A small fire broke out in the workshop.

Annoyed, Charley flicked the offending (and flaming) hammer into the fireplace, with the other rejects.. All seventeen of them. It wasn’t the end of the world, and the metal could be salvaged. It was annoying, but it just didn’t think he was skilled enough to make something for the guard. Yet.

He fought some incipient nausea that came from working his craft beyond his comfort and ken. It was the process itself was fighting him, because for the last few hours he’d felt on the verge of throwing up, blacking out, and having a migraine headache.

It wasn’t easy to craft these Inscriptions. Especially when he was trying to figure out new things.

Charley admitted it to himself. He had no idea how to craft something that sought a target on its own. Not yet, anyway.

And it was only most of a day’s work. And eleven separate spontaneous combustion events. The other six started smoking before they set on fire, and he genuinely felt closer to what he was going for -- something which could seek. He felt closer to his next level, as well.

He had learned that if he pushed his energy -- he had taken to calling to *mana*, might as well blend in with the locals -- too fast into the frame of the physical structure, there would be... negative results.

Many valuable lessons. “But maybe no more hammers for the moment.”

Charley was sick of hammers.

He reached for the second box he’d asked Brand to acquire, a box packed with hand saws. He knew that this was necessary, but he really didn’t like breaking so many useful things. It went against his nature.

The box of handsaws went up on his low table.

His stomach grumbled. He cast about, finding some cold jerky on a shelf.

He began chewing and considered the problem.

What did he want to do with a handsaw?

He’d had that thought, when he and Brand had their drunken escapade through the market. He chuckled to himself.

He had seen professional men doing a job they had been intimately familiar with.

Ah.

They were *just* cutting.

He wanted to do something deeper. No, that wasn’t exactly right, was it?

He wanted to sidestep the problem completely.

Amateur’s cut. Well, training carpenter’s cut, too. But he was a [Natural Inscriptionist], damnit. He wanted to hack the nature of the universe and take advantage of its unique laws.

His [Nimble Hands] engaged, and he twirled Fiona in his palm, and slapped a handsaw down in front of him. Both his skills were just downright amazingly useful. He hadn’t really had the mental space to examine them yet.

Just taking the skills they had hardwired in for granted. And honestly he didn’t really feel like he had time now, either. Not with being penniless, with no revenue stream, and his business partner on the edge of destitution.

Speaking of, he had some theories as to why that last one was happening. It was extremely unusual that a [Trader] only have one supplier. When he’d asked Brand about it, he was told that a local noble had fronted him some stock after an endeavour went south. An endeavour with this same noble, named Timat. He’d hold judgement for the moment.

The recaptured the moment and instantly he fell into a [Meditative Focus].

Professionals cut. He wanted to separate something at the atomic level. Solid state physics.

When a physical object encountered a grain boundary, it would send energy kinetically through the object in question, until something broke.

Charley chuckled to himself. Well, that was a great starting point, he already knew the rune for Flow, after all. What if he reversed it?

He thoughtfully Inscribed, pausing here and there to correct paths that didn’t seem like they were right.

He tossed a reject into a seperate box.

The Rune for Flow was infinity. So subtract everything that Flow was, and leave only its complement. Not A, is B.

He felt a warm rush move through is body, and a message from the system waiting for him.

[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 3!

God he could get used to that feeling. He licked his lips.

“May the gods bless this sacrifice.” He chucked another discard into the bin and laughed in pure madcap joy. That last saw had traces of smoke curling from its handle, so he knew he was on the right track.

He considered his current half-rune: two full circles and lots of empty space around them. The space didn’t feel right, and the enchantment stuttered and broke on another saw.

He happily chucked that one in the discards and grabbed another.

Just the circles, then. The feeling of mana uncurling in his chest was deeply pleasant.

His hand paused under the sparkling translucence that this almost-rune gave off. Well. That was new. What came next?

He sputtered for a moment, some food being physically shoved into his mouth.

No big deal. He chewed only long enough to swallow.

Charley focused on the image of what he was trying to accomplish. It wasn’t just cutting. It was a shearing force that caused fractures and burrs.

Ah. Charley smiled, and fractured the circles. The enchantment started glowing violet.

And then sputtered out, smoking.

Charley grabbed another.

This time he fractured the circles, and left burrs through the structure. He felt the rune *take* and that solid joy flow through his core.

[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 4!

[Corvus Enca] reached level 3! Rune learned: Sundering!

The windows from the system were just an afterthought to the rightness he felt from adding another rune to his collection. Exhausted, drained, he sighed in contentment. Tossed his tired body onto the bed behind him.

The window showed a night sky, which was mildly alarming, because he was pretty sure that he’d seen that happen at least twice since.

It was funny, he didn’t actually recall lighting any candles. Or having any candles, really. He glanced at the shelf. Yeap; definitely candles. A few plates, too.

He closed his eyes for moment.

--

He woke up and it was sunny outside. That was better, he supposed.

He took care of his vitals, and constitutionals. A grumbly Brand gave him a greeting as he moved through the first floor, and Charley just waved.

Early is bad.

Secured back in his second floor hobbit retreat, he blurrily glanced around his domain. It was a mess. Wood shavings were all over the floor, and it smelled majorly of sweat and unnatural fire.

Ah well.

His eyes lit up, and glanced the fireplace. He licked his lips.

“What the hell. Let’s try another hammer.”

He cracked his hands, and started chipping away merrily.

White nebulous energy built up under his fingers.

He started sweating, his gut churning.

The energy built up, haloing the workshop around him in light.

He gritted his teeth and doubled down on the speed his fingers were moving.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The hammer exploded in his hands and the world went white.

His clothes were on fire. He beat them against the floor. Wood splinters covered his shirt and hands, not bleeding but soon to be.

Waves of light and smoke eddied off his person, and he heard a soft yelp.

Charley considered the wall, and the metal hammerhead that was embedded three inches deep, a burnt red from the extra thermic heat the metal was holding. And then considered his life choices.

One other thing in the room, too.

There was a man holding up a huge black burlap sack, with a full face mask. He dressed in grey colored clothes and if not for the hammer next to his head, Charley didn’t think he would have even noticed them. Which was kind of the point of the outfit, he understood belatedly.

Which was weird, because even though the person was short, that was a full sized human with gear. He hoped there was some kind of skill involved, because otherwise that would be deeply embarrassing.

Charley cleared his throat, dusty from a lack of use, “Well that was lucky. Sorry about almost hitting you in the face.”

From the first floor he heard his name being yelled halfheartedly. He ignored it.

A rough but surprisingly high pitch voice responded, “No worries. Risks of the profession.” They unslung the bag they were carrying and stretched their legs.

Charley nodded. “Would you like some tea?”

The figure stilled in consideration. “Yes.”

A few minutes later they sat across from each other. Only he was a she, with short red hair and a mad case of freckles. Charley tried not to be distracted by how pretty she was.

Charley put it as delicately as he could, “So why are you working a bad mark?” The tone was soft, at least.

There was a pained sigh from the woman. “For the money.” She at least looked chargined at his assessment.

Charley was honestly confused. “But it's clearly a bad gig. I mean, he’s almost broke. Why in the world would you…” He snapped his fingers, slightly startling his guest. “Oh. Contracted job?” Her face was a stone, but the facts spoke fine. “And you don’t know your employer I take it?” Charley immediately chuckled, “No, of course not. That would be unprofessional. Pardon the question, you’re my first [Thief] I’ve met.”

She fanned her teacup. “A gentleman usually introduces himself to a lady, before she asks which employer requested a burglary.”

He took a half bow, from a seated position, “Charley Peace. May I have something to call you, for ease of mind?” No chance he’d get her real name. Probably not even her working handle.

She paused for a beat. “Claire. Charmed, Mr. Peace. Without confirming anything you’ve said, I do so adore how very not stupid you seem to be.”

He cocked an eyebrow. And he didn’t know who her employer was. Ah. Wait. “All the boxes downstairs are from the same supplier.” He put two and two together, finally. “The same supplier who ‘ruined’ a trade deal they were partnered on. And who then hired you after he sold his goods to steal them back. Which would eliminate some local competition, and would perhaps even hold the loss over the [Trader]’s head and get an able employee out of the deal.”

She slow clapped. “I admit, I’m impressed.” She added helpfully, “not by you--you had too many hints. By the other merchant. That’s an inspired trick.” She smiled wistfully.

Charley smiled, “I agree. He’s making profit on every end of the pie. Why, surely, he must be cutting you in for at least ten percent of the gold from the foreclosure.”

Claire stopped smiling.

“Ah. I have a counter offer for you, then.” Charley held eye contact. “All of it.”

Claire’s smile came back. “Oh, please go on.”

“Why take a bad payout from a good man, when you can take an unreasonably large payout, from a terrible one?”

Charley took see her body language respond to that one on a visceral level.

They talked details over mint tea.

--

Once they had things hammered out, (his brain laughed briefly) Charley posited a followup, “So are jobs like these common?”

Claire put a finger to her chin, “You mean, working for bad men and getting paid poorly? Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, they are. We usually don’t ask the clients many questions, other than the score.”

Charley felt offense at the world. In his new, adopted town?

That’s a hard no. And he had an idea that was only slightly insane.

He scrunched up his resolve, “how do I set up a meet with the thieves guild?”

Claire smiled sardonically. “Charley, you seem like a nice guy. You don’t want to do that. You want to live a happy life, doing...eh” She looked around the room, failing to find reason in it’s form, “whatever it is that you do.”

Charley thought about it. “Claire, I legitimately think we can do better.”

She looked at him with a madcap grin. “Okay. But if they kill you I’m going to take your stuff. And I’ll be back to steal the rest of your friends things.”

Charley gulped. But then nodded. “Fair enough, I guess.”

She tossed an empty black sack to him. For a moment he didn’t understand.

“What, right now?”

“Absolutely. More fun this way.”

--

It wasn’t.

Turns out he got motion sickness by walking with a bag on head. It was one of those details Charley could have gone his whole life without knowing.

He made a note.

You want to meet the thieves guild, probably plan for a few curve balls. Charley was just incredibly glad he had met them now when he was still poor. It would have been terrible to be visited when his operation was in full swing.

He didn’t think the idea he had would play as well, either.

He’d been sitting for a while when suddenly the bag was pulled from his face.

He was in a room, with dim lighting. Two men sat in front of him, looking for all the world like they were holding court. On further inspection, they seemed to be twins, one wearing a fully white outfit of leather, and the other wearing a black outfit of cotton. Both looked expensive.

And more frightening, they weren’t bothering to conceal their faces. It was fine for a street [Thief] to show hers clearly, but it was painfully clear that seeing the upper echelon up close mean that his ticket was already punched.

Charley swallowed. You either ride the bull or get off in a body bag, then.

He cursed Claire for a moment.  He had wanted a meet with someone mid level, not this.  Whatever this was.  He'd gotten lost in his thoughts again and forgot to ask about the details.

He briefly wished himself luck in the next life.

It took him several moments. Finally he firmed up his spine. He may be a coward when it came to Kobolds. And Chimera. And sometimes loud noises.

Intimidation tactics, however, were old hat.

He had gone to *public* school. As a nerd.

He also knew you don’t talk first. If you do, they’ll make fun of you, deride you. Make them express interest.

The twins were a study in informality. They sat on cushioned back chairs, with extra fluff. The black cotton twin had his legs kicked over one arm of the wood.

A few minutes went by where the twins spoke to each other, and occasionally to others outside the circle. Charley expanded his focus away from these magnetic personalities -- realizing it wasn’t an audience.

It was an arena. They were in a sunken pit, ringed in every direction by people who had knives and other sharp things strapped to them. The upper areas were dark, concealed from observation. And it looked like there was some stratification -- closer to the twin side of the circle there was a quality increase in the gear.

Still, it was welcome sight. If they were elevated, Charley would have worried more for his plan. And the fact that it was a circle, so much the better.

He didn’t have to convince the brothers in front of him -- they weren’t royalty. He had to sway a crowd. That changed things in his favor.

Finally the twin in white leather knocked a gavel against the side of his chair. The sound carried through the room, ringing in silence. “A stray cat brings in a mouse.”

It was an obvious clue for him. But it wasn’t a question, so Charley waited. The tension ratcheted up in the room.

And waited.

Finally the black twin rolled his eyes, “Not that we don’t appreciate guests, but why did you ask to speak with us?” He spoke conversationally, without the reserve of his brother. “And make it quick.”

Charley thought of and discarded a few different openers. “A question. And a job offer. If you’d like to hear it.” He could tell they were intrigued. Some people in the circle above leaned closer.

Charley was in a play once. In Junior college. It felt a little like this.

The knives were plastic in that one, though.

The twin in black and cotton gestured onward.

Charley nodded. “What do you want?”

“Money.” The twin in white leather gestured expansively, including the audience. There was a half-hearted cheer.

Charley pressed, “no, really. What?”

More laughs, and a few catcalls this time.

“Money. Really.” The black twin added helpfully, “other people’s. Yours, maybe.” There were some jeers this time.

“Money is a vehicle, which lets you get things.” Charley agreed. “I’m asking you; what are you really wanting.” Charley took a moment. “What do you want from *your* life?”

There wasn’t any laughter this time. The circle got quiet for a moment.

From the backrow, there was a loud whisper, “Decent score.”

And another voice, “Challenge.”

A final one, “Respect.”

Charley beamed, hearing them. Especially the last.

The twins were confused. They wondered seriously if he was addled. It was never good to murder the broken. Bad public image. “Little merchant. Have you come to throw away your life tonight?”

“Oh, no. I have a job for you. So many jobs.”

There was an inquisitive silence that met his words. Finally one of the twins laughed, and gestured for the fool to continue.

And then he told them about a bounty board.

Specifically, places all across the city were the poor could post grievances, against rich and undeserving people who had taken advantage of workers, the sick, the lower castes.

He told them the story of robin hood.

And he could see in the eyes of the people around the circle start to light up with something new.

And then he told them about how much workers like these usually knew about where the gold was kept.

He almost had them. Challenge, money.

He closed his pitch. “You work a normal job, the employer wants something, you want something. But then the employer takes the lion’s share of the take and you get a pittance and you’re a plague on the city. .” He saw nods on some of the faces. “You take everything from a man who beats his workers and steals their wages, you’re something else.”

He paused for a moment, scanned the crowd one last time. “Untouchable.”

You could hear a pin drop.

Charley carried through, “suddenly, the guard doesn’t want to investigate so much. Instead of people flipping on your guild, they’re handing you scores -- for free. And the nobles don’t want to aggravate their citizens, so they’ll ignore you."

Charley could tell he hadn’t sold the twins, but they seemed penseve. Ah, well. The twin in black pipped up, “your ideas are interesting. Naive. Childish, if I’m being honest.”

There were some scattered laughs at that one, but not many. The majority of the circle kept quiet, casting their vote with silence.

Finally the twin in white leather admitted through a false smile, “but you may have some merit.”

Baby steps, he reminded himself.

Charley shrugged, “Try it for a week. If it doesn’t work out, you can always kill me and take my friends’ stuff later.”

The circle broke out in laughter, dispelling the tension it had kept through the exchange. The girm vibe in the air scattered, and a few people broke out bottles.

The twins managed to look at least somewhat offended. “We’ve [Thieves]. Not murderers.” Charley didn’t call out the obvious.

He just wanted to make it out of the door alive.

He had to admit that this entire thing had gotten away from him.

The twin in white leather signalled to someone behind him, and the bag went back over his head.

--

Name: Charley Peace

Class: [Natural inscriptionist].

level: 4

Skillset:

[Runic Enchantment]

Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent.

  [Corvus Enca] Level: 3. Limited to lesser effects.

[Passive: Nimble hands]

[Meditative Focus]

Runes known:

Origin.

Flow.

Sundering.