Luck Based Magic Book That Will Have A Title Eventually

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

OK, as some people know I've had a luck-based magic system in my brain for a while, so I've been trying to come up with a reasonably interesting story to go with it and I thought it would be cool to share my progress and such with all the readers on the Shard! *Prologue coming soon...

So here's a plot overview, DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANT SPOILERS! (It's not completely done yet and I don't quite have an ending...)

Spoiler

The way to become a heldimancer is to drink an extremely rare and expensive elixer that destroys all of your memories of your life before. Protagonist wakes up as a Heldimancer and starts being trained, he wants to know about his past. He is being trained by Garn who is just a terrible person, but most Heldimancers are because they have no memories of happier times and only know war. He continues to try to find out about his past. He goes on a mission and is horrified by the deeds of his colleagues. He is forced to kill. He is beginning to regret becoming a Heldimancer as he realizes they are basically war machines. As he searches more for his past whilst being forced to kill and destroy constantly, he finally gets a lead: his home town. He requests a break from serving the kingdom to seek out his past. But he is denied as the war has reached its apex. After some time a new heldimancer joins the fold, and the protagonist is his mentor. This protagonist attempts to instill a sense of innocence in the younger man. The apprentice dies. This pushes the protagonist over the edge and he runs away from the kingdom to his home town. Quickly finds out a horrible truth. He became a heldimancer to escape his past. When he returns home he is bombarded with images of corpses of people he doesn't remember, their blood on his hands. He is a murderer. He finds out that those people were his family. (He finds this out through ways I will determine later, same goes for why he killed them.) For a time he grapples with self doubt, but he eventually comes to the conclusion that the world is a terrible place and it's kill or be killed. He returns to service a changed man. (Note to self: use the metaphor, "He was changed into a man of energetic resolve and destruction like the Luck he had come to know as a close friend and harbinger of death." Maybe change the wording, but that sounds awesome.) He then goes on to assert himself as leader of the Heldimancers through sheer brutality. (Ending to be determined)

 

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

OK! I finished my rough version of the prologue. I wrote it on the docs mobile app, which for some reason can't indent. I also put in some notes in parenthesis and brackets, I think. I'm terrible at coming up with names, so the protagonists placeholder name is Bob... Please give any constructive criticism or comments you have. If you have any questions I will be happy to answered. And without further ado, enjoy the prologue! (Warning for very very mild violence and gore)

Spoiler

Although it was midday, the sky was dark. Thick rainclouds blotted out the sun while a light mist came down from the heavens. For miles, dead bodies littered the ground often in clumps. A large battle between rival kingdoms had taken place here recently. A single man walked through the field with a casual gait. His name was Garn. No one would be quick to describe him as handsome, but he wasn’t hideous either. He was in his late fifties, which is not rare for a Heldimancer such as himself. A little Luck goes a long way. He also seemed to be fit as a man half his age. Garn wore a stained white shirt and some soldier's trousers. He had intense, brown eyes and eyebrows that made him look as though he was always pettily remembering a time he was wronged by a friend. Garn was sent to this Spirit-forsaken place to collect one thing: Luck. All humans produced a certain amount of Luck, and this could be collected and manipulated by people called Heldimancers. Once a human was dead, they stopped producing Luck, but that already made remains for a time. After large battles like this, Heldimancers like Garn were sent to recover Luck before it deteriorated. It’s not like the dead need it anymore.

To Garn, every body looked like a source of heat, with little distortions emanating from each and every corpse. He was able to Take this Luck into himself. When a Heldimancer Takes in Luck without using it, it makes their actions more likely to succeed. After finishing sucking Luck from a larger pile of the dead, Garn spotted an upright figure in the distance. This wasn’t surprising. The other side was likely to have also sent a Heldimancer. It was nothing Garn couldn’t handle.

“Ho there!” The other man yelled. The yell was nearly drowned in the great distance between them. Although he could make out no physical details, Garn could tell from the man's voice that he was far younger.

So much for the element of suprise… “Yeah, hello.” Garn’s response lacked the enthusiasm that practically oozed from the other man’s words..

“I’m going to assume you're another Heldimancer?” He said with thickly accented words as he walked closer.

“Yep.” It was no use hiding his identity from the man, he would try to kill him either way. Garn began walking as well. The other man broke into a sprint. Sighing, Garn prepared for a battle. With the distance between them quickly shortening, Garn began to shape a small amount of the Luck he had already Taken, while also Taking more from the corpses surrounding him. No physical movement was required to manipulate Luck, but Garn always felt that acting as if you were shaping a physical object makes the whole process easier. With a quick movement of his hands, Garn Changed the Luck into a blade made of a light silvery-gold color. The blade was one-sided and curved slightly to the back. It had a simple look, a blade made only for utility. The other man had also made a blade, but it was far larger and more ornate, with intricate patterns from the hilt along the back of the blade. Wasteful child.

When the other man reached Garn, the man brought his blade to the side, preparing for a large sweep. Garn bashed the beautiful sword toward the ground with his pommel. With his free hand, he punched the man in the face and then proceeded to kick him in the stomach. He brought his sword up to cut into the man's skull, but the man quickly charged forward and lightly touched Garn’s chest. Garn felt intense vertigo before he even started moving. He quickly accelerated backwards to breakneck speed. He also felt his Luck leaving his body. Garn was gliding just above the ground, and there was already a great distance between him and the man. He began to slow. 

The momentum finally let up, and he tumbled to the ground. Garn drew as much Luck as possible before Changing the Luck into motion and applying it to himself in the direction of the man. Again, he felt the vertigo and the edges of his vision began to go dark. He was moving faster, pushing his body further than it was designed to go. He reached the man and, without missing a beat, punched him in the face as he passed. Finally, he stopped being propelled forward and landed in a crouch.

 Garn began sprinting forward, applying a small amount of motion to himself as he moved. He also started drawing in massive amounts of Luck from the surrounding corpses. He stopped Changing the Luck into motion and went on to let it sit, making his actions more likely to succeed and letting him store it for a limited time. When Garn reached the man, the man was no longer dazed by the punch, and he attempted another grand swipe. Garn blocked upward this time and went in for the kill. The perfect blade easily stabbed through the man's flesh. The man coughed blood all over Garn.

Great, now my shirt is dirty. Just for that, Garn thrust the blade deeper and twisted. The man screamed in agony. Garn let go of his blade, stood calmly, and walked away, Taking Luck as he left.

 

The rain came down strong. Pouring down as if the sky was mourning a loved one. Garn reached camp nearly an hour after his encounter with the enemy Heldimancer. The camp was placed about a mile out from the nearest village. The dirt the camp was built on had already been turned to mud by the near-torrential rains. Making his way to the Heldimancer tent, he noticed there was some kind of commotion taking place at the entrance. Garn quickly pulled one of the soldiers he recognized aside. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Garn said in a cool yet threatening tone.

The soldier, well acquainted with Garns constantly threatening temperament, replied in an equally cool tone. “New Heldimancer shipm’nt, s’pposed to t’be takin’ th’ elixir soon.” The man spoke quickly with an accent that seemed to exclude as many vowels as possible.

Garn shoved past the man. He went on to walk through the crowd. Most knew to part around him lest they invoke the rage of a Heldimancer. Inside the tent wad empty except for the other Heldimancers, who were crowded around the new recruit. The man looked to be in his mid twenties. He had a thin, almost skeletal frame with pale skin and black hair. He sat hunched over in his tiny stool staring at a glass held in two hands. Inside the glass was a purple liquid so vibrant it seemed to glow. 

“He write down his information yet?” Garn asked, the coldness gone from his voice. All that was left in it's wake was a quiet curiosity. It wasn't often that a man decides to become a Heldimancer, and it was rarer still that he arrives at camp without taking the elixir. 

The elixir is and incredibly rare substance with widely unknown ingredients. It is said that it allows one to commune with the Spirits and come to a bargain. This almost always leads to all of one's memories being completely destroyed with no hopes of retrieval. Other times, one will insult the Spirits and be given incredibly weak Heldimancy whilst losing one's more important memories. Like, for example, how to breathe. In legends and rumors, it is spoken that one can flatter the Spirits in such a way that one is given exorbitant amounts of power, all the while never losing an ounce of memory.

It was customary among Heldimantic communities to have a new recruit write down important information about themselves and their lives, as a kind of mental handhold. Most wrote down entire books worth, trying to keep as much of their life and self as possible.  Garn still had his:

Name: Garn

Home Town: Don't matter

Family: Gone

Other: Work well, serve the kingdom.

(Add an indent) Simple, but effective. He'd never needed to do any searching, and it left him with a simple goal. He had done that to the best of his ability for the last thirty years.

(Add an indent) One of the Heldimancers jumped, as if he was startled by Garn’s presence. “Yeah, he did, but… well, let me show you.” The soldier walked over to a small table with a shred of paper resting on it. The soldier brought it over to Garn with a concerned look on his face. 

Your name is Bob (this will be the placeholder for now). Don't try to find out any more. Please.

(Add an indent) “Hm,” Garn adopted a  quizzical look, “So your running from something?” The young man looked up with a glint of terror in his eyes and downed the entire liquid. He passed out on the spot.

 

Edited August 6, 2024 by The Assassin In Red

[ʟɪɢʜʈ]

On 8/6/2024 at 8:34 AM, The Assassin In Red said:

OK! I finished my rough version of the prologue. I wrote it on the docs mobile app, which for some reason can't indent. I also put in some notes in parenthesis and brackets, I think. I'm terrible at coming up with names, so the protagonists placeholder name is Bob... Please give any constructive criticism or comments you have. If you have any questions I will be happy to answered. And without further ado, enjoy the prologue! (Warning for very very mild violence and gore)

  Hide contents

Although it was midday, the sky was dark. Thick rainclouds blotted out the sun while a light mist came down from the heavens. For miles, dead bodies littered the ground often in clumps. A large battle between rival kingdoms had taken place here recently. A single man walked through the field with a casual gait. His name was Garn. No one would be quick to describe him as handsome, but he wasn’t hideous either. He was in his late fifties, which is not rare for a Heldimancer such as himself. A little Luck goes a long way. He also seemed to be fit as a man half his age. Garn wore a stained white shirt and some soldier's trousers. He had intense, brown eyes and eyebrows that made him look as though he was always pettily remembering a time he was wronged by a friend. Garn was sent to this Spirit-forsaken place to collect one thing: Luck. All humans produced a certain amount of Luck, and this could be collected and manipulated by people called Heldimancers. Once a human was dead, they stopped producing Luck, but that already made remains for a time. After large battles like this, Heldimancers like Garn were sent to recover Luck before it deteriorated. It’s not like the dead need it anymore.

To Garn, every body looked like a source of heat, with little distortions emanating from each and every corpse. He was able to Take this Luck into himself. When a Heldimancer Takes in Luck without using it, it makes their actions more likely to succeed. After finishing sucking Luck from a larger pile of the dead, Garn spotted an upright figure in the distance. This wasn’t surprising. The other side was likely to have also sent a Heldimancer. It was nothing Garn couldn’t handle.

“Ho there!” The other man yelled. The yell was nearly drowned in the great distance between them. Although he could make out no physical details, Garn could tell from the man's voice that he was far younger.

So much for the element of suprise… “Yeah, hello.” Garn’s response lacked the enthusiasm that practically oozed from the other man’s words..

“I’m going to assume you're another Heldimancer?” He said with thickly accented words as he walked closer.

“Yep.” It was no use hiding his identity from the man, he would try to kill him either way. Garn began walking as well. The other man broke into a sprint. Sighing, Garn prepared for a battle. With the distance between them quickly shortening, Garn began to shape a small amount of the Luck he had already Taken, while also Taking more from the corpses surrounding him. No physical movement was required to manipulate Luck, but Garn always felt that acting as if you were shaping a physical object makes the whole process easier. With a quick movement of his hands, Garn Changed the Luck into a blade made of a light silvery-gold color. The blade was one-sided and curved slightly to the back. It had a simple look, a blade made only for utility. The other man had also made a blade, but it was far larger and more ornate, with intricate patterns from the hilt along the back of the blade. Wasteful child.

When the other man reached Garn, the man brought his blade to the side, preparing for a large sweep. Garn bashed the beautiful sword toward the ground with his pommel. With his free hand, he punched the man in the face and then proceeded to kick him in the stomach. He brought his sword up to cut into the man's skull, but the man quickly charged forward and lightly touched Garn’s chest. Garn felt intense vertigo before he even started moving. He quickly accelerated backwards to breakneck speed. He also felt his Luck leaving his body. Garn was gliding just above the ground, and there was already a great distance between him and the man. He began to slow. 

The momentum finally let up, and he tumbled to the ground. Garn drew as much Luck as possible before Changing the Luck into motion and applying it to himself in the direction of the man. Again, he felt the vertigo and the edges of his vision began to go dark. He was moving faster, pushing his body further than it was designed to go. He reached the man and, without missing a beat, punched him in the face as he passed. Finally, he stopped being propelled forward and landed in a crouch.

 Garn began sprinting forward, applying a small amount of motion to himself as he moved. He also started drawing in massive amounts of Luck from the surrounding corpses. He stopped Changing the Luck into motion and went on to let it sit, making his actions more likely to succeed and letting him store it for a limited time. When Garn reached the man, the man was no longer dazed by the punch, and he attempted another grand swipe. Garn blocked upward this time and went in for the kill. The perfect blade easily stabbed through the man's flesh. The man coughed blood all over Garn.

Great, now my shirt is dirty. Just for that, Garn thrust the blade deeper and twisted. The man screamed in agony. Garn let go of his blade, stood calmly, and walked away, Taking Luck as he left.

 

The rain came down strong. Pouring down as if the sky was mourning a loved one. Garn reached camp nearly an hour after his encounter with the enemy Heldimancer. The camp was placed about a mile out from the nearest village. The dirt the camp was built on had already been turned to mud by the near-torrential rains. Making his way to the Heldimancer tent, he noticed there was some kind of commotion taking place at the entrance. Garn quickly pulled one of the soldiers he recognized aside. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Garn said in a cool yet threatening tone.

The soldier, well acquainted with Garns constantly threatening temperament, replied in an equally cool tone. “New Heldimancer shipm’nt, s’pposed to t’be takin’ th’ elixir soon.” The man spoke quickly with an accent that seemed to exclude as many vowels as possible.

Garn shoved past the man. He went on to walk through the crowd. Most knew to part around him lest they invoke the rage of a Heldimancer. Inside the tent wad empty except for the other Heldimancers, who were crowded around the new recruit. The man looked to be in his mid twenties. He had a thin, almost skeletal frame with pale skin and black hair. He sat hunched over in his tiny stool staring at a glass held in two hands. Inside the glass was a purple liquid so vibrant it seemed to glow. 

“He write down his information yet?” Garn asked, the coldness gone from his voice. All that was left in it's wake was a quiet curiosity. It wasn't often that a man decides to become a Heldimancer, and it was rarer still that he arrives at camp without taking the elixir. 

The elixir is and incredibly rare substance with widely unknown ingredients. It is said that it allows one to commune with the Spirits and come to a bargain. This almost always leads to all of one's memories being completely destroyed with no hopes of retrieval. Other times, one will insult the Spirits and be given incredibly weak Heldimancy whilst losing one's more important memories. Like, for example, how to breathe. In legends and rumors, it is spoken that one can flatter the Spirits in such a way that one is given exorbitant amounts of power, all the while never losing an ounce of memory.

It was customary among Heldimantic communities to have a new recruit write down important information about themselves and their lives, as a kind of mental handhold. Most wrote down entire books worth, trying to keep as much of their life and self as possible.  Garn still had his:

Name: Garn

Home Town: Don't matter

Family: Gone

Other: Work well, serve the kingdom.

(Add an indent) Simple, but effective. He'd never needed to do any searching, and it left him with a simple goal. He had done that to the best of his ability for the last thirty years.

(Add an indent) One of the Heldimancers jumped, as if he was startled by Garn’s presence. “Yeah, he did, but… well, let me show you.” The soldier walked over to a small table with a shred of paper resting on it. The soldier brought it over to Garn with a concerned look on his face. 

Your name is Bob (this will be the placeholder for now). Don't try to find out any more. Please.

(Add an indent) “Hm,” Garn adopted a  quizzical look, “So your running from something?” The young man looked up with a glint of terror in his eyes and downed the entire liquid. He passed out on the spot.

 

That is really good! I will definitely read more of this.

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

THANK YOU! I'm working on the first chapter right now, so expect that sometime soon!

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

Hi there, I'm merely posting to say I haven't given up on or forgetten about this project. Life just got busy. I'm about halfway through the next chapter and intend to post it eventually. (Also the protagonist is now named Sorin, not Bob)

Edited September 26, 2024 by The Assassin In Red

[Through the Living Shadow he/him]

Coooooool. Really good.

Spoiler

I have a suggestion, but this is less “you should do this” than “omgosh it’d pretty freaking awesome (albeit bad for story) if you did this!”

Make someone a Heldimancer by accident. Mmmmhmmmmmhmmhm… yes. So the government has no idea what to do with them, and they can’t be indoctrinated by the government at all because they already made new memories.

But I’m definitely looking forward to more.

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

18 hours ago, SpiritOfWrath said:

 

  Reveal hidden contents

I have a suggestion, but this is less “you should do this” than “omgosh it’d pretty freaking awesome (albeit bad for story) if you did this!”

Make someone a Heldimancer by accident. Mmmmhmmmmmhmmhm… yes. So the government has no idea what to do with them, and they can’t be indoctrinated by the government at all because they already made new memories.

I love that idea and will definitely have that in the back of my mind for future characters. I finally came to a kind of stopping point. The pacing isn't awesome right now but this is still a very rough draft. Anyway here's the next chapter, VERY subject to change.

Spoiler

Chapter 1

 

Darkness. Lack of light. Death. Absence. Nonexistent. Nothing. Everything, empty. Asleep. WAKE UP! He awoke in a cold sweat. Understanding slowly flowed into his mind, like a dam silently cracking from the pressure of what it held. On? Bed. In? Room. Why? I- I don't know. Thoughts came to him slowly. Who am I? What a piece of information to not have. How could he not know who he was? Shouldn't that be an impossibility? Isn't that the most basic fact a man can know? If he didn't even know who he was, was he even real. He felt a pressure in his chest, a rhythm, slowly quickening as his mind spiraled. Heart. That was the rhythm. It was his heart moving life throughout his body. He knew that if it were to stop, he would perish. All of this happened and he hadn't even moved yet. Move? Yes. Without movement am I alive? No. Then I must move. He slowly began to sit up as he realized air was quickly moving in and out of his body. Breathing. He slowed his breath. Why slow my breath? You must calm yourself. His mind seemed split between two people. One a newborn child the other a knowledgeable and loving parent, guiding the other’s actions.

Only now that he was sitting did he notice a strange lump in the corner. It looked to be another man. This man was significantly larger than himself. The man was asleep yet he still looked angry about something, with his arms crossed and an almost annoyed expression on his face. 

“Hello?” He said quietly, almost a whisper. The man didn't stir. "Hello?” He said this with much more volume. The man slowly looked up. 

“The tyro's finally awake.” The man said, with a wicked smile cracking across his face. “What's your name?”

“My name is-” He felt a smothering sensation. A slight suffocation of the mind came over him as he tried to think. “I d-don't know” He stuttered as the words and their meanings appeared in his mind. 

“Huh, not quite there. Hey, at least you remember how to think. The name's Garn, and I'm supposed to be your mentor, tyro.” The man's voice had a heavy gruffness to it.

“What's… Tyro?” Stupid. Speak. “Why are you calling me tyro? What does it mean?” Good. 

The man's eyebrows raised slightly. A small gesture, but not unnoticed. With regained composure the man, Garn, said, “It's the word around here for new recruits.” The man sat up and leaned forward, as if waiting for some sort of spectacle to arise.

“New recruit for what?”

“You don't remember?” He said this with an almost challenging tone.

“No” Stupid! Why don't you remember why you remember?! 

“You have just joined the greatest military force in all of the Korsgaard Kingdom. You have joined the most renowned force of specially trained warriors the world has ever known. You have just entered the front lines of the war that decides the fate of the Kvist dynasty.” He paused for a dramatic moment. “You have joined the leading battalion of Heldimancers in the entire continent of Kogligae.” He sat back with an air of satisfaction and a contented smile on his face.

Stupid. STUPID! Why don't you know what any of that is?! Don't say anything, don't let him know you don't know. DONT. LET. HIM. KNOW. His own voice screamed in his head. Garn seemed to notice something in his face.

“You don’t understand a word I just said. Am I right?” Garn said with a smug smile spreading across his face. He seemed to like having this power. The power of knowledge, of certainty. 

He knows. He knows you're stupid. Nothing you can do now. Might as well find out more. “What are Heldimancers?”

“You know what? Look around you, what do you see?” As he said this he gestured around himself in a distinctly grand manner. 

He looked around and found nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, and you know what's ordinary? “I-I don't see anything strange.” As soon as he said this Garn exploded. No, no. Not an explosion. He became wildly distorted, it was almost impossible to discern any of his features. It was like a great fire had suddenly appeared right below Garn. 

“You see it now?”

“What is going on?”

“You are seeing something called Luck. It is the fuel that allows Heldimancers to perform miracles. Imagine yourself taking in Luck. Bringing it into yourself, becoming one with it.” 

He did, and the dam broke. Understanding and knowledge flooded every fiber of his being. Life began to course through his veins. Not his, Sorin's veins. He suddenly understood the vast possibilities of what he was capable of. Then, a series of images came into his mind. Blood, death, corpses littering the ground. Sorin felt he was somewhere else, somewhere familiar. All of this had been taken as soon as it had come.

“What did you do?!” Sorin finally stood up. This appeared to startle Garn, although he didn't let it show for long.

“Settle down, Tyro. I just Took back what was mine. Now tell me this, what did you see?” As he said this he stood as well, albeit a lot slower. 

When Sorin tried to recall, all he could conjure up from his memory was a faint recollection of horror. He could on the other hand remember the intense power he also felt in that moment. Like a raging flame within his very soul, Luck gave him energy. A malleable energy that could be changed, molded into something more. “I saw power. So much power.” Sorin earnestly wished to learn how to control the power.

Another knowing smile spread along Garns face, like a great and terrible chasm marring the land. “In time you will be shown how to take that power, and make it into a weapon. You will change it into a force of nature. You will learn to change probabilities to near-certainties. You will be able to kill a man with a touch, burn him to ashes in a moment.” As Garn said these words, anticipation and fear began to build up inside of Sorin. A fear of what he may be capable of, an excitement for the power he will be able to wield.

 

 

[The Assassin In Red Oh/no]

Ok, wow, that took forever. I got another chapter done... maybe. Idk if it's really done yet, I'm still working on the pacing. A LOT has happened in my life since i started working on this project, so I haven't been able to work on it as much. But here it is. I'm still looking for any constructive criticism or comments anyone has on this.

Spoiler

As Sorin exited the tent, he raised his arm to shield his eyes from the sun overhead. Outside the tent where he had awoken was a sprawling complex of temporary buildings and large tents. Soldiers roamed to and fro, completing various tasks. Some oiled or sharpened their weapons, and others prepared meals or repaired tents. Walking through the alleys and streets without accidentally bumping into someone else was difficult.

 “Where are we going?” Sorin asked after nearly running into a rather large soldier carrying a bucket full of water in each hand.

 Without looking back, Garn spoke with an audible smile, “You’ll see.”

 The longer they walked, the less crowded and more open the area became. After several minutes of walking, they reached the edge of the camp.

“The most important part of Heldimancy is thinking on your feet. Your enemy will find a way to surprise you, and you have to keep fighting when that happens. You always need to be prepared.” Sorin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could a word in, Garn turned to face him and continued to speak with a grand cadence. “There are two main principles of Heldimancy. Moving and Changing. You already know how to move Luck, that’s what you did in the tent. In Heldimancy, Luck has two uses. It can be used to manipulate probability. If something is not observed, it can be something else..” He paused as if waiting for a question. “It also is used as fuel for various magics. You can use luck in several different outlets-” As he began, he was cut off by an ear-splitting blare from the camp. Garn looked towards the camp center, his composition suddenly taking on a far more serious tone. “It looks like you're going to be learning from experience. Follow me.” He then started sprinting at full speed back towards the center of camp.

 

 Sorin surprised himself with his ability to run. He easily kept pace with Garn, nearly passing him several times. As they ran, they heard the sound twice more in short bursts. Garn began to branch off the path to the center of camp and started towards the western edge. Sorin followed suit. Their destination seemed to be a watchtower at the very edge of camp. As they got closer, it became clear that this tower was not well constructed and was probably put up in a hurry. Wooden planks seemed haphazardly nailed to the side with no apparent rhyme or reason. The sun glinted off several almost golden segments of the tower, all placed near the joints. They seemed to be the only thing holding this watchtower together. They slowed as they reached the tower, if it could even be called that. About fifteen men and women were standing around the building and putting on leather vests and iron helmets. None of them carried weapons, although a few carried circular, wooden shields. A few had sheaths tied either to their waist or back, but they contained no blade. Others carried wooden poles with the tops sanded down to a round point. 

“What's the call?” Garn asked, walking over to a woman holding an extra vest and helmet. He put on the vest over his somewhat grungy off-white shirt and tucked the helmet under his arm. 

“Small group of enemy forces spotted a bit west of here. The scouts weren't able to get close enough to make out any specific uniform, so they may be Heldimancers. We were called to make sure they don't continue whatever they’re doing.” The woman explaining wore the same helmet and vest as everyone else, but she had a thick, steel-plated leather glove on her left hand with nothing on the other. The glove reached all the way to her elbow, and the steel plating reinforced her forearm and fingertips. The steel on her fingers curved slightly, giving them a likeness to claws. “Wait, what's the tyro doing here?” 

“Figured it would be good for him to learn on the field.”

The woman looked at Garn with a tired and frustrated look. “Do you not remember what happened last time?”

Garn returned the look with a sly smile. “I've got a good feeling about this one.” 

Sorin felt a nervous sweat drip down his brow. “What happened last time?” He spoke in a small voice but loud enough to be heard over all of the small conversations happening among the other Heldimancers. All of the little conversations were silenced.

“Who's he?” Questioned one of the men.

The woman with the clawed glove turned toward him. She stared at him for a moment before speaking. She then quickly tilted her head at Garn. “Why don't you tell the tyro what happened last time you brought someone like him to the field?” No response arose from Garn, only a cold and foreboding silence. “Fine, I guess he'll just have to find out like the last one did.” She turned to the rest of the Heldimancers to address them. “Some of you already know who this is. Others don't. This is the tyro. Treat him accordingly. Anyway, here's the mission: several enemy scouts have been spotted about half a mile west of here, and we are being sent to make sure they never scout again.” That last statement earned a bout of cheering from the people surrounding. Everyone except Garn and the woman dispersed, setting themselves to various tasks. Sorin made his way over to the claw-gloved woman and Garn, who both appeared to be in deep conversation. He felt like a child silently waiting for his parents to stop arguing. Garn seemed to notice him and cut the woman off mid-sentence. As he walked over to Sorin, not even offering a farewell to the woman, he appeared to be frustrated by what had been said between them.

“Follow me, tyro. We’re gonna get a head start.” He seemed tired and frustrated. 

“Who was she?”

“Suka. Been here longer than any of us. Acts like that makes her better. Her seniority means nothing, everyone just follows her because she won't have it any other way.” Garn’s contempt for the woman was clear.

“Why not just overthrow her? There are a lot more of you than her.”

A smirk rose upon Garn's lips. “The rarity of people willing to join our ranks would make that too risky.” He paused for a moment. “Today I'll be showing you the very basics of Heldimancy. take my Luck.” Sorin looked over at him. As soon as he thought about it, Luck seemed to explode out of Garn again.

He imagined again the Luck coming into himself, becoming a part of his being. When he brought it into himself, he instinctively knew that there were many possibilities of this power. He so earnestly wants to make it into one of those possibilities. “Okay, now that you have the Luck, you can probably see some of the outlets for it. You can change Luck into a lot of different things. It can become several forms of energy and a metal. This can all be utilized in battle and you’re going to see a little bit of that. Now hurry up, we have some work to do.”

Sorin felt he had to change the Luck, to explore its potential. It felt like it was calling to him, begging him to create. He felt as though he were stretching a muscle for the first time. It felt so… right. There seemed to be six outlets for this power. They all felt different and distinct when he focused on them. He focused on one and felt a heat. No. Not a heat. An anger, a focused rage. So violent yet calm. It scared Sorin. He focused on another of the outlets. It gave him a feeling of freedom, a feeling of exhilaration. In that feeling, there was also a duality to it. Along with the excitement there was also a fear. A terrifying and brutal momentum. 

They soon reached a grassy area where the dirt was kicked up, and the grass was burnt. Garn bent down to take a closer look at the ground. He picked some up and rubbed it between his fingers.

“You see that?” Garn asked, looking back at Sorin who was standing behind.

The dirt he picked up had a grainy texture, with an almost glassy sheen. Only after thinking for a moment, did the correct word pop into his mind

 “The sand?” 

“Yeah, see anything weird about it?”

“It’s sand…”

“Surrounded by wet dirt.” Garn looked at him like he was stupid. He was stupid. “You’re a special one.” Garn had a tone that said that there was going to be another lengthy explanation of something. 

He stood up and dropped the sand. “Rookie Heldimancers are a bunch of hot-headed idiots, who use this magnificent weapon for fun. This leaves a mark because of the power they toy with. Basically, we can tell a few things about them from these marks. First of all, we’re hot on their trail. Second, they’re a bunch of rookies and will be easy to deal with.” 

Suddenly a slight sound of rushing wind could be heard, along with the flapping of loose clothing. Garn quickly lunged forward and tapped Sorin’s chest. He felt a slight sense of vertigo as he felt his body move backwards. Wind rushed by his ears as he began to lose control. He was still soaring backwards, but his acceleration was gone. The world spun around him as he landed a good thirty feet farther than he was originally. Looking back he saw a dark, cloaked figure skid to a stop. In the blink of an eye the figure was moving at breakneck speeds straight towards where Garn had fallen after pushing Sorin. The figure moved faster than any human should, and they seemed to not be moving their legs either. As they reached Garn, he erupted up from the ground, suddenly holding a simple looking blade. It seemed to appear out of nowhere, directly into his open hand. 

He sliced at the attacker as soon as they were in range. Sparks flew as Garn's sword connected with something metal. The figure seemed to change direction in air and flipped over Garn in an almost acrobatic motion. The flip had the fluidity of a dance, but it also contained the trained vigor of a fight. Without missing a beat, Garn thrust his unarmed hand up, palm facing towards the sky. As soon as the figure saw this, they lurched forward in a movement that could only be described as panicked. The air above Garn’s hand seemed to become fire. The space suddenly glowed with an intense brightness that only came from superheated metal, it then immediately dispersed and disappeared. The figure narrowly escaped being caught in the burst of heat. They quickly fell to the ground and began moving towards Garn in the same fashion as before. Sorin saw a glint of light reflect off what looked like a blade in their hand. As the cloaked figure reached Garn jumped towards them, catching them in the chest. Suddenly, both flew backwards at amazing speeds. 

Only after several seconds did Sorin realize that the figure was moving in his direction and looked to be keeping their acceleration. Panic began to fill Sorin as he internalized that he would no longer be a spectator to this fight. He finally stumbled up from his position on the ground and got into his best approximation of a fighting stance. As soon as he got up and focused on the quickly approaching figure lines of what Sorin had learned to call Luck began streaming off him and the attacker.

Rather than hitting the ground and stumbling, the figure immediately broke into a run with superhuman balance. Sorin was not at all prepared for the speed at which they approached. Moving entirely on instinct he lunged forward to punch the cloaked figure in the gut. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, with no conscious thought going into the action.

This caught his attacker off guard and caused them to hesitate. Sorin was equally startled by the attack. Both stood suspended in a single moment. Sorin saw streams of luck flowing towards the attacker, whose identity was concealed by hood and face covering. 

The figure shoved Sorin and held out their hand, palm facing him. Sorin knew what came next. He was dead. 

It all happened in a moment. Sorin accepted his fate. The attacker said something in a language he did not recognize and then looked over. Garn shot by at incredible speed, catching the figure’s face with his fist. A snap could be heard as the hit connected. The figure tumbled to the ground, their neck bent the wrong way.

 

The moment after all of this had taken place, an oppressive silence overtook him. It felt so loud. A feeling beyond explanation fell over everything like a heavy blanket over everything. This state of being was somehow familiar to Sorin. He had no recollection of why or when he would have felt this way, only a faint and horrible nostalgia. All was still. All was silent. All was dead. Then all was alive again. Reality came rushing at him like a pack of wild animals, trampling him, crushing him, destroying him.

He turned around and sent his fist directly into the person putting their hand on his shoulder. The person caught his hand and returned the momentum to him. The fluidity of the motion was supernatural. As he was being flipped, Sorin finally began to process his surroundings. Garn’s face was brought to the forefront of his mind, his features becoming the only thing Sorin could experience as his mind adjusted to reality. 

Suddenly he felt as though he had been awoken from a deep and unexpected slumber; missing time as it passed him by. He sat up and looked around with a sudden, almost frightening lucidity. With that lucidity came a terrible, crippling shame. He suddenly knew he deserved a fate far worse than death, but he couldn’t even begin to fathom why. He actively wanted to die, to perish in a raging fire would be a great mercy, not because life wasn’t worth living, but because he didn't deserve to keep on living. He could not believe that a fair universe would let him live. If he was alive, then there must be no god. No divine being orchestrating the universe would let such a vile, disgusting, low creature exist for even a moment, and yet he did.

He felt tears streaming down his face. He didn’t even know what he had done, and yet it hurt him so much. Slowly, the shame began to fade. A slow suffocation of emotion. All of his pain had been felt for but a fraction of a moment. All was quiet again. A muffled speech became more and more clear.

“Hey, Tyro, you awake?”

“I'm so sorry.” Even though his emotions had left him, the very memory caused him to begin to sob. “I'm so, so sorry.” Garn held out his hand to help Sorin up. After a moment of processing the action through his meaningless grief, he took his hand and got up.