The Assistant was, by all standards, a haughty man. It was only natural, seeing what he was destined to become one hopefully not-so-distant day in the future: the next Grandmaster of the College. Those lower than him in the chain of command had to understand how important he was, how, one day, he would command all of them. And they all accepted it, because it was true, because he was good at what he was supposed to do. The best, actually. Only the best for the greatest and most powerful organization in the world.
Currently, the Assistant was running frantically inside the corridors of the House, doors and paintings passing by him on the walls, greeting him, scorning him, laughing openly, the Memories and Traditions and even, sometimes, Laws inside coming to life to see, finally, Consequences strike the world with her greatest hammer. It had been close to a decamillennium since last the [Old Man by the Mountains] had felt so much power coursing through their veins. She was giddy, so much so that one could have even seen her smile, a thing so rare one would have to sign the date on the calendar before they began running for cover, for whenever that One began to smile the world changed in ways so unexpected many would call them disastrous.
But alas, nothing could be done about it. Consequences could not be stopped once They, once She (at least in this incarnation), came. One could only hope, pray, that they never do anything worthy of their attention. Or that, if someone did, that they wouldn’t reach them.
Alas, this time, no soul would be so lucky. For, today, the Era of Change began.
And how did it begin?
Well, as was already stated, it began with the Assistant running towards the Grandmaster’s office.
But why was he running? you may be wondering.
It’s simple: because his Class had changed as he was sleeping. From [Assistant of Memory’s Control] to [Grandmaster of Memory’s Exploitation]. Those were heavy words the System had used, but It was impartial and It understood just how much the Memories despised their current state of existence. It had been a very long time since the Grandmasters’ Classes had been anything but negative in nature.
The Assistant-No-More reached the big double doors that led into the Grandmaster’s office and pushed them open.
He looked inside, his eyes stopping momentarily on a point in the room, before he looked down and vomited his dinner on the floor.
For, in the office, right in front of the desk, hanging from a noose, was the old Grandmaster, dead.
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“Sir Gaius, Madame Serafia, I have news on a… most interesting event.”
The man who had just spoken was named Gregory and he was a [Spy Butler], a most interesting union of two Classes that meshed together surprisingly well. Truth be told, all serving Classes such as [Maids], [Butlers], [Servants] and even, once upon a time, before the practice was very violently stopped, [Slaves], meshed surprisingly well with most, if not all, other Classes. Sure, you wouldn’t be finding many [Butler Strategists] around battlefields (although they had appeared a surprising amount of time in this world’s history), but finding a [Magical Maid] in a wealthy nobleman’s house wasn’t a rarity at all. What was even less rare was finding one of these Classes mixed together with a [Spy] or any other Class that was part of that category (except for [Spymasters]. But then again, even those haven’t been rare in the world’s history).
Gregory had been trained, in his youth, in an orphanage owned by a player of the Great Game, where kids like he had been were trained from the day they could walk and (but not necessarily) talk to become some of the greatest [Spies] in the world. He had been a good student. Nothing brilliant, but not one of the worst, firmly in the middle. Which had been a very good thing indeed for him, since, on the day he had become fifteen years of age, when he was legally considered an adult, he had been given a choice on where he would work, instead of being thrown into the Great Game’s ever-hungry maw as either a piece of some importance or a sacrificial Pawn.
In that aspect, he had been quite lucky. After all, the owner of the orphanage, while a good Player, was just like Gregory. Not brilliant, merely good. And this slight oversight had cost him many students who could’ve become great Pieces or even Players.
“What is it Gregory?” asked Madame Serafia from her very comfortable sofa, where she was reclined in a rather unladylike way, one leg propped up on the furniture’s back, the other hanging off it (Gregory had yet to find a single human being who hadn’t been trained to be some sort of [Fighter] that would find such a position comfortable), as she read a book, a wine glass on the floor nearby. Meanwhile, her husband, Gaius de Bois, was enjoying another book by her side, legs propped up on a stool in a much more gentlemanly way, his wine glass on a table nearby. Sometimes, he would glance to his left, up his wife’s gown, and Gregory couldn’t help but wonder if the woman was wearing anything underneath it.
He shook his head slightly as he answered: “Madame, it’s the vault under the manor. It would seem that the entrance and, I believe, the whole inside, has been frozen shut… from the inside.”
At that, both Gaius and Serafia looked up from their books and raised twin eyebrows in curiosity and alarm.
“Has someone managed to get inside?” asked Gaius.
“No Sir, not that we know of. The staff has already examined the inside and outside of the vault with Spells and Skills, but no form of life or unlife was sensed within. The [Guards] have already examined every square inch of the whole grounds and found nothing more than a cat, which was swiftly dispatched in case it was some sort of shapeshifter or trained spy. The anti-Invisibility wards have been activated together with the alarms. If anything leaves or enters the property, we will be immediately alerted.”
By property he meant both the villa where they lived and the whole area inside the fences. Basically, the mansion was in lockdown.
“Very good, Gregory. You’ve done splendidly,” said the [Lady] of the house as she sat up on the sofa and began walking out of the room, followed by her husband. They weren’t in any hurry: they were a [Lord] and a [Lady] after all, and that changed neither in peace nor in war. Now, this wasn’t a war but, potentially, it could evolve into something nasty, considering the things that were held in that vault. Nothing apocalyptic, no, dear gods no, but there were some quite powerful artifacts and, most important of all, Relics, that generations of Serafia’s family had collected.
When, finally, they reached the entrance of the vault, deep underground, behind three different secret passages and enough protective Spells to blow up a small army, they found four of their personal [Guards] milling about, checking the enchantments of the vault and looking around. They immediately stood at attention the moment they heard them come.
“Gregory, you weren’t lying. Vault door’s frozen solid,” said Gaius as he nodded towards the guards in greeting.
“Indeed. What could’ve caused this. One of our artifacts?”
Gregory made a so-so gesture with his hand as he walked towards the door: “My [Lady], I am not privy to all that is contained in the Vault. Your parents were always rather secretive in their dealings with the things inside.”
[Lady] Serafia chuckled: “Stop dodging the question Gregory. I know for a fact that you were the one who obtained many of those artifacts for them. In this house you’re the only other individual, other than me and my hubby here -”
Said ‘hubby’ sighed and smiled ruefully, giving the guards a look that said ‘Look what I have to deal with all day’, which elicited a couple of chuckles. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“- who knows so well what’s inside. Stars, even I have no idea what some of those things do.”
Gregory nodded his head and bowed: “As you wish madame. In that case, and this is only speculation, I believe it is the violin.”
Serafia frowned, walking towards Gregory and whispering in his ear: “The violin? The supposed Relic? The useless one.”
“As far as we know, my [Lady], that… artifact is not useless, we just haven’t found the right conditions that allow its use.”
Now, you may be wondering, what in Airm is a Relic? Ok, no, I know you’re actually wondering what that violin is, but I’m going to very carefully ignore the question (*Accidentally kicks the bucket containing the question, causing it to spill all over the story*).
Anyways, Relics are a special type of extremely powerful artifacts. They’re the machine gun to the big iron, the ship to the boat, you get it. But why? It’s simple: Relics are born out of items that were used by individuals of extremely high Level, objects these people cared for so much, things that they kept and used all their lives, that they became part of them, of the way people saw them. A [King]’s crown could become a Relic if given enough time and Levels, for people tend to associate a King to their crown, or a [Knight] to their sword. Or a [Musician] to their favorite violin.
But if that were just it, then a Relic would just be a very famous artifact. No, what made them truly powerful, the reason why they were, normally, only found in the College’s halls, was that Relics became bound to the greatest moments of their users. To their and the people’s Memories of those moments. So much so that, once the individual who owned them died, they stored some of their Skills. Forever. And those Skills could be learned by anyone who possessed the Relic and managed to recreate the time or the conditions when the Skill was obtained.
Now you can very well understand why Relics were so sought after and, especially, why the College always looked for them. If they found out that someone was withholding one of these extremely rare items without their express permission you were assured to be found dead in your bed with a knife in your heart most of the time.
That’s why only three people in total knew about the contents of the Vault.
“I wasn’t even born when that Re - Artifact was obtained. Where did my parents get it from?”
“I believe, Miss, that it was taken from Winter’s Last Stand.”
The moment those words were said the temperature in the room plummeted and the ice covering the Vault’s door began expanding ever so slowly, frost beginning to form on the walls around.
“Apparently, it doesn’t like it when we name that place,” added Gregory nonchalantly as the warming charm sewn in his impeccable suit activated. Meanwhile the guards and the two nobles began to shiver, especially the [Lady].
“L-L-Let’s g-g-g-go back up-p-p-p,” she said through suddenly chattering teeth.
Her husband nodded and they began walking back up, motioning for the guards to come with them. They wouldn’t leave them here to suffer this apparently very angry Relic.
Everybody sighed in pleasure when they finally reached the house proper. Except for Gregory, whose face remained as unchanging as always.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Alright. For now, nobody will go down there. Lock it up, keep the security Spells up around it, but nobody will go down there. Hopefully everything will resolve itself given enough time. Understood?” ordered Serafia as she kept on stroking her arms to get the heat back in them.
The guards stood at attention while Gregory bowed in understanding.
When everyone was gone, the [Lady] sighed, then looked up at her husband and smiled mischievously.
“I’m still quite cold dear. Mind warming me up a bit.”
Gaius de Bois smiled back and nodded.
He still remembered the day when the Brothers Two had brought him in Tedam for his wedding. He also still remembered, unlike everyone else apparently, the Skill they had shouted when they’d delivered him: [Wearing Black, They Brought Ruin].
And yet, in his entire life, he hadn’t been even close to being as happy as he was now with his wife. Sure, the wedding had been one of convenience, but this had been one of those rare cases where there had been actual love between the two.
Maybe the Skill failed to work, he thought to himself.
Wrongly.
The System never failed.
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The Assistant-now-Grandmaster read for what was probably the tenth time the letter the late Grandmaster had left.
He read it, and for the tenth time he thought that maybe joining him in the afterlife wasn’t such a bad idea.
Finally, he put the letter down and stared up at the painting that was still hanging in the Hunter’s Garrett. The painting that had once shown a scene of Hunters killing arachne in a bloody battle, winning on all fronts. A painting which had, once, held a Law. The College’s greatest Law: [The Hunters Cut the Veil Between Life and Death].
A painting that was now a white canvas, devoid of all color. Because the Law had been, somehow, destroyed. Devoured by Winter.
That, in itself, was a big problem. But he had thought, at the time when it’d happened, that it wouldn’t be a problem: that had to be the last Clan of the arachne.
That hope had just been dashed by the letter though. The Grandmaster had told him about a special Tradition that was unique to the arachne: [Always, One Survived]. It was a secret known only to the Grandmasters, never to be revealed to anyone else. The Tradition allowed, always, for one arachne to survive. Which was more than enough for that damned species to repopulate. And now that they’d lost their most powerful weapon against them… the new Grandmaster shivered. He understood why the old fart had chosen to end it.
Again, he was tempted to follow him: he didn’t want to see how badly this went.
But he didn’t go looking for a rope. Instead, he kept sitting at the head of the table where, a few months ago, they’d told Nero to go hunt down the arachne in that nest and kill them all, thumbing the Grandmaster’s letter.
Finally, he made a decision.
He snapped his fingers and a merry fire began burning in the fireplace nearby. There, he threw the letter, and watched as it burned into nothingness.
Then, the Grandmaster left the Garrett, and started his new job.
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King Alban III, [King of the People], was currently doing something he allowed himself to rarely do: he was enjoying a banquet with the goblin ambassador, his two hobgoblin guards and his [High Mage] and good friend Argus. Ok, calling it a banquet was a bit of an exaggeration: there weren’t dozens of guests and dignitaries from outside and nobles from his reign; as such there weren’t that many courses of food, nor was it as extravagant as it could get. Which, in Alban’s modest culinary opinion, was better. The food they served at actual banquets was so elaborate that it actually caused a drain on the kingdom’s coffers and, truth be told, it tended to be… too much. At least, for him. He preferred simpler meals.
“You know, Alban,” started the goblin [Ambassador] after he finished his plate with obvious satisfaction, “Anyone else would look at this meal and think that you’re either in dire need of money or that you’re disrespecting them. It is simple food.”
The [King] smiled slightly: “In my experience, simple things are better. Well, except for strategies at war, or so my [Strategists] say. Still, the food was good.”
The goblins nodded, in particular the two [Guards], who’d looked ready to lick the plates: “Some of the best food we had since we left our home.”
He chuckled, then added: “You know, Alban, you would make a great goblin. Probably even a great Goblin [King], if we weren’t constantly at risk of war.”
Alban chuckled deeply: “No, I am not a [King of War] or whatever your King’s Class is. I am, at heart, a man of peace. But you already know that.”
“Sure we do!”
[Servants] entered the room and took out the dirty plates as a [Majordomo] stood primly by the table and, bowing, asked if the King and his guests were ready for dessert.
Once he was out, the [Ambassador] began talking again: “So, what are you going to do now that the war’s ended?”
“For starters, I will find a way to convince the City of the Gods to stop sending me envoys asking to build temples to this or that god or swear fealty to this or that cult.”
The goblins laughed out loud. They, like Alban, had no respect for religion. Naturally, the [King of the People] didn’t completely prohibit the practice. He knew better than to completely forbid something that was such a commonplace. It would be like prohibiting alcohol in his entire kingdom. A madman’s venture. He had allowed a single temple to be built in honor of all the gods, and that was it.
The only exception, naturally, was the new temple to Soma, the God of Dreams and Impossibilities, although the goblins did say, cryptically, that the Dream part was more a consequence than a decision. The goblins had specified what should be done to decorate the temple: outside, on the frieze, were to be carvings of children’s dreams and nightmares, the latter also showing people killing the beasts that came from the darkest parts of the kids’ minds, while the inside was meant to have blank walls, to be decorated in the years to come by those same children, or even the adults, with drawings.
Soma may not be the God of Children, that was Stavium, God of Crafters and All That Is New, but the God of Impossibilities was fond of kids: their dreams were the best, and their nightmares the most vivid. Legend said that he had created the Land of Dreams, turning it into an actual place, only to let people walk among dreams and help those poor kids who were suffering nightmares.
In the end, the only thing the Goblins had insisted upon was the altar: it had to be made from white stone, as white as could be found, the top covered with as black a veil as could be crafted and, on one side, a single pair of worn boots had to be placed. Also, any spiders making a home in the temple were not to be killed. They would cause harm or inconvenience anyway.
“And after that?”
“That’s easy: I’ll have to find new ways to make my people’s life better, starting with reparations to the families who lost people in the war. Afterwards, I was thinking of torturing the children by forcing them to go to school.”
They all laughed at that, but the [King] was having the right thoughts.
Before they could resume speaking, a blue stone on the goblin [Ambassador]’s belt came to life, glowing brightly and vibrating. He raised an eyebrow both in surprise and annoyance, but picked up the Communication Stone.
“[Ambassador] Cremrion Nevres speaking. This better be important.”
Alban only heard gibberish from the stone, probably some kind of ward to stop anyone not close to the Communication Stone from listening, or a Skill.
Still, Alban clearly saw Crem’s eyebrows slowly rise, confusion and then elation appearing on his face. When he finished listening to the other voice he was smiling so hard it had be hurting.
“Very well. Extremely well actually! This is great news!”
He put the stone down, looking as pleased as a child who’d just received a new toy.
“What happened?” asked Alban.
Crem told him.
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Natalia Everast was a goblin [Diviner]. Her story, her appearance, everything about her was ordinary and unimportant. But that was ok, or rather, it was by design.
Truth be told, [Diviner] wasn’t even her main Class. She was, what? Level 15? Yes, 15. It was, after all, just a hobby that had started as an attempt to read some tea leaves in her friend’s cup after reading a book she’d bought from a [Wandering Merchant], which had then evolved in her attempts to read cards and even the palms of hands.
Her main Class, which was also her job, was [Chef]. She worked at a respectable restaurant in the capital of the Kingdom of Goblins and lived a very fine life thanks to the money she gained there.
Well, ok, her actual Class was [Battlefield Chef], one she had gained after serving [Soldiers] during the decades long war while managing to make good food with what little they had. She had saved her unit more times than she could bother to count from starvation during hard times. The goblin king had offered her, after the end of the war, a great many commendations and even money enough to live the rest of her life without needing to work, but she was still twenty (which, for goblins, was close to being considered old age since, before the war started, the average goblin lifespan was three years before an adventurer killed them), and had decided that, if she was going to live for a long while, she may as well make herself useful.
Today, though, was her day off, and she was in her home reading a book. It was a shitty little romance novel she’d bought after losing a bet with a friend. It had cost her the beauty of two gold coins, and she hated every single page of it, but she was determined to finish it after spending so much on it.
That is, until suddenly she felt something strange inside her. A pull, as if she was a puppet and her stringmaster had decided that she’d spent enough time in this scene. It was irresistible, and in her mind’s eye she could feel and see her [Diviner] Class pulsing, telling her to use her Skills, to call upon the threads of destiny and see them unfold in front of her, to try and read them.
For a moment, she resisted, but then thought better of it: there was nothing wrong in reading the Cards and seeing what they told her. She still did it now and again.
She put the book down, using a leaf to not lose the page, and walked upstairs, where she kept her deck of cards. She didn’t notice when her steps began getting faster.
But the moment she walked inside her small bedroom and took out the cards she began shuffling them frantically. But not in the right way. She had to ask a question to the cards, and only then would she see what they had in store for her.
But what should she ask? What question felt right for this moment, when she had been basically… not forced, but very much led to the cards.
Then, she felt the answer to that in her heart: What do you want to show me?
She asked that question, activating one of her Skills: [True Shuffle]. A strange Skill that simply allowed her to shuffle the deck better, attuning it more to the threads of destiny. Making sure it would show her only the truth.
She finished shuffling and, very slowly, nearly reverentially now, put the deck down. Then, with a trembling hand, she took the card on top and put it face up.
The Page of Candles. A woman holding a broken crown, wax hair turned into candles that were burning, slowly melting her head and face, changing, reshaping, her.
She looked at the card, and her vision shifted.
The card in front of her grew bigger and bigger, encompassing her whole view, until she could feel the heat from the candles and the maddened laughter of the Candle Queen That Was. She watched in horror as her skin melted, her head disappearing inside her dress that slowly pooled on the floor before it, too, was burned by the fire of the candles. Then, something moved in the wax. A single, small, spider, which walked out of the melting and probably still scorching hot wax. It walked towards her, and began growing bigger, bigger and bigger until it towered over her, watching her with eyes filled with sadness, hatred and love. Its back legs began moving, spinning silk from its spinneret, and it used the silk and wax to make a new shape out of the wax. A sphere.
The planet, she thought.
Their planet, snared in a grand web, being slowly reshaped by the spider’s legs, continents changing shape, new land appearing and disappearing.
Then, the vision ended, and she was back in her room, staring at the Card.
In the back of her mind a voice whispered:
[Conditions Met: Diviner -> Card Reader of the Changing Eras]
[Card Reader of the Changing Era Level 21!]
[Skill - I Saw the Cards’ Will Obtained!]
[Skill - I Was There Obtained!]
Consequences reached all. The world began preparing, but all who had witnessed, one way or another, what the future had in store knew this: it would neve be enough.