“Eeek! Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeigh!”
“Alright, follow the handler into your stall now.” She passed the rein to a handler and waved it goodbye. Horse followed, playfully tapping its hooves as it was pulled gently into its designated room.
She strode out from the handle, to the limestone road outside and her partner waiting. “Alright, let’s go get you registered.”
Wattyson hummed, nodding ever so slightly as he shifted from crossing his arms to shoving them into his robe pockets.
They walked, passing blocks of residential areas, eateries, and other stalls. The people called out, greeting the Chosen One, some even waved so exaggeratedly their arms could’ve fallen off. Arlene, on her part, played a softer face as she waved back, nodding to their greetings.
Wattyson, for the most part, already had his staff out and clicking it onto the road, a mix between a light click and a brash one. His hood still over his head, covering half of his face. Lower robe sleeves dragging on the ground behind.
“How long till we get there?” he asked as he stepped closer, leaning to her ear.
“We just left for about ten minutes ago.”
“Ten too many. Why is the stable so far from the guild?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a city planner, Watty.”
He sighed as he lifted himself up from her ear, slouching as he walked now.
“Chin up, Watty.” She spun around to face him briefly before turning forward. “We’ll be there by… I think five more minutes.”
“That better be the case… or else I will explode.”
“From walking?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head at the affirmation without a beat. “That’s a no no, Watty! They’ll escort you out, and you won’t get your adventurer’s guild ID!”
“Tch. I’m only doing this because you insisted on it.”
“And for that, I’m forever grateful!”
She pulled his sleeve forward, gently thrusting him to the same pace as she was.
A child who stood ahead saw the gesture and asked, “Miss Chwosen One, is he your boyfrwend?”
“Hehe, I’m his caretaker.” She patted the child.
“That’s right,” he looked down to the child. “She cares so I don’t have too.”
“Wahhh~” trailed the child. “I don’t know what that mean…”
“Don’t worry, come on, Watty.” she paced him forward now, onward to the guild.
The Guild itself was more like a mansion in terms of layout. Huge frontal building and vast backyard meant for training. Surrounded by fence taller than an average tree. The front double oak doors were flanked by marble pillars, and in front of those were standing banners. A cross etched in white on a green background. The top gap of the cross was a star, the left was a handbook, the right was a sword, and the bottom a pair of giving hands. People wearing all sorts of gears were walking in and out. A lot of traffics flowing.
“Am I about to walk into a military outpost?”
“Huh? No. This is just a regular guild.”
“Hmm…”
A passerby absorbed in his book, the cover bearing the same iconography as the banner, bumped into Wattyson’s shoulder.
“A thousand apologies,” the passerby muttered, raising one hand as a sorry gesture while still absorbed in his book.
“None taken, eyes on the road.” He replied though the passerby probably didn’t hear it.
The duo entered, finding the guild inside, or at least the first room they were in was a great hall, vast and open. Filled with people, yet there were plenty of rooms to move around. It was set up like of course, the great hall, a tavern like structure with plenty of tables, stools, and chairs about. Benches for resting and there was a section of the room acting like an actual tavern. Most eyes of adventurers there weren’t on the Chosen One’s entrance, but instead on the boards to the left and right of the duo’s view, the quest boards.
“Come on, Watty while it’s not congested.” She pointed, bring his eyes to the front. To the reception halls.
There was some gawking at the Chosen One, in awe, in reverence, in envy. She didn’t seem to be bothered. Years as the Chosen One had already made her grow numb… for the most part.
“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild. How may I assist you?” spoken the soft receptionist as she bowed down. “Oh? Miss Arlene Dawnwalker? To what duty beckons you here?”
“Please just call me Arlene.” Her cheek a faint of red. She could hear Wattyson’s PFFT faintly the moment the receptionist said her full name. Her elbow a swift act, making contact with his side.
“Of course, Miss Arlene. How may I assist you?”
“Can I have the registration form?”
The receptionist tilted her head lightly, “I thought you already registered, Miss Arlene.”
“No,” she flipped her hand denying. “It’s for the one next to me.”
“The intricate dressed robe person? I had assumed he has registered given his attire.”
“You’ll be surprised, he hasn’t.”
The receptionist nodded, striding elegantly to the drawers behind.
A stack of paper slammed onto the door… despite the receptionist actually sliding it across the counter.
“Would you like the rundown of how the guild operates while you register?”
“No need, I’ve already walked him through.”
She shifted the papers to Wattyson, with the pen right on top.
He visibly looked disgruntled. He clicked his tongue and audibly sighed though faint. He picked up the pen like someone’s being forced to write their will. The pen moved across the space designated for name, race, age, occupation, etc.
As soon as the pen began to draw letters, Arlene immediately stopped him. Her mind harkened back to how alien and weird his handwriting was.
“I’ll handle it for you, Watty.”
With that one line, he sighed again, but as a relief.
She filled out the important bits.
- Name: Wattyson
- Date of Birth: 08 of Ires, 1420 (Lie)
- Age: 25 (Lie)
- Nationality: Roye’shian (Lie)
- Address: Tamare, Innversa. (Red Grove was close enough to Tamare)
- Relationship Status: Single (Unknown)
He raised his eyebrows, reading that line again. “Why does the guild need to know about it?”
“It’s just in case you’ve fallen,” answered the receptionist. “We take extra care to contact your significant other or next of kin.”
Arlene, still writing, nudged him with her knee. The hard greave steel scratched against his, eliciting an audible ‘ow’.
“Watty, for weapon proficiency… Should I put sword, staff or?”
“Put everything.”
The receptionist chimed in, “Mr… Wattyson, if you claim to be proficienctin everything, the guild will require you to demonstrate it further in the test.”
His gaze landed on the receptionist, a few beats of silence before back to Arlene. “Alright, just put sword.”
Continued:
- Race: Human
- Class: Wizard
“I’m not a wizard.”
“Deal with it, Watty.”
Arlene filled out the other fields, mostly regarding religion, any affiliation and family. She lied on all of them. “Alright, Watty. Sign here,” she pointed after handing him the pen. He grabbed the pen, then handed it back to Arlene.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Uhh.. Watty, you need to sign.”
“I already did.”
“No, you haven’t. You-“
She glanced over to the supposed signature. It was there. Huh?
Even the receptionist was caught off guard by it, however she tried to steer the procedure forward. “Ahem,” she faked a cough before crouching down and lifted up a crystal the size of a football.
“Mister Wattyson” she beckoned, her hands still on the crystal ball. “Please put your hand on this magic appraisal tool. As a wizard, we would like to document what your best aptitude is to accommodate what quest best suited for you.”
“Can I not?” He asked, his face etched with mild annoyance. “Can I have the Chosen One vouch for me?”
“I’m sorry, Mister Wattyson,” apologized the receptionist. “While it is possible Miss Arlene can vouch for you. We highly recommend you take the appraisal so we can minimize danger in the future.”
Arlene patted him on the back, seemingly pushing him forward to the ball. “Don’t worry about it, Watty. It won’t bite” she said with a mischievous grin in her teasing.
His hand moved, ever itching forward to the ball with the pace of a snail. It was like watching a play progressing so slow it could be mistaken for some kind of time manipulation magic at play. If that was the case, Toulasi may be in some serious trouble if a person with time magic was here.
Arlene yoinked his hand and slapped it onto the ball.
[Appraising][Appraising]
The disembodied voice, genderless, spoke out as soon as his hand touched.
- [FIRE: A+]
- [WATER: F]
- [ICE: F]
- [WIND: F]
- [EARTH: B+]
- [LIGHT: F]
- [DARK: F]
- [HOLY: F]
- [NATURE: F]
“F?” remarked Arlene upon hearing the disembodied voice. That can’t be right… I saw him flick them playfully while on the way to Toulasi…
“Can I let go now?” asked the very disgruntled robed weirdo.
“Of course, Mister Wattyson. Thank you for your cooperation.” She picked up the crystal and placed it back in the counter. “Might I recommend you to the School of Ember?”
He wiped his hand against the robe before raising his eyebrows to what she said. “The School of Ember?”
“Yes, Mister Wattyson.” She pulled out a flyer. It had a design aimed to attract newcomer who specialized in fire magic. To train, to teach and to improve their skills. “With the Guild’s recommendation, we could introduce you to the School of Ember.”
“No need” he waved off. “I’ll be alright.”
“Very well,” she took out another sheet of paper. “This is the last one. Would you like to conduct a test with one of our mentor, or would you be willing to submit your data to another appraisal crystal?”
“What for?”
“It is to gauge your strength, endurance, stamina, wits, perceptions, etc.”
His shoulder slumped, “Alright…”
“Splendid. Please wait.”
She skated to the back, away from their view. In the meanwhile, another receptionist at the other counter was having problem with a rude adventurer, brash about demanding the ‘secret quest’ whatever that was.
The Chosen One chided in, went over in a flash. Settled down the argument, giving that adventurer a sharp look of authoritative figure. Hands on her hips with that side glare. The agitated adventurer relented, choosing to run away with tails wagging behind. An uproar of clapping and cheering for the Chosen One as she strode back to well I was. A look of smug on her face only to Wattyson.
“Such impeccable work, O’ Chosen One.” He shook his head playfully and slightly, a half smile formed.
“Thank you, O’ Grand Chaos.”
He returned his gaze to where the receptionist was last seen, before that title set in. “Wait what? O’ Grand Chaos?”
“Sounds fitting, doesn’t it?” she elbowed him now standing side by side. “You hate bureaucracy and taxes, even more evidently now with how much you resist just making an adventurer ID.”
“Whatever…” he let out a small and brief chuckle.
“Sorry for the wait!” the receptionist arrived, carrying another set of crystal ball. It was yellow this time.
“So I just put my hand on this, yes?”
“Of course, Mister Wattyson” she dropped the ball high onto the counter. Expected the thing to shattered except it just levitated down slowly.
Without even waiting for the ball to settle, Arlene yoinked his hand onto it immediately.
[Appraising][Appraising]
[Appraising]
The disembodied voice rang out his stats. It was all in the C-B ranges.
“What? I have powerful arms equalling the might of a gryphon!”
“I… what does that even mean?”
He lifted his arm up, extending up forward to show off the limb… but no one could actually see it because he wore a very large and baggy robe. Not that it mattered about physical appearance since strength could be deceiving. Arlene had lean arms but strength scaling to SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS+ like her guild card.
“Mister Wattyson”, the receptionist voice softened with years of professionalism. “The crystal is an invention of the Great Sage Vilvane. It has been accurate for the past three hundred years.”
She put the crystal aside. “Though if you wish to dispute such stats, you may take the other testing method with one of our mentors.”
“Three hundred years?!” he quickly snapped his head to Arlene. “How old is your mentor?! How could he live so long?!”
“He said he went into a spirit forest and was gifted longevity. So…”
“Fucking hell…” he muttered out before returning to the girl behind the counter. “It’s fine… I’ll accept the appraised stats.”
“Splendid!” the receptionist clapped her hand together as she turned around, piling two smaller shards of crystal, one neutral tone and another yellow on top of the pile of papers that was his registration form.
She then brought out a blank card, seemingly glass in structure and then another crystal larger in size than those appraisal one. It slurped all of the placed items into itself before letting out a satisfied DING. It was a card.
Handing it to him with both hands. “Your card, Mister Wattyson. You are now officially an adventurer.”
Arlene clapped for him, stepping on his toe signifying ‘ACCEPT IT!’
“Yay…” wheezed out in pure monotone from the tired robed man as he reached out two hands to accept it. “Thank you kindly.”
The card showed his name, his class, his stats and ranking being C.
“Congratulation” said the cheerful receptionist, “You have advanced past three ranks for your starter one!”
Arlene continued clapping for him, smiling in teasing. “Oh by the way!” she reached for his robe pocket, pulling out the temporary pass. “Can you stamp this? Or else our new ‘adventurer’ might get escort out tomorrow.”
“Of course” the receptionist took it off her hand, stamping it with the Adventurer’s Guild crest. The paper then burned, no, dismantled into smaller particles before dissolving completely.
The two walked away now, toward one of the table. Wattyson was clearly heading for the door. Stopped by her firm hand on the shoulder. “What…”
“We can’t leave now! We got to find a quest to do!”
“Ughhhh… can’t we just use my money for traveling?”
“I can’t do that! I need to raise my financial so I can be independent… beside, all your money is coins considered antique now!”
Wattyson groaned, not even hiding his disdain for anything structured now. He let out a long sigh. “Alright, I’ll sit here. I’ll wait for you okay?” He immediately sat down at the isolated table from other adventurers.
Arlene rolled her eyes, letting out a few clicked tongue. “Fine fine, you did well today pushing for me. Sit tight decrypt robe weirdo, I’ll get a quest worthy for a new adventurer and my companion!” She hopped off, well hopping resembling that of skipping about, to the quest boards.
Few minutes had passed. There were murmuring in the great hall. He could hear them. It wasn’t about Arlene. It was about the person Chosen One brought. It was about him. Murmuring on who he was. A scholar? A sage? A wizard? Even some with envy of how this nobody stood by her side. Envy how he jumped rank as a starting adventurer.
He sat crossed legged and crossed arms, leaning on the wooden chair as he let his head down, eyes closed. Those murmuring didn’t annoy him. It made him seethe. Not because of the contents, because of the annoying noises reaching his ears.
“Yo!” one brave adventurer came to him, waving to the blind man clearly annoyed and miff. “I heard what that receptionist said! A C rank for a newcomer, huh? Pretty impressive.”
He took the chair out, seating himself next to him. “What’s your story, man? Are you a sage? Cuz you dress like one.”
Wattyson didn’t answer. Ignoring that adventurer.
“Or perhaps” speculated the adventurer, his hand caressing own forehead. “The system flagged you wrong? Not overstate your stats type of wrong… but maybe it didn’t even know how to evaluate you.”
Ignored, still.
“That’s right, for someone who walked like they are forever soaked in blood and piles corpses so much it could even pierce the heaven…. No way would that person be C rank, right? Anathema.”
His eye snapped open, his pupils were already on that person before it even opened. Those purple pupils felt like it was burning that person from the inside already. “Speak.”
The adventurer could feel his entire skin recoiled as soon as Anathema’s opened his eyes. Those calculating glare. He probably already calculated infinite way to kill him without people in the great hall even noticing.
“Chill out!” he lifted both hands as if to calm. “I’m not here as your enemy… I just..”
Anathema grunted, already lifting one hand from his crossed arm, a surge of light faint but growing emitting.
“I want to thank you!”
Without a beat, “What for?” Cold. Unassuming and completely disinterested.
He gulped his throat, lowering his hand down. Couldn’t kept eye contact with Anathema. “For… granting my sister a swift death. I know you hunt us. It’s what our elders had warned us about… I know she will never survive if she ever run into something like you. I want to take this chance to thank you for that… before my own inevitable hunt.”
“How did you know… blankbody?”
“I… I sniffed around, heh. Wanted to pay a visit you know… turns out the place she worked at was massacred by a ‘demon’.” He lifted up to scratch his neck. “I…”
His voice stopped, almost like something got caught up in his throat. Like a tension tightening around his neck. “I…” he tried to let out. “I-I haven’t told anyone! I-I” tension released as he quickly trying to find his breath.
“And how did you find out?”
“I searched the damn house! I went in and found marks clearly the same as my kind, vampire claws, bite marks on walls, some damn bloods still linger! Don’t worry! All the marks there were already erased and cleaned. I was there a day or two before they finished!
Also! Don’t worry! My sister escaped the vampire society and live in isolation in Tamare! Only I knew!”
“And you’d do well to keep it hidden. Blankbody.”
“I think if they knew it was you… they wouldn’t even dare.”
Anathema eyes squinted as if focusing on him further. Clearly his joking remark earlier fell on deaf ear.
“I won’t tell them. I swear.”
“And that kept you from being hunted by me? You who leeches off people’s vital blood.”
“I don’t drink their bloods! I.. I drink this” he reached into his pocket hastily, pulling out a bag with label. It read pig’s blood.
“Turns out… I can survive just fine with animal bloods, even though it tastes absolutely disgusting. It staves off my inner Hunger. I’ve been doing this for fifty years. I’m still fine.”
Anathema eyed him further, studying the panicking and desperate vampire. “You’d do well in keeping that routine. If I see someone who’s been bitten…”
“You’d know” interjected the vampire. “I’ll be the first to tell you even. It’s…” his hand clutching the pig’s bloodbag harder. “It’s a vow I kept with my sister… that we’d never be monster even if we’re damned. That we’d strive to be better than our kinds. That if we ever cross a line… we would never damn those who kill us. We’d welcome it.”
Anathema’s gaze still upon him… then Wattyson shut his eyes.
“Very well. Don’t call me Anathema, I’ve already retired long ago… get out of here.”
“Yes… thank you.. uhh new adventurer.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing” the adventurer bolted off faster than a fly zipping about.
A moment later, “Hey Watty? I saw that guy went to talk to you? So? Did you make a new friend?”
He scoffed. “Nah… he just kept talking about something related to C rank. I just ignored him.”
“You’ll never make any friends at this rate.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
She took a seat next to his right. “Anyway I got us registered for this quest. You remember how we came across a lot of Unobios on the road to here? The Guild want us to investigate and eliminate whatever causing it. Unobios aren’t supposed to be there.”
“Alright… when do we start?”
She stood up immediately, “Right now! Let’s-“
“Not” he jerked onto her arm, pulling her back into the chair. “We’ll do it tomorrow… I’m tired.”
“Hmmm…. Alright. You probably need to recharge your emotional level too. This quest requires us to escort someone from the Explorer’s guild too.”
Wattyson’s mind screeched at the thought. He got up, though hunchback. “Let’s find an inn…”