“Well? Why is there a shelf with your name on it? If you really did just wander into the dungeon like you say you did, why is this here?”
Virgil swallowed hard. “He did take me prisoner,” he tried. “He must have taken my things after they knocked me out. You know how dungeons could be.” His eyes slid away from her face as he uttered that last line.
Inara’s glare intensified. “And that’s why the date is from a hundred years ago? Before dungeons began cropping up around Grimora? How do you explain that?”
Had Virgil been a better liar, he might have come up with a reasonable excuse. Certainly many existed; how did you explain a secret room into the study of an ancient wizard, connected to an infernal prison? Dungeons didn’t always follow reasonable logic; they were a mish-mash of different ideas, strung together in a way that only made sense if you didn’t think too hard. And above all else, dungeons adored details. It was only natural that a dungeon would include all the paperwork, even for an unexpected intruder who had stumbled into the plot.
But Virgil was not a good liar — never had been and never would be. He feared too easily that he had been caught and quickly gave up.
His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head. “You got me,” he said miserably. “I’m not a dungeon explorer, and I didn’t get caught by mistake.”
Desiree gasped dramatically. Up until now she hadn’t given Virgil much thought. He wasn’t helpful in a fight, but neither did he get in her way, and he had helped James with his fireball spell, so from her perspective, the scholar couldn’t be bad to have around. Her mother’s suspicions had seemed yet another element of over-protectiveness which Inara too frequently exhibited. To hear it validating was almost more shocking than the discovery of demons in their village.
“The truth is,” Virgil continued, “I don’t remember my history. I don’t remember anything at all before James woke me up in the prison cell. That is… I know from my character sheet that I am a scholar; even my class is Scholar. The majority of my spells are related to scholarship. However, I also know a couple infernal spells. I used one in the fight against the Warden, and when it did, it knocked loose somehow, a memory.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t much. Just a scholarly debate in a college library.”
“Then you should cast more spells!” Desiree suggested. “Let’s try all of them and see which ones work!”
The scholar hesitated. “To be honest… the memory frightened me. I don’t know why. It was perfectly benign. But when I think of dredging up more of my memories… I am afraid of what I might find. It didn’t help that the Warden said some perfectly awful things about me. I don’t believe them to be true. How can they be? It doesn’t feel like me… but… I don’t even know who I am, not really.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He looked so lost that Inara’s heart softened. “I believe you,” she said. “May I see your character sheet?”
Desiree’s eyes widened, though she said nothing. It was unconscionably rude to ask to see a person’s sheet, far too intimate a request for someone they had only recently met.
“Yes, of course,” Virgil said, and displayed his sheet.
Name: Virgil
Race: Human
Class: Scholar
Level: 65
HP: 375/375
MP: 1,140/1,200
EXP: 477,391/739,000
Stat Points Available: 0
STR: 120
AGI: 95
INT: 65
WIS: 25
CON: 20
Skill Points Available: 2
Skills: Silence 5, Lexigraph 2, Recall 3, Quiet Study 4, Dissertation 1, Scriptbind 2, Cite Source 2, Counter-Theory 1, Field Notes 1, Thesis: Forgotten Magic 2, Whispers of Malphas, Black Script, Hellflame Bolt, Seal of the First Sin, Summon & Bind: Infernal Pact
Infernal Affinity: 35
That, more than anything else, was enough to convince Inara. She did not look at his sheet beyond his name and his class. He was telling the truth, and that was all that mattered.
He recognized something in her eyes. “Do you know something?” he asked. “Is my name familiar to you, or…?”
She shook her head. “Not you, specifically. I have seen this storyline in a dungeon once before, only that time it was with a man named Gregor. The details of it were different — we were in an ancient crypt rather than a prison — but the dungeon bosses tried to paint him as the ‘First Demon King.’ From what I can tell, the dungeon chooses someone to be a stand-in for the actual Demon King, who died long ago.” Inara hesitated, then decided that it must be said. “I don’t know if you are truly human, with your memories stolen, or a construct designed to believe this. Gregor… That man died before we left the dungeon, so we never knew for sure.”
“Of course I’m human,” Virgil reacted. Then he paused a second, and swallowed heavily. “I mean. I think I am. How does… how would I know?”
Inara frowned, half wishing she hadn’t said a thing. But it would impact the way she treated him, and he deserved to know. Had it been her, she would have wanted to know.
“The only way to know for sure,” she said, “is if you are able to leave the dungeon with us in the end. If you can, we will know that you are human. If not, you will perish with the dungeon when we rip out its heart.”
Virgil closed his eyes tight. He clenched his fists and felt his fingernails digging into his palms. He breathed deeply and felt the air in his lungs.
“I am human,” he said. “I am.”
“I hope so,” Inara replied softly, although she wasn’t sure that it was true.
James cleared his throat. “This first Demon King,” he said. “Who was he?”
“Ooh, let me tell it!” Desiree jumped in. “I love this story.”
Inara pressed her lips together. Desiree wasn’t the greatest storyteller, but she did love to do it…
She waved a hand. “Go on, then.”
“Yay! Alright everyone, gather around.” She sat cross-legged on the floor and gestured for the adults to do the same. With sideways glances at each other, they did.
“Once upon a time…”
