Arriving back at his cave, Azrael was impatient to try his hand at magic. Unfortunately, some things currently held higher priority. Namely, properly disposing of the dead wolf in front of his cave.

He looked at the dead beast and found it too much of a waste to simply bury it. He was originally going to bury it respectfully, but… His stomach growled, and he picked up sharp rock shard. It was winner takes all, in a dog-eat-dog world. He smiled at his own bad pun.

By the time Azrael had finished butchering and dismantling the wolf it was already approaching evening, glowing streaks of orange and gold tinting the once pristine blue sky. He’d managed to skin the beast, its pelt stretched taunt between two trees. It was no clean job by any measure, but he felt proud of the attempt none the less.

Most importantly he’d managed to cut away most of the edible parts of the beast, before wrapping them in leaves and burying them just outside of his cave. Burying it would keep it cool and the leaves would help keep out contaminants. Burying it held another advantage. It helped conceal the smell of blood. The last thing he needed was the smell attracting more predators.

Separating a few bones and teeth to keep he dragged the rest waste to a hole he’d dug near the lake and threw in. Then, he buried it. Hopefully it would stay there, decomposing. And on the off chance that something did dig it up, it was away from his cave.

Now finally finished with task he clambered up into the cave, wincing as his movements stirred his abused muscles. His wounds from the battle had faded to thin scars, due to the accelerated healing of the game, but they still stung as he moved.

Inside a small fire was going, four small skewers of wolf meat grilling over it. He turned them over. In the time it’d taken to throw the rest of the wolf into the hole, they had charred slightly on one side. He shrugged. A meal was better than no meal.

Not to get him wrong, he wasn’t the kind of guy to usually eat this sort of thing, however… His stomach grumbled. He was hungry and he’d never tasted mutt before.

With careful movements Azrael picked up a wolf skewer, careful not to burn his fingers. Lifting it, he almost dropped it when his hands got too close to the coals. Tentatively he took his first bite. It was hot, too hot, forcing him to hold it in his teeth while it cooled, but when it finally did, he bit in.

He sighed. It was good. Maybe it was just because he was hungry, but it tasted good. The meat was chewy, which was really just a polite way to say it was tough. Despite that, it tasted like chicken, or lean venison, although Azrael really wished he had some salt. Salt was good. So was magic.

Azrael tapped the suddenly empty skewer against his teeth. He was not sure how to go about it. Making a spear, sure. Building a forge to make swords, harder, but doable. Learning magic with no instructions, nor any clue how to go about it,… a little less doable.

Usually, games worked through a status system. Kill mobs, get loot, level up. Once you were high enough level you could learn skills, either by asking or getting someone to teach you, or purchasing skills with points. Azrael sighed. Not having a skill board made things so much harder. He picked up his second skewer.

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What did he know about this world? You could feel the sun, the wind and rain. You could feel cold and heat. It was realistic.

No. He thought back to when he wove his grass skirt and when he’d made his spear. After gaining a skill he felt the system helping him, not much, but enough to slightly correct him in his tasks. That meant there was something guiding and helping the players. If you made something you gained skills and their related knowledge. He frowned. That wasn’t quite right either. He polished off the second skewer and picked up the third.

Azrael remembered gaining a skill from throwing the spear. So… the system recognised effort, or action. He’d probably gained a spear skill. What about intent? At that time he’d gained a spear skill, which made him more accurate, instead of a tracking skill, which would have let him keep track of the fish and aim better. Why was that? Was it because the requirements were different? He frowned, and began gnawing on his final skewer. At that time he’d been trying to hit the fish, not keep track of it, so he couldn’t disprove the theory of intent.

Action, effort and intent. What he did, how much he did it and what he was trying to achieve. He stood up, throwing the last skewer into the fire. The theory seemed as good as any. Now it was time to get to work.

Azrael stood, stretching his right arm outwards, with his palm facing the cave entrance; Action.

He tensed his muscles; Effort.

He shouted out his intent “Fireball.”

Azrael stood, his open palm outstretched and pointing towards the cave entrance.

He tried again “FIREBALL”.

The cave was dissatisfying quiet, only the sounds of his fire crackling on the floor.

So far he’d tried various methods, from shouting out the name of a spell to burning leaves in his fire while chanting, in the hopes of summoning an elemental. He wasn’t even sure if elementals existed here. It seemed he was missing something. Maybe it was conviction? His theory of intent hadn’t been disproven. No, he’d really wanted that elemental. Maybe it was visualisation?

He struck a familiar pose and began chanting “KAAA-ME-HAAA-ME-HAAAAAAA!!!”

He held the finishing pose. Silence, not even the cicadas were chirping. He sighed… it seemed he was in for the hard yards. He sat down by the fire cross legged, prepared for his last resort. If traditional western methods of calling out the spell name didn’t work, then it was time for something else. A good ol’ little bit of cultivation. It was time for meditation.

Azrael shifted his position. There was a rock digging into his bottom and he’d lost feeling in his left leg.

He scratched his nose, rubbing an unbearable itch. He wasn’t feeling very enlightened. He’d tried suppressing his thoughts to reach a state of calm, but they kept on bursting out, tumbling over themselves. He wondered how monks managed to do this for hours on end. Maybe they did that hummy thing? He sucked in a new breath and began.

“Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmm” He breathed again “Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmm”.

Now this was starting to feel ridiculous. He was glad that nobody else was around to hear him.

“Ohmm…” He stopped.

This wasn’t going to give him magic. He imagined himself gaining an [Ohming] skill. That would just be plain stupid. Everyone! Beware the ‘Ohming Mage!’

He pushed himself off the ground and walked to the cave exit. It was well and truly night now. The stars, too big and too bright to belong to earth, shone down on the dark forest.

He listened to the thundering waterfall, the sound of crashing water drowning out almost everything else. You couldn’t hear it much inside the cave, but out here it was like the beating of a thousand hearts, or the flight of a hundred dragons.

This little dark corner of the world was his and his alone. He turned back inside, dropping onto a small makeshift bed of leaves and grasses. Afterall, tomorrow was a new day.