《World Circle》 Prologue: Magic is frustrating Magic. Was. Frustrating. It took far too much time and energy to learn, and you never got to the point where you could smite your enemies. Of course, he didn''t actually have any enemies, but that was completely beside the point. No, magic, while being a powerful force of change, was also one that was weak enough to mimic random chance. Arren knew this as well as anyone, but knowing how something works and accepting it are two different things. He had tried to let go of his childish desires for years, but in the end, Arren really longed for the magic of fantasy. It was something most practitioners of magic scoffed at, but he couldn¡¯t quite let go of the idea of casting fireballs and flying. Not that Arren would ever admit to such things; if he did, people would think less of him. As it was the magical community viewed him as a prodigy, a position he had worked hard for. Ever since he was a child he had sought magic, always yearning to fill the hunger within him. He worked hard and as a result, he had progressed abnormally fast compared to his peers. Not that there were many of his age involved with witchcraft, most never bothered to consider magic, fewer still kept with it, but even among those who earnestly sought it out, it was a long and arduous journey. What made him special was his hunger for it, not the power in or of itself, but magic, raw, undiluted magic. He only felt whole when casting spells and working rituals, as if he could finally be more than a husk, be himself, be alive. This fervor had shaped him, guided his actions; it was what had caused him to strive for knowledge, and what had seen him initiated as a high priest at twenty-one. That was what had really caught the eyes of the pagan community. Many of them remarked on his ability in rituals and the power he displayed in spell work, a few were jealous. The elders saw him as a young man with a powerful future, the power hungry and weak saw a child with too much power. In his own eyes, Arren saw only continued failure. Even if his standards were unfair. On a logical level he knew that his dreams were unrealistic, magic was far too weak on earth, and pursuing magic and mysticism in a world so devoid of power was useless, still he pressed on. He would spend hours with his nose buried in dusty old tomes, if there was a book about witchcraft he would read it. Well, there were some exceptions; when someone tried to tell him about the virtues of amethysts to relieve stress and quarts for a clear my mind he would tell them to fuck of. New age idiocy wasn¡¯t something he indulged in. He would rather read the tales of the old gods or work his way through Solomonic summoning circles and spells than listen to women extoling the virtues of fairies. He found power while searching, but not the power he had wanted. Many of his friends and family tried to tell him that witchcraft was meaningless, that it didn¡¯t work. He disagreed, but he couldn''t disprove them either, the problem with the magic, as he saw it, wasn¡¯t that it didn¡¯t work, it was that it was slow. He could reach out with his power to affect the weather, though the effects could take hours, even days to manifest. He appreciated it for what it was, but wanted more, magic powerful enough that no man could deny its existence. It was in pursuit of such power that he found himself sitting on the hard, wooden floor of his apartment, three white circles painted around him. Within the inner circle was a square, within it a six-pointed star, finally the star was intersected with an equidistant cross reaching out to the circle with elemental symbols painted in the center. The circle was of his own design, he called it the world circle, for combined with the ritual he had prepared it would reform the world. His would draw on the power of the endless planes of existence, to bring magic to earth. If he succeeded his name would go down in history, though as a hero or a villain he couldn¡¯t be sure Arren sat inside the circle; he breathed in the soft scent of the candles and started centering himself; of all the rituals he had ever performed, this one would require the most of him. He breathed deeply, and for a while, he simply sat there feeding mana throughout his veins, letting it ripple throughout his body. When the mana began flowing in a steady stream he channeled it into his voice and started chanting. At first it was a slow, deep and quiet bass. As he went on the volume and speed built up, the heavy notes echoed of the walls of his apartment. He lost himself in the ecstasy of ritual, he didn''t notice or care about the volume, damn what his neighbors heard, he couldn¡¯t care less. His bass rose higher, losing and transcending the note as he built both speed and tone. The words themselves were meaningless, but in his frenzied mind, he found meaning to them. In truth, it was less a language and more of a verbalization of emotion and desire; it was one of the most primal forms of magic, but he needed that chaotic power. It wasn''t pretty or civilized, but what it lacked in sophistication, it made up for in raw power. Most magicians craved control, control that the primal chaos banished. It was dangerous, as Arren was no longer in control of the ritual, but he knew the power needed was an uncontrollable one, so for once, he surrendered himself to the chaos at let it guide, build and break him. His voice rose and fell with the beating of his heart. He cast his mind out into the chaos and drew all the power he could find. The air became colder, yet he didn''t notice, too lost in the ritual he was carried on his own voice and power as he soared into ecstasy. His eyes closed in concentration, the chant spilling from his lips guiding a torrent of power into his body. It was unlike anything he had ever felt, as if his body was rapidly ripped apart, then repaired again, the power both poison and medicine. The moment drew into infinity as he cycled through bliss and agony in turn. He didn''t control the chant anymore, he didn¡¯t have to, or want to. His voice kept rising and falling slowly building to rapturous shout. As he screamed out the last word of his spell he opened his eyes to lines of energy enveloping him before a flash of light threw him into darkness.
Arren woke up slowly, his body spread out on the cold ground beneath him. He felt light-headed and fatigued. His fingers scratched the dirt he was laying on, strange he thought, there shouldn¡¯t be dirt in his apartment. He opened his eyes to look around, but there was only darkness. Confusion overcame his mind, what the hell happened? Turning over he stretched his arms out but he could only find more cool ground, no wooden floor, no half-melted candles, nothing but dirt. He sat up slowly, carefully, in case he was in a confined space, he felt around above him for a roof, but his hands met only air. He wanted to stand and look around, but his body still felt wrecked and his mind was sluggish. Perhaps the last was a good thing, or panic might have overtaken him. A flash of light in front of him, caused him to fall backwards in shock. The space around him was still entirely dark; yet hovering in front of him was a translucent box.
Down the rabbit hole
Magic is not for the weak, wane, or the stupid. Trying to tear a hole in the fabric of reality is an act that normally results in death, yet somehow, probably through dumb luck, you seem to be alive. Have Fun.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. What the actual fuck?! Message boxes belonged in games, certainly not in reality, hovering in the air before him. Clearly the incense he had used was a bit too potent and was fucking with him. This was a vivid dream, or a really fucked up trip, obviously. He promptly lay down, closed his eyes and pinched himself, desperately trying to wake up. He had wanted magic, not a psychedelic dream telling him he was a lucky moron. Who needs sarcastic message boxes? The pinching was painful, but did not wake him, still he kept on trying until a slight pop made him open his eyes again. In front of him was another translucent box:
Trait gained: Denial
Play an ostrich all you want, hiding your head in the sand doesn''t change anything.
Well that was just great, wasn''t it? The damn thing was mocking him, he thought as he burrowed his head further into the cold dirt beneath him. When he looked up the message box was still there, glowing eerily. He sat up again, brushing the dirt from his hair. Clearly, he wasn''t waking up anytime soon, so he would just have to bear with it. Psychedelic hallucination or not, this place seemed really, really realistic, discounting the boxes of course. ¡°Well fuck it!¡± He should at least try to enjoy himself as long as it lasted. If nothing else the dream might let him indulge in his fantasy of how the ritual was supposed to bring magic to earth. He reached out to his surroundings to gather mana and immediately froze. There was mana, well that was understatement, there was more mana than he had ever felt and as he tentatively reached out to touch it that mana started streaming into his body. It was like a river flowing into him, gathering at his core where it started swirling and condensing, filling him in a way he had never imagined possible. Arren lay there in silence watching as what had been a dry pond turned into an ocean, all of it swirling like a vortex with a golden core condensing in the center. The craving he had always felt, the hunger? It was all fading as the sea inside him filled, like this was what he had been missing all his life. Suddenly he was praying, hoping, begging that this wasn¡¯t a dream or a hallucination, this feeling, he was so content, he wasn¡¯t empty. With a slight flexing of his will Arren drew a silver of mana from his now full mana pool as he raised his right hand into the darkness, he concentrated on the image of light gathering above it. At first nothing happened, then a single spark of light; in his excitement he lost focus and the spark disappeared. Still it had shown that it was possible, so he renewed his focus and concentrated. It took a while but in the end a bright globe of light hovered slightly above his palm. Looking around he found the reason for all the dirt, he wasn¡¯t at home, not at all, in fact he seemed to have ended up in a cave. There was only him and the dirt and rocks that littered the cave, that is until another box appeared out of nowhere.
Trait gained: Awakened
You have taken the first step towards magic and awakened your mana pool, allowing you to store and regenerate mana.
Trait lost: Denial
See? Believing isn¡¯t so terrible, is it?
¡°Well, that, that was weird¡±, he thought, but then this entire situation was strange. First things first, he needed to figure out where he was, then how to get home. Looking at his light globe he smiled, aside from the unexpected teleportation, and the weird boxes, I guess my spell really did work, this is awesome. The boxes, conveniently disappeared when he was done reading them, but Arren still wondered what the trait things were all about, feeling a bit silly, but figuring a world with messages boxes might have stats and such as well he tried to imagine a status screen, with no result. He did try a few more time with command prompts like ¡°status¡± ¡°menu¡± Character screen¡± etc. which were met with similar results. That result was expected, relieving, and yet oddly disappointing. Gaming was a pastime of his and it would have been interesting if the world suddenly had game elements, but then what game didn¡¯t have monsters? So in a way it was relieving, although who knew what so much mana would do to plants and animals in the world? It would be interesting to see, but come to think of it, he might not want to let on that his spell had changed the world, at least not until he had seen the effects of the change. Well, that was a matter for later anyway, after all the change might not affect anyone other than magic users. The most immediate problem was figuring out where his spell had landed him, that and getting new clothing. All he was wearing was his plain black ritual robe, it wasn¡¯t exactly warm and people do tend to think you¡¯re a bit odd if you walk around wearing a robe in the streets. Also, it clearly wasn¡¯t the best gear for cave delving, especially since he was barefoot. Standing around thinking wasn¡¯t going to do much so he figured it was about time to move out; the sooner he got back the sooner he would have access to proper clothing. The room he was in was quite small, about the size of a basement, and it had only one tunnel leading out of it, making his first choice of direction an easy one. The tunnel was quite rough and uneven, but at least it was big enough to walk upright, he continued following it for quite some time, there were a few offshoots, but seeing as they were much more cramped he elected to follow the main tunnel. His first real choice was when he came to a fork with two passages leading in different directions, but seeing as the left-hand path slanted slightly upwards he figured it was his best bet. Walking forwards his bare foot caught on a rock leaving him sprawled out on the ground with a small cut on his toes. It wasn¡¯t anything major, but it still stung, especially since the dirt crept into the wound. After that he started walking slower, he wasn¡¯t really in a hurry anyway, he had the weekend of work so unless he was in a different country he should be able to get back, somehow. He kept walking for another ten maybe twenty minutes, it was hard to say, but he eventually came out onto a ledge overlooking a giant cavern. Looking down he was stunned, there were spiders everywhere, but they weren¡¯t normal spiders like one would brush away at home, or even the massive ones you might see on TV, no these were humongous. He was roughly a hundred feet above them, and he could see their features clearly, they had to be two meters across and there were hundreds of them. He was terrified, he didn''t mind spiders, at least not the ones at home, but then, they were tiny and hardly venomous, there hadn''t been any truly dangerous ones where he lived, but these monsters? Just the size meant they could probably have him for lunch, not to mention the venom they were likely to possess. ¡°Okay Arren, you can deal with this, they are down there, you are up here, just walk along the ledge and get the hell out¡± he spoke quietly to himself in an effort to relieve his fear. Unfortunately the spiders didn¡¯t seem to agree, they seemed restless, and then, to his utter horror, they started turning towards him, or more specifically the light globe he still kept above his hand. ¡°Not good, not good at all¡± The spiders were moving towards him just as he started sprinting along the ledge. The cliff face was an almost vertical drop, hopefully giving him an advantage, but these were spiders, they probably wouldn''t care much for little trivialities such as gravity, awful monsters that they were. He heard the screeching of enraged spiders as he ran, the ledge was narrow, but fear pushed him on, even if such speeds were reckless. At the end of the ledge there were two passages, one leading up, and one continuing straight ahead. A breath of air came from the first one so he sprinted, hopefully the air would mean an exit from the wretched cave. His legs were aching, his breath came in short bursts, and he was nearing exhaustion, but fear and adrenalin pushed him to keep running. Finally, after what seemed like forever he saw light, and with a last burst of effort he ran faster finally emerging into the light of the sun. He turned back towards the mouth of the cave and collapsed unto his knees. Hearing the wretched creatures approaching he did the only thing he could think of, gathering as many strands of mana he could, he wove them into a large hand and pushed it into cave and had it bash at the wall. Just as he could see the first spider the cave collapsed, hopefully burying the abdominal creatures. Arren allowed himself to fall backwards onto his back, looking up at the sky, the sun was setting making the clouds look as if they were on fire. He lay there silently watching as the sun finished setting and the moon started to rise. Eventually falling into an exhausted slumber Chapter 1: A new land It''s a strange thing, Arren thought, to be surprised at waking up. When he fell asleep, he had known there was a chance he wouldn¡¯t. That the spiders might come for him, in fact he was almost surprised that they hadn''t. If he had been able, he would have moved before sleeping, but at the time exhaustion had simply been too much. It seemed to have worked out all right though, he was still alive, although, he still didn¡¯t know where he was. He was still a bit foggy and somewhat sore from sleeping on the hard ground, but he sat up, his muscles wouldn''t get less stiff from lying around. He took his time to survey landscape around him, he hadn''t really had the capacity to take it in the night before. Now with the bright light of the rising sun he could see for miles in every direction. His mood was light, in part because of the cloudless skies above him. If nothing else, the weather seemed to favor the start of his journey homewards. He was standing on an outcropping of rock next to the cave entrance, behind him a mountain stretched to the skies. The warm air spoke of summer, but the peak of the mountain behind him still glistened with snow. Bellow him a wide sloping hill lead to a thick forest of mighty trees. He could see for miles around him in all direction. To the south lay a beautiful verdant valley, rich with the colors of summer, a lake ran through its bottom, radiating peace with its clear azure blue waters. To the west lay sprawling grasslands, in which he could barely make out the indistinct shape of creatures grassing and running. From this distance he couldn''t even be sure what they were, horses? Cows? The landscape was beautiful, if not for the single fact that he didn¡¯t recognize any of it, where had he ended up? Far to the east, past the forest bellow he could see a sprawling city, given its apparent size, even at this distance it must be enormous. The view of it was magnificent, tall spires rose to capture the sky, the rising sun behind it created an almost holy aura. For a while he simply stood there, appreciating the beauty of it, if nothing else he would get to see a new city before heading home, a large one like that was bound to have an airport. He stood there until his stomach grumbled, making his needs known; he hadn''t eaten since before the ritual, and he needed to get something to eat and drink. He longed to explore the distant city, and get home, but while it would serve as a goal for now, he first needed food. Seeing no reason to wait he started the long trek down the mountainside. Hopefully he would find something edible in the forest, or if needed attempt to hunt. The thought of hunting wasn''t very appealing though, and for once, he wished that he hadn''t grown up in a sea of steel and concrete. Hunting for beef was a lot simpler at a supermarket, especially since he''d hardly ever been in a forest. Then there was the concept of hunting without a weapon, which would be challenging. Maybe he could use his new and improved magic, try creating a fireball, he could see it in his mind; running through the forest with a huge ball of fire chasing some poor animal. It seemed humorous, although the classical fireball from game tended to blow up, which would make it less than ideal. The outcome seemed rather daunting, ¡°Come one, come all! Try Arren¡¯s newest dish, exploded rabbit¡± The idea did not sound too appealing, not to mention the risk of starting a forest fire. What he really needed was a more effective, less explosive spell. Creating the light globe had been easy enough, how hard could it be to use magic to hunt? He just needed to create a new spell. Fire obviously wasn''t an option though, it was far to destructive, water? No, well ice might work, but eh, it was dry everywhere. Air would just puff up his hair he really didn''t need the volume anyway. Earth was the obvious base of the spell, but how the hell did you move it with magic? Luckily, he had no shortage of pebbles to experiment with, so he picked up a few pebbles while walking, now how did you manipulate stone? The question kept bugging him for over an hour while he was walking. What were the properties of earth and stone? It was hard, unyielding, cold and dry. He felt these were all important aspects, but what was he hoping for here? Stone spikes? Spikes? Spears? He really wish he had a gun, that would make hunting easier, even if he wouldn''t be any less squeamish. Bullet though, he looked at the pebbles in his hand, well, maybe? He found a good spot to sit down, to rest a bit, he was over half way down by now, so he really needed to figure it out. Maybe shooting it with air magic? That seemed a bit unstable, how would you even create a stable push with enough force and precision? Moreover, that was assuming he could even use air, he really didn''t know, same for earth though. Clearly, it was time for experimentation. He tried to lift the rock with his mind, but it stayed resolutely in his hand. He wasn''t one to give up though, he kept trying, and the rock kept, well, sitting there. It. Was. Extremely. Frustrating. How do you get earth to move? He closed his eyes and tried to mediate, earth, what was earth? For Christ''s sakes! He had studied the elements in his wiccan training! Fuck it, be the stone, think like the stone, fluffy new age shit, be the stone, think like the stone, don''t rage. This was pointless, okay no words, just feeling, earth beneath his heels. It was really easy to feel the earth, it was practically in his bloodstream considering all the cuts beneath his feet. Note to self: all rituals should be done fully clothed, with shoes and a survival kit in case of accidental teleportation. At first there was nothing, gradually though, he did feel something. It was like a song, but quiet, like a whisper, he followed it. His mind raced, yet his heart slowed, his body became stiffer, he didn''t notice in his fervor to follow the song. His mind left his body behind, the song grew deeper, louder, nearer. He could hear the earth, it was singing. There were no words, not really, but it felt like it was singing a story. Mountains raised and erased, only to rise again, then to ground down to dust once again. An eternal cycle. The music enchanted him, trapped him, he could stay there forever, he was happy, tranquil. He might even have stayed there if not for a sharp pain distracting him. He almost wept as he was pulled back into reality, the song was lost and his shoulder was burning with pain. A crow like bird was pecking at his skin. Reacting on instinct, he slammed his hand into the very surprised crow. The crow that had obviously thought him a corpse was momentarily stunned. The punch sent it reeling of his shoulder onto the ground where he quickly fell on top of it. Grabbing a rock from the ground, he smashed it into the bird¡¯s head until it died. The blood disgusted him; it wasn''t a sight he was used to outside nosebleeds. The crows head was mangled, some of its brains were on the ground, it made him feel sick, he even felt guilty. The crow had thought him dead, it wasn''t to blame, not really, it must have been hungry, like he was. He would probably have to eat the crow, it didn''t sit right with him, but he didn''t really have a choice, he was too hungry. The hypnotic song was almost gone now, but it still whispered its presence from the earth beneath him, although he was somewhat apprehensive about it now. If that crow hadn''t stated eating him he might never have woken up. Looking at the mangled crow he felt pity, what an unfair reward for saving him. The song was obviously dangerous if he couldn''t resist it. The whole situation underlined how dangerous magic could be, but there would be no teacher, no one would have more experience with this new situation anyway. He looked back at the carcass of the crow like bird, he didn¡¯t recognize the species, but he wasn¡¯t the most avid bird watcher. He felt sick again, he might become a vegetarian after this, but for now, it was crow meat or starvation. He had to pluck it, something that turned out to be surprisingly hard. It might be because he was, well, weak. What with bookish tendencies and lacking attendance at the gym, he really could use a bit more muscle. It took him nearly an hour before he finished plucking the whole body, that is not counting the break to throw up. The city boy inside him was crying, he might just be crying in general. He hacked of the wings and head with a moderately sharp stone and threw them as far as he could, they didn''t have enough meat to bother cooking. After finishing the gruesome task he had very little appetite, but with the bird cleaned, he just had to roast it, and he logically knew that he was still hungry. Seeing as the trail was severely lacking inn all non-stone based resources he didn¡¯t have anything to cook it with or on, but hopefully he would manage with a bit of creative use of sorcery. He lay the plucked bird on a relatively large, flat stone and sat down beside it. He started out by creating a ball of light like he had the night before, slowly coxing it to generate heat outwards, away from his hands. He coaxed the ball into a fire, and held it over the bird. What a strange sight he must be; barefooted in a black robe, and roasting the somewhat mutilated corpse of a bird with a fireball, yeah, this was not the tale to tell the grandchildren, or anyone, ever. Whether through luck or skill the bird came out quite evenly roasted, even if a bit scorched in certain areas. Okay, must be luck, Arren thought to himself, he was shit at cooking and he knew it, he often ended up with grilled cheese, or spaghetti for dinner, obviously it wasn¡¯t the mark of a master chef. Half an hour later, having consumed what little meat was on the bird he was slightly less hungry, and reminded of why he wasn''t a vegetarian. The meat had been surprisingly juicy and flavorful. He still felt slightly bad for the bird though, but there hadn''t been much meat on it, so had there been another, he might have let his stomach overrule his conscience. That said, he wouldn''t get less hungry by just sitting there and the guilt of animal murder would have to wait for when he had other options. He simply didn''t know enough about plants to be anything but carnivorous at the moment. It was time to move on and the forest with its meat-filled bunnies awaited his hunting skills, which were unfortunately lacking. Also, exploded rabbit still didn''t sound appealing, he still needed a hunting spell. It seemed he would have to risk the earth song again, but maybe not from the actual earth. He picked up a few new pebbles and felt a slight pull from within them, like an echo. The stones, like the earth, were singing. The song was the same one that had entranced him before, but it was much fainter. He also knew that he couldn''t dive too deep into it, not at this time at least. This time there might not be a lucky (unlucky) bird nearby to save him. He listened to the song for a while, then slowly he tried drawing it into himself. His heart struck the slow deep beet of the ancient melody, he could feel the stones around him, he understood how to move them now. Force, patience, command, and the knowledge that they could and would listen. When he then commanded the stones to rise, they did, all of them. Commanding them to shot forwards was harder, but still manageable, aiming them however, was not. Still, success! Bunnies, prepare to meet your doom! He finally had a hunting weapon, one that needed practice though. He gathered more pebbles in his hand and made them all rise again. The stones floated above his hand and he made them move in patterns and shapes, occasionally he would shoot one forwards trying to improve his aim. The practice barely scratched at his mana pool, it took far less than he would have though. Manipulating the stones only took a little of his effort, a hardly noticeable one at that, shooting them used more mana, but hardly much of it. By the time he reached the forest his aim had improved significantly, though he was hardly a master sniper yet. Truth be told his aim was still rather atrocious, but he was making progress, that''s what mattered. The earth song even seemed a bit clearer now that he had listened too it for a while. Thankfully it was still just a whisper of the power he had felt deep in the earth. If it was stronger, he might not have been able to resist its pull, hell he might have dived after it, perhaps loosing himself in its vastness. He wondered idly if the other elements had their own songs as well. It wasn''t impossible, he thought, but what could be the source of their song? For water that was an easy question, but what about air or fire? He put the question aside for now, he had arrived at the edge of the forest and though he had been preoccupied with his arcane musings, he suddenly realized that the trees were much larger than they had appeared from the distance. At the edge of the forest they were taller than a two-story house, and these were the small ones. The trees were not just big, they were weird, and varied, even though there were several different types, he couldn¡¯t even recognize one type of tree, which was disconcerting. It might just be that he was terrible at recognizing tree sorts, but they were weird as in, some of the seemed to be glowing ever so faintly. The sight was beautiful, he couldn¡¯t deny that, but ¡­still weird. Not that it mattered, he needed to pass through them no matter how they looked and the forest wouldn''t disappear because he willed it. Slowly, he took his first tentative steps into the woodland. He walked for a while further into the forest until he finally spotted a rabbit, well it looked like a rabbit except it had a small horn. What was with the animals changing? On some level he had expected mana to affect the wildlife, but first the spiders and now this bunny? It was all happening much faster than he had anticipated. The rabbit just stood there, cute and cuddly nibbling on a leaf. He really wished he didn''t have to kill it. He had no choice though, eat or die. He prepared the pebbles he had collected for this assault, seven of them floated above his hand, another twelve rested in the pocket of his robes. His first rock flew out, and it missed horribly. It hadn''t even been close to the damn rabbit, instead he had hit a tree, splinting the bark at the impact area. It was admittedly a terrible shot; and it had ruined his ¡°stealth¡±. That much was obvious because the rabbit, rather than run, turned towards him. It seemed the bunny wasn¡¯t happy with his failed assassination attempt, it was glaring at him. There was no way a fluffy puffball like this should be able to give such a menacing glare, psycho rabbit. It charged him, horn first and with surprising speed. That was not good, not good at all.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Not his proudest moment, but he had no choice, he ran. While doing so he fired several pebbles at it, but, to his dismay, they all missed. Having fired his seventh rock, he grabbed more from his pocket, unfortunately his stamina was laughable. He had enough mana for a lot more rocks, but he struggled with hitting the damn thing, he wished the damn killer bunny would just lay of him, no harm no foul, right? Apparently not, it kept chasing him as he drew another three rocks from his robe to try again. Two more of his rocks missed, he only had enough rocks for a few more attempts. The damn bunny had reached him though and with an insane determination it stabbed its horn straight into his leg. Shit, shit, shit, a bunny stuck in his leg, and one rock, great. He fired the last one; the bunny now rather immobile due to its horn being stuck in his foot was an easy and very much stationary target. The lack of distance helped quite a bit as well, it allowed him to hit it through the eye, scoring a deadly hit, thus felling the psycho bunny. Ah shit, with the adrenalin of the fight ebbing off, he was really starting to feel the pain from the rabbit¡¯s horn. He then shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he couldn¡¯t kill it. That was far too close, the damn bunny might have killed him if it was just a tiny bit bigger! Magic or not, bunnies are not supposed to be fucking monsters that try to skewer you like a damn kebab. He was almost regretting bringing magic into the world, the psychotic thing was like a less funny bugs bunny, the half immortal little shit. Truth be told, he knew he was the one that kept missing, but blaming the bunny was less embarrassing. Damn that psycho bunny! Looking around he realized that he had no idea where he was, he had lost all sense of direction running from the damn beast, the only thing that was obvious was that he was now far deeper in the forest. The woods were thicker here, and less light filtered through the canopy above him, hopefully there wouldn''t be a lot of monsters here. Arren grasped the bunny by its now bloodied neck as he pulled the horn out from his leg, holding back a scream as he did so. He tried putting weight on the injured leg and found himself still able to hobble along, but it made the wound bleed even more. There was nothing for it, the robe had to sacrifice some of its cotton; he tore a strip from his robe to bandage his leg. With a broad stick to apply pressure to the wound, it was soon in serviceable condition, although painful. He needed a doctor to look at it, although at the moment he would settle for the ability to wash the wound, but he didn''t even have any water and he was getting thirsty, parched really. Sadly, a doctor would have to wait; it wasn''t like he would stumble over one in the woods anyway. Water would hopefully come sooner, there was bound to be streams or pools in the forest, animals had to drink too. The first objective then would be to skin and prepare the bunny for consumption, he felt a lot better about eating the bunny then the bird, frankly, bunnies weren¡¯t that cute anymore. That''s when he realized two things, first, he didn''t have a knife to skin the beast, or the knowledge of how to do so properly. Second, his cooking spell was likely set the forest on fire. The objective was clear then, he needed to find a sharp rock to use as a knife, and some more rocks to secure a fire. Right on then, more walking. It really shouldn¡¯t come as a surprise, but walking with a stab wound was an unpleasant experience. Nothing to do for it though, he could only move onwards, or limp along as it were. He moved along for a while through a tight cluster of trees; their massive trunks were amazing, he had never seen such big trees before, and he wondered idly how old such trees must be. These thoughts were immediately forgotten when the woods gave way and opened a meadow. The sight that met him there was, unpleasant, very much so in fact, though it was strangely curious. The meadow was covered in blood, and parts. Huge furry limbs were everywhere, on the ground and in the trees. Only the presence of a few intact heads allowed him to identify these creatures as some sort of humongous wolves. Most curious however was the little old Woman sitting in the middle of the clearing, knitting. Arren really couldn''t believe his eyes, there, right in front of him was the archetypal little grandma, short, wrinkled and with white curly hair. She would have looked peaceful were it not for the blood-splatter covering her apron. She even had an apron for gods sake, the only thing lacking was a batch of cookies. Then there was the knitting, the needles looked unsuspiciously red considering the surroundings, what kind of Grandma was this? ¡°Now deary, it''s rude to stare you know, come join me instead!¡± cried The Old Woman She even sounded like a grandmother, although her voice resounded oddly in his mind. He continued staring for a moment before he limped towards her. While he was doing his best to avoid the gore, she kept speaking, casually even, as if such scenes where normal. ¡°Never mind the mess, these rascals just wouldn''t leave me alone, even when I told them you were coming. They were really quite rude, so I had to teach them a lesson¡±. Arren stopped abruptly,¡°How would you know I was coming?¡± he asked. The Old Woman just looked at him and chuckled, ¡°Of course I knew dearie, although you sure took your time, I''ve been waiting here for hours! I''m almost done with the scarf I started!¡± She seemed to be rather annoyed with him for that, he in turn was just baffled that he was blamed for being late to an appointment he never made. Still she just sat there knitting, click, click, click, the needles moved almost too fast for him to see them, the blood flying from them was harder to miss though. ¡°Eh, mam, there''s blood on your needles¡± he said, trying to be helpful. The woman was clearly insane. She just shot him a look that pretty much amounted to, ¡°of course ya dip shit.¡± She let him squirm under gaze for a while before answering. ¡°First of all, none of that mam nonsense, I''m Alice, second, it''s worg¡¯s blood, it would be dumb to just waste it all, wouldn''t it?¡± Again he was at a loss, ¡°What is a worg and why would its blood special?¡± The look she shoot him now was of the kind only a mother can master, resignation mixed with patience, bit of love. She sighed quietly, clearly a bit annoyed, but eventually answered with a question of her own. ¡°Arren, how much do you know of worgs? Two things hit him then; first this was the third non-natural creature he had seen. Second, he had never told the woman his name. God, this entire situation was surreal. ¡°I don''t really know anything about them mam, I mean, Alice.¡± He corrected himself not wanting to antagonize her. ¡°I only know what I see, that they look like, ¡­err wolves, but huge?¡± Another sigh before She spoke: ¡°Worgs are similar to wolves in many ways, but they''re also related to demons, making them both stronger and smarter, the demon part of them makes the blood a good source of magic for enchantment¡± Her tone in saying this was something akin to a bored teacher repeating the same lecture for the umpteenth time. ¡°Now come over here, the scarf is finished and I need to look at your foot.¡± Arren stepped closer without even realizing it, before he stopped abruptly. What had that batty old woman just said, demons? Magic? Enchantment? How could anyone know about things like that? He cast the spell yesterday. Unless he had been held in the ritual for a much longer time than he though. His feet started moving of their own volition as the woman stared at him. When he stopped next to her she wrapped a thin black scarf with blood red streaks in it around his neck before grabbing his injured foot. Her hands flashed with a brilliant white light and the pain disappeared rather abruptly as the skin started knitting itself together. He looked at the healed leg in wonder, she looked at him before commenting coldly ¡°In the future, try not to be stabbed by bunnies¡±. He swore quietly, wishing fervently that no one else had observed the ¡°battle¡±. Alice was just laughing, and her eyes sparkled with mischievous glee, as if she had found his ordeal incredibly amusing. She might have guessed from the rabbit in hand, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the woman had seen the whole thing. ¡°Thank you¡± he said, trying desperately to figure out what was going on. She sat there, on her stump, knowing smile plastered on her face as she looked up at him. ¡°You¡¯re confused yes? World not as you left it, giant spiders, bunnies with horns, status screens? Might want to think about which world you came back to¡± Arren paled, what she said made sense, but it was crazy, maybe he had gone crazy? If it she was right, could he go back? What about his family, his friends? Where would he go? He was dazed, the weight of her words pressed down on him, trying to convince him of a truth that seemed so obvious yet simultaneously preposterous. She sat there, a look of pity on her face, ¡°My dear boy, I see you are confused, and I can sense your magic, you need guidance and a place to rest your mind, follow the path behind me, it will lead you to a village, the guardians will challenge you, but if you follow their instructions they should let you in.¡± she paused for a moment before continuing; ¡°Now I really must get going, but I think we will meet again¡± Wait, status screens? Before he had a chance to as, he blinked, and she was gone, the world spun, he felt so lost and unsure of himself. He brushed his fingers along the scarf she had given him, assuring himself that the words still ringing in his head had indeed been spoken. He felt like he was hallucinating, once again thinking everything that had happened to be a weird trip. Still in a daze he stumbled towards the path the woman had pointed out. He walked along the path for some time, he didn¡¯t know how long it had been, but suddenly a loud voice snapped him out of his daze, challenging him. ¡°STOP AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF!¡± The voice rang loud and clear, in the distance he could hear birds taking flight and animals scuttling away. Arren froze up immediately, which prompted the man hidden in the trees to call out once more. ¡°DECLARE YOUR INTENTIONS!¡± ¡°I seek shelter, an Old Woman I met here in the forest told me to seek your village, her name was Alice.¡± There was only silence after that; he stood there for a good five minutes, trying hard not to move before another voice rang out. ¡°A vine will reach down and grip you, do not be alarmed, we''re taking you to our settlement.¡± True to his word, a massive vine reached from a nearby tree and picked him up, almost gently. Only almost though, as it had a rather rough surface. It did however, do its job marvelously and he soon he was treated to a surreal sight, trees knitted together, forming walkways and buildings, a tree village! It was breathtaking in its subtle elegance. The vine brought him down on a platform on the outside of the village, in front of him were three people, all of them tall, beautiful and with pointed ears. Once again speechless Arren realized why the watcher had called him out as a human, these people were the very stereotype of elves. The first elf wearing a robe filled with runes, it emanated mana, as well as a sense of wealth. He was probably a noble, Arren guessed. The other two were clearly warriors, having bows on their backs and swords at their sides. One of the warriors looked at him unblinkingly, betraying nothing of his emotions, but the other one looked at him with barely concealed contempt. The mage looked at him first with curiosity, then as if he hit a switch, guarded anger, disgust. Arren couldn¡¯t quite place it, but it was unnerving. Eventually the mage broke the silence;¡°So, Alice sent you?¡± It was obvious that he was skeptical of this, or of Arren in general, opting to be polite Arren answered with a bow. ¡°Yes Sir, my name is Arren, and I met Alice in the woods, she told me to go here because I was lost and likely unable to deal with the danger of the forest¡±. The noble whispered something to one of the guards who promptly ran off. The noble then gave Arren a nod before indicating that Arren should follow him. ¡°My name is Rathore, I will guide you to a temporary dwelling where you can stay before we introduce you to the rest of the council.¡± The man was clearly nervous for some reason, but Arren ignored it and kept walking. Eventually they came to a small hut, like the others it seemed to have been grown rather than built, but it was distanced from the other buildings. Just then the warrior who had ran off came back and handed something to the noble, before resuming his post at the right, he didn''t even seem winded from the run. Rathore opened the door and led Arren inside, explaining that this was where he would be staying while he was in the village. It was small compared to many of the other buildings, around, but for one person, it was rather spacious. The elf turned to Arren and presented him with two bracelets. ¡°these are a symbol meant to reflect your status as a guest¡± he said as he slid onto Arren''s wrists where they shrunk to fit snugly. Just as he was about to thank the elf he felt a massive jolt go through him, sending him crashing to the floor, leaving a sneering elf looking down at him. ¡°Did you think you could just walk in her, pretending to be sent by The Old One? Do you think a few centuries is enough to erase your crime!? Did you think we had forgotten your face!?¡± The elf was shouting, clearly furious. ¡°I don''t know how you faked your death all those years ago, but you won¡¯t escape again! Those bracelets will make your magic worthless! Do you hear me? Worthless! Now, rot in here until the court decides what to do with you. You should never have shown yourself here ¡°Lord¡± Ashfield for you will never leave.¡± He almost growled when he said the name. The elf dashed out closing the door behind him, massive vines sprouted and blocked the door, trapping him here. Arren lay dazed on the floor, he was in pain, his mana wasn''t responding and he had clearly been mistaken for someone else. Who the hell was this ¡°lord¡± Ashfield? What the hell could the bastard have done to elicit such a reaction from the elf? And how could Arren look like him, he couldn''t possibly be related, they were from different worlds even! Hopefully the elf was senile, and someone would be along to clear up this mess. Chapter 2: Trials and Tribulations Arren dragged himself over to the bed; it was soft, and warm. Its comforts helped chase away his wariness, but did nothing to sooth his troubled mind. If Rathore was an indication, the elves seemed to hate him, all because of someone else¡¯s crimes. At least the elves treated their captives well; aside from the initial pain the bracelets didn¡¯t hurt and the ¡°cell¡± was spacious and clean. It was hard to believe that a day that had started so well had seen him stabbed by a bunny then jailed by elves, not to mention the grandma that killed monsters and used their blood to knit scarves who subsequently informed him that he was probably stranded in a different universe than the one he was born in. The forest scene still sent shivers down his spine, the scarf around his neck was warm and felt great on his skin, but it still unnerved him. The grizzly scene in the woods now seemed like an omen, he was probably going to die in this village. Had The Old Woman known that this would happen? That the elves would greet him only to throw him in a cell? For a long time, he just laid on the bed, his mind lost in the anguish of the upcoming trial, if they even gave him one. It might be possible that the elves would realize their mistake, but somehow, he doubted it. If elves were anything like humans, they would gladly let their rage blind them. Rage and revenge had always been one of humanities greatest passions; he doubted the elves would be different. Sure, there might be magic to assess truth in this world, but likely they weren¡¯t interested in truth, not when rage was so satisfying. Even with all these thoughts churning inside his head, Arren soon found himself falling asleep, exhausted after his eventful day. He awoke with a headache, hoping for a moment, that the events of the last day was nothing more than a nightmare. His eyes opened to a flat wooden roof, and for a moment he thought he was back in his apartment, but looking around he instantly recognized the smooth wooden walls. They seemed to be the hallmark of elven construction as far as he could tell. What little he had seen of the village all seemed to be constructed, or grown, in the same manner. Tiny windows of golden amber were interspaced along the roof, filling the bungalow with a soft golden light. If it hadn¡¯t been for the fact that it was his prison, he suspected he might have found the effect beautiful. He hadn¡¯t noticed much of it the day before; exhaustion and confusion having distracted him from the scenery. It was plain; there was his bed, a small desk with a chair and a wooden stand with a water basin. Someone had obviously been in the room while he slept because he could see a spare set of clothes on the desk, as well as a bar of soap and a towel that hadn¡¯t been there before. As he got up from the bed and ambled over to the basin he idly wondered whether washing was for his or their benefit, no one wants to stand next to a reeking man after all. In the end, it really didn¡¯t matter, Arren relished the opportunity to wash, eager to discard the bloodstained robe and free himself of the dirt. Sadly, whoever that had brought the clothes and water had neglected to bring any food, and his prize trophy, the rabbit was gone. Logically, he knew that the slightly mangled rabbit was not what most would consider a great prize, but damn it, it was his prize. It couldn¡¯t be helped though, the rabbit was gone, probably thrown away. Seeing nothing to do about it, Arren threw his robe in a heap on the floor before washing thoroughly and donning the new outfit. The clothing fit well, but they were a far cry from what he was used to, being clearly rough spun and handmade. Not that he would have expect anything else; so far this didn¡¯t seem like a modern world. If the swords and bows were any indication, the industrial revolution was a long way off. Having already cleaned himself Arren cast about for something to do. He wasn''t the type to just sit down and patiently wait for his captors to drag him of, not that he had been captured before, but sitting around doing nothing just wasn¡¯t him. The elves however had neglected to leave him anything with which to entertain himself. Most likely, that had been on purpose. There was no better form of torture than to force a prisoner to languish in boredom with only the company of his own thoughts and past crimes. The problem was that Arren didn''t have any great past crimes to accompany him, only some minor shoplifting a few years back. He did however have plenty of thoughts, mostly regarding his own wrongful imprisonment and impending doom. Besides those, all he had where his few remaining pebbles and the knitted scarf Alice had given him. He paced around the room for a while, trying in vain to use his magic to create light globes, that way he would at least have been able to practice his spells. When that showed no results, he tried to break of the bracelets that cut him off from his magic, they didn''t budge. He tried hitting them with the pebbles, biting them, even bracing them against the bed and trying to pull them of, all to no avail. All he was left with for his struggles were bruised and scratched wrists. Finally tiring of his pacing and useless attempts at magic he sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed. The situation seemed hopeless and he had no idea the elves planned to keep him in their little prison. He thumbed on of the pebbles thoughtfully, thinking of how he could escape, but nothing came to him. There was however, a whisper, so faint he could hardly hear it, but so familiar and calming it almost hurt. The stone! The stone was still singing, although it was far more subdued than before. He sat quietly and strained himself to listen, he drew the whispers of the song into himself, letting the tranquility of the earth fill him. It was fainter than before, so much so that he felt no fear of becoming lost in the music like he had the day before. He was mostly aware of the world around him, but his attention was on the music inside him. For hours he sat transfixed, he flowed with and studied the music. With every breath and every note, the song became clearer, the words still mysterious, but revealing a profound insight to him; The song was not singing only of its history, or its cycle, it was much deeper than that. The song he was listening to was both complex and simple, it was about being, not living as such, but existing in an endless and strange way. He envied the earth for its tranquility and eternal nature, as his own life might be approaching its end, but it was also comforting. If these were to be his final hours, then spending them in the presence of the eternal seemed fitting. Several times he tried to float away on the currents of the song, but it seemed the bracelets anchored his spirit, for he could not leave his body behind. There was a mixed blessing in this, for he could finally study the song without fear of losing himself to it. With every note and cord, he understood more of it, he grasped at the secrets of the earth and found them yielding for him. Arren opened his eyes and looked around in surprise; the room had grown darker, illuminated only by the soft flickering light of lanterns outside his windows. He must have been listening to the song for longer than he thought. Just as he was about to return to the song the door started creaking and the vines started receding. Most likely, this was what had brought him out of the trance in the first place. It seemed to take only a few seconds before the snake like vines to crawl back to the wall, and although it was a fascinating sight, it filled him with dread of what waited outside. Quiet terror started rising in him as he waited for the door to open. When it did, it was not the angry noble from before but rather a slightly taller man in a blue robe edged with silver. He looked a bit older, perhaps middle age, but he still shone with vitality. Arcane runes gleamed in the falls of the robe and Arren could feel the mana radiating from it, an enchanted object no doubt. Strangely, there were no guards this time, only the man who stood there regarding him with a quiet, searching gaze. Given the absence of guards and the strange shimmering robe, Arren suspected that this man was quite a powerful mage. His features were sharp, even handsome, he held himself with an aura of quiet confidence that warned of hidden power. Even so, his eyes were surprisingly kind, they were filled with the wisdom of old age and lifetimes of experience. Arren was unsure what to do in this situation, but manners rarely hurt, so he gave a short formal bow and greeted him. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Arren, am I to be presented to the council?¡± It was a simple, polite gesture, but it seemed to surprise the elf. For a long moment the elf said nothing, before giving a slight bow in turn ¡°I am Caelian Whisperwind, I have come to guide you to your trial, follow me¡±. Arren followed reluctantly, but there was no point in defiance. Likely, there were guards all around him, hidden in the shadows; he wouldn¡¯t be able to run anywhere, especially without any magic. They walked through the village in silence, here and there elves poked their head out windows and doors to get a look at him. Some looked hateful, others afraid, none seemed to look at him as anything but a criminal. What crimes could warrant a death-march without a single glance of sympathy he wondered? He had expected there to be more elves, but so far, he had seen no more than a few dozens, all of which seemed to be doing other things. Perhaps they were afraid of him, or maybe some just couldn¡¯t be bothered to watch. After seeing all the anger and hatred in the small crowd he had been expecting people to start throwing things, or at least shout abuse, but no one ever did. Were the elves a more civilized people then, he wondered, maybe they were more rational than emotional, even in the face of the clearly violent emotions his presence evoked? Peopled had always fascinated him, but now he was simply perplexed, if these were humans he might even have been killed by now. After a good five minutes they stopped in front of a set of oaken doors, they were carved with a simple image, one of a ring made of interlaced branches. Within the circle where a set of scales equally balanced though one held a stone and the other three feathers. The carving was beautiful, although it seemed illogical that the feathers could counterbalance the stone. The mage besides him, obviously aware of his reverie answered his unspoken question. ¡°In elven law, every action is seen as part of a greater whole, thus repeat offences are seen with greater severity than the first crime committed. It made him thoughtful, to what extent did they hold such a belief? He wanted to ask, Caelian seemed to read his mind again and elaborated. ¡°A thief caught once only gives back what was stolen or pays reparations, a thief caught for the second is forced to work for the offended, the tenth it¡¯s prison and work, after that they are banished¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Arren considered it for a bit before asking; ¡°what about more serious crimes?¡± Caelian hesitated, ¡°A willful murderer is banished, or executed, depending on the circumstances¡± he paused, ¡°an enemy of state or a mass murder can be sent into the void¡± That sounded ominous, Arren thought, before asking. ¡°What is the void¡± Caelian didn¡¯t answer, he turned away from Arren, seeming almost ashamed. As if he wanted to flee he waved his hand and the doors opened. Either Caelian didn¡¯t like the Void, or that was what was in store for Arren. The room was shaped like a coliseum, filled with elves, rows upon rows of elves. They sat in the circular rows leading down to the center where an open space faced a slightly raised platform filled with five stern-faced elves. Caelian guided Arren down the steps into the amphitheaters center, but he made no indication of what Arren should do, instead he simply stood there stoically by his side waiting for the council to speak. The silence was oppressive, hundreds of elves stared at him, but not a one made a sound. Arren looked around, searching their eyes for any who looked at him with anything other than scorn. He might have missed some, but as far as he could tell the only ones that didn¡¯t look downright hateful wore stony expressions hiding all their emotion. The sole exception was Caelian who looked at him with something akin to curiosity, though he too masked it well. The middle judge, Rathore, the noble from the day before broke the silence; ¡°Lord Ashfield, you are presented before this court to account for your crimes, against Elves, Men, Dwarves and all other races that you have injured in your insane quest for dominance. There is little need to remind anyone of your crimes, as they are well remembered by our people. The passing of time may allow your crimes to pass into history for the younger races, but we remember. We know not how you escaped your death three centuries ago, but we will find out and you will answer for your crimes. Have you anything to say for yourself?¡± The small speech was not very encouraging, even if it was something like what Arren had expected given the rage he had seen. Still, he had to try, he should not have to answer for crimes he had not committed, and so, he spoke: ¡°Honored judges, I stand before you innocent, free of guilt, my name is Arren Blackthorn, I do not know any Ashfield. I was born twenty-one years ago, how could I have committed crimes centuries before my birth? I do not know why your people see me as a monster, nor anything about the man you call Ashfield, the first time I heard the name was when I was thrown into my cell. From what I gather, I look like this man, this monster that you all hate, but there must be some way to prove that I am not him? A truth spell to attest to my words? I do not wish to die¡± The last words came out mostly as a whisper, he felt weak and sick, tears threatened to fall, but he held them back, if he was to die, he would at least try to hold on to his dignity. Once again, the room lapsed into silence, then screams and shouting erupted from all around him. The elves worked themselves into a fury, spitting abuse at him, angry because they felt he was lying. It was as he suspected, revenge and rage would seldom give way to doubt and reason. They were screaming that he should die, the council members looked at each other before Rathore rose from his seat, sneering at Arren ¡°You lie boldly Ashfield, but it matters not, for your crimes, we of the council sentence you to be banished into the endless void¡± The crowd cheered, applause and cries of approval rang out around him, Arren felt numb, dead inside, how could he die now? Now that magic was real, and he had an entire world to explore? ¡°Shut your yapping¡± A voice full of power and anger called out, it resounded in his mind and cut through the noise of the crowd. A voice that was familiar, it sounded like a little old grandma, but this time the love was missing, there was anger, disappointment. Alice was hobbling down the walkway towards the judges. All the way down she was supporting herself on a cane creating a loud, persistent tap, tap, tap as she slowly came closer to the center. No one dared speak after her words. There was no doubt that the elves knew who she was, everyone stared at her; some with fear, others with fascination. It took her a while, but eventually she came to a halt when she reached Arren¡¯s side. The room was deadly silent, everyone waited to see what Alice would say or do next. What followed would have been hilarious if it wasn¡¯t so serious. Alice, who already looked like a cute grandmother chose that moment to reveal what Arren would always remember as her most matronly aspect. It was the guilt treatment, as he had never witnessed it. Speaking with a soft, kind voice, she made grown men and women quake in their boots and bow their heads in shame. The judges looked like they would much prefer the earth to swallow them up rather than face her stern gaze. It was a magnificent display of pure grandmotherly power. ¡°Now children, I have always been proud of you, loved you, I settled in these woods to watch you grow. I remember when your mothers and fathers came to me for advice; those were the good times, times that are long past. They were times when your people strived to embody justice. Have you forgotten these virtues? To judge and condemn a child, to judge his tale false without evidence, to deny him a trial of truth? What depths have you fallen to, that you would murder a child to satisfy a base desire for revenge? Your ancestors would be ashamed.¡± Silence filled the room as she let her accusation hang in the air, one of the female judges broke the silence, it was obvious that she didn¡¯t quite want to oppose Alice, but felt she had to defend her actions, and those of her people. ¡°Honored One, he requests a trial of truth because he knows that willfully lying will kill him, the sword would end him, he needs only tell one lie to escape the void, his death should not be so swift, nor should a divine relic be used on one such as he.¡± She flashed Arren a look of cold hatred ¡°He deserves to suffer for his crimes¡±. Arren really didn¡¯t know what to say, he had known jealousy and scorn, but such cold hatred directed at him was a new experience, and an unpleasant one at that. Most of the other elves were nodding along with her, it seemed to inspire confidence because she continued. ¡°Heshould have died in the war, Caelian was there when he perished¡± she turned to Arren ¡°I do not know how you fooled him, but by the divine, you will not escape again¡±. Surprisingly it was not Alice that spoke this time, but Caelian; ¡°I was there in the last battle, when both Balor and Ashfield perished three centuries ago, back then I went into the war to avenge my family, to kill the man who slaughtered my son. This is not that man.¡± Arren stood there gaping, both from the shock of Caelian speaking of centuries as if they were decades and that he, who should be the angriest, was standing up in his defense. Caelian looked around the room with a steady gaze, before resting his eyes on Arren. ¡°The man I helped kill all those years ago was a cruel tyrant, a murderer, but he was not an actor, nor a politician, he lacked control. There is no way to create a doppelganger that can wield mana, if Ashfield somehow found a way to survive, he would recognize me, he would want vengeance. This child did not even recognize me when I came to collect him, he may look like my old enemy, but I don¡¯t believe he is, I trust the Old One¡± He bowed towards Alice Alice nodded approvingly, the audience went mute and the judges looked horrified, especially the woman who had drawn Caelian into the confrontation, clearly this was the opposite of what she had expected to happen. ¡°Fetch the sword¡± Caelian bellowed. A guard hurried out of the hall. Another judge spoke: ¡°You are making a mistake Caelian, and I will not stand for it. I vote that we cast this abominable creature into the void immediately, so he may not escape in death, only to return once more¡±. The other judges slowly raised their hands, staring frightfully at Alice all the while, clearly afraid of her reaction, but once again, it was Caelian who spoke. This time his voice was cold, measured with a hint of barley-concealed anger. ¡°I invoke the hero¡¯s boon¡± It was like a thunderclap, everyone shouting out at once, but he cut everyone off. ¡°I demand that Arren be tested with the sword of truth and that the council be bound to accept divine judgment¡±. Arren didn¡¯t know the significance of the hero¡¯s boon, but given the strong reaction it seemed it was something very special, especially if he could overturn the judges combined voices. The judge that had originally appealed to Caelian spoke up again. ¡°You would waste it on this filth, why?¡± Caelian didn¡¯t even hesitate; ¡°Because he is innocent, and I will not see his blood spilled for the crimes of another¡±. The judge looked as if she wanted to beg him not to proceed, but couldn¡¯t seem to find the words. Caelian retrieved a small dagger from the folds of his robe and held up his hands, one clutching the dagger. He spoke in a loud booming voice; ¡°I invoke my hero¡¯s boon; I demand that this man be tested by the sword of truth and he be given visitors rights as long as he stays with us, should he live through the trial.¡± With that he slashed his palm and let the blood fall freely to the floor where it hissed and evaporated.
Local Notice; Divine Boon innvoked
Caelian Whisperwind has invoked a hero¡¯s boon. He has demanded that Arren Blackthorn be tried by the Sword of Truth and that he be given visitors rights should he survive the trial. Breaking the boon will be seen as an affront to the gods Jesira, Halon, and Hecate.
Given the combination of horror and fury in the faces of the surrounding elves, this must be quite a significant thing for the elves. Everyone was looking at the screens in front of them, the boon would be upheld by gods. By the looks on their faces, the elves weren¡¯t pleased with this outcome, not at all. The judges sat very still in their chairs staring at Caelian with unconcealed rage. Rathore spoke up, his voice barely more than a hiss ¡°We are bound to obey. Bring the sword?¡± A guard stepped forwards, panting slightly from his run, he was now holding a long wooden box that he opened reverently. Inside was a sword that glowed with thousands of tiny, tiny runes, all of which were on the blade itself, surprisingly the handle was completely plain, just a regular steel guard and a leather handle, the exception being a brilliant emerald star adorning the pummel. The guard approached Arren, holding the box out towards him. Arren cast a questioning glance at Caelian who immediately handed him a knife followed by an instruction. ¡°Slash your palm and let the blood drip on the emerald star, then speak these words: ¡°Let the emerald star reveal the truth and by death purge illusion and lies. When you do the star will shine and the sword will rise into the air above you and if you willfully lie, the sword will end you.¡± Arren felt he was an honest person at heart, even so the idea of dying over a single lie seemed excessive, massively so. Couldn¡¯t they just have a lasso of truth or something, a truth serum maybe? mind reading, anything. It wasn¡¯t even that he wanted to lie, but what if they asked about his earlier life? Could he reveal his true origin? How would they react if he did? Still, he reached out and slashed his palm, intoning the words as he did so. For a moment the world seemed to spin, his blood seemed to be on fire, the emerald glowed with intense green light and the sword floated into the air. The pain seemed to lessen a bit, but then seared when Caelian asked him a question; ¡°Are you, or have you ever been the one called Lord Ashfield?¡± It was a simple question, but even had been a complex one, he didn¡¯t think he would be able to lie, the fire compelled truth. ¡°No¡± he said, hoping that was enough to satisfy the council, the fire in his blood was agony. That was the only question Caelian asked, then the judges laid into him, one question wasn¡¯t enough, not by a long shot. Arren didn¡¯t know how long the trial lasted, he thought he answered questions for hours, often the same ones asked in many different ways. Some seemed irrelevant, like how many spells he knew, what his level of mastery was, what titles did he have, list them all. Answering didn¡¯t require thought, the magic compelled answers anyway, sometimes he would cry, the agony was tearing him apart, when he finally lost consciousness he welcomed oblivion, almost hoping he could die, so as not to suffer. Chapter 3: Awakened Arren awoke in darkness. He was confused, covered in sweat and his entire body burned. With an effort of will he reached for his power. The shackles that had bound him were gone and mana trickled into his hand until a small globe of pure white light rose from his hand, illuminating the room. The light brought fresh waves of pain, the very act of conjuring the globe seemed to ignite his body with flames. He let the light fade and fell back into unconsciousness. The next time he opened his eyes the room was filled with soft light streaming through the curtains, he was still in a lot of pain, but it wasn¡¯t as intense as before. He turned his head, looking around the room. It was a large, unfamiliar room; walls covered in shelves, floor buried in books. He was unsure whether he was in a library or a storage room. He was the notable exception, well him and the bed he was occupying. He was lying on a thick mattress on the floor beneath the window directly opposite the door. Arren shoved the blankets of him, hoping the air would cool his burning body and refresh his mind. He lay still for a moment, his arms aching from throwing of the blankets. He was alive. He could feel his mana, that was good, he might feel terrible, but at least he was alive. For a while he did nothing, he simply breathed, appreciating that he still could, even if it was painful. Eventually he made to rise, which turned out to be a terrible idea, he didn¡¯t even manage to stand properly before his legs gave out and he fell face first into a stack of books. Pain blossomed in his entire body, there was the sound of running feet, then blissful blackness. Arren didn¡¯t know how long he had been unconscious for this time, but he awoke back on the mattress to the feeling of gentle hands rubbing his chest with a cool liquid that seemed to burn and chill him simultaneously. He hadn¡¯t opened his eyes yet, the treatment was somewhat pleasant, even with the strange liquid. Honestly, if it hadn¡¯t been for the pain he might have found this erotic, hot nurse fantasy and all. That was also a reason he hadn¡¯t opened his eyes yet, the hands caressing his body were long and slender, clearly those of a woman, but he really didn¡¯t want to face a reality were this was actually a troll or something, better to pretend sleep and enjoy the fantasy. It was a luxurious feeling, like going to a spa and getting a full body massage, perfect for his ruined body, until a voice broke his reverie, a male voice. ¡°I know you¡¯re awake¡± Arren froze, unsure of what to do, should he admit it or pretend to still be sleeping? The man above him didn¡¯t give him a choice though, he just kept speaking. ¡°You tensed when you woke, it doesn¡¯t matter, you just need to listen anyway. Your mana, don¡¯t use it again, not until father says you can.¡± That got Arren¡¯s attention, he opened his eyes to look up at a man, a very handsome man; a younger, dark haired version of Caelian. The man¡¯s features were strong, sharp, like his father, handsome, albeit more youthful. Awkward though Arren. He hadn¡¯t even suspected that the one touching him had been male. A very attractive man too be sure, but he didn¡¯t flirt, he would not be ¡°that¡± creepy patient. He stared at the elf¡¯s smirking face for a while; he couldn¡¯t help but notice the peculiar colour of the man¡¯s eyes, yellow and green, fascinating. The elf was the one who broke the moment; he put his hand on Arren¡¯s chest, watching as he squirmed, and smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve applied a healing salve to your body, it should help your body heal, but you have a rather severe case of mana-burn and we can¡¯t treat that with magic. Hopefully you¡¯ll be able to cast normally within a few weeks, but until then you have to avoid using mana, or you might burn out.¡± Arren balked at those words; ¡°What do you mean burn out? I won¡¯t be able to use magic anymore?¡± The elf hesitated, then sighed before answering. ¡°Arren, if you burn out you¡¯ll be nothing but magic, it will consume you, rip your soul to shreds and dissolve your personality. In short you die, but worse, you die forever, no reincarnation, ever. Now, sleep¡± The elf left Arren to his tumbling thoughts. Mana could kill his soul? Reincarnation was real? The hands of elven men felt as soft as a woman¡¯s? The last might not be all that important, but damn it was weird. Luckily being sick, tired, horny and confused seemed to be a good combination for sleep, because he soon drifted off to dreamless oblivion. When Arren woke again he didn¡¯t know how long he had slept, but he felt slightly better. The room was still dark, but this time light was filtering into the room through the gap beneath the door. Along with the light came soft voices, they were too quiet for Arren to catch the words, but he thought he recognized the speakers. One was Caelian, the other was his not-so-female nurse. The embarrassment of the previous night was still fresh in Arren¡¯s mind, so while he felt that his body was much stronger than it had been he was still careful when he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to attempt standing. To his relief both his feet and the floor seemed sturdy enough, the joy he felt was almost palpable. Apparently, Caelian and his son heard him as they immediately stopped talking. Arren could hear the shuffle of a chair and the soft pattering of feet before the door opened to reveal Caelian holding a robe. ¡°Seems a bit indecent to wander around in your underpants boy, don¡¯t you think?¡± He was smirking! Sadism seemed to be a family trait, after all, why not just leave the robe with him? Alas, they had to thrive on his embarrassment. ¡°Put on this robe, and come join us for breakfast¡± Arren ever the dutiful guest nodded a thank you and took the robe, noticing his rocks had been placed in the pocket, they probably thought them sentimental. The material was unfamiliar to him, smooth, warm and definitely not something he had expected after the last elven clothing he had worn. He examined it with a critical eye, noting that various runes decorated the hems of the robe. He could sense the mana they emitted the lettering itself was unfamiliar, although somewhat similar to Nordic runes he had seen back on earth. Each letter was sewn with silver thread, which made the otherwise plain brown look almost regal. That was nice of them to give him something like this, and it was his first enchanted object, aside from the scarf which he couldn¡¯t see anywhere, though his hosts would likely know where it was. Well, Arren assumed it was generous, for all he knew there might be enchanted objects left and right in this world, for now though he would treat it as a generous gift. Waking himself from his reverie Arren dressed quickly and navigated through the cluttered stacks of books to find Caelian and his son. Arren¡¯s room exited into a short hallway with three other doors, presumably more bedrooms. He followed the short corridor into a larger living area where he found his hosts sitting by a table drinking coffee, it smelled wonderful. Arren was a bit at a loss as to how he should handle the situation; he couldn¡¯t remember much from the trial; the pain had erased much of what happened after he arrived at the court. He seemed to remember Alice and Caelian speaking in his defence, but after that things became a blur as they faded into the memories of the pain he had suffered. Now he was standing in someone¡¯s house and they were calmly drinking their coffee, like having visits like this was common place for them, hell maybe it was, they might be healers, judging by the salves they had given him. By now both Caelian and his son were looking at Arren somewhat appraisingly, for a moment it started to feel awkward until Caelian breached the silence. ¡°Come over here Arren, and sit down, have some coffee and tell us how you feel¡±. Arren obediently sat down while Caelian¡¯s son got him some coffee from the adjacent room. ¡°Ah, well¡± he started, ¡°I guess I feel fine now, with the salve really helped¡± he turned towards the younger elf, ¡°thank you for your help, I never did catch your name¡±. The younger elf smiled ¡°I¡¯m Talian, and it was no problem, in fact, I learned a lot. It¡¯s not often one gets the chance to see, and treat near fatal mana burns.¡± Arren paled slightly, sure the pain had been horrendous, but near fatal? That seemed a bit extreme, he was still in pain, but it was manageable, if just barely. ¡°I feel terrible, but not like I almost died, was it really that bad?¡± he said. Caelian frowned, answering for his son; ¡°We kept you carefully sedated for two weeks so the pain wouldn¡¯t drive you mad, then another week after the first time you woke up, you were in a bad shape, I¡¯m surprised you even survived¡± That was shocking, frightening, he almost died? What the hell was up with that sword? A sword of truth that almost murders the questioned, keeping him comatose for weeks? The fuck?! Still, he was alive, hopefully not just to be questioned further, speaking of which, he should probably ask, better to not get his hopes up. ¡°So, ugh, did I, urm, pass the trial?¡± He hesitated and mumbled, not wanting to remember the pain, the fire burning him, the fire that still burned in him, just not as harshly. Caelian answered him; ¡°You passed, the council did not¡± He looked ashamed ¡°They violated the spirit of the boon, and abused the Sword of Truth, Jesira descended in person, it was not pretty¡±.
Caelian¡¯s perspective: The kid might look like Ashfield, but at most he was a descendant. I saw that, I knew it from the moment he introduced himself. He confirmed it with his curiosity, Ashfield knew of elven law, and he had never been curious like that, not so innocently wondering. Still, I didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t interfere, I just led him to his ¡°trial¡±. I looked at him, wondering what he would do, what he would say.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Arren spoke, none listened. Then that Voice, Alice was here, ¡°Alice is here, Alice is ¡­here. Oh.¡± My brethren didn¡¯t realise. Too few had spoken to her, she had been reclusive these past few centuries, I might be the only one left who had truly spoken to her, even I didn¡¯t know what she was, but I knew that she wouldn¡¯t be here if the kid wasn¡¯t important, like Baelor was, like I had been. We had never been certain, but Baelor and I had thought she might be a goddess. I had to do something, my people might be misguided, but they did not deserve the wrath of a goddess. I was speaking, I didn¡¯t even realise it before I yelled for the sword. The council were fools, they should realise that going against the Old One¡¯s will was folly. They kept pushing, too fearful that the kid should escape them. They voted, Alice sighed, I was terrified, mortals shouldn¡¯t go against gods, what could I do? I yelled. ¡°I invoke the hero¡¯s boon¡± Silence, I can¡¯t believe I did that, I never thought the day would come, I can¡¯t believe I used my bon to help one child, that seemed ¡­pitiful. I saw Alice nodding approvingly, they questioned me, I answered. I cut my hand, I invoked the power, the boon came into effect. They fetched the sword, he would live, I was sure, he was innocent. I saw the sword rise, I asked him one question, and I was horrified. He answered, truthfully, not as if he had a choice, he was burning, from one question, his mana channels must be extraordinary. He might die even with the boon. I tried to stop the council, they had the guards restrain me, they kept asking, he was burning, and screaming. I could see literal blue flames lapping from his skin. Then the sword broke. The kid collapsed were he stood, I rushed to him, the flames were subsiding, but he was still burning. I cast mana drain, repeatedly. I felt a hand on my shoulder, The Old One was behind me, helping me, I felt an incredible vastness, torrents of power, whispers of things too complex, I drew on her and kept channelling power from the boy. His pool was deep, too deep for his age, it took time, but eventually the flames were gone and his pool dry. I felt faint, The Old One held me up, finally I saw what was happening. Above us floated a woman clad in white and silver, beautiful, ageless, standing on air. I had only seen statues of her, but I knew her shape, Jesira, Goddess of Justice, before her was the council and the shards of a broken relic. I looked at Aliana with a mixture of pity and rage, she was a high-priestess of Jesira, she should have known better. The goddess seemed to agree with me, she raised a pale hand towards her priestess and declared ¡°You have defiled my name, I banish you from my church and my sight, begone heathen¡± A stream of white light flew from the priestess to the goddess. Where there was once a youthful maiden, there now stood a crone, she had been stripped of her class, and as such the extended lifespan of the high levelled ones, I shivered, I couldn¡¯t imagine loosing my class. The former priestess wailed, cried, collapsed and lay silent, dead or unconscious, I couldn¡¯t be sure. More lights flew from some of the surrounding elves, Jesira was purging her clergy, only one woman was spared, she had tried to stop the abuse. The four remaining council members stood stunned, afraid to further antagonise the goddess, but she had not forgotten them. ¡°You who have led these people into sin, know that you have been seen and judged, I deem you, oath breakers, may all know your sin¡± With that the goddess was gone, and the council members held a hideous black mark upon their brows. They gained an aura of discomfort, few ever wore such markings, as only prophets and gods could cast such curses, they symbolised the breaking of a divine taboo. Or more generally, a faith stat with a negative value. They would most likely have to go into seclusion, praying for forgiveness, most people wouldn¡¯t be able to stand their presence until they were cleansed.
Arren¡¯s perspective: When Caelian finished his explanation Arren didn¡¯t know what to think, a goddess, an actual goddess? Had descended and passed judgement? He felt like he was on an acid trip. Then again; new world, monsters and elves, so a goddess, sure, why not? His world had thrown out of whack, that was for sure. Still one question remained: ¡°Why did the sword break?¡± he asked. Caelian answered; ¡°They tried to use it to murder an innocent, the trial should have stopped after you affirmed that you were in fact twenty-one and could not possibly be Ashfield, so the sword broke rather than killing you, even so, if The Old One and I hadn¡¯t acted so quickly you would still have died.¡± His tone was bitter, and he obviously struggled to control his rage. He took a sip of his coffee, obviously trying to calm down and searching for another topic of discussion. And he found one. ¡°Arren, I know some cultures find it rude to ask, but I¡¯m curious, your mana capacity is extremely high for your age, as is your mana channels, what is your class?¡± ¡°What the hell is a class?¡± Arren thought. Still he had to answer; ¡°What is a class?¡± Caelian nearly chocked on the coffee he was drinking, he seemed shocked, and kept looking at Arren as if searching for a sign that he was joking. He must have decided it was a joke because he answered sarcastically. ¡°Oh, you know, your class, couldn¡¯t possibly be the box that says class in your status screen, honestly Arren if you don¡¯t want to tell me, just say so.¡± Caelian sounded annoyed, Arren looked confused, he had tried calling up a status screen after the initial message boxes. Did it exist after all? ¡°How do I open my status screen?¡± Caelian glared, but answered, clearly peeved; ¡°say or think status, any language should do.¡± Arren did, and nothing happened, he said as much, Caelian stared to look uncertain.
Caelian¡¯s Perspective: The kid was joking with me, the tribe hadn¡¯t had much contact with any of the human kingdoms for a while, but surely the humans hadn¡¯t stopped connecting to the system, had they? That would be a folly without equal, how would they gain enough strength to fight monsters? I did something I normally wouldn¡¯t, it was rude, and some casters could feel it, but I needed to know. I cast a partial appraisal, it wasn¡¯t a difficult spell to learn, he stiffened so he noticed, damn. Still I got a result: Damn, the kid wasn¡¯t kidding, he did look at me though, questioning. ¡°What did you do? I felt mana wrapping around me, prodding, why?¡± I cleared my throat, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I had to know if you were telling the truth, you were, you have never been connected to the system, may I ask why you aren¡¯t¡± Arren seemed to shrug, he seemed to hesitate before answering my question, seemingly honestly, ¡°I didn¡¯t know it existed, how do I connect to it?¡±
Arren¡¯s perspective: ¡°Did I break him?¡± Caelian was steering into the air with glassy eyes, it seemed like he couldn¡¯t process Arren¡¯s statement, as if it was too absurd. Talian, who had been silent since they started talking about the trial tried shaking his father, but to no avail. After a few minutes of Caelian staring glassy eyed at Arren he seemed to come alive again, a determined expression on his face. He rose abruptly, taking Arren¡¯s arm as he did so. ¡°Come, we¡¯re going to the temple, now¡± Arren was pulled along through the house out onto the walkways of the city. Talian waved at them before returning inside the house. Confused as he was Arren didn¡¯t really resist and just kept following the older elf as he was pulled along behind him. The city was beautiful, being formed of massive trees, the sunlight filtering through the canopy down onto the houses. It was the sort of thing he had only ever seen in books, and now, having been released form captivity he could truly appreciate the beauty. They kept walking for another mile, until they were away from the city centre, the trees became wilder, less shaped, but there was still one large walkway that they could follow, it led up to a massive tree, standing slightly higher and away from the rest of the forest. The tree was larger than all the others, even the one that held the court, the trunk alone had to measure hundreds of meters in circumference. The road led to a massive arch grown out of the tree itself, carved with hundreds of runes, all glowing a soft green. Caelian pulled him through the entrance, and stopped. He looked at Arren for a moment before letting go of his hand and letting him look around. The inside of the tree was magnificent, it was like walking into a cathedral, tall arches, huge open spaces, and the windows, made from amber, filled the entire space with golden light. In the back of the room floated a massive blue crystal, giving of a feeling of immense power. A woman in white kneeled before the crystal, head raised to the sky. Her voice filled the cathedral, words that Arren couldn¡¯t comprehend, yet that filled his soul. Caelian whispered into his ear. ¡°she sings in celestial, the language of the gods, you¡¯re lucky to witness this, few ever hear the voice of the white priestess.¡± He looked at the priestess, then at Arren before adding, ¡°I will find another priestess, do not disturb her.¡± Arren barely noticed that Caelian left, too enraptured by the voice of the priestess, he closed his eyes in wonder, it reminded him of the earth song, he felt for the pebbles in his pocket and with them he heard the song, it joined with the voice of the priestess, somehow strengthened, as if they knew each other. Arren didn¡¯t even realise it when he started singing.
Caelian¡¯s Perspective: I had only just found another priestess when the voice that had filled the cathedral faltered, horrified that the child, not knowing the protocols should talk to the White Priestess I started running back. Before I could reach the nave, I heard a new voice, deep as the earth, this voice sang not in celestial, but elemental. It had been so long since I heard a voice like that, not since Baelor had sacrificed himself. The voice of the White Priestess rose, as if rejoicing in the reunion of lovers, the high and the low joined, the duet was unlike anything I had ever heard. Only now did I notice that my steps had faltered, and I started running again, the kid would be overwhelmed, if the magic stunned me I didn¡¯t want to think about what it would do to him. The first thing I noticed when I came running into the room was that the kid was not where I left him, the next that two figures were dancing, in the air. The White Priestess holding the arms of a statue made of marble and obsidian. An animate statue, the source of the earth song, they both seemed lost in the spell trance, but where was the foolish child? As I was thinking this the duo seemed to be reaching the end of their song, both dancing the last steps down to the ground as the last words spilled from their lips. As they touched the ground the statue fell and crumbled, revealing to my shock, the boy. ¡°How? He doesn¡¯t have a class, it¡¯s not possible, I must be dreaming¡± I pinched myself, this wasn¡¯t real, I was dreaming, clearly. The White Priestess looked at me smiling brilliantly, tears in her eyes as if she had been crying. ¡°Such potential, Caelian where did you find this child?¡± I mumbled my reply ¡°He wasn¡¯t, I mean he didn¡¯t, I mean I didn¡¯t know, he doesn¡¯t seem to be connected to the system, how is this even possible? What will you do with him Holy One?¡± She frowned ¡°Caelian, how many times must I tell you, call me Claris, becoming the White One doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t have friends. As for the boy, do you know why he hasn¡¯t been blessed? I have never heard of an adult without access to the system, it¡¯s weird? Especially since he is an earth singer, such power for one without the blessing of Origin is unheard of.¡± I hesitated, it sounded so ridiculous, but the boy had given a reason, although a ridiculous one. ¡°He said he had never heard of it¡±. Claris laughed ¡°You can¡¯t mean that, everyone knows of the system, how could he not?¡± She looked at me as if waiting for some sign I was joking, when she realised I wasn¡¯t she became more serious and grabbed the boy still lying on the floor, she dragged him, as if he was weightless over to the great crystal. She kneeled by the child and held one hand on his forehead and reached to the crystal with the other. Her voice filled the cathedral once more, this time not in celestial, but in elvish. ¡°By the will of the Weavess I awaken you to the power of Origin, may you grow in the system and the system grow with you.¡±
The crystal flashed with pure blue light and Arren opened his eyes to see the system for the first time. There was a glowing blue box in front of his face, this must be the system Caelian was talking about:
Name Arren Blackthorn Title: Earth Singer Str 6 Agi 7
Race Human variant: Arcane Blood Traits: Awakened End 4 Int 16
Class Mana Weaver (Lvl 1) Abilities: Voice of Origin, Earth Song Con 6 Wis 12
Age 21 Vit 6