**[Day of Draft: Rita]**

“Rita Mae! I am absolutely horrified. Magnus James will hardly consider training you again with that attitude.” Rita scowled internally at the Malory family chamberlain Julia as she chastised her for once again failing to become a proper young lady. Outwardly Rita retained the calm demeanor required for a girl of her station, wishing once again that adult women such as Julia were held to the same standard. If that were the case, they would certainly not be making a scene in the Magnus’s own courtyard. Fortunately for Rita, Magnus James was called to prepare for the draft and had to leave their appointment early. She absolutely hated magic training because nothing ever worked out like her teachers said it should. Not surprising given her traits, but everyone still expected her to excel like her sisters had. Little Ivan, her kid brother, was celebrated for even the most worthless attempts simply because he was the only son. As the third daughter of Lord Jacob Malory, the city lord for Amora’s fourth-largest district's capital, she was expected to be a skilled mage, marry well, and raise her family’s status. Her elder sisters were serving the army and aiding the expansion with their magic while still making connections for the family. She resented their success. However, she knew that her parents would have to remember her to realize her failures, so it rarely became an issue. Instead, she was largely left to her own devices and placed under the watchful eye of her family's longstanding attendant. An attendant who was scowling down at her charge at that very moment, judging her, and acting superior despite the obvious difference in their stations. 

Sighing demurely, Rita smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her lavender dress, privately noting Julia's ruffled appearance before uncrossing her ankles and standing. “Julia, the Magnus will not be returning. We should return to help prepare for the draft ceremony.” She and Ivan would be required to attend her father as he celebrated the draft period's ending. Weeks of preparation went towards making sure the ceremony went flawlessly. As she boarded her carriage to return to the estates, she could see the crowds begin to form around the speaking pipes located throughout her city. “Aren’t they early this year?” she asked, pondering. Julia glanced out the window, “More families are coming this year since the pipes near the farm precinct were damaged during the last earthquake. The penalties for missing the daft remain, so they probably came up this morning to listen.” “Huh, there must be a new dungeon emerging for the quakes to reach that far inland.”

“Yes, it is a bad year to be in the draft. The ministers are going to have to get some results this year, or there might be rebellion. I heard your father’s steward discussing accommodations for an additional hundred draftees. Apparently, they will be calling more names than ever. But don’t you worry, I made sure your tickets were bought up first thing.” For all her faults, Julia did care, and she smiled warmly at Rita as they rode together. “I am not worried. Kiara did not get called, and there are more root children now than during her years.” Dismissing the conversation, Rita waited for the door to open and exited the carriage before her matronly companion, as was protocol. As she descended the two steps down, her heel snapped, sending her lurching to the side. The coachman grabbed her waist before she could break an ankle and released her back on the ground. “Demon Spawn!” Rita swore out, forgetting herself for a second. The gasp and smack to her arm told her that Julia had heard, but the woman took pity on her and let it go. She almost paused at the strangely fragile look in Julia's pale grey eyes and pinched features, but the shame of needing to be rescued from a carriage by a footman forced her to turn away. Enraged by her curse and shaking from adrenaline, Rita limped inside her room to sulk and primp for her appearance at the draft reading. “Stupid accursed trait!” She threw herself upon her plush green quilt and opened her status page with all the malice she could muster.

Rita Mae Malory

Level: 1

Age: 13

Faction: Leaf

Class: ----

Traits:

Enhanced Mind

(As a result of having higher than average intelligence and wisdom)

Natural Grace

(As a result of higher than average agility)

Fragile

(As a result of lower than average strength)

Murphy’s Bitch

(As a result of abnormally low luck)

Stats:

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Strength: 3*

Dexterity:6

Agility:8*

Charisma: 6

Intelligence: 9*

Wisdom: 8

Luck: 2*

Murphy’s Bitch. The trait that had made Rita’s life a living hell. Most traits are subtle, but hers was always waiting around the corner for when she was least prepared, it would strike to cause maximum inconvenience. All luck traits are considered to be both good and bad. A “lucky” individual could easily die from his trait as it pushed fate to include more opportunities without considering the risk it posed. People with traits like that either succeed or fail epically. However, her trait was cruel and petty; anything that could go wrong would. Julia had spent years researching the trait to try and combat it after realizing why she couldn’t go a week without a broken bone or ego. All she came up with was that the potential positive for this trait was to learn to harness the potential for failure. Otherwise, all that she could do was minimize the options it had.

Magic was a particular brand of awful for her since it tended to end with burnt hair, ruined clothes, or scorched walls. Without having her affinity unlocked, Rita’s magic came out as raw unattuned mana. This is considered inefficient, and Magnus James attempted to force her affinity by pushing mana into her channels to see what reacted best. She wasn’t sure if this method actually worked, but her trait made sure that the Magnus regretted every attempt. “He probably didn’t even get called in early. I bet he was just avoiding our session,” she mused. Closing her eyes and letting her muscles relax, she began meditating to calm her mind. Letting a few minutes pass before opening them and walking to her vanity to fix her makeup. She stared at the young brunette girl watching her in the mirror. High cheekbones with a slight frame made her look the part of a delicate lady, but her angry grey eyes and large forehead made maintaining the image difficult. Grabbing a tin of watered ash, Rita began applying it to reflect light into her eyes to give the illusion of a twinkle. Repeating the effect on the other eye, Rita began to work on autopilot and decided to tune into her skill sheet to see if any changes had happened.

Skills:

Meditation: Lvl 5

(bonus: “Distance”: while meditating, the user can separate their consciousness from their physical form)

Dance: Lvl 3

Mana Manipulation: Lvl 2

Mathematics: Lvl 2

Linquist: Lvl 1

Painting: Lvl 1

Riding: Lvl 1

Her status screen might give her a migraine, but seeing her skills always filled her with pride. Most people at level one can only learn skills up to level four, but she could handle more than her level allowed due to her enhanced mind trait. Noble children are usually taken to the farms to kill animals or captured monsters to gain the level needed to advance their skills. Rita was thankful she could avoid that experience. Despite being called cold or calculating by her peers, Rita had a huge interest in animals and hated how everyone treated them. Her horse Henry was her closest friend besides Julia, and she would never kill him, not for all the levels in the world. Sadly, few saw that side of her. Her attitude was mostly caused by her hyper-focus on controlling her environment to limit her negative traits from being visible to the public, limiting her exposure to the other nobles.

Tonight would be an exception. She would stand by her family as her father and the other nobles took turns pulling tickets. If she was lucky, her father might allow her to choose a few to give the rest of them a break. Pulling a few thousand tickets gets old quite quickly, but it would be a novel experience for her. Rita smiled toothlessly into the mirror and practiced her most serene expression with just a hint of sadness. Her face was perfectly sculpted to make the most out of her features, and, after calling Julia in to dress her, she was ready. A sleek emerald dress with clean lines accentuated her youthful but regal appearance, and Julia braided her hair with colored glass beads to accentuate the look. Slipping her feet into flat shoes this time, Rita squared her shoulders and walked down to accompany her brother. Wearing a matching emerald shirt and a full coat, the nine-year-old boy was sweltering, but at a distance, the two made a striking pair. His lighter hair and full figure contrasted nicely with her own dark complexion and thin frame, but only Julia seemed to take pride in their cohesion. It was, after all, her who planned their outfits for this evening, and every detail was meticulously planned. She tried to ignore the dampness under her arm as he escorted her out of their large foyer.

Ivan was distraught over the whole ordeal and whined, “Ritie, I don’t want to stand in the square for hours listening to that arse of an announcer drone on. Can’t I just stay home like last year?” Julia and Rita shared a look before she answered in her most maternal voice, “Ivan, you are almost ten years old, and it looks good for father to have children at risk just like the commoners do. Remember to use proper language around him if questioned and do not speak unless expressly invited. If we do well today, I am sure Julia could arrange a special surprise just for you.” Ivan’s head lifted, and his reluctant shuffle became faster. Julia nodded at her and continued the conversation, “I definitely can, and I know you will enjoy having the draftees to play with, and I am sure we can arrange for new armor to impress them as a special gift for your participation today, just remember to end every statement with-” “I know Julia! We have to thank them for their service.” Ivan rolled his eyes at Julia for trying to remind him of a phrase nobles were practically born saying. She had always seen them as hollow words to say to people who are practically being sent to slaughter, yet at least by saying it they are forced to acknowledge the value peasants hold. Her brother’s tantrum was forgotten by the idea of showing his superiority to the poor children who would be arriving in the barracks that evening. However, with hours of standing ahead of them, she knew Ivan would likely have another and embarrass them, not that her parents would blame him, of course. Boys got it so much easier.