The Talbotton Tavern had a sign of a tree painted in green and black on its thick, boarded door. Behind the bar was Brandish, the slim man who had been a scout for the Legion in his younger days. He kept his scout's crossbow oiled and ready at hand, mounted on the wall behind him. Dalliance had always thought it looked ominous, sitting there next to its quiver of bolts, behind a pyramid of glass decanters.

  Brandish polished the massive, single-plank bar top with a square of felt and looked on as Dalliance squared up against his latest contender: Mister Big Cheese.

  Dalliance wasn’t sure what the man's real name was. All he knew was that he was well-known for referring to himself as a ‘self-made man’ and was a big name in the dairy business. He was a generous sponsor to anyone who wanted to take a [Rancher] class, and, as Dalliance was learning, extremely good with a pool cue, even while drunk.

  The man’s beet-red cheeks were crinkled with good cheer as the final striped ball went into the center pocket. "One to one," the man said cheerfully.

  His angle was terrible. The cue ball followed the eight-ball in. Dalliance discovered to his annoyance that he didn’t seem to gain experience for other people’s mistakes. Although, and he wasn’t sure about this, with the way some of the farmhands had been slapping him on the back or about the shoulders, he thought at least a double handful of them had cottoned on to what was being done. They had played along with him for tradition's sake, and let him win. Which hadn’t helped, but it made him feel happy anyway.

  He banked the shot, missing the rebound to the called corner pocket by an inch. Dalliance stepped forward, at this point not even requiring the help of [Prediction] to sink the final shot.

  His fingers' nubs hurt with the abrasion of the cue, but he ignored them in favor of the text floating in his vision.

  [Good hustle! With this victory, you have secured your place within the minds of the commons as a pool shark. Be mindful of reputation, even among the commons, for they are mindful of you. Experience granted: one (1) point.]

  His brother grinned at him expectantly. Well, Dalliance thought, it’s time. Industry hopped up onto a table, earning Brandish's irritated glance, but the barkeep stepped back, prepared to hear him out.

  "Some of you know my brother, Dalliance," said Industry, "and those who don’t can probably guess why he’s here.”

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  “He’s not makin’ thaums offa us, that’s for sure." said the first man Dalliance had ‘hustled’.

  There were approving sounds to this statement.

  "My brother Dalliance is here because he’s on the cusp of a Tier-Up, an’ he just told me that it’s time."

  There was a round of cheers.

  "For those of you who don’t know, my father, Cadence Rather, has had his differences with my brother with regard to his allocations. For that reason, I would ask that you stay here and witness his Tier-Up, uninfluenced and uninterrupted by man or beast. A man and his soul before the gods."

  Mister Big Cheese took a giant gulp from his tankard and set it down with a thud. "For the Four Crowns, I'll guard the lad," he said. “Freemen made the empire what it is. Get behind the bar, son. You'll Tier Up in peace."

  Mister Big Cheese was one of the only people Dalliance had ever seen who was nearly as wide across the shoulders as he was tall. Dwarf blood, his brother had joked, and watching the stout man plant himself on a stool before the door, Dalliance couldn’t be completely sure he'd been mistaken.

  He clambered behind the bar to the corner, which, apparently, usually contained extra stools. Brandish moved them out of the way without a word, gesturing for him to enter the space. "A round on me," he said to the rest of the tavern, "for luck."

  Amidst general cheers, Dalliance purchased his final rank of Wit and one of Spirit, and fell into himself . . . and was elsewhere.

  Everything was black, but he could see the back of his hands and the front of his tunic, brightly lit, as well as the toes of his new and uncomfortable shoes. He flexed his toes experimentally. Everything was there. "Hello?" he asked, but the darkness didn’t answer.

  When he looked up, he saw and understood. The night sky, scattered with pinpricks of light like he’d never seen before, was dominated by a silvery, glowing crescent, textured with whorls and points and craters like those he’d seen on the world below. It was the symbol for one of the gods, he thought. His mother had told him the symbol was called 'Moon'.

  Every star had a name. As he looked at it, he knew it.

  Just around the curve of the moon, still within the nimbus of its radiance, were the faint stars that he had difficulty making out, with the exception of one, glowing golden, whose name he knew as well as his own: [Scamp]. The rest were red, from odd names like [Gong Farmer], [Qi Cultivator] and, oddest yet, [Duckboy] to more recognizable choices like [Acolyte], [Farm Boy], [Scion], [Apprentice] and so on. He could have been so many things—he’d never really thought about it, but he’d never been asked before becoming a [Scamp]. He wondered if he’d do it all over again.

  Out beyond the nimbus, colored stars. None of them golden. Some silver, some blue, some cream, and some red.

  When he saw the red one named [Wizard], he began to sob.