the frame; it was obvious why the inn was the best one in Valetta.

“Oh boy. Now that’s what I call living,” Tom said.

“Cheapskate. That’s what I call basic standards,” she replied, smothering a laugh.

They both dumped their bags at the back of the room, under the small window. Tom looked at the small opening to the side.

“Seated toilet for the room, even,” he marveled.

“The shower’s on the floor, though,” she noted.

She stifled a jump when a pair of arms encircled her, and a head dropped into the nape of her neck. She leaned in, the stress and fatigue of the days suddenly gone like it had never been there.

“No shower?”

“I think… we would need another one in that case.”

“Men.”

“Hey, we both were polite with Laura and Peter on the road. Don’t tell me this isn’t much, much better.”

She turned her head and looked into the eyes of her boyfriend.

“I wonder if they’ll take the shower first,” she replied.

That was what being a voyeur felt like, Moore thought. His four hadn’t waited long. Johanna and Tom had probably lasted half a minute longer than the other two, and then, he had multiple POVs to the “action”.

And he could not decide what was worse. Having omnidirectional sight, meaning he couldn’t not look at the four views, even without focusing on one.

Or realizing that those views didn’t do anything to him. At all. Even if Laura Vogel seemed particularly inventive.