AWAKENING

Tyron didnt even make it to the door before there was a modest knock. He frowned; it was unusual for anyone to try and find him in this house, since he was almost never here. The person must have seen him come in. That narrowed the list of suspects quite considerably. He approached the thick wooden door and paused. "Elsbeth?" he called through the door. "How did you know?" came the muffled reply. "Intuition." He smiled to himself and turned the latch, opening the door to the day and the bright young woman on the other side. He was greeted with a wide smile and warm green eyes that danced with excitement. "Hey, Tyron! Are you ready for the big day? Are those clean clothes I spy?" "Ah, yeah. I thought I should… dress up a bit." "You look good! I thought I'd dress up a little myself. What do you think?" She performed a quick twirl for him, letting her long dress flutter in the wind as she giggled girlishly. The dress itself left her slender arms bare while reaching down to below her knees. Tyron idly noticed she also had her best shoes on for the occasion, and maybe… was she wearing a hint of powder? "You look great," he said honestly. She calmed herself with a hand to her chest and smiled. "Thanks. I know I shouldn't have bothered, but I just couldn't help but get excited! I can't believe it's finally happening..." She was so animated and full of life it was almost blinding to see, and Tyron glanced to one side, wishing that smile was only for him. "Yeah. It's getting close to time, are you ready to go?" "Ready? I've been ready for hours! The only reason I'm out here is because I've been waiting for you! The others are already waiting at the library, so hurry up!" "Fine, fine," he grumbled as he stepped through the doorway and locked it behind him. "Nobody said you guys had to wait for me." Elsbeth just rolled her eyes. "Oh sure, after ten years of class together we'd just drop you on the last day. Now come on." She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him down the cobbled street, her soft shoes barely making a sound on the road. He put up with it for a moment until he felt uncomfortable and pulled his arm free. "I'm coming, okay? You're going to ruin your shoes, let's just walk." "Fine," she huffed and set off at a brisk pace toward the center of town. Foxbridge wasn't a particularly large or important town. It held no strategic value or rare resource, and its relatively rural location doomed it to mediocrity. What it did have was a fairly central location in the province, relative safety, and a river. The Blue River flowed from the ironically named Red Stone Mountains and continued on its way toward the central province near the capital, which meant the little trade that occurred out here went through Foxbridge. The end result was a quietly prosperous rural hub, perfect for a family to live quietly and start a business or farm—or for a roving pair of Slayers to drop their son in his uncle's hands. There were a few amenities in Foxbridge most children in the outer edges of the kingdom didn't have access to, such as the school, library, and among other things, a fully charged Awakening Stone. Which meant the year they turned eighteen, people from all over the outer edges of the province would travel here for the ceremony. Tyron hoped the Mayor had enjoyed a good night's sleep—he'd likely be watching over the ceremony from midday to close to midnight. In fact, as the pair approached the square, the crowds grew thicker and the faces noticeably more hairless. By the time they'd closed in on the library, the bodies were shoulder to shoulder. "This is why I wanted to get here early." Elsbeth threw him a mournful look as she raised herself onto her toes to look for their friends. "Ah! I see them! Let's go." She started to push her way through the crowd with a determined look on her face, leaving Tyron no choice but to sigh and follow, apologizing as he went. Thankfully, nobody took any serious offense and they were able to make their way to the wooden railing in front of the library in one piece. "Took you long enough," Rufus smirked. "I told you he would sleep in. You didn't need to wait for him." Elsbeth waved a hand to brush off the criticism. "There's no harm done, we're all here now. Right, Laurel?" The fourth member of their small circle just shrugged her shoulders. "It's fine. How're you doing, Tyron?" "Tired," he sighed, "but I'm here." Rufus threw him a baffled look, as if wondering how he could possibly be tired after sleeping in to such an hour, but Laurel just nodded. "Had any more thoughts on what Class you'll get?" she asked. Naturally, all anyone had wanted to talk about for the last year was their Class—most of their childhood had been focused on this topic. It caused a lot of pressure and excitement among most kids, but Tyron was just bored with it. They'd talked about it in detail, going around and around in circles for almost a decade already. Nobody would know anything for certain until the event happened; making up endless plans that might never come to fruition was a waste of mental energy. "No," he sighed. "To be honest, I'm just looking forward to getting it done. I want to get my Class, read up on it, and go home. I'm ready to move on with my life." "Always the books with you," Rufus scoffed. "We should go out and celebrate! We're awakening today!" "What if we get an unsanctioned Class?" Elsbeth fretted. "If I got something banned, I don't know what I'd do." "Get it removed," Rufus shrugged, "and work on getting a new Class. You don't even need to leave town to get it done since that old bat, Barbury, is here." "Remember two years ago when that guy got Thief and refused to give it up? I'd never seen the Mayor so mad," Laurel laughed. A sour feeling turned in Tyron's gut. That man had tried to flee town back to his village without having his status read after the Awakening. After being caught by the marshals and dragged back to town, he'd been Appraised and then refused to renounce the Thief Class. The Mayor had cut off both his hands. Without the ability to steal, the would-be Thief would never be able to level up his Class, crippling him for life. "I don't know why you're worried, Elsbeth, you're practically a guarantee for Priestess," Laurel teased. "Don't even say that!" Elsbeth raised both hands and shook them in denial. "Priestesses are rare! Just because I help out at the Church doesn't mean a thing." Silently, Tyron agreed with Laurel. If anyone was going to be a Priestess it was Elsbeth, but then, who knew? The Gods were fickle, after all. At the mention of the Priestess Class, Rufus' eyes flickered and he raised his voice to speak to the group. "Have you guys put any thought toward my suggestion?" Tyron's shoulders slumped a little when his old friend brought up the topic. He'd known this would come up—it always did. "We don't even know what Classes we're going to get, Rufus. There's not much point pledging to be Slayers together now, is there?" "Always a doubter, Tyron," Rufus mocked. "Look at the four of us. We've a great combination waiting to happen. I'll be a Warrior or Swordsman, no question; Laurel will be Ranger or Archer; Elsbeth will be our healer; and Tyron can be the Mage. It's a perfect setup." It wasn't as if Rufus' plan was entirely without merit. Rufus was a blacksmith's son and had built the muscle required to help at the forge but spent most of his time doing weapon drills in the school practice yard. With his fiery red hair, solid skills, and irritable temper, he had a bit of a reputation around town as a troublemaker. Laurel was a quiet, dark-skinned girl who'd picked up hunting from her father. She was often away for weeklong stretches tracking weaker monsters in the woods. She'd confessed to Tyron once that her Archery skill had reached level five, a massive achievement for her age. Elsbeth was likely to be a healer of some sort, given the time she spent volunteering to help the sick and her natural disposition. Having access to healing magic in the field was as rare as hen's teeth. Any group would be begging Elsbeth to join, should she get such a Class. Which just left Tyron. Even he had to admit he was perfectly set up to be a Mage of some type, be it Conjurer, Elementalist, Summoner, or one of the other countless varieties. His mental stats were high for his age, he'd worked hard on his spellcraft, and his practical skills had progressed nicely. Secretly, Tyron hoped for the Wizard class. They weren't suited for working as Monster Slayers, since their magicks were generally too broad. If he could rank up to Arch-Wizard then he'd get a tower somewhere and be left to his own devices until the kingdom needed him to drop a comet on something before returning to his books. Still, he would commit to whatever Class he got. He just hoped it wasn't Dancer or Musician. Having to perform in front of crowds to level up would be a nightmare. And the idea of having to work so closely with others just… rubbed him the wrong way. He could like his friends without wanting to spend weeks on end with them, right? Although if Elsbeth joined… "Maybe if I get the Swordsman class your dad might finally train me. You'll ask him for me, right?" Rufus asked. Tyron shrugged again. "Rufus, you've already asked him to train you. I've asked him to train you. I don't think he wants to teach anyone." "He taught you, didn't he?" Rufus refuted. "He taught me some drills so I could pick up the Swordsmanship skill," Tyron reminded him, exasperated. "You know that." "I don't know why he wasted his time," the other boy muttered. "He could have trained someone who actually wanted to learn how to handle a blade." "Oh, I think it's about to start!" Elsbeth cut in, keen to avert an argument. Tyron shook his head and Laurel flashed him a sly grin before they all turned to face the front. The Mayor had taken the stage and began shuffling his papers in his too-large hands. The man always looked out of place at formal events. In Tyron's opinion, he was far more suited, and happier, behind a plough working his fields. Since his family had slaved and saved for generations working the land, they had become quite prosperous by rural standards. Deserving folk if there ever were any. Mayor Arryn wiped one hand across his dark, tanned forehead to clear the sweat and steady himself. He hated this event. He'd had to put on his good shirt, buttoned all the way up to his neck for twelve hours straight— by far the longest public engagement of the year. Right in the middle of watering season as well. Idiotic timing, and he'd told the Baron as much to his face. But there was no changing that fat toad's mind, so there was nothing for it. He rolled his broad shoulders once and began to speak. "Welcome to this year's Awakening ceremony. I am Mayor Arryn of Foxbridge, and I am happy to greet you all. There are many here today from out of town, and I welcome our friends from across the province. Break the law in my town and I'll have you run out by the marshals without a stitch of clothing on your back." Silence. "Glad we understand each other." He coughed. "Regulations around the ceremony are the same as last year. A five-day grace period is allowed, during which you must register with the Scribe to have your status Appraised so your Class may be registered. Hopefully it doesn't come up, but any unsanctioned Classes must be revoked. That's the law. We'll get started in the usual order, locals first, travelers after. If you've come from out of town, please move to the back, or better yet, get out of the square. You won't be needed here for a few hours." So saying, the Mayor jumped down from his podium and walked to the small plinth outside the town hall which housed the town's Awakening Stone only for this day of the year. Tyron had tried to learn what he could of the Awakening Stone, but there wasn't a lot to go on, at least in the texts he was able to find. They'd been used for thousands of years to help awaken people to their Primary Class, supposedly helping channel the energy of the Gods. Mother had said they were just high-quality Mana Stones that acted as a conduit between the vessel (person) and magical energies that filled their world. Whatever the case, everyone would get their Class once they clapped their hands on the rock. "You heard him, let's go." Rufus jumped down and began pushing his way through the crowd, using his height and strength to tunnel a path. Laurel and Elsbeth followed eagerly in his wake, whereas Tyron moved a beat behind. Which naturally meant he was jostled from start to finish by irritated farmers who'd traveled a long way and now had to wait for these soft city-folk. Grimacing behind his rigid smile, Tyron pressed forward and joined the others in his age group from Foxbridge. There weren't many who turned eighteen this year, only thirty-three, but that was a decent enough group for a town this size. Most of them had attended school together, but not all had attended as frequently as Tyron. Most of them were farmers' kids or came from merchant families or even dock workers, and most of them spent their time helping the family trade. The Steelarms were in the monster slaying business, and Tyron sure as hell wasn't helping out with that. But slaying certainly paid well, especially for veterans with high levels like his parents, so Tyron had the luxury of being able to attend his lessons every day and get his head stuffed full of history, magical theory, monster biology, politics, and mathematics. Of course, this meant his reputation as a stuffy bookworm was cemented among his peers. While Elsbeth, Laurel, and Rufus greeted the others and engaged in excited banter as they formed a somewhat orderly line, Tyron held back and kept to himself until he could take his place toward the back. As he stepped behind the doughy form of the baker's son, he felt ice creep into his veins and his heart begin to thud in his chest. He took deep, calming breaths. No big deal. Doesn't matter what Class comes out. Just stick to it. Simple as that. You'll get other Classes down the road anyway, this is just the first one. This is just your Primary one. He silently cursed the traitorous voice in his mind and tried to master his emotions. Be calm. Don't worry. It'll be over soon and you can go home and relax, study your new Class. You've been waiting to do that for a long time. As Tyron tried to settle himself, the ceremony began at the front of the line. Four burly town guards flanked the Mayor who stood in front of the brightly glowing Awakening Stone. The plinth the stone rested on was roped off from the crowd, though many pressed forward to watch the youth undertake this rite of passage. At the front of the line, naturally, was Rufus. He stepped forward confidently and half listened as the Mayor instructed him. As soon as he was given permission, he stepped forward and placed both hands on the stone, almost covering it with his large hands. To those watching it looked as if his eyes went blank, the consciousness behind them gone, before they filled once more with life and a broad grin split his face. His jubilation was clear to see and those observing let out a smattering of applause. It was always good to see a young one get a Class they'd hoped for. Brimming with excitement, Rufus stepped to one side and nodded absently as the Mayor reminded him of his obligations, his eyes already scanning the line for his friends. When he found Elsbeth and Laurel toward the front, he grinned excitedly and clenched his fist. When he found Tyron at the back, he flashed a gleeful look and waved. Well, at least he's happy. Must have gotten a sword-oriented Class like he'd hoped for. Tyron knew he'd be getting pestered about asking his father to train Rufus until his parents returned. At least it wouldn't be long. His parents had intended to get back yesterday but had been delayed on the road. They were four days out according to their last letter, a week at most. He could tolerate Rufus for that long. If worst came to worst, he'd retreat to his "office" in the attic: it had worked before and would work again. The next person stepped up, then the next, and then it was Laurel's turn. Her reaction was far more subdued than Rufus' had been, but Tyron could tell from the slight upward curve of her lips that she was delighted. Which was interesting, since Tyron had never really pegged down what sort of Class she wanted. She tended to agree with whatever the person in front of her suggested without ever offering her own opinion. She might tell him what she had, but most likely she wouldn't. Although she counted him as a friend, she tended to keep her cards close to her chest. There was only one person between Laurel and Elsbeth, and soon it was the young girl's turn. Her bright blonde hair sparkled in the sun as she nervously stepped forward. He silently cheered her on as she nodded dumbly to the Mayor's words and then staggered forward, almost falling onto the stone but catching herself by planting her hands directly on it. There was a moment of silence as her eyes went blank. When the light returned to her gaze, she was still and silent for a moment longer before a dazzling smile broke out on her face and tears formed in her eyes. To one side Rufus clenched both fists as his eyes blazed with triumph. Even Laurel looked shocked for a moment before she recovered her poise. It was harder for Tyron to see, but from the stir at the front and Elsbeth's body language, it appeared as if the long shot had indeed come through and she had become a Priestess. "Good on you, El," he mouthed to no one in particular as the girl in question collected herself and dashed toward her mother, who had closed the tailoring shop to watch the big event. Shortly afterward, Elsbeth, Laurel, and Rufus disappeared from the square, leaving Tyron alone in the crowd. He tried to shrug it off. They had family to celebrate with and planning to do, their futures suddenly so much more clear than they had been a moment ago, whereas he still had to wait another half hour. It still stung. But no matter. He'd relied on himself thus far—he would cross the final hurdle the same way. Person by person, the line diminished as each youth stepped forward and learned their fate. With every step forward Tyron had to master himself all over again as nervousness and anxiety rose to try and drag him down. By the time he finally reached the front, he felt exhausted and a headache had begun to form in his temples. It could have been the lack of sleep, or the sun beating down on him, or the repeated waves of emotion, but as he stepped up to the stone and the Mayor's mumbled words reached his ears he felt physically sick. Almost done now. One step forward, throw your hands on the stupid rock, and it's finished. You'll be able to make your own way, like you've always wanted. It's right there in front of you. Just TAKE IT. And he did. He drew a sudden, deep breath, took a long stride forward, and slapped his hands down on the stone. Immediately he felt as if his mind had been pulled from his body and into a vast space of light and darkness. He felt infinity. He felt cold. He didn't feel anything at all. Time stretched out before him until he couldn't begin to guess how long he'd waited, then a voice spoke, the vibrations sending waves throughout his being. Tyron Steelarm. You seek power. You seek control, both over yourself and your fate. What's more, you seek control over those around you, to ensure they will not hurt you and act according to your will. You have made the darkness your home and the study of the arcane your passion. Solitude and Authority are your desires. They shall be granted. You have received the Class: Necromancer. The Mage of the dead, the Necromancer can summon spirits, create undead, and call upon dark magicks. To increase your proficiency, you must engage in the core pursuits of the Class—raise the dead and drive them to battle on your behalf. Class attributes per level: Intelligence +2 Wisdom +1 Constitution +1 Manipulation +1 Skills granted level one: Corpse Appraisal Corpse Preparation Spells granted level one: Raise Dead He felt his brain burn as the new knowledge was inscribed upon it. Half-understood whispers and slivers of thought were shoved into his head as he weakly tried to withstand the process. Then his mind slammed back into his body and his senses returned. For a moment he didn't move. Couldn't move. What Class was this? What just happened? He stood in front of the stone, his hands still clasped on it, frozen still and gaping like a fish. Before he could formulate his thoughts, another voice burst into his mind and spoke directly to his soul. Where the first voice had been powerful and righteous, this one was dark and sinister. Tyron Steelarm. The strings of fate have been woven tight around you in ways we find most amusing. With our aid, it's possible you may survive long enough to provide greater amusement still. You have caught the eye of the Dark Ones, the Scarlet Court, and the Abyss. They have granted you a Special Class. You have received the Sub-Class: Anathema. You are the enemy of the righteous and villain in the eyes of the Gods. You have drawn the attention of those who lie beyond, but not their favor. To increase your proficiency, perform those acts that will please your dark patrons. Give worship and spread the will of the Dark Ones, offer sacrifice and blood to the Scarlet Court, or plumb the forbidden mysteries of the Abyss. Class attributes per level: Constitution +2 Intelligence +2 Willpower +2 Skills granted level one: None Spells granted level one: None On the heels of his first shock, the second numbed him almost to insensibility. He wasn't able to process what he'd just heard. A Special Class? Anathema? Enemy of the Gods? Frozen in place with his hands on the stone, his mind raced to try and catch up until he heard a polite cough next to him. Tyron turned his frantic gaze to the side to find the Mayor kindly looking back at him. "Everything alright there, lad?" Tyron reflexively forced a smile to his face and nodded. "Of course! Everything's great!" He stepped to one side to allow the next person through and managed to keep his feet steady as he walked back into the crowd. He pushed through until he reached the edge and clear streets opened up before him. He ran.