Chapter 3: Ain't You Just a Doll?

The man was slight of build, somewhere in his early twenties, with tightly curled hair of a reddish brown, dark skin, and startlingly bright silver eyes. At first, Cecilia thought he was wearing a dress, but the light linen cloth resolved itself into a sort of tailored robe with a crimson sash. He waved his arms like he was auditioning for the world’s worst goalie spot.

Shin stopped, and Cecilia stopped too, if only because it seemed like he might lunge at them if they didn’t. She glanced at Shin, just in time to catch the exasperated roll of eyes. “Cantor, do you not see that we are weighted down with grel parts? If you were hoping to take that job, it is done, and throwing a tantrum will not change the facts.”

“What?” The young man - Cantor - finally broke his unnerving stare at Cecelia and blinked. “Why would I care about grel? What have they--” he finally seemed to notice what they were carrying. He flapped a hand towards the Guild. “I’m not stopping you from turning them in, Shin.” The emphasis on you was hard to miss and his eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. He widened his eyes at Cecilia, as if trying to communicate some silent question.

It failed. Cecilia had no idea what the strange young man was trying to say. She gave a little shrug and started to ease herself around him, towards the Guild. Shin muttered something about too many books being bad for the mind, and started to follow.

“Stop!” Cantor reached out to grab Cecilia’s arm, intending to yank her back towards him.

The hell you say. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d have put up with on Earth, and she sure as Hell wasn’t going to let the first guy she met - not counting creepy mad scientist - put his hands on her. She whirled and shouted, “Triple Strike!” Her free hand flashed out as she activated the skill - she was, at least, pulling the blows.

Maybe not enough. The first hit against his chest tore Cantor’s grip away, with a blue-white flash at the impact of the heel of her hand against his chest. The second blow, a fraction of a second after the first, lifted him from the ground, and the third sent him flying, each accompanied by their own small explosion of light.

Cantor sailed a good two feet through the air and landed flat on his back with a groan. Shin gaped, then burst into gales of laughter. “That is what you get for grabbing a Barbarian without permission! You are lucky, I think - she punched a grel to death. You, she went easy on.” She gave Cecilia a look. “You did go easy on him, yes? Adventurers do not fight to the death in the city.”

“I did!” Actually, now that she’d done it, and the man was lying sprawled on the dirt of the road, Cecilia felt just a little bad about things. She went to check on him, going to a knee beside the weakly flailing body, and offering a hand up.

Cantor took it - to her relief, he looked more winded than injured, although as he sat up, he patted his chest and said, voice dry, “I’m going to assume that you knew that I had my shield spell up.” He took a look at her face, and sighed. “I see.”

As Cecilia mumbled an apology, he leaned in to say, low and urgent, “I know what you are. Golem. World traveler. You must not go into the Guild before your classes are protected from the Guildmaster’s eyes.”

Cecilia’s blood - or whatever passed for her blood these days - ran cold. “How--”

“Come with me,” he hissed in return. “I can give you some protection.” And then he was stepping back before she could ask more. He brushed down his robe, taking a moment to poke gingerly at his ribs as he did. The look he shot her way was half wary, half impressed.

Cecilia cleared her throat and turned to Shin. “Look, I’ll just go and see what he wants, and catch up with you in just a few minutes. I can carry the grel with me--”

Shin barked laughter. “No need. Leave it here, and I will carry them both the rest of the way.” As Cecilia stepped closer to do so, Shin lowered her voice. “You know Cantor?”

Cecilia hesitated. She was already telling too many lies; she couldn’t commit to one that would be so easily disproven. So she shook her head, whispered back, “Never seen him before. But what can it hurt? Unless you think he’s dangerous?”

Shin snorted. “He is a Mage. They are all quite mad. But I would not say he was malicious. He is an adventurer, like me. We’ve taken a couple of jobs together; he is a competent spellslinger.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what he is so excited about.”

Thinking fast, Cecilia said, “I was kidnapped, remember? By the weird guy. Maybe I’ve still got some sort of magic stuff clinging to me.”

Her eyes widened. “Ah! Of course. A necromancer would leave a taint. And the Guild’s defenses, they might react poorly. A Mage would know.” Her lips twisted in exasperation, and she called out to Cantor, “You could have just said instead of getting grabby!”

Now it was Cecilia’s turn to try telepathy. Luckily, either Cantor was better at receiving it or she was better at sending it. He immediately let out a sheepish laugh, and ran a hand through his curls. “I just got excited, that’s all.”

Shin rolled her eyes. “Mages!” She pointed at Cantor. “When you’re done cleansing her of the taint, you bring her right back here.” To Cecilia, she added, “I’ll have your pay, and then we can get you a room at the Moss House.” Both heavy rolls of grel skin were hauled up to her back and she staggered away, waving away Cecilia's instinctive attempt to help steady it.

In the next moment, Cantor was at her elbow, beckoning her to follow him. He led her only a short distance away, to an elaborately carved, two-story building. The lower story appeared to be some sort of...chemistry lab? It reminded her uncomfortably of the dungeon she’d awoken in, although it certainly smelled better - sharp, a little bitter, a little citrus. She didn’t have much time to take it in before he was hurrying them both up the stairs and unlocking the door to the upper rooms.

With the first look, any thought Cecilia had that ‘mage’ didn’t really mean ‘wizard’ was blown away. Small bookshelves were stuffed with heavy, leather-bound volumes. What could only be a magic circle was carefully inscribed in chalk in one corner, and in another, there was an actual cauldron of stained copper, currently empty. The small bed - a collection of furs and stuffed pillows tossed on a frame - and personal items were clearly afterthoughts; this was a place for working magic, first and foremost.

Cantor locked the door behind them, and leaned up against it with a dramatic sigh of relief. “It is Gua Shi who smiles on us today, Traveler,” he said. “Had I not seen you out the window, you’d probably be captured or dead now.”

“But, why?”

“Your class,” he replied, poking a finger at her forehead. She stepped back and he bounded past her, robes flapping around his legs. “You’re an Ensouled Golem, aren’t you? That’s not even supposed to be possible! How? Why? Is it something you intended to do when you came to this world?” He started grabbing small bottles from shelves.

“Intended? No! I didn’t intend any of this!” Cecilia shared everything from the time she felt someone push her off the building, to meeting Shin and being invited back to the town. He listened, although his hands continued to work, mixing and crushing components together, then dissolving them into a bowl. It began to hiss and release a sweet-smelling steam.

“The Door of Onyx, then. Unfortunate.” At her blank look, Cantor elaborated, “It is written in the Codex of Travelers that there are three doors which allow passage between worlds. The Door of Onyx is the most common - although ‘common’ here is used as a relative phrase since any Traveler is so vanishingly rare that there have only been three verified and recorded cases in the last century and none of them were on this continent. Which is actually quite strange, since of the eight continents, Tellura on average has stronger azoth flows--”

“Focus!”

He jumped. “Right, sorry. Anyway. The Door of Onyx is death, essentially. Sometimes someone dies in one world, and wakes up in another. The Door of Smoke is an ethereal door - a Traveler doesn’t physically manifest in one world, but only walks through dreamlands that connect with another world. The Door of Diamond is the most rare; that’s when someone creates a portal between two worlds, a stable one.”

Cecilia grabbed Cantor’s arm, ignoring his yelp about not making him spill. “I need one of those. A Diamond Door or whatever. I have to go home. I have a life. A family!”

Cantor looked at her with those strange silver eyes lit by the sun as it fell through the open windows. There was pity there. “There’s no going back. You crossed by the Door of Onyx. In your world, you’re dead. I’m sorry, Miss…”

“Cecilia.” Her hand tightened. “Cecilia Rojas. And I’m not dead. Look, I’m talking to you right now. You can see me. Hear me! Why couldn’t I just walk back through this portal?”

“It doesn’t exist!” Cantor’s voice was strained. “There has never been a reliably documented account of a Door of Diamond. There are rumors, yes, and Mages and Scholars and all sorts of classes and guilds have tried to make one for ages, but the last documentation that’s even halfway respectable is from before the Third Collapse and,” he took a deep breath, “please let go of my arm before you break it!”

She jerked her hand back and he let out a groan of relief. When he pulled back the sleeve, there was a frighteningly perfect imprint of her hand on his flesh where she’d squeezed harder and harder without even feeling it. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s fine! I’m sure all of this is a bit overwhelming.” He reached for a small ceramic pot that contained a pungent cream. This, he smeared over his arm and, to her surprise, the mark she’d made began to fade. “Just remember that you’ve a golem’s strength.”

Cecilia flexed her hand. “I’m sorry. But, look, I still have to get back home. We have to find this stable portal, or make one, or something.”

“Even if we did?” Cantor eyed her. “You might not be able to pass through it. Not without falling apart. You’re a golem. Your body is held together and animated by precisely regulated flows of azoth. Golems require an unusually high ambient azoth to function at peak efficiency, which is why you see them here and not, say, on Wataunga. Crossing a portal like that, if it existed, might just render you...inert.”

“You mean kill me. Again.”

Cantor grimaced, and that was answer enough.

“But you don’t know that it would happen like that. I mean, I’ve got a soul. I’m not just a golem.” She tapped her chest. “Apparently I’ve got a heart of star opal or--”

Cantor’s mouth was suddenly over her mouth, his eyes wide. “Don’t say that out loud. People would tear you apart for that alone. Do you even know what star opal is?”

She restrained the urge to bite his fingers off, but very deliberately reached out with two fingers and just enough pressure to make sure he knew how much strength she wasn’t using, to pull his hand away. “Since I’ve only been here for a day or so, let’s assume I don’t. But I’m guessing it’s very, very rare and worth a lot of money.”

“It’s priceless. Literally priceless,” Cantor said. “The ruler of any nation would hand over whatever you asked for the chance to have it in their treasury. The Exalted Circle of Mages would--” he trailed off, unconsciously licking his lips.

Cecilia stepped back, and put one hand over her chest. “If you’re thinking about it, stop.”

He blinked, shook himself. “What? No, no, not at all. I wouldn’t! You’re amazing. As a whole package, I mean, not as pieces.” He swallowed. “But most people won’t think that way. Golems are things. Objects. Property. They don’t think, and they disturb people. Most of them don’t look as, uh, human as you do, and many smaller provinces have banned them entirely.”

The tone of his voice made her hazard, “Including this one, huh?”

Another grimace. “Yes. I have a skill which allows me to see people’s classes and levels. The Guildmaster, Orn, has a skill that does something similar, but I believe it only shows primary classes, not subclasses. He’d see what you were, immediately, but not where you came from.”

“And round up the lynch mob.” From the tilt of his head, it didn’t translate. “He’d have me destroyed.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Me cago en todo este mundo.” Cantor made a desperately curious sound, but she waved him off. There were more important things to do than teach the people of this world how to curse properly. “Okay. So, how do I convince people that Number Five is Alive? Or,” hastily, “how do I keep from getting scrapped for parts while I look for a way home?”

“This!” Cantor poured the last of whatever he had been making into a rough clay mug, and thrust it at her. “At least, as a temporary solution. It’s a potion that will hide your classes and levels for a day. There’s enchanted items that will do the same, but I don’t have any, and you won’t find anything like that in Ikshan. Just drink it down.”

She’d only just met this guy. The thought flitted through her mind lightly, but trailing hooks behind it. What’s to say this wasn’t all an elaborate roofie attempt so that he could chop her up for parts? “How is that going to help? Isn’t this Orn-guy just going to be suspicious that I’m blocking my, uh, classes?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s pretty standard, especially for an adventurer coming into a new town. Not everyone does it, mind you; I’ve never seen the point. But a lot of adventurers want to be evaluated based on their skill, not if they have an Elite class or not. You can get a lot of discrimination on what people think your classes are worth - it’s one of the reason a lot of Guildmasters take those damn skills in the first place.”

Cecilia stalled a bit more. “Why do you have the skill, if you don’t like it?”

A boyish grin appeared. “Oh, I love it. Classes are my area of study - how they’re created, how they grow, how skill trees are developed, and unearthing secret techniques.” Cantor sighed. “I just don’t like how people try to pigeonhole what Classes can and can’t do. It’s infuriating - and I suspect that it actually restrains people’s growth. Challenging ourselves is how we level, right? So if you only allow those who find missions well within their comfort zones to undertake them, then you’re denying levels and skills to those who might struggle more - but can grow faster because of it.” His hands danced in the air with his excitement. “And look at you! A unique Class and an elite in one person; that hardly ever happens, and there’s so much I could learn from watching you grow! I can’t do that if some idiot kills you because you’ve got a king’s ransom in your chest.”

It was possible he was playing her, but Cecilia didn’t think so. His passion was genuine - almost exhaustingly genuine. She took a deep breath, then drank the potion in one long motion.

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Then immediately had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from ejecting it all over Cantor. “This is foul!” The words were half obscured by her hand.

“I know, I know,” Cantor apologized...and took a couple of steps back, out of splash range. “My basic alchemy isn’t the best. I just haven’t spent a lot of time on it. I can make effective potions, simple ones, but I don’t know the recipes that, uh, taste good.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s working, though. I can’t see your classes anymore.”

“That fast?” she wheezed, while looking around for anything that she could drink that might wash the taste out of her mouth. Everything liquid around her was some strange color, though, so she just tried to put up with the taste, which was half like fermented soy beans, and half like rotted fish.

“Oh sure,” Cantor said, recovering from his remorse quickly. “Potions work by transferring concentrated azoth with specific limiters and guiding components directly to the body. It’s nearly instantaneous.”

“Azoth. You’ve mentioned that before. What is it?”

“Elemental energies which form the fundamental basis of magical power, but also which bind together all the matter and energy in our world. There are the seven greater azoths: fire, metal, water, wood, wind, light, and darkness. And then hundreds of minor azoths which are usually some combination of the seven greaters. Mages, like me, collect ambient azoth in different ways, and bind it into new configurations through spells or enchantments or potions.” He waved at the mug she still held. “Classes allow all people to access azoth to accomplish tasks; we’re not really sure how, but Class Scholars like me try to better understand how people are offered Classes, or specific skill trees, or techniques.” His silver eyes widened. “I...hope that you’ll let me ask you questions about your classes and skills. I don’t mean to impose, it’s just that I’ve never had this sort of opportunity before and I doubt I ever would again! I’m willing to help you get settled into this world, whatever you need.”

“I need to get back to my own world.”

Cantor hesitated, then said, “Of course. I can’t promise anything, but there are avenues we can pursue. We just have to be careful and not arouse any suspicion.”

“So I don’t get smashed, yeah. I got it.”

“No! I mean, yes, but also no. You’re in danger of getting smashed because Orn can’t read your sub-class. If he could, he’d capture you instead, and sell you to the capital. You’re a Traveler! Whenever a Traveler appears, the whole world changes.” He cleared his throat. “Or that’s what they say, anyway. But people will want to make sure that change is in their favor.”

“People.” Cecilia eyed him again. “But not you?”

Another of those sunny, eager smiles. “Oh, I’m very curious! But I want to see what you can do if you’re allowed to grow naturally. I don’t want to see you caged, or used as some mascot for a bored court! Much less an excuse for war or conquest.”

Cecilia could detect no insincerity from him. “Alright, then,” she decided. “I’ll accept your offer. I don’t know much about this Class or skill stuff, so if you answer my questions, and help me fit in so that I don’t get caged or scrapped while we look for ways to get me back, then I’ll answer your questions.” She stuck her hand out. “Deal?”

Apparently, handshaking was a thing that they did on this world, too, because he immediately took her hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “Deal! I am delighted, Miss Cecilia. Truly, I am. You won’t regret this!”

She wondered if Cantor realized that was a statement calculated to make someone immediately regret everything. But she smiled, and said, “Sure. It’ll be fun.”

[Level Up! Stat Points to Distribute. Skill Points to Distribute. Choose (1) Technique.]

“Holy--” Cecilia’s eyes widened. “I just leveled up! Why?”

“You did?” Cantor leaped, actually leaped for joy. “This is marvelous! Wonderful! What level? No, no, don’t tell me, let me get my notebook first.”

While he tore around the room, grabbing up a wood-bound notebook and something that looked like someone’s attempt to make a steampunk pen, Cecilia poked at her new level. “Three,” she said. This time she only had three stat points to distribute, but still two skill points. “How many stat and skill points are you supposed to get?”

Cantor crowed as he held up his book, flipping it over to a thick, curdled-cream colored sheet of paper. Or parchment? Cecilia wasn’t sure, having never actually seen parchment. He began to scribble - the pen was indeed a pen, and the ink was thicker than she was used to, a dark brown rather than black “Um, it varies. People without subclasses get more stat points per level, usually, but fewer skill points. Some classes seem to give extra skill points - my subclass is Scholar, and I get two skill points for that, plus one per level from my main class. Other classes give bonus stat points or skill points at various levels. Everyone gets one Technique for the first five levels, and then it varies from there.”

It sounded...complicated. “Okay, so last level, level two, I got six stat points and two skill points. This time I’m only getting three stat points.”

“That’s not bad!” He scribbled the information down. “Common classes often only give one or two stat points per level. Six is remarkable - I wonder if it’s a starting bonus, for having a Unique class, or if your classes will give you bonuses on a level multiple?”

“No idea,” Cecilia said, dryly. “I suppose we’ll find out. Why now? Why did I level?” She was casting her mind back to college D&D sessions, and computer games, and wondered if she had a little quest log somewhere, and was checking off side-quests.

Castor shrugged. “It’s hard to say with only two levels of information and rare classes. We know that people level by facing challenges related to their Classes. I’m a Scholar and a Mage, so I usually level after mastering a difficult new spell, deciphering a new codex, or exploring a new ruin and learning about its history, power, or purpose.” He squinted at her. “Your Classes are unfamiliar, of course. But if I had to hypothesize…”

Cecilia flapped her hands at him. “Hypothesize!”

“I’d guess that because an Ensouled Golem is in such danger from people knowing what you are, that choosing to trust someone with that secret is a big challenge for your level. Maybe the same for your subclass. And you fought a grel, of course! That certainly helped.”

“So, what? Friendship is magic?”

He paused. “There have been some schools of spellcraft which play on the intrinsic power of enduring bonds between people. For example, the Order of the Eternal Spider are theorized to create bonds between each other that are strong enough that they can magically borrow strength and even skills from any other member. I say theorized because they’re rather known for murdering anyone who invades their territory--”

“No, I meant...never mind. I was telling a joke no one but me is going to get.” Cecilia ran a hand through her fake hair. “Making friends will level me up?”

Castor wobbled his hand back and forth, in a gesture achingly familiar from her own world. “I can’t say definitively one way or another, but I imagine not unless it is a challenge that supports a concept of your Class. Me, perhaps, because I know what you are, you’ve trusted me, and I can provide help.”

“Shin?” Cecilia realized she sounded wistful. “She seems nice, and I saved her life. Surely she’d be safe to tell.”

“I can’t stop you,” Castor replied, although it was in that way that made it perfectly clear what he thought of the idea. Seeing her expression drop, he waved a hand. “At least give it some time? People have odd notions about Golems, and about Travelers. I haven’t known her long enough to know if she has any long-standing prejudices.”

As much as she hated to admit it, that made sense. She’d read Frankenstein in high school, after all. No one liked the monster, and the more it looked like a real person, the less people liked it. And sometimes, all you needed to be someone’s monster was a slightly different shade of skin, or hair. She stared at Castor’s features, very different from anyone else she’d seen so far, and wondered.

But before she could consider asking, Castor was moving on. He said, “As much as I’d love to discuss your level in detail, you should be getting back. Joining the Guild is an excellent idea! You’ll have many opportunities to grow. I can’t wait to observe!”

“But what should I take? Skills and--”

His hand chopped at the air, cutting her off. “Absolutely not! I am happy to sit down and discuss your Classes and skills, and Techniques you might be eligible for in the future, but I will not tell you what you should take.” He leaned forward, clasping one hand over his heart. His voice dropped down, intense as his eyes seemed to glow from within. “Our Classes are the expressions of our truest ambitions, desires, and potential. Miss Cecilia, do not ever allow someone to dictate how you express them. There are those who will try to tell you about efficient leveling and the ‘right’ way to progress through skill trees, and perhaps that fulfills their needs. But a thousand Knights following manuals has not the worth of a single Cook who is making every day an exploration of their true self!”

Cecilia opened her mouth, but nothing she could think to say wouldn’t sound a little cynical or mocking in the face of his open fervor. So she just nodded, instead. Cantor immediately blushed, turning the color of brick as he leaned back, then stepped back. He said, “Sorry. I get a little. Uh. Never mind. I’m going to make you a supply of potions. I think Shin said she’d get you a room at Moss House? That’s not far from there. How about we meet tomorrow? I should be done, then.”

She could recognize someone who needed some alone time to kick themselves when she saw them. “Sure,” she said, and backed towards the door. Although as she turned around to slide the lock back, she added, quietly, “Thanks.”

Cecilia left before he could reply, closing the door behind herself.

It wasn’t hard to find her way back to the Guild, especially as Shin was already there. The other woman flung her hand into the air, waving excitedly as Cecilia trotted over to her. “We received excellent prices for the grel,” was the first thing out of her mouth. She looked past Cecilia. “Where’s Cantor? You didn’t punch him again, did you?”

Cecilia blushed. “I don’t go around punching everyone!”

“Out of three beings I have seen you meet, you have punched two,” Shin pointed out, with a grin. “I am grateful to be the exception. Here,” she tossed a small, leather bag. It clanked when Cecilia grabbed it, and had more weight than she’d expected. She opened it to find several short sticks of metal of various colors, from dull grey to what looked suspiciously like silver. She had no idea what they were worth, but she made an admiring whistle anyway.

This seemed to be what Shin hoped for, as she grinned wide. “My eldest aunt was a Trader,” she confessed with a twinkle in her eyes. “I may not have skills, but I did learn a few things.”

“Clearly! Is that enough to cover your bow?”

“It is,” Shin assured her. “And a little extra besides. Now, let us get you registered? Unless Cantor is going to leap from the shadows at us once more?”

“I think he’s done,” Cecilia said, with a soft laugh. “He did say he’d probably come by and see me tomorrow, at the...Moss House?”

“Excellent.” Shin gestured and Cecilia followed. “Necromancers are nasty things. Sometimes their taint can linger. You have not felt ill?”

Cecilia wasn’t even sure she could catch illnesses anymore. But she reassured Shin of her health as they swept into the Guild.

It was a surprisingly simple building for all Shin had talked it up. Raw timbers stretched overhead, with a carved wooden floor. The front room seemed to take up most of the space; there were some tables, a few benches long enough to stretch out on, and what looked a lot like a chalkboard nailed to one wall. Or, no, not a chalkboard. A slate board. She could see the layers where pieces had flaked off. There was writing - it wasn’t English, but whatever internal translator she’d been given seemed to work just as well. It appeared to be a list of jobs.

Before she could examine them, Shin was sweeping them past, up to the desk where a man was standing to greet them. “Orn! Here she is!”

Cecilia’s first thought was: So large. Orn towered; he was easily the tallest man she’d ever seen, and she had a cousin who was six and a half feet. And unlike her cousin, he was broad shouldered and barrel chested, so the impact of his height was doubled. He was the palest-skinned person she’d seen so far, although not in the way she would have meant in her world. His skin was gold, and his hair and eyes were dark. He extended a massive hand, smiling in a way that suggested that he saw whatever expression she was making all the time. “Miss Cecilia, isn’t it?” His voice was deep and smooth.

She took his hand by instinct. He shook gently, then released it. “Yes. You must be the Guildmaster?”

“Indeed I am.” He settled back into his chair, which was carved to dimensions to match his frame. He was staring at her with interest. “Shin says you are a Barbarian?”

Cecilia hesitated. “I’d rather not share my Classes,” she said, hoping Cantor was right about this being common.

Orn just nodded, drew a ledger close, and wrote with another of those weird pens. “I see. Level?”

That seemed harmless enough. “Three.”

That was written down, although he sighed. Disappointment colored his tone as he said, “A shame. Judging by what Shin shared, I was hoping five, at least. We could use some higher leveled adventurers.”

Here, Shin said, “A low level is the easiest thing to cure, if you have work for us. I will partner with her. And perhaps Cantor? He seemed to take an interest.”

“Oh?” Orn sat back, studying them both. “That would be useful. We haven’t had a trio in a while. And this matter of the necromancer.” His dark gaze settled on Cecilia. “Can you tell me about it?”

Cecilia did so, leaving out only her own state and the conversation she had with the mad scientist. She instead suggested that she’d woken up while the man was occupied elsewhere, and escaped, then was chased.

Orn wrote down everything she said, and asked her further questions about the location of the castle, and the river. When she’d answered everything she felt she safely could, he reread it with a frown. “I’ll put in a job to scout the area of the river. He’s probably packed up and left for another ruin by now.”

“I hope so,” Shin said, with a grimace of disgust. “The last thing we need is a necromancer practicing his foul craft so close to the town.”

“Agreed.” Orn tapped the ledger a couple of times, then closed it. Now, he reached for a scroll, which was offered to Cecilia. As she took it and unrolled it, he said, “This is the standard Guild contract. I assume you’re not planning to live here long-term, so I’ve written it for a month. We can renew as it suits. Common terms; we take a fifteen percent cut of whatever jobs you take through the Guild, and in exchange we negotiate fees, will purchase loot at a fair price, and make healers and suppliers available to you at the Guild discount. You must obey the code of conduct, which means no thieving, banditry, or assassinations while under contract.”

Cecilia blinked. “Wait. Just while under contract? So if I had killed people before getting here--”

Orn shrugged. “Not our problem. And don’t tell me if you have. I want my shocked expression to feel more genuine if a bounty hunter arrives.” His tone was deadpan. He gestured at the contract. “Sign, or not. Your choice.”

Cecilia skimmed the contract, but as far as she could tell, it was exactly what he said it was, and so she claimed the pen he offered, and signed. It was only after he was taking the scroll and pen back that she wondered if her full name would set off some sort of obviously foreign vibes. If it did, Orn didn’t show it; he glanced once at the looping scribble of ink, then rolled the scroll up and put it away.

In return, she received a large token of painted wood. “Show this to any client when you arrive to take the job, so that they know that you’re under the auspices of the Guild.” Aside from that, there didn’t seem to be much formality.

Within a few minutes, she and Shin were stepping out into the rapidly darkening twilight. “Don’t worry,” Shin said, “he’s always like that. It’s not you. And you did not even scream when he stood up! Good job.”

Cecilia laughed, startled. “Does that happen?”

“Mm. Sometimes. He has been here for a few years, so not so much these days. When he first arrived, though, children would hide.”

“He is sort of...abrupt.” She remembered the gentleness of his handshake. “But I didn’t get the sense he was trying to intimidate me.”

“No, no. As I said, he is always like that. You get used to it, and he does not take more than the contract says he should.” Shin clapped Cecilia on the back “Now! We shall get you a room at Moss House, and we shall toast to your registration. And our success in hunting. And then perhaps we shall toast many other things!”

And they did. By the time Cecilia pleaded off and escaped to the rented room, which was a tiny little section in the corner of Moss House’s second floor, she had drunk more ale than she’d consumed in her life. Actually, before today, she wasn’t sure she’d drunk any ale at all. Beer, sure, and the occasional cocktail, but not the nutty, bitter drink that was the local specialty. Shin had kept up with her, despite not being a Golem, and now Cecilia’s head was pleasantly buzzing as she laid down. The mattress was yielding but not particularly soft, filled with some material that crunched and rustled beneath her.

She gave a little mental poke. [You are Level Three. You have Stat Points to Distribute. You have Skill Points to Distribute. You should choose a Technique.]

Still there. Good. She closed her eyes and brought up her skill trees. This time, she chose Mind for Magic and Analysis without hesitation. The Golem trees were powerful, and interesting, but she wondered how much she could use the skills they offered around other people without triggering suspicion. These two skills seemed like ones that anyone in the world might have. As they lit up green, she could feel something change inside of her. The drunkenness, already dimmed, faded away. “Nice.”

Three skills were opened up, two branching off of Mind for Magic, and one from Analysis. First, there was Mental Grimoire, a skill that allowed her to more easily memorize and master spells. The second was Mind Shield, which gave her resistance to spells that targeted her mind or senses. Analysis had opened up a peculiar skill - Azoth Mapping. When she prompted the voice for more information, it was distinctly unhelpful:

[Azoth Mapping is an active skill which allows the observation and identification of azoth.]

Cecilia wasn’t at all certain what use that would be. And she was out of skill points, anyway, so she looked at her stats.

[Might: 12 - Base: 5 - Bonus from Golem Type: +5 - Level: +2]

[Grace: 10 - Base: 5 - Bonus from Golem Type: +5]

[Endurance: 12 - Base: 5 - Bonus from Golem Type: +5 - Level: +2]

[Intellect: 10 - Base: 5 - Penalty from Golem Type: -5 - Bonus from Otherworldly Soul Class: +5 - Level: +2 - Mind for Magic: +3]

[Perception: 5 - Base: 5 - Penalty from Golem Type: -5 - Bonus from Otherworldly Soul Class: +5]

[Soul: 10 - Base: 5 - Penalty from Golem Type: -5 - Bonus from Otherworldly Soul Class: +10]

With only three stat points this level, Cecilia decided to put two into Endurance, to further her Self-Repair, and then one into Perception, since it now seemed to be her lowest stat. She turned her attention to Techniques. Aside from the ones she hadn’t taken before, she now met the qualifications for two more: Counterattack, and Lesser Ward. Both seemed to have been triggered by her raising her Intellect. Counterattack allowed her a chance to intercept an incoming melee attack and turn it against her opponent, while Lesser Ward did basically the same thing, except for a magical attack.

She chose Counterattack. She’d yet to see any attack magic, and anyway, she liked the idea of chaining Counterattack into Triple Strike. With her Might, she suspected it was a powerful combination.

With her final selection, the peculiar buzz in the back of her mind, reminding her of the unspent points, faded. Cecilia found herself drifting off to sleep soon after.