4 Spring, 1023
Year 1
When he opened his eyes, the child found himself in a strange, unfamiliar street. I say street, but it was more of a cobblestone path built wide enough to let two carriages pass one another on each side. Case in point, an example was being drawn down the street in on the right, ambling along as pedestrians darted out of the way, moving along toward whatever purpose they themselves had waiting for them at the ends of their journey.
I recall, the first thing he noticed was not the quaint houses, the antique clothing that made the style of the town around him, but rather the smell. It was like he was standing in a giant outhouse, the wisps of human rising from the street so thick that he could taste it in the back of my throat. Even as the child looked on, taking in the strange sights and sounds and smells, the world continued around him. Oblivious to his confusion and disgust.
Memories still swirled in the child''s head, fading almost as fast as they came. For a moment, he still remembered the steel shaking underneath his feet, still felt his stomach twisting up into his chest as the world fell away from under him. The child''s father''s words echoed again in his ears, resisting the forgetfulness of morning for longest of all. "I love you," he could still hear, "Don''t worry buddy, I got this. Just hang tight, ok?"
He held on those words, long after everything else fell away, the other fears and terrors fading from his mind like a half-remembered dream. Desperately clinging on to the familiar sound even as he found himself in the midst of an unfamiliar world.
The child was lost, and he was afraid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though where he had learned it, he was no longer able to say confidently, he remembered that lost children needed to find a policeman. He knew that policemen were supposed to help him find his way home, could be trusted. And yet he could not find anyone who matched the image in his head, of an adult in a blue uniform, in this unfamiliar place.
There were, however, men with swords walking down the cobblestones. A police would carry a weapon, he somehow knew, and walk with a confident, measured step. While the uniforms did not match what he knew, what he half, almost remembered, the rest of the details seemed to him to be close enough. And he shot off through the streets toward the figures, dodging the menacing horses and buggies and men that would stand between him and his objective.
As the child approached one of the men, he cried out, "Sir, help. Help me, please? Help?" straining to catch the attention of the man as he walked. He waved, hopefully, as he drew nearer, hopping along. "Please, sir? Over here?"
It took a few moments before the man realize what was happening, frowning down at the child for a moment and glancing away. It wasn''t until naught, but five feet separated them that he finally looked back, quirking an eyebrow and, ultimately, taking a deep breath, "Out of the way child, go find your parents before you get yourself in trouble."
The man''s voice was deep and hard, rasping in a way that was one part endearing and two parts intimidating, but no anger sounded from the man''s throat. Only impatience and a hint of worry. The child spoke up, closing the distance to barely a foot, "Sir! But sir," he began, released as he only then realized that a part of him had been holding its breath, half expecting the words the man spoke to be as strange and unfamiliar as the rest of the world around him. And yet, it was not so, and the sound of a human voice only empowered him, antagonizing him on to figure out where he was. To find out what was happening to him. " Sir, my parents are gone! I cannot find them!"
The man with the sword frowned, looking down at the child as pausing, as curiosity edged on the purpose that had been driving his feet forward for a moment. "What do you mean they are gone? Just run along home then, I''m sure they will find you soon enough."
The child scrunched up his face. Apparently, he was very deep in thought, but the way his eyes searched, back and forth, it became evident that the idea that he was reaching for was out of his grasp. "I... don''t live around here," the child paused, "I think." He glanced up at the man''s eyes, "I don''t know where I am!."
The man bent down, the movement was brisk, impatient, and the metal clothing that he wore jangled against his sword as he moved. He put his hand on the child''s shoulder holding the gaze, "Well, that shouldn''t be too much of a problem really," his eyes glancing over to the side, half closing and seeming to read some invisible script for a moment. "We just need to pull up your information here and..." The man paused.
Scrunching up his eyes harder, he seemed to narrow his focus, concentrating and tensing his hand around the child''s shoulder. The moments stretched on, the child blinking and squirming in confusion, as the strange behavior began to eat away at the edges of the relief of finding someone to help him. Finally, the hand moved, but it did not let him go or relax into the comforting gesture it had felt but a moment ago. Instead, the man''s hand squeezed tighter, and, eyes wide with shock, he pulled the child toward him.
"What is your name, urchin?" The man spoke his words as harsh and cold as the pressure of his hand. "Why don''t you have a name?" The question started as a mutter, almost as a person talking to themselves, but as the sentence breached his lips, it grew in strength. What started as a statement of wonder and confusion turned on its head and became the command of an authority figure. "Tell me your name."
The child hesitated, his mind striving to remember, catching at the fragments of his own life, his history, but too quickly falling away. Something whispered to him, as if from far away, but before he could catch the words they blew away, seeming like leaves rippingapart from their trees in autumn. "I... don''t know," the child muttered, now feeling fearcreeping in. It began, too, as a question, a statement of wonder and confusion, but it ended now in a place of fear. A place of terror. With a quiver in his voice, the child once again found the eyes of the man, "I don''t know."
The moment gaped in front of them, the two staring at one another dwelling upon the unanswered question in front of them. Their eyes held in a seeming eternity of moments, weighing each other with the problem stretching between them. The man was the first to break the silence, "Follow me, brat. Now."
. . .
The stairs of the administrative building were a long shining marble. The middle of each step sagged, as steps and rain had worn away rivets in the stonework after much use. The child and the man trudged dutifully up toward the building, saying little but frowning deeply.
They twisted through the hallways of the building''s interior, walking with purpose against the flow of bodies leaving. The man led the pair into a small room at the end of a far hall, closing the door closed behind them. The child thought of running several times as they walked, but when he weighed the options before him, finding himself suddenly in this strange place with little memory of where he was or where he had been, his instincts told him that there were far worse places he could find himself were he to run away.
Inside the room sat a little man with a beard, hunched over a stack of towering paperwork. There was a long scar down the side of the old man''s face, from eye to chin-hair, and despite the age, the old man''s skin showed signs of a hard and violent life. It was some time before he looked up, noticing the pair standing in front of him.
The old man''s voice was cracked, but firm. It rasped out of his throat in slow waves, "Arnold. my man." The man squinted his eyes and stared closely at the child and the man in front of him. "Well, well. What is it that you''ve got there, hurm?"
The man, Arnold, spoke quietly now. In stark contrast to how he had belted out his words on the street, now they whispered from his lips as if afraid to wake the piles of pages that lined the desk and the corners of the room, "An urchin I found on the street, Lord Archibold." Arnold bowed reverently.
"Yes, yes," the old man, Archibold spoke. "I can see that, after all. I do have eyes still. Despite what my granddaughters say. But let''s see," trailing off, he muttered as though he was talking more for his benefit than any other. "But what makes this one special, hurm? There are urchins out on the streets aplenty, after all."
Before Arnold could provide an answer, the old man leaned in. His eyes took on that unfocused glare as if he was looking past the child''s face rather than at it and soon alighted with quiet understanding. "Oh, I see, I see! Yes, this child has no name." Blinking, he muttered to himself, "How peculiar. How peculiar, indeed, hurmmm?"
Arnold stood with his back ridged toward the side of the room as if understanding that no response was required from him. And in fact, after several seconds the old man continued, oblivious to the thoughts of the two in front of him. "Let''s see, yes? Let''s see," he muttered, walking over to a shelf and pulling out a large book. As he paged through it absently, he whispered, "Even if a baby''s parents had died before giving it a name, one would have been assigned to it, I think." Flipping quicker, "The world-soul would have corrected the oversight in a matter of days, yes. Not," glancing at the child quickly and looking him up and down thoroughly, "a matter of some decades. No."
The child blinked, confused for a moment. He knew he was not supposed to speak back to adults, but the old man needed some help. "Excuse me, sir," he began. "I''m ten years old," he informed the man with some authority, holding out ten fingers to be sure he was understood.
Lord Archibold and Arnold both opened their mouths for a moment, as if to speak, but then closed them. In Arnold''s case, it appeared as though he had thought better in the middle of the intake of breath,whereas Lord Archibold''s eyes started to twitch in the middle of forming the words, catching on a page in his book and devouring the words with ever-increasing energy.
Looking up after some increasing few seconds, the old man exclaimed, "Yes, yes, I think I''ve got it right here." Nodding, "The summoned. Or recycled, as it were." He scanned the pages, "Hurm, yes. The Court of Twilight. Tricky ones, those." Looking at the child intently, as if only then remembering that he was still in the room, "You are most lucky, child. Yes, there are those who would murder you on sight, if you had appeared in their cities. Quite brutal, some of the practices described herein." Flipping a page, "Yes, most uncivilized indeed. But then your lady Goddess never was popular with the Empire."
The child''s eyes widened, as he tried to decide if the old man was merely strange, or whether to consider the chance that the old man was, instead, simply batshit insane. Pardon my french. Unable and, in fact, probably too young to leave his questions unvoiced, he spoke quietly up at the old man, "My Lady Goddess? Unpopular? No, I don''t think so." He paused, scrunching up his face, "Mommy always said, I think, that God was a boy. And that he didn''t much approve of girly things. Well, at least, not when I wanted to do them" Pausing, he squinched harder. "Mommy... Mom. I had a Mom? I think? Why can''t I remember her face?"
A glance of pity caught in the old man''s eye for a moment, before the next idea seemingly caught his attention. Oblivious, seemingly, to the child''s tears he shook his head, "No, no. I suppose you wouldn''t remember that. For the best really. No, no, whatever it is that you think you know you should quite certainly forget." Nodding, he bent over the pages of the book, "Yes yes, it shall happen soon enough anyway, I think. But have a care! Do not be spouting madness on the streets or a similar fate may befall you as befell other children of the Dawn."
Lord Archibald waved his hand, drawing up a paper and pressing a stamp upon it with his other. To Arnold he spoke, barely skipping a beat, "Take the child to the Sepulture for the night. Sleeping within its walls should resolve the situation, as well as any lingering soul-sickness. After that, you may collect the child and deliver them to the northeastern orphanage. Of all of thecity, the northeastern block will likely be least concerned with asking questions of our little immigrant here, I should think."
Taking the parchment from the old man, Arnold nodded and put his hand once again upon the child''s shoulder. He moved to steer the two of them out the door as the old man, seemingly finished, started hobbling back toward the cushion of the chair at the desk. With a certain amount of relief and appreciation, feeling like going to the guard and seeing the old man was a very wise idea indeed, the child shouted as he was turned, "Thank you, Lord Archey!" The words were leaping forth in a child''s sing-song, "Thank you lots! I hope you have a great day and stuff!"
Lord Archibald merely let out a huff as they moved to leave the room, and the door was shut behind them.
...
Arnold had delivered him to a stone building, looking very much to the child''s mind like what a church should look like, though it didn''t quite match the vague, fading memories of the ones he had seen before. The steps and the walls here were made, not from marble as the building had been earlier, but this time from a stable, granite stone. It only now occurred to the child how much these constructions mismatched the wooden houses and long, one-story brick shops that lined the other sides of the streets. These critical facets of the city, buildings of government and prayer, being having seemingly been erected by a different hand or method than the rest of the town.
Inside the building was dark, the torches lining the walls in the sepulture alongside the church lighting their way but also serving as a stark contrast to the long windows of the administrative building, or the slowly lowering sun outside. The hallways never seemed to end, there in the darkened structure, flickering on and on in the dim light of the flames. After some five long minutes, Arnold turned the child to the right, entering a small room upon which rested a thin slab of stone covered with a generous helping of straw.
There lay a bucket and a jug alongside the stone, which Arnold pointed to as he directed the child inside. "Safer to be in here a bit early than roaming the streets outside," the guard stated with some authority. "Just try to get some sleep. Use the bucket if you feel the need and there should be some water there that is safe enough to drink. I''ll be along in the morning to collect you."
There was a smell now, that was beginning to register against the child''s overstimulated nostrils. Not of human waste now, but somehow it felt worse. The building smelled strongly of mold and rot, and the odor crawled its way down his throat and, seemingly, into his very soul. "You''re going to leave me? Here?" the voice came out incredulous, quivering.
Arnold reached into his belt and pulled out a tuft of unleavened bread, tossing it into the straw of the makeshift bed. "What? It''s safe enough, I assure you. None would dare assault a resident of these halls. And as creepy as it may seem, I assure you, there is no better place for one to come to realign with the Dreaming."
The child frowned, reaching out unmollified, "Please, sir. You can''t just leave me here!"
Arnold quietly moved to shut the door. Just before the edges clasped closed, he said in a softer, more compassionate voice, "Relax, girl. I''ll be along first thing in the morning."
The child heard a wooden latch slamming shut on the far side of the door before he found the will to close his gaping jaw.
. . .
Chapter 1: Epilogue
<div>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>Primary attributes have been chosen: Dexterity and Charisma. Allocation and distribution locked until Aziza Awakens to the first Circle. All allocation to primaryattributesincreased by 200%.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<div>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>
Template Added: Daughter of Twilight
The Goddess of Dawn and Dusk has personally adopted you as her child and imbued you with a fraction of her power. Spells and abilities may now be unlocked from the following restricted category: Divine. Such gifts will still be primarily dependant on meeting the applicable prerequisite circles and accomplishments.
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<div>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>Aziza has previously met the prerequisites for the following abilities:</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Child of Dawn
Prerequisite: Daughter of Twilight template; Primary attribute Charisma
Mana points and regeneration will now be generated baseduponCharisma rather than Intelligence. Note: Arcane powers and ability unlocks are unaffected and still require intelligence thresholds having been met.
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Divine Gift
Prerequisite: Daughter of Twilight template
Access to divine spells aligned to the Court of Twilight. Primary attribute for all Court of Twilight castingis:Charisma. Current spells availableare:none.
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Nephalim
Prerequisite: Not born to a mortal race; physical body generated from a divine agent rankedat:Demigod or above.
Penalty to attribute increases has been removed. Nephalim''s patron may now intervene on their behalf on a limited basis. Spellpower increased. Lifeforce increased exponentially.Psionic resistance increased 50%.
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Virginal Knight
Prerequisite: Female; knight has not given birth to a child; knight has given a name tofeycreature: unicorn
Familiar added: Unicorn (Toby)
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Elf Wildling
Racial: Member of Elf Wildling race
Lifespan: Unlimited. Fertility: Low. Increased Dexterity +10. Increased Mana +50. Psionic resistance increased 35%. Error: Psyonic resistance may not be increased beyond 100%.
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Alien
Achievement: 1+ years spent in extra-dimensional space
Skills and knowledge adapted and adjusted to intra-planar varients. Memories from extra-dimensionalsources are locked: level 3 restriction.
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Abilities added.
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<div>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>
Error, access to meta-data restricted to first circle awakening. Aziza meta-data may not be viewed at this time.
View access denied.
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Burlap?He considered, something about the material did not seem right to him, but the details seemed to flee from his thoughts even as he strove to remember what material it was that his pants should in fact be. It was this confusion, in fact, that distracted him as he finished pulling the string and went to raise the bucket up to his hips. He was so distracted, in fact, that he failed for a moment to see that all was not as he had expected it to be.
herself.