Hello, my name is the Book of Legends. Strange, I know. But my name isn't important. You see, my job is to record all the tales that have occurred in this world; Deusterra. Ever heard of a boy and his flying carpet? That happened somewhere in the south, a beautiful maiden falling in love with a cruel, mean beast? A tall tale to be sure but it certainly did happen in the far reaches of the west! And I recall one about a glass shoe, maybe... Oh, It doesn't matter! I could go on and on about the amusing little tales I have to offer. But I have a feeling, just a hunch if you will, That you're looking for something new! Something breathtaking, exciting and maybe even a bit scary! You've come to the right place! Get comfy, and allow me to tell you a story...
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If anyone were to ask you: "Who's the most ordinary person in class?" They'd almost always say, Constantine Callaway.
Conner was a normal child, born to a pair of loving parents; he would grow up to be the epitome of average: athletic, polite mannerisms, slightly above average looks, and was bright when he needed to be.
Naturally, this meant he wasn't that interesting, almost like a blank canvas even.
He'd never get into fights, never initiated ones either. No siblings and only a few notable friends to speak of. But away from prying eyes, he was a huge calligraphy enthusiast: every day after school, he would practise calligraphy, learning about it, and even its history: Cursive, Pinyin, Pali, Sanskrit, all of these he knew— and he ab-so-lute-ly adores each and every one of them!
Our story starts with Connor heading to his favourite store...
"I can't wait to get my hands on the new brush Mrs Adelaide told me about; I heard it was from the far east!" Connor mumbled to himself as he joyfully skipped across the smooth stone pavement. Mrs Adelaide was the kind old shopkeeper of the calligraphy store he frequented. As an avid enthusiast herself, they immediately hit it off and became the best of friends.
After a few more minutes of walking, he spotted a small store with a giant paintbrush as its logo. As he got closer, though, he noticed something was off:
'Strange... who are those guys? They don't really strike me as artists,' He pondered curiously while looking at the two men in suits standing just a few metres away from the store.
As he arrived in front of the store, Connor could feel their eyes on him, observing— no; studying him; as if he was on an operating table ready to be meticulously dissected...
But he feigned ignorance and decided to just buy his supplies and go. Why trouble yourself with something that isn't your problem?
"!!!"
Entering the building proper, he was shocked to find it in ruins! With shelves among shelves of supplies just lying flat on the floor.
Eventually, he discovered the sorry figure of the store's owner, Mrs Adelaide, sitting at the back of the store, looking destitute.
"Gramma! Are you all right!?" Connor was terribly frightened when he saw the state she was in: there were scary bruises on her elderly face, with even scarier wounds on her arm.
"*Cough* I'm fine, child *Cough!*" She spoke in the middle of coughs, "More importantly,*Cough!* are you here for your usual supplies?"
"Mn," Hearing his confirmation, she signalled to be helped up.
Getting up with his assistance, she began to limp towards the counter a bit away from her location, and after a few seconds of searching, handed him a bag. In it was a brush along with some ink and an old leather notebook.
"U-Um... I don't think I asked for thi—" Connor was confused as he looked at the strange notebook, but just as he was about to say as much, she interrupted.
"Take it; consider it a gift for being such a good customer," She smiled, "Now go, I need to clean this mess up... Also, don't open the book until you arrive home,"
Ending their conversation like that, she immediately got to work, cleaning the shop up, bit by bit.
"Uhm... Do you need any help?"
"Hoo... No child. Head back home; I'll meet you next Saturday,"
"If you're worried, I'm—"
"Go! Child," Despite his insistence, Adelaide still shooed him away. He sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to do anything to convince her, so he finally gave up and left, closing the door gently behind him.
As he was going to leave the premises, he was accosted by the two men who were still waiting outside:
"Boy, do you usually come here?" Connor nervously glanced at the two men staring intensely at him, but after a moment of deliberation, he answered:
"...Yes," The two men took a moment to look at each other; one of them nodded slightly before turning their attention back on him.
"And is that what you buy every time?" They continued to question, pointing at the bag.
"Oh no, I buy things depending on what I need, but generally yes, I buy things like this regularly," Again, another glance at each other. And after what seemed like an eternity, they nodded and spoke.
"Thank you for answering our questions, you may go," He returned the nod before scurrying off, unaware the mysterious men were staring at his back the whole time...
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
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Inside his room, Connor examined the old book: It had an ancient feel to it; its clasps were heavily rusted, the spine had holes, and the cover was rough from age. Because of this, there was no discernible name he could identify it by, confusing him all the more.
'Whatever, the only thing left is to open it...' He sighed in defeat after combing the exterior for about ten minutes. But when that drew up no answers, he decided to just open it.
"Hello, please write in cursive," He murmured, repeating the words that were written on the first page.
'Curious, but what if I don't...' He thought mischievously to himself before turning to look for a quill. However, from the corner of his eyes, the words that were previously present slowly disintegrated into nothingness, leaving nothing but a blank page.
"Hm? Even more curious! Could this be some kind of magic book?" He turned to look closely at the book, his attention now fully captured. After all, only the reclusive mages of Kulerain mounts in the far west knew the art of magic. With magical artefacts like these were even rarer! So you could imagine his excitement when that was the only conclusion he could draw up.
"Whew, let's see what happens then!" Quill in hand, he wrote one simple word: hello.
-Scribble!-
To his disappointment, nothing happened. He didn't give up though and kept trying. Eventually, after minutes of trying over and over again, it finally responded to his persistence:
[Write in cursive, idiot] Its answer was less than spectacular...
'Tch! You didn't have to be so rude about it,' He irritatedly thought, a giant droplet of water forming on his temple. But he did follow its instruction, writing in cursive this time.
[Hello, I'm the Book of Fate. What's your name?]
Another line of text, plus a small box under it. He immediately put two and two together and wrote down his name.
[Greetings Constantine Callaway, do you choose to become my owner?]
Connor was shocked: was it that easy to get a hold of magical artefacts? But it was a magical artefact, so it didn't take long for him to quickly write down a yes.
[Then, please read the contract below before leaving your signature at the specified area.]
Right as his eyes stopped at the last word, paragraph upon paragraph upon paragraphs appeared, quickly filling the whole book with clauses and subclasses and other jargon he, as a teen, was too inexperienced to know. So he did what any other irresponsible teenager did and ignored it in favour of the "cool magic book".
"Don't worry, I'll agree to all that! Where do I sign?" There was a brief silence after that— like the book was utterly stupefied with his carelessness, though it did finally show up.
'Took you long enough!' Like lightning, he scribbled his name on the checkered lines, more excited by the prospect of being able to cast magic or access forbidden knowledge or something to that effect than you know, thinking of the consequences...
"What can you do?" He eagerly wrote, like a child wanting to try out a new toy.
[Whatever you wish, but I need to make something clear: you are too weak]
"Hmph! You don't need to hide the fact that you can't do everything and tell me, you know?" Seeing its weaselly response, Connor snickered at the book's "lie".
There was another pause, this time a lot longer. So long, in fact, Connor almost thought it was too embarrassed to say anything. Sadly, that's not what happened:
"I am not lying! I'll prove it to you if you want!" A voice suddenly appeared in his head; their anger made painfully apparent.
"W-Who are you?!" Connor quickly looked around the whole room, startled that another voice was hijacking his mind. 'A-Are you a ghost?!'
"Stupid. I'm the book,"
It took a few seconds for him to regain his bearings, and after he did, he felt cheated in a way.
"Gee, way to make a man glad to find you..."
"You should be! I am the legendary Book of Fate! Men and women of great power have searched land to find me! From magical maestros in the west to warlords of the east, they've all fought tooth and nail over me!" It declared. As if Connor was supposed to be glad he had managed to find his grubby little hands on the book. Connor... was less than impressed.
Rolling his eyes at the book(it seemed crazy to him too), "Yeah yeah... So, how do I use you?"
"Use me!? You do not use me! You utilize me! With my consent, of course!" It shouted in indignation.
"Oh really? Well, that's too bad... Guess I'll just have to keep you under my bed for the next... 80 years or so?"
"Huh?!" It froze the moment It heard what Connor said and immediately began backtracking:
"W-Wait! You wouldn't really do this to a legendary artefact, would you?? H-How about this: I'll let you use my services once every week!"
"No, I don't think so; my life was pretty good before. I'll just put you in with the rest of my old books," Connor was unshakeable and denied its offer almost right away.
"Ok, fine! I'll teach you how! J-Just don't put me back with the rest of the books, please!!" Connor pretended to be in thought, and after a few tense seconds(for the book), he agreed.
"Sure. Now tell me what you do and what your limits are!"
"I was telling the truth: I have none; it all depends on you,"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, it'll be better to show you an example, write [Give me an ink bottle]" Connor followed the book's instructions and wrote down the exact words. After a few seconds, his words disappeared, and new ones popped out:
[Go to your window and open it]
Once again, Connor followed its instructions and headed to his window before opening them up. It was midnight, but because there was a full moon out, it wasn't very dark. Looking around, all Connor could see was a few shady merchants burning the midnight oil and some grumbling hobo. Suddenly, said hobo tossed something away from his person, that something conveniently headed for his window... And his face!
-Smack!-
"What the hell— What?! T-This is an ink bottle!"
"Get it now? Everyone has a fate, and I happen to be a tool used to control fate, which by extension, allows you to control fate too!"
"Awesome! That's so cool!" He was so giddy from excitement he almost fainted.
"Don't get too happy! Sure, you can control fate, but only for the souls who are weaker or just as strong as you! That means rats, dogs, guys whose will have been eroded from years of misery like that hobo, not kings and emperors,"
"So how can I contro— Ah! You said something about getting stronger!"
"Exactly, kid! Get better at writing, learn more languages, meet masters of calligraphy and find treasures to aid you. And by the end of it, I think you'll be able to change the fates of everyone around you,"
"That's all and good, but—*Yawn* I gotta get some shut-eye first. G'night!" Connor spoke before heading to bed, ignoring the angry protests of the book...