61 - Who Do You Want To Be

  Joe took a large drink of his favorite beer so far to steel his nerves for his next ask. Both of these women had been nothing but generous with him already, so he felt a bit guilty asking for more. Still, he had an opportunity now. One that he’d be foolish to pass up.

  “This came up at the trial, but I wanted to explain it fully,” he began. “I have a trait that allows people to share traits with me.”

  Joe detailed what he knew about [Anyone] to the two and answered questions before his final ask. “So, I was wondering if either of you would be willing to share a trait with me since [Anyone] is off cooldown?”

  “I don’t think so, Joe,” Hah’roo’s stated doubtfully, her breathy voice just barely audible over the din of the room. “I have seen your affinity with air magics. At best, one of my clan or racial traits with you would be wasted. At worst, it would be an affront to the world winds.”

  This was not the first time the galeling had spoken of the winds as if they were a living, sentient thing. Her words were blunt, but Joe was beginning to understand that it was just her nature. She told it like she saw it.

  “No worries, Hah’roo,” he stated, turning to Mazsy.

  “Share a trait. Wow. Yeah,” the young acolyte exclaimed with her typical exuberance. “I don’t have many. You might have trouble with the traits of my faith, you not being a devotee of Onhur and all. Guess we’ll find out. Here, take a look.”

  Joe was also dubious about touching traits awarded by a god without having any connection to that deity. The racial traits were weirder than he expected. He could see the little flame balls could be useful for light sources or starting fires, but he was not sure how helpful they would be for the quest ahead of them. The second one caused all sorts of questions: would he actually grow a tail, or tails, if he took [Age Old Tails]?

  Before he could ask, a blur of motion dropped a lanky elf into the empty stool at their small table. He was wearing a riot of colors: a salmon pink ruffled shirt, a huge admiral’s hat with a plume of vibrant feathers, a purple mantle across his shoulders, and whatever other hues he had below the waist.

  With a goofy, booze-bleary grin, the outlandish rake announced, “Well, isn't this just a delightfully extraordinary new game? Can anyone play?”

  Joe barely managed to confirm the elf's identity before the man launched into an explosion of liltingly-spoken exposition.

  “A birdy whispered in my ear that my services were sought by a certain foe of Phealti. If one were to believe the buzz that is burning its way across our beloved bayside city, the One Above has declared herself a champion in the hunt for the murderous moon-keyed malefactor that has tormented us for these last two seasons. To top it off, it was the horned marshal himself who tagged me to join this salvo of saviors.” Displaying a comically overdone frown, the tide of words continued. “I have no idea why he would make such a fool-hearty selection in a rapscallion such as I, but since that fateful choice has been declared, I guess I must endeavor to do my best.

  “Now, how about we get the legalities out of the way? You have a contract for me?” Jink exclaimed, extending his long, tapered fingers towards Joe, each of which was painted a slightly different shade of teal. As he waggled the digits, the colors had the effect of resembling undulating ocean waves.

  Joe pulled out the note and handed it over. “It’s not much of a contract,” he added.

  “Ah, but given its author is the mightiest of all the barristers by the bay, this small scrap is as binding as the full city charter.” The flamboyant elf tucked the slip into his vest pocket, and then, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers, he propped his chin on his interwoven knuckles, giving Joe a long look. “So, I must know. What is this about sharing traits? One just has to love the surprises the Maker of Fates springs on us.”

  The elf’s beaming smile was surprisingly infectious, and Joe found himself warming to this very odd man. “I wish I could dress it up more extravagantly for you, sir, but its explanation is rather simple. I have a trait that allows me to learn traits from others. Not achievement traits, just racial and hereditary ones. Though I’ve found out that hereditary traits are a whole collection, so there are more options than I originally thought.”

  “You can do so endlessly? Ad nauseam? Oh my! That is quite some ability you have.”

  “No, no. It has a cooldown on it. I haven’t quite figured out the length of the delay yet, but I know I can’t do it infinitely.”

  “Ah, then it is likely the same limitation as most other such hereditary trait sharing. While this is often not a commonly shared fact, it is well known in many circles. Noble houses, clergy, and military orders are usually limited by two factors when sharing traits with their novices. The first limit is once every level. The second is time itself; they can only gift a trait after one day has passed for each trait shared in this manner. Ask the lovely russet maiden here, and I’m sure that she can confirm it.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Mazsy was mid-sip on her bubblegum pink drink as Jink focused the table’s attention on her. She quickly swallowed and wiped the fur above her lip.

  “I guess it's not a secret then,” the acolyte conceded, checking to make sure her drink was settled correctly. “The church does ask us not to talk about it too much, but that is how it works for us. There are also traits that are not shared until the cleric has mastered specific aspects of our order, but that is a restriction based on the teaching of the church, not from the One Above.”

  “I take it then that your cooldown has expired,” Jink inquired, “and you are attempting to finagle a new trait from one of your delightful compatriots? Well, unless you have a clear winner, my new friend, I might have a trait that could save you from the troubling bemusement caused by [Identifying] you. I must say you are one of only five people in the whole world I have been unable to read, and at least the others had the good grace to present me with a proper ‘piss-off’ blankness. Your tease of a mere moniker practically begs one to question that small name further.”

  “What kind of trait are we talking about here?” Joe asked dubiously.

  “Well, as each of you have [Identified] me and seen I am low a twenties, word-smith and jollyman. I will pose this next question to the ladies. I’ll assume the ranger has an exceptional Perception, and the disciples of Onhur are masters at ferreting out fibs. Does my identity give either of you any pause?”

  Hah’roo narrowed her eyes, before giving a nonchalant shrug. Mazsy took longer.

  “If you hadn’t pointed it out, I never would have noticed, but there is just the hint of something there. It’s really hard to notice,” the priestess noted, taking another drink from her fluted glass.

  “As it should be. How about now? Any obvious deception now?”

  Mazsy choked on her sip, while one of Hah’roo’s brows arched upward.

  “You can do that at will,” Joe blurted with a laugh at the ridiculousness of the classes.

  “Well, not at will. I am stuck with that foolishness for the next hour, but as long as I am reasonable with my level adjustment from its truth and have just a modicum of connection to the class, I could be pretty much anyone I want to be, without setting off any alarm bells with anyone like these two. I could have altered my name as well, but I have found that deviation is the most likely to plink the [Truthsense] of those like our sputtering secularist here,” Jink intoned, patting Mazsy gently on the back.

  “That one also looks real to me,” Hah’roo huffed. “What kind of connection do you have to Narbor that allows you to be its overlord? And where is Narbor? I never heard of such a land.”

  “I named my dining room table Narbor. As the exclusive owner of that particular piece of furniture, I am well within my rights to name myself its overlord,” the elf quipped back, a wide smile of mocking innocence stretching his cheeks to their limits.

  “Okay. I’m sold,” Joe announced. “While it probably won't help us with the quest ahead, [No One] has been making my life difficult since I got here. If you don’t mind sharing, Jink, I’d love a copy of your trait.”

  “I’d be delighted. Oh, I can’t wait to tell the Grand Spider about this. She will absolutely lose her soup over this,” the resplendent rogue crowed.

  “Who is the Grand Spider?” Joe asked as Mazsy’s face paled at her mention.

  “The Grand Spider is the title for the Spymaster of Duskrug,” Hah’roo huffed. “You have already run afoul of the Church of Phealti and the House of Amberwroth. As dangerous as those two institutions are, the Guild of Secrets is far more perilous than both of them combined. Are you sure this is wise?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a worrisome warbler. My guild is not that bad. It’s just an invasive, inexorable enigma. People always assume the worst of those sorts of things. Trust me, we are a bunch of schoolyard sweethearts.”

  “That is a lie,” Mazsy said, shaking her head.

  “Oh, fine. Ruin my perfect degree of inebriation with such seriousness …”

  “You are also not drunk, Jink. That is another mistruth,” the priestess reported, giving Jink a direct look.

  “This is why I stopped coming to Onhur’s parties, my dear. You folk manage to foil even the fun lies,” the elf sulked exaggeratedly. “How truthful is this statement then? It is my firm belief that I am free to share this trait, and I will take full blame should my superiors have an objection to me doing so.”

  “Ok, that really is the truth. Probably the first fully truthful thing you’ve said so far, Jink.” Mazsy turned to Joe and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Your call.”

  Joe looked at the still-skeptical huntress. Finally, the white-skinned galeling sighed, blowing a breeze strong enough to ruffle the hair of the three others at the table. “It would make you far less suspicious.”

  He had hoped for a slightly more positive endorsement from Hah’roo, but it seemed as though that was the best he was going to get. Joe had gotten in the habit of using [Identify] on pretty much everyone, and from all the weird looks he would get everywhere he went, it was pretty clear that everyone did the same. He was all for gaining a way to blend in.

  His only hesitation was he wanted to be as prepared as possible for the Night Skinner quest, and this probably wasn’t going to help with that. Yet, it also seemed like a somewhat unique opportunity, one he did not want to have to try and track down again after the quest.

  The one person he had not yet asked, but should, was Count Randeau. Valloc probably had some great family traits. Ones that likely could help with the task ahead.

  He took a long drink, mulling over taking the trait at hand over an unknown possibility tomorrow. The more he considered it, the more his gut was telling him to take something he knew he’d want over a gamble in the future.

  “Let’s do it, Jink,” he announced.

  With a sweep of his manicured hand, the elf opened his sheet for Joe. This sheet, too, looked like parchment, but instead of the legal off-white Mazsy’s was, Jink’s was a splashed, watercolored page with dark purple looping text. The trait was pulsing to draw his eye.

  “Give it a whirl, my boy,” Jink prompted.

  Joe focused on the new trait and immediately understood how it worked.

  “How’s this?” he asked. “What do you guys see?”

  “What’s a Martian?” Mazsy queried.

  “Look for yourself, Joe,” Hah’roo voiced. “You know you can assess yourself, don’t you?”

  He didn't, though once she pointed it out, it made perfect sense.

  “Ok, this could be a lot of fun,” he chuckled toward the three perplexed faces.