Chapter 6: Achievements and a Class

I wake up in the morning with what can only be described as a plethora of notifications waiting for me. The first twelve of which, it seems, are achievements.

Achievements: Good start: reach level 5. Good start (2): reach level 10. Precocious: reach level 15. Combined Reward: +8 to each attribute.

Achievements: Well read: gain 5 different Knowledge skills. Know it all: Reach level 10 in 3 or more knowledge skills. Smarty pants: reach level 20 in a knowledge skill. Genius: reach level 30 in a knowledge skill. Combined reward: +18 Intelligence, +18 Willpower, +18 Reaction.

Achievements: Skilled: gain 50 total points of skills. Very skilled: gain 100 total points of skills. Incredibly skilled: gain 250 total points of skills. Combined reward: +8 to each attribute.

Achievement: Scrapper: gain 25 points in combat skills. Reward: +1 Strength, +1 Vitality, +1 Dexterity.

And then, as if that wasn’t wonderful enough, I get offered not one, not two, but five different classes.

You have been offered a class: Commoner. +5 attribute points/level.

You have been offered a class: Librarian. +2 Intelligence, +2 Perception, +2 Vitality per level.

You have been offered a class: Teacher. +2 Intelligence, + Willpower, +2 Charm per level.

You have been offered a class: Scout. +2 Dexterity, +2 Perception, +2 Reaction per level.

You have been offered a class: Bard. +2 Perception, +2 Charm, +2 Manipulation per level.

Next was dealing with the Child trait.

Your Child Trait has expired. You gain +1 attribute point for every level you completed as a Child.

You are eligible for the Apprentice trait: +20% skill experience gain, -10% chance to gain new skills, +1 attribute per level – retroactive.

You are eligible for the Jack of All Trades trait: +10% chance to gain new skills, +1 to all current skills.

You are eligible for the Magical trait: +1 spell point per level, +10% chance to learn spells.

You may only select one trait.

That’s easy; Magical. I want spells. I want magic. Okay. Looks like all that’s left is to pick a class and then spend my points. I wonder if the class abilities are retroactive. I mean, the class is worth six points, and the leveling only gave me five. Though if it’s retroactive, that would be amazing.

I think I’m going to be a bard. It seems most appropriate for what I like to do, and for all the lore I have. And yes, it is retroactive, as my Perception, Charm, and Manipulation each increase by a further 36 points.

For the first time in my life, Intelligence is NOT my highest attribute. We’ll see if that continues after I spend these 108 points.

My initial thought is to spread them evenly among my nine stats, adding 12 to each one. While that will help my lower stats like strength do a bit of catchup, it doesn’t load me up to be really good at what I want to do.

I think the way to handle it is to focus on my derived attributes. The most important thing is survivability, right? If I can survive, I can learn from my mistakes and I can adapt my strategies in the future. I’m not looking to be a tank, but I want to have a high HP and a high Defense. So I should put a lot of points into both Vitality and Dexterity. But I also want to do magic, so I need a lot of Intelligence and Willpower. Those four are the big ones. So far, they’re the only ones that are involved in derived attributes.

I decide to put 25 points into each of them, then put four each into Strength and Charm. Doing this also gives me another notification.

Achievement: Brainiac: Reach 100 intelligence. Reward: 500 MP.

Okay, I’ve put it off enough; I have to see what my sheet looks like now.

Name: Harper. Level: 18 Bard. HP: 155. SP: 215. MP: 761. Defense: 120. XP: 9020/10000. Skills: Knowledge: Antro Lore 11, Dungeon Lore 10, Elf Lore 10, Human Lore 12, Magic Lore 13, Orc Lore 10, Mythology 17, World History 30. Common: Cleaning 23, Conversation 14, Cooking 16, Economics 12, Mathematics 10, Reading 14, Writing 11. Uncommon: Axe 12, Dagger 5, Deception 3, Dodge 9, Eavesdropping 24, Empathy 21, Listening 20, Pedagogy 6, Persuasion 10, Storytelling 24, Throwing 20, Unarmed Combat 10. Rare: Detect Class 2, Lock Pick 10, Pacification 4, Rhetoric 2, Sense Intention 10, Sense level 2.

Strength: 39. Vitality: 65. Dexterity: 66. Perception: 84. Charm: 80. Manipulation: 83. Intelligence: 105. Willpower: 66. Reaction: 54. Ability points: 0. Spell points: 72. Traits: Magical, Deep Knowledge.

I look at my reflection and see that I’m nearly six feet tall, broad shouldered, with a subtle cleft in my chin, a curve to my lips that gives me a natural resting smile, and a face that looks both mature and like it will age very well. My jawline is clear and pleasantly sharp, my eyes glittering like two deep sapphires. My hair has that shaggy quality that resets itself to a perfect hot mess style with just a shake of my head or a hand through my locks. I barely recognize myself, especially when I smile. My teeth are white and perfect, my smile dazzling and almost entrancing, but with genuine joy apparent in my eyes and the whole face. I’m lean but still muscular, with a svelte grace apparent in every movement.

I can’t hold my excitement, and I run downstairs to tell my parents what happened. “I’m a bard!” I say. “I got offered five classes, and I decided to be a bard!”

“What does that mean?” My mother asks, a bit of uncertainty in her voice. “Like a traveling musician? But you’ve never shown any interest in music!”

“Not in music, but Harper here knows stories like no one else,” Dad says. “And he’s got a memory like a steel trap.”

I laugh. “Especially now,” I say. “I spent my points.” Since then, I’ve felt like my world is expanding. It’s not that I can’t do simple things anymore, it’s that I need much less effort to do them. I’m noticing details I’ve never noticed before, and I’m filing them away with rapid ease. I feel like I could be this world’s Sherlock Holmes if I wanted to be.

“Oh?” Dad asks. He doesn’t ask my level, which is interesting. Neither of them do. I could keep it a secret if I wanted to.

But honestly, I don’t want that kind of relationship with my parents. I remember my parents being proud of me in my other life, and I want them to be proud of me here. I want them to know that I did things that no one else will be able to compete with. I want them to know that George isn’t going to –

That stops me. Do I want to tell them that I’m level 18 and have George think that he’s a failure when he doesn’t reach this level? They’ve always been telling us that our levels should be higher the younger in the family we are. It was one thing when I was the youngest. If George hadn’t been born, I could’ve told them I was level 18 and blown their minds. But unless George gets to level 19 - and I don’t think there’s much chance of that even with eight years to do it - he’s going to be disappointed in himself. He’ll think he failed. I don’t want that. I love my little brother.

“I don’t want to say what level I am,” I say. “Because I don’t want George to think he has to beat me.”

“That’s sweet of you, honey,” Mom starts to say, “but it’s very normal to feel that way, and you shouldn’t worry about–”

“Do you want to tell us privately?” Dad asks. “George isn’t up yet. If you whisper it, we can keep it a secret.”

I take a deep breath. “Will you two hold it against him if he doesn’t out level me by the time he gets to my age?” They look affronted by the very suggestion. “You have to promise not to, and you have to be very careful. We’re going to tell the rest of the family that I’m a reasonable level, so that George can still feel good about himself, but you have to really act like it’s the truth.”

“You’re so considerate,” my mom says. “You’re such a sweet and sensitive boy.”

My other mother used to say that too. I’m glad it’s still true. I step closer, until we are all standing shoulder to shoulder. Then, in the softest whisper I can manage, I tell them that I’m level eighteen. I do not tell them that I’m close to nineteen, which is a good thing, because my mother almost faints.

My dad looks at me with his mouth open, looking around to make sure no one else heard me say it. “That,” he says, “is not something we should even joke about.” His voice raises a little bit, and he says, “Level twelve is VERY impressive, Harper. Better than either of your sisters. Well done.” Then he puts a hand on my shoulder and makes solid eye contact so I know he didn’t mishear me. “I’m very proud of you.”

“So what do you know about your class?” Mom asks, as she tries to tell herself that I made it to level twelve, and only level twelve. Like the other six levels are just a joke.

“Not much was included in the prompt,” I say. “But I know a few things.” I think back to the planning meetings, the class developments. Bard, thankfully, is one of the handful of classes available to players. While everyone in the world has a class, the players were only supposed to have access to a small number of them. Ended up being several dozen, but even that is less than ten percent of the total classes in the world. Most of the rest of them we left the AI to handle, with just some broad outlines.

But the playable classes we had to work on pretty directly, making sure they were balanced with each other, that they represented different playstyles, and that there were things that each class would be especially good at. We made it possible – but difficult – to play alone, though some classes were better at that than others.

“Bards are a support class,” I say. “Mostly control, with a little bit of healing and some offensive magic. Some combat abilities, but primarily meant to avoid combat and work by persuading instead of conquest.” I may or may not have just quoted what will be on the wiki we’re launching with the game.

“That’s interesting,” Dad says. “Sounds like you’re going to be an adventurer.” He seems to dislike that. So does Mom.

I understand; really, I do. Adventuring is deadly, and not generally the way to lead people into old age. And normally, there’d be some time before they had to really worry. But if I’m already level 18, then not only is the time when I can start delving in the local dungeon rapidly approaching, but they have very little time to change my mind about what I want to do. There isn’t time for age to mellow me out a little, for my hormones to settle down and make me realize that it would be way better to have taken the Librarian class and spend the next seventy years tending to a library than it would be to spend the next three years as an adventurer and then die incredibly young.

But I’m not intending to die young. I tried that once, and it wasn’t worth it. I have a second chance now, and I intend to do something significant with my life. “Don’t worry Mom,” I tell her. “I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m not planning on being one of those people who throw their lives away in hopes of glory.”

“What are you going to do, then?” Dad asks.

“Well, for a little bit, I thought I’d just keep working here, if that’s okay. Transition a little bit more into storytelling and less into innkeeper, and see if I can find the right people to adventure with before I think about going anywhere dangerous.”

That seems to mollify my mother a little bit. My father nods his approval of my plan.

I feel kind of bad lying like this. But I really just don’t want them to worry.