CH 1-P1- Father And Mother

Magic, the light that heralds wisdom and harmony, the codex of life itself. Magic, a nefarious force and the harbinger of eternal damnation. Magic, the balance scale of order and chaos.

There were always the three choices. The first, forsake the craving of magic and confer your life to fate. Struggling, lying, killing, betraying, your life rots and strains for the survival of the cruel tomorrow.

The second, commit yourselves to the gods and be their bitch to harbor the magic sourced from the light. Life which is not your's to command. Life which is defined to protect the pathetic mortals. Becoming rouge sounded tempting but often ended in misfortune. Accused of deserting your nation , the council of wizards would stop at nothing to see your head hanging as a trophy in a barn.

And if neither of the two, there was freedom in the third choice. A choice condemned. A choice sketched on ashes and painted with blood. The source of magic emanating from the depths of darkness. The eldrich gods.

Namely, the two factions, ' Heaven Mages' and the 'Eldrich Mages' , had been in constant war with one another for decades now. Were the roads of the disciples of the two faction ever came to be linked, it'd end in a skirmish. By far, no appeared to hold the upper hand.

In a room with purple washed walls, three boys and two girls were hooked on it with thick nails clamped through their palms. The room reeked with a foul scent of blood. One boy had his guts spilling out. His insides had turned charred black. The other boy had large lumps of abscess all over his dead body. Four limbs of the girls were all wrinkled like old women as if a parasite gobbled up everything inside. All four deceased except the third boy of the group.

" Fucking shit! Failed yet again." A girl in the room cussed. "Why can't I get it right?" She read the page of the book she had in her hands.

" Reading it again and again won't be getting us anywhere. Every ingredients are in order. We just aren't able to gauge the concentrations. Let's curb on the pluckle berries a little this time." Another female accompanying the first said.

" Did we do the right thing though Greeta ?" One of them asked the other named Greeta.

" Dont brood too much Hanna. What could happen to us at most? We will get scolded or two lashes. Nothing we can't handle. I'd bet no one gives a shit about five measly servants."

Greeta demanded the other named Hanna to keep her chin up. " Yes. These five didn't posses any aptitude. Getting through the slave trials was out of question for them. Whether we did it or not, same fate awaited them. We blessed them with five less days of anguish. He*He*" Hanna chuckled.

Beautiful by appearance and ominous by their conduction, both girls wore the same black knee length skirt and maroon top.

Greeta spun behind and checked on various colorful herbs, weeds, berries and fruits on a polished wooden table. She selected two bite sized pink berries, two sickeningly green leaves with white blotches. Likewise she chose more three, strange stuff.

With all in order, she deposited the ingredients in a mortar and started grinding them together with a pestal.

" Leave them be a little coarser this time." Hanna advised. " Don't teach me! I didn't ask for your aid." Greeta turned a crooked nose to Hanna and minded her own endeavour.

" Da....Damn yo..witches." A scornful murmur entered the two pair of ears.

" Now no need to be so mean to two young ladies." Hanna put her hands on her hips and inclined her back, looking at the sole survivor of the group. His face was hung down and his body denuded of restraint due to the sedative

His half closed eyes had no fear, only contempt. He glared into Hanna's eyes. Saliva drizzled over the floor.

Born of a whore mother and a drunkard father, this boy named Wilt had lived his life in angst.

Never he wished ill of his parents or did something that justified the everyday battering and profane curses thrown at him.

He lived. Lived, with hope and reverie of a better tomorrow where he wouldn't be scrubbing some noble's toilet or brushing donkeys for a coin or two. Through all that was wrong with his life, he studied diligently the 'Holy Writs Of The Gods.' along with basic arithmetic for that one day when he'd earn his spot as a novice disciple in a god temple. That was a great comfort to him in dark hours.

On a certain day, a job as an excuse, he headed to the nearby shrine where the test for new disciples was to be conducted. Evaluations were quick for there were only ten applicants that time.

Wilt's hard work paid off. He passed with flying colours. Cherry on the cake, he topped. A week more and he would have become an official disciples.

To his dark stars, that day he returned home to find his mother and father smiling at him and extending a cup of water. " You must be tired Wilt." the mother said.

He was stunned at the anomaly. " We are sorry son. Everyday we work you to the bone. We beat you needlessly. l can't ask you for forgiveness after all this time. All we can do is ease your loads. Your mother and I found us work in a nearby inn." the father spoke in a guilty tone.

Wilt thanked the gods. His life finally appeared to be on track. " That... is great news!" Wilt congratulated , gathering the sunniest smile. His valueless parents seemed to got some brains in rent. " Now drink up. I put in some herbs that ought to loosen up your muscles."

Wilt took what was offered with little to no suspicion. He drank with large gulps finding the water to be awfully sweet. " Huhh*" A big sigh left his mouth." That was good. What did you boil the water with mother?" The sweet water piqued his interest.

" Guess."

" Hmm? Willock seeds? or...Dea leafs." He guessed. " Wrong." the mother denied.

" You always had been a little fool."

" Wh...." Before Wilt could retort, his head convulsed and he started feeling fuzzy. The world appeared to be oil paints blending together .

Entirety of Wilt's muscles went limp and he crashed on the floor with a thud. " What is happening?!" His eyelids were growing heavy and drowsy. Mustering all the strength in his neck, he used it to raise his head and look at his birth givers in horror. Their smiles were still stuck to their faces as if things turned out in their favor. And that smile was not of warmth.

" Wh...y.."