I floated in darkness, not shadows, but the complete and utter absence of light, or matter, or anything else, really. As I floated, I thought, wondering what my Class would be.
The rarity system for Classes went like this: Common, Uncommon, Rare, Legendary, and Transcendent. Each tier was more powerful and obviously, rarer, than the one below it.
Common classes made up around 50% of people, uncommon 30%, rare 15%, and legendary 5%.
Now, you may notice that math doesn’t exactly add up right. You see, there are exactly four people in the history of the world who have been Transcendent. Each one was the defining characteristic of their entire era. The last, being born about 4000 years ago, now rules the largest nation in history. That being the one in which I live.
Finally, after what seemed like about ten minutes, but could have been two, a window appeared before me. It bore a large, extravagantly detailed question mark, glowing with a colorless light.
I had always fancied myself being a mage of some kind. The idea of flying around, throwing fireballs and lightning excited me. I had studied very hard in school, and read many books, as that was believed to increase the likelihood of a magic based class. Needless to say, I was quite excited. That is, until the content of the window was revealed.
Your Class has been revealed!
Warlock
Tier: rare
Stats per level:
2 will,
1 int
Starting skill: Contract (single use)
Description:
The Warlock is a class of magic user which performs feats of magic in a way unique to them. By forming a contract with a powerful entity of some kind, warlocks are able to gain power which surpasses that of most other magic users at their level. However, if the terms of the contract are broken, the warlock loses all borrowed power.
Go Forth, and Thrive.
------
…
…
…
“Oh. Oh no.”
I had heard of Warlocks before. Most had. They were one of the more known classes of the Rare category.
Warlocks were generally mistrusted; this being due to the fact that most entities willing to accept a Pact are things which have been locked away, sealed, or banished, usually for good reason. It was also a common, though unproven belief that a Warlock was shaped by their patron. These facts combined to ensure that people with this class were generally badly treated and found trouble trying to just make a living. This was most definitely not a good development.
I had a sudden vision; me, in black, purple-edged robes, standing on a vague battlefield, eyes ablaze with dark flame as things moved in the shadows. Words rolled from my lips in a whispering, sibilant tongue. The vision faded quickly as it had come.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
It was at this point I noticed a small icon flashing in the lower corner of my sight.
Opening it, I was asked if I would like to return to wakefulness. Upon indicating yes, my eyes snapped open. I found myself once more on a large, soft bed.
------
“Well, certainly don’t see one of those every day!” George exclaimed with what I thought was an undue amount of excitement.
“Ugh,” I eloquently groaned. Despite having not really done anything, I was immensely tired. Was this normal? I had never heard it mentioned. Though if it was indeed normal, I could understand why nobody talked about it. A warning would have been nice though.
“And that is why we don't use altars anymore.” I heard him mutter. That was… concerning, to say the least. I groggily sat up, rubbing my eyes.
“Let the boy breathe!" George yelled, when several people in the crowd shouted questions. He then turned to me and whispered.
“Sorry, I know you’re likely quite tired, and would probably rather fall into a coma, but I’m going to need you to stand.”
Another “Ugh,” was all I could manage in response. George helped me up by the arm, and turned me to face the crowd. Raising my hand into the air, he spoke.
“On this day, with you and the Gods as my witnesses, I proclaim Allister Rose, child of Brenda Rose, as Warlock!”
Gasps rang out, and then a deep and foreboding silence reigned. It was as if someone had cast a deafness charm. Then the shouting began.
‘What,' was the most common expression. Followed closely by exclamations of ‘Warlock!? How?’ Then George’s voice loudly rang out, likely with the use of magic.
“Enough,” he boomed. “If you have any complaints, you can shove it. Now, this event is over, please exit in an orderly fashion via the transportation circle at the back of the room. Or don't. Not my problem."
People slowly, begrudgingly began to disperse. It took a while, due to only having one exit. Poor design in my opinion. Meanwhile, I was quickly escorted by George to a back room, in which there was another transportation circle in the corner.
“Listen, kid,” the Ritualist told me. “If you find yourself needing some help with... well, anything really, I know a guy at an Academy who can hook you up.” He handed me a card, and with that, I was sent on my way.
------
As I stepped out of the circle and into my living room, I was immediately caught in a tight, entirely expected hug from an excitable child.
Kate Rose
Unclassed
Age 5
Level 1
I wheezed, the air knocked right out of me.
Immediately i was barraged with questions, “What’s a Warlock? Do you have magic? Can I see? Pleeeease?”
Before I could provide an answer to any of those, my mother stepped in. By which I mean she physically pulled my sibling off of me.
"Kate, stop that. Your brother is very tired, he needs his rest,” she so gently admonished. Shooting her a grateful look, I trudged upstairs to my bedroom and flopped on the bed without even changing my clothes.
------
Now, for this next part, I have to explain some things. Namely, my resident world’s educational system. From ages 1-16, most people attended a primary school which taught basic things everyone needed to know. You know, spelling, math, arithmetic, that stuff. After you turned sixteen, and thus received your Class, you then were expected to try to get into an Academy, which were specialized schools meant to advance your specifc Class to a degree and help prepare you enough for life that you didn't end up on the streets within a month.
Now, this was where my problems began. As I said before, Warlocks are generally not regarded as being trustworthy or good people. As such, there were not many places dedicated to their progression. And of those there were? Well, suffice to say that the fees removed them from the equation.
I could, of course, attend a general, non-specialized university, but, to be frank, people of importance never came from those. I kept the option on the table though. A last resort.
It was then, at approximately noon on the 9th day since my Awakening that I remembered the card I had been given by George, forgotten in my tiredness after I had arrived home.
“I’m an idiot,” I said, face-palming. This startled my mother, who had been sitting across the table, reading through yet another rejection letter.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I yelled to her, as I ran up the stairs to my room. Rifling through my things, I searched. Finally I found it. It had fallen from the edge of a nightstand, where it had been thrown haphazardly, and slid under said furniture. It was white, and bore black words on one side, a number on the other.
Greystone Academy of Warlocks