The small town of Halven announced itself through smell before anything else, a mix of animals, damp wood, and something that had given up on being buried properly, and 19 year old Alantier (Allen-Tier) came to awareness already irritated by it, propped against a thin mat that sagged under him like it was sick and tired of people laying on it.
Alantier was sitting up without remembering doing so, his back against a headboard worn smooth by time, his short black hair falling into his face in uneven clumps, naturally wavy, curls sticking together where they felt like it, giving him a half sleepwrecked look he hated. His eyes, grey, were focused on the figure in front of him.
A vine tattoo crawled up the side of Alantier's neck, dark ink against skin, and the sackcloth he wore was hanging off his shoulders scratched in places that was personal.
And there was an old ass woman on the bed with him.
She was close enough that he could see the blotchy flush on her cheeks, the way her hair had been pulled back too tight, wisps escaping and sticking to her temples with sweat, her dress riding up her knees as she dragged herself forward on roughed up elbows.
"Come on, youngster. You know I'm pretty."
Her mouth kept attempting a smile that didn't know where to settle, with her eyes fixed on him with an enthusiasm that felt like a threat more than the actual seduction.
"I'm not gonna hump you," Alantier said flatly.
That old woman kept moving anyway, every second she was inching forward across the sheets, hand stretching toward his knee with care, like she thought her elderly slowness made it charming.
Her breath carried something sweet and medicinal at the same time, and Alantier leaned back on instinct.
"EW! Back up!" he squealed, voice cracking mortifyingly high. "I'll hit an old geezer! I don't wanna do it with you!"
A single glowing 20 sided dice materializes in front of his vision, spinning over and over fast. The die twists in midair, numbers racing together: 17… 12… 9…
Then it slows, and the die wobbles, then it drops.
He ended up rollinga 2.
The number 2 burns in the middle of the die in glowing arcane script before fading away.
He needed to get 14 or higher to get an advantage, which would've made him sound more demanding and would've made the old woman take him seriously.
Result:Failure
And since he failed the persuasion check, to the old woman, he sounded like he wasn't being serious.
"HUH?! Why?!" Alantier barked, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him. "YOU BASTARD!"
"Oh come on, youngster," the old woman crooned, voice thick and coaxing, still crawling, hand now patting the tappinv near his thigh. "We rarely get any new muscle around here.."
Something shriveled inside his soul. "I'm trying to be nice, I don't want to kiss you or hug you or anything! You're like 200 years old!"
His mind scrambled for an exit that did not involve whatever this nightmare was turning into, somebody's horny grandma.
'Screw it, I'll just throw her through the wall and leave…who even is this creepy ass woman?!' Alantier thought.
Then the door slammed open before he could do anything.
A massive shape filled the doorway, a man built like he had fought against bricks and occasionally won, his arms were thick and hairy, shoulders broader than the frame allowed, skin smeared with soot that clung to his beard. The beard itself was a wild mess while being bushy and untrimmed, paired with a bald head that shone faintly under the room's light. His light brown eyes took one look at the scene and sighed like this was a normal day.
"Ah hell," he said. "What did we say about messing with newcomers, Mildred? Did you take your herbs?" Then he looked at Alantier, saying, "She gets like this when she stops trying to take her medicinal herbs.L
Mildred recoiled, hands flying to her chest, back curving inward as though gravity had suddenly doubled, her expression collapsing into frailty. Her voice went soft and dramatically apologetic. "Oh..I'm so sorry, Rosgir. I must've been sleep walking again. I apologize. Haha…haha…"
"SHE'S CLEARLY ACTING!" Alantier exclaimed. "Go take your herbs!"
Mildred paused at the door long enough to poke her lips out at him, fast and childish even, then scurried past Rosgir and vanished out into the town.
Alantier gagged, hand flying to his mouth, body leaning forward like he might actually lose something vital onto the floor. "Hold on a sec, I think I might vomit all over this bed. This…hard bed. Why is it so hard? What kind of mattress is this? What kind of people in a warehouse made this rock bed?"
Rosgir didn't know what a "warehouse" was, and just leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes inspecting Alantier with tired amusement. "I see you're finally up, and…distraught, no less."
"Tell me what's going on please," Alantier said, standing, sackcloth hanging off him like a personal insult. "Why does it smell like dog shit and farm animals out here? Why am I not in my room sleeping on money?"
"Some of the villagers found you on the side of the road, lad," Rosgir said. "Knocked out it seemed like. Where are you from?"
"City of Paradim," Alantier replied without hesitation. "Where there's flying cars and flying buildings and stuff like that. Who are you? Did you kidnap me? Or am I dreaming? I have to be, right? There was a floating spinning dice in front of me and a horny granny in the bed with me. This is definitely some kind of dream. A super vivid dream at that….but it feels too damn real. Did I get drunk and wander off here? I don't remember drinking though…"
"Flying cars and flying buildings?" Rosgir frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know what a car is. But I'm Rosgir, owner of the town's pub. The Stone Hall."
Numbers slammed into Alantier's vision without any kind of warning, it was kind of a jumpscare to Alantier.
A translucent panel overlaid Rosgir's body, lines of text moving into place with that system neatness.
[Rosgir Ironbrow]
[Age: 46]
[Class: Tavernkeeper]
[Strength: 18]
[Dexterity: 10]
[Constitution: 17]
[Intelligence: 11]
[Wisdom: 14]
[Charisma: 13]
[Passive Buffs:]
• Iron Gut: Alcohol has reduced negative effects
• Brawler's Frame: Unarmed strikes deal increased damage
• Hearthkeeper's Presence: Nearby allies recover stamina faster
[Active Skills:]
• Barroom Breaker: Increased damage when defending owned property
• Shoulder Check: High chance to knock back opponents
[No magic skills]
Alantier grinned to himself. "Yeah. I'm definitely dreaming. Numbers and shit popping up in my face." Then he yawned, "And where are we?" he asked aloud.
"A small town called Halven," Rosgir replied. "In the kingdom of Elindar."
"Kingdom…?"
Another panel slid into view, a black and grey system window, its text super crisp.
[Town of Halven, within the kingdom of Elindar, a location of rolling hills and forests. This is the starting town, where you and others will begin your adventure]
"Halven," Alantier read. "Location of rolling hills and forests. How boring."
'Heroic adventure?' He thought.
"Oh?" Rosgir chuckled. "You've been here before? Seems like you know a little bit about this place."
"No," Alantier said, pointing uselessly at empty air. "I'm reading off this screen that popped out of nowhere. See look…"
Rosgir squinted, then shook his head. "Ehhh maybe you bumped your head. That's why you were unconscious. I don't see a screen. You feeling alright?"
"Impossible! It's right here! I swear I'm not crazy," Alantier scoffed. "There's a screen staring right at me and telling me stuff."
Rosgir stepped back, hand rubbing his beard. "Well, you're up now. I can give you a meal if you come to the tavern, get acquainted with your surroundings. I'll leave you to your….screen?"
He turned and ran out fast out of fear, boots retreating down out of there like they wanted distance.
"Wait!" Alantier called and reached out to him. "I'm not crazy! I promise! I swear there's a screen in front of me!"
The door shut.
He exhaled through his nose. "Tch. Why should I care? It's just a super vivid dream. Wait, doesn't that mean I can do whatever I want in a dream?"
His grin returned as he looked down at himself.
Another system panel appeared, hovering over the sackcloth.
[Worn Sackcloth Shirt]
[Armor Rating: 1]
[Durability: Poor]
[Bonuses: None]
—
[Worn Sackcloth Trousers]
[Armor Rating: 1]
[Durability: Poor]
[Bonuses: None]
"I command myself to have black armor!" he declared, throwing his hands out, fingers splaying, twisting, gesturing wildly like he had seen characters do a hundred times.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, "I command the dream to give me black fitted armor!" His hands was flailing harder, palms slapping together and pointing at his chest like he was actually gonna make armor appear on him from out of nowhere.
Still nothing.
"The hell…?" he muttered. "A dream where I can't do what I want? What kind of dumb dream is this? I want out. Time to wake up."
He stood there, like he was gonna wake up any second, but it never came.
"Huh?"
Alantier tried again, standing there in that room with his mind set and eyes squeezed shut, counting in his head the way he used to when he was a kid and wanted something to end, telling himself that this was the part where the dream cracked and everything snapped back into place, where the ceiling would break and be replaced by familiar lights, the smell gone and the itch of sackcloth erased.
But nothing happened at all; The air stayed stubbornly present, and the room stayed shabby. His head started to ache from the effort, and when he opened his eyes again, the bed was still there, the walls still bowed, and the world still annoyingly intact.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, and pushed past the door before he could overthink it, leaving the room.
Outside, Halven looked exactly like it smelled: A town only because someone had bothered to name it one, clustered buildings of wood and stone pressed together like they were embarrassed by their own existence, dirt paths instead of streets, and fences leaning rather than straight lines.
Cattle stood off to one side chewing with blank expressions, flies orbiting them in lazy spirals.
Children ran through the open space between houses with sticks and laughter, kicking dust into the air and swinging the sticks at each other, while the adults worked with the resigned focus of people who expected tomorrow to look the same as today.
Eyes and whispers found Alantier anyway despite the busy commotion of the town:
"That's him…"
"That's the one they found out by the road."
"He looks so young.."
"That tattoo on his neck…anyone recognize it from anywhere? Is he a Viking?"
The words followed him as he walked, shoulders drawing in and irritation settling. A group of children had gone still near a cart, whispering loudly enough.
"Is that the crazy man old Rosgir told everyone about?"
"Yeah that's him! Wanna see if he wants to play with us?"
"…L-Let's just stay back for right now."
Alantier kept moving, pretending not to hear, until something wrinkled caught his eye near a stack of hay.
It was Mildred.
She peeked out just enough to be seen and lifted her hands to her mouth, blowing exaggerated kisses with enthusiasm that made his skin crawl. She was holding the herbs she was supposed to be taking to control herself, but she was dangling them to her side, acting like she was gonna discard them.
Alantier increased his pace immediately, face contorting in pure offense.
'Damn hornball geezer. Take your herbs.'
He began to focus more.
The town pressed in on his senses the longer he walked, the smell of animals and old wood sat in his nose, applied with a tinge of smoke and food he did not recognize at all.
Voices overlapped in every direction, laughter, arguing, the thud of work, and the clatter of tools. Sunlight hit everything, showing every crease and stain.
He swallowed and said aloud, "A dream, but I'm feeling everything."
A woman nearby lifted her hands, murmuring under her breath, and a white magical glow gathered around her fingers as she guided a bucket across the ground without touching it, the liquid inside sloshing obediently.
And Alantier stopped mid-step. "Magic too…?" he said. "So gross old women, a floating screen, a floating die, and magic? This is the weirdest dream I ever had."
The air in front of him began to fissure, and the familiar black and grey panel slid into view.
[This is not a dream, Alantier]
He tilted his head at it, lips forming into a mocking grin. "Yeah, yeah. Magic isn't real, ya know? Fairytale shit that you see in books and in movies."
The text then changed:
[This is the world of Fable, a land of gods and clashing eldritch horrors. You've been brought here for a specific purpose, to free the Chained God]
"Yeah, right," Alantier said, grinning despite himself. "Okay. Show me where and I'll do it."
[No. I, The Dungeon Master, cannot simply guide you there, where's the fun in that?]
"Right….whatever," he replied.
[You take this lightly as if this isn't reality]
"Because it's just a dream. Too many weird things are happening, like how dreams usually go."
THOOM!
Something fast slammed into him without warning.
Pain detonated between his legs with cruelty, tearing the breath from his lungs as he doubled over and dropped to his knees, hands flying down too late to help.
"AGHHHH! What the hell?!" he croaked.
He lifted his head through tears and saw it.
A rooster. A literal rooster. It's feathers ruffled with chaos, and It hopped from one foot to the other, head cocked, eyes locked on him like it was waiting for a bell to ring.
It wanted to fight.
A stat window exploded into his vision.
[???]
[Species: Rooster]
[Level: MAX]
[Strength: ???]
[Dexterity: ???]
[Constitution: ???]
[All Attributes: Overwhelming]
[Passive Effects:]
• Eternal Fury
• Unending Stamina
• Reality Peck
• Indomitable Will
[Active Skills:]
• Beak of Annihilation
• Talon Rush
• Farmyard Sovereignty
The list kept going. And going.
People started to gather and say:
"That rooster just attacked!"
"Isn't that from Beth's farm?"
Alantier clutched himself and hissed, "Aghhhh! You fucking piece of chicken!"
The laughter, the noise, the pain, it all pressed in at once, and his breathing went weird, chest hitching as he looked around at the faces, the dirt, the sun, the way everything refused to soften or fade away like dreams usually do. But this pain was too real to be an actual dream, and Alantier just noticed it.
"This…this is real…?" he whispered. "It can't be …it can't be!"
His thoughts tumbled over each other as he stared at the town that was not supposed to exist.
'How did I get here?! Why am I here?! Crazy old women…insane roosters….dice…and magic?! I need to be at home…with all my money, and my business my father left for me, my insane fame, and all those women who liked me—I couldn't have left them all behind, did I? Shit…this can't be right!'
He pushed himself up and yelled toward the sky, "Dungeon Master! Take me back! I didn't come here to free any gods or fight roosters!"
The rooster hopped again, head bobbing, wings twitching like it was warming up, its talons shadow boxing the air in front of it, a flaming red aura covering the rooster, signaling it's insane power.
The townspeople said:
"He's gonna fight the rooster!"
"Beat him, stranger!"
Children clustered closer with their eyes bright in amusement and voices eager. Rosgir stepped out of the tavern with several men at his back, tankards in hand, already grinning like they had found today's entertainment.
"It's him…? And he's fighting a rooster?" Rosgir said.
A man beside him laughed, "Haha! Seems like we found someone actually interesting!"
"But why would a rooster randomly attack the poor lad?"
Alantier swallowed hard.
'I'm gonna go back to my perfect life, and I'll start by cooking this crazy animal first! I'm not freeing shit at all, no gods or anything! And whoever this dungeon master is, I'll make him send me back! And for what's worse, based on the numbers and stuff I seen, I'm going up against an overpowered rooster! What the hell?! And those kids are laughing and enjoying this! What if I get mauled?! What about my own stats and stuff? I better be overpowered too! Does the Dungeon Master know who I really am?! I deserve all the damn power!'
His own window appeared.
[Alantier Judas]
[Class: Puppeteer]
[Level: 1]
[Strength: 6]
[Dexterity: 7]
[Constitution: 6]
[Intelligence: 10]
[Wisdom: 8]
[Charisma: 9]
[Skills: None]
[Passives: None]
He stared at it.
"No skills?" he said hoarsely. "So I'm weaker than a fucking rooster?"
The bird lowered its body, talons digging into dirt, head angled forward like he was a bull ready for a charge.
Everyone leaned in.
"You know what," Alantier said suddenly. "I'll give you what you want."
The children gasped and blurted out:
"He's gonna do something cool I bet!"
"I can't wait! Get him stranger!"
Alantier smirked, "Don't worry. I'm about to give it a piece of my mind."
He made it seem like he was gonna do something badass, but he spun around and bolted. "Someone help!"
The rooster launched after him, "SCRAWWW!" it's feet drumming against the dirt ground, and it's feathers flaring as it pursued him through Halven, around carts, between houses, scattering livestock and laughter alike.
Alantier shouted, "I'm sorry Dungeon Master! Stop!" He was dodging posts, leaping puddles, and barely keeping ahead as the town turned into a blur of panic and insane humiliation.
…
An hour later, he sat inside The Stone Hall Tavern, with his clothes torn, blood streaked across his arms and face, nursing a drink of mead he had not asked for while the room shook with laughter.
"Haha!" Rosgir boomed. "You got whooped by one of Bertha's roosters!"
"Damn kid!" Another burly man said.
"Gotta get your revenge!" A muscular woman laughed.
Alantier slumped over the table with his head hanging and voice muffled. "Ughhh. My stats are so ass. I have no skills, and I have a useless class. If I'm a Puppeteer, what am I supposed to Puppeteer? I'll never get back to my perfect life at this rate."
Alantier dragged the empty cup across the table with one finger, listening to the scrape of wood like it had personally offended him, then looked up at Rosgir and the men crowded around.
"Hey," he said, his voice lazy now. "Anyone know anything about a god? A chained god or something? Guess I have to be an obedient little pig now for that thing."
By thing, he meant the Dungeon Master.
The laughter thinned in the tavern, A few of the men exchanged looks with their brows drawing together:
"Chained god?"
"Who told you that?"
Alantier's mouth opened on reflex, the answer already there, but he caught himself halfway through it. He could picture it too clearly, the way their eyes would change, the way the word crazy would settle on him like a stain that never would be washed out. He didn't wanna tell them about his terrible relationship with the Dungeon Master, he worried they would think him 100 times crazier than they already thought he was.
But without saying anything, he would get no direction or guidance. Even if it sounded crazy, he had to say something, maybe he would get some kind of help.
His fingers tapped once against the table, nerves leaking out sideways.
"The Dungeon Master," he said anyway, because there was no cleaner version. "I know it sounds all crazy, but I was pulled from my own world, one where there was no magic and no chaotic roosters. It says I have to free the chained god. I don't know where to start, or where to look, or where to go. I need to get back. I left too much back at my real home, and the more I sit here without it…" He waved a hand, annoyed at himself. "Never mind. So. Anyone gonna help me or what?"
Rosgir kept cleaning the same cup he had already cleaned twice, cloth moving in circles. "Aye. If you want to discuss the topic of gods in this world, you'd need to request an audience with the king of Elindar. All kings of the land are very in tune with the divine. Some chosen as champions. Some…not. But here, we don't discuss those topics, people here are sensitive about their deities. More or less saying it's banned in this town."
Alantier stood so fast his chair protested. He grinned, teeth flashing. "Great. Which way do I go? Give me a map. I'll be back home in no time."
The tavern erupted into laughter.
Men slapped tables, leaned back in their chairs, laughing like he had just told the best joke they had heard all week.
"Why are you laughing?" he snapped.
Rosgir shook his head, still smiling. "Young lad, the capital of Elindar is seven days away. It's a long journey. And since you came here with nothing, I'd advise you stay here, earn as much coin as you can, maybe strengthen those muscles a bit, and the travel there will be much kinder to you."
"Huh?" Alantier scoffed. "You think someone like me is just gonna start working for someone? Hard labor? Hard pass."
A man near the bar leaned forward. "Are you a noble, young one? From a rich family? What house do you belong to?"
Alantier sat back down and lifted his cup again, drinking absolutely nothing and pretending he was just to fit in for a second. "Yeah. And there's piles of money waiting for me when I get back. I want this done as soon as possible. I don't care how reckless I get."
Rosgir's expression shifted. "There's dangerous creatures out there. Beasts too. We've had a Goblorc problem lately."
Alantier's mouth tilted upward. "Goblorc? What is that?"
A broad man with scars crossing his arms and neck spoke up with a rough voice. "Dangerous beings. Mixed blood between Orc and goblin. I swear those petty bastards realized how weak they were against humans, so they started breeding with each other to upgrade themselves. It worked, and they're ruthless. To wander out in the wilderness to the capital means running into them wretched abominations."
"Goblin and orc came together to form hybrid breeds?" Alantier said. "Gross. I thought goblins and orcs were supposed to be mindless monsters that just attack anything they see. Didn't expect them to have a brain of any kind."
"Not here," Rosgir replied. "They adapt. Orcs and goblins got tired of being slaughtered everywhere they went."
"Oh…"
His hand closed around the cup without him noticing.
'Shit. I don't have a choice, do I? If I go out there on my own, I'd get ripped apart. I'd get done worse than that damn rooster. I'll still get my revenge on it. That bastard Dungeon Master clearly buffed a random animal just to make a point. To hell with it. I just want to run to the capital and go home. But merged orcs and goblins? At this rate I can't even defend myself against a rooster. A rooster.'
He shifted in his seat, jaw working with embarrassed anger, his betraying mind replaying the town watching him to that winged fanatic, those chaotic feathers hopping and fighting with purpose.
'Dumb rooster. How embarrassing. I bet it's waiting for me outside. I'll end him and cook him in sometimes pot. Then I'll feed it to the other roosters. They might like it too. But wait!'
His heart dropped.
'What if they are overpowered too?! Crap, I can't risk it. Wait, why am I thinking so hard about this? Can I really not get over getting beaten by that rooster?'
His hands twitched without meaning to, and several people stared.
"Boy!" Rosgir barked.
Alantier blinked. "Huh? Oh. Sorry. Got distracted." He tipped the cup back, finished nothing, then said, "But alright then." He let out a loud burp that made a few men laugh harder. "I'll stay here for a while. Not too long, understand? I never saw myself lowering to the level of common people, but I'll make an exception this time. ONLY because I don't wanna get clobbered by Goblorcs."
"Haha!" Rosgir said. "That's the spirit. Wander the town. Get acquainted. Do some odd jobs. It doesn't have to be hard labor under the sun. Some folks need pests and creatures dealt with. And I do too."
Alantier sighed, already irritated. "Ugh. What do you need? What pests need to die?"
"A giant Minotaur," Rosgir said calmly.
Alantier lifted the empty cup again, purely out of habit, then froze. "What?! No! I'll get ripped to shreds! That's not a mere pest! I seen them in movies!"
No one knew what a "movie" was, and The tavern exploded with even more laughter. And Alantier knew the ale and mead urged these barbarians to laugh at almost everything. Men nudged Alantier, slapped his shoulder, clearly delighted.
"I'm just jestin'," Rosgir chuckled. "In the basement there's a family of rats that need killing. You can handle that, right?"
"Why can't you do it yourself?" Alantier asked before thinking. "They're just rats."
The words hung there. He scowled, realizing too late how it sounded, but working for someone was still foreign enough that his mouth hadn't learned to behave, it just slipped out.
Rosgir didn't take offense to it though, he knew and realized Alantier definitely came from a rich family. "Because I'm allergic. Rat fur makes my nose bleed. And as for you, I'm giving you a chance to earn a few silver coins."
"Silver coins?" Alantier asked. "How much is that worth? Is that a lot? Will I be rich? Can I buy a palace with that?"
More laughter from the tavern.
"It's a start," Rosgir said. "Very far from rich. Do you want the job?"
"Fine," Alantier muttered. "I guess. When do you want me to do it?"
"They made their home down there today," Rosgir replied. "They've likely reached the basements of other shops too. That'll be more work for you. They spread fast. I'd say deal with them once you clean up and prepare."
"Alright."
Alantier stood and headed for the door with slight irritation buzzing under his skin.
'I have no weapon or magic. I'm not gonna ignore the idea that these rats might be as insane as that rooster. I need to make some kind of makeshift weapon, and prepare.'
He stepped outside, already planning.