In the modern society today, individuals have grown fond of categorizing themselves based on their utilization of essence, the fundamental force that permeates the world. Mages, channel essence as a means of combat, conjuring spells that manipulate the very fabric of reality, transcending the limitations of the mortal form. Fighters, on the other hand, infuse essence to augment their physical prowess, rendering them stronger, faster, and more resilient in battle. Merchants employ essence to enhance their powers of persuasion, weaving spells that charm and convince, while discerning the worth of items through the essence they exude. Even seamstresses have embraced the art of essence, combining cores to heighten their finger dexterity, crafting intricate designs with unparalleled precision.
Yet amidst these diverse classifications, a timeless term endures, echoing the origins of this practice: Coreweaver. In the annals of history, it was the Coreweavers who first delved into the intricacies of essence manipulation, pioneering the art of combining cores to achieve specific goals. Regardless of the varied paths people tread today, the essence of Coreweaving remains at the heart of their endeavors. It is a testament to the enduring legacy of those who ventured into the core of existence itself, unraveling its secrets and harnessing its power to shape the world in ways both subtle and profound.
Before the sun graced the sky with its golden hues, Rex gathered his meager belongings and ventured out into the waking city. The world was still cloaked in the remnants of night as he navigated the labyrinthine alleys, his steps carrying him toward the bustling heart of the outer circle. With every footfall, he left the ghost of his doubts behind, embracing the uncertainty that awaited him.
He considered his options, each path leading to an uncertain fate. The life of a mercenary beckoned, a treacherous road paved with camaraderie and bloodshed. In the mercenary bands, fighters joined forces, their lives entwined in a dance of survival and ambition. Rex knew the allure of this path, the thrill of battle, and the promise of coin. Yet, he also understood the transient nature of such alliances, the fleeting loyalty that often dissolved like smoke in the wind.
Many graduates from the academy discovered their purpose within the sturdy walls of the City Guard. Their solemn obligation to the city involved safeguarding the nobility and their opulent estates, ensuring that the prized possessions of the aristocracy remained untouched by the hands of mischief. The routine often led them through the marketplaces, where they treaded cautiously, eyes sharp, hoping to apprehend the figures of thievery.
Yet, in the intricate hierarchy of duties, the protection of the city's outer circle dwellers seemed to linger at the bottom of their to-do list. While the nobles and their possessions commanded their immediate attention, the everyday citizens residing in the outskirts became an afterthought.
Alternatively, there was the option of joining one of the mage towers, enigmatic sanctuaries where cores were meticulously studied. Here, scholars delved into the intricate art of experimenting with various core combinations and delved into the mysteries of ancient artifacts. It might have sounded intriguing to some, but to Rex, it seemed nothing short of dreary. Engaging in conversations with elderly men, discussing their oversized trinkets and ancient relics, felt like the very epitome of tedium. The prospect of spending his days buried in dusty tomes, deciphering cryptic inscriptions, was far from the life he had envisioned for himself.
The allure of a nomadic life with a traveling merchant group was a tempting prospect for Rex. The idea of journeying into the unknown, encountering perils, and embracing the freedom of the open road stirred his adventurous spirit. Joining the caravan could offer a fresh start, a chance to leave behind the memories of his past and explore uncharted territories. It promised the thrill of new horizons and the excitement of diverse landscapes, a stark contrast to the stagnant familiarity of his current life style.
Yet, as he contemplated this opportunity, a gnawing doubt tugged at his conscience. What if, by leaving, he failed to fulfill his familial duty? The unresolved mystery of his family's disappearance weighed heavily on him. Leaving now felt like abandoning his family. And then, there was the haunting possibility. If someone discovered his existence, the knowledge could attract attention. The notion of figures hunting him down in pursuit of his family's secrets haunted his thoughts.
Yet, amidst the turmoil of his indecision, Old James' words echoed in his mind like a guiding beacon. The old sailor had adamantly declared, "No one'll be after ye!." Those words, laced assurance, provided a glimmer of hope in the uncertainty.
In the end Two distinct paths lay before him. The Thief's Guild, a haven for rogues and miscreants, thrived on stealth and cunning. Here, dexterity was currency, and silence was a virtue. To join their ranks meant embracing a life veiled in shadows, where nimble fingers held more power than a drawn blade.
In stark contrast, the Information Den operated as the city's unseen eyes and ears, weaving a tapestry of whispers and intelligence. In these corridors, knowledge was the ultimate weapon, and one's ability to navigate the intricate web of secrets determined their standing. To be part of this covert society meant becoming a master of subtlety, a collector of truths.
Rex's first choice was as clear as the noonday sun: he needed to eat, and he needed to eat now! His stomach rumbled in agreement, a symphony of emptiness that demanded immediate attention. Amidst the lively crowd, a tempting aroma wafted through the air, drawing him like a moth to a flame. Handing a stall owner a few coppers for a bowel of stew. With newfound determination, he devoured the last spoonful of the hearty stew, savoring the lingering flavors on his palate. The warmth spread through him, invigorating his body and revitalizing his spirit. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling renewed.
His second choice, as if whispered to him by fate itself, drew his attention to the east side of the city. The east side was a vibrant tapestry of commerce and opportunity, a place where one could find almost anything their heart desired. Beyond the market square, the business sector sprawled, a bustling hub of activity that catered to the diverse needs of the city's inhabitants. Here, amidst the jostling crowd, one could find an array of establishments: shops adorned with exotic wares, the mercenary hall where warriors and mages sought employment, a smaller mage tower tucked away amidst the streets. Though not as imposing as its grandiose counterparts, this tower was no less significant. It was still a sanctuary of knowledge , and last but not least the information den, where secrets were traded like precious commodities.
As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of pink and gold, Rex immersed himself in the lively atmosphere of the east side. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked bread and spices, mingling with the scent of ink and parchment from the nearby library. Merchants called out their wares, and adventurers clad in armor shared tales of their exploits.
Rex wandered through the streets, his eyes alight with curiosity. He observed the skilled artisans shaping metal into exquisite weaponry, their hands moving with practiced precision. The mercenary hall echoed with the clang of weapons and the confident voices of warriors seeking contracts. In front of the tower, scholars whispered fervently, their noses buried in tomes.
After a considerable walk, he stumbled upon a welcoming glow emanating from a quaint establishment nestled amidst the rundown buildings. A weathered sign swung gently in the breeze, bearing the name "The Dusty Mug" in faded letters. One of the better taverns in the outer circle, where stories and secrets flowed as freely as the ale.
Pushing open the creaky door, Rex entered the warmth of the tavern. The interior was a contrast to the rugged exterior, with a cozy atmosphere that beckoned weary travelers and locals alike. The walls, adorned with maps and curiosities from surrounding lands, told tales of adventures long past. The patrons, a diverse mix of characters, shared laughter and hushed conversations, creating a melody that resonated through the air.
Rex found an empty stool at the worn wooden bar, where the barkeep greeted him with a nod, his eyes sharp and discerning. The clinking of glasses and the murmur of voices enveloped him, and he felt a sense of belonging in the camaraderie of fellow souls seeking refuge from the harsh realities of the outer circle.
"I'm Tie," the barkeep said with a practiced smile, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken confidences. "What can I get you?" Rex's lips curved into a smile, his reply a careful blend of casual demeanor. "The house special," he said. Tie's eyes flickered with recognition, a silent acknowledgment.
Without missing a beat, he poured a glass of water, the crystal-clear liquid shimmering in the dim light of the tavern. Rex accepted the glass, his fingers brushing lightly against the cool surface, a touch that carried the unspoken language of the Den.
"Not bad," Rex said, his words seemingly mundane. After Rex no longer drank from glass on the counter. This, he knew, was one of the ways to get in contact with the Den—a method he had learned from an unwitting acquaintance at the academy. During a casual night out, a fellow student had shared this secret, perhaps under the influence of a few too many drinks.
Amidst the ambient hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, a figure slid onto the empty stool next to Rex. He was a man of unremarkable appearance, his features so ordinary that he blended seamlessly into the tapestry of the tavern. His face, like a thousand others in the room, bore no distinguishing marks; he was the embodiment of utter averageness.
"Mind if I join you?" the stranger asked, his voice polite and unassuming, matching his nondescript appearance.
Rex, ever wary but attuned to the subtleties of the tavern's rhythm, nodded in response. "Feel free," he replied.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The stranger eyes sweeping the tavern as if assessing the room's corners. "What can I do for you?" he inquired, his voice low and measured.
"I want to be a runner," Rex replied, his words carefully chosen. The man's gaze sharpened, his brows furrowing in scrutiny.
"Why?" the man questioned, his tone probing.
Rex hesitated for a moment, then decided to fabricate a tale on the spot. "It's something I've always wanted to do," he said, trying to infuse his voice with earnestness. "Back in the academy, I read about you guys. The thrill of it, the danger... it intrigued me. I want to be part of something bigger."
The man regarded him for a moment, his eyes seeming to weigh the authenticity of Rex's words. After a pause, he finally nodded. "Well, enthusiasm is a good start," he said cryptically, his words laced with implications Rex couldn't quite grasp.
The stranger's movements were swift and practiced. With a smooth motion, he reached into his pocket and produced a pen, snatching a nearby napkin from the counter. His hand moved deftly across the paper, scribbling down an address or perhaps a set of instructions. Without a word, he slid the napkin towards Rex, his eyes briefly locking onto Rex's with an intensity that suggested unspoken urgency.
"Go here," the man said cryptically before abruptly standing up. In a matter of seconds, he melted into the crowd, disappearing from Rex's sight amidst the sea of people.
Rex's gaze darted between the napkin and the spot where the stranger had vanished, a mixture of confusion and intrigue clouding his features. He picked up the napkin, unfolding it with a sense of anticipation. The address was scrawled in hurried handwriting, a series of numbers and street names leading to an unfamiliar part of the city.
"Okay, that was kind of cool," Rex muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. The encounter had an air of mystery and excitement, a kids dream, leaving him with a strange sense of exhilaration. He pocketed the napkin, resolved to follow the instructions.
As he made his way towards the designated location navigating the alleys and making several turns as indicated on the napkin. Finally, he found himself standing before a seemingly ordinary house, nestled among its neighbors.
Summoning his courage, Rex approached the door and rapped his knuckles gently. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly lady with kind, discerning eyes. "Can I help you?" she inquired, her voice soft but filled with a depth of experience.
Rex extended the napkin towards her, his hand steady despite the uncertainty brewing within him. "Someone from the Dusty Mug gave this to me," he explained, his voice earnest.
The old lady's eyes flickered with recognition as she took the napkin, her gaze shifting between the piece of paper and Rex's face. After a moment of contemplative silence, a warm smile spread across her lips.
"You must be here to pick up the supplies. Please, please, come in, come in," the old lady said, her voice crackling with warmth as she ushered Rex inside.
Rex's heart quickened its pace as he stepped over the threshold, uncertainty gnawing at him. He glanced around the room, taking in the eclectic assortment books that adorned the shelves. The air was heavy with the scent of dried herbs and parchment.
Not entirely sure if he was in the right place or if he had just walked into the jaws of danger, Rex silently uttered a brief prayer, hoping that the old lady wouldn't turn out to be a demon in disguise. "Please don't have this old lady kill me," he whispered under his breath, his fingers subconsciously tracing the hilt of the dagger tucked beneath his cloak.
The old lady seemed oblivious to Rex's inner turmoil, her attention focused on the task at hand. "You're just in time. The supplies are down stairs," The old lady shut the door behind Rex and then wordlessly made her way to a worn armchair, the leather creaking softly under her weight as she settled into its embrace. With an air of quiet determination, she opened a weathered book, its pages whispering as they turned.
Rex stood there, feeling uncertainty. The room seemed to pulse with an energy that was intimidating. The old lady remained absorbed in her reading, her eyes moving swiftly across the pages. "I guess I'll go downstairs now," Rex said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The old lady acknowledged him with a subtle nod, her eyes never leaving the pages of the book. Her silence felt like an unspoken permission, and with cautious steps, Rex descended the creaky staircase, leaving the enigmatic room behind.
As he made his way down, the air grew cooler, and the faint aroma of herbs and incense wafted through the narrow corridor. The stairs led him to a dimly lit space, where flickering candles cast a soft, golden glow. Shelves lined the walls, laden with jars filled with mysterious ingredients and scrolls bound in faded leather.
Rex's eyes fell upon a sturdy wooden door at the far end of the room. Without hesitation, he approached it, his hand trembling slightly as he turned the handle. Rex's eyes widened as he stepped into the wide-open room behind the door. The space was vast, its walls lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, each shelf stacked high with scrolls of various sizes and colors. The room buzzed with an aura of quiet intensity, as people moved with purpose, their footsteps barely audible on the polished wooden floor.
His gaze followed the movements of the people around him. They approached the shelves with a practiced familiarity, their hands skimming over the scrolls until they found the one they sought. Silently, they would grab a scroll, their eyes flickering with concentration as if deciphering some hidden code. Then, with determination etched on their faces, they walked towards the back of the room, where a figure stood in the shadows. The scrolls contained knowledge and instructions, each piece of parchment a fragment of a larger puzzle. The figure in the shadows seemed to hold the strings, orchestrating the movements of those who worked here.
The man's lips formed a subtle, enigmatic smile as he gestured for Rex to approach. His voice was a low murmur that reverberated in the vast room. "I already know who you are," he stated. "Your name, your past, your conflicts with the gangs in the slums—I'm aware of it all. What eludes me is your true purpose here. I find it hard to trust the words you've spoken to one of my agents. I urge you to share something genuine with me."
Rex's eyes widened for a moment, a flicker of confusion and concern dancing in their depths. But then, like a sudden ray of clarity cutting through the mist of uncertainty, he realized the man wasn't referring to his family. Instead, his words were a about his life living in the slums.
Rex felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple as he swallowed hard, his mind racing for a suitable answer. He decided to be honest, or at least as honest as he dared. "I'm here because I want a chance to change my fate," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Life in the slums has been harsh, and I want something more, something better. I also need to find out about something but it is something I will not share.”
The man's eyes narrowed, studying Rex intently. After a moment of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, he nodded, as if finding something in Rex's words that satisfied him. "Very well," he said, his tone softening slightly.
“Call me Master Barlo,” His introduction rippled through the room, a whisper that carried with it a weight of authority. The mere utterance of his title demanded respect, its significance not lost on the attentive ears of those present. The term "Master" was more than a mere word; it was a designation that spoke of unparalleled expertise.
His tall, slightly buff build was accentuated by a posture that exuded confidence and authority. Clad in a flowing robe that draped gracefully around his form, he seemed to move with an effortless grace, each step deliberate and purposeful.
His deep blue eyes, sharp and penetrating, held a wealth of knowledge and a hint of mystery. They seemed to see far beyond the surface, capturing the essence of those who met his gaze. A well-maintained black beard framed his face, adding a touch of rugged sophistication to his commanding presence.
Master Barlo's demeanor was a blend of charisma and strength, an aura that drew people in, compelling them to listen to his words and heed his commands. His gaze, beneath the weight of wisdom, carried a spark of intensity, a testament to the depth of his understanding and the challenges he had faced.
Rex felt the gravity of Master Barlo's presence, understanding the depth of knowledge that lay behind the title. In the realm of coreweaving, achieving the rank of Master meant more than just a title—it was a testament to unparalleled mastery. It signified the opening of all five spell slots. Moreover, possessing two fully merged cores was a testament to a level of craftsmanship that was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Each fully merged core represented the intricate weaving together of five individual cores, a delicate dance of essences that few could master.
Barlo's gaze bore into Rex, his eyes assessing the young man's determination and mettle. "I have a task for you tomorrow, a test that will reveal your potential as a runner," Barlo declared, his voice carrying the weight of his presence. "Tonight, you must remain here. Rest, for tomorrow you'll need your strength." His words held an air of unwavering authority, leaving no room for doubt.
He gestured towards a nondescript door on the side of the room. "Through that door is a dorm where you will sleep tonight," Barlo continued, his tone unwavering. "Your room will be D12. Inside, you'll find everything you need." With a last glance at Master Barlo, he turned towards the door.
As Rex made his way to the door, he felt the weight of Master Barlo's gaze on his back, as if the older man's eyes were drilling into him, assessing his every step. Barlo's scrutiny only lifted when Rex finally stepped through the door, disappearing from his view.
In the dim light, the air heavy with the scent of herbs, Rex's eyes adjusted to the shadowy corridor before him. Each footstep he took seemed to echo down the hallway, absorbed by the mystery that hung in the air like a thick fog. As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes following his every move.
The figures around him, their faces hidden beneath the shroud of black hoods, moved with an eerie grace. Their presence was like a ripple in a calm pond, subtle yet profound. Rex couldn't help but marvel at the unity of purpose that seemed to bind them, despite their individual differences in attire.
The robes, all uniformly black, concealed the identities of those who wore them, turning them into enigmatic phantoms. Some robes brushed the floor with a whispering elegance, while others revealed glimpses of arms, hinting at the diversity in combat.
Rex walked through the dimly lit hallway, each step echoing softly in the silence. The anticipation that had coursed through his veins now gave way to a sense of quietude. Room D12 stood before him, a nondescript door like countless others he passed.
As he pushed the door open, a faint creak resonated through the room. Inside, the space was small and modest, yet it held a peculiar charm. A sturdy dresser stood against one wall, its polished wood bearing the marks of age. A bed, its frame made of dark oak, occupied the center of the room. On the nightstand, there was an unlit candle, its wax pristine and untouched by fire.
It was a room devoid of extravagance, but it possessed a quiet comfort. The unlit candle stood as a silent sentinel, a reminder of the potential warmth and light it could provide. The bed, though not adorned with luxurious fabrics, seemed inviting with its neatly arranged blankets and plump pillow.
Rex closed the door behind him, shutting out the world beyond. In the muted light filtering through the door, he felt a sense of solitude and security. The room, though small, had an aura of tranquility about it. It was a sanctuary, a place where he could gather his thoughts and prepare for the test that lay ahead.
With a sigh, he moved further into the room, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the dresser. Tomorrow held uncertainties, but for now, he was content to be in this quiet space, a respite from the enigmatic world he had entered. As he settled onto the bed, he contemplated the unlit candle for a moment before closing his eyes, allowing the soft embrace of sleep to carry him away from the mysteries that awaited him beyond the confines of his room.