Dreamland

Noviel went straight to the market. Both suns were up, and it was starting to get warm.

“Put your hood on!”

Those were the first words she said to a sweaty Ayra. She was sitting behind the peasant's carriage and was just trying to get a bit of fresh air. She put her hood on and pulled her tongue at her in a moment when she thought Noviel could not see her.

Noviel sighed and checked the surroundings. Nobody seemed to have followed her. She turned towards Ayra, still staying a couple of meters away.

“Everything OK?”

Ayra beamed, happy to have somebody to talk about her successes:

“I've sold two cabbages for two copper!”

Noviel sighted. “You gave him the money, isn't it?”

“Sure. Mr Duragh was very happy!”

Noviel nodded.

“Good. Now follow me. We leave.”

Ayra watched her, surprised. “But I should say goodbye to Mr Duragh. It is impolite to...”

“He knows. Follow me a couple of meters away and keep your head down, your hood on.”

As Noviel left, Ayra hurried behind her. They walked through some shady streets and finally into a tavern. Once in, Ayra looked worried around and came closer to Noviel to whisper:

“What's this?”

Noviel just made her sit in a corner.

“Wait for me there.”

She went to the counter and returned to Ayra after a few moments. She made her a sign to follow, and both entered a room. Once inside the room, Ayra exclaimed exasperated:

“Can I take the hood off? I'm cooked alive here inside?”

Noviel nodded, preparing something in a bigger cauldron that she had just extracted from her inventory.

“You can do it. Remove your dress too and come here. This is our new home for the week.”

Ayra undressed, looking confused at Noviel.

Half an hour later, Ayra's hair was dyed dark green. She had two long elven ears piercing through it. She watched herself appreciatively in a small mirror Noviel had given her.

“I do not feel comfortable that I did not talk with Mr Duragh. Did you really talk with him?”

Noviel sighed. “No. I did not. He does not know me, and it should remain like this. Nobody should be able to make a connection between you and me. Do you understand?”

Ayra raised her brows. “But then the way I left was highly impolite... you know, after he helped me get into the city to behave like this?”

Noviel was fighting her exasperation. “He will understand. You paid one silver and helped him. That was enough. Now, forget about him. You are a different person; your name from now on will be Consuela.”

Ayra snorted. “No, I don't like Consuela... I thought about this. I prefer to be named Awa!”

“Awa, is too close to Ayra?”

“It does not matter. It is different then Ayra. Awa is good. I like it better. Plus, it fits better for someone with elven blood. Should I say I have elven blood?”

Noviel conceded with a sight. “Sure, with your new ears, you can say that. I hope they are durable. OK, you are Awa then. Awa or Aiwa? Come here before the bed.”

Ayra came with an intrigued face. “Awa, Aiwa is really too close. OK, I am here; why?”

Noviel hit her with a perfect fist punch over the nose so hard that she flew on her back over the bed.

For the first second, Awa was stunned, and then the pain from her broken nose made her scream. She started to cry. Sobbing, she mumbled:

“Why was that? I behaved myself; I did everything that you asked me to do...”

“Sorry. I am really sorry about this.” - Noviel sighed - “We need to change your face more. Please just keep cool. Let me fix it now.”

Ayra alias Awa struggled not to comment. Keep cool? Those were Spartacius' own words. They did not make sense, but somehow Noviel learned to use them. Should she tell her? She kept silent, fearing getting punched again in the nose.

“You will not punch me again? Hm?”

“I hope not.”

All alarm bells ringed in Awa's head.

“You hope?”

Noviel pushed her back on the bed and let a couple of drops from a healing potion fall over Awa's bloodied nose but kept her nose bent with her fingers.

She ignored Awa's nasal protest: “What, what?”

Noviel tried to explain. “Alice told me once this story. Cala was so drunk that she held her nose tight during healing so as not to smell the vomit. That was after she had broken it in a tavern's fistfight. That's how she came to her bent nose. It fixed itself in a wrong position and remains so even if healed. Now you have a bent nose like your future mother-in-law! Happy?”

Awa questioned with round eyes. “She is not my... But.. but... why?”

Noviel sighed. “There is a ten gold reward for you. We need to spare some money to be able to change your eyes' colour. Until then, the nose, the ears and the hair should do. You'll wear a mask over the eyes; this is not unheard of for the elves. Does it still pain?”

Awa sensed with her hand her new, slightly bent nose.

“No, it is ok. It can be fixed after this, isn't it?”

Noviel kissed her brow.

“Sorry for the punch. Yes, it can be fixed, but it would cost gold. If your next healing does fix it, I'll have to bend it again until it stays like this.”

Awa sighed whilst Noviel shrugged. The fresh christened Awa wiped her tears.

“I'm hungry!”

“We have this room for a week. I'll bring you breakfast from below, and then we'll go to our first mission. You need to grow fast in your magic class somehow. You're a baby chick now.”

She removed the book from her inventory:

“You can start studying the book, but when you do not study it, give it to me to keep it safe. Do not let anybody look at it, ok?”

Awa's eyes lit up at the book's sight.

“OK!”

She started to read.

They got back only in the evening. Tired, dirty with Awa, still a baby chick. They've been the whole day in the sewer chasing slimes. Awa had learned to kill them with a stab, but the progress was slow. So slow, Noviel even wondered if she made any progress.

They washed behind the tavern with cold water directly from the fountain. Two rows of hanging bed linen were protecting them from sight, so they could clean themselves well. All they've earned that day was 1 silver and twenty copper, just enough to survive, but the looks they've got in the guild when they entered stinking like the sewer to get their reward for slime cores were still haunting Awa.

After dinner, Noviel let her study in the room as she went outside to wash their clothes. When she came back, she found Awa sleeping in her bed with the book over her bent nose.

Noviel sat tired at the table in their room and checked inside her inventory box. She found the identification skill spell she had bought yesterday. She had hesitated long if to use it or not. Finally, she decided to use it. She unfolded it and let the spell envelop her.

After a couple of seconds, the light dissipated. She felt the same. Did anything happen? Did she just lose two of her precious gold coins? A huge part of the scroll had cleared itself. It was blank now. Below it was a text.

To use the skill, look at a person and think <>. If it does not work from the beginning, you should try to point and say the word until the skill is well ingrained in your brain.

If it still does not work, you may need to use the...

She pointed at Ayra and spoke <>. Suddenly something like a memory hit her back: level two, no class. It was as if she would suddenly remember it.

She felt elated and confused.

It was such a major difference from the raw pulse she had learnt with much difficulty to master. That pulse was something like a pissing contest, an ego measurement.

This was better than even what the superior mother could muster. Decades of training to reach this level? And she got it for some gold? True, expensive, but... in reality, incredibly cheap. How can you pay with gold for decades of training?

She looked back at the scroll. There was more text about class there, but she ignored that for now, very excited about what she had learned. Levels. So this is what Cala and Spartacius spoke about. Ayra was level two? That was better than one or zero. What level was she? She looked at her hand. She had to try a couple of times. It worked only when she looked at her belly: rogue archer, level nineteen.

Ah, that was interesting!

So she got not only her level but also the info on her class? Level nineteen? That is … ok, not so much. She was still a fox. Barely a veteran first level. It means Ayra was really low. What was written about class in the spell scroll?

Identity returns the class corresponding to the skills that could be identified through the magic pulse.

The class corresponding to the skills! So it was not the class that was identified but the skills!

Caution when using, trained persons may recognize the spell and even the source.

Suddenly a cold frisson passed through her spine. She remembered what that undead girl had said. What if she lost her skills? She had two that she had trained hard, the fire arrow and the sure hand skill. Sure hand ensured that she would hit exactly at the targeted point. The skill may evolve later in arrow steer skill.

The problem was the nuns did not use scrolls. Did they not know about them, or were they too avaricious? They had to learn the skills the hard way, through exercises. Repeat and repeat and repeat until it becomes a skill. Some could simply not learn skills. Besides this way, there were many variations of the same skill.

Did she just destroy her hard work for this skill?

She secured Ayra's book in her inventory and went outside. It was already getting dark, but she needed to find a place to test her skills. Finally, she arrived at the guards' training area. There was nobody there, so she started to shoot arrows. Only after triggering her skills several times was she happy that they still worked.

She sighed, relieved.

On the way back, she started to identify people. She identified almost everybody. Nobody was so low as Ayra. The lowest she found were kids. Yes, kids were as low as Ayra. Some were higher. Here comes a butcher level twelve. Then a shopkeeper level eleven. A thief level thirteen. A thief? Lol. Next. Guard level eighteen. That was funny, just behind the thief!

“Hey, Noviel!”

“Hi, Ramdes!”

None of them seemed to realize she was identifying them.