It’s hard to say to say what comes first; the collapse or the fall.

Some say a society’s fall is simply the moment of collapse. Multiple catastrophes occurring simultaneously push it to the limit, and as such each system can’t keep up with the unprecedented demands placed upon it. When multiple systems fail at the same time, the invisible bonds holding a society together disintegrate. That is collapse.

Others believe differently. Magnar Carlson, as one prominent example, believes instead that the fall is a long, drawn out process proceeding societal collapse. Contradictions are built in to a society’s framework based on its material conditions, and those contradictions are always playing out in the background. For most societies, the internal pressures are papered over by external expansion in one domain or another – trade, war, pursuit of knowledge or innovations in magic for example.

Once this expansion fails to continue at pace, it can no longer cover for the conflict brought about by a society’s internal contradictions, and this causes strain on its systems. These systems fail slowly over time, and this build-up of steady failure only further inflames the aforementioned contradictions. Such a vicious cycle is known as the fall, and only once the contradictions emerge on the surface as a bloody spectacle of violence; revolution, coup, civil war, famine…only at that point does the fall become the collapse.

Of course, I am just playing semantic games here, and you would be right to point out that I’ve simply flipped the definition of both words to suit my needs, but really; does it matter? Poison works fast, and your bodies have by now lost their ability to fight back against it. Nightshade and poppyseed makes a delightful tincture when processed just so, wouldn’t you agree?

Really now, a room full of astropaths and not one of you predicted this? Makes one suspect you are not as accomplished in the art of divining the future as you may pretend. Alas, perhaps if you were, my services would not have been needed to begin with. A great deal of blood must have been laid at your feet to justify my exorbitant fees after all.

Alas, I think I was worth it this time, if I do say so myself.

- Penultimate monologue from ‘The Alchemist’s Last Job’ by Encante Lorazio, transcribed by scholars of the White Consortium in ‘tales of the ancients – fact or fiction?’

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“As far as plans go, this sucks.” I grumped, trudging along through the sodden grass, seed pods whipping me in the chest as they were blown about on the top of their long stalks by the wailing wind.

Nathlan was listening with only half an ear, muttering to himself and tracing invisible lines in the air with his hands, so I was unsurprised at the grunt I received in reply. He’d been at it for most of the morning, attempting to construct a weather-ward to keep himself dry. I’d learned several new curses from him in the process as he wrestled with his magic, so at least there was a silver lining to the lashing rain. The satisfied swagger he’d adopted since achieving his new class was long gone, and his shoulders were so slumped by this point it was almost comical.

Apparently, a combat class with only a single active skill to compliment the old magic of his home was far less optimal than a support class refined over centuries to concentrate specifically on ward-craft. Who could have known?

Where before I’d witnessed him set multiple wards at differing ranges with varied sensitivities, now he was struggling to create a single vaguely opaque one centred on his person. Of course, I had no real frame of reference for the difficulty, but I was under the impression from odd comments dropped by Jorge that to be able to manipulate free-flowing magic to such a degree as Nathlan was doing, without the requisite skills from a supporting class, was nothing short of genius.

Nathlan was still soaked through like me though, so what was a superior education and genius intelligence really worth in the end?

Vera was striding along next to us with a stiff back and the same resolute stoicism that I was used to seeing from her. I detected a slight scent of wood-smoke from her though, and the air seemed to sizzle around her frame, so I was fairly sure she was using her aura skill to keep her hair and armour warm, if not dry.

Despite my jealousy though, I couldn’t really blame her. Thin, bitterly cold rain drops were driving into our faces, no matter which way we turned our heads. Water coated every long blade of grass and splashed against our legs as we waded through the waist high sea of green. Visibility was still alright somehow, the horizon grey and somewhat light, but that only made things worse – instead of hope for something new, the endless expanse of sodden grass served as a constant reminder that there was no escape from the dreary dampness.

It was the sort of weather that could not be enjoyed, merely tolerated. Unless you were Jorge that is. He was whistling a cheery tune to himself as he walked beside us, hands in his pockets and clothes enviably dry.

A few inches from his body, water ran in rivulets down an invisible shield, such that he appeared to be outlined by an armour of water. My eyes traced a single drop of rain as it fell just above his forehead and joined a river flooding down past his neck and onto his shoulder, where it beaded up and dripped to the floor as he moved. He caught my eye and gave a jaunty wave, rolling a grass stalk from one side of his mouth to the other.

I had never wanted to kill a man more in my entire life.

The weather was unceasing and would likely stick around for another week or so at least. This was the other side of the beautiful steppes we travelled through – monsoon season. Without a fancy aura skill, I was left to the mercy of mundane waterproof fabric. While I was impressed with the ability of the loaned poncho I was wearing to protect my torso from the rain, it could do nothing to prevent my lower thighs from being soaked through by the grass that seemed determined to splatter its watery payload against my legs.

I had tried to hate the grasses for their role, but I had to admit that without their ability to bind together the soil, our steady trudge through endless grassland would be more of a sucking limp though fields of mud.

In any case, it was safe to say I wasn’t having a good time, and so I let my mind wander to the near future, and the plan we had discussed a few days ago. Jorge had outlined it simply enough. He had contacts in the capital of the Copper Canyons – a city named Colchet – that were heavily involved in information gathering or other sneaky spy work. He didn’t use those words of course, but I got the gist of it.

The Crimson Lions were known to operate out of Colchet as well, and Jorge suspected his contacts would be able to pinpoint the location of their safehouse, for the right price of course. There was not much point planning an ambush at this stage before we gathered at least some rudimentary information about the Lions and their presence in the Copper Canyons, and so the current version of the plan was basically;

Step 1 – get to Colchet.

Step 2 – let Jorge do his thing.

Step 3 – pending.

So, we had abruptly changed course, and started heading east. It was a little frustrating to have travelled west for so many days, only to basically turn around once we reached the Iona Chasm and head straight back again, but it ultimately could have been much worse.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Over a month ago, after leaving Trading Outpost 17 at the foot of the Unnamed Peaks, we’d begun crossing the great grass sea and heading west through the Wandering States towards the Panyera river. I’d been excited ever since Jorge had told me we would arrive in time for the Sabayen – an ‘end of harvest’ equivalent festival which lasted for weeks.

The locals that lived alongside the Panyera relied predominantly on fishing the waters for the shoals of Saber-toothed Salmon, and our arrival would coincide with the spawning season festival of Sabayen. During the month in which the Salmon headed upstream to replenish their numbers, the people of the Panyera would hold off on fishing to keep the population of fish at a sustainable level. With the spare-time granted by the lack of fishing, they would run between the great smoke-houses raised along the riverbanks and filled during the rest of the year, and collect the now prepared fish for their villages.

The smoke-houses were set roughly every 10 miles along the river and there was a tradition of running as many trips as possible within set timeframes. These ‘Salmon-races’ were the biggest cultural event that the Panyera People maintained, and placing high in one of these races was central to social mobility within the small villages that fed from the great river.

When I had asked why the smokehouse were raised so far from settlements in the first place, Jorge had waffled on about the great herds of Jackal-Beaks occasionally veering off course and crossing the entirety of the grass sea just to descend upon a badly maintained smoke-house somewhere along the river. Whether it was an insane sense of smell, some magical awareness, or even the information sharing networks of the ‘beaks’ that set off the herds, Jorge wasn’t aware, but the result was that these great smoke-houses had to be kept far from civilisation to prevent a feeding frenzy of roaming animals from destroying settlements.

It was a good lesson in the interconnectedness of the ecosystems of the world, but when I’d asked why the Jackal-Beaks wouldn’t stay near the Panyera if they were so drawn to the fish, Jorge had just thrown up his hands and muttered about ‘insatiable children’ before walking off in defeat.

So, we were heading back the way we’d come before veering east towards the Copper Canyons, and had a journey of at least a month ahead of us. The weather would obviously heavily influence that, but Jorge was hopeful we’d stick close to his estimate, and I saw no reason to doubt him. It was dreary work, trudging through the unchanging plains, and nobody had much desire for conversation.

That wasn’t entirely a bad thing though, as it gave me more time to familiarise myself with my now ‘complete’ set of skills. Of course, it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t incorporate new skills and evolve my current ones to be broader or more powerful, but now that I had filled every open skill slot, I could analyse my current ‘build’ as it were.

I had a rare class that granted me a slight advantage in attributes right out of the gate, and the fact it was a combat class and not a support one further increased that advantage, as well as ensured the skills I learned from my class were relatively powerful. From some early questioning of Jorge weeks ago, it seemed the average attribute gain per level for a standard support class ranged from 1 to 3 per level, so my 5 was already an incredible advantage. There was a reason why combat classes were beneficial, despite their heavy costs.

The drawback was that levelling both the class skills and general skills required combat, and more importantly danger. By dint of that fact, there was not much room for experimentation, as taking too much of a risk would likely see you dead or stalled out, unable to progress without dying. There was wiggle room of course, but it was a fine line between making decisions to benefit you in the short term vs taking a long view of things.

Focus too heavily on short-term boosts and you’d find yourself with a mess of skills that didn’t mesh together well and no way to easily progress past the soft skill cap at level 10. Conversely, too much focus on building a powerful and versatile skillset that would come into its own only at a high level would leave you stuck in the early levels, unable to survive the tough encounters you needed to propel you through the levels to greatness.

I had so far distributed my attribute enhancements fairly equally throughout the five attributes. When I’d first approached Jorge about attribute distribution, his answers had concerned me. I’d worried I’d been making a mistake by seeking balance, but now I was unsure.

Originally, I had done so out of necessity, experience teaching me that letting my attributes fall too far out of alignment would cripple me. Strength let me move faster but without the other attributes, I’d worried I’d be unable to use it. If my perception was too low, I’d miss crucial sensory information, and impact unseen obstacles during combat and day-to-day movement. Too little cognition and I’d be unable to process the wave of sensory information quick enough and react to the world around me. Too little agility and my movements would be so uncoordinated and unrefined that I’d risk hurting myself even if I did see the threat and decide to avoid it in time. And without the necessary endurance, I’d burn myself out from using my enhanced attributes and be left with nothing left in the tank.

It turned out I had been right about the nature of the danger, but I’d massively over-estimated the magnitude of it, and so failed to see the benefits of specialising. Many of the shortfalls I’d worried about could be mitigated with training, if not overcome entirely. Somebody with twice or even three times the strength to agility ratio would not be able to muster the grace and control of their movements that my current distribution allowed – they’d never be considered much of a dancer, for example – but they would likely have no issue overpowering somebody of a similar level (or attribute number, if the comparison was to be accurate – levels did not tell the full story when class type and rarity were concerned). They could learn to function in day to day life, and their overwhelming power may see them through in combat.

The same argument could be made for all attributes, although Jorge did note that the more physical attributes of strength, agility and endurance were easier to directly link to specific combat advantages. Not all battles were fought physically though, and support classes were so overwhelming more common than combat classes that most of the conventional wisdom was geared towards them.

High perception alone may not win a battle, but it certainly made life easier for a jeweller, an antiques trader, an archaeologist etc. Ultimately though, Jorge’s advice was to continue the even allocation until I had a better idea of how my ‘path’ would develop. Given my rare class, I had the wealth of attributes and could afford to spend them generously.

So, days of introspection and contemplation. Searching within myself to see how my nature manifested into my actions. I’d come to terms with my somewhat passive nature by now. I had a tendency to allow decisions to be made for me, by others or my environment either way.

It was difficult to see at first, as I’d originally mistaken it for decisiveness, which seemed contradictory. However, after much deliberation and reviewing my recent history, it was clear that I waited until circumstances forced me into a decision before I’d make one. Rather than take an active roll in planning and pick from multiple options, I would continue to follow along the path set before me until fate forced me choose something. At that point, I would make a snap decision and stick with it, which is where the feeling of decisiveness came from. But in reality, it was little more than an animals choice – reacting to the world around me without understanding, planning no further into the future than my immediate problems.

It was a difficult thing to accept – a flaw in the centre of my being. I was passive, a leaf in the wind, swept up in the current of fate and seldom looking up to see which way the river flowed. Most of a day was spent moping over that realisation before Vera slapped me on the back of the head and told me to get over it. ‘All blades are double-edged in the end.’ She’d told me, and while I hadn’t shared my thoughts with her, the words nevertheless seemed to be what I needed to hear. Yes, I’d found a real flaw in my character that had caused real harm in my life and would undoubtably do so again.

But it also had its benefits. I was decisive. Because I waited until a choice needed to be made, I wasted no time deliberating on the right course of action. Sure, I lost out on better options in doing so, but it meant that when a choice needed to be made, I made one and committed to it with everything I had. I spent far more time doing things than thinking about them, and that had paid off so far.

During those first weeks trapped alone in the wilderness, lack of future planning was a massive help. If I had spent time considering what I would do, the hopelessness and uncertainty would have stolen all my will to survive. As it was, I was able to just put one foot in front of the other. So, it was a double edged sword, as Vera had said. Remould myself to cover the flaw of my passiveness, and I would also lose that in-the-moment decisiveness I had come to rely on.

And so my long days of introspection in the rain helped hammer home Jorge’s lesson that before seeking to change something, you first had to understand it.

By the time the rain eased and the weather brightened, I had achieved a level of self-awareness that I’d never had before, and a confidence in my own mind and decisions that helped ground me somehow. I was still far from seeing how my disparate skills and class could be unified into a defining approach or idea, but it wasn’t a problem for me to solve yet anyway.

First, understand the self. The rest will follow in time.