《Always Name Your Tools》 Chapter 1: It’s a bad Idea (also a prologue) A body landed heavily in the snow, streaking trails of smoke and violet hued fire. The glade around the event hushed, the raw power and mana bleeding into the very air. For several long moments, nothing breathed. ¡°Ow. OW OW OW. Ow!¡± The figure¡¯s head was concealed beneath a plume of powder, but instantly the space around the glade became frantic for a moment, as every single creature in a half mile radius began running. Away from the epicentre of madness and uncertainty. And left a single adult male bleeding and crying in the snow. He lurched in stages to his feet. And immediately began beating at the smoking remnants of his shirt. Finally the right neurons fired in his head, and he pulled the offending cotton tee off his body. His chest heaved, but there hadn¡¯t been enough time to sweat. It took a few moments to get his breath under control, and spot check his pants for any other burns. He finally looked around, seriously, at this deathly quiet glade ringed in short, stubby trees. ¡°Nope.¡± Conflicted emotions flashed across his face, settling on confusion. He turned around, looking at a wide blue sky and an open snow-spotted plain. ¡°Also nope.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Something, perhaps intuition made him look above him. And he saw the rip in the fabric of the sky. Gossamer, violet lines of *something* hung in empty space. And they pulsed, slowly writhing and vibrating in time to some slow beat. He saw that the lines, although complicated in nature, looked like they were slowly eroding. Without getting his fingers anywhere near it, he still felt a burst of curiosity mixed with caution. ¡°Hello beautiful.¡± Maybe it was just his concussion, but he thought maybe the violet exposed streaks twinkled at that one. What was more compelling still was that these folds and lines made some sort of three dimensional structure. He murmured happily, ¡°Well, you¡¯re not geometric. And not random.¡± The structure was slowly unwinding, becoming less complex and the lines fading at a steady rate. ¡°Fractal?¡± He absentmindedly traced the edges of the structure with his finger in the air, a healthy distance away, following the edges inward. ¡°Definitely not.¡± It was clear to him that there was a center origin point to this pulsing wordy mass. After long minutes his eyes flashed with understanding. ¡°Here you are.¡± It was a tiny little thing, that looked almost like a greek omega. Which was definitely impossible, he decided. To himself. Maybe he should have ran. Maybe he should have not messed with the exposed inner workings of the universe. But more than anything else, his particular human was the one thing. Curious. He stuck out his finger and touched the weird shiny thing. Chapter 2: No Way Under Heaven. He woke up with his pants on fire and the sky was upside down. Which was weird because his back was cold. He blinked his eyes a few times, and rolled over. The world righted itself, and the sizzle of his pants hitting snow told him that he had made the right call. On both counts. He sighed theatrically. ¡°Should not have done that.¡± His head was now killing him, the pretty lines in the sky were gone, and his back was freezing. He cracked his neck, which had been resting at a funny angle, and sat up slowly. ¡°Definitely should not have done that.¡± He made a note to himself not to poke at the nature of the universe until after he found out why he had woken up alone in a glade covered in smoke and fire. He started feeling better about the day, already. Seeing nothing interesting in sitting in the snow, in the shade of a tree, he rolled up and walked to a better vantage point. He could see empty plains spread out in front of him, and strange trees that hugged low on the landscape. ¡°This is..¡± He threw a fist into the air. ¡°Sooooo cool!¡± And then nervously looked around the glade, reminding himself that no one could see him and that it wasn¡¯t weird to celebrate the most interesting thing that had happened in his life. Ever. ¡°Just wait until I can tell people about what just happened!¡± Not that they¡¯d believe him, he happily thought to himself. That wasn¡¯t his problem though. Nope. His problem was that he wasn¡¯t wearing any shoes. ¡°Which I admit, could be a whole lot worse. Since I touched the livewire purple thing again, and could have hit my head on a rock. Or landed in the middle of an ocean!¡± He tallied what he knew versus what had just happened. And took inventory. Item: An event occured that sent him god knows how far away, certainly past any standard of civilization he was used too. From his dorm room in Santa Fe and also a really pleasant nap. Item: He was minus shirt and shoes, but on the bright side he had pants and what looked like a single screw in his right pocket. Item: it looked like it was about noon, so perhaps he was in the southern hemisphere, which would explain the strange looking trees. Item: He wasn¡¯t hungry or thirsty, and while cold if he kept moving and stayed out of the pockets of snow he probably wouldn¡¯t develop frostbite. Probably.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Priority was getting in motion and staying warm. And finding shelter before nightfall. And keeping an eye out for help. He started walking out into the plains. -- Walking without shoes sucked, he decided. ¡°Two stars, because the ambiance isn¡¯t horrible.¡± It really wasn¡¯t. The plains had opened up into soft rolling hills. The banks of which were slited with dirty looking snow. Frost clung to the lee side of the hills, and he kept himself sunward as much as possible. He had been walking for about two hours, which was just about as much as he figured he had walked in maybe a year. His feet were distinctly ready for a break. So he flopped over and took one, sighing contentedly when he slipped to the grass. The sun was keeping him rather warm, which was a blessing. Just a little break, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes. -- When he opened them again he felt much better. It was also later in the day. He yawned and stretched his hands above him. ¡°Ah, well.¡± He relieved himself, and guiltily started walking again. He scooped up a handful of snow and let it melt in his mouth as he strode forward. Fifteen minutes later he saw something that made him grin from ear to ear. A house sat alone tucked in between two hills. ¡°Lucky!¡± He started striding towards it purposefully. As he got closer, more details struck out about the little house. Like the fact that half of it was burned down. That was a detail he didn¡¯t miss. Especially as he got closer. A one story, rustic looking cabin with shuttered windows, and a stone block chimney. At least there looked like a small stream nearby, because it didn¡¯t look like they had electrical hookups here. Maybe a generator behind the back, he wondered. Also, the wood was purple, maybe from some strange stain or resin. Standing in front of it, It looked like something epic had happened here. The door of the structure was off its hinges and in two pieces, with several axe markings on its surface. There were multiple foot marks trampled into the mud in front of the entrance. Curiously, the burn damage looked like it was on the far side near the stone chimney. He stepped in, and slowly let his eyes adjust to the change in light. The inside was worse. The floor looked to be the same as the walls, roughly split logs. If you ignored all the coagulated blood, you could call it a real fixer-upper. He blinked, his enthusiasm momentarily stilted. ¡°Yeap, upturned table, small tracks of blood, every single container visible raided and tossed for food. Raccoon¡¯s out here and fucking scary.¡± He turned back to the front of the house. ¡°Aiiieeeeeyyyeeeee!¡± Letting out a distinctly unmanly scream, he jumped back from the corpse that was hanging from the wall near the broken door. Deciding the corpse wasn¡¯t going to move, he calmed himself back down. And then looked around to see if anyone noticed. Silence hung around the cabin. The body was green. And very frozen. It hung from the wall by a hatchet which had pierced through its chest into the wall behind it, the hatchet¡¯s handle broken and splintered. Long pointed ears, at least three times normal size. Pointed teeth like a wolf. It was wearing simple furs that he realized he could smell even through the cold. It had definitely evacuated its bowels. ¡°Okay that fucking tears it.¡± He laid it out in his head. Item: purple trees and unfamiliar landscape. Item: tear in god damn space-time. Item: actual goblins and violence. Item: low tech cabin and no roads to speak of. Synopsis: He was either in the wrong place, or the wrong time. Or both. There was always both. ¡°Yea, no god damn way this is Earth.¡± He felt a horrible drop in the pit of his stomach. He had felt it coming the entire time, like an amusement ride that clanks you slowly to the top of a huge precipice. But it hadn¡¯t been real until he said it out loud. Well, the goblin corpse had helped with that, he supposed. The entire time he knew in his bones that he wasn¡¯t home. And there didn¡¯t look like any feasible way to ever get back to anything that he knew or loved. The silence held for a long spell, the wind blowing through the holes in the cabin. He suddenly brightened up again at a sudden thought. The goblin corpse was also wearing shoes. Chapter 3: Thats a hard no. It took forever to pull the frozen goblin off the wall. ¡°Okay but look at the bright side -- Totally found a new hatchet.¡± He spoke to himself as he dragged the corpse out of the house by its heels. It was pretty light. Like the weight of a small child, which made for easy dragging. If that child was a vicious and hateful mockery of life. Blessedly, it didn¡¯t leave any mess on the floor as he navigated out the door. Once he dropped his package unceremoniously off about thirty feet out, he flexed his new shoes. Well, Moccasins really. And he¡¯d had to pierce the front of them with the hatchets blade to get his toes to fit. But he was wearing shoes again. It¡¯s the little things. Like not having to clean the floor twice. He stepped back to the cabin and laid his eyes critically on his new space. Most of the pottery and bedding was ruined. But he managed to find enough soft things to make a nest where it had previously been. Which was generous, but the sun had already gone down over the hills and the temperature was plummeting. The light was getting thin. He was feeling pretty generous. He piled up the broken pieces of the door so that it was half closed, and the rest of the odds and ends he discarded in a pile next to the door. Nothing else he could do for the draft tonight. ¡°Plus, i¡¯m absolutely nackered.¡± He curled up into his bedding-nest. And listened to the wind moan. It took a while to sleep on account of the cold and the multiple homicides that had happened recently. -- He woke up cold. And hungry. ¡°Mmhhhhhrrrrr.¡± The thought of no coffee being available made him grab for his sheets.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Which woke him up more when he realized he didn¡¯t have any sheets. ¡°Worst day ever.¡± He stumbled up and through the ¡°door¡±, taking care of water needs on both ends. Once the cabin was cleaned up it looked better than it had by a large margin. A simple wooden table. Some odds and ends that looked maybe useful, a handful of leather strips, some simple nails and a bucket that had been in the corner. There had been a chair, but it looked smashed up. Still, the pieces didn¡¯t look unsalvageable. Something that he noticed in the light of dawn where the burned holes in the back of the house near the empty hearth, but they also looked patchable. The day was looking busy. His stomach rumbled, and he clicked his tongue in his mouth. First things first. Priorities: fire and heat. He was *not* going to be spending another night huddled in his bed-nest shivering. Not with a perfectly good fireplace and a copse of trees not thirty feet away, even with a dead goblin between them and a broken axe handle. He got to work. A few splinters and several curses later, a piece of the chair became a new handle for the hatchet, whittled to fit its hole and held together with strips until he could get a proper wedge in. And best of all, when you flipped the hatchet over it doubled as a hammer. He spent a good hour or two covering the holes in the back of the house. The chair became a stool. The backing was totally trashed, and he incorporated some of the wood for the door project. But the stool looked sturdy, if a touch short for the table. The door became a unholy travesty of a wood-bulwark. It took awhile and he was legitimately embarrassed on behalf of his woodshop teacher and father who was a construction worker. He surveyed his patch-job critically. ¡°Whelp, you¡¯re ugly as sin, but you¡¯re less noisy.¡± He paused for a moment to confirm. ¡°Can¡¯t even hear the wind.¡± He patted the side of the cabin absentmindedly. A small piece broke off from door, startling him. He was better with small things. He stared accusingly at the door. Nothing else happened. After a moment he returned to the list in his head. ¡°Fire.¡± He nodded forcefully. ¡°No more shiver-cold.¡± He looked up at a sky, figuring it to be sometime after noon. -- It took him an embarrassing amount of water breaks, and he was still bleeding from three different places on his body, but he sat in front of small fire. His hands had friction burns on the palms. The sun had long since gone down, and the door laid across the entry way -- as secure as he could make it tonight. Still. The warmth felt absolutely delicious. His toes curled gratefully forward, almost burning from the heat. There was one small nagging thought he had, while he was trudging back and forth from the small copse of trees and back to the cabin. Couldn¡¯t quite put a finger on it. He thoughtfully stoked the fire. And then it hit him. Ah. ¡°The goblin corpse from outside is missing.¡± So many nopes. Chapter 4: Denial. ¡°There is no way I¡¯m going to go outside and wander blindly around the countryside.¡± He had woken up at least warm this morning. Practically toasty. But there was a problem. He had to go outside eventually. That was a good way to get killed, he thought to himself. There were things out there that ate frozen goblin meat. Speaking of. He was definitely screwed in the meat department. For a moment, he even wondered what frozen goblin tasted like. It was probably a good thing that he didn¡¯t have to find out, he decided. Technically, they were tool users and probably sentient. That would be like eating a whale. His stomach grumbled. ¡°Mmmmm. Whale.¡± He sounded wistful. ¡°I am definitely not a hero.¡± He reminded himself of his firm conviction to run away at the first sign of danger ¡°This is not a game, and outside is scary.¡± He added for good measure. His stomach sounded off again. He sighed. It was time to go outside. Maybe he could get lucky and pick some berries. He cautiously made for the door, hatchet in hand. -- He found berries and a weird fruit that were apple-esque nearby. Apple enough to be amazing. Probably why the cabin had been built where it was, he reasoned. It meant he didn¡¯t have to wander, which was altogether the best thing that had happened to him today. And the berries hadn¡¯t even made him delirious, which was a valid concern that was overridden the moment he started salivating.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. He sat, content with a decently full belly, on his low stool at the table. He eyed his hatchet, without which he would be so much very more worse off. A memory of his father came unbidden to his head, which made him equal measures happy and sad. *Before you do anything else, son, name your tools. That way you¡¯re more liable to take care of them, and they are more liable to take care of you.* ¡°I¡¯m fine here, Dad. And I promise I will.¡± He fished the first and only thing he took with him out of his pants pocket: a steel screw that had the word ¡®Atlas¡¯ down its side. Slowly and carefully used the screw to etch onto the face of the hatchet. Fifteen minutes worth of work and he had the word ¡®hope¡¯ in cursive letters on its face. It looked good. Fitting, even. After a moment of pause, he flipped the hatchet over to its opposite face. ¡°Yea.¡± He resolved to etch again, this time tracing out the modified omega symbol he had seen from the event. The outline came together decently. It looked like it lacked some some detail though. Which he thoughtfully added with a flourish. And then it happened. A strange *ding!* heralded a box which overlaid his vision, obscuring the table. He jumped out of his seat, ¡°Jelly beans catfuck!¡± He seriously wondered if he was losing his grip on clarity. Nothing else happened, except a blood sugar spike. And probably some early onset arrhythmia. Suspiciously, he read the floating text, which was wasn¡¯t, he realized, floating in the sky. It was in his head. He could still see the table if he focused on it. And then he could focus on the text box floating in his head. He did it a few more times to be sure. Head. Table. Head.
Congratulations! You have seen into the strata of the cosmos and wondered upon its weaving. Through tracing the mysteries of the world and fearless experimentation, you have unlocked the class, [Natural Inscriptionist]. Accept class [Y / N]?
For several long moments he just stared. The world was a rational place, even if unexplained phenomena occurred. Even if everything he knew about the scientific method.. wasn¡¯t . Yeap, the scary floating words were still there. He paused for a moment. ¡°Fine! Whatever! You win. I thereby give up on my degree in physics and any acceptable viewpoint of the observable universe. I accept my insanity!¡± The world went white. Chapter 5: The worst hangover He woke up with his face pressed against the floor, drooling. His eyes moved independently of each other for a moment. Which was alarming, he decided. There was more floating text waiting for him and he almost puked. His head felt warm. And *well-used*. Like he had just done a math marathon, and then wrote a few papers. And then defended them. He stared at the text balefully. It didn¡¯t go away. He sighed and actually started to read.
Class: [Natural inscriptionist] gained! [Natural inscriptionist] level 1! Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] gained! Passive Skill: [Nimble hands] gained!
He sighed again and considered what he knew about the universe, his years studying constant laws like thermodynamics and weak nuclear forces, and about how much a universe without consistent laws would not exist for a long enough time to create things like living organisms capable of observing them. And how many of those rules were being broken by these floating text boxes. ¡°Like the conservation of energy, for example,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Clearly this implies some type of system. An outside actor or force.¡± He paused at that thought, rocking back on his heels. Slowly, tentatively, he called out, ¡°..hello?¡± Not even chirps. He cleared his throat with more vigor, ¡°Hello!¡± Finally he ran to the single shuttered window. Throwing it open, he slapped his hands against the sill. With all the air in his lungs, ¡°HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOO!!¡± He sighed quietly. Like a jammed printer, just yelling at it wasn¡¯t going to solve his problems. ¡°..Hi.¡± A gruff voice in the distance had him instantly underneath the table. He started hyperventilating. At some point he¡¯d get tired of being wrong and the universe would give him one. Any time now. He sent up a brief prayer to whatever distant and uncaring source that had sent him to this plane, and silently begged for mercy. Footsteps gradually sounded on the other side of the broken door. His breathing intensified. The footsteps stopped, and there was an awkward cough. He summoned up enough bravery to peek from the table. A man¡¯s head covered in straw blond hair was smiling around the cracks in the dilapidated door. ¡°Soooooo¡­.Is this a bad time?¡± -- The straw blond man was a merchant, who stopped at this homestead from time to time for a hot meal and quick business. They sat across from each other, the merchant having the sense to pack his own folding camp chair amongst his goods. The height difference was a little awkward. He could feel the merchant studying him, and knew exactly what the man saw -- nothing remarkable. Sandy brown hair, lanky frame, brown eyes, and an unusually cheery grin. Except now he was..reduced in his circumstances. His usual poorly-kept features and slid all the way to ¡®destitute.¡¯ A face you could forget. He liked it, because it meant people underestimated him. That was good, because he could use every advantage he could get. Especially considering he wasn¡¯t rocking a shirt and wearing cast off goblin shoes. Yuck. ¡°Ahem. Forgive me for being startled.. You kind of caught me at a strange time. I¡¯m Charley. Charley Peace.¡± And as he spoke, his mind already started cataloging all the information he could from this man. Item: antiquated clothing, probably hand stitched dirty. Item: armed with a short sword and sheath. Not fancy, used. Placed on the table in (his) hands reach. Item: lack of zippers on the pants and sheath is a ring belt. ¡°Anders. I do the circuit around Chimera, most days. Dry goods [Merchant].¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Anders was a man who looked to be in his forties, with deep tan lines from the sun. He had a full bread, also blonde, that softened his face. His brown eyes looked hard, but the crows feet around them suggested a softer interior. The merchant took in the house, slowly, pausing at the bloodstains on the floor. ¡°Before we get any further, I have to ask. The family here, the Wolhmer¡¯s.¡± He didn¡¯t make it a question, but Charley knew what he meant. Charley shook his head and looked down. The merchant took it in, ¡°Anything you can tell me?¡± He thought about it. ¡°Yes. The fire damage had gone cold by the time I spotted the house. Multiple footsteps in the mud near the door, which was broken. House was tossed through, I piled the debris outside against the wall. There was a short green skinned humanoid nailed to the wall behind you.¡± He paused for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to tell you this, but there weren¡¯t any other bodies in the area.¡± The merchant swore quietly to himself. They both suspected what that one meant. The merchant motioned forwards, ¡°..and this was?¡± ¡°Two days ago.¡± ¡°Okay lad. I¡¯m deeply sorry to hear it, and I wish I could say I was surprised. This area is already at the edge of what I feel comfortable walking through. Goblins. I¡¯ll have to let the guilds know.¡± The two men shared a contemplative silence for a moment. Item: Areas of local territory are threatened by monsters, and he was lucky that he hadn¡¯t run into any more on his hike down from the glade. Item: Goblins were real, and real ugly, and a terrible way to die for people who didn¡¯t like to be eaten. Theory: low technology, sadly, confirmed. Violence seems commonplace. Area is destable and infested. Conclusion: Leave locality immediately. Conceal origins under all circumstances. A shirt would also be nice. The merchant cleared his throat and interrupted Charley¡¯s thought process. ¡°So, you better start at the beginning. Where do you come from?¡± Cards on the table time. Charley told him everything, except the part about being from another world. That would just be crazy. Good way to get lynched in the forest. He was a bad liar, anyway. Once he was done, he searched the merchant¡¯s face for the reaction. The merchant whistled. ¡°That¡¯s the weirdest thing i¡¯ve heard of in..well. That is the weirdest thing i¡¯ve heard of. Ever.¡± Charley thought about it for a moment. He¡¯d played games on a computer before, and understand concepts like classes, levels, and the like. However horribly impossible his current circumstances, whatever strange reason he was standing where he was, there was nothing holding a candle to a floating menu screen when it came to weirdness. Charley chuckled, ¡°I¡¯m getting that a lot, lately.¡± The merchant struggled to find the right question after that. Charley could tell it wasn¡¯t the last he¡¯d ask of the event, but for now they both seemed comfortable shelving the experience for more important problems. Finally asked the question Charley feared. ¡°And you¡¯re from where?¡¯ ¡°Somewhere without goblins. Santa Fe.¡± He figured that was a safe answer. It was a mild risk, mentioning a town that he was almost sure that no one here had heard of. But if there was recognition, better it be now. And it would be weirder to not mention *something*. The merchant waited a tick, to see if there was anything more coming. When there wasn¡¯t, he blew some air out, ¡°Well, Charley my friend, I tell you what. I strongly do not advise that you stay here. That sounded like an entire pack of goblins hit this place, and recently, and I¡¯m not going to be staying here any longer than I have to.¡± Charley nodded vigorously, ¡°Oh I totally agree. Would you mind if I went with you?¡± He tried not to look too hopeful. And failed. The merchant nodded. ¡°Oh aye, lad. I¡¯ll not be leaving you in these plains. Wouldn¡¯t want that on my conscious. Wife wouldn¡¯t let me hear the end of it.¡± He paused briefly, ¡°No offense, but you look like you lost a bet with a devil, and I think a stiff wind could knock you over.¡± Charley nodded agreeably, not even a little bit embarrassed at the honest assessment. ¡°I¡¯m like ninety eight percent certain that I would die in the woods. Probably walking in the wrong direction. You¡¯re looking at everything I own.¡± He spread his arms to indicate the large pile of nothing he was blessed with. Although he did remember hope. He got up and retrieved her from near the door were he had left her. ¡°I did find the head of this hatchet buried in the goblin behind you, though.¡± he placed the repaired hatchet on the table. Anders nodded agreeably. ¡°One of mine. Sold it to the family maybe six months back.¡± He casually picked up the tool, and then the blood slowly drained from his face. The merchant tried to speak. ¡°Eep--.¡± Failed. Tried again, ¡°This is enchanted.¡± His face slowly started changing to wonder. ¡°Did you do this?¡± Charley got defensive. ¡°I replaced the axe handle and etched the surface, yes. I wasn¡¯t trying to steal anything. I was just trying to stay warm.¡± Anders suddenly laughed, uproariously, and in good cheer. ¡°No lad, no!¡± He chortled, diffusing the tension in the moment easily. ¡°You did this. In two days?¡± Charley nodded, mollified. The merchant followed the question, ¡°You¡¯re an [Enchanter]?¡± ¡°[Natural Inscriptionist]. But ah, i¡¯m only level 1.¡± And he didn¡¯t know the first thing about what that meant. Or how to replicate his success. He didn¡¯t mention those things. No need to oversell it. The Merchant nodded agreeably, waving his hands. ¡°You¡¯ll be welcome in Chimera, too right. Even without a copper to your name.¡± He began humming to himself as a look of avarice came over his features. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡± He tossed the hatchet back to Charley, who caught it inexpertly. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get out of this dump.¡± The merchant made for the door, where Charley could see a mule tied up some distance away. Charley shot up, and took a last look around. He thanked the cabin and the family that had owned it before him. And then he followed his future outside. Charley frowned suddenly, ¡°Hey, when did you learn how to speak English?¡± --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 1 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] [Corvus Enca]. Level: 1. Permanent. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands]
-- Chapter 6: The Yellow Wall. ¡°It¡¯s pronounced ¡®Innish,¡¯ lad. And from my mother¡¯s teat!¡± The [Merchant] chuckled. ¡°Why, where did you learn it?¡± The two men were walking southward, a donkey laden with supplies behind them. The green hills rolled all about them, and the sun beat down in a warm but not unpleasant day. Charley broke out in a light sweat. Evade. In this conversation lies danger. He thought quickly, ¡°Oh, same place as you. Your mother was a busy woman!¡± Anders frowned for a moment. Finally, He broke out in a full belly laugh. ¡°You¡¯re alright, Charley. You¡¯re alright.¡± Close one. Be careful asking to many questions, too quickly. The desire was there to strip this man for everything he knew. He resolved to wait until he could spread out his questions to multiple resources, over time, and reminded himself of the absolute danger that could be waiting for him if anyone knew. If anyone discovered what he knew about electricity he was pretty sure it would be game over. Let alone cold fusion. No. Don¡¯t even think about it. Think about how absolutely filthy fucking comfy he could be living if he could reinvent the airplane. Or the microwave. Mmmmm microwaves. He tabled thoughts of living comfortably. And even the idea of how mathematically improbable that the place he landed had English as a known language, even if the local accent was abysmal. Or you know, maybe this particular speaker just had throat cancer and a lisp. You never know. Charley asked the thing that had been bothering him since the start of their journey. ¡°So, do you think you could point me somewhere once we get to...where are we going, again?¡± Still chuckling, Anders responded ¡°Chimera. Lovely city, I get down here on the regular. It¡¯s a bit cold in the winters, but it doesn¡¯t smell nearly as foul as cities south of here.¡± Goodbye flush plumbing, he thought. You were always good to me. ¡°I¡¯ll get you set up inside the city with my cousin. He¡¯s a good lad. Little money blind, but i¡¯ll set him right.¡± The merchant tapped his check, ¡°You might be good for each other, actually. His mom has been on me for ages.¡± He mumbled something darkly to himself. Anders searched in his pack, and came back with an extra shirt. Charley nodded gratefully, immediately pulling it over his head. It was rough, overlarge, but by damn was it warm. He felt gratitude rolling through the core of his being for his man. And the immense realization that he was truly lucky the goblins hadn¡¯t found him first. After a while, Charley finally had to given in and ask. ¡°Why would your cousin help me?¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s simple.¡± The merchant threw a dismissive gesture. ¡°Because he¡¯s broke.¡± Charley smiled owlishly. He finally lifted his hand to his head in a mock salute. ¡°Here¡¯s to capitalism!¡± Anders blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Here¡¯s to good investments!¡± Charley didn¡¯t even miss a beat. ¡°Oh, aye. A blind man would invest in an enchanter. Even a broke, bad one.¡± Ouch. Don¡¯t build a brother up too much, Charley thought to himself. The cringe must have been showing on his face. Anders patted his back affectionately. ¡°Everyone starts somewhere.¡± The mud squelched under his feet. He recalled that he had landed on an unknown world, and this single fact was the luckiest, craziest, and most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. He was lucky to even be alive. And he got to touch a wormhole, with his hands! Or whatever the exposed violet lines of the universe were. He immediately started feeling better. ¡°Bring it on,¡± he swore under his breath. -- ¡°Okay, it¡¯s alright to back it off a little bit.¡± Charley spoke to the sky. Three days of walking. Three. This whole walking around thing, camping without a fire to avoid hostile bands of monsters or worse. Why would anyone do this? He honestly tried to imagine the motivations of someone, for a moment. Money, obviously. People who don¡¯t like crowds. Who enjoy clean air. Challenges of nature. Charley quietly shuddered to himself. It wasn¡¯t even worth thinking about how much it wasn¡¯t worth the mud, alone. He was bruised. And cold in some places and hot in others. He had several blisters on his feet that had popped. Maybe one that was infected. His pants were filthy. He had been going to the bathroom without soap. And using leaves for cleanup. It was like his worst memory of summer camp, along with the dawning horror one feels using a porta-potty and realizing it hasn¡¯t been stocked. And he hadn¡¯t had *any* time to study this new Class, or his shiny hatchet! It was almost criminal, how tired he was after almost twelve hours of walking. He didn¡¯t even remember stopping to break camp the night before. He made a note to himself: fuck with the fabric of reality at soonest. Thanks, self. But he was alive, and the wilderness was behind him. Literally. May it stay out there and rot.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Adventuring was for suckers. Clearly. The city gates of Chimera were just barely visible ahead. He let out a little ¡°whoop!¡± Anders just laughed at him. That was fine. Let him laugh; he was probably having a much better experience. That asshole that closed toed shoes. And a shirt. Both of them unconsciously increased their pace, getting a shot of energy. They raced a setting sun to their destination. Hello, civilization. He had missed her. -- The gates stood a full ten feet, which didn¡¯t seem like much until you took into account that the moat was a river, flowing around the entirety of the city on all sides. Someone had clearly spent a lot of quality time with shovels and a powerful need to divert a major terrain feature for some added security. Charley was visibly impressed with the forethinking displayed with it. The water looked like it had a good current to it, to the point that it would perhaps stay liquid through the winters. Anders caught him looking. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the Yuto river, flows out to the ocean in four days by barge, and then to Karkin. You can take a boat from there to anywhere in the world.¡± My, Anders was positively chaty. Although he supposed maybe he didn¡¯t like the mud nearly so much, either. ¡°Appeal to ignorance.¡± Anders glanced at him, blankly. ¡°A logical..¡± hmm. ¡°..a bad way to argue. Ignorance isn¡¯t proof of anything, except that sailors are braggarts.¡± Anders took that in. And chewed on it. When Charley could see his mind digging at the statement for holes, he smiled. Finally Anders sighed. ¡°You know what, mate. You¡¯re very odd.¡± A beat later, ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± ¡°Hah!¡± Charley yelled, joyous. ¡°..but very odd.¡± Anders finished. Charley conceded the point, but kept the smile. They got close enough to the gate, that they could make out two men in chainmail, with some strange symbolry bannered on the surcoats. ¡°Hey Anders. Is that..a goat and a lion facing away from each other, with a snake beneath them?¡± ¡°Oh, aye. Good description. The city colors. Personally, I think it''s ugly as hell. But they didn¡¯t ask me before they chose them.¡± Charley thought about it. ¡°That¡¯s a chimera. Why did they choose a chimera?¡± And how did they even know about them, he added to himself. Anders looked at him oddly again. ¡°Because that¡¯s the name of the city. On account to that¡¯s what adventurer¡¯s hunt around these parts.¡± Anders pointed at the small crenelated towers over the gate. Charley let out a curse. ¡°Ballista?¡± Anders looked irrationally happy, ¡°They still lose one or two a month to a rogue flyer, but it keeps the bugs away, Yeah. They have to winch the bowstring back, bolt the thing into the ground, and most of the frame is plated in iron. Heavy, slow, expensive. But it throws a bolt the size of a man five hundred paces!¡± Charley suddenly got much more interested in the subject. Clearly safety was an illusion. What he needed was one of these puppies. And some type of load-feeder. The two flowed into the city and onto a stone walkway, while Charley dreamed of ways to murder flying monstrosities from a healthy distance away. People were everywhere. Carrying loads, leading beasts of burden. Horses, a donkey. The sun was set, and the light was hanging in the sky behind them, an orange glow. The heat radiated off the cobblestone, and Charley again appreciated how sturdy a road really was. And how much mud so very deeply sucked. Sure, walking a mile in mud was alright. Walking three days in it with open toed boots was indescribable. -- They stopped in a district that looked more quiet, the bustle muted from the hour and away from the main drag. The buildings were mostly wood, most of them sporting a second floor. The people in this section of town looked more steady. Movement seemed directed, less lackadaisical. They were stopped outside a shop that looked like it had seen better days. A weathered sign had three rings in chipped yellow paint above the door. Anders clapped him on the back reassuringly. ¡°Give me a second here, lad. I¡¯ll go in and set you right with my cousin. Goes by Brand, thinks he¡¯s too good for what his mom named him. Don¡¯t call him Brandon, though. He¡¯s a pure [Trader], through and through. Um. He doesn¡¯t handle change well.¡± Anders gave him a final pat and strode in the heavy oak door, his information dump complete. ¡°That was not very reassuring.¡± Charley spoke to no-one. A few minutes later, Charley heard yelling. Then threats. Definitely sounded like threats. Ten minutes later, Anders stepped back out with ruddy cheeks. ¡°Alright. That¡¯s squared then. Don¡¯t let him kick you out or take more than forty percent. I have to remind my wife I exist or most likely I¡¯ll be sleeping here with you two tonight.¡± He chuckled to himself. Charley nodded easily. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Anders. Thanks for not letting me die in the wilderness.¡± Anders clapped him on the back again. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have left yea.¡± Anders unhooked his pack, and fished out Hope, that beautiful hatchet. He passed it to Charley. ¡°I¡¯ll swing by and check on you in a spell.¡± Charley felt another flush of appreciation. He nodded. And then cut the moment with a laugh, ¡°Alright, don¡¯t waste any more time on an urchin. Tell your mom I say hi, and thanks for the Innish lessons.¡± With a hearty laugh, Anders stepped away, flashing a sign that was perhaps universal across worlds for ¡®go fuck yourself.¡¯ It was good to know some things persisted. -- ¡°You¡¯re not an [Enchanter].¡± Brand stared at him suspiciously. He was short, black haired, and looked absolutely nothing like his cousin. He was a younger man, with sharp features. And looked like he knew his way around a negotiating table. ¡°Nope.¡± Charley, focused completely on the man in front of him, despite being in a new room half filled with dry goods, odds and ends, and crates. He was aware of how much this mattered. The merchant fingered the etching on the hatchet in front of him. He had been staring at it for the last five minutes, finally shaking himself out of his stupor. Charley had just let him do it. You don¡¯t rush from a position of weakness. ¡°This isn¡¯t even technically an enchantment. It doesn¡¯t do anything.¡± The [Trader]¡¯s stare turned accusing. ¡°Absolutely nothing.¡± Charley agreed with a nod and a smile. The [Trader] faltered for a moment. ¡°..you¡¯re really bad at negotiating, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°My whole life.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure what Anders had said to his cousin, but he was betting that overselling anything wouldn¡¯t play. So he didn¡¯t. ¡°....Ah.¡± The [Trader] quieted, still fingering the enchanted object in front of him. ¡°I notice you haven¡¯t put down the hatchet. This entire time. I¡¯m guessing that enchanting is pretty rare. And expensive.¡± Even though his face never changed, The [Trader]¡¯s eyes flashed. Charley smiled, and the [Trader] acknowledged the point. Charley dropped his carrot first. ¡°You get half of everything we sell. And if I need anything I go to you first. If you don¡¯t have it, or if you can¡¯t give me a good deal, then I go to someone else.¡± The [Trader] frowned at him, no doubt offended at the absolutely lack of negotiation in the other party. He cleared his throat, ¡°So I need to front you. And I¡¯m guessing feed you.¡± Charley nodded happily, ¡°That¡¯s not even the worst of it. I¡¯m also completely new. Level one.¡± The [Trader] audibly moaned at this last piece of information, slumping down onto the counter he leaned against. ¡°And why do I need you, exactly? My cousin was a little vague on the details.¡± Charley took a moment and took in the front of the shop, turning a full three sixty. And he saw it. All the boxes and most of the crated goods had the same stamp on them. Charley dropped the stick. ¡°You¡¯re broke. Or you¡¯re about to be. And having problems with your largest supplier.¡± A wince told him he was on track. ¡±And I¡¯m guessing you have an open room, or your cousin wouldn¡¯t have brought me here.¡± Charley let that one sink in and made eye contact. Neither broke it. Charley dropped his last nail, ¡°How many other [Enchanter]¡¯s in the city?¡± The [Trader] gnashed his teeth. ¡°Two.¡± Charley nodded. ¡°Room and board, get me fronted and rolling. And then we make each other rich. What do you say?¡± Charley offered his hand. The [Trader] cracked his first real smile, dropping his hard exterior in a moment. ¡°Brand. Welcome to the Yellow Wall.¡± It was the kind of handshake you could build a future on. ¡°Charley Peace. My friends call me Peace.¡± He smiled right back, suddenly exhausted and mentally drained from the day¡¯s labors. Brand noticed. ¡°Let¡¯s get you upstairs, then. We¡¯ll figure out everything else in the morning.¡± Charley didn¡¯t even remember walking up the stairs.
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 1 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] [Corvus Enca]. Level: 1. Permanent. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands]
Chapter 7: I did what now? Charley woke up on his face. Again. In retrospect, it might not be his week. As he came too, he realized he was in a real bed. Well. He cast around blurrily. It was a rough spun cotton mattress, stuffed with something. And there was a real honest to goodness sheet on top of him. A SHEET. It wasn¡¯t thick. It wasn¡¯t soft. ¡°I love you so much, sheet.¡± He rubbed his face against it, scratchy as it was. ¡°Don¡¯t ever leave me again.¡± As he rose, he kept the sheet wrapped around himself. The second floor of Yellow Wall was mostly empty on his side. There was a bed, two high benches for work, some odds and ends on the planks. A low circular table, with cushions instead of chairs in a distinctly Eastern style. Charley teared up for a moment. He couldn¡¯t help himself; he ran over and rubbed his face against the cushions. Maybe it was his week, after all. Letting out a happy sigh, he got back to his explorating. The far wall had a rough series of Pegs, to hang what looked to be an assortment of tools. They were mainly missing. Two windows, one shuttered and the other open to the light. He bet it would make for a decent cross breeze when they were both wide. A small stone hearth, blessed be, on the wall farest from the stairs. A tiny anvil and an ridiculously sized hammer sat in the far corner, leaving the major of the room open, twenty by twenty feet of space echoing the merchant¡¯s stall below. There were some boxes stacked up here and there, but Charley figured he could move those out if they needed the floorspace. He heard a small thud behind him, and screamed like he was being assaulted in a Macy¡¯s parking lot, ¡°Eiiiiieeeeeyyyyeeeee!¡± At the foot of the stairs, Brand had thumped down a full box, and on top of it there was a plate of food. He raised an eyebrow, seeing the reaction. ¡°Breakfast and some of my dad¡¯s tools.¡± Brand ignored the cowardly reaction. A complicated looked crossed his face. ¡°This was my father''s workshop. Be respectful.¡± Charley crooned as a mother does to her baby birds, immediately running over and grabbing the box, setting the food to the side. ¡°My pretties!¡± Brand pinched his temple above his nose, and let out a tortured sigh. ¡°Let me know what you need to get started and we¡¯ll talk acquisition when you¡¯re settled.¡± He gave Charley a serious look. ¡°Be settled soon, Peace.¡± Charley didn¡¯t even look up, running his hands lovingly over each objects in the bin. Seeing the care in Charley¡¯s hands, Brand paused. He took in the [Inscriptionist]¡¯s antics for a moment. A smile broke over his face. A frown fought the smile, but didn¡¯t conquer it. ¡°I will.¡± Charley answered without looking up. ¡°Take care of them. You mostly don¡¯t have to worry.¡± Brand¡¯s smile turned sardonic. ¡°Get me a list of what you need whenever.¡± He waved, and with that he stepped out, gently closing the door to the second floor behind him. Good riddance. It was tool time. Charley couldn¡¯t help the puns, but still apologized, ¡°Anddddd I will hold you, and squeeze you, and...ohhhh a backsaw!¡± Metal calipers, chisels, a jackplane, a fancy handbrace, tongs. Heaven. He cleared the shelves, and stacked the tools onto the pegs behind him. He found an old grinding stone and sharpened up one or two of the chisels that had lost an edge. A few hours later, he nibbled on a sandwich was surveying his tiny kingdom. Shelves clear, tools clean and shiney. It was time to make stuff. -- But what to make? He held himself frozen for a moment, his hands reflecting his anxiety. Weapons? Psshaw. Anyone could make weapons. He bet himself a hot meal that the other two enchanters in the city had oodles of them. Armor? Equally likely. Equally useful, no doubt. But would a blade increase the quality of life in the city? Maybe he¡¯d make one eventually. Certainly for peace of mind. Heh. Couldn¡¯t stop those puns. Would it help *him* get flush plumbing? Charley didn¡¯t think so. He blinked owlishly and cast his gaze around the room. His eyes fell onto the peg board. ¡°Why, hello there. You¡¯ll do.¡± -- He started with a simple chisel. It was what he¡¯d need to engrave, afterall. Holding one of its larger chisel brothers above the target, he tried to recall the feeling that he¡¯d gotten when he received his class. He breathed a huge breath through his mouth, and started engraving. --The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He was doing it wrong. The handle of the chisel was covered in failed versions of the omega rune. And he knew without a doubt that it wasn¡¯t the shape. To be more precise: his hands were freaking scary nimble. That thing that had happened, when he gained the class. [Nimble Hands]. He was never this dexterous. It was shocking, and humbling, to see the hands in front of him hold and tap the chisel with enough grace that he barely felt the shock. And the tip didn¡¯t move a millimeter off his target. Which was beyond weird but that was clearly how this world worked. And it was hard to argue with the results. He was capturing the swerve of the character¡¯s lines perfectly. The deep trough at the start of the omega. The gentle lilt at the end, suggesting more was to follow. No. It was something else he wasn¡¯t getting right. Geez, he thought to himself. If only this class thing came with a man page or some kind of status--
Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 1 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Runic language of the First People. Level: 1. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] Your fingers can move with speed and grace, your hands still and capable.
¡°Catboots shit nerfherder!¡± He let his heart settle back out of this throat and took in what he was being shown. All this information was interesting. And perhaps even helpful. He did his best to ignore the screaming incoherent questions his rational mind kept throwing up about how impossible any piece of that was. Sometimes rationality was distinctly unhelpful. He took apart the problem one piece at a time. ¡°A [*Natural* Inscriptionist]. Not just an [Inscriptionist].¡± There had to be a key, there. He thought about what he knew of his skill, [Runic Enchantment]. There were only two examples of it that he knew of. The one in front of him he was using as a study-guide. He glared at the offending hatchet sitting on the table. And then there was the event of the floating lines and explosions. He calmed himself, slowly. If the problem wasn¡¯t with his hands, then it was with his head. Nisi quod. If not that, this then is truth. Charley thought back to what he had *felt* in that moment. Wonder in the world. A deep and strange calm on his heart. ¡°Nothing for it, then.¡± He needed to get in the right headspace. He slowly laid out on the floor, and started to flow into his yoga practice. ¡°Whatever works.¡± -- An hour later, he shook himself slowly from shavasana. It had taken a while to limber into the experience. His aches and pains were many, but the night under a roof had done wonders. And now He felt light, and grounded. For the first time since he had arrived, really. He sat back down at the table, and took up the chisel again, grabbing a fresh target. And then he got to work. As the lines flowed out of his tool onto the handle of his target, something felt different. It was strange, and joyous. Something in him was leaving, flowing gently out of his center while he was working. It was small. It felt like the time he had played catch with his dad, and it had starting raining, but they kept playing anyway, smiling at each other through a downpour. It felt like the time his mom had gone into remission with her cancer, and his dad and he had stayed up all night and made a surprise thanksgiving meal for her a week after the holiday because they had missed it the first time, and she had woken up to the smells of cranberry sauce and turkey and two family members smiling like crazy people. It felt like touching an exposed powerline, gurgling with battery acid, and drinking an Red-Bull chaser. He liked it. He liked it a lot. The feeling uncurled through his fingertips, and he could feel it sinking into the shape of the runes on the blade. This wasn¡¯t at all what it was like the first time -- that was an accident. Some system giving him the base because the pitcher had hit him with the ball. This was so much better. There were even flickers of violet energy that he could see trailing the last few taps he made with his blade, like phosphorescent kelp at night. Fucking cool.
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 2!
Rune learned: Origin!
[Meditative Focus] gained! Soft focus can be held for extended periods of time without loss of ability or concentration. Negative effects from any source delayed until effect is broken.
All to soon the moment ended. The flow of energy stopping up and leaving him horribly drained, covered in sweat and hungry again even though he had just ate. And grinning like a madman. It wasn¡¯t done. It wasn¡¯t even close to done. But the omega rune was inscribed on the handle of the chisel in front of him. He frowned. What was next? His last project didn¡¯t *do* anything. That was clear. With just the starting rune, there wasn¡¯t much to do. It was just a starting point. The beginning of the river. So what next? His hand faltered, his confidence shaking. The state that he was in flickered, and he felt the exhaustion come on as blackness around his vision. The rune demanded that something follow it. Ah. The grin came back in full force, plastered firmly on his face. So what did river¡¯s do? River¡¯s flowed. He let his hand move, and unbidden it traced the second symbol he had seen days ago in the glade.
[Corvus Enca] reached level 2!
Rune learned: Flow!
As soon as he completed it he knew the symbol like he knew his own face. This rune wasn¡¯t a rune. It was ¡®flow.¡¯ It was the way a river moved down the stream, the flight of birds on the air. ¡°They¡¯re onomatopoeia¡¯s.¡± He whispered with reverence. He realized that these runes were not just simply language -- not words that conveyed meaning. They *were* meaning. They mimicked the flow of energy in the natural world to harness the natural bends, eddies, and streams to channel..something. He didn¡¯t know if the same system that had delivered those messages to him had given him this knowledge or if he had intuited it from his actions. Didn¡¯t matter which, really. The omega rune wasn¡¯t meaningless. Far, far from it. The omega rune mean ¡®origin.¡¯ He felt it in his bones. Like the Chinese language, these were ancient pictographs that conveying meaning and expression through their shape. In Chinese ¡®Water¡¯ was three rivers converging. And in Corvus Enca, ¡®flow¡¯ was the shape of infinity. ¡°Huh. Makes sense.¡± And it did. With a clarity way beyond what he thought he knew about the world. Elated, triumphant, did the only thing he knew how to do next. He looked down at the chisel in his hands lovingly. ¡°Hello Fiona, welcome to the world. Want to help me add some magic to it?¡± He felt the magic kick at his utterance. His eyes were as large as dinner plates. Charley looked up at a small sound, and noticed Brand standing at the stairs. ¡°Ah. How long have you been here?¡± He wasn¡¯t sure if he should feel embarrassed. Probably. ¡°Just the end.¡± Brand stepped forward, a look of respect and something more complicated on his face. ¡°May I..?¡± Charley handed Fiona over. Brand was completely taken back. ¡°You did this...in one day?¡± ¡°I know! So cool, right!¡± Charley frowned. ¡°Wait, what?¡± He glanced at the window. ¡°I think you mean an afternoon.¡± Brand cleared his throat. ¡°This is the fourth time i¡¯ve checked on you. It¡¯s almost evening. Of the next day. You were locked into whatever..you were doing. I waved a hand in front of your face. Didn¡¯t want to shake you out of it.¡± Charley nodded gratefully, ¡°Ah. Fudgesickles. That would explain the exhaustion then. Tell you wha..¡± He collapsed, and the last thing he remembered was landing on his face. Again. Sigh. **
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 2 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 2. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] Runes known: Origin. Flow.
Chapter 8: Pointy stick throwers ¡°-t we need¡­¡± Charley came back slowly. He was in his bed, his sheet thrown over him. ¡°Wait.¡± It was morning. He had passed out again sometime last night. He thought warmly of his new business partner, who surely must have dragged him to the bed. Heck, he¡¯d even taken his sandals off. That was getting down right embarrassing at this point. He felt pretty good. All things considered. More than good, actually. Leveling up was AMAZING. Better than sex. Feeling a rush of empowerment on a deep, personal level. Having knowledge and skills written into the source code of your soul. It was beyond heady. It was pure bliss. He suddenly understood anyone who went out and dungeon delved, pursuing this feeling. And maybe it was worth walking through the mud, afterall. Hunting down goblins, kicking in doors. Breaking every piece of ceramic pottery in peoples¡¯ homes. He blinked. ¡°Does this mean adventurer¡¯s are addicts?¡± Probably. He made a note to himself to buy shoes at the earliest convenience. He was sick of his goblin sandals. He stretched and meandered out of bed. His eyes fell to the table and he saw his baby laying there. Again, Brand had delivered. The chisel sat in a simple leather belt and sheath. With a few more empty pouches for various odds and ends. ¡°Ah, he does like me. Knew that brash, money seeking exterior was just emotional armor.¡± He rushed over and ran his hands over her frame. She was beautiful. He pulled her from the sheath.
[Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes].
Which meant his skill in [Corvus Enca] was probably tied directly to his understanding of the language, and that language was some type of expression of the world. And this chisel helped make that process..simpler? More Direct? Talk about mainlining the universe. Cool. ¡°Oh, who¡¯s a good chisel?¡± Charley crooned in a golem voice, ¡°my *precious.*¡± ¡°I¡¯ll just come back later, maybe.¡± And there Brand was again. Charley wondered if his entire family line had a knack for it. ¡°Jesus don¡¯t any of you ever knock?!?¡± Charley threw himself down on a cushion. ¡°Heard you stomping around.¡± He hummed to himself as he walked in. Brand popped a dark bottle, and a rich, loamy smell immediately filled the room. He knocked two glasses down onto the table and poured out something brown and malty. A glass went to each of them, and Brand tapped his against the other. ¡°We¡¯re going to be rich. You know that, right?¡± Charley chortled, rolling his eyes at the same time. And then choked a little on the swill he was drinking. Politely. Barely even coughed. ¡°Smooth.¡± He suppressed a gag. ¡°I¡¯m going to need a whole bunch of stuff if we¡¯re going to get serious about this.¡± ¡°Whatever man. Whatever.¡± Brand gestured to indicate it was an open ticket. Charley raised his glass. ¡°The Yellow Wall rises.¡± Brand poured them full. And then raised his own. It wasn¡¯t as bad the second time. ¡°Yes she does.¡± -- It was pretty foul the fourth. Flush with success, The two decided on an outing to see the town. ¡°Come on, Peace, my loyal lackey! To the Market!¡± Brand brandished the empty bottle as a weapon, and Charley bravely charged forth behind him. Brand was hilarious when he was drinking. He should get him drunk more often. It was noon. And the market was awesome. Awesomer. -- They called it the goblin market. It was a series of tents that merchants set up, and then overnight they would shift, change, or in some cases completely disappear. Charley said a small prayer for Christina Rossetti. ¡°How fair the vine must grow whose grapes are so luscious; how warm the wind must blow, through those fruit-¡± ¡°No, no no no. No bard words. Not drunk enough yet!¡± The tents were riotous. There was only the suggestion of a thoroughfare and order. People of all shapes and sizes. Spices of red and yellow and black hue. There was a man who sold nothing but things made of leather. Another booth where there were shields of all depths and dimensions. Now that was a weapon Charley could get behind. Literally. He hiccupped. They passed a construction site, a large party hammering away. Charley slowed, enraptured by the work of the crew. It looked like they had rough logs that they were splitting into lengths of wood, and then splitting those against into size by dropping them into molds. There was something in the way the axes moved. Rhythmically. They shone in the sun, and hung for a moment.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Charley frowned. He Leaned forward and swayed on his feet. ¡°What are they building?¡± Brand raised an eyebrow, ¡°The Cotton guildsh. S¡¯a new hall. Lots of business running through. Soon, hopefully.¡± Brand closed his eyes, enjoying the sun and the buzz. There was something about those axes that Charley couldn¡¯t leave alone. There weren¡¯t enchanted. That was clear. But there was something about the way that the workers just picked up the blades and dropped them with economy at their targets. Charley was sure they were doing it wrong. They were experienced men. Doing a job that they had been clearly doing for a while. But they weren¡¯t aiming the cuts for the lines in the wood -- they were just letting them fall blind. Maybe. He was drunk, sure. That was actually helpful in this case. He wasn¡¯t letting reality to close to his chest. Hiccups, yes. Reality, no. The moment left him and the two flowed onwards into the crowd. But he had an idea he wanted to explore later. -- Charley stepped into a tree. It happened suddenly. It wasn¡¯t as hard as he was expecting, and he¡¯d been getting a lot of practice smacking his face into wood, lately. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty soft tree.¡± He looked up. ¡°What have we here?¡± A six foot tall woman with long black hair up in a bun looked down from on high. She was wearing an obvious red and black uniform, with the Chimeric banner on its face. ¡°Because it looks like drunk in public.¡± Her eyes flicked to the other offender, ¡°on a twosday. At noon.¡± Brand stepped forward, exuding as much charm as he was able to muster, ¡°excuse my friend, officish..offic..ma''am. He''s not familiar with constabularies.¡± Brand exaggerated vexation, ¡°On account of him being stupid.¡± ¡°And blind,¡± Charley offered helpfully. The officer cracked a legitimate smile before she could get her mask in place. Charley jumped into the lull, ¡°say, would you mind answering a technical question about the ballistae...ballista..the sharp pointy stick throwers?¡± The officer cocked her head at this man, studying his intentions. Finally she nodded, ¡°shoot.¡± Brand groaned, mumbling about the puns hurting his face. Charley launched into it, ¡°with as much draw strength and tension you have to keep in the device, whats the replacement rate like for components? And what''s the accuracy like at range to a moving aerial target?¡± The female officer blew out a hum. ¡°Welllll. You¡¯re actually asking the right person. Did a shift on the wall recently and was one of the gunners over the entry gate.¡± She nodded, ¡°Upkeep and replacement isn¡¯t as big of a problem as you¡¯d think, we use wooden arms and torsion spring over classical tension bows.¡± She paused. ¡°You still with me?¡± Brand moaned in mock despair. He was ignored by all parties. Charley nodded, ¡°So you get the power and you get it cheap. But you lose accuracy over distance. Which is bad.¡± He paused for a moment, summoning sobriety, ¡°because we¡¯re aiming at aerial, fast moving targets at distance. And power is secondary to aim when even a glancing blow will probably maul a wing enough to drop a flier, we don¡¯t need a kill. So what''s the Guard¡¯s solution?¡± The sergeant, who had been casual before, was carefully, forcefully interested. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met. [Sergeant] Mellis, Chimeric Guard.¡± ¡°Charley Peace, [Inscriptor]. Enchantments and stuff.¡± Mellis raised both eyebrows, ¡°Well. We train the gunners to wait until the last possible moment to fire, and use them more as a deterrent than a solution. No one likes being shot at. It usually takes a month before they get hungry enough to forget and try again.¡± She winced. ¡°They are smart, too. We have to move the ballista around occasionally, so they don¡¯t learn which ones aren¡¯t defended.¡± Charley frowned for a moment. ¡°Why not use spring steel for the bow? You¡¯d get better range, power, and accuracy. Probably be able to build them smaller, too.¡± ¡°You mean Arrish Steel?¡± She laughed. ¡°Good luck getting your hands on that. One nation I know of makes it, and her smiths go for more money than Chimera can muster.¡± Well now, that was *very* interesting. He¡¯d put a pin in that one for now. ¡°Has the guard considered enchanting for accuracy?¡± She was all smiles now, ¡°If we couldn¡¯t afford the steel, we definitely couldn¡¯t afford the specialty enchantment. I don¡¯t even personally know of one that would work. Cheaper to put a mage on the wall periodically, Even if frequently they are outranged.¡± She paused with a challenge, ¡°Unless you¡¯d like to do one for us.¡± ¡°Shure, no problem.¡± Charley felt the buzz coming back on. Both the [Sergeant] and the [Trader] blinked at that. ¡°Hey now, hold up. Rents are not free, and mmmMMMMMph--¡± without breaking eye contact Mellis stuck a hand out, clamping it firmly over the [Trader]¡¯s face. ¡°You¡¯d do that?¡± Mellis watched his features sharply. The mumbles from underneath her palm reached a small crescendo, and she shook her hand back and forth in a tug. They quieted again. ¡°Yeah.¡± Charley nodded enthusiastically. She seemed taken back. ¡°..If you¡¯re serious, you can come find me at Guard HQ. when you¡¯re less..¡± She made a drink motion with her free hand. Brand made horrible choking sounds. Mellis dropped him, and he gasped air in gulps. Charley had a last thought before he surrendered back into his altered state, ¡°why not just put the ballishta on wagons? Raise a clear platform up high. Hitch it to a thing. Gods fuck knows what you call beastsh of burden around here.¡± Brand slowly recovered, looking between the guard and his enchanter with strain. ¡°Why not indeed.¡± Beaming a huge smile. ¡°It is my very great pleasure to meet you, Peace. On your way then.¡± She shooed them away, softly. ¡°Try not to puke on anyone important.¡± Charley raised an eyebrow, ¡°But I thought we were being arreshted?¡± Brand shushed him immediately, ¡°He means, ¡®thank you officer.¡¯ Bye!¡± Brand threw an arm around his [Inscriptionist] and jackbooted away at speed. Charley called over his shoulder, ¡°Kay Bye!¡± A powerful look of consideration crossed the sergeants face. ¡°Wagons.¡± She mumbled softly. ¡°Peace. Will not be forgetting that name.¡± -- ¡°Relax, geez. Probably they¡¯ll forget all about us.¡± Charley gestured expansively. Brand had a complete look of disdain on his face. ¡°And your generoush offer. Of my time and money.¡± He had an accusing look on his face, and massaged his jawline. ¡°MY time,¡± Charley corrected, ¡°YOUR money. And we must have been like the fiftieth drunk persons the tree saw. Today!¡± Charley offered an olive branch, ¡°It gets our name out, helps the city. And would it be bad to have the guard be friendsh?¡± Brand nodded, more mollified. ¡°MY money.¡± After a moment, he brandished the bottle in his hands high, ¡°To Money!¡± ¡°To hot tubs!¡± Charley raised his own. Brand crinkled his nose. ¡°This again. What in the lower hell is a ¡®hot-tub?¡¯ ¡± Charley explained. Brand held the bottle up again, ¡°To hot tubs!¡± They stumbled down the cobblestones, arm in arm. Brand offered, ¡°You know there''s a heated bath like three blocks from my shop, right?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a bad person, and no one named Anders likes you.¡± Charley ruined it by chuckling. Brand laughed with him. ¡°Ah, thanksh, employee.¡± ¡°Die in a fire.¡± A female officer watched the pair critically as they receded. -- Charley luxuriated in warm water, the sun kissing his arms. His feet blobed up and down on the wooden tub beneath him. He let out a happy sigh, listening to the sounds of a family of four soaking next to him, and Brand across the giant tub. There had been a strong moment where he had felt nervous being naked in present company, but wasn¡¯t that just one more thing that you had to get used to on the other side of an interdimensional fuckup? Embracing new cultural values was an expanding experience. Plus there were totally naked girls in the pool. The staff had made him scrub down in a small wooden tub first with a large block of lye soap. Brand had tossed down a full 5 copper and he knew on the other end of the bath there would be clean clothes waiting for him. He was only too happy to comply; the water he left in the lukewarm tub was brown when he had left it. The drink had left his system, in more ways than one, about an hour ago. All he had in him was surrender. He floated in bubbles, his muscles unspooling and creaking out their pleasure. The design on the tub itself was ingenious. Even now, drained and blissful, his mind puzzled out the ingenuity the bath house had deployed in service to laziness. This establishment used a pumping well that had what appeared to be a wooden pipe that spilled water directly into this giant tub -- saving time and energy for the carry. A clever idea. Which he would absolutely steal. Below him the rocks under the wooden panels were heated from a small coal furnace. The wooden pool sat on a raised platform to give the thing room to do its lordly work. And there was even a thick cork in the bottom on the pool on his side, so that they could drain it easily, and several wooden boards put down for a spillway to take the water away. And he had another idea. He was seriously going to have to start writing these things down. He had like three new ones worth pursuing, and it was only twosday. Whatever the fuck that was. He made another note to buy a calendar. Soon. He slid back into the warmth. Chapter 9: The Guild A small fire broke out in the workshop. Annoyed, Charley flicked the offending (and flaming) hammer into the fireplace, with the other rejects.. All seventeen of them. It wasn¡¯t the end of the world, and the metal could be salvaged. It was annoying, but it just didn¡¯t think he was skilled enough to make something for the guard. Yet. He fought some incipient nausea that came from working his craft beyond his comfort and ken. It was the process itself was fighting him, because for the last few hours he¡¯d felt on the verge of throwing up, blacking out, and having a migraine headache. It wasn¡¯t easy to craft these Inscriptions. Especially when he was trying to figure out new things. Charley admitted it to himself. He had no idea how to craft something that sought a target on its own. Not yet, anyway. And it was only most of a day¡¯s work. And eleven separate spontaneous combustion events. The other six started smoking before they set on fire, and he genuinely felt closer to what he was going for -- something which could seek. He felt closer to his next level, as well. He had learned that if he pushed his energy -- he had taken to calling to *mana*, might as well blend in with the locals -- too fast into the frame of the physical structure, there would be... negative results. Many valuable lessons. ¡°But maybe no more hammers for the moment.¡± Charley was sick of hammers. He reached for the second box he¡¯d asked Brand to acquire, a box packed with hand saws. He knew that this was necessary, but he really didn¡¯t like breaking so many useful things. It went against his nature. The box of handsaws went up on his low table. His stomach grumbled. He cast about, finding some cold jerky on a shelf. He began chewing and considered the problem. What did he want to do with a handsaw? He¡¯d had that thought, when he and Brand had their drunken escapade through the market. He chuckled to himself. He had seen professional men doing a job they had been intimately familiar with. Ah. They were *just* cutting. He wanted to do something deeper. No, that wasn¡¯t exactly right, was it? He wanted to sidestep the problem completely. Amateur¡¯s cut. Well, training carpenter¡¯s cut, too. But he was a [Natural Inscriptionist], damnit. He wanted to hack the nature of the universe and take advantage of its unique laws. His [Nimble Hands] engaged, and he twirled Fiona in his palm, and slapped a handsaw down in front of him. Both his skills were just downright amazingly useful. He hadn¡¯t really had the mental space to examine them yet. Just taking the skills they had hardwired in for granted. And honestly he didn¡¯t really feel like he had time now, either. Not with being penniless, with no revenue stream, and his business partner on the edge of destitution. Speaking of, he had some theories as to why that last one was happening. It was extremely unusual that a [Trader] only have one supplier. When he¡¯d asked Brand about it, he was told that a local noble had fronted him some stock after an endeavour went south. An endeavour with this same noble, named Timat. He¡¯d hold judgement for the moment. The recaptured the moment and instantly he fell into a [Meditative Focus]. Professionals cut. He wanted to separate something at the atomic level. Solid state physics. When a physical object encountered a grain boundary, it would send energy kinetically through the object in question, until something broke. Charley chuckled to himself. Well, that was a great starting point, he already knew the rune for Flow, after all. What if he reversed it? He thoughtfully Inscribed, pausing here and there to correct paths that didn¡¯t seem like they were right. He tossed a reject into a seperate box. The Rune for Flow was infinity. So subtract everything that Flow was, and leave only its complement. Not A, is B. He felt a warm rush move through is body, and a message from the system waiting for him.
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 3!
God he could get used to that feeling. He licked his lips. ¡°May the gods bless this sacrifice.¡± He chucked another discard into the bin and laughed in pure madcap joy. That last saw had traces of smoke curling from its handle, so he knew he was on the right track. He considered his current half-rune: two full circles and lots of empty space around them. The space didn¡¯t feel right, and the enchantment stuttered and broke on another saw. He happily chucked that one in the discards and grabbed another. Just the circles, then. The feeling of mana uncurling in his chest was deeply pleasant. His hand paused under the sparkling translucence that this almost-rune gave off. Well. That was new. What came next? He sputtered for a moment, some food being physically shoved into his mouth. No big deal. He chewed only long enough to swallow. Charley focused on the image of what he was trying to accomplish. It wasn¡¯t just cutting. It was a shearing force that caused fractures and burrs. Ah. Charley smiled, and fractured the circles. The enchantment started glowing violet. And then sputtered out, smoking. Charley grabbed another. This time he fractured the circles, and left burrs through the structure. He felt the rune *take* and that solid joy flow through his core.
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 4!
[Corvus Enca] reached level 3!
Rune learned: Sundering!
The windows from the system were just an afterthought to the rightness he felt from adding another rune to his collection. Exhausted, drained, he sighed in contentment. Tossed his tired body onto the bed behind him. The window showed a night sky, which was mildly alarming, because he was pretty sure that he¡¯d seen that happen at least twice since. It was funny, he didn¡¯t actually recall lighting any candles. Or having any candles, really. He glanced at the shelf. Yeap; definitely candles. A few plates, too. He closed his eyes for moment. -- He woke up and it was sunny outside. That was better, he supposed. He took care of his vitals, and constitutionals. A grumbly Brand gave him a greeting as he moved through the first floor, and Charley just waved. Early is bad. Secured back in his second floor hobbit retreat, he blurrily glanced around his domain. It was a mess. Wood shavings were all over the floor, and it smelled majorly of sweat and unnatural fire. Ah well. His eyes lit up, and glanced the fireplace. He licked his lips. ¡°What the hell. Let¡¯s try another hammer.¡± He cracked his hands, and started chipping away merrily. White nebulous energy built up under his fingers. He started sweating, his gut churning. The energy built up, haloing the workshop around him in light. He gritted his teeth and doubled down on the speed his fingers were moving.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The hammer exploded in his hands and the world went white. His clothes were on fire. He beat them against the floor. Wood splinters covered his shirt and hands, not bleeding but soon to be. Waves of light and smoke eddied off his person, and he heard a soft yelp. Charley considered the wall, and the metal hammerhead that was embedded three inches deep, a burnt red from the extra thermic heat the metal was holding. And then considered his life choices. One other thing in the room, too. There was a man holding up a huge black burlap sack, with a full face mask. He dressed in grey colored clothes and if not for the hammer next to his head, Charley didn¡¯t think he would have even noticed them. Which was kind of the point of the outfit, he understood belatedly. Which was weird, because even though the person was short, that was a full sized human with gear. He hoped there was some kind of skill involved, because otherwise that would be deeply embarrassing. Charley cleared his throat, dusty from a lack of use, ¡°Well that was lucky. Sorry about almost hitting you in the face.¡± From the first floor he heard his name being yelled halfheartedly. He ignored it. A rough but surprisingly high pitch voice responded, ¡°No worries. Risks of the profession.¡± They unslung the bag they were carrying and stretched their legs. Charley nodded. ¡°Would you like some tea?¡± The figure stilled in consideration. ¡°Yes.¡± A few minutes later they sat across from each other. Only he was a she, with short red hair and a mad case of freckles. Charley tried not to be distracted by how pretty she was. Charley put it as delicately as he could, ¡°So why are you working a bad mark?¡± The tone was soft, at least. There was a pained sigh from the woman. ¡°For the money.¡± She at least looked chargined at his assessment. Charley was honestly confused. ¡°But it''s clearly a bad gig. I mean, he¡¯s almost broke. Why in the world would you¡­¡± He snapped his fingers, slightly startling his guest. ¡°Oh. Contracted job?¡± Her face was a stone, but the facts spoke fine. ¡°And you don¡¯t know your employer I take it?¡± Charley immediately chuckled, ¡°No, of course not. That would be unprofessional. Pardon the question, you¡¯re my first [Thief] I¡¯ve met.¡± She fanned her teacup. ¡°A gentleman usually introduces himself to a lady, before she asks which employer requested a burglary.¡± He took a half bow, from a seated position, ¡°Charley Peace. May I have something to call you, for ease of mind?¡± No chance he¡¯d get her real name. Probably not even her working handle. She paused for a beat. ¡°Claire. Charmed, Mr. Peace. Without confirming anything you¡¯ve said, I do so adore how very not stupid you seem to be.¡± He cocked an eyebrow. And he didn¡¯t know who her employer was. Ah. Wait. ¡°All the boxes downstairs are from the same supplier.¡± He put two and two together, finally. ¡°The same supplier who ¡®ruined¡¯ a trade deal they were partnered on. And who then hired you after he sold his goods to steal them back. Which would eliminate some local competition, and would perhaps even hold the loss over the [Trader]¡¯s head and get an able employee out of the deal.¡± She slow clapped. ¡°I admit, I¡¯m impressed.¡± She added helpfully, ¡°not by you--you had too many hints. By the other merchant. That¡¯s an inspired trick.¡± She smiled wistfully. Charley smiled, ¡°I agree. He¡¯s making profit on every end of the pie. Why, surely, he must be cutting you in for at least ten percent of the gold from the foreclosure.¡± Claire stopped smiling. ¡°Ah. I have a counter offer for you, then.¡± Charley held eye contact. ¡°All of it.¡± Claire¡¯s smile came back. ¡°Oh, please go on.¡± ¡°Why take a bad payout from a good man, when you can take an unreasonably large payout, from a terrible one?¡± Charley took see her body language respond to that one on a visceral level. They talked details over mint tea. -- Once they had things hammered out, (his brain laughed briefly) Charley posited a followup, ¡°So are jobs like these common?¡± Claire put a finger to her chin, ¡°You mean, working for bad men and getting paid poorly? Yes.¡± She sighed. ¡°Yes, they are. We usually don¡¯t ask the clients many questions, other than the score.¡± Charley felt offense at the world. In his new, adopted town? That¡¯s a hard no. And he had an idea that was only slightly insane. He scrunched up his resolve, ¡°how do I set up a meet with the thieves guild?¡± Claire smiled sardonically. ¡°Charley, you seem like a nice guy. You don¡¯t want to do that. You want to live a happy life, doing...eh¡± She looked around the room, failing to find reason in it¡¯s form, ¡°whatever it is that you do.¡± Charley thought about it. ¡°Claire, I legitimately think we can do better.¡± She looked at him with a madcap grin. ¡°Okay. But if they kill you I¡¯m going to take your stuff. And I¡¯ll be back to steal the rest of your friends things.¡± Charley gulped. But then nodded. ¡°Fair enough, I guess.¡± She tossed an empty black sack to him. For a moment he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°What, right now?¡± ¡°Absolutely. More fun this way.¡± -- It wasn¡¯t. Turns out he got motion sickness by walking with a bag on head. It was one of those details Charley could have gone his whole life without knowing. He made a note. You want to meet the thieves guild, probably plan for a few curve balls. Charley was just incredibly glad he had met them now when he was still poor. It would have been terrible to be visited when his operation was in full swing. He didn¡¯t think the idea he had would play as well, either. He¡¯d been sitting for a while when suddenly the bag was pulled from his face. He was in a room, with dim lighting. Two men sat in front of him, looking for all the world like they were holding court. On further inspection, they seemed to be twins, one wearing a fully white outfit of leather, and the other wearing a black outfit of cotton. Both looked expensive. And more frightening, they weren¡¯t bothering to conceal their faces. It was fine for a street [Thief] to show hers clearly, but it was painfully clear that seeing the upper echelon up close mean that his ticket was already punched. Charley swallowed. You either ride the bull or get off in a body bag, then. He cursed Claire for a moment. He had wanted a meet with someone mid level, not this. Whatever this was. He''d gotten lost in his thoughts again and forgot to ask about the details. He briefly wished himself luck in the next life. It took him several moments. Finally he firmed up his spine. He may be a coward when it came to Kobolds. And Chimera. And sometimes loud noises. Intimidation tactics, however, were old hat. He had gone to *public* school. As a nerd. He also knew you don¡¯t talk first. If you do, they¡¯ll make fun of you, deride you. Make them express interest. The twins were a study in informality. They sat on cushioned back chairs, with extra fluff. The black cotton twin had his legs kicked over one arm of the wood. A few minutes went by where the twins spoke to each other, and occasionally to others outside the circle. Charley expanded his focus away from these magnetic personalities -- realizing it wasn¡¯t an audience. It was an arena. They were in a sunken pit, ringed in every direction by people who had knives and other sharp things strapped to them. The upper areas were dark, concealed from observation. And it looked like there was some stratification -- closer to the twin side of the circle there was a quality increase in the gear. Still, it was welcome sight. If they were elevated, Charley would have worried more for his plan. And the fact that it was a circle, so much the better. He didn¡¯t have to convince the brothers in front of him -- they weren¡¯t royalty. He had to sway a crowd. That changed things in his favor. Finally the twin in white leather knocked a gavel against the side of his chair. The sound carried through the room, ringing in silence. ¡°A stray cat brings in a mouse.¡± It was an obvious clue for him. But it wasn¡¯t a question, so Charley waited. The tension ratcheted up in the room. And waited. Finally the black twin rolled his eyes, ¡°Not that we don¡¯t appreciate guests, but why did you ask to speak with us?¡± He spoke conversationally, without the reserve of his brother. ¡°And make it quick.¡± Charley thought of and discarded a few different openers. ¡°A question. And a job offer. If you¡¯d like to hear it.¡± He could tell they were intrigued. Some people in the circle above leaned closer. Charley was in a play once. In Junior college. It felt a little like this. The knives were plastic in that one, though. The twin in black and cotton gestured onward. Charley nodded. ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°Money.¡± The twin in white leather gestured expansively, including the audience. There was a half-hearted cheer. Charley pressed, ¡°no, really. What?¡± More laughs, and a few catcalls this time. ¡°Money. Really.¡± The black twin added helpfully, ¡°other people¡¯s. Yours, maybe.¡± There were some jeers this time. ¡°Money is a vehicle, which lets you get things.¡± Charley agreed. ¡°I¡¯m asking you; what are you really wanting.¡± Charley took a moment. ¡°What do you want from *your* life?¡± There wasn¡¯t any laughter this time. The circle got quiet for a moment. From the backrow, there was a loud whisper, ¡°Decent score.¡± And another voice, ¡°Challenge.¡± A final one, ¡°Respect.¡± Charley beamed, hearing them. Especially the last. The twins were confused. They wondered seriously if he was addled. It was never good to murder the broken. Bad public image. ¡°Little merchant. Have you come to throw away your life tonight?¡± ¡°Oh, no. I have a job for you. So many jobs.¡± There was an inquisitive silence that met his words. Finally one of the twins laughed, and gestured for the fool to continue. And then he told them about a bounty board. Specifically, places all across the city were the poor could post grievances, against rich and undeserving people who had taken advantage of workers, the sick, the lower castes. He told them the story of robin hood. And he could see in the eyes of the people around the circle start to light up with something new. And then he told them about how much workers like these usually knew about where the gold was kept. He almost had them. Challenge, money. He closed his pitch. ¡°You work a normal job, the employer wants something, you want something. But then the employer takes the lion¡¯s share of the take and you get a pittance and you¡¯re a plague on the city. .¡± He saw nods on some of the faces. ¡°You take everything from a man who beats his workers and steals their wages, you¡¯re something else.¡± He paused for a moment, scanned the crowd one last time. ¡°Untouchable.¡± You could hear a pin drop. Charley carried through, ¡°suddenly, the guard doesn¡¯t want to investigate so much. Instead of people flipping on your guild, they¡¯re handing you scores -- for free. And the nobles don¡¯t want to aggravate their citizens, so they¡¯ll ignore you." Charley could tell he hadn¡¯t sold the twins, but they seemed penseve. Ah, well. The twin in black pipped up, ¡°your ideas are interesting. Naive. Childish, if I¡¯m being honest.¡± There were some scattered laughs at that one, but not many. The majority of the circle kept quiet, casting their vote with silence. Finally the twin in white leather admitted through a false smile, ¡°but you may have some merit.¡± Baby steps, he reminded himself. Charley shrugged, ¡°Try it for a week. If it doesn¡¯t work out, you can always kill me and take my friends¡¯ stuff later.¡± The circle broke out in laughter, dispelling the tension it had kept through the exchange. The girm vibe in the air scattered, and a few people broke out bottles. The twins managed to look at least somewhat offended. ¡°We¡¯ve [Thieves]. Not murderers.¡± Charley didn¡¯t call out the obvious. He just wanted to make it out of the door alive. He had to admit that this entire thing had gotten away from him. The twin in white leather signalled to someone behind him, and the bag went back over his head. --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 4 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 3. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] Runes known: Origin. Flow. Sundering.
Chapter 10: Ava Maria Absentmindedly he begin cutting up his ruined shirt into strips. His only shirt, he suddenly realized mournfully. It had been a long night, convincing the thieves guild not to murder him and beggar his friend. And all while bleeding and covered in wood splinters. He had crashed immediately when he¡¯d gotten home. Huh. That was the first time he had called the shop home, too. Funny how fast being threatened did that. More first aid was called for. And he was dying for a sandwich. -- Some odd hours later, he had cleaned himself and his space up. It had been a glorious mess, he realized belatedly. When he got deep into his creative sparks, it was like the entire world went on mute. He wasn''t naive. He had always been a ¡®forest for the trees¡¯ kind of guy. But this was beyond spectrum behavior for him. Clearly he needed someone to help him out in the ¡®staying alive¡¯ department. The skill he had gained was strong, beautiful in its simplicity. And powerful. But it was also dangerous. It was time to be a better keeper for himself. Or you know. Hire one. As he wandered down the stairs, he spotted Brand behind his desk. ¡°Hey, ¡®boss.¡¯¡± Always good to start off on a happy note. ¡°Don¡¯t hey me, you fucking zombie.¡± Brand stuck a finger in his face. ¡°Did you come down here in one of your fits, and disorganize my goods?¡± ¡°Ah, no. That was probably Claire. She was trying to steal some things from you.¡± ¡°...¡± Brand gapped. Charley filled him in. -- ¡°That tratorious fucking Troll testicle!¡± Brand was happier than Charley had seen him get, ever. He was on the edge between hysteria and sobbing, ¡°I knew I wasn¡¯t a bad [Trader]. I knew it!¡± Charley patted him on the back. ¡°It¡¯s worse when friends do it. You have every right to be mad.¡± He offered solace in the form of revenge, ¡°but now you know there¡¯s a commissioned [Thief] who¡¯s going to rob him blind.¡± Brand nodded forcefully, a brittle smile on his cheeks, ¡°There¡¯s that.¡± The smile left, ¡°Charley. Are you a fucking idiot?¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°What you did at the meeting. The thieves guild aren¡¯t going to change -- they operate the way they do for a reason. Low profile. You basically just asked them to commit suicide.¡± Charley nodded ¡°That¡¯s the best case scenario, but it wouldn¡¯t happen. Incredibly outside chance.¡± Brand hesitated. ¡°You want that.¡± ¡°I want them to never fuck with you, me, or someone I love. If their building went up in a structure fire, I wouldn¡¯t call the fire department.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a brigade.¡± Brand corrected. ¡°So why go into the maw? You already struck a deal for us.¡± He offered a contrite apology, ¡°Thank you for that, by the way.¡± Charley waved it off. He looked seriously at his new friend. ¡°The man from the story I told? Robin Hood was an outlaw and a terrorist. Do you know how the story ends?¡± He smiled sadly, ¡°He died. They strung him up and he became a legend people retold with happier endings. I¡¯m not a fool, Brand.¡± Brand pressed him, ¡°So, why the meeting?¡± Charley sighed. ¡°I wanted to understand the enemy. Maybe offer them something more. Plant a seed.¡± Brand massaged his temples. ¡°And for that, you wanted to immediately get yourself *and my business* as far into the shit as possible? Not ask around, maybe. Do some homework. Ask me about it.¡± The statements poured out, one after the other. Charley paled a little, ¡°Hey, I thought I was going to have a chill meeting with some middle management schmuck, not sit with my toes in a bonfire. I was trying to give them a reason to let me walk out of the room!¡± He added guiltily, ¡°and maybe I got a little carried away once I saw the audience.¡± They both stared at each other for a moment. Brand slammed the point home, ¡°I¡¯m glad you made it out. But you put more than just yourself at risk. And that was stupid. Do it again, and you¡¯re out of my building.¡± Charley wilted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Brand sighed again. ¡°So what happens next?¡± ¡°Hopefully nothing.¡± Charley shuddered. ¡°Two outcomes; they don¡¯t take the suggestions, and that¡¯s great. The..¡± Charley got evasive for a moment. He hadn¡¯t told Brand about the twins existence, and wasn¡¯t going to spread that any farther than he had too. He liked breathing. ¡°..second option is that someone low level in the guild posts a bounty board. Probably against orders -- upper echelon wasn¡¯t buying what I was selling. And then the shit hits the fan, and I don¡¯t know what comes next. We see what happens with our local Thieves guild.¡± Brand took it in. ¡°You have the weirdest idioms.¡± They sat in a comfortable silence. A few moments later, Brand seemed to lighten up. ¡°I¡¯m not force feeding you again. Or taking out your chamber pot.¡± His nose wrinkled. Charley sighed, ¡°Yeah, I had some thoughts about tha-¡± Brand cut him off, ¡°don¡¯t care, already hired someone.¡± Charley blinked. Brand pointed behind his desk to an open door. Charley didn¡¯t see anything. Brand raised a finger, and pointed farther down at an angle. There looked to be a twelve year old girl quietly threading and working some patchwork repairs to a shirt. But her eyes were up and on the two talking about her. ¡°That¡¯s Maria. Be nice or I¡¯ll cut your throat and save the guild some trouble.¡± And he meant it. He followed, ¡°that¡¯s my niece.¡± Charley didn¡¯t show any recognition. ¡°Ander¡¯s kid.¡± She was Button nosed with sharp brown eyes. She had a single well kept braid of dirty blonde hair. Charley smiled wide and started walking around the counter, ignoring Brand¡¯s death glare. He sat down in front of the girl. ¡°Hi, Maria. Nice to meet you. I¡¯m Charley. Charley Peace.¡± He didn¡¯t offer his hand, unwilling to interrupt honest work. Unlike Brand, he thought darkly. She nodded, staring at his face. ¡°You¡¯re the idiot dad found in the woods.¡± Charley didn¡¯t break his smile. Hard to argue with the truth. She had the look of a person taking the world in, and finding its measure. Charley liked her already. Maria nodded at his reaction, satisfied, ¡°he told me I should do my best to keep you alive, but that it was okay if you died.¡± Charley let a full belly laugh. Sweet children. Absolutely no fucks given. ¡°What else did your father tell you?¡± Maria closed one eye, and put a hand to her chin, ¡°Not to touch anything sharp.¡± Charley kept laughing. When he could get enough air in his lungs, he offered, ¡°Welcome to the Team. What¡¯s a good wage?¡± Brand offered from the other room, ¡°I¡¯m already paying her a straight salary. From your cut.¡± Charley nodded. He called back out, ¡°great. Double it.¡± Maria let out a beatific smile. Brand called back, ¡°you don¡¯t even know how much i¡¯m paying her!¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Charley gazed back at Maria seriously, ¡°It¡¯s a high risk job. Also how much of that did you hear?¡± Maria responded very seriously, ¡°all of it.¡± Charley winced. ¡°Any chance you don¡¯t tell your dad any of this?¡± She let out of a coy smile, ¡°tell him what?¡± ¡°Blessed child.¡± -- Charley showed her the workshop and she immediately made herself busy. He enjoyed how quiet she seemed to be. But that wasn¡¯t quite right. He enjoyed how *self contained* she was. She¡¯d be a good assistant. He approached the table and it¡¯s neigh-finished handsaw. He had left the project with the runes inscribed, laying on the cusp of completion. All she needed was for the final lynchpin to fall in line, sealing in the magic. It was a heady sensation. What do you name a blade that can only scare one thing? He gripped the handle purposefully. ¡°Scarecrow.¡± It took with a visible jerk, a brief vibration running through the wood and into his palm. [Scarecrow. Runes: Origin, Sundering. Cuts through wood as water]. It¡¯s dark handle was simple, the blade was thin and plain. The inscription wrapped from one side of the blade to the other, following the tang towards the grip. It was beautiful. God willing, it might even make him some money. He felt a pang of loss as he thought about how much he would love a saw like this. Another time. He was very aware of his debts in this moment. And lack of wardbroade. And disgusting sandals. It also put into relief how woefully inadequate he was in the personal ¡®don¡¯t die¡¯ category of things. If a single goblin had come into that house he had been staying it, that would have been the end of him. It was another feather in the long line of embarrassing things to have happened. This world was frustrating. New, beautiful, but also deadly. His descent into the guild had cemented it for him. He needed a weapon. But he wasn¡¯t going to go off half cocked. No. He was going to talk to a professional. He thought back to a particularly tall, and admittedly beautiful, [Sergeant]. ¡°Soon.¡± He promised himself. Maria looked up from the other side of the workshop in inquiry. Charley chuckled to himself, ¡°Here. Can you take this down to Brand, please?¡± He casually tossed the enchanted prototype to her as she got closer. As soon as she held it her eyes widened in horror. It just made him laugh more. Good times. She practically ran down the stairs. Charley got busy with the magic. -- There were two priorities in store, he figured. Now that he had a prototype that worked, he could churn out at least a few to offset his horrible poverty. He had tasked Maria to interrupt him if it had been a full twenty four hours or it looked like he was at a good spotting point. That was important to get a baseline on how long it would actually take to churn one of these things out. He still honestly had no idea. Between the experimentation and failed attempts, he hadn¡¯t taken good measurement. He still have six saws in his box, so there wasn¡¯t a danger of running out. He pat Fiona on his toolbelt thoughtfully. The second priority was experimentation. And for that, he needed to talk to [Sergeant] Mellis of the wall. And it would be nice to get some tips about personal defense. And get a stronger bead about leveled. Charley sighed. There was a whole world of things he didn¡¯t know about, and it was time to start plugging some of those holes. Soon. He cracked a smile. After he made with the magic. [Nimble Hands] holding a chisel and hammer to his next victim, and sunk into his [Meditative Focus]. It felt a little bit easier than it did before. Not much more, but it was like he was on familiar ground when before he was blindfolded on an ice flow. The first rune went on, Origin. It felt good, and briefly came out for air, despite his desire to keep going. Once he got started, it was almost like the runes themselves wanted to be finished. The more he stared at them, the more he was coming around to the idea that the runes weren¡¯t just single word forms. They were a language, and when combined they formed structured--well, sentences weren¡¯t the right word, because they didn¡¯t have connective conjunctions or pronouns. At least, that he could tell. It was too soon to rule these things out. Still, leaving something half formed wasn¡¯t horrible. It Just left him with the feeling of vague unease. Like he was writing a letter and stopped halfway through a sentence. He almost didn¡¯t spot Maria in the corner of the room, then realized he had a tall glass of water near to hand. He smiled. ¡°How long was I under?¡± She sniffed, not bothering to put aside her needlework. ¡°Four hours.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± He cracked his back. After tending to his body and needs for a moment, he dropped back into his [Meditative Focus]. What a godsend that was for late nights. He was specifically trying to hold onto the sense of time and complexity, this time. He didn¡¯t want to lose himself completely in the project. He delicately began chiselling the second rune, Sundering. This was more complex than the first rune, certainly. There was a connection that had to happen between the two runes, they couldn¡¯t just start completely apart from each other. One bled into the next. The connection process was all. Linking the flow between one rune and its conclusion, making the chain between them stable and strong. Going slow like this on a rune was almost agonizing, but Charley persisted. He didn¡¯t want to just rush to its conclusion. He wanted to feel the process as it was unfolding behind his fingers. He realized something on a deeper level. The rune for Sundering was not an easy one. It used more shapes, and more lines, and was easily three or four times more advanced than Origin. Raw joy flooded through his body.
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 5!
Skill: [Passive: Deep Intuition] gained! [Passive: Deep Intuition] The world is filled with information that can be read, deciphered, and felt. Allows one to tap into the feed. Ability works better with less concentration.
He was absolutely sure he wouldn¡¯t have figured that one out if he didn¡¯t have Fiona in his hands, helping the process and guiding..whatever it was that she did. Charley sighed to himself mentally and put it on the list of stuff he didn¡¯t know. It was a long list. The feeling of mana uncurling in his chest..no, it was lower than that. It was closer to his solar plexus. That felt more right. He needed that feeling. And needed to get stronger. Time for a trip to the wall. [Deep intuition] was a glorious ability. Truly and utterly it was exactly what he needed to shore up the whole ¡®natural¡¯ part of his [Natural Inscriptionist] racket. It was also suspicious. It really cast a light on his last few abilities. ¡°Are the abilities we get tied to our class, or is it an expression of what we need to thrive and more greatly tied to our desire?¡± Charley muddled out loud. ¡°Yes.¡± Maria calmly answered from the corner. Charley blinked and fluttered his lashes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I completely forgot that you were there.¡± ¡°I figured.¡± She mock frowned at him. He put his hands up in surrender. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a criticism! It¡¯s actually kind of amazing for keeping me focused.¡± He chuckled to himself. That and a crazy skill set. Maria started spooling up her threads and packing away her needles. ¡°Brand wanted to talk to you when you got back into it. And it was about sixteen hours.¡± Charley raised his eyebrows. Oh, wow. He knew it had been longer, now the question was if it was the complexity of the rune he had chosen. Or was there some type sliding upward scale of difficulty based on how many runes needed to be added together? He blew air between his teeth. There was always the possibility that it could be both. And if the complexity increased at a steady constant time, like a straight line on a graph. Big O of (n). Or if he was unlucky and there was a logarithmic increase, and the time squared or worse after each rune. Big O of (n^n). Hell. Who was he kidding. He was never very lucky. Certainly there was a lack of experience working against him. He made a note to ask what levels people typically were, and where he was when he compared himself against others. He was absolutely dying to talk to another [Enchanter]. He practically salivated at the thought. He added it to the list, and went to talk to Brand. Charley took the time to write an actual list before he left the workshop. No more of this disorganization. List of priorities: Cashflow. More shirts. Defense - more than zero. Learn how to level more effectively. Hunt down an [Enchanter] and squeeze him for information. -- ¡°You put SUNDERING on a freaking SAW! REALLY?¡± Brand was beyond incredulous. He was livid. ¡°An enchantment that adventurer¡¯s would LITERALLY kill for? Pay through the nose for? And yet, you made something for a construction worker.¡± They were downstairs in the store, Maria having gone home with a wave. Charley couldn¡¯t help it. He smiled. A blood vessel pulsed visibly on Brand¡¯s forehead. ¡°Yes, Brand. Really.¡± He gave it a beat. ¡°On something that no one else is bothering to enchant. No guilds have ever even seen something like this, I¡¯d wager.¡± Brand paused, suspicious. He wasn¡¯t ready to cut his tirade, but he motioned to continue. Charley sighed. ¡°Think about it. You saw those construction sites we passed. Splitting the logs and setting them to size was backbreaking labor, probably the biggest bottleneck in the process.¡± Brand frowned at that one, and Charley switched arguments. ¡°Look, how many days do you think it¡¯ll take to lay the wood for that guildhall?¡± Brand snorted, ¡°months.¡± Charley nodded forcefully, ¡°Right, months. And that¡¯s months of lost potential profit. What¡¯s that worth to the cotton guild?¡± Charley could see Brand working the numbers but he didn¡¯t let up, ¡°you also have to pay those *skilled* laborers wages the entire time. How much do they get paid?¡± Brand was experiencing a transformation, avarice pouring through his features. ¡°Two silver, a day. More if they are guilded. A project that size has a team of at least ten, give or take. Not counting unskilled labor.¡± Charley quipped, ¡°And how else are we going to get me my gods damned hot tub?¡± Brand said, ¡°What?¡± ¡°What?¡± Charley returned, unperturbed. ¡°Ignore that last one.¡± Brand was getting excited now, ¡°Twenty silver for a skilled crew, a day, sixty gold for a month.¡± He started counting with his fingers. ¡°The cotton guilds must clear at least fifty gold in the same window. Double both then add them. 220 gold for a two month project, and that¡¯s a conservative estimate for good weather. Wow.¡± ¡°And just think about how much the guild pay if their people could suddenly be free to work on the *next* project, even if we only saved them a month. But it''s not just a month, is it? It¡¯s a tool they get to use a lifetime.¡± Charley flared his hand, examining his fingernails in consideration. ¡°How much would an adventurer pay for a sword?¡± Brand¡¯s grin went feral. ¡°Less.¡± He grabbed the tool firmly in both hands. ¡°It''s not break-the-bank less. But it¡¯s a market no one else is working in.¡± He tapped the tang of the blade. ¡°Saw¡¯s, then.¡± ¡°I guess ¡®saw¡¯s¡¯.¡± Charley quipped. Brand paused, closing his eyes. ¡°I hate you.¡± Charley wisely nodded, ¡°But you love money.¡± Brand left with his prize, mollified. Charley didn¡¯t mention that the market would adjust and likely go down soon enough after they sold a few. Best not to break the man. He went off to search for a particular guards-woman. --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 5 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 3. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] [Passive: Deep Intuition] Runes known: Origin. Flow. Sundering.
Chapter 11: A Better Medium It was past time to learn some new runes. No more shooting in the dark with it, either. He had a plan and he was going to invest solidly in working smart. Let the other sucker¡¯s beat their head against a wall. Charley was going to use a sledgehammer. ¡°Metaphorically speaking,¡± he muttered. He had gone to the courtyard where they had found the guardswoman. No dice. Finally hunting down the guard¡¯s headquarters, he was informed his [Sergeant] was working the west wall, and during the night shift. Not for the first time, Charley scowled at the sun shining above him. Annoying. He had wanted to ask critical questions in the pursuit of an idea about the ballista on the wall, that seemed rune worthy. He stalked back to the relative safety of his workshop. All last night and through the morning he had struggled with what he remembered from his world about magic. The thing was, runes weren¡¯t random. They were expressions of the natural world. There had to be rules. There was one book in particular that he couldn''t even remember the name of, but it jarred his recognition something fierce. It was funny how some seemingly critical details escaped but you could remember something silly like a rule of magic in a story. He guessed that it was because the rule kind of rolled off the tongue. The shorter and more elegant the rule the better. Like energy equals mass times a constant, squared. The one he remembered was good, too. As above so below. Slipping up the stairs when Brand was busy with a customer, he found Maria gone and an unfamiliar sack on his table, with a note. He thanked the gods again that his native tongue was translatable enough to the local linguistics that he could make out the letters. He suspected that that particular mystery was deeper than the surface. Clearly where he was now, Oak, was somehow tied to Earth. That rule of magic came back to him now, the principle of sympathy. Maybe the reason it had been so taxing to generate the sundering rune was that he was working in the wrong medium. Like calls to like, easing it''s path. He was a big fan of easy. Ah well. Charley did his best to focus on what was right in front of his face, something that he was unfortunately bad at. Historically at least. Gold and silver coins spilled out from the small sack when he poked at it. He blinked owlishly. Maybe he could get better at that whole what¡¯s-in-front-of-his-face thing. The note read, ¡®Don¡¯t spend it all in one place.¡¯ and gave an inventoried account: 29 gold. 13 silver. 6 copper. Charley broke out in smiles. Who needed a [Sergeant]. It was time to hit the market and buy toys so he could *experiment*. Try out that whole sympathy thing. Probably spend it all in one place. Two, max. For science! -- Finding the market was as easy as stepping out his door and wandering down the cobbled street. Chimera was laid out in a grid pattern, which made it easy to tell the cardinal directions. Except that everyone said, ¡°churchward¡± for east, since that was where you could always see the steeple from any part of town. It did make orienting easier. And more than anything, this town was a dream come true for [Trader]¡¯s. It was between Trist, the capital of this area, and some other people called the Crakatoa to the east. Brand had dropped that one on him when he was pumping him for geographical knowledge. And to the south flowed the Yuto, which connected to a major city and the coast. Three points of trade, and everyone met in Chimera. He passed by the more orderly streets of established crafters, barely giving them a glance. Blacksmiths, a goldsmith, furriers, weavers, coopers, and a chandler. Normally he¡¯d feel called to stop at one of these locations. They were definitely on the list, but not today. The high tents of the goblin market shone with afternoon dew, and Charley bobbed and weaved out of foot traffic. It was just as riotous in the afternoon as it was at night. Charley was looking for something very particular in this market. Inspiration. He stepped into the temporary city and it was like being swallowed by a giant. The sky closed off almost instantly, the signs and close tents cutting off view. As he went deeper into the press, even the temperature rose. He kept his eyes open, looking at the strange goods for sale. Here, an exotic fur trader from the north. There, a magic candle shop. Interesting, but not quite right. Silks, spices, fruits and vegetables. He picked up a new cloak deep blue cloak, a few shirts and pants, and a pair of soft knee high boots. The boots were hideously expensive, truth be told. But they were made from matted gray sealskin, waterproof, and had fox fur lining. The trader he bought them from even offered to burn his goblin sandals! Charley teared up a little when he slipped them on. Best two gold he had ever spent. He spent an hour threading past various tents, without success. Albeit an entirely easier walk. He stopped for a moment, and purchased some very tasty smoked fish on a stick. He didn¡¯t ask what kind, and was pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t know the difference anyway. Okay, maybe he was going about the problem the wrong way, expecting a solution to come to him, he had, truth been told, been trying to see if he could trigger his [Deep Intuition]. Flip the problem. ¡°What¡¯s the main bottleneck in inscription?¡± He muttered to himself. A man with the look of a sailor stared at him oddly in passing as Charley prognosticated. Inscription was slow. It took almost a day to make a second rune on an object. Hours to make the first. And Charlie was not ready to just put his head down and grind that inefficiently. For god sakes, he was trying to be lazy. That wasn''t how lazy ''do''. He chewed on his seared fish and the problem at the same time. The goal wasn¡¯t to spend days working on a single project. The goal was discovery above creation for this step. And working in a softer and more forgiving medium that took hours instead of days. Ah. As soon as he named the problem, he felt his [Deep Intuition] finally fire. It was like Deja Vu herself came and pushed his face into the cake called, ¡®look here, stupid.¡¯ He was going to make the thing that turned academia into a powerhouse -- capable of separating generations from their money. That made professors feared and perhaps hated by students around his world.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Charley was going to make chalk. He started walking purposefully forward. -- Turns out, medieval didn¡¯t equal backwards. A whole bunch of tents had all types of chalk for sale. Pigments, paints. They had mineral based powders, flora, and even grinded bone. There were resins, oils, acrylics, and charcoals. So much for unpowered technology being conquered in a day. Charley fingered a bowl of bone powder, impressed. He called the stall attendant over, ¡°Hey there. Do you think you could point me in the direction of something a little more..exotic?¡± The attendant gave him directions. -- Five minutes later, Charley sighed dramatically. The stall board had a picture of a monster etched into it, with the panel underneath stating, ¡®Anya¡¯s Exotic Ingredients¡¯. The attendant had been very...direct in answering Charley¡¯s request. The tent had no wares hung outside, only two folded cloth panels pulled open to let in some light. Charley stepped forward. The shop was orderly, and clean. There were three large slanted wood display cases, with medium to small white pouches and neat writing next to each. There was also a large cabinet in the back corner with many drawers. And there was a human sized monster sitting casually behind the central display. Panic shot through Charley and before he could stop himself a small ¡°Meewwwwwwww!¡± escaped. It was a crow. It was a human sized, four fingered and bipedal crow with fully black eyes and a wickedly sharp beak. Wearing a short hooded robe that had been tied off at both backward bending knees, its long taloned feet exposed. It let out three deep and throated rumbles. Like the way an engine would start. Nothing else happened. After a moment, Charley belatedly realized that it was laughing at him. And that he had backed himself against the wall. He cleared his throat and tried to recapture his dignity. ¡°Ahem. Hello?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be too embarrassed, sometimes people fall over the first time they meet one of the People.¡± It was a *her*, Charley realized. Her voice was dulcet, and her vocal range was impressive even to Charley¡¯s undeveloped ear. It was like she was an Opera singer. Made sense. She was a bird. Birdish. Whatever. Charley realized it had been a moment since he had said anything. ¡°I¡¯m deeply sorry for my reaction. You¡¯re actually the second non-human race I¡¯ve seen. First I¡¯ve spoken to.¡± She tucked her head in a bow, and her beak dipped almost to her chest. Surreal. ¡°What can I do for you?¡± Her fingers seemed to twitch at that, the meaning not lost across species. ¡°Charley Peace. I¡¯m looking for bones to make chalk.¡± He stuck his hand out, guessing at her restrained reaction. She took it up delicately in her own, ¡°Anya of the White. And you¡¯re in the right spot for bones, yes.¡± That odd vibrating chuckle, again. ¡°This one is a [Sourcing Alchemist].¡± Charley had a blank look on his face. More laughter. ¡°This one collects and sources rare ingredients, bringing out their full range of properties.¡± ¡°Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Cool!¡± Charley finally got it. ¡°You bring out the magic in things.¡± Anya tilted her head in a quick gesture, twice. ¡°All manner of bone, here, Charley of Peace.¡± And then her beak opened apart in a slow unreadable expression. ¡°Perhaps if you tell this one what you want to use it for..?¡± Charley tapped his cheek. ¡°I¡¯m looking for something small, perhaps thin. With regenerative properties.¡± She moved fluidly to the cabinet behind her, pulling out two parcels. ¡°From the swamps,¡± she placed a bag on the counter before her, unwrapping it carefully, ¡°a juvenile hydra.¡± It was flat and wide, with a serrated top. Seeing Charley scowl, she placed the second parcel. ¡°From the north. A small Troll.¡± It was an eye tooth, half a hand long, and green. Charley smiled. ¡°She¡¯ll do.¡± Anya tilted her head again, ¡°Please feel free not to answer, but out of curiosity, what are you making?¡± He beamed, ¡°I *adore* shoptalk. I¡¯m in need of something to help me enchant faster, try new things without working my runes in metal.¡± Anya made a horrible croaking sound and froze, ¡°What is your class?¡± Charley worried for a moment, ¡°[Natural Inscriptionist]. Is there a problem?¡± She made an interesting shape with her hands, patting the air smooth in front of her with flared fingers, like wings. ¡°Forgiveness. There is of course no problem. It is only rare that a human inscribes.¡± She paused. ¡°May this one ask what language he draws?¡± He nodded, ¡°Corvus--¡± Ah. He caught himself too late on the word. And there was the connection he hadn¡¯t made. The latin genus for the crow family. ¡°Enca.¡± He finished lamely. The female Crakatoa, because she couldn¡¯t be anything else at this point, bowed low. ¡°This one greets a speaker. Forgiveness, she did not think Chimera had any speakers of the old words.¡± Charley shuffled nervously, ¡°I hope that this isn¡¯t something ominous or verboten outside your culture. I came to it honestly, from studying the natural world. Scout¡¯s Honor.¡± He held up a palm over his heart. Anya gave a heartfelt smile at him. ¡°You may rest easy, Charley of Peace; speaker. The words only come to those in this way. It is-¡± She paused, making several tentative clicking sounds. ¡°A joyous day when another speaker joins the choir. This one celebrates with you.¡± Charley nodded, relieved. At least he hadn¡¯t accidently pissed off a section of the populace. Again. ¡°Glad to hear it. How much for the Troll tooth?¡± Anya held up a feathered palm, a clear no. ¡°A gift.¡± He let out a delighted chuckle, ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll have to come back and give you some repeat business.¡± The Crakatoa nodded seriously, ¡°Please. And perhaps show this one how the experiment goes.¡± Charley left with a thank you and his loot, whistling. As he left, Anya quickly wrote a note in hastened script from a quill in her robe, then stepped into her back room. There a bronze cage held several sleeping pigeons. She removed the first to the door, making gentle sounds at the beast. Attaching the note securely, she stepped to the front of her tent and whispered to it for a moment. Then she let it fly. -- Charley was ecstatic. He hummed to himself while rubbing the piping of his new cloak, secure in his second story workshop. His boots were kicked off in the corner, and his Troll tooth before him on a simple cloth. It was time. His fingers itched from the anticipation. The first thing he did was split the eyetooth into three equal pieces. Each one about two inches long, which meant room for about three runes. Once he had the pieces sanded down on the edges, he blunted one side, carefully shaping a soft point on one end that he could rub against a surface without damage, leaving it unsanded and heavy with bonechalk. He¡¯d have three tries at this. Good enough. At the beginning of a yoga class, Charley recalled, you set an intention for your practice. That intention was the most important part of the experience. Everything else flowed from that. And the intention of a troll tooth was to regenerate and grow. Regeneration from the trolls natural ability. And on mammals the eye teeth would grow throughout its life. Forever. If he had had a hard time learning a rune for sundering from simple trial and error, well. Charley was going to stack the odds horribly in his favor. He clicked his [Meditative Focus] on and started carving on the first tooth. Carving on bone wasn¡¯t as hard as iron -- it had a spongy give to the enamel. He left his hands go, carving out Origin first, and then Flow in a shorter period of time. He physically felt the difference in his core, as well. This object didn¡¯t need nearly any mana invested to bring its properties forward. Charley said a little prayer to Anya. Having two runes on his target, he kept his mind blank. He let his hands just move in whatever direction they wished. Letting his trusty chisel tap little pieces off the material. It came out wrong. Undirected. Alright then. He picked up the second piece. If undirected was the wrong way to go, he¡¯d set an intention. He redrew Origin. And then Flow. He paused for a moment, considering. Dimly, he felt soft hands tilt his head back and pour water into him, and he smiled absently. That was nice. He set his intention: regeneration. His hands moved, and kept shaving bone flakes from the structure. Curving lines, flowering. It started smoking, angry violet energies flicking immediately across its surface. Charley carefully put that one down, far away on a shelf. No more explosions, thank you. He picked up his third piece and considered the problem. He drew the rune for Origin and tried to clear is mind. Thoughts came and went, as he considered and then rejected various ideas. He drew the rune for Flow and then paused again. ¡°I¡¯m thinking too much here.¡± Sometimes more thinking was bad. He took a break, coming out of the trance. Only some mild tiredness hit him, and he took care of some of his bodies needs. It didn¡¯t even feel that late, which was surprising. So many benefits to using an [Sourcing Alchemist]. But he still needed to clear his mind. So he dropped to the floor and flowed into his yoga practice. An hour later, his mind was still. He sank gratefully to his knees, resting his hands palms up on them. Then he gently engaged his [Meditative Focus]. And he just breathed. An indeterminate amount of minutes later, his [Deep Intuition] fired for the second time. Ah. Regeneration? What was that! Some bullshit X-man power that a comic book writer had made up. No. Trolls didn¡¯t ¡®regenerate.¡¯ That would be as ridiculous as saying that owls could fly because they had the power of anti-gravity. They had a plan inside themselves, encoded in the building blocks of life that nature set for them. They didn¡¯t regenerate -- that was a man-made word describing an action more inherent and *deeper*. They Grew. ¡°Growth¡± Charley whispered.
Rune learned: Growth!
He picked up Fiona, and together they chiselled flowing double helixes.
[Corvus Enca] reached level 4!
He felt light throughout his bones, and basked for a moment in the sensation. That was the good stuff. In this moment, all that prep work was totally worth it. He looked down at his creation and gave it a name, ¡°Cheshire.¡± [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] This one was going to make grinding worthwhile. So much win. --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 5 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 4. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] [Passive: Deep Intuition] Runes known: Origin. Flow. Sundering. Growth. Objects in toolbelt: Chisel [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes]. Chalk [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.]
Chapter 12: Dark days. He covered the workshop walls in attempts. The walls reflected and glittered from the bone-white chalk. Loops, slants, and briefly a mad game of tic-tac-toe. He wanted to capture something dead simple: Light. Intention was clearly an important part of the process -- holding an image of what you wanted from the world. And knowledge of the background processes surely helped. Immensely. He had never been grateful for the biology course he¡¯d taken until this exact moment. Discovering new runes was harder without his chisel, he admitted. But he was averaging twenty times the number of attempts. With his [Meditative Focus] on, it was so *easy.* When he ran out of wall room he covered the shelves. He found himself drawing one on Maria, when she gently but firmly directed his instrument towards the table. Okay apparently light wasn¡¯t that simple. Which made sense. Isaac Newton thought that light was originally tiny particles. A Dutch physicist thought it was a vibrating wave. But Charley knew what light really was, because his teacher Dr. Straus drilled it into his head when he got it wrong on a test. It was two waves. An electric wave, bridged with a magnetic one. Bouncing off each other in a regenerative, recursive cycle the length of an E coli bacterium. The shorter the wave, the more damaging, like ultraviolet. Too long of a wave, and you get something like radio. Charley licked his lips for a moment, judging how short he should make an example. He eventually shrugged, and jumped into it. He made a longer, slopping series of waves crashing into each other, perfectly balanced in their clash apart, and falling back into one another again. And that feeling kicked him in the happyplace.
Rune learned: Light!
The symbol of two perfect complimentary waves was burning a viridian green, throwing shadows crazily through the space. For a moment, it was like a searchlight, blinding him. Gradually, because the rune hadn¡¯t been connected to any powersource and just stood alone, its flare burned down to a lazy ember. Then it faded entirely. Interestingly, he didn¡¯t gain a level in his [Corvus Enca], but that didn¡¯t seem to matter. It still felt amazing to learn a new rune. What was interesting, was that there was no drop off to the sensation. He figured level one was a huge mind-gasim. But even when he learned runes it left him giddy. Rehab clinics were in his future. Ah, well. There was definitely a drop off in his skill gain, though. He couldn¡¯t count on a level per rune anymore in all probability. That was fine. Grinding with chalk was so much faster. A youthful voice commented, ¡°That was so beastly.¡± Maria stood over his shoulder. Charley chuckled, and fell out of his meditative state. He twirled Cheshire on his fingers, and had a strong desire for sandwiches. It really was. -- He took a break and went down the stairs to check on Brand. He gave Maria a guilty look and asked her to clean up the walls. She scowled at him but he beat an exit before she could argue. Downstairs he saw Brand talking to someone familiar. Charley¡¯s entire demeanor lit up, ¡°Anders! When did you blow in?¡± The [Merchant] smiled as he turned around, ¡°Ho, what¡¯s this? Can¡¯t be anyone I know. He shaved, even.¡± He frowned for a moment. ¡°What¡¯s with the sunburn, lad?¡± Charley gave himself a once over. It was true; with the new clothes and steady meals he looked nothing like how the [Merchant] had found him. ¡°Just the same orphan you found in the woods, I¡¯m afraid. My new ¡®master¡¯ keeps me on a short chain.¡± He ignored the sudden skin cancer part. Brand rolled his eyes behind the counter, ¡°quiet, slave, or I¡¯ll have Maria beat you. Again.¡± Ander¡¯s chortled, and slapped both his hands down on Charley¡¯s shoulders. Taking his measure, he asked, ¡°What level are you now, boy?¡± Charley¡¯s grin was feral, ¡°Five.¡± Brand offered up, ¡°tell him your crafting level, he means.¡± Ander¡¯s let out a half grin, ¡°Both, really.¡± ¡°Four in my runic language.¡± The two merchantmen grimaced, and Charley felt the need to defend his progress, ¡°and it¡¯s going to get faster now that I have this.¡± He held up his chalk. [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] They made appreciative sounds, fighting each other to try it out on the countertop. The most interesting effect was that the runes glowed with a soft blue light for a moment, like an after image, or phosphorescent algae. Charley inquired, ¡°what level are you two?¡± ¡°Twenty-six,¡± Anders stated directly. ¡°And twenty in my [Bargain].¡± ¡°Seventeen,¡± Brand smirked. ¡°Eighteen in my [Negotiation].¡± Charley felt his heart drop a little. ¡°And those are...average...for your ages?¡± Anders said bluntly, ¡°Yes. But this is our only class. I¡¯m sure you have a secondary one.¡± Both of the craftsmen laughed between themselves for a moment. Charley didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°You..do have a second class, right?¡± Brand inquired. ¡°Ah. No.¡± Charley shrugged helplessly. ¡°But..¡± Brand asked perplexedly, ¡°how did you *not* level something for so many years?¡± Ander¡¯s slapped his hand down on the counter lightly, ¡°Magic isn¡¯t a straight path, my crooked cousin. Who knows what kind of curve a class like that has. Plus, remember how long it took you to balance your ledger?¡± Brand blushed, then made a one fingered gesture, and Ander¡¯s turned back to Charley while pretending not to see it. ¡°Magical apprenticeships always last a while. How long was yours?¡± He asked seriously. Charley counted in his head. Twelve years of primary school, two years of junior college. ¡°Fourteen years.¡± ¡°Ew.¡± Brand¡¯s eyes became huge at the thought. Ander¡¯s made a ¡®there-you-go¡¯ wave with his hands. Even Ander¡¯s looked a little uncertain at the timeline, Charley could tell. Hey, he¡¯d been at it for maybe two weeks. He waved off their concerns. Actions spoke louder. Charley frowned, ¡°So what brings you back so soon? I thought you¡¯d be way out on your circuit.¡± Both the craftsmen frowned at each other. Finally Anders answered, ¡°Elves.¡± Brand looked grim. ¡°Word around town is that the whole of the Maldives and the west are up in arms. That they had a meet gathered.¡± Anders nodded, ¡°Not just rumor. They were turning foreigners away at the border.¡± He paused. Charley didn¡¯t understand the subtext, but he got the general impression. A local tribal nation bordering his, calling a gathering could be a lot of things. It was super cool that they were elves, though. He made an inward fist bump in his heart. He¡¯d always wanted to meet an elf. Brand offered his tidbit, ¡°A Chandler down the street said that he had seen a runner talk to an Eleven family in town. Next day, they were packing up shop.¡± There all stood around grimly, sharing other things they knew. Charley felt helpless and mainly listened. ¡°The King will negotiate. I bet he¡¯s in the north -- probably Trist -- swearing at his advisors right now. He¡¯s not stupid; he¡¯ll go the Dryads and the World Tree. Soonish.¡± So many references were passing him by, but he didn¡¯t want to interrupt, or worse. Potentially expose how little he knew.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Brand countered, ¡°The Tree is neutral.¡± He sniffed, ¡°they wouldn''t care if we all burned.¡± That seemed to be the last word. Finally, Charley retreated back to his workshop. He let Maria know who was downstairs, and she was out like shot. Charley didn¡¯t like the sound of any of what he had just heard. Because it sounded a lot like what Japan had done just prior to World War one. He sighed. He was so not ready for a war. He looked around his shop at the freshly washed walls. It was time to get back to work. He turned his attention to darker paths. He bit his lip. What was something that he could use, personally, that would make him dangerous? He did an honest assessment of his skills. Item: He had never swung a stick in anger in his life. Item: No desire existed for him to be anywhere near close combat. Item: He acknowledged to himself that he was pain avoidant. He had shot his friends¡¯ bow once at a bale of hay. He¡¯d missed. Even so, Charley figured he¡¯d stick to range. Charley pondered the problem for a moment. ¡°Well, if I can¡¯t hit anything..¡± He frowned. ¡°Wait. Who says *I* have to hit anything!?¡± He feverishly started drafting some notes with the chalk in his hands. This wouldn¡¯t be a simple one rune project. He¡¯d need two, at least. Something for auto-aiming. And something to direct the aim to a specific target. He sincerely appreciated the chalk just for the ability to write stray notes. He was going to need to get some paper and ink. Soon. So; If you can¡¯t aim make the universe do it for you. Like an xbox controller or those pads they had at bowling alleys. Charley made a list: find, search, delve, root, seek, follow, chase. He dropped root and follow, as they weren¡¯t exactly what he wanted. Delve and chase were moved to maybes. He reflected. It would be really good to do this backwards. To really hone in on what he wanted this rune to do, flip the problem. This was raw intention magic, so what was his intention? He crossed out the offending objects on the list and updated it:: find, search, seek. Tapping the end of the chalk against his chin, he considered. What was he making here? A weapon with auto aim. What could he aim it at? He sighed and realized the step he needed to take. It was going to be aimed at living people. Or monsters. ¡°Blood.¡± And once he had the target he knew what he needed for the first. ¡°Seek Blood.¡± He heard Maria sigh softly behind him, and then her sewing needles clicked together. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was in approval or judgement. He wasn¡¯t sure when she had come back up, or how long it had been. He was glad again to have the support so he could focus completely on the problems before him. His eyes glanced up at the window: evening and clear skies. He let the world fade back away. In the East, the chinese iconography for seeking was a man with a backpack, and sometimes three roads meeting. He drew out a few different trials. There wasn¡¯t any feeling of recognition or power flowing around them. He added and subtracted the roads, made them more like suggestions. Added multiple travelers. No reaction occurred. Undaunted, Charley pulled on what he remembered from the west. Mercury, the messenger god. He drew him out, helmet and winged boots. Nope. He switched walls. He drew the symbol for the planet, three lines with sweeping wings framing them. He frowned when he remembered Mercury¡¯s staff, famous in his world as the symbol for healing. But it wasn¡¯t. He¡¯d been surprised in his history course, when he was told the *actual* symbol for healing for a single snake around a rod, Asclepius being the actual god of healing. No, American hospitals had been using the symbol of Mercury; patron of thieves, commerce and womanizing mail service. Given the Health care system as he¡¯d left, it figured. Leave it to a god of thieves to introduce Medicare. Charley drew the caduceus, two serpents on a staff, wings flanking. He felt the image get traction on the strata of the universe and smiled sardonically.
Rune learned: Seek!
He took back every bad word he said about Junior College. Dropping his meditative state, he found his room empty, but food and water waiting for him. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and topped up. He wasn¡¯t done. He was going to grind until he finished what he had started tonight. He felt the commitment deep in his bones, even past the tiredness and small tremors in his fingers. The conversation had scared him more than he¡¯d like to admit earlier. He kicked his [Meditative Focus] back on and rocked his shoulders in their sockets. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± He had most of a wall and a table left to write on. Next target; blood. He just started doodling, letting his hands make shapes underneath his hand. He pushed most of the thoughts out of his head, and his hands slowed. What did he know about blood? It carried nutrients through the body. It had iron, and white blood cells, and was mainly water. He spent maybe twenty minutes cycling the facts he knew. It wasn¡¯t enough. He scowled at his drawings, grabbing a rag and wiping that section of the wall clean. No. He was doing this wrong, he could feel it. It wasn¡¯t enough to just know *facts* for god¡¯s sake. He wasn¡¯t a [Factual Inscriptionist]. He was a [Natural] one. He wandered downstairs for a moment. The store was cold and dark. Charley grins for a moment, and drew on the wall near the stairs. Three strokes for Origin. Two waves repeating for Light. He felt a little bit of his energy unfurl from his core, and the store broke into a soft yellow glow. Charley grinned madly, ¡°Let there be light!¡± It was at this very exact moment that Charley realized he could do something amazing. ¡°I can make magic.¡± Holy shit. He could make magic! Not just objects. Ritual god damn magic. It was slow. Even a simple light inscription took him a few minutes. He couldn¡¯t throw fireballs or command ice into spears. But he could do it. Charley Peace, Magician. He wondered if he should add himself to the phonebook. He shook his head at the joke, and got busy looking for sharp unsafe things. The shop was full of them. There were a few daggers, mainly utility. Charley finally grabbed a short throwing dagger, that resembled a kunai. A diamond shaped head with barely any handle at all, in one piece of metal. Zero fanciness. Retreating back to the warmth of his workshop he felt a little squeamish at the next part. He took the blade and slid it along his upper arm. The blade cut and ochre red blood instantly flooded up the surface. He waited until he had enough to fill a shallow palm, and then pressed a cloth against the cut, tying it around. He tucked the kunai into his belt. He took the blood and cast it in a splatter on the table. Then he dropped back into his [Meditative Focus]. The sting from his arm faded to the background. And he started drawing. With the blood in front of him, it was so much easier. He made a note to himself; stop trying to reason your way into truth and just get out of its way. He felt the traction immediately, as he drew around a droplet that had landed by itself. He made a simple goblet, holding the drop. Interesting, but not quite. He drew a circle around another drop, and that felt full of potential as well. He wiped the droplet out of the circle, and drew in another circle inside that one. He was reminded of what a red blood cell looked like underneath a microscope. Except, in that, the nucleus was filled it. He grinned, and shaded the circle at the center.
Rune learned: Blood!
[Corvus Enca] reached level 5!
He dropped out of his trance. He had done it--grinded out two runes in what felt like a single evening. He was tired but damn. It was time to celebrate. He went off in search of beer. -- He found the closest inn to where the shop was, just three blocks south and catering mainly to the trade district. The light was rosey and warm, and a huge fire burned in the hearth at the end of the one story structure. The inn was a huge A Frame, the tall ceiling and exposed lumber making a lively common area which was filled with craftspeople. Charley immediately felt a home. A monstrosity of a flagon sat in front of him, the head creamy and thick and the beer underneath it smiled like nirvana. Charley lifted the glass, ¡°To barley, wheat, and hops!¡± A few people nearby cheered with him. For a while, he just basked in the warmth and let the conversations flow around him. His presence wasn¡¯t unwelcome, but people didn¡¯t know him yet here. He didn¡¯t feel any special need to connect immediately, taking in the stories people told each other. He ordered a plate of food from a passing waitress. It was literally a plate, he had no idea what they¡¯d bring him. Didn¡¯t matter. A few different words were spreading through the city. The King was sending a royal Emissary to the West, past the city of Kerry and to the Maldives. Wherever those were. Charley made a note to himself to ask Brand later. Was that miles or days away? ¡®West¡¯ was pretty damn vague. And a bounty board had gone up, a local noble had been outed as a rapist and abuser. The guard had investigated but the board disappeared. And so had the noble. No one was very happy about it, supposedly, in either the guard or administration. But everyone who talked about it was thrilled for a little justice. Charley gulped and choked a little on his beer. He decided it was time to leave. He quietly got up and settled his tab with the innkeeper, who gave him a friendly nod. Stepping out into the night, he left the warmth and company behind him. He felt a little cold knott in his stomach, despite the amazing chicken he had filled himself up with. Who knew how long ago that board had been setup. He had to admit that he¡¯d completely lost track of time without a watch or a calendar. Events were moving a little bit to fast for his liking, and he didn¡¯t have a good backup plan or exit lined up. Not very professional of him. He slapped at the back of his neck, feeling a sudden sharp pain there. His hand felt something attached. He pulled out the offending object. It was a strange wooden dart. He felt a wave of woozy tiredness wash over him. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be in my neck, little guy.¡± He felt the world sway around him, and Lurched against a wooden building. One hand supported him briefly. Charley decided it was a good time for a nap. On the cobblestones. -- He woke up one eye at a time. It was dark. There was a circular hole above him, with stars winking *very* far away. It looked like the opening was at least two hundred feet up. Some kind of sinkhole, with smooth stone walls. Droplets of water struck him on the face, and he blinked them away. He was lying on his back. In front of him, a man in dark clothes was attached to a rope line. The man noticed he was coming round, and tossed something underneath him, pulling sharply twice on the rope. He slowly started to ascend upwards and away. ¡°The Guild sends its regards.¡± His call echoed softly with an air of finality. Charley watched in dismay as the man ascended and then disappeared over the lip of the sinkhole. He gave himself a beat to process everything that was happening. Yeap. ¡°I am so fucked.¡± --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 5 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 5. Limited to lesser effects. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] [Passive: Deep Intuition] Runes known: Spoiler: Spoiler Origin. Flow. Sundering. Growth. Light. Seek. Blood. Objects in toolbelt: Spoiler: Spoiler Chisel [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes]. Glows violet. Chalk [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] glows blue. Seven nails. Iron kunai.
-- Chapter 13: A Long Hole Charley had seen a news article were a group had gotten stuck in a cave. The most important thing, he remembered, was not to panic. He heard something scratch and some rocks move in the distance. Oh god; he was going to die in here. His low brain spiked a message to his adrenal glands, saying things like ¡®fire¡¯ ¡®dark¡¯ and ¡®nightmare fuel.¡¯ There were *things* deep below the ground with him. His hippocampus promptly flooded his system with incredibly helpful calming things. Like dopamine, adrenaline, and oxygen. ¡°Oh fuck. Oh Fuck!!¡± His breathing got out of control, and he started hyperventilating. There was more skittering in the distance. Charley knew why he was panicking so deeply. There was this knowledge that was just sitting at the edge of his acknowledgement, waiting for his forebrain to catch up to present circumstances. He was in a dungeon. He felt a thickness to the *mana* in the air, something undeniable, primal. It was something that was encoded in his genes and all he needed to do was be exposed to the right stimuli, and he knew it the way he knew his name and that fire was hot. Maybe his [Deep Intuition], maybe something else, he wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. ¡°Okay, stop.¡± He flicked on his [Meditative Focus]. Almost immediately some, but not all, of the anxiety turned down from an eleven to a manageable four out of ten. He let out a long, slow breath. The guild had dropped him in a dungeon. Inventory control. He slapped himself down, and then frowned at what he had on him. [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes]. [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] They hadn¡¯t taken his toolbelt. He felt a flood of joy and a little anxiety. Probably because those items were useless to anyone who wasn¡¯t a runic enchanter of some kind, and it would make it more believable if someone found him, with tools. Boots, belt, seven thick iron nails stuck in one of the pockets. The incredibly small kunai with his blood still on it. Directly underneath where the man had repelled back up the two hundred foot shaft, there was a mud brown backpack. Charley tore into it. Four containers that had once held rations, and an empty wineskin with a puncture on the bottom of it, for good measure. Charley moaned softly. ¡°Frame up job.¡± The fucking pricks. Without his [Focus] on, he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be taking this nearly so well. Or even processing most of the information. He oriented on the problem. Who knew how long he had, and just moving in a random direction wasn¡¯t ideal. He needed an edge, or safety, or a weapon, and he needed one of those three now. He pulled out his chalk. Necessity was the mother of invention. And he had a powerful need to be hidden right the fuck now. He knew light. He flicked the rune out on the ground in front of him, almost complete but not quite. He didn¡¯t want to draw any more attention to this spot than he had to. Kind of the opposite of what he was going for. He needed darkness. Complete, impenetrable, hopefully hostile. Fuckoff levels of darkness. And he didn¡¯t have time. The skittering came louder from behind him, and he did the only thing he could. He started running. He bolted down the passage ahead of him. The faint light of the sky receded almost immediately, and he shot his hand out to the wall, running his hand along its surface so he didn¡¯t slam face first into rock, his [Nimble hands] keeping him from ripping off skin. His feet made thumps against smooth stone, splashing occasionally in thin puddles. ¡°God I am such a fucking idiot for staying at level five and getting lost in crafting.¡± He dodged some barely visible stalactites nimbly, realizing that the level of light was staying dim and present. Algae on the walls, he realized. Phytoplankton.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. He passed a few different passageways, but didn¡¯t turn or even glance far down any of them. He wasn¡¯t sure he could find his way back if he took one. Five solid minutes later he slowed to a stop, as the passageway he was running down got larger and turned into a cave. The room¡¯s ceiling was fifteen feet tall and covered in more of the blue moss and dripped water. The floor had huge rock formations -- sedimentary rocks that had formed layer by layer of dripped deposits, and pressed upwards in wide pyramid blocks. Charley took cover behind one of the pyramid rocks and peered uncertainty down the corridor. There wasn¡¯t any sound of pursuit, which was great. A heavy stench hung in the air, like bat guano and engine oil. Two minutes later he tentatively unclenched his body, letting his breath regulate. ¡°Wooh. Close one.¡± He turned around and saw the beast. It was beautiful. It¡¯s head was a manned lion, with bright red and green plumage leading down into a black body that was lizard-like and sprouting wicked wings, and finally to a mud brown scorpion tail. It laid in repose, casually atop a carcass of some kind. And it was just staring at Charley, amusement and interest shining in its eyes. ¡°Chim-er-Ah, fuck.¡¯ It¡¯s wings unfurled and rewrapped themselves around it¡¯s torso. Charley also realized that all four of its paws were covered in blood and viscera. They stared at each other for a moment. Charley licked his lips. He tried to think through this situation. His brain straight up refused. Nope, sorry. No one home. Kindly forward messages to the next available agent. He turned and ran. A strange chuffing sound echoed behind him. He made it seventeen steps before he felt the beast behind him. Immediately he twisted his body in reflex. His leg collapsed underneath him. Waves of pain rolled off him and he lost the feeling of gravity and connection with the ground. He threw his arms up to catch the ground. The ground never happened. His legs and spinal cord seized up and stopped obeying his commands. His sight went black and he lost consciousness for a heartbeat, his [Focus] breaking. He blinked the blackness back, fighting the wavy nerve pulses of fire and agony. He realized that a mud brown stinger had pierced almost completely through his leg, and he was dangling in the air. The [Chimera] had caught him. His heart beat. His legs and torso froze and locked in position, no longer moving at all. Paralyzed. His heart beat, this time slower. Poison. The [Chimera] gradually pulled its prize back and above its head, and daintedly, slowly, began to strut down the passageways. Charley bit his lip clean through, trying to diagnose what was happening. He struggled to stay cogent as the Chimera turned down various twisty passages. It was hard to keep track, held askew on the tip of a stinger and with most of his body paralyzed. He lost track. Time stretched and rolled, tortured out of its normal shape as he focused only on breathing. It was getting harder to do, the more he felt the poison from the stinger move into his veins. The [Chimera], finally turning into another small cave, flung its cargo into surprising softness. For a moment, Charley just breathed, fitfully. Finally, after an uncertain amount of time, he took stock. His heart beat, thundering in his ears, was slowing down. The turgent wound on his right leg, at least, was slow and torpidly leaking. Also affected by the paralysis, probably. So at least he would die from his heart being unable to beat, instead of blood loss. He could move his left arm, and almost nothing else. Probably only because it had been pinned against his shoulder and was furthest from his penetrated leg. He sighed. Blood loss was an easier death. Once his assessment of his body was done, he turned his attention to his environs. The softness was a lie. It was brown straw, dead men¡¯s clothes, a swath of burlap, and other unidentifiable material. A mag-pie¡¯s nest of horror. The [Chimera] laid nearby, unconcerned by its almost-frozen victim. It slowly licked the blood from his extremities, catlike, not even looking in Charley¡¯s direction. He wasn¡¯t going to die from paralysis. He was going to be eaten. Alive. ¡°Fuh thaa--¡± His tongue didn¡¯t move right in his mouth, which could only open a few centimeters. He inched his hand to his belt. Pulled his chalk from its harness. It felt fuzzy in his fingers, the sensation only partially registering. He rested for a moment. Then dragged his hand and its cargo next to where his head laid against straw. Pause again. Carefully he set the chalk down, and cleared debris from an area in a small one foot circle. He took another rest. Then took up his chalk and started drawing. His hand, even with the [Nimble] effect in play, was unsteady. The rune was rough, and ungainly, and incredibly unstable. Instead of a smooth glow, it was a fitful light. A Sundering rune in the center of the cleared space. He didn¡¯t stop and make corrections, smooth any edges, or straighten sections. Just moved the chalk to the north of the small circle and started drawing again. He made an Origin rune, small, fitful, another flickering construct, connected loosely to the center. His hand hesitated. He had never done multiple Origin¡¯s before. He made another Origin rune to the East. This one didn¡¯t flicker, even as he connected it to the center. He didn¡¯t slow down, just started a third to the west. And then a fourth. The rune structure was giving off flickering light and a sound like metal grinding rose and fell. Charley tasted raspberries and rust. Just the right edge of his mouth twitched up into a hint of a smile. The [Chimera] growled menacingly. It didn¡¯t like the emminations and glow. It took up its meal in its jaws, pulling Charley away from the site of his work and to a different corner of the cave. The Monster deposited him in a heap on his side, then slinked back to its nest and settled in. The Chimera looked pleased. It made eye contact with Charley. It¡¯s body language seemed to say, ¡®now what?¡¯ Charley cast his hand on the floor in front of him, not wasting the energy to move his eyes. His fingers found a small pebble. ¡°Fuh youh, in parthiculaa.¡± Charley threw the rock underhanded at the rune circle. Chapter 14: Thats new Nothing happened. The tiny rock struck the circle of runes, rolling to a stop. The [Chimera] yawned, laying its head down. Charley closed his eyes. Then the world went white through his eyelids. He couldn¡¯t hear, he couldn¡¯t see, and he felt his body spin through the air. He *felt* a deep bone rattling sensation, and then almost as an afterthought an impact. And blessedly, there was a familiar sensation.
Natural inscriptionist] reached level 8! Skill: [Passive: Flow like water] gained! Increased grace in movements and precision. This grace is reflected in created objects, and may now create objects with greater quality. May dodge.
He felt better. Not great. He could breathe without feeling his diaphragm hit the sides of his ribs. His leg still felt horrible. But he could wiggle his toes. He was lying against a wall of the cave, his head and shoulders resting on cave moss and stone. All around him, there were wavy lines of heat radiating into the room. Bits of nest were everywhere, even the ceiling. Some of them were on fire. Charley beat absentmindedly on his chest, putting out a small wisp of smoke. One interesting thing about leveling was that it seemed to give him a buff to his health and well being. This was in line with what he knew about the subject (re: very little). If he had to guess, he was experiencing just the healing bump from multiple levels stacked together. Gods only knew how hearty someone truly high level was. Or something. Charley cast a leery glance to the rest of the room. Green fluid was everywhere. On the walls. A suspicious drip sound from the ceiling. Charley winced, noticing that a tooth had punctured his right shoulder. Grabbing hold of the base, he watched in vague horror as a full three inch incisor slid out of his flesh. There was only so much horror to go around. No other evidence of the Chimera remained in the room, at least from the part of the floor Charley had been thrown too. He wasn¡¯t especially keen on standing up, either. But hey, look at the bright side. He could *feel* his toes. In the middle of the Chimeric den, surrounded by blood and burning nest, an overpowering urge for a nap came over Charley. Maybe just a short one. ¡°Also, I know kung fu..¡± he mumbled to the cave wall. -- He woke up with a start. The cave was cold. Whatever heat had been in here had been sucked out into the stone. The green viscera of the Chimera looked stiff and waxy, no longer fluid but a rough caking. Chimera Soup. Despite the texture under his grasping fingers, all around him, his stomach still let him know that it didn¡¯t sound half bad. He was thirsty. It was inventory control time. His body seemed somewhat responsive. He cautiously propped himself into a sitting position. Flexed both his feet. Shockingly, his right leg held his weight -- stiff, sore, and he couldn¡¯t extend it fully. But it held. He patted himself down. He thought he had everything--¡°Oh. Damn.¡± His fingers double checked the empty holster. ¡°Okay. I lost the knife.¡± He lighting in the room was atrocious, the moss that had once provided a gentle glow was charred in spots, and the green muck of the beast had spoiled the rest of it. He had four nails, his chisel, chalk, and an empty backpack and canteen. Right now, in terms of helpfulness the chalk was in the lead, followed loosely by the backpack. The backpack had at least softened the blow against the wall. ¡°Come on, nails. You guys really have to start pulling your weight.¡± The joke was met with silence, ¡°In ounces.¡± Charley sighed. He idea of him running his hands over a rough floor covered with Chimera parts to look for the (hopefully) not business end of a knife was unappealing. And he wasn¡¯t sure how much time he had before something tried to investigate this room, now sans Chimera. But he had a new ability that could at least help him minorly in a combat situation. ¡°About time, too.¡± He fingered the Chimera tooth. New plan. Chisel or chalk? Time was an enemy: he was exhausted, dehydrated, hurt. Chalk, then. What could he do with a Chimera tooth? It was a weapon, but he didn¡¯t know how to use one very well. ¡°Or at all.¡± He admitted to himself. He took a hard look at his abilities. The only thing that jumped out at him was [Nimble hands]. So, a throwing weapon then. Because he was a decent shot. Probably. It wasn¡¯t like he had a lot of time to practice throwing teeth. In the dark. ¡°Let¡¯s not focus on the negatives. Like being eaten alive.¡± No time to waste. He dropped into his [Meditative Focus]. Minimum design, just the basics here. He fingered his chalk.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. He breathed out. ¡°Let go of the anger.¡± Breathed again. ¡°Let go of the pain.¡± He regulated his unsteady breathing, until he found a slow rhythm. ¡°Fear.¡± He accessed that deep place in himself that connected him with the rest of the world. ¡°Doubt.¡± And he started to Inscript. The source in the center. Origin. He didn¡¯t pause after the so familiar rune, just kept flowing. The traveler in the desert. Seek. And just a small pause, after what he knew would need to come next. The chemical chains of life. Blood. Charley shook himself from the trance, inspecting his work. Serviceable. The runes didn¡¯t glow on this tool, rather they *felt* hungry. That was an altogether new sensation, he had to admit. But that wasn¡¯t the scary part. What was frightening about the device he had created was that the tip was turning slowly in his palm towards a small pool of Chimera viscera. Cautiously, Charley let the tooth slowly pull his hand to touch the green fluid. And the knife began *drinking* the material. Charley dropped the improvised knife in alarm. It was hard to make out in the light, but the knife was..absorbing the blood into its structure. He saw the runes on the surface glowing finally, a deep red. And then moments later the pool was dry. The runes faded away, leaving an auspicious three inch Chimera tooth, etched with runic lines. And completely clean of any stains. ¡°Well, okay then.¡± Charley didn¡¯t need to think about it, ¡°I¡¯m going to name you Grendel.¡± [Grendel. Runes: Origin, Seek, Blood. Moves independently towards flesh, and drinks blood. Temporary Enchantment.] He fit the tooth snuggly into his belt, being careful of the blade. What was deeply interesting, that he didn¡¯t have time to go into, was that he hadn¡¯t exactly intended *that* when he had crafted this one. So, intention mattered, but so did material. ¡°And maybe even setting.¡± He shelved the question for now. When he was done he cautiously got up from the floor, testing his body. It felt good. Surprisingly good. The limp was still there, He was still hurt and cold and hungry. But he felt irrationally like he could suddenly do aerobatic silk dancing. Or walk a beam between aircraft, while they were in flight ¡°Gods I can get used to skills.¡± Even with a bum leg, having [Flow like water] was stupendous. He took one last look around, then left the nest behind. And when he left the room the corpse of the Chimera started to bubble and dissipate into the floor behind him, unnoticed. -- Yea, he was lost. He limped slowly forward, passing at each intersection and just listening. Twice, he didn¡¯t take a tunnel because he could hear...something. He was even more tired, but his head was clear and his body was gradually clearing the paralyzation. He paused again at a three way intersection, turning his head towards each direction. Nothing. Nothing. Something. A sound that was like sweet nirvana to his ears. Dripping water. His throat pulsed in a swallow at the thought. He shambled forward. A decent sized aperture met him. And slow flow of water, barely more than a fast drip, tinkled down boulders. Green moss grew in abundance at the slanted floor here, throwing light into the water and refracting around the twenty foot room. It was beautiful. He cautiously approached the water. And then he stopped when his [Deep Intuition] triggered. It happened so quickly that he paused with one leg still in the air. He didn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t see anything. Couldn¡¯t hear anything. Everything looked fine. He blinked. Wait a minute. Everything looked fine? Near water with monsters everywhere? ¡°Yea, right.¡± He stared at the water hungrily a moment, then traced its splash down. And then he saw it. A darker green, thicker moss around a boulder about two feet across. Once he spotted it Charley squatted down, to get a different angle on the thing. As soon as he did, it wiggled. Charley tilted his head. It looked like if a rock and a mushroom had a baby. And it didn¡¯t cover a boulder. It was the boulder. It looked like it weighed about fifty pounds, and totally innocuous. It didn¡¯t even wiggle fast. Charley briefly thought about the rational response of running. Then decided his leg was killing him. ¡°Hey there, little guy.¡± This time, the creature started contracting, more quickly. A viscous fluid poured out of the thing from thousands of oscillating pores. Charley backed up slowly. The fluid seemed clear, and filled some type of thin membrane that held it in a loose sphere around a slowly collapsing in size green core. Charley kept backing up, not making any sudden movements or turning away. The creature almost reminded him of a cell, writ large. About five by five feet, with the core getting smaller. Now it started making warbling notes, and Charley could see another two creatures start to rise in the room. If he had been deeper, he surely would have been surrounded. His [Intuition] gave one last hurrah, and he knew what they were. [Blowfish Slimes]. Charley scowled. That information was incredibly useless to him. He swore once he had time, he was going to find out what was running this mess of a system and submit a nasty complaint to the manager. The [Slime] in front of him stopped expanding, at an impressive seven by seven sphere. He could see that the clearish mass was a slight pink, and it bent the light. Then it started to roll forward. ¡°Okay, running now!¡± Charley turned and booked it behind him. --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 8 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 5. Limited to lesser effects. Limited to three runes. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] [Passive: Deep Intuition] [Passive: Flow like water]
Runes known: Spoiler: Spoiler Origin. Flow. Sundering. Growth. Light. Seek. Blood. Objects in Toolbelt: Spoiler: Spoiler Chisel [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes]. Chalk [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] Throwing Tooth [Grendel. Runes: Origin, Seek, Blood. Moves independently towards flesh, and drinks blood. Temporary Enchantment.] Four steel nails
Chapter 15: What seat-belt The walls of the cave flashed by. Openings were open black holes, and Charley didn¡¯t have a preference. The dim light of the moss was his only guide, and he stuck to where he could see the walls. The last thing he wanted to do was slam into something. Behind him, he heard wet squishes. He didn¡¯t look back. He ran until his lungs burned and his body was like molten lead. Suddenly he burst through soft cloth with bright lights blinding, and his feet went out from underneath him. He slid forward on a wooden table. Around him bowls and plates sprayed in every direction. An awful silence descended on the room. He was in a hall. A massive wooden slab stretched for ten feet, populated with meat and vitals, and in every seat there was a small green goblinoid. Torches burned in scones on the walls, a cooking fire making Charley squint. More monsters? Charley frowned, taking in the strangest thing he had seen in this world so far. There were...tiny versions of the mature creatures, three of them, sitting on the mud floor. And one of them had a stuffed doll -- children. They sat at tables and used utensils and their young played. These were monsters? A massive [Blowfish Slime] appeared in the room steamrolling over a goblinoid, the green creature being pushed into its watery interior. Every being in the room stood transfixed for a moment as the goblinoid struggled mightily within the jellied walls of the [Slime], kicking and struggling and letting out bubbles of air. Then chaos erupted. Goblinoids ran everywhere, most of them screaming. Two more [Slimes] appeared from behind the first. Someone kicked logs from the fire towards the table. Charley rolled to the floor, taking in the madcap spectacle for a moment. His eyes landed squarely on a cup in front of his face and his dry throat almost had a mutiny. He grabbed at the cup and knocked back the fluid. It burned so good on the way down. Charley waited for a break in the crowd, then started running. Anywhere was better than here. He booked it into a wide hallway. A group of three goblins passed him, running towards the [slimes] with weapons extended. Charley caught the gaze of one of them who had a long spear. Charley smiled, and the goblinoid squinted briefly in blatant confusion but didn¡¯t break ranks. Charley glanced back over his shoulder. Insanity; goblins were throwing embers and logs at the slimes, who were feasting on multiple green bodies within their mass. Green bodies were running in random directions, and shadows were moving everywhere. He impacted with something soft in front of him and tumbled to the floor. A goblinoid, who starred incredulously at this human interloper. Charley starred back. And then both of them went for their belts. The goblinoid pulled a short serrated piece of obsidian, and Charley pulled his Tooth. Both lunged, grabbing each other¡¯s arms and rolling on the stone below. It was a stalemate. The goblin was small, Charley outweighed him easily by fifty stone, but it was vicious and madcap, and Charley was worn down from days of strain. His muscles bulged and creaked in protest, and the goblin¡¯s breath was hot and rancid on his face. Neither could find a definite advantage, and both twisted for dominance. Charley kept absolutely quiet, afraid to raise any help for his opponent. Charley¡¯s eyes went wide -- the goblinoid was just as silent! The [slimes] were sound reactive, and this creature knew it. Useful information. Even locked in a life and death knife fight, his head didn¡¯t stop processing details. He smiled. Then Charley felt a rush of weakness hit his brain, forcing his eyes to blink. His knife hand, squeezed by the goblin, let go, and the tooth fell weakly onto the goblinoids chest. Fuck; whatever had been in that cup had been potent -- he was tipsy. The goblin flashed an unwholesome grin and switched grip to push the dull knife towards its target with two hands. Charley huffed, switching his grip and stopping the knife two inches from his breastplate. Both held themselves and each other in complete silence, the moment as madcap as it was surreal. And then the goblinoid started to whimper and shake. Charley held steady as the goblin coughed up thick black blood on him, only closing his eyes. Finally the strength left his opponents arms, and he rolled to one side, free.
Level 10 [Hobgoblin] Killed!
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 9!
For a moment Charley just sucked air, listening to the pop of greasy fire and distant screams. Then he rolled over and pulled his tooth, Grendel, from the green chest where it had logged itself. It took two tries. He didn¡¯t look back as he hobbled into the dark. -- He could only run for about fifteen minutes before he didn¡¯t have any more wind in him. Then he slowed to a cautious walk. His reserves had taken another hit when he had leveled--even though his body felt more knitted together as usual after the level up, this time he noticed that his body had ravaged his already pathetic reserves of fat and muscle to do it. There was some unique and messed up conservation of energy that was playing into the effect, he was sure of it -- it had to come from somewhere. And equally compelling was that this meant his body was actually, physically changing when he leveled. Slowly, to be sure. And with the skills more suddenly. Rules were good, though. Rules could be learned. Charley liked rules. But then there was the other shoe that he was waiting to drop. There was always a cost. Charley followed the curve of the floor upward. Anytime he came to a turn, he¡¯d drop a pebble. He went in the opposite direction of the roll. ¡°Thank you, Troop number sixty two.¡± He wasn¡¯t actually a boy scout -- but they had given a presentation once at his high school after a couple of idiots got stuck in a cave. At the time, he remembered thinking to himself, ¡®there is no god damn way I¡¯m ever going to get into a situation like that.¡¯ Which was probably the only reason he remembered the pebble trick. Yea. ¡°Also, sorry for making fun of the uniforms.¡± He did this thing, where instead of thinking about the goblin-thing he had murdered-horribly-with-splashback he hid in pragmatism, and then deflected with humor. Probably he was going to need to see whatever shrink or whatever equivalent they had in this dump. ¡°Just focus on the path. And not the darkness, or the [slimes] drowning people in mid air.¡± -- Two hours and three close calls later Charley starred in dumb stupor at a crack in the night sky. An exit to the dungeon lay ahead of him, showing a slice of sky absolutely swimming with stars. Yes, he had almost died three times. But this. This was too easy. Except there weren¡¯t any other options than forward. No food, no water, injuries piling up. He didn¡¯t know how long he had been in that cave, but it felt like days.He sure as hell wasn¡¯t going back. He had at least made one surprise. He patted the largest pouch on his belt gently. Slowly, cautiously, Charley edged forward. His eyes adjusted to starlight, and it was beautiful. An open field lay before him, with white flowers that reflected the light and sparkled, regal trees with leaves that were tipped in deep purple. The smells of blood and piss were whisked away like they were never there, replaced with pine and aspen-clean air.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Charley teared up. One step at a time, one leg trailing behind him, he walked into the field and away from the cave. He felt the night air kiss his skin, and raise goosebumps. A tentative smile blossomed on his lips. And then Charley¡¯s smile died on his face. At the edge of the field where the trees rose high and started to clump together there was a man waiting, shadowed in the canopy. Charley gave himself credit, he didn¡¯t slow his careful walk, merely oriented towards the man in the trees. He stopped a good distance from the treeline. The man was the same who had dropped him in the hole, of that he was sure. Grey leather armor framed a powerful figure, with a mud brown short cloak that looked thick and warm, and fell to the man¡¯s waist. When Charley stopped moving, the figure casually lifted himself from the tree he leaned against. He didn¡¯t seem in a hurry. ¡°Did you think we¡¯d just leave it to chance? No insurance policy?¡± Behind the man there was evidence of a small camp, cold with a long extinguished cooking fire.Charley sighed fitfully, ¡°I was really hoping, Yes.¡± The thief was uneasy despite his postering. He could tell something wasn¡¯t right about this situation. The boy in front of him was different. The entire demeanor of the person before him had shifted from the boy he had dropped into a pit days ago. This was a person who through hurt and abuse had crawled his way out of a dungeon alone. To confirm, he used his skill [Clear Eyes]. The thief¡¯s sure grin fell off his face. A level 9 [Natural Inscriptionist], almost twice what he had tossed into the pit as fresh meat. ¡°I¡¯ll give you credit, kid. You made it out of a newbie dungeon on your own. But what makes you think you can make it past me?¡± ¡°Magic, mother fucker.¡± Charley bent down and started drawing the runes for light on the cleared dirt he had purposefully stopped in. He was easily fifty feet away from the [Thief], and knew he didn¡¯t have enough time for a proper inscription, so he didn¡¯t make one. He skipped Origin and just drew a straight light rune. The [Thief] paused for a moment, hesitating at the pronouncement. When nothing immediately happened, he cussed loudly and started running forward, trusting his instincts to stop a mage from doing whatever it was. It was a good instinct. But It was also what Charley wanted. Charley yelled in triumph as he finished the rune and it activated, throwing a blanket of true light over a pathetically small bubble. He felt the energy leave him in a dizzy wave. Charley knew he¡¯d only have moments. But it was all he needed. He lurched backwards, drawing his last surprise from his pouch with [Nimble hands]. He chucked it on the ground in the flash. ¡°Sic ¡®em,¡± It was half a prayer. Several bent nails flashed in the light, an improvised caltop with a seek rune. The light was already fading. He drew his Chimera Tooth. Two heartbeats later he heard a curse and saw the outline of a body. He threw Grendel as hard as he could towards the sound, half blind from his own flashbang. Somewhere in the action, his [Flow like Water] triggered, although he didn¡¯t see or feel anything that he dodged. Charley sloughed forward, spent. He had nothing left. His adrenaline ran dry and his entire body felt weak. No more tricks left in his belt. Malnutrition and the constant sleep-deprivation robbed him from any ability to run. He just waited to see what would happen next, breathing deeply and raggedly. The gentle light of a grey morning returned to the clearing. The [Thief] was on his back gasping wetly, hands probing the tooth stuck into his neck. Charley stared at what he¡¯d wrot. The soft cries had a gurgle with them, and he knew with grim certainty this person wouldn¡¯t be getting up from the ground without medical attention. Charley had done this to him. And this was one of the people who had tried to have him killed. Tears came to his eyes. The creatures from the dungeon were one thing. This was something else. This was a human life. And it was bleeding out in front of him. The [Thief] was blonde and he had blue eyes like ice chips. Charley hadn¡¯t noticed until the heat of the moment had passed -- his dark colored clothing had concealed most of his details. He felt impossibly cold, staring at the man on the ground. The eyes of the man were locked onto Charley¡¯s. They didn¡¯t offer hate, or ask for mercy. They just looked confused. A professional who made a mistake and didn¡¯t close distance on a mage fast enough. Bubbles formed over the man¡¯s lips, saliva and air interacting with the wet blood. He could help him. He saw lights in the distance--it didn¡¯t seem like it was far from town. If he applied a tourniquet, searched the man¡¯s bag for any potions. There was a chance. Charley kept eye contact, and watched as the life slowly drained from the [Thief]. It took longer than he expected. Minutes. He felt like he would remember those eyes for the rest of his life. When it was finally over, he felt a familiar surge from inside himself.
level 16 [Thief] killed!
[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 10!
Skill: [Passive: See the Weave] gained! See the natural flow of mana within the world in the sky, earth, and its denizens. See the inlaid patterns of mana within objects like grains within wood, and fracture patterns within metal.
It felt amazing and hot on the outside, and ice cold within. Like a one night stand just after the moment passed. Hollow and satiated. But still the messages came.
Alert: Extreme adaptation detected! Catch: Application of core skill delayed until next sleep cycle.
¡°Whatever.¡± Charley shrugged to himself. He dropped to his haunches, and began work that he knew was essential to his survival of the next moments. He took a black backpack gingerly off the [Thief¡¯s] shoulders, dropping his own ratty sack with its emptied rations in a pile. And then he placed both hands on the tooth, and pulled forcefully until it released with a sickening pop. The blood of the thief sprayed from the wound over his forearms, and Charley felt his stomach gurgle. He paused for a moment, staring at the muck. It was..moving oddly. Almost like it was bubbling. And then it burned. Charley frantically scrapped at his arms, to no avail. Blood boiled off his skin, evaporating into the air leaving angry red welts behind. Another message, this one different from the others he felt-slash-saw scrolled through his consciousness. The other ones were like chimes ringing in his ears. This one broke over him like a wave.
Through the webwork behind the worlds you have stepped onto strange shores. By absorbing the blood of this land, forcibly taken from a classed sentient, the energies of two worlds flow through you. Aspect gained: Worldwalker!
Ominous. The wrong color, he noted. And annoyingly unhelpful, as well as late. He ignored it completely. The caltrop was ruined, but he still didn¡¯t leave it as evidence. He wasn¡¯t so far out of it that basic forensics didn¡¯t register for him, although he admitted to himself that it was possible he wasn¡¯t thinking clearly in this moment. The money he found in the Thief¡¯s pockets he left. He didn¡¯t want it. --
Name: Charley Peace Class: [Natural inscriptionist]. level: 10 Skillset: [Runic Enchantment] Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent. [Corvus Enca] Level: 5. Limited to lesser effects. Limited to three runes. [Passive: Nimble hands] [Meditative Focus] [Passive: Deep Intuition] [Passive: Flow like water] [Passive: See the Weave] Aspects: Worldwalker
Runes known: Spoiler: Spoiler Origin. Flow. Sundering. Growth. Light. Seek. Blood. Objects in Toolbelt: Spoiler: Spoiler Chisel [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes]. Chalk [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.] Throwing Tooth [Grendel. Runes: Origin, Seek, Blood. Moves independently towards flesh, and drinks blood. Temporary Enchantment.]
Chapter 16: Loose Ends Charley was in agony. He tasted red, and the forest was suddenly gendered female all about him. Every nerve in his brain had been rewired and was screaming. He had collapsed in the makeshift camp he had found on the edge of the treeline, exhausted, and when he had awoken he pilfered and immediately ate half the calories in his stolen bag. He made it halfway through the cold of the night before he gave in, and stripped the nearby body of its cloak. Another memory he would have to carry. But right now agony. It had started with a window.
Cycle complete. Applying Core skill: [See the Weave].
And the world around him woke into a kaleidoscope of sound and color. Charley just breathed, laying splayed out on the earth and staring wide eyed at the forest canopy above him. It was better that way -- if he closed his eyes, the feelings didn¡¯t abate -- they just become less understandable without a vision corollary, and set him to a combination of queasy and dizzy. So he kept his eyes open. After what felt like hours his vision suddenly clicked to focus, as if someone had been scanning a radio and stumbled onto the right frequency. And Charley *saw* the world for the first time. The leaves in the tree above him were alive. I mean, yes, obviously, they were alive. But Charley could *see* the sun¡¯s golden light slowly, carefully, filtering from the sky and into the surface of the leaves. And then that energy turned golden-green, and lazily, slowly, slithered slowly down the branches and into the trunk, and Charley could see every single glorious, lipid ounce of sap as it moved under the bark and into one steady source. And that source moved like a flutter or a beat that was flavored in dark green, but oh so slowly. One beat in half a minute. ¡°Tree¡¯s have a heartbeat.¡± Charley marvelled at the world. His eyes, unbidden, were again wet with tears. This was his new ability, [See the Weave]. And the golden light in the sky, the dark green of thousands of little trickles that became a flood inside the tree. The very air he breathed out was vibrating with *mana.* Motes of it, flickering everywhere. In everything. And he knew that no matter what else happened to him on this world, no matter the cost he¡¯d have to pay to be here, that the magic was worth it. He wiped his eyes but it did nothing to stop the flood. Just like nothing could possibly take away the wonder he felt in this moment. ¡°Thank you.¡± He said it like a prayer. The trees around him beat slowly and together, interconnected in their song. It was a while before he finally heaved himself to his feet. -- It took him hours to get back to the edge of the city. Every once in a while, his new sense would absolutely overwhelm him, and he¡¯d stumble to a halt over the new sensations. And now, Charley stood in front of Chimera with the afternoon light above him, streaking through clouds. Yes, he was dirty, his bored mud brown cloak stained with blood that wasn¡¯t his. His knee still giving him trouble, his stomach a riot in progress. Wonder and horror fought in his heart. But he was alive. It was like he had never seen the city before, either. And to be fair, he hadn¡¯t. Not like this. From this angle he was closer to the river and the entire mass sparkled from the intertwined mana and power pumping out of its depths. The earthen tones of the city stood out. She was a city surrounded on both sides by a river which split on either side, and reconnected beneath her. Small towers rose near the center, pink and rosey. Five hundred meters ahead of him a stone bridge spanned the water, separated by a lonely little island before another bridge. The city docks shone beyond, huge and white and grey, masts of sailboats standing proud in the sunshine as they fluttered like a quilt on the water. Seagulls cried merrily to one another with the promise of food, and just a hint of salt was in the air almost like a promise. The *mana* of the city was red, and orange, and decidedly ringed with blue. And it was just massively chalked full of tiny motes, to the point that it was almost impossible to differentiate them. Whereas the forest behind him had been a slow deep green, and light gold with thick fat motes that were the size of snowflakes. Charley had no idea what any of that meant. But he was still grinning like an idiot. He slowly, carefully approached a guard checkpoint at the bridge. A comforting stone arch hung above a wooden gate and he hobbled towards it. ¡°Stones, you look like a pigpen exploded.¡± One of the guards hailed him, ¡°and you''re what they used to clean it up.¡± ¡°Sir, that is offensive.¡± Charley looked down at himself. Green Chimeric blood splashed over dark red blood, parts of his shredded clothes scorched with heat burns. His least filthy article he had stolen from a dead man, and that after he had bled out into it. He smiled wanly, ¡°..to the pigs. I could use a shower.¡± He gestured, ¡°and a place to burn these.¡± The guard nodded amiably. ¡°Adventurer¡¯s Hall is on Red street, just look for the tower of the same color. Can¡¯t miss it.¡± Charley froze for a moment. This man thought he was an adventurer? Well, why not. Today he was. And then he *felt* something around the head of the guard. He focused his eyes. Yes, there was definitely something ethereal, but present. He squinted. Tiny motes of blue. They motes arranged themselves into letters and numbers as soon as he acknowledged them. [City Guard, level 25]. Huh. That was going to be handy. ¡°Thanks.¡± The guard waved him forward. His step felt lighter. It was time to see a friend. He crossed the river bridge, and was humming along to Kesha when he saw something in the sky. Charley stopped moving. ¡°What in the fahhhhh..¡± Two hundred meters in the sky, a gorgeous vessel of alabaster white sails and a dark wooden hull blew gently crested through a cumulus cloudbank. She must have been at least thirty feet long, and had a deep keel. Two masts rose off her deck. ¡°That is a ship in the sky.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. He rubbed his face, blinking out dry ducts. It was still there, slowly moving away from where he stood planted. All too soon he lost sight of the thing, the skyline messy with buildings. He sighed, wistfully. Nearby, Charley heard a laugh, ¡°First time spotting a lightsail?¡± An older man sat amidst cloth nets, rubbing fibers between his hands. Charley gave him a once over: grungy and possibly hung over. But the old man had the same look in his eye that Charley did. They both watched until the ship disappeared over rooftops and steeples. Finally, he gave up scanning the horizon for another glance and turned to the man. ¡°How?¡± The old man knew what he meant, ¡°Only the captains and the keepers know. Old magic, though. They have to follow the lines.¡± ¡°Eh..lines?¡± Charley frowned. ¡°Aye.¡± Charley threw out his fingers in a negative, ¡°What lines?¡± The old man rolled his eyes. ¡°LEY lines. The thick things in the ground, whats run through the world?¡± He stamped his foot, causing a few lengths of net to shift and spittle to mount onto his beard. ¡°If you take a lightsail off the lines, soon enough it falls right out of the sky.¡± Charley took a moment with that one: it was a lot of information to process. And then realized he was having a conversation with a possibly still-drunk old sailor, and raised an eyebrow. ¡°How do you know so much about these ships?¡± The man spat on the ground nearby, ¡°Because I used to crew one of them.¡± His gaze was proud, spittle and all, and his voice echoed so oddly that for a moment he seemed younger. Charley rocked back on his heels. Both stared at the sky. ¡°Why did you stop?¡± The old man grinned, wide and fleshy. ¡°Because she fell out of the sky.¡± Charley snorted loudly and a smile broke out on his features. He bent down and looked through the nets the old man had laid out in front of him. They were surprisingly high quality. Charley felt his [Deep Intuition] trigger and whistled: they were Greater quality. The old man bowed his head for the compliment. Finally Charley pulled away, straightening up and waving a goodbye. Charley stopped in his tracks. ¡°Can I ask a weird question?¡± Silence in reply. ¡®What¡¯s stopping a normal net from working well enough that someone has to buy yours?¡± The old man looked at him strangely, ¡°and do you imagine that the fish don¡¯t level, either?¡± Charley walked away shaking his head, to the sound of laughter. -- The shop was just as he remembered it. The dim light, wood and sawdust smells of an active industry. It felt like coming home. Charley stumbled his way tiredly to the counter, and sat down in front of Brand who was writing in his ledger, making entries. He didn¡¯t look up, so Charley took the opportunity to just sit in a real chair. Charley¡¯s brain, never off, noted absently that it was double entry bookkeeping with zeroes, which he supposed made sense. Where he came from double entries were around by the 1500 hundreds, and zero was a thing in 0 B.C.. Brand carefully put down his quill in a stand and turned his head up. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Charley took that in. For a moment he didn¡¯t know what Brand meant. Then it came to him. He¡¯d been taken so quietly, there was no alarm raised with his disappearance. And Brand wasn¡¯t surprised to see him. Brand wasn¡¯t surprised. Conflicted feelings moved across his face. Why would he..? Ah. He let them in. And Charley could only think of one reason he would do that. ¡°Maria?¡± There was a long pause. Brand nodded. ¡°She¡¯s safe. They didn¡¯t threaten her directly.¡± He sighed. ¡°They didn¡¯t have to.¡± He disappeared behind the cabinets for a moment. When he popped back up, he had an old red-glass bottle in hand and two pewter mugs. He popped the cork and poured out a healthy dollop in both. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here.¡± Brand handed one other. Charley sipped at the brew. Smokey and sweet. And it burned pleasantly on the way down. And he felt the bottom drop out of his heart. ¡°Yea. I figured. What with the betrayal and all.¡± Brand winced. ¡°You can come back. Once you resolve this thing. But I can¡¯t have Maria lose a parent.¡± He didn¡¯t have to say the last word. The one that Charley heard hanging on the end of the sentence like an anchor. Again. They each settled into their drinks for a moment, watching the sun filter in from the window, lighting up dust in the beam. Whiskey had a kind of magic in it in moments like these. It helped. Finally Brand piped up, ¡°They registered you as an adventurer.¡± Well now. That was interesting. It was good to know the caliber of people who were framing him, at least. ¡°Oh. Yea. That''s what I did. Me -- a crafter.¡± Brand laughed, easing the tension in the room several degrees. ¡°You are such an idiot. But at least they did you a favor with that one. It¡¯s not cheap.¡± Idly, Charley starred at the blue motes above Brands head, watching them slowly resolve into [Trader, Level 17]. ¡°I¡¯m getting smarter every minute i¡¯m in this city, believe it.¡± Charley chuckled back. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± Charley raised his glass, and Brand returned the salute. ¡°It¡¯s really more of an expression,¡± Charley grumbled. ¡°I mean, I am lying to you. Do you want to know the details?¡± Brand snorted, and poured the drinks back up to full. ¡°Will it get me in trouble if I do?¡± Charley nodded, ¡°almost certainly.¡± He smacked his lips over the beverage. Brand shook his head, resolutely. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m good. Thanks, though. I appreciate it.¡± Charley felt his body radiating more tiredness, as the alcohol slowly relaxed his muscles. ¡°Say, you wouldn¡¯t happen to know a good medic, would you?¡± He pointed to his chest, ¡°just asking for a friend. Not complaining or anything.¡± Brand let out a small grin. ¡°Well now. When you were ¡®registered¡¯ for the adventurer¡¯s hall, it comes with a room. And reduced rates for an in-house medic.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Might as well take advantage of a resource.¡± It was good to know that Brand hadn¡¯t changed his tight-pursed ways in the days Charley had been out being almost mauled to death. ¡°Fortune forbid.¡± Brand stood up, and motioned Charley to stay a moment. That was fine with him. His legs appreciated the rest. Brand stepped up the staircase to the second floor and returned with a bag. He handed the parcel to Charley, ¡°Just a couple of things.¡± He met Charley¡¯s eyes, ¡°on loan.¡± Charley broke into a fragile grin. And then laughed out loud. ¡°Of course they are. Thank you.¡± Brand brushed off the thanks. ¡°Oh, and before I forget, the crafting hall dropped something off for you.¡± He walked back to his desk and threw something bronze on top of it. Charley picked it up; A small bronze badge, no more than two inches by three, with the image of a compass and an eye. And his name across the bottom. His sight revealed slightly more information, ¡°A [Bronze Crafter¡¯s Badge]?¡± Charley hadn¡¯t known there was a way that people categorized members but he immediately wondered if there were other types of badges he could get. ¡°Brand, did you steal this? For me?¡± ¡°Pssh. It was for the handsaws you did, the ones that cut wood like they were beavers.¡± Brand looked smug. ¡°I sold it to the crews that were making the new crafts hall, and, well.¡± He coughed. ¡°I guess they liked them.¡± Charley slipped the badge onto his cloak, closing the clasp. It felt good there. ¡°Thank you. For everything.¡± ¡°Pssh again. Now get the fuck out of my store. And don¡¯t get dead.¡± Charley slapped his empty mug down and rose tiredly to his feet. ¡°No promises.¡± -- Charley swung his extra bag to his other shoulder and stared at the building before him. It was red brick, with thick glass windows and oak wood shutters. Rising two stories high, the roof was terraced wooden planks at a slant. It looked sturdy and warm and didn¡¯t seem to follow the typical Chimeric housing style of a plaster between lime, sand, and plant fibers. It also looked expensive. With the sun firmly behind him, the heavy oak wood door was propped open with a wedge. He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust. Inside was a large and open room with a few sparsely populated common tables in the center. Ringing the edges of the room were tables separated by wooden screens for privacy between them, seemingly much more occupied. On one side, a medium sized fireplace was unlit but stocked, and on the other was a corkboard with various tacked up pieces of paper. Ahead of him, a kiosk window was staffed with a younger-seeming man, who perked up on seeing Charley. He crossed the room, earning a few disinterested glances. He let his eyes go out of focus as he approached the younger man, catching the unique trace of blue motes. [Aspirant, level 12]. ¡°Hi there.¡± The young man nodded firmly. ¡°Welcome to the hall, sir.¡±