A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

“Goss, where did I put my good coat?”

“The rat one or the leopard one?”

“The, uh… The leopard one, I think. It’s not in the hoard,” I say, tossing a pair of rat-shoes over my head. I pull out a small nightcap made of drake tongue. What was I even thinking with this…? Slightly disgusted, I put it back in the pile, already filled with my works and collected knick-knacks.

Using a bit of obsidian on the wall as a mirror, Goss slicks back the feathers on the back of his head. “Are you sure it isn’t in your inventory?”

“In my…?” I blink at him. “—Oh! Okay, wait, let me check…” I check my inventory, from whence I retrieve a leopard-leather coat. “Hey hey hey, I got it!” Treading it over my shoulders, I twirl around, showing off my full outfit. “What do you think? Stunning, isn’t it?”

Not turning away from the mirror, he glances at me from the corner of his eye. “I never took you for the prissy sort, Kitty.” He frowns lightly. “Isn’t your normal outfit enough?”

“My normal outfit isn’t suitable to wear for the living wake,” I say, pulling at my leather shirt to tuck it into my leather pants. Doing so unfortunately got my leather belt a little loose, so I undo and retie the bow. There! Perfect. Combined with the leopard fur coat, I look absolutely ridiculous. Exactly as I want it. I can’t bring myself to wear shoes, though, so my feet will have to remain bare. Smiling, I look up at Goss, letting my eyes fall to his feet with pride. “How are the sandals? Not too tight, I hope?”

Finally moving away from his reflection, he holds up his front paws, moving them cautiously, feeling how the hide bands hold the tempered leather pads in place. “They’re good,” he says. I smile not only at the compliment, but also at the fancy patterns I carved into the soles. “It’s a bit weird, is all.”

I shrug. “Well, unless you’re a former, if you want to step on holy ground, you’ve gotta cover your feet.” In that sense, I’m lucky that I’m not the one who’ll be Ymir’s demise. I’d love to, but having to wear shoes is a bit of a deal breaker. Another reason to become an apostle of some sort, I guess. Now that I think about it, I haven’t really checked the process on that, have I?

progress: 359/365>

progress: 22/23>

…Wait, what? Seriously?! How have I not noticed this before?

I guess, with them barely ever saying or doing anything, I forgot that this was even a thing. Huh. Well, I guess it’s nice that they’re holding similar speeds. If I’m lucky, they might happen at the same time. I can only wonder how they’ll want to do this. Going by how Fr. Moonlight described the apostles of yore, there’s a chance that they’ll try to bestow prophetic visions and divine quests upon me, something that I’m not too hyped about. Why did I do this again? Oh, yeah, the promise of power. Good ol’ power.

Closing down the status screens, I do a flashy pirouette, ending it once I’m facing Goss. “So?” I ask. “Are you ready?”

His brows, which have been constantly furrowed for the past two days, somehow furrow a bit further. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”

With that, he scoops me up, puts me on his head, and off we go to mass.

We arrive at the church to find a total of three dragons who care enough to show up other than ourselves and Ymir. A bit sad, but Ymir doesn’t seem to mind. No, that old fart’s been complaining about the necessity of the living wake for close to a week, so he’s probably happy that there are less people for Fr. Moonlight to wish condolences to. Among these dragons is Kempt, who greets us with a solemn nod.

Putting their heads in the church’s windows, the living wake begins. Despite the weightiness of the subject, Fr. Moonlight handles it all well, retelling Ymir’s life with the comedy and wit of someone who knew him too well to tell it like the tragedy it is. Ymir, for his own part, smiles at the jokes, even chuckling at times. Fr. Moonlight relates his story to the tale of Uje the Romantic, the apostle of the god of comedy. I didn’t know the god of comedy had such things, but apparently, he found Uje the Romantic too hilarious to let die, giving him the strength to keep going. The moral of such a story, according to Fr. Moonlight, lay in finding strength and courage in the absurd, meeting life with a smile and a laugh even in circumstances of tragedy.

The words made Goss tremble beneath me.

“With that, my children, we are brought to the final part of our ceremony—the adornment of the absolution chasuble.” I had noticed it before, but now that Fr. Moonlight is actively bringing attention to it, I can’t help but be in awe of the robe he’s wearing. Calling it multicolored would be an insult. If a color exists, then it’s on there in the form of a beautiful, shimmering feather. There must be thousands of them, covering the chasuble from the hole of the neck all the way down to the edges of the robe, both front and back. Most of the feathers are spotted or striped in different colors, others being solid, and a few shifting in a gradient from bottom to top. The vast majority are a brilliant, brightly saturated color, though a few are lighter, a select number being almost a pure WHITE. The entire vestment bobs gracefully as Fr. Moonlight walks across the church floor, all the way up to Ymir.

Ymir, in turn, lays his head on the side, presenting the nape of his neck. Although most of his body is naked and featherless, here, a few feathers lay bare, the lot of them in a brilliant purple sheen, shimmering from blue, to cyan, to green where the light hits it just right.

Fr. Moonlight draws a small circle in the air. “By the power granted unto me by the Goddess of Dragons, I relieve you of your pride, so that you may live on for eternity in Her grace.”

“Aye,” Ymir mutters.

Kneeling down, Fr. Moonlight plucks a feather from his neck. Standing up once more, he puts the feather to his lips. There, he mumbles, “By Her love, you are freed. Ymir Attechilde, you are a dragon no more.” He kisses the feather gingerly. The air pulses, the room fills with warmth, and even though there are no arms around me, I feel embraced.

Ymir lifts his head, and as he does, the final feathers fall from him, turning to dust as they do. Now, he is fully bare to the world.

With the feather in hand, Fr. Moonlight inserts it into the chasuble, securing it among all the others. Cool show. Anyways, does this mean that if Fr. Moonlight has anyone’s feather, he can instantly make them go bald? Is this the sacrament of penance I’ve heard so much about? I now understand why the dragons let him stick around even though they never show up for mass. Nobody wants to go bald in their teens.

Fr. Moonlight turns to us. His gaze makes me jolt a little, but I soon realize that it isn’t for me—it’s for Goss. Goss, who, until now, had been trembling, and now turns completely stiff. Fr. Moonlight strides across the room. His face is the very picture of reluctance. But I can tell it isn’t because of any religious piety. No, the pity shining in his eyes is enough to reject any such ideas. Within seconds, he stands before us, his eyes moving from Goss up to me. “Kitty, if you please..?”

Even though I don’t know why, I slide down from atop Goss’ head, making sure to take a seat close enough to where I can keep my hand on his cheek. He nods thankfully at me, and I smile back.

He turns to Goss, who is doing a very effective impression of a storefront mannequin.

With only a few movements, Fr. Moonlight removes the chasuble from himself, holding it closely as he turns to Goss. “My son, will you please lift your head?”

Like an animatronic beckoned by magic, Goss stiffly lifts his head, eyes affixed onto the dragonheart light in the middle of the church. Fr. Moonlight, unbothered, approaches him closer, holding the chasuble in both hands, unbuttoning the back of it until it becomes a long robe. Then, while Goss is trying desperately not to move, he hangs it over and around his neck, tying it as best as he can without either making it fall down, tearing it, or choking Goss to death in the process. After only a minute of work, he takes a step back, the chasuble hanging like a feathery neckbrace below Goss’ chin.

“By the temporary passing of the absolution chasuble, I grant onto you, Goss Fletchling, the Goddess-given right to stand on the holy ground of Loathe Summit’s heart, to execute the rite of killing necessary to absolve Ymir Attechilde of his sins, and to pronounce his death to the world. As you wear this chasuble, you act in Her name, executing Her wishes, and conforming to Her desires. She sees you.”

Going by the way Goss’ pupils tremble, I can only imagine how nervous he must feel. Worst of all, with his head up high, I can’t even touch him to let him know I’m still at his side. Still, that’s a pretty extreme way of putting it. I really can’t see—

sees Goss Fletchling>

…Ah. Okay, all right. I’m not telling Goss that one. Sure, maybe this will increase his chances of becoming a four-winged dragon, but… Personally speaking, I’m used to gods and goddesses watching me around the clock like I’m popcorn television. But Goss? No way. He actually takes these divine doofuses seriously. If he knew they were actual voyeurs, I dread to imagine how he’d start acting.

“Th—tha—thank y—you, F—Fa—” Goss pauses his stuttering to bite his tongue and hyperventilate. “F—Father.”

All he gets in reply is a sad smile and a face filled to the brim with pity.

The wake finishes with a few songs, the presentation of the god of goblins’ feather, and a final hurrah to the life Ymir led.

“...The mass is finished, go in peace.” Of the gathered attendees, only the two dragons I didn’t recognize leave. The rest of us—Goss, me, Ymir and Kempt—all remain, our attention focused on Fr. Moonlight. The only one who moves is Ymir, who briefly pops his head out to properly embrace the two dragons in turn, returning his head to the window after a few seconds. “Everyone is here, then,” Fr. Moonlight comments. “To clarify, Kitty’s presence is tolerated since he stands as an outsider to our own rules and customs.”

Nobody makes any show of disagreeing, which is nice. I’d rather not be left out for this part.

Fr. Moonlight inhales deeply, readying himself. “The ritual we are about to partake in is one of grave importance. If we do it incorrectly, Ymir may perish before the killing rite has begun. Therefore, I ask all of you to handle this with grace.” We all meet his stern gaze with some measure of readiness. The sight allows him to let out a small breath, his deeply furrowed brows rising a little in relief. “Good. Then, let us go together to the chamber of penance. Ymir, if you will?”

Helpful as always, Ymir removes his head from the window before reaching in and helping Fr. Moonlight down. Goss helps me in a similar fashion, and we leave the church in a collected group. Since Ymir can’t fly and Fr. Moonlight has vowed not to, we walk there, our small gathering moving silently through the large, natural cave system. It’s dark, none of us feeling jovial enough to try to light it with fire or humor. All I can hear is the heavy thudding of the dragons’ footsteps, the rustle of their feathers, and their breathing.

It doesn’t take long to arrive, but in such silence, the minutes feel like hours.

Nevertheless, we reach the place.