It was past time to learn some new runes.

No more shooting in the dark with it, either. He had a plan and he was going to invest solidly in working smart. Let the other sucker’s beat their head against a wall.

Charley was going to use a sledgehammer. “Metaphorically speaking,” he muttered.

He had gone to the courtyard where they had found the guardswoman. No dice. Finally hunting down the guard’s headquarters, he was informed his [Sergeant] was working the west wall, and during the night shift.

Not for the first time, Charley scowled at the sun shining above him. Annoying.

He had wanted to ask critical questions in the pursuit of an idea about the ballista on the wall, that seemed rune worthy. He stalked back to the relative safety of his workshop.

All last night and through the morning he had struggled with what he remembered from his world about magic. The thing was, runes weren’t random. They were expressions of the natural world.

There had to be rules.

There was one book in particular that he couldn't even remember the name of, but it jarred his recognition something fierce. It was funny how some seemingly critical details escaped but you could remember something silly like a rule of magic in a story.

He guessed that it was because the rule kind of rolled off the tongue. The shorter and more elegant the rule the better. Like energy equals mass times a constant, squared.

The one he remembered was good, too.

As above so below.

Slipping up the stairs when Brand was busy with a customer, he found Maria gone and an unfamiliar sack on his table, with a note. He thanked the gods again that his native tongue was translatable enough to the local linguistics that he could make out the letters. He suspected that that particular mystery was deeper than the surface. Clearly where he was now, Oak, was somehow tied to Earth.

That rule of magic came back to him now, the principle of sympathy. Maybe the reason it had been so taxing to generate the sundering rune was that he was working in the wrong medium.

Like calls to like, easing it's path.

He was a big fan of easy.

Ah well. Charley did his best to focus on what was right in front of his face, something that he was unfortunately bad at. Historically at least.

Gold and silver coins spilled out from the small sack when he poked at it. He blinked owlishly. Maybe he could get better at that whole what’s-in-front-of-his-face thing.

The note read, ‘Don’t spend it all in one place.’ and gave an inventoried account:

29 gold.

13 silver.

6 copper.

Charley broke out in smiles.

Who needed a [Sergeant]. It was time to hit the market and buy toys so he could *experiment*. Try out that whole sympathy thing.

Probably spend it all in one place. Two, max.

For science!

--

Finding the market was as easy as stepping out his door and wandering down the cobbled street. Chimera was laid out in a grid pattern, which made it easy to tell the cardinal directions. Except that everyone said, “churchward” for east, since that was where you could always see the steeple from any part of town. It did make orienting easier.

And more than anything, this town was a dream come true for [Trader]’s. It was between Trist, the capital of this area, and some other people called the Crakatoa to the east. Brand had dropped that one on him when he was pumping him for geographical knowledge.

And to the south flowed the Yuto, which connected to a major city and the coast. Three points of trade, and everyone met in Chimera.

He passed by the more orderly streets of established crafters, barely giving them a glance. Blacksmiths, a goldsmith, furriers, weavers, coopers, and a chandler. Normally he’d feel called to stop at one of these locations. They were definitely on the list, but not today.

The high tents of the goblin market shone with afternoon dew, and Charley bobbed and weaved out of foot traffic. It was just as riotous in the afternoon as it was at night.

Charley was looking for something very particular in this market.

Inspiration. He stepped into the temporary city and it was like being swallowed by a giant.

The sky closed off almost instantly, the signs and close tents cutting off view. As he went deeper into the press, even the temperature rose.

He kept his eyes open, looking at the strange goods for sale.

Here, an exotic fur trader from the north.

There, a magic candle shop. Interesting, but not quite right.

Silks, spices, fruits and vegetables.

He picked up a new cloak deep blue cloak, a few shirts and pants, and a pair of soft knee high boots. The boots were hideously expensive, truth be told. But they were made from matted gray sealskin, waterproof, and had fox fur lining. The trader he bought them from even offered to burn his goblin sandals!

Charley teared up a little when he slipped them on. Best two gold he had ever spent.

He spent an hour threading past various tents, without success. Albeit an entirely easier walk.

He stopped for a moment, and purchased some very tasty smoked fish on a stick. He didn’t ask what kind, and was pretty sure he wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

Okay, maybe he was going about the problem the wrong way, expecting a solution to come to him, he had, truth been told, been trying to see if he could trigger his [Deep Intuition].

Flip the problem.

“What’s the main bottleneck in inscription?” He muttered to himself. A man with the look of a sailor stared at him oddly in passing as Charley prognosticated.

Inscription was slow. It took almost a day to make a second rune on an object. Hours to make the first. And Charlie was not ready to just put his head down and grind that inefficiently.

For god sakes, he was trying to be lazy.

That wasn't how lazy 'do'.

He chewed on his seared fish and the problem at the same time.

The goal wasn’t to spend days working on a single project. The goal was discovery above creation for this step. And working in a softer and more forgiving medium that took hours instead of days.

Ah. As soon as he named the problem, he felt his [Deep Intuition] finally fire.

It was like Deja Vu herself came and pushed his face into the cake called, ‘look here, stupid.’

He was going to make the thing that turned academia into a powerhouse -- capable of separating generations from their money. That made professors feared and perhaps hated by students around his world.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Charley was going to make chalk.

He started walking purposefully forward.

--

Turns out, medieval didn’t equal backwards. A whole bunch of tents had all types of chalk for sale. Pigments, paints. They had mineral based powders, flora, and even grinded bone.

There were resins, oils, acrylics, and charcoals.

So much for unpowered technology being conquered in a day.

Charley fingered a bowl of bone powder, impressed.

He called the stall attendant over, “Hey there. Do you think you could point me in the direction of something a little more..exotic?”

The attendant gave him directions.

--

Five minutes later, Charley sighed dramatically.

The stall board had a picture of a monster etched into it, with the panel underneath stating, ‘Anya’s Exotic Ingredients’. The attendant had been very...direct in answering Charley’s request.

The tent had no wares hung outside, only two folded cloth panels pulled open to let in some light.

Charley stepped forward.

The shop was orderly, and clean. There were three large slanted wood display cases, with medium to small white pouches and neat writing next to each. There was also a large cabinet in the back corner with many drawers.

And there was a human sized monster sitting casually behind the central display.

Panic shot through Charley and before he could stop himself a small “Meewwwwwwww!” escaped.

It was a crow. It was a human sized, four fingered and bipedal crow with fully black eyes and a wickedly sharp beak. Wearing a short hooded robe that had been tied off at both backward bending knees, its long taloned feet exposed.

It let out three deep and throated rumbles. Like the way an engine would start.

Nothing else happened.

After a moment, Charley belatedly realized that it was laughing at him. And that he had backed himself against the wall.

He cleared his throat and tried to recapture his dignity. “Ahem. Hello?”

“Don’t be too embarrassed, sometimes people fall over the first time they meet one of the People.” It was a *her*, Charley realized. Her voice was dulcet, and her vocal range was impressive even to Charley’s undeveloped ear. It was like she was an Opera singer.

Made sense. She was a bird. Birdish. Whatever.

Charley realized it had been a moment since he had said anything. “I’m deeply sorry for my reaction. You’re actually the second non-human race I’ve seen. First I’ve spoken to.”

She tucked her head in a bow, and her beak dipped almost to her chest. Surreal. “What can I do for you?” Her fingers seemed to twitch at that, the meaning not lost across species.

“Charley Peace. I’m looking for bones to make chalk.” He stuck his hand out, guessing at her restrained reaction.

She took it up delicately in her own, “Anya of the White. And you’re in the right spot for bones, yes.” That odd vibrating chuckle, again. “This one is a [Sourcing Alchemist].”

Charley had a blank look on his face.

More laughter. “This one collects and sources rare ingredients, bringing out their full range of properties.”

“Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Cool!” Charley finally got it. “You bring out the magic in things.”

Anya tilted her head in a quick gesture, twice. “All manner of bone, here, Charley of Peace.” And then her beak opened apart in a slow unreadable expression. “Perhaps if you tell this one what you want to use it for..?”

Charley tapped his cheek. “I’m looking for something small, perhaps thin. With regenerative properties.”

She moved fluidly to the cabinet behind her, pulling out two parcels. “From the swamps,” she placed a bag on the counter before her, unwrapping it carefully, “a juvenile hydra.” It was flat and wide, with a serrated top. Seeing Charley scowl, she placed the second parcel. “From the north. A small Troll.” It was an eye tooth, half a hand long, and green.

Charley smiled. “She’ll do.”

Anya tilted her head again, “Please feel free not to answer, but out of curiosity, what are you making?”

He beamed, “I *adore* shoptalk. I’m in need of something to help me enchant faster, try new things without working my runes in metal.”

Anya made a horrible croaking sound and froze, “What is your class?”

Charley worried for a moment, “[Natural Inscriptionist]. Is there a problem?”

She made an interesting shape with her hands, patting the air smooth in front of her with flared fingers, like wings. “Forgiveness. There is of course no problem. It is only rare that a human inscribes.” She paused. “May this one ask what language he draws?”

He nodded, “Corvus--” Ah. He caught himself too late on the word. And there was the connection he hadn’t made. The latin genus for the crow family. “Enca.” He finished lamely.

The female Crakatoa, because she couldn’t be anything else at this point, bowed low. “This one greets a speaker. Forgiveness, she did not think Chimera had any speakers of the old words.”

Charley shuffled nervously, “I hope that this isn’t something ominous or verboten outside your culture. I came to it honestly, from studying the natural world. Scout’s Honor.” He held up a palm over his heart.

Anya gave a heartfelt smile at him. “You may rest easy, Charley of Peace; speaker. The words only come to those in this way. It is-” She paused, making several tentative clicking sounds. “A joyous day when another speaker joins the choir. This one celebrates with you.”

Charley nodded, relieved. At least he hadn’t accidently pissed off a section of the populace. Again. “Glad to hear it. How much for the Troll tooth?”

Anya held up a feathered palm, a clear no. “A gift.”

He let out a delighted chuckle, “In that case, I’ll have to come back and give you some repeat business.”

The Crakatoa nodded seriously, “Please. And perhaps show this one how the experiment goes.”

Charley left with a thank you and his loot, whistling.

As he left, Anya quickly wrote a note in hastened script from a quill in her robe, then stepped into her back room. There a bronze cage held several sleeping pigeons. She removed the first to the door, making gentle sounds at the beast. Attaching the note securely, she stepped to the front of her tent and whispered to it for a moment.

Then she let it fly.

--

Charley was ecstatic. He hummed to himself while rubbing the piping of his new cloak, secure in his second story workshop. His boots were kicked off in the corner, and his Troll tooth before him on a simple cloth.

It was time.

His fingers itched from the anticipation. The first thing he did was split the eyetooth into three equal pieces. Each one about two inches long, which meant room for about three runes.

Once he had the pieces sanded down on the edges, he blunted one side, carefully shaping a soft point on one end that he could rub against a surface without damage, leaving it unsanded and heavy with bonechalk.

He’d have three tries at this. Good enough.

At the beginning of a yoga class, Charley recalled, you set an intention for your practice. That intention was the most important part of the experience. Everything else flowed from that.

And the intention of a troll tooth was to regenerate and grow. Regeneration from the trolls natural ability. And on mammals the eye teeth would grow throughout its life. Forever.

If he had had a hard time learning a rune for sundering from simple trial and error, well.

Charley was going to stack the odds horribly in his favor.

He clicked his [Meditative Focus] on and started carving on the first tooth.

Carving on bone wasn’t as hard as iron -- it had a spongy give to the enamel. He left his hands go, carving out Origin first, and then Flow in a shorter period of time. He physically felt the difference in his core, as well.

This object didn’t need nearly any mana invested to bring its properties forward. Charley said a little prayer to Anya.

Having two runes on his target, he kept his mind blank. He let his hands just move in whatever direction they wished. Letting his trusty chisel tap little pieces off the material.

It came out wrong. Undirected.

Alright then. He picked up the second piece.

If undirected was the wrong way to go, he’d set an intention.

He redrew Origin. And then Flow. He paused for a moment, considering. Dimly, he felt soft hands tilt his head back and pour water into him, and he smiled absently. That was nice.

He set his intention: regeneration. His hands moved, and kept shaving bone flakes from the structure. Curving lines, flowering.

It started smoking, angry violet energies flicking immediately across its surface. Charley carefully put that one down, far away on a shelf. No more explosions, thank you.

He picked up his third piece and considered the problem.

He drew the rune for Origin and tried to clear is mind.

Thoughts came and went, as he considered and then rejected various ideas.

He drew the rune for Flow and then paused again.

“I’m thinking too much here.” Sometimes more thinking was bad. He took a break, coming out of the trance.

Only some mild tiredness hit him, and he took care of some of his bodies needs. It didn’t even feel that late, which was surprising. So many benefits to using an [Sourcing Alchemist].

But he still needed to clear his mind. So he dropped to the floor and flowed into his yoga practice.

An hour later, his mind was still. He sank gratefully to his knees, resting his hands palms up on them.

Then he gently engaged his [Meditative Focus].

And he just breathed.

An indeterminate amount of minutes later, his [Deep Intuition] fired for the second time.

Ah. Regeneration? What was that! Some bullshit X-man power that a comic book writer had made up. No. Trolls didn’t ‘regenerate.’ That would be as ridiculous as saying that owls could fly because they had the power of anti-gravity.

They had a plan inside themselves, encoded in the building blocks of life that nature set for them. They didn’t regenerate -- that was a man-made word describing an action more inherent and *deeper*.

They Grew.

“Growth” Charley whispered.

Rune learned: Growth!

He picked up Fiona, and together they chiselled flowing double helixes.

[Corvus Enca] reached level 4!

He felt light throughout his bones, and basked for a moment in the sensation.

That was the good stuff.

In this moment, all that prep work was totally worth it. He looked down at his creation and gave it a name,

“Cheshire.”

[Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.]

This one was going to make grinding worthwhile.

So much win.

--

Name: Charley Peace

Class: [Natural inscriptionist].

level: 5

Skillset:

[Runic Enchantment]

Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent.

  [Corvus Enca] Level: 4. Limited to lesser effects.

[Passive: Nimble hands]

[Meditative Focus]

[Passive: Deep Intuition]

Runes known:

Origin.

Flow.

Sundering.

Growth.

Objects in toolbelt:

Chisel [Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes].

Chalk [Cheshire. Runes: Origin, Flow, Growth. Can be used to chalk temporary runes. Chalk point is everflowing.]