The Snake River was for the most part a sleepy and obedient waterway, providing arable land in abundance and easy transport for goods through the province and, in some cases, all the way to Travail, the nearest city. As such, the density of villages and towns was relatively high, and farming combined seamlessly with free enterprise. There were many examples of prosperity – one village employed a dozen making barrels, another housed a noted potter with a half-dozen apprentices, and so on. While Amber Pastures lacked any crafters of quite that prominence, several crafters and small enterprises were known throughout the area, its farmers always had produce to sell, and everyone wanted to buy something, see or meet, someone, drink or dance. As a result, more than half the town packed wagons, saddlebags and backpacks to make the trip.

The village made a show of traveling together under guard to discourage stragglers, who occasionally experienced attacks from predators drawn by the ruckus. As a new combat classer, Arn was assigned to a particular spot by Liara, tasked with walking to the right of a wagon owned by one of the fishmongers. There seemed to be a lot of pointing and giggling coming from the wagon, especially from a pair of twelve year old twins. Arn heard or imagined hearing words like “naked” “cuddling” “slarn” and “titan,” but was content in his thoughts and untroubled.

Arn wore a large leather pack with his shield hung over it, sword on the right hip, one of his two daggers on his left and a canteen attached to his proudest purchase, a beautiful, silver and black-scaled belt that he paid extra to get made in time for the trip. He planned to buy a halberd or broadsword at the festival if the composition of whatever group he joined warranted. While the idea of owning one had appeal, he no longer owned a house, or even a horse, and there was only so much he could carry. He had almost three gold from stripping his former home bare and selling everything from the silverware to the pillows, and the small purse Elder Dannis had shoved his way over his objections, but he nonetheless refused to spend on big-ticket items without better understanding the shape of his future.

As he walked, Arn tried to keep a small pebble floating above his palm. After the unsuccessful attempt to shove a piece of chicken up the Elder’s nose, Arn spent most of the last two nights staring at a pebble. Last night, with everything in the house that could be sold gone, Arn hadn’t slept at all – but eventually, the pebble budged and Force Mana unlocked. As if to punish the achievement, The Path to Power had a maddeningly lengthy list of things to accomplish with a pebble; spinning the pebble, moving it up, down or sideways, moving it without looking, moving it from a distance and moving it all over his body while keeping it a steady distance away from his skin. In the distant future when that was done, the Path upped the ante . . . to two pebbles. Logically, Arn understood the why of it, but was already mightily sick of the little pebble. How could anyone that needs a full night’s sleep get anywhere with this nonsense? The book doesn’t mention the focus skill either, but I doubt I’d be able to train while walking without it.

Lost in Focus and in the middle of the procession, the hours flew by and Arn was only alerted to their arrival by the shouting of children. Although Arn came every year, the sight of the tents and hundreds of people already milling about was still a bit overwhelming. As the Amber Harvest villagers went their separate ways, Arn was momentarily uncertain what he should be doing. The merchants were mostly still setting up, and things didn’t really get roaring until the class selection ceremony in the evening, and the drunken party to follow. Arn didn’t have the social skills or the desire to try and find party members today, and figured it should be easy enough to spot any groups tomorrow.

Arn wandered a bit, splurging on various treats one couldn’t get in Amber Pastures, and found a decent place to hide behind one of the outside wagons. Munching, he took out his pebble and Focused.

* * *

“ARN! Dammit boy, you think I don’t have a million things to do? Wipe that drool off and get a move on, Class Selection has already started, we’ve got to move.”

Arn slowly came awake to Elder Dannis’ shaking him. “Uh, ok, sure just let me find my pebble…” Dannis exploded, “LISTEN UP, YOU WILL MAKE ME PROUD. Now MOVE!”

Arn followed the Elder to a section of a massive bonfire where the 16 year olds from Amber Pastures were already assembled. “Uh, Elder I already have a class, this isn’t…” Dannis snorted, and maneuvered Arn into position and told him, “just stand here and wait your turn. You think everyone will want you on your team just because of your slightly improved looks? Plus, a legendary classer reflects well on the village. Because, you know, idiots. STAY.”

Arn’s stomach dropped at the coming disaster. It was tradition for the Elder of each village to introduce their youths with a few kind words and a bit of hyperbole. So and so unlocked his class by wrestling a bear, this one came out of the womb with eleven strength and similar nonsense. What could possibly go wrong?

Arn zoned out imagining an endless parade of horribles. Surely Dannis wouldn’t mention naked slarn hunting? Sure he would never embarrass Arn that badly. Surely … Arn refocused to Dannis speaking:

“Next is Deon Black. If you thought his father was carved from rock, look at this young man. His strength reached ten when he was eight! When other children were given balls, he was given a hammer. Well…I mean, he has balls too. Obviously. Em… and he has been forging steel ever since! Please welcome a legendary blacksmith in the making, Deon Black!!”

At the Elder’s awkward speech for Deon, renewed dread filled Arn. He was mastering pain, but this – this was surely an entirely different level of Hell.

“Last but far from least, some of you may know the sad tale of Arn Farnsworth, orphaned when he was nine and saddled with a bad heart. At 15 he was already the biggest man in the village, and not in the good way. Promised his father I’d take care of him, but the food bills alone, let me tell you! Three weeks ago, Arn was lost, his only crushing victories against sweet rolls and puzzles. But the Gods themselves intervened and chose this young man. Now look at him! He died twice, got a legendary class! Yes, a legendary class. Since that time, Arn has killed a dozen wargs and twice that many slarns, strangled some with his bare hands! The slarns learned fear, so he went swimming naked and cut himself to draw them in! Think on that! To train him in so short a time, we’ve beaten him, stabbed him… Well, I see Elder Snee indicating I’ve done on too long. You can talk a bit extra when you get your own legendary classer you senile old coot! Arn will be forming a party to hit the Jungle of Bones, look for him tomorrow if you dare! Please welcome Arn, the legendary Revenant!”

* * *

Pain. Arn’s skull was fractured, split in a thousand pieces, each screaming. Through the pain, Arn noticed he was in the forest, the Festival off in the distance. His sleeping bag was awkwardly draped around him, leaving him with hardly any room to move. “What kind of third-rate regeneration can’t fix a hangover,” Arn softly muttered to himself.

“Probably wore it out, considering you drank enough for 10 men. You’re a legend for real now.” Arn turned to see an athletic brunette with frazzled short hair . . . in his sleeping bag. He liked puzzles, but couldn’t solve this one. She pouted. “You can’t have forgotten; I’m unforgettable.”

Arn sighed. “I remember the Elder’s awful speech. And drinking. People kept coming up to me, buying me more. I . . . I enjoyed it I hope?” The girl pouted again and said, “you are supposed to ask me whether it was good for me!”

Arn pondered. He didn’t get to ask if he enjoyed his first time? “I’m sorry, I’m in too much pain for philosophy. It feels like there is a mole rat in my head clawing to get out. Anyway, I need to get going, find a team today.” Anger twisted the girl’s features. “I’ll be happy to cut it out of your head! Maybe you’ll regenerate all better.”

Arn sighed. Really? I heard women can get angry for no reason, but I can’t deal with this right now! Thinking for a moment, Arn asked “so . . . I take it that it wasn’t good for you?” The girl laughed. “You weigh more than a pregnant rhino and were too busy shouting to switch positions. Kept shouting, ‘I’m a Titan, I’m a Titan!’ Got news for you. Not so much.”

Arn groaned. “I’m sorry. It’s a hidden feature of the class. I do stupid things, get killed, rinse and repeat.” Arn’s jaw dropped as the girl got up and began to dress; she was leanly muscled, sleek and sexy. She noticed, and her expression softened for a moment. “Its too early for killing. We both have somewhere to be. Lets move.”

“Can I at least get your name” Arn asked. “Keana,” she said as she finished dressing and headed off without another word.

Well, I’ve been with a woman. And I didn’t get killed. That’s . . . something? Arn’s head cleared as he dressed and packed his sleeping bag. Walking back into the Festival grounds, Arn asked who ever he could stop whether there were any groups of armed young people about and was eventually directed to the butcher from East Haven’s wagon. Arriving, he stumbled into a group of four as he walked around the corner. Arn looked them over: a handsome warrior in chain mail with a longsword and shield; a short barrel-shaped man with a staff; a stern-faced bow-wielding woman . . . with an enormous warg by her side. Of course. And Keana.

This . . . this can’t be happening. Not even to me.

“Took you long enough,” Keana snorted.

“You two know each other?” the warrior asked.

Keana smirked, “we met, but it was forgettable.”

The warrior looked puzzled but moved on. “Great, lets get to it. I don’t know about you all, but I want to make some gold!” The staff wielder added, “and become powerful enough to do some good!” Wanting to participate, Arn added “and not die too much!” At their puzzled looks, Arn explained, “its not as much fun as you would think.” Belatedly realizing it was too soon for humor, Arn tried again, raising his canteen in the air. “To adventure!”