In contrast to the cluttered buildings and disheveled streets elsewhere in the undercity, the Brawler's Guild hall was remarkably clean and free from signs of age and degradation.
Dressed in their newly acquired clothes, Naleth and the unnamed were dropped off at the entrance to the hall, a large entryway with two vast stone pillars standing at either side of a set of large wooden doors.
The symbol of a clenched fist sat proudly at the heart of each door as insets that were cast in bronze and polished to an impressive sheen. The symbol was replicated in stone high up on each of the pillars. On the leftmost pillar, the fist was holding a sword in a horizontal grip. On the right pillar, the closed fist held a small club.
Naleth turned to the unnamed, grinning and motioning to the huge wooden doors, clearly impressed.
"Is good, yes?"
The unnamed nodded, his companion's smile proving somewhat contagious. He still had reservations about this guild and its intentions, but if he was to be presented with a choice between whatever laid beyond those doors and the rest of his life spent in the blood pits, he'd gladly take his chances with the guild.
"You got the seal?" Naleth asked, practically jumping up and down in anticipation as he wrung his hands together.
The unnamed nodded, lifting the small wooden chit the slaver boss had given him. "Yeah, it's right here."
As if waiting for precisely those words, the doors to the guild hall opened, heavy wood creaking on protesting hinges.
A tall, overly muscled man came stomping out onto the street. The tall figure was bald and shirtless with billowing striped pants of white and red and heavy black boots, an outfit that wouldn't be out of place in a circus. The curved moustache on his upper lip completed the look. However, he wore a grim expression, though the unnamed found it difficult to take seriously given the rest of the man's appearance.
Somewhat dumbstruck by the sudden arrival of the huge figure, the unnamed held out his hand, showing the guild seal chit nestled in his palm.
The big man ignored him entirely, looking up at Naleth and frowning like a cattle farmer inspecting a bull.
"Well now, you are an impressive specimen," the man said, circling around the giant brute. "A troll, if I'm not mistaken. One of the NPCs who rose up against the Didact I hear."
Naleth nodded, his grin widening. "Yes. I join the rebellion and do much punishment because of it. Ten years I spending in the mines, then I take chance to fight in blood pits. I win one fight, one of twenty. But now Naleth is here, at the guild of bashers. Very happy. Very joy."
The shirtless man slapped one of Naleth's forearms, nodding appreciatively as the thick slab of muscle barely reacted to his blow. "Good. You'll do well. A lot of natural strength and resilience. We are in need of someone with precisely such qualities."
With that the large man turned his attention to the unnamed. His expression soured considerably. He walked over, looking the young man up and down before turning on his heels and walking toward the doorway, motioning for them to follow.
The unnamed stood holding the chit in his outstretched hand as the big man spoke over his shoulder. "Just in time to meet the other initiates. I won't bother wasting words until you're all together, so step quick."
The unnamed and Naleth shared a grin as they followed the other man through the double doors and into the guild hall beyond. As with the building's exterior, the inside of the hall was immaculately clean, boasting thick stone columns, floors lined with colorful carpets, and what looked to be trophy cabinets and bookcases lining the walls around a vast central space. In one corner of the chamber stood rows of long benches and tables, and the faint smell of cookfires wafted into the room from somewhere nearby.
As they followed the brawny figure into a second chamber, the reason for the building's pristine cleanliness became abundantly clear. Men and women dressed in similar brown clothes as those they had been gifted were dusting and cleaning every imaginable surface. They worked with intense focus, barely noticing the newcomers pass.
The bare-chested man led the unnamed and Naleth out into an open square surrounded on all sides by wings of the larger building. There were fruit trees lovingly displayed in the corners of the courtyard, looking every bit as well-tended and immaculate as everything else in the guild hall.
A large light shone down from high above, providing heat in addition to the startling luminescence. Whether some work of engineering or magic, the fake sun seemed to provide the citrus trees with precisely what they needed to grow and flourish. It also gave the courtyard a refreshing outdoor feel.
A dozen or so people milled about in the square, men and women of different ages, and one or two figures that weren't strictly human.
A young elvish woman with blonde hair and fine features plucked nervously at her elfin ears as the newcomers took their place at the rear of the gathered initiates. She caught the unnamed's eye and smiled briefly while the broad-shouldered half-orc beside her turned and gave him a withering look.
The two turned back to face the bare-chested man as he stood with his hands behind his back. He paused to ensure that all eyes were fixed on him before he commenced.
"My name is deBorst Kalric," he announced in clear, loud tones. "Master Tacticus of the Brawler's Guild and currently your primary means of advancement in this wretched city."
He started pacing left and right, hands still held behind his back, arms rippling with muscle.
"Some of you are not new to the undercity. Indeed, some have endured great hardship to be here this day. But, for the benefit of those doe-eyed, newborn souls who have only recently awoken within the great game, listen closely and take these words to heart."
He stopped dead, spinning around and snapping his fingers sharply, and a string of symbols and numbers popped into existence above his right shoulder. Similar to those of the twin sword-bearers in the blood pits, the list seemed to reflect basic characteristic stats, skills, and feats the huge man had acquired. But instead of a sword at the top of the attributes, a clenched fist stood proudly, its outermost edges shimmering with golden light. Beneath that stood a golden shield with the number forty-five at its center. A series of high numbers and skill symbols were outlined below.
"Five feats I have earned in the years since I myself awoke beneath the shadow of the Havenspire. Five feats and twenty-five years of toil and hardship, and not a little luck. This rank I have earned through the sweat of my brow, the blood in my veins. And with this rank I am elevated beyond the common rabble."
He smiled, looking up as though at a stairway leading to the heavens themselves. Several of the initiates turned to look in the same direction, so infectious was the conviction on Kalric's face. They turned back as the burly master continued.
"By rights, my rank permits entry to the Blue and even Indigo levels of the Havenspire. Yet I do not dwell in the upper echelons of the great tower; I live here in the undercity, surrounded by those with no rank, no status."
He looked at the initiates, no longer captivated by some imagined lofty sight in the distance.
"And why? Why do I ply my craft here among the dregs rather than live a life of leisure? Why am I not off in the Shadowlands fighting against the great enemy and earning honor and prestige?"
The master stood silent for a few moments, waiting to see if anyone among the gathered initiates would be foolish enough to answer the question. Once a little time had passed, he smiled, nodding to himself.
"Because life in the Brawler's Guild means service. And this is how I can best serve. Because the guild gave me all that I have, and any glory I could achieve on the battlefield would pale in comparison to the service I can offer here within these sacred halls. Any leisure I could enjoy in the echelons above would taste bitter on my tongue and thus be rendered worthless."
He looked from one to the other, his hard gaze lingering on each face.
"Learn this lesson first and foremost, my little lambs. To join this guild means more than a chance at elevation through gaining rank. It means a life of service and purpose, where one's toil has meaning and thus far more worth than vacuous titles and status points."
He smiled, looking above their heads again.
"Honor through service. That is the mantra of the Brawler's Guild and the code by which we live. We do not seek honor for its own sake, nor work toward our own elevation simply so that we may one day enjoy a life of leisure. Honor through service."
The big man rocked back and forth on his heels, smiling at the gathered initiates as the weight of his words hit home.
The unnamed caught sight of the young elven woman he had notice earlier. She had turned aside to look at one of the other initiates before turning back to the master once more. She was the first female elf he'd seen since arriving in Havenspire. Beautiful, with delicate features and sharp blue eyes. She also wore two knives sheathed on her belt, one to either side.
That brief glimpse of her profile set the unnamed's mind to wandering. He found himself wondering whether, like Naleth, she'd been a former NPC, caught up in a rebellion against the ruler of this strange world. Or perhaps she was human, and her body has been changed as part of the transition to the great game.
He spied at least one dwarven figure among the group, as well as the half-orc standing next to the elf woman. Given Naleth's story, it was unlikely they were all ex-NPCs. That meant they likely had purchased skin upgrades prior to entering Havenspire.
The unnamed hadn't been given that option himself, even though the company representative had mentioned the possibility several times. He could have entered Havenspire as one of a dozen different races, but that would have cost money, of course. Despite their meager funds, his parents had inquired as to the cost of making some minor physiological enhancements to the shell he would inhabit in the game. All but the most basic transition plans had been beyond their means, and though REDACTED had been on the verge of death, struggling to comprehend what was taking place around him, he had clearly read the stress and worry on his mother's face as they discussed the limited funds available to execute the transition.
He wondered now whether they felt guilty that they were only able to offer him the most basic transition package. He wished he could talk to them, wished he could explain that even if they'd had the money to spare, he wouldn't have wanted an exotic new body. It was already confronting enough being thrust into this nightmare world without having to deal with tusks or horns… or a tail.
But he couldn't speak with them, and now that he was embedded in Havenspire, he knew the true reason why. The company insisted it was to maintain the integrity and veracity of the simulation. They insisted that pulling people out of their new world periodically to speak with real-world relatives would do great psychological damage. Worse, the instability that damage caused could easily spread through the delicate microcosm of the great game, impinging on other people's rights to both privacy and a life free of such unnecessary turmoil.
It seemed such a reasonable and persuasive argument. But now he knew the real reason for the opaque curtain between reality and game.
He snapped out of his reverie as Kalric continued his speech.
"While you reside within these walls, there are three means by which you may achieve some modicum of elevation and, in time, gain rank. Service, martial prowess, and the fulfillment of guild contracts."
Kalric held up a single finger.
"The first of these is service. Cooking, cleaning, and maintaining the building and its outlying grounds. When you are not training or fulfilling contracts, you will be cleaning, sweeping, polishing, dusting, painting, repairing, sewing, and fulfilling all manner of service activities. Most of these will be done in and around the guild hall, but some you will provide to our neighbors and those less fortunate souls throughout the undercity. If you are lucky, you may also find time to eat and sleep."
That drew a few nervous chuckles from the group, and Kalric nodded his approval. He held up two fingers as he continued.
"Martial prowess. Here you will learn to fight with bare fists and with blade and cudgel, against single foes and when outnumbered. You will learn to strike first and to strike with vigor. You will grow to depend on one another and learn to rely on your guild brethren in all things. But you will also be driven to excel in your own right. You will learn what it is to endure pain and prevail even though circumstances are stacked against you."
He let that sink in for a few moments, turning to sweep his gaze across the gathered initiates before raising three fingers.
"Contracts. Those who choose to hire our services record their requirements in the guild codex where each guild member from initiate to master may see them and members may submit their request to fulfill that contract. During your initiation, you will each be given the opportunity to fulfill low-level contracts and thus gain experience, credits, and eventually rank."
Kalric smiled, but there was little warmth in the expression.
"Beware though, little fawns, for not every request will be granted and not every contract will end in victory."
He looked up at Naleth, pointing at the towering troll.
"Some of you possess natural advantages over others. You are larger, stronger, or more resilient and therefore that much more likely to survive the years you will spend in service to the guild."
The unnamed sensed it before it happens, a tightening in his gut and a tingling sensation up his spine—
Then the master pointed a finger directly at him.
"Others of you are scrawny and ill-suited to combat. You will struggle to advance because you lack either drive or capacity, or both. You are here because, for some reason, your patron has insisted upon it. A young pup who has done nothing to prove itself and shown no sign whatsoever of earning a place here at the Brawler's Guild."
A dozen initiates stared straight ahead, all trying to look at the unnamed from the corner of their eyes, all doubtlessly pleased that they weren't the ones being singled out as an example of weakness.
"Twenty-two initiates stand before me," Kalric went on, starting to pace back and forth again. "Of that number, I expect only five or six to reach the status of journeyman. Of those, one or two may survive and in time rise to the status of veteran. Those few may gain rank and serve the guild in a substantial manner."
He threw his hand toward them like casting seed out onto a field.
"Some of you will fail to prove yourselves worthy of remaining here in the guild. You will be expelled and returned to whatever life you knew before you came to this place, or you will be permitted entry into the armed forces where what little strength you possess will be spent in defense of the realm. There is still rank to be gained if you fight diligently and do your duty there."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"Others of you will take on contracts far above your capacities in the hope of ensuring rapid advancement. You will die to a blade in the dark, or the ravenous maw of the Darkling Host and their wretched kin. You will fall victim to a dungeon snare, or the agonizing sting of the death ant."
He shook his head.
"I do not say this to be provocative or to dissuade you from giving your all to the guild and your service. I say it simply to be plain, to offer you the unvarnished truth and the reality of what lies ahead for you all. Despite these dangers, I urge you to give everything that you have. Learn, endure hardship, accept guidance, and do not let pride or impatience drive you toward an early grave. Honor through service, that is the path you must follow."
He held up three fingers again.
"Service, martial prowess, and the diligent fulfillment of guild contracts. These are your means of increasing rank, my little pets. But before you can hope to achieve anything of worth, you must first earn your names."
That brought a series of murmurs from the group. Kalric seemed to enjoy the unsettled whispers, grinning widely.
"I care not if you already possess a name. For that which is given is rarely appreciated for its true worth. The Brawler's Guild deals only in qualities, skills, and honors that have been earned through sweat, blood, and diligence."
The heavy half-orc in front of the unnamed raised a hand. The master nodded in his direction.
"How do we earn a name?" the half-orc asked.
By way of answer, Kalric turned to one side and whistled sharply. In response a figure walked out from the shadows of one of the nearby wings of the building. He was tall and lean, with short hair and a tight shirt rather than the loose clothes the initiates wore. He walked with confidence, bowing in front of the master before turning to face the initiates.
Kalric slapped the young man lightly on the shoulder. A copper symbol of a clenched fist appeared over the young man's shoulder, floating with a number three at its heart. Kalric motioned to the shield.
"Work hard, do service to the guild, and each of you may get your chance to gain a name for yourself. But a name does not come without risk, nor is it bestowed without a noteworthy house to offer it."
Kalric tapped once more at the young man's sigil and a list of statistics dropped down from beneath the clenched fist. He motioned to the list, taking a moment to allow the initiates to examine it.
Hallock Jane
Rank: 3
Titles: -
House: Hallock
Class: Fighter
Guild: Brawler's
Position: Journeyman
Constitution: 3
Strength: 2
Stamina: 2
Agility: 2
Intelligence: 1
Overcharge: NA
Feats: 0
Contracts: 28
Dungeons: 1
"What you see before you, little ones, is the trifold tally, a precise record of your standing here within Havenspire and the various accomplishments you have achieved during your time here."
He motioned to the topmost section.
"Young Jane here is rank three. That means that he has gained access to the Gray and Emerald tiers. He can travel to those regions of the spire, seek out contracts, purchase goods, and engage with the locals without fear of recompence. As the tally suggests, his has chosen the fighter class and has gained a name for himself, as each of you will need to do."
The master tacticus pointed to the next block of statistics.
"Physical and mental attributes are judged by the sigil and assigned a numeric value. With each rank that you gain, a trifold bonus is applied to your base abilities. This will be distributed according to the skills you use most often and favor in your given fighting style."
A thin figure at the front of the group raised a hand. Kalric turned to the young man, frowning heavily.
"Spit it out, lad. What is your question?"
"The numbers listed in the second block," the figure asked. "Do they represent a tangible change in each person, or does your constitution actually increase when you go up in rank?"
Kalric pointed a finger at the young man. "Excellent question, initiate. In truth, it is a little of both. You will grow stronger and more skilled the harder you work, and the sigil will recognize that work and assign points that reflect your improved status. However…"
He looked from one to the other, emphasizing the point.
"There is a strange symbiosis at work between the sigil, the individual, and Havenspire itself. The Didact, in its infinite wisdom, has built this reality in such a manner that it is possible to advance in skill, physical prowess, and mental discipline without end. There may have been limits in your old life, but here, in Havenspire, the only limits you face will be those you place upon yourself."
Other hands were raised, but he turned away from the group, motioning to the third block of information.
"Lastly, the great deeds you undertake will be listed, along with any awards you have and dungeons you have cleared. This final section of the trifold tally will expand as required, detailing every exploit of note."
He turned to face the group once more.
"But be aware that mundane deeds will not appear in this ledger, little lambs. This space is reserved for feats of excellence, acts of uncommon valor and heroism."
He tapped once more at the young man's sigil, and the display rolled up beneath the bronze fist symbol.
"Journeyman Hallock," he said, "what is your full name?"
The other man straightened as he spoke, his words clear and confident. "Hallock Jane of House Hallock, Master Tacticus."
Kalric nodded. "Just so. Hallock Jane, of House Hallock. And what feat did you perform to gain your name, Hallock Jane?"
"I fought ten house guards in single combat and was victorious. I climbed the sallow tower and endured the sting of a suckling wyvern in order to acquire the house seal. I returned to the mistress of the house and delivered that seal to her table."
Kalric motioned for the young man to leave, who bowed once more and exited the way he had come. The master turned back to the group.
"Some houses run annual contests, such as the one young Hallock competed in. Others offer difficult contracts in exchange for named places in their houses rather than credits or other rewards. The Havenspire military is known to issue names on occasion when feats of extraordinary bravery are witnessed on the battlefield, though such occurrences have been rare in recent times. These are the most common paths to gaining one's name."
He shook his head.
"They are not easy and typically entail a great deal of danger. But if you want to advance and gain rank, a name is the first requirement you must meet."
The big man clapped his hands sharply.
"Now," he boomed, "as this is your first night with us here at the guild hall, you shall eat without need of payment. This singular meal will cost you no service or hardship, and you will be given lodgings for the night in addition to other amenities."
He smiled.
"Enjoy, my little lambs. For on the morrow, your service begins."