Martin woke up in a strange bed in a strange room. He was beneath soft sheets in a four-post canopy bed, a comfortable mattress beneath him, soft, yet firm, no stalks of straw pushing through, in fact it felt like it was stuffed with something different altogether. He could feel the soft silk like sheets on his body… All his body! He realised he was naked under the sheets and felt panicked as to whom had undressed him and brought him here. He quailed at the thought that it might have been the sword mage, at the thought that the beautiful and noble woman had undressed him and put him to bed!

He looked around the room, seeing a large room with a white, deep plush carpet. He feared to put his feet down lest he mar it with dirt. Near the bed was a clothes horse, clothing hanging from it, boots laid below. Getting up gingerly, he noticed that he appeared cleaner than he had ever been before. He walked naked over to the clothes and was shocked at their richness. Never had he imagined wearing such finery, the material a soft and well treated cotton with copper buttons instead of the normal rope ties he was used to. It made what he had seen as his finest shirt when coming here appear as the peasant garb it was.

He walked away, fearing to damage the clothes that clearly belonged to someone else. He went to a cupboard at least two dozen steps from his bed, the scale of the room disturbing. Opening the cupboard, he found at least another dozen outfits, all as rich or even richer, than the one out on the clothes horse, including some with rich fur linings, far warmer than anything he had ever owned or expected to own. He was frantic to find his own clothes, his shirt he could remember being destroyed, but at least pants would allow him to go and find whoever had brought him here. He remembered the magi seeing him, him falling as the magi raised their glasses in toast. Why had they done that? Did they make him fall?

He heard someone cough, a discreet calling for attention. As he started to turn, he heard the voice of Linden.

“Do spare both of us the embarrassment and rather don’t turn around right now.” Linden laughed, “Please, get dressed, all the clothing in this room is yours if you had not realised that as yet. Hmm, or that this is your room. Why don’t I give you some time to get prepared and then I’ll come back?”

Martin heard him leaving the room, leaving him even more bewildered. All this finery was his? It was worth enough to feed his family for a year, and it was his clothing? He went to the clothing that had been laid out, donning it all from loin cloth to the boots, made from sturdy yet supple leather. He felt like an imposter in another man’s clothes, but in the absence of his own he accepted that until he knew what was expected of him, he would accept this as necessary.

Once dressed he continued his exploration of the room while waiting for the return of Linden. Aside from the huge canopied bed, enough for all his family to sleep in, unlike the much smaller one they sometimes all crammed into in winter when the weather was bitingly cold and the heat of the bodies helped keep it away, there was the cupboard, six doors, four opening onto hanging racks, mostly empty aside from the twelve outfits there, the other two concealing drawers containing hose, underclothes, work clothes, all of far sturdier make than he was used and a few containing implements he did not recognise. On the opposite side of the room to that was a desk, a large one with drawers running down both sides. It was flanked with bookshelves, filled with books with gold lettering on their spines. He looked at this wealth, thinking of the cost of a single book, of a single page never mind inlaid gold just for lettering! On the desk he could see a thin book, on its cover in a fancy gold leaf he recognised his name. He had learned his letters from his master who felt that reading, writing and arithmetic was necessary to a smith to be able to run a smithy and keep accounts. Still, he was far from fluent and while he easily recognised his name, he had to sound out the names of the spines of the books, too nervous to open the book with his name. He was still spelling out the names, not understanding many when he heard the door open again.

“Ah, Martin, you are ready.”

He turned to see Linden standing there smiling.

“Come, the others await. Proper introductions are in order.”

Martin started moving towards him when Linden held up his hand. “Do bring your Chronicle with you, we need to explain it and how it works.”

Martin looked at him blankly, “My what?”

Linden walked forward taking the book with his name on it and handed it to him, a serious look on his face. “This is your Chronicle. What I just did, never let another do. None should ever touch it but you. It has yet to bond to you, but once it is, another touching or claiming it can do great harm to you.” The serious look did not last long as he smiled again, “Now come, the others are anxious to meet you!”

The room they met in was not far, his room was at the end of a short entry passage that served as a vestibule to his room, decorative vases on either side with brightly coloured tapestries on the walls. It led into a circular corridor with other vestibules leading to rooms. They walked, following the passage and through two large double doors into a large circular chamber around which the corridor had run. The ceiling was glass, the morning sun streaming in. The three other mages were there, Helmeford, Vilandre and the last to whom he had yet to be introduced. He saw tables scattered around the room, some covered in food, others with bottles of various liquids. He saw many large, comfortable chairs around the room, clustered around tables. He did not know how, but somehow the glass roof focussed sunbeams into those areas, lighting them more than the general room. As he walked in, they all turned to him, smiling. Linden placed a long-fluted glass with a golden liquid in it in his hand, as she did so Helmeford raised his glass.

“Welcome, to the newest of our number. Yet an apprentice, but a Mage none the less! Welcome, Martin the smith mage!” All the magi raised the glasses to their lips and sipped, Martin felt compelled to do the same and was stunned at the taste. It felt like, what did it feel like? He could not truly describe it. Could one say they felt spring in their mouth? A bite of alcohol but as if the world was awakening, taste buds opening and flaring as blossoms grew and flowered.

“Now, Martin, while this is to welcome you, there is also one last matter to be done before you are able to function as one of us.”

The last of the four magi approached Martin. Unlike the others he was not smiling, his face was a network of scars, his clothing, instead of the finery worn by the others, simple burlap held in place by a belt of rough hemp rope.

“Boy,” the voice was rough, an edge to it that Martin thought did not sound normal, as if they were spoken from a damaged throat, “I am Dmiou, also known as the sage. Mine is the way of knowledge, and attuning others to it.” He looked Martin over, examining him carefully. Martin stood there, not knowing what to do but stilled into acquiescence by the serious look on the faces of the others. He flinched when the sage put his hands out, running them close to his body while never touching. With a grunt he seemed to finish.

“Plenty of power, bound and workable. Not loose or free floating yet not bound to your body. You know what that makes you, boy?”

Martin heard the question but really had no idea what to answer. His answer was more of a squeak than anything comprehensible. “Um, No, Sir?” Everything seemed to be going too well, so far there had been no rites, no sign of danger against him, was this the moment it would change, from this stern scarred man and incomprehensible questions?

“Of course you don’t, boy! Have you never heard of a rhetorical question? No way for you to know since you have never been taught!” He stepped back, his hands drawing out a large blue crystal on a chain. “Come, let us go sit and be comfortable.” No smile came to his face but Martin thought, or was it just imagination and wishful thinking, that the man’s voice sounded friendlier. He followed him to two chairs, plush and well upholstered that sat across from each other on either side of a small table and took a seat as the man indicated for him to do so.

The man placed the large crystal on the table. “Look at it boy. Look deeply, find its core.” Martin did as he was told, looking into the crystal, into the sparkling depths from the beams of sunlight striking it. “Look boy," the whispers of Dmiou came to him, “look within the crystal, within yourself.” Martin looked, feeling like he was falling in, not really understanding the words, how could he look into himself? But he looked, followed the sparks, the sparkling depths dragging him in, almost a path, but a path to where? He looked following the lights and without thinking he took out the book that Linden had called his Chronicle. He felt the book in his hand slowly changing, as he followed the sparkling path through the crystal. He saw the path to the forge and Master John working within, but it was as if that was merely a reflection of the much larger forge where Hiphate worked. And as he watched his Masters, old and new, work, the book in his hand took on a far more familiar shape, he felt the handle of a hammer in his hands, the weight of its head in his lap. The scene faded as the reflections from the sunbeam disappeared. He looked up, and he saw new cuts, blood dripping from the face of the sage, who grimaced and drank a blood red potion he took from a pouch at his side. Martin watched incredulous as the wounds healed, but new scars were left behind.

But beneath the blood and the new scars the sage was smiling, no mistake this time. “well done, you succeeded in bonding your chronicle on the first attempt! I thank you, it is far more painful when people lack the talent and I must give of myself to force the issue! Now, your Chronicle is large and visible, the symbol of your connection to your power. But it is better for it to be small and hidden. In fact, outside of this room do not let others know of it. Other magi will of course know you have one, but you should not reveal what it is, or where it is!”

“Umm, Master Sage, the book changed into a smithing hammer, and a large one! How can I hide that?” Martin was confused at the seeming nonsensical instruction. How could something like a smithing hammer be hidden.

“Just tell it what you want it to be, and it shall be. It is an extension of your will, will follow what you desire.”

Martin looked at the Hammer, thinking of it as a necklace with the hammer as charm. He had seen such a symbol worn by a visiting smith as a sign of one of the city guilds. Still, he thought it silly to think that the hammer would just change… so he was surprised when it did just that! He slipped it around his neck, the hammer, now just the size of his thumb, lying against his chest, warm and seeming to pulse with his heartbeat. He felt it pulse and an image appeared in his mind. Little pictures, one of him, another of his backpack. Surprised he looked closer at the picture of himself and he saw a page of writing. Struggling to read it he heard that feminine voice in his mind again.

“Awakened Smith not at required level of literacy. Reading and writing skill granted at Journeyman level.”

Martin felt a tickling sensation and watched as the page in front of him resolved itself. He was amazed at himself, he was reading just with a glance, no effort needed. He was so amazed, that at first he was not worried about what it said, but then he paid attention to it, looking at the page closely.

Name: Martin Race: Human Class: Awakened Smith Level 1

Str: 12 Con: 14 Dex: 8 Int: 10 Cha: 12

Skills:

Blacksmithing 10 (Journeyman), Weaponsmithing 5 (Apprentice), Armoursmithing 5 (Apprentice), Smelting 10 (Journeyman), Geology 5 (Apprentice), Hunting 5 (Apprentice), Read/Write 10 (Journeyman)

Stat points: 3 Skill point: 2 Mana Points: 5

Rune Skills: Basic Scribe 5 (Apprentice), Etch Leather 5 (Apprentice)

He recognised his name but much of it was strange. What were those points, and rune skills? It looked like he should know, claiming he was an apprentice in them. Something to ponder when he had time but he came aware of the magi standing around him, quiet, leaving him in his thoughts. Embarrassed, he looked at them promising himself to look at the strange images more later.

“My apologies, Masters.” He looked down into his glass, not wanting to meet their eyes as his cheeks flamed.

He heard Vilandre laughing. “You bonded with your Chronicle and undoubtedly found the connection, what many call the pages of the gods. You came out of it a lot quicker than most. I was told that I stood there silently for a few hours. You need to explore more!”

He gave her a thankful smile as those in the room started talking again, circulating to the tables holding the food and drink. He got up from his chair, grabbing food from the tables. He knew he should be surprised when he found that much of it was hot, despite there being no flames or means of it remaining hot. He shrugged it off, too many surprises and too many things that did not make sense, just another new thing in his life.

A few hours later the breakfast and meeting wound down, the magi leaving to go attend to their own affairs. He sat in the room, nibbling on food which stayed warm and fresh, drinking his fill of fruit juices that had always been too costly to taste. He leaned back into the chair, looking at his hammer, his Chronicle? And seeing the pictures again. He looked at the page about himself again this time paying attention to each item on it. As he did so he heard the feminine voice speaking

“Help system activated, basic definitions displayed” and a page overlaid the other covered in writing that, thankfully, he could now easily read.

Race: the core race of the subject before any enhancements. Later evolution will apply a new template but not change the core. Class: the classification of the profession of the subject. Determines core skills before enhancements. Level: the measure of the skill and power in the class. Statistics: The primary definers of an individual’s abilities. Based on Race the racial average varies. For humans the average for an adult in all would be 9. STR (Strength): How strong the individual is but also includes how well that strength can be controlled and utilised. CON (Constitution): A measure of the health of the individual, including their stamina and ability to resist poison and diseases. DEX (Dexterity): How nimble and agile the individual is. This includes how well they can move aiding them when sneaking, hiding and other similar endeavours. INT (Intelligence): The intellect of the individual, how quickly they grasp new concepts as well as their ability to memorise and apply new concepts. CHA (Charisma): The leadership of the individual. Their personal magnetism and how people will relate to them in a situation. WIL (Willpower): Only shown on individuals who have passed the threshold of Mana Control and Manipulation. The ability to move Mana through Wil rather than skill. Skills: The list of the primary skills of an individual. Daily skills not listed as irrelevant. Stat Points: These can be used to raise the statistics of the individual. Applied at the choice of the individual. Skill Points: These can be applied to raise the skills of the individual. Can also be used to acquire new skills. Note: Possible skills will appear as having a rank of 0, it will only be available for use once a point is used and it advances to Rank 1 (Beginner). Mana Points: The means of powering spells, special abilities and runes. Rune Skills: NOT ALWAYS AVAILABLE. Only individuals with the ability to manipulate matter can utilise Rune skills, the carving of Runes to empower objects. Powered by Mana

Martin read the page, some terms not being very clear but he thought it seemed clear enough. He frowned at the thought that the Gods thought him clumsy. He supposed he was not as nimble as his friends, but he had always coped around the forge. With a bit of introspection, he had to admit that he did drop things more than his master or Saul, the other apprentice a few years younger than him. He had never really thought about it, but he had to admit that maybe the Gods were not misjudging him. As he wanted to look at the page about himself again the overlaid help page disappeared. He flinched a bit and felt his cheeks get hot, if the Gods were able to follow his wants so easily, they must be reading his mind and would know those thoughts others did not, and some of those he did not want others to know, especially his musings about Jenny…

His cheeks burning he started his exploration of his sheet again. The skills seemed obvious and he understood the points. What intrigued him were the Rune Skills. The Gods had told him that not everyone had them, did that mean that there were other Magi without them? And that there were skill groups he did not have? He knew there must be. There was talk of spells but no skills or groups for them so those who cast spells must have a group he did not have. He idly mused about what other groups may exist. Perhaps for weapon skills or combat abilities?

He peered down at the page, concentrating on the rune skills. The Gods displayed another page overlaying his personal one.

Rune Skills

Basic Scribe: The ability to scribe the elementary runes accurately. Errors will result in failure or even the destruction of the object.

Etch Leather: The ability to scribe a rune onto leather.

Only leather? Did that mean he could not put runes on armour for now? He knew he would need to learn that, perhaps as his level grew, he would gain more skills. He would need to ask one of the other magi.

He got up to leave the room, the end of a bewildering morning after the previous just as bewildering day. He was wondering how he would find the others as he opened the door to go towards his room and found himself face to face with a Rabbit man.

“Martin, good to meet you.”

All Martin could do was stare at this creature in surprise.