The unnamed woke from a dreamless sleep, stirring early the next morning along with a few others among the initiates. He set about making his bed and walked out to the main hall where three or four initiates sat talking quietly.
The notion of sleep in the world of Havenspire puzzled the unnamed greatly. Given that he was now nothing more than a consciousness swimming around in an A.I.-generated reality, why was it necessary to sleep each night? Why did he grow tired as the day wore on?
Naleth couldn't offer any answers to those questions, but the half-orc who had spoken up during their induction with Kalric was a veritable fount of information. The big bruiser went by the name Tusk. And despite his fearsome face and imposing physique, he seemed quite amicable and happy to offer answers to the unnamed's questions, speaking loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
Tusk informed the gathered initiates that the earliest incarnation of Havenspire had been an utter failure, largely because it had erased many of the familiar patterns and inconveniences of the human experience.
"It's like when they first started producing electric cars," the half-orc said, scratching at his stubble-covered chin. "They had to make an engine noise and add it in because people were too freaked out about how quiet the cars were. It was too hard for them to work out how fast they were driving and it felt unnatural. Same deal with high-def TV. A bunch of people preferred the old grainy style, so even though their set could do high-def, they dialed it back because that's what they were used to."
The elvish woman who the unnamed had spotted during their induction was named Vella. Like her half-orc companion, she seemed eager to join the conversation, whispering loudly from her place beside Tusk, "I heard the same thing. People didn't like living without having to eat or breathe or sleep. With the reboot of Havenspire, they brought all of that back in. Made the whole experience more tactile and natural. Then they moved everyone over and closed down the beta game completely."
The unnamed shook his head. "I thought the deal was that this place was supposed to be better than the real world. If everything's the same, what's the point?"
Tusk snorted. "Point is you get to go on living, dude. That's kind of the main thing, isn't it?"
"I guess, but I just figured this place would be… different. Like maybe we could do without all the pain and the need to eat and sleep and all that stuff. I figured living here would be better than being in the real world."
Vella brushed her hair behind a pointed ear. "But it is better, isn't it? Or different, at least."
She pointed past the unnamed to the lumbering figure of Naleth, making his way from the sleeping area into the main hall. The troll scratched his chin with one hand while scratching his crotch with the other and yawning loudly.
The unnamed smiled at the sight. "Fair point," he offered.
"Besides," Vella said, "are you honestly telling me you'd prefer to do without food?"
He shrugged. "Food's never really been a big thing with me. Just fuel for the body."
She seemed bitterly offended at the concept, leaning back with a hand on her chest, mouth wide open in mock horror. "Seriously? What about pepperoni pizza, or tacos? You telling me life in Havenspire would be worth anything if they didn't have chocolate?"
He leaned forward, smiling. "Do they have chocolate? I mean, I sure as shit haven't seen any."
Tusk pointed to the ceiling. "They'd have it up there, for sure. All kinds. But we're starting right at the bottom. We're shit kickers, so we're not gonna find much good food down here."
"Jalapeno poppers!" Vella blurted. "Bacon?!"
The unnamed held up a hand in surrender. "Alright, I get it. Yes, food is great. Maybe if we work our asses off for the next decade we'll be able to afford a slice of cheese or a block of chocolate."
Naleth was just about to sit down at the table when the clanging of a loud gong cut through the air. They all flinched, turning to see Master Tacticus deBorst Kalric marching into the main hall and bellowing at the top of his voice.
"Up and out, little lambs. It's time to earn your keep!"
He was wearing the same clothes they had met him in the day before and seemed vividly alert as though he'd already been awake for hours. The unnamed wondered how they even told time in this place given that there was no sign of a clock and no natural light from sun or moon.
The answer to that question came shortly after Kalric's declaration. The initiates were led to the guild armory where a short, bald man wearing a pair of overalls with too many pockets and a set of goggles with multiple lenses had them sit down in front of him one by one. The man was a smith named Graves Mason, and while he sported chubby little fingers and fat hands, he worked with the nimble grace and economy of a master craftsman.
Having arranged an outrageously complex-looking device on his worktable, the smith went to work, asking each of the initiates to slide their right forearm into the interior of the it. He then set about tweaking knobs and dials, tapping away at an intricate digital display which hovered at the back of the machine, muttering to himself irritably.
His eyes were magnified by thick glass lenses, giving them a bulbous, fish-like quality as he went about his business. The smith worked carefully and quickly, inking in metallic tattoos on each arm which bore the distinct shape of the Havenspire, just like the one the unnamed had seen on the slaver's forearm. Once each initiate's arm was marked, they were required to boot up the sigil and test its basic functionality.
The sigil, it turned out, connected every soul within Havenspire to the Didact, the A.I. entity that governed the great game and ensured that the basic programming of Havenspire was adhered to. Through the sigil, citizens managed their credits, accessed news feeds and alerts, communicated with one another, and were constantly aware of the time. It also carried each person's rank and skill information, as well as information relating to any awards they had received or feats accomplished.
For the unnamed, the most intriguing feature of the sigil was that it prepopulated the name of each user. Vella and Tusk both had their names listed at the top of the sigil display, as did most of the other initiates. And when the unnamed first opened the sigil display to test it out, a single name appeared in the same location as the others' did.
"'Kane,'" he mused, testing the word on his tongue as the smith looked on with utter disinterest.
"Congratulations," the gruff smith said, shooing him along as another initiate moved forward to have their sigil inked in.
"'Kane,'" Naleth confirmed, reading the name with approval. "Is good name. Strong name. You are happy, yes, to be having name?"
He thought about that. It wasn't really his name, was it? It was what the game had decided to give him, bestowed by the all-powerful A.I. rather than chosen by him or given by his parents. His real name was REDACTED.
"Yeah," he said to the big brute. "Yeah, it's fine. Kane is fine, I guess."
"Kane is fine!" Naleth agreed, slapping him on the back and wearing a broad grin as he looked around at the other initiates. "Everybody, to meeting my friend, Kane."
The other initiates seemed less impressed with the announcement, but big Naleth didn't stop grinning for several minutes afterwards. The name still felt strange to Kane, like wearing someone else's ill-fitting clothes, but he decided that there were far worse options he could've had foisted onto him and that he would make the best of it.
Installing the sigil on Naleth had been a little more challenging given his size and the hardened nature of his skin. But even so, the smith had managed to fit sigil devices to all the initiates, including the troll, within an hour.
In essence, the sigil was a cell phone taken to the extreme, and aside from a little pain and some initial itching, the process of installation had been harmless. The temptation to tap away at the sigil's display and explore the multifarious functionalities of the device was overwhelming. Kalric ultimately had to bark at the initiates, informing them that excessive use of the sigil would earn them increased service duty which would commence at the latrines.
They spent the next twelve hours scrubbing pots, sweeping the floors, and learning the correct way to perform all manner of chores and duties. In addition, each of the initiates was given time washing clothes in the laundry, helping prepare food and clean dirty dishes in the kitchens, stocking the supply larder, and aiding the smith and several other masters in various tasks.
The work had been grueling and most of the initiates were barely able to lift their forks to eat the night's meal. As the end of the first day closed in, they knew nothing more about fighting or earning rank than they had when the day began. They did, however, know more than they ever wished to know about the ins and outs of the guild hall and its day-to-day workings. They knew where the brooms were kept, how to correctly dispose of trash, what to do when the latrines were clogged, and a thousand other facts which would be especially useful if they were training to be janitors.
As Kane lay in bed and closed his eyes for the night, muscles aching and mind whirring, he reflected on the words of Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid and wondered if the service duties they had endured would help them advance in any way.
Wax on, wax off.
***
The second day began in similar fashion to the first. The gong sounded, Kalric barked orders, and the initiates spent the first two hours of their day doing chores. After, they were led to a large square training room at the rear of the building with mats laid out on the floor. There were images painted in gold on the walls showing faceless figures in different stances and fighting poses that contrasted vividly with the dark wood panels surrounding them.
There was a buzz of excitement as Kalric walked to the center of the room and called for quiet. The master proceeded to inform the initiates that the first thing they would need to learn was to fight unarmed, one-on-one.
To Kane's surprise, he and a rangy young man were the first chosen to demonstrate a basic punch and block. Kalric called them out into the center of the square and began setting their feet and arms in a basic fighting stance, all the while talking through some of the history of the guild and its prowess.
"The Brawler's Guild is home to warriors, barbarians, rogues, and skilled fighters who blend the abilities of each of these classes. We are among the oldest guilds in Havenspire and have enjoyed a long and illustrious history."
Kalric moved behind Kane, pulling his right leg back a little and turning him slightly side-on.
"Unlike many of the other guilds, we pride ourselves on service, specifically the faithful fulfillment of contracts. This is both how we earn sufficient coin to keep the guild running and how we gain rank both as individuals and as a guild."
He moved to the rangy young man who was already approximating a similar stance to Kane.
"There are other means of gaining rank, of course. Contests, dungeon delves, and the like. But we have always found that contracts are the surest and most honorable path to success."
Kalric stepped back, scowling at the pair as they stood with fists balled up and staring uncertainly at one another. Kane had never thrown a punch in anger in his former life, and in this moment he would have given anything not to be the one standing in the middle of the fighting square preparing to embarrass himself in front of the other initiates.
Still, it was preferable to being sliced to ribbons in the blood pits, and he determined to make the best of the situation.
"Within your first few weeks here at the guild," Kalric went on, "I and my fellow masters and mistresses will identify the key skills each of you possess and suggest a potential path for your training. Ultimately, however, the choice of which class or blend of skills you pursue will reside with each of you. Your decision need not be final either. The benefits you receive in training as any class will transition well to another. If you choose one path and find yourself stuck in a rut, it may be that you need consider a different class or skill set."
He clapped his hands together sharpy.
"But, before you can choose a path, you must first learn to fight with your body alone. We are, after all, the Brawler's Guild. Regardless of your class and chosen weaponry, by the time you move from initiate to journeyman, you will be able to use any implement at hand with lethal force."
He moved forward and tapped Kane's balled fist.
"We begin with the first strike."
Kalric moved beside Kane, putting a hand to the younger man's hips and twisting him around as he spoke.
"Lesson one, power comes from the whole body. Your fist is just the point of impact."
He turned to Kane.
"You're righthanded, yes?"
Kane nodded, and Kalric motioned down to the younger man's feet.
"Notice his right leg is back, his left pointed at the enemy. He will draw strength from this right side, from his legs, up through his hips, to his shoulder, arm, and then finally his fist."
Kalric turned side-on, modeling a simple punch by thrusting his fist forward and twisting his hips sharply around. The movement was so quick and violent, Kane felt a slight rush of air move past. He swallowed hard as Kalric motioned for him and the rangy lad to do likewise.
Kane felt his right arm click as he performed the basic maneuver, very nearly stumbling forward and having to shuffle his feet to stay standing.
"Again," Kalric said, and they both did as he commanded. "Again!" he repeated.
The master tacticus moved up to Kane, tapping his hand. "Thumb below, lad. If you throw a punch in that manner, you'll break your thumb within the first moment of the fight. Now, again!"
After several more attempts, Kalric walked up between the two young men, holding his palms out to either side so that each of them was presented with an open hand at head height.
"In reality," the master tacticus said, "you will rarely hit another with bare fist alone. There will always be an object at hand that you can use as a weapon. A broken chair leg, a rock, even a spoon will increase the efficacy of your attack."
He smiled at the gathered initiates.
"We call this a force multiplier. It's a simple fact that a barehanded attack will do far less damage than if you hold an object of some sort. In truth, punching an enemy with your fist will likely break your hand and is unlikely to put an enemy down. Better to trip or throw your combatant, cut their skin, or incapacitate your foe with a jab to the throat, the eyes, or the groin."
The half-orc, Tusk, raised a hand.
"Yes boy, what is it?" Kalric asked.
"If fighting with your fists is so pointless, why are we learning it?"
Kalric grinned, his hands still outstretched.
"Because, my little lambs, before you learn to land a killing blow, you need to learn how to channel power through a single impact point. Before you can develop nuance, you must learn the limits of your body. You must learn to deal with pain, understand when to press all your strength into a blow and when to hold back. Before you can run, you must learn to walk. So, we begin with a simple punch."
He turned to Kane.
"Go, lad. Hard as you can."
Kane gritted his teeth, twisting his body and punching with all the force he could muster.
It was like hitting solid rock.
His fist smacked into Kalric's open hand, sending a jarring pain through his wrist and shoulder.
The master tacticus sighed, turning to the rangy lad.
"You're turn, boy."
The young man threw his punch, and though he didn't show it, Kane suspected he was equally as rattled.
"Well then," Kalric said. "We have made a start and there is a great deal of work ahead of us, it seems."
He lowered his hands and began walking through the crowd of initiates, pairing them up and delivering instructions on establishing a basic fighting stance, the proper way to hold one's fists, and several key positions that the group would be practicing over the following hours.
Kane resisted the urge to rub his wrist, pairing up with a stocky young man and practicing the stances and maneuvers Kalric demonstrated.
While most of those present seemed to already have a solid working knowledge of hand-to-hand fighting, Kane was utterly out of his element. While the other initiates got to work quickly, practicing the basic forms with one another and quickly coming to terms with the physical and mental requirements of each exercise, Kane struggled to remember any of it. He felt a desperate need to grab a pen and paper so that he could write down everything he was hearing.
They learned to block, punch, throw, and kick, performing each move a thousand times over while Kalric walked around adjusting the position of a fist here and a foot there. He talked incessantly, throwing out martial platitudes about striking first and avoiding assumptions about an enemy.
The words passed over Kane's head as they cycled through partners and began learning combinations. Kane was slow to learn and couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs with his thoughts. Already, at end of the first day, most of the initiates had mastered two or three combined attacks and defenses while he was still fumbling with the basics, stiff and sore and smarting from a dozen different bruises and strains.
This trend continued on days two and three, with the added bonus of broken bones and torn muscles. Kalric announced that the initiates would be progressing from basic forms and movements to spars where the lessons they learned would be put into practice via one-on-one combat. The results were recorded against a chalk tally on the back wall of the sparring chamber.
Twenty-two names were arrayed in order of success, with the half-orc, Tusk, at the top of the rankings, trading points with a dark-haired bruiser with a bald head sporting a skull tattoo. Kane sat securely at the bottom of the tally, earning no points for victory, but gaining some merely for surviving the bouts he endured and proving he could at least take a punch.
Naleth didn't join their daily sparring. When Kane asked him about it, the big brute told him that they had him practicing in another chamber, fighting against vast machines with vicious bladed arms and spinning wooden clubs that battered and blocked in unpredictable ways. He spoke fondly of the training, despite the various cuts and bruises he had each night.
Once again Kane couldn't help but feel utterly out of place.
On the fourth day of hand-to-hand combat, Kane managed to land a punch or two and even scored his first victory. That win was down to luck more than anything else, a falling opponent who tripped on his leg and happened to connect with Kane's outstretched fist at the right moment.
The young initiate was just as surprised with the victory as Kane. He smiled good-naturedly and patted Kane on the shoulder in a way Kane might have found condescending if he wasn't so desperate for some sign of progress.
That singular highlight of having victory points added next to his name on the tally was quickly overshadowed by the hours of humiliation and pain that followed. Even after such a short span of time, the distance between Kane and the other initiates had grown to comical proportions. They started to resent him, rolling their eyes as they were forced to face him and attempting to finish as quickly and brutally as possible.
Kane felt, in every sense of the word, beneath them, and they all seemed to sense it. To make matters worse, the one ability he did possess was a capacity to endure pain and stay standing despite a flurry of brutal attacks. That fact made him even less popular.
The ability to withstand bodily injury likely came from the long years he'd spent racked with pain on hospital beds, being fed a wide array of drugs and treatments while his body slowly withered and died. That kind of life didn't offer much, but it did teach how to endure suffering—a lesson Kane was apparently putting to good use in his new life. It could also have been simply a glitch in the system, some programming error which enabled him to take a beating and still stay on his feet, but that seemed less likely. He simply wasn't that lucky.
In those first few days, Kane become intimately acquainted with the guild apothecary, a squat, goblin woman named Mordulan Fleck who employed a blend of high-tech instruments and archaic spellcraft to heal the wounds inflicted on his battered body. The majority of her remedies seemed to entail ingesting a variety of truly disgusting concoctions, usually potions that wriggled their way unnaturally down the gullet. Either that she'd use the mashed up remains of bright blue beetles and grubs pummeled into a paste and applied directly to the affected region of his body.
Despite the noxious smells and gut-churning tastes of her remedies, the healer worked miracles. During their time together, Kane remarked more than once on how he could have used her services back in the real world. She had smiled half-heartedly, far more interested in the nature and extent of his injuries than she was in small talk. Aside from a professional interest, the diminutive goblin seemed to take particular delight in her trade, not so much in the miraculous healing of wounds, but more in the actual injuries themselves.
Like everything else in this new reality, it was unnerving but after a few days became commonplace.
Kane settled into a rhythm with the other initiates, pushing himself to excel at the most mundane service activities in the hope that there, at least, he could prove his worth.
Five more days passed in the same way. Rising early, chores for two or three hours, then hand-to-hand combat practice sprinkled with a healthy dose of advice and instruction from the shirtless master tacticus. Kane stayed more or less static, while his fellow initiates climbed higher and higher up the rankings with each passing day, growing in strength and proficiency.
One positive during this time was that the young elf woman, Vella, and her half-orc friend, Tusk, began to gravitate toward him, perhaps out of sympathy, or maybe because he offered no threat to their advancement.
As they sat together eating gruel on the sixth morning since their arrival at the guild, Kane struck up a conversation. "So, how is it that both of you have names? I thought that was wiped when you first come here."
Vella smiled, poking at the gruel with her spoon as though a little ashamed of the answer. "We paid for it, just like we paid to get into the guild."
"You paid to get into the Brawler's Guild?"
Tusk snorted from his seat next to her, shoveling a heaped spoon of the spicy oatmeal into his mouth. "Course we did," he said, chewing. "This place has reputation, and getting in costs half the price of any of the other guilds. Best option if you're wanting to work with blades or you're not really sure what your specialty is but you know you want to be in melee."
Kane sat staring at the pair of them, trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing. "This place?" he asked, motioning with his empty spoon around the hall. "This guild is one of the better ones?"
Tusk nodded. "Easiest and cheapest way to gain rank and get experience. If you're lucky and you put the work in, you can advance faster than in most of the other guilds too. Dangerous though, that's why it's cheaper than the others. Also, the guild hall is based down here in the undercity, so that knocks the price down a fair bit."
Vella leaned forward, her expression earnest, blue eyes opened wide. "Didn't your consultant tell you any of this? I know Havenspire isn't what it's supposed to be, but they should have at least walked you through the options, given you the choice of which guild or society you wanted to join, what kind of profession you were looking at."
He shrugged. "No money. I was sick for a long time before I came here. My parents did what they could, but I was never really able to hold down a job, so there was barely enough money to get into the game, let alone anything else. Anything my parents had saved went to medical bills, and they were already up to their necks in debt when my condition got worse. They had just enough for a basic package and then I was supposed to pay of the rest of the debt in-game, with farming."
Tusk and Vella shared a knowing look, and Kane couldn't help but wonder what their relationship actually was. There was definitely more there than simple friendship, but he'd never seen them demonstrate romantic affection.
"Farming," Tusk growled. "Yeah, they lied about that. Lied about a lot of things. Damned company takes our money and then shafts us." He poked his spoon at Kane, twirling it about like a blade. "Two damned years it took me to get in here. I was supposed to be dropped at the door, day one, but instead I had to work the damned docks until I could audition for a place as an initiate. Two years! If I had have known beforehand, I would have saved my damned money."
Tusk shook his head. "I was supposed to come in as a journeyman too, not an initiate. Paid good money for early advancement, but here I am starting off down at the bottom like everyone else. Had to learn how to fight myself, getting lessons from whoever would teach me. That was all supposed to be programmed in, but no I had to do it all myself."
Kane turned to Vella. "How about you?"
She looked down at the half-empty bowl. "Didn't have enough money to go for immediate advancement, not if I wanted to look like this as well. I figured I'd have all the time I needed to work my way up the ranks, so it was more important to look and feel the way I wanted to. It's forever after all, so you want to be happy with how you are in here."
Tusk leaned forward, jerking a thumb in her direction. "Three years she had to wait. Three years! Same shit at me. She was supposed to get dropped right at the front door, mid-level skills ready to go. But instead…"
"Instead," Vella sighed, "I had to work at it, save my credits, and learn my craft on the streets, like Tusk." She shook her head. "But I'm here now, so I need to make the best of it. What happened before doesn't matter as long as I can make it work here."
Kane couldn't help but feel a little guilty. His entry into the great game had been traumatic, almost terminal, but he'd made it to the Brawler's Guild in just a day. True, he had no skills to speak of and would likely get kicked out of the guild for his incompetence, but it still felt wrong to have made it this far when others had struggled for years for the same opportunity.
Tusk grinned, showing rows of dagger-like teeth, his dark features intense. "I heard you came from the blood pits."
Kane nodded. "Yeah. That was my first introduction to Havenspire."
"How the hell did you manage to get out?"
A giant hand thudded against Kane's back, and the whole bench groaned and dipped as Naleth sat beside him, hefting an oversized bowl of gruel and grinning widely.
"He is making magic!" the giant said, wide-eyed as he held up a thick finger. "He is using the finger to make powerful magics."
Tusk chuckled at that. "We've all made magic with the finger, boss," he said, jabbing an elbow at Vella, who blushed in response.
A snort of laughter slipped through Kane's lips before he had a chance to stop it. "Yeah, well I don't really know what I did. It all happened pretty fast."
Tusk nodded, shoveling more gruel into his mouth. "Well, it must have been impressive to get you in here. Way I hear it, they never take initiates from the blood pits."
Kane let out a long breath. "Maybe that's why Kalric has it in for me?"
Tusk shook his head. "Nah. It's because you're so bad at fighting. So weak and uncoordinated."
Now it was Vella's turn to elbow him. The half-orc turned to her, frowning. "What? It's true. He knows it."
She rolled her eyes and turned to Kane. "Don't worry, it'll get better once we start working with bladed weapons and clubs. I'm sure you'll find something you'll be great at."
He threw her a smile. "Thanks for saying so, but I think we all know where this is heading. I'm just not a natural fighter. I don't have the instinct for it, or whatever it is you need to be good at that kind of thing."
"Strength," Tusk offered, counting off attributes on his fingers. "Agility, speed, spatial awareness." He looked up from his fingers. "You can take a punch though, so that's something."
Kane laughed. "You think the guild could make good use of a punching bag on legs?"
"Maybe. Don't underestimate it though. I've fought every initiate down here and I can tell you there are more than a few with glass jaws. One hit and they're done. If you can take your punches and keep going, that's an asset. It's something at least."
Vella nodded. "He's right. Maybe the skill will come a little later, or you'll take to the blade or find some other way of fighting. If magic is how you got out of the pits, then maybe that's how you'll fight? Thing is, if you can stay conscious and alert, that's half the battle."
Her words were meant to give comfort, and so were Tusk's in his own way, but Kane felt even more inadequate. They were both talking like seasoned veterans rather than initiates. Having fought them both in the training square, he knew all too well that they had every right to do so.
Vella was slight and looked like she'd get tossed aside by a strong wind, but she moved quicker than anyone else at the guild and hit with deadly precision. Kane's neck and sides still ached from the last time they sparred together. Most of the time, he couldn't even see the blows coming and could do little to defend against them even when he could.
Tusk, by contrast, moved slowly but deliberately. He hit like a wrecking ball, using the strength of his own body to deflect or absorb an opponent's attack before thundering in with a barrage of blows that cracked bone and pulped organs.
Despite managing to stay conscious during several of his bouts with Tusk, each time Kane had been sent to the apothecary to have life-ending injuries tended to. Each time the little goblin healer had explained in intricate detail exactly what Tusk's fists had done to his insides, which organs had been battered, which bones fractured, and what muscles torn.
Naleth put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Little elf is correct, friend Kane. Staying in the fighting is most important. If you take the beatings and still keep going, is very good. Maybe with a little more practice, you are getting better at the fighting too."
Kane reached up and patted the big brute's hand. "Thanks, big guy. But the truth is if all I can do is take a punch, I'm not much use to anyone. I'm already way down at the bottom of the tally and not likely to get higher anytime soon. Kalric is itching for a chance to get rid of me, I can feel it. My days here are probably numbered."
Naleth and Vella both shook their heads and offered weak objections, but Tusk was more honest. He simply nodded and dug into his gruel with vigor.
Not for the first time since arriving at the guild, Kane's mind turned to the prospect of joining the armed forces. He'd heard only vague rumors about the nature of the standing army of Havenspire and the mysterious enemy they were perpetually at war with. Kane didn't see how he could do much better as a soldier than he was as a brawler, but at least failure here wouldn't land him back at the blood pits.
As they were finishing their meals, Kalric entered the room, bare-chested with a full-throated pronouncement.
"Listen up, little lambs," he boomed. "I have in my hand the day's contracts. All lower-level jobs suitable for initiates of your inexperience."
He moved to the center of the main dining table and slapped a pile of papers down.
"Seven contracts in all, and each of these will need to be fulfilled within the next two days. You are free to work together on the contracts or fulfill them on your own."
He turned to face Kane, not bothering to hide his scorn.
"For those of you who are somewhat lacking in skill, I would strongly suggest seeking out a party to join."
Kalric stepped back from the table.
"Failure to complete an accepted contract will result in the loss of half your current tally points, decreased rations, and a double service shift for the next week. Completed contracts will be added to your tally, with the precise addition depending on the complexity of the contract and how efficiently you execute it. Obviously contract rewards will be divided among your party, so bear that in mind."
He turned around, walking away from the group.
"Choose wisely and do not overextend yourselves. Each of these tasks presents its own dangers, and it would not be well for you to die in your first month here at the guild."
There was a short pause filled with scattered murmurs as the initiates waited for Kalric to walk out of earshot. Then, in an instant, they were running to the pile of contracts, jostling past one another and laughing as they elbowed and shoved their way forward.
Tusk was off like a shot, pushing fellow initiates aside as he charged to the front of the pack. Vella, by contrast, finished her gruel, then offered Kane a smile before rising and walking calmly to the milling group as though she had all the time in the world.
Kane and Naleth watched from their seats as Tusk held a piece of paper up in the air triumphantly.
"Mine!" he shouted. "This one's all mine!"
No one objected or even seemed to notice as he stepped back from the group, adoring his freshly acquired contract like Gollum with the ring.
Several groups paired off, sifting through contract papers, while Tusk and a few of the other top-ranking initiates headed off, supremely confident in their abilities and assured success.
Naleth pointed over to the remaining group still milling around the pile of contracts, passing them back and forth. "You want to looking at the papers?"
Kane shrugged. "No point. I'm probably better to wait until they're all done and see what's left. I'm not gonna be able to complete any of the harder contracts anyway."
The big troll nodded slowly.
Vella came strolling back, slapping a piece of paper down on the table between them.
"Let's do this," she said, bright blue eyes intense. "It's not an easy one, but if all three of us fulfill the contract, we'll each get ten points."
Kane leaned over, reading the ornately penned script on the document as she continued.
"I snuck a look at some of the other contracts, and they're all threes and fours. I think Tusk and the others took a ten. If we do this, we'll lock in just as many points as they do, but the risk should be much lower with three of us."
She prodded a finger at the number 30 enclosed in a hexagon at the top of the contract.
"Three of us?" Kane asked, turning to look up at Naleth.
The big brute nodded in agreement. "I come too. Having fun with friends."
Vella pointed to a spot a little lower down on the contract. "Look here, there's no limit on how many initiates can fulfill the contract. Like I said, it looks like a tough one, but we should be able to manage it."
Kane threw a thumb over his shoulder at Naleth, starting to feel a little less worried than he was a few moments ago. "With him? Hell yeah. We could take out a dragon if we had to."
He stared down at the contract, suddenly worried.
"Wait, it's not a dragon is it?"