Amen stayed on that balcony for a long while the [Shadow Shah’s] men seized control of the palace. A coldness settled deep in his bones as he considered the [Dawn Heir’s] death. It was right, he thought, opening and closing the hand that had thrown the surprised [Rabbitkin]. He deserved to die. Though, perhaps doing it in cold blood will never sit well with me.
“Amen!” a familiar voice and side hug pounced on him.
“Good to see you too, Pamu,” Amen ◐ whispered.
“So, did you enjoy your adventure?” Pamu ◮ jested. “Saved the city, defeated the bad guy. All that’s left is to get the girl, huh?”
“You joke, but you’re right. I’ve floundered long enough this life. Time to pull a Nick ◮ and ask Aria out.”
“Woah woah woah. I did not ask you out. Shelby ◐ proposed to me.”
“Yeah, well maybe we’ll look back at this life as the one with the normal sexual relationships.”
“Should I mention who I met in the dungeon?”
----------------------------------------
“And so they lived happily ever after, until the end of their days. And that was how the Brothers Tarzu helped your great-great-grandfather save their beloved Tarzu.”
“What!” shrieked a little six-year-old [Rabbitkin]. “What! That was a terrible Brothers Tarzu story! There was hardly any Pamu in it at all,” she whined. “And why didn’t Amen just start off by killing the [Dawn Heir]. Bah! I could write better!”
“Oh,” the elderly storyteller grinned, a glint in his eyes. “Perhaps you will be a [Scribe] or an [Author]?”
“Nonono. You’ll just need to pick a better stor-ry next time. The Brothers Tarzu and the [Eldritch] Temple of Doom. Or maybe The Brother Tarzu and the Free City [Princess], even with the kissy stuff.”
“It’s just a story,” the old man console his granddaughter with a headpat. But, as he did so, a chill raced down his spine, causing him to instinctively touch the amulet hanging around his neck to make sure it was still there. “Still, it’s time to sleep.”
“Oh, fine. Goodnight ne ne.”
“Goodnight amika.”
The old [Rabbitkin] blew out the oil lamp lighting his granddaughter’s room, and drew the curtain across the doorway as he left.
“Not just a story,” the old man whispered as he moved down the poorly lit hallway.
It was decades ago, but that day was crystallized in his memory like no other. He himself had been but six years of age himself. There he was, sitting in the general audience of his grandfather’s court, bored out of his mind, wishing for anything interesting to happen.
And to any child who could dream, something interesting did. A great sweeping presence blew into the courtroom, dominating the audience and striking a bargain with the [Shadow Shah]. Even then, he recognized the System effect of being subsumed by many hundreds of points of CHA and a half dozen interpersonal Skills. Any child would have thrown a tantrum at such social tyranny.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
But he didn’t care. He was there. He saw the miracle that was “rain,” water falling from the sky. And, as the men prepared to march off to war, the ice—ice!—sculptures which surrounded the palace in a statement of power to the people. He had been enchanted, thoroughly enchanted at the time, his childhood mind set a whirring.
But time went by as it was all too apt to do and he grew up. And while “Uncles” Amen and Tamu were a regular, though infrequent, part of his life, he eventually came to believe that those days of rain and ice were but a childhood fancy that never really happened. Hardly anyone else spoke of it anyways by the time he was an adult.
And then twelve years ago, his father passed down to him the amulet now around his neck. It had originally been gifted to his father by Amen late in life, allegedly for some celebration of Amen’s success; no one really was quite sure.
But the old storyteller had always been interested in enchanting, even picking up a Skill or two, and he immediately recognized the work as quite masterful. A filigree of copper embedded in treated peach wood harvested from Tarzu’s own groves, and encased in some sort of hardened lacquer for protection. And though quite lovely, and undoubtedly expensive, a master’s work were readily available, if not widespread. And so, he was quite unprepared for the shock when he [Analyzed Enchantment]:
> [Amulet of Wise Leadership] (fantastic): One of a series of enchanted objects produced by Amen and Pamu upon reaching the third tier as a proof of concept that purportedly non-magical System Traits and Skills could form the basis for an enchantment. That understanding for such production has been lost however. Feeding mana to the amulet will improve the wearer’s wise leadership, including decisionmaking, budgeting, planning, and delegation. Additionally, when others seek the wearer’s advice, the advice given will be improved. +10 WIS.
Confirmation that they had reached the third tier was almost a sideshow. He had never seen a (fantastic) anything before, and now he had confirmation that a series of them had been produced. They were so rare no one even knew what the upper bound was on (fantastic) Objects or how the System counted them because there weren’t enough to study. Heck, the darn description had changed thrice since he had acquired it, though he didn’t know if that was common with (fantastic) Objects or if this was just another oddity of those two.
And so he realized, almost too late, that his “Uncles” were as amazingly powerful as his memories served and the stories told. While they were still around, he tried desperately to pick their minds for all that they knew. And when that failed, he began investigating within the [Shah’s] records, his personal family records, and among the nobility. To the best of his knowledge, only five of these (fantastic) Objects existed: two to the [Shah’s family] and three to their own family. Each Object was stranger than the last, but no one knew how they were made.
And so, a year later, when the brothers disappeared—presumed dead—their workshops and estates were overturned (by both the [Shah] and nobility) in search of additional (fantastic) Objects or their means for production. Alas, while (rare) and (very rare) Objects abounded, and the scholarly notes highly advanced, the brother’s greatest achievements were lost. Or, perhaps, to his childish fancy, hidden away to be discovered.
But between the notes and Objects that were found, and careful study of the few (fantastic) pieces, the [Enchanters] of the Free Cities were progressing by leaps and bounds, with (rare) and (very rare) Objects becoming significantly more common, and the very first (ultra rare) Objects being commissioned by the wealthiest nobles, both domestic and foreign. Indeed, the enchanted Object trade was quickly making the Free Cities among the wealthiest on The Ayres continent.
And so he climbed into bed beside his sleeping wife with these turbulent thoughts in mind. The Pantheon had no [Rabbitkin] god. Most dwelling in the Free Cities would pay their respects to the god of perilous travel or the goddess of the harvest, though some preferred The Steward for her administrative prowess. But the point remained that his Race had no direct representation among the divines. And he certainly would not blaspheme by suggesting that such had ever existed. But he knew with a singular conviction that the Brothers Tarzu were no mere mortals. Their life not “just a story.”
At the very least, they were legends.