Deciding it would be a good idea to get a look at himself, he entered and stood in front of one of the many mirrors in the grooming area. He truly, with all his being, loved the day about 45 minutes ago. The crab queen, the mushroom boar, the bumpy wagon ride, and even Boarin Fatshield in the tub, he could handle. Strangely enough, the hardest thing about today was seeing himself in the mirror. Somehow, looking at his face put everything into perspective. He just looked off. The woman, Reina, was right too; indeed, he did have three distinct triangle tattoos under his collarbone.

  Sweeping his hair to the side and back, he exited the dingy wooden group tub that Brianna called a bathhouse. He was met by Reina at their agreed location. She was waiting for him.

  “Well, you clean up nicely,” she said.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” He looked at her confused face. “You look nice.”

  She smiled and bowed slightly. “Shall we go and eat? I happened to see the room blinking.”

  “Yes, I’m starving.”

  The narrator told me so every two minutes in the tub. They made their way down the winding staircase towards the intoxicating smell of food in the barroom. It wasn’t long before Rook found himself back in the same booth with Reina. Moments later, Briana returned with a serving of wobax for the two of them and two wooden tankards of foaming ale.

  “I really shouldn’t,” Reina said, placing a hand on Brianna’s wrist. “Can you bring me something lighter?”

  “No worries then.” Brianna looked at Rook. “Would you like it?”

  “Why not,” Rook said, eager to try the new swill.

  Rook looked into the new drink; it couldn’t be any worse than what he normally drank in the real world. He had been drinking the cheapest handles he could afford, the barracks special, it’s the kind of liquor that would put hair on a dog’s chest. He put the tankard to his lips and drank from the foamy ale. Shit, that’s good. Reina watched him down both cups unaffected.

  “I wouldn’t drink so much, this is especially strong. The Brewmaster of Ollar, Wink Alehart, has maxed his skills in both apothecary and Herbalist. People come from all around to drink it. I’ve seen Dwarves asleep on the floor from too many cups, and they never get drunk.”

  “Understood, I have a skill, though, that allows me to remain unaffected by things I consume.” Rook silently burped. “It’s called Nectar of the Gods and passively allows me to remain unaffected by the harmful effects of consumables.” He cut into the wobax with the wooden utensils and placed a piece on finbread as he saw Reina do.

  Reina blinked a few times with her jaw slack. “God Maker!” She exclaimed, then, embarrassed, she leaned in close. “For a passive skill?” She whispered, pulling out her journal and scribbling. “You get a passive skill through genetics. Some clans are more inclined to cryomancy or pyromancy. You shouldn’t have a skill that allows for that, it’s unheard of.”

  She showed him her journal. Within the page was what looked like the Jax family tree. Complete from her to the great-great-grandfather. Down on the bottom was written Reina, with the passive skill Eidetic Mind.

  “Impressive,” Rook said, wondering why the enhancer always wrote everything in her journal, but he left it alone.

  “Thanks, also I wouldn’t tell anyone, you could be immune to poisons, to potion fatigue, to alcohol.” She smiled. “Remind me not to get into a drinking contest with you.”

  Rook’s heart lurched into his throat. Can I never get drunk again? His pang of sadness was replaced by the incredible taste of the food. He was clean, full, and had a place to stay the night; what more could he ask for? He looked outside the booth window at the people passing by in the large intersection. The window on the opposite side featured a small statue of King Ollar, dressed in royal purple garb, complete with a cape, scepter, and crown.

  “King Ollar,” Reina said, following his gaze. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting face to face, but I’ve seen him on a few occasions.” Reina continued looking fondly at the statue. “He’s a good man, one of the people and for the people.”

  “Speaking of statues. I ran into a very big one in the bath named Orman Shieldshatter. There is also a Gnome named Excor. He was a flame fist.” Rook made a show of pretending his hand was on fire.

  “Those two scoundrels?” Reina shook her head and looked around. “What advice could they possibly give you?”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “They told me about leveling up in this place and a little about the Sentinels and beginner jobs.” Rook frowned. “They seemed sincere.”

  Reina sighed, then scanned the room once again. She patted Rook on the hand and pointed with her eyes. “There they are.” She was looking at a table of Gembas players.

  Rook strained his ears, hoping to catch potential whispering, but the table was rowdy. As if they wanted the tavern to hear the deal that was about to happen.

  “Alright, what’s the ante?” A man with slurred speech asked. He was big as an ox, bald with a beard.

  “The Gembas will decide.” Excor let the Gembas Crystal tumble to the table with a clatter. “Eight. The initial ante was 300 Silver. Meaning whatever you have to give must be at least 1 Gold and 100 Silver’s worth.”

  “I know how the game is played, ya halfling bastard!” the big man slurred.

  The gnome seemed slightly perturbed by the insult. As far as Rook knew, halflings were slightly taller than the gnomes and shorter than the dwarves. All three side by side in armor would look similar, he guessed.

  “Then hurry and place your bet,” Orman said, peeking at his cards.

  “Rein in your horse, Fat man. I bet my Warhammer.” The man patted the basketball-sized studded hammer.

  The enhancer looked at him. “Every Time I have seen someone lose something precious to Gembas, it was from these two.”

  “What do I want with a Warhammer,” Excor said, looking at the mace suspiciously. “I can’t wield it, and I don’t fancy dragging a Blunt weight around Ollar. Since I’m a halfling bastard and all.”

  “This Warhammer is special. It’s called the Voice of Heaven and it can summon Lightning.” The drunken man replied.

  Excor and Orman glanced at one another. It was the kind of conversation that two friends can have with a single look. He and Knox shared it many times whenever they had to complete a bullshit work detail. Their look said There’s a sucker born every minute. We need that hammer. Rook was surely annoyed with the two now, especially since they had borderline begged him to play Gembas with them.

  “Alright, you got it, big man.” Excor checked his cards, placed two down and Orman replaced them.

  “How many?” Orman said, staring intently at the man.

  He stared at his cards, then felt for his Warhammer like he regretted offering it up. Rook had to do something to these two hustlers. He placed three cards down and looked at Orman.

  “The other issue with their Gembas is that they play with Gnomish magic that can influence. Excor was a flame fist, but he also specializes in Psyomancy. There is a good chance that Excor has a worse hand than the drunk man does,” said Reina.

  Rook felt sick watching the man get taken advantage of. I can fix that. He was still unsure of the proficiency he had, but Reina and he were at a party now, and it just might be the advantage he needed. He conjured his Attramancy, focusing on the man’s cards. There was a darker line that flowed to the man’s hand, on the many rings he had on.

  A wicked grin crossed the dwarf’s and the gnome’s faces.

  “Here goes nothing,” Rook said, looking at Reina.

  Time to show your cards, don’t fold. The man sadly shook his head and began placing his cards face down in a motion to fold. Not quite. Beads of sweat formed on the gnome’s face. The dwarf was smiling brightly, no doubt ready to collect the Warhammer. The gnome placed his cards down, revealing that two kings were on the table. The man’s face began twisting into a mass of regret. Rook’s Attramancy locked on to his fingers, and he flipped the hand over forcefully, slamming the cards face up on the table, with an audible crack. Two Aces, he won the ante. The man blew on his fingers for a moment, staring at them in pain.

  Attramancy: 20/500

  +2 Experience gained. 12 of 300 experience until level 6

  The tavern erupted in chatter. Some of the patrons were asking the drunk man why the sudden change of heart, while others were laughing at the scoundrels for losing the pouch of coin. The Gnome and Dwarf stormed away from the table. They looked suspiciously at the patrons, most likely assuming foul play.

  Rook smiled at Reina. “I did it. I made the man win,” he whispered.

  “I saw,” she said, with a smile. Then she leaned in close to him and whispered. “Be careful, those two aren’t known for losing.”

  “Roger that,” Rook said.

  He gave her a salute, one he’d seen hundreds of Officers give while he worked the gates at military instillations. Many of the lazy bastards gave more of a half hearted wave, as opposed to the crisp snap they expected their enlisted counterpart to give.

  If Rook thought he was tired before, he was mistaken. He fought to keep his eyes open when Reina spoke, even thinking about resorting to prying open one eye with his finger and thumb. In basic training, some of his mouth breathing battle buddies put muscle cream underneath their eyes to stave off the weariness. He always thought they were idiots, but now he understood.

  She smiled at him. She. “It’s all right. We can continue this conversation tomorrow.”

  For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he even had for dinner, just that it was something gnome, let alone this conversation that he fought the sleep monster through. They decided to say farewell to their gracious host, Brianna. The bartender mostly gave a dismissive wave with her free hand. Does she ever stop working? He was halfway up the wooden staircase when he realized that there were footsteps trailing behind him, a gentle click on the hard boards beneath.

  He glanced over and was surprised to see Reina trailing behind him. “Are you sleeping here tonight with me?”

  She looked at him, confused. “I’m in your party aren’t I? Each party member eats together, fights together, conducts hygiene together, and even sleeps together well, or I mean…”

  “I understand your meaning,” Rook said with a tired chuckle. “Speaking of sleep, I get the bed closest to the door.”

  He knew that his innate trait of being a protector came from his father, once a great man, a great police officer, a detective. One that was so great at busting drug rings, he eventually got hooked on the seized drugs, turned abusive, and killed his mother. Why am I thinking about mom now after all this time? His mother was a saint, and when she was taken, he thought everything was over. Luckily, his grandfather took him in. His mind brought him back to memories of his childhood, of the staircase and his mother’s neo-traditional forearm tattoo.

  This place, whatever it really was, made him think that he was mentally breaking, because memories that he had tucked away and compartmentalized for so long started rushing to the surface. It was as if they couldn’t wait to get out. Well, here we are. He placed the old key into the lock and opened the door, allowing Reina to go in first. Honey, I’m home. Reina took the bed closest to the wall near the window.

  He looked at the thick, green, itchy blanket on top of his bed and peeled it back with a heavy sigh. He lay down and, dammit, if this wasn’t heaven made. The Army made him sleep in all sorts of wonderful places. In cots, on the dirt under the stars, in cramped seats, in the back of cargo trucks, etc.