Side Fic - Against Fate

Author note: I know what you want to say. "RinoZ, where the hell is my Chrysalis?!"

I hear you. Sadly, work has picked up and I've fallen behind again, I'll get caught up tomorrow hopefully.

In the meantime, here is one of the various story ideas that pop into my head and refuse to go away until I throw it up onto a keyboard. I tried to write in a different style and I think it came out okay.

Let me know what you think of it, all feedback is welcome.

Chapter one: Tyron.

The toll of the bell warned Tyron that he didn't have much time left. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes, smudging ink across his cheek as he did so. With any luck, this would be the last time he would have to pull an all-nighter keeping his uncles books. As much as he appreciated the income, the ours he was forced to keep put a lot of pressure on his sleep schedule. Sitting up straight, he closed the ledger in front of him, cleaned his brush and capped the ink before storing it away. 

Without him noticing, the sun had already begun to rise and now the weak morning light streamed through the upstairs window and into the attic that had become his home away from home and office. As much you could call a bedroll in the corner a home, or a worn down table covered in paper an office. As Tyron stood, he stumbled, his muscles more stiff than he anticipated. He cursed and paused for a moment to stretch before he gathered his ledger and walked toward the ladder.

The dust was starting to gather in the corners, he noticed with a critical eye. It also appeared as if the spiders were beginning to think he had declared a truce and begun to move back in. When he got back in the evening he'd need to disabuse them of that particular notion. The war on arachnids never ended and Tyron was ever ready to re-join the front lines.

Careful not to slip, breaking a foot was not something he cared to repeat, he climbed down the wooden ladder and was greeted by Uncle Worthy the moment he reached the bottom.

"There you are, lad!" Came an enthused cry before a heavy arm slammed down on the youth's shoulders the second he reached the floor. "I'd begun to think you'd already headed out for the day!"

Tyron staggered under the weight of his Uncle's enthusiastic greeting before he held up the ledger and waved it in his relative's face. 

"I've been doing your accounting, remember? You aren't going to forget to pay me again, are you?"

Worthy Steelarm bright blue eyes darted away for a second in shame before coming back to rest on his nephews face, once more full of energy. "That was only the once, lad! No need to keep bringing it up! Anyway, forget those damned books, don’t you know what day it is?"

The older man snatched the book away with ease and tossed it onto a nearby table, his nephew still trapped under the weight of his arm. 

"I'm hardly likely to forget my own Awakening, Uncle," he squeezed out, "it's all anyone's wanted to talk to me about for days. You included!"

"Well of course!" Came the enthused reply. "You only go through the Awakening ceremony once, after all! I've been waiting a long time for this day. A long time. Can't believe that little screaming pile of cloth is all grown up! It's a damn shame your parent's weren't able to make it back in time."

Emotion billowed up in his chest but Tyron reflexively shoved it down . 

"They tried," he shrugged, "you know as well as I do that they go were the wind takes them."

"Aye, I do know that. Born to adventure, those two. I've always said it." Worthy's eyes softened as he looked down at his nephew. He withdrew his arm and ruffled the boys hair with one hand. When the lad looked up him, indignant, he just chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Born to it they were, lad. Like nothing I ever seen. But that don't mean they shouldn't be here for this. They'll be right ashamed of themselves the next time they roll into town. As they should be! I'll be givin' 'em hell about it the next twenty years, at least! As for you, make it fifty years! Hound them into the damn grave with it! Just promise me that you'll forgive them. Alright?"

Tyron felt a surge of affection for the gruff old man and awkwardly hugged him with one arm.

"It's not like I can ever hold a grudge against them. You know what they're like."

"Aye, I do. That's why I forgive them their lapses, but it doesn't mean they get a free pass. Now you go and wash up. I can't have no member of my family showing up their Awakening looking like they haven't slept it three days!" He paused and his eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Uhhh." 

"I knew it! Get the hell out of here and into a cold shower you daft boy!" With a playful shove, his Uncle sent him staggering toward the kitchens before turning to greet the staff walking in the door.

The young man chuckled to himself as he stumbled out of the common room and into the inn's kitchen where he was greeted by his aunt. The older woman looked up from the porridge she was making, no doubt the breakfast for this morning and smiled.

"Hello there, Tyron. Heard the grouch giving you a hard time. As if you weren't up doing his own work for him," she sniffed, "well I won't have you thinking we don't appreciate it. Come in here and sit. Let me know how the porridge tastes. I levelled up my Cooking Skill last night and I'm excited to know the difference."

Never one to turn down his Aunt's cooking, Tyron was all too happy to take a seat and partake of the morning's offering. That Meagan was the finest Cook in town was beyond debate and a large part of the reason the Steelarm Inn drew the sort of custom it did. That she'd managed another level just meant her already formidable advantage would be stretched even further. 

Soon, a steaming hot bowl of porridge landed on the bench in front of him and he pulled up a stool to settle in. After he blew on the porridge to cool it he took a sample from the edge to test it.

"Sensational, Aunt Meg. Even better than before." He said sincerely.

"What a nice boy you are," she beamed, proud of her achievement. "Now eat up. You're so thin that people will start saying we don't feed you. We can't have that!"

"Right you are, ma'am," he grinned and started to eat whilst his Aunt nattered on behind him.

After getting a dose of the town gossip and what the old birds around town thought what Class everyone would get today (apparently he was a shoe-in for Clerk), Tyron excused himself and made his way out behind the inn to wash up. Cold water and soap worked its magic as it always did and he felt much refreshed when he made his way back inside to find the Inn was already clicking into gear.

The kitchen hands had arrived as well as Lauren and Gwen, the two Maids, who'd begun to make the rounds of the common room, serving the morning clientele. Uncle Worthy did as he did best; pulled drinks and wowed the audience with tales of his adventures. He was already deep into the Mountain Drake story when Tyron snuck past and out the door, the bell overhead his only witness.

With a sigh of relief he ducked his head and made his way back to his own house, just a few doors down. Foxbridge was coming awake by this time, but today there was a particular nervous frission in the air. It was Awakening day. Yet another year's worth of children would transition into adults and receive their first Class. A big day for any child and a proud day for any parent. If they were here.

He shook thoughts of his parents out of his head and choked the coiling excitement in his belly until it had fully receded. What will be will be. No need to get nervous or excited, he reminded himself. As he walked toward his own, familiar door, he couldn't help but recall the advice his father gave him regarding his first Class. 

"Now, this isn't something that you'll hear about in your lessons," he'd said in his charismatic drawl, "but it's something that a lot of us Monster Slayers and Delvers have noticed."

He'd leaned back and taken a long draw from his pipe. A habit he'd developed during a recent expedition visiting the folk under the mountains, much to his mother's disgust.

"They say the first Class you're given is chosen for you by the Gods themselves. That they use the stone to peer into your heart and look at the person you are before they give you the power to realise your dreams. Whatever they are. I don't know if that's true, but what I do know is that the First Class is suspiciously tailored to the person. It can't be just random chance. Sometimes people desire to battle and protect so they are granted classes like Fighter or Shieldbearer. Other's want to plant or build and they become Growers, Farmers or Engineers. Others don't want to create but take from others who have and get Thieves, Robbers and Bandits. Here in civilisation we check peoples Class after Awakening and some are 'persuaded' to renounce them. Makes sense I suppose. The only way to Level Up a Thief Class is to steal. Why encourage it? But here's the thing."

He'd leaned in at this point, his bright eyes dazzling to the young Tyron.

"Nobody who renounces their first Class has risen to the top. Not one. That's why I'm telling you. Keep your Class. I don't care what it is, Robber, Thief, Prostitute, heck, even a filthy Merchant." He spat for emphasis. "That is the Class that fits you and your Mother and I don't care what it is. We'll accept it just as we accept you. Okay? Stick to the path laid out before you. There's no such thing as shame between us."

It was impossible for Tyron to hate Magnin and Beory Steelarm. They were terrible parents. He could admit that, and so would they. But what they did do was love him unconditionally, and for that he was grateful. They accepted him for who he was, much like they accepted themselves. Rather than bottle up their wanderlust, grow resentful and bitter until they hated each other, they indulged it. Once he turned fourteen, they'd offered to bring him along, but he never felt comfortable accepting the offer. That was their world and he suspected he would feel like an intruder, even if he was their son. He wasn't sure he wanted to be a Slayer in the first place. Who knows? Maybe he would wind up a Clerk.

As he pulled his heavy iron key out of his pocket he chuckled at the thought of his father's face if he found out his son had earned a Bookkeeping class. He turned the lock and walked into the still house. The dust had accumulated over the last few days, or maybe it was closer to a week now? When he thought about it, he wasn't sure how long it had been since he was home. As always, the air felt heavy here. So much space with nobody to fill it made it feel uncomfortable. That was why he hesitated to stay here by himself even after his Uncle had decided he was old enough.

Not wanting to dwell on negative thoughts, he walked to his room and pulled out a clean set of clothing to pull on. A minute later and he was done. Although he owned bright coloured clothes, most of them gifts from his Mother, he only wore them on sufferance. Today he would wear his usual, neutral greys and dark colours which helped to hide the ink stains. Not like his parents could complain if they weren't here.

Once he was dressed and found his good boots he took a little time to tidy around the house. He didn't need to get to the town square for a few hours yet, although some of the other eighteen year old townsfolk were sure to be there already. He couldn't blame them. Some of them had been waiting for this day their whole lives, as if everything up to this point had been a waste of time.

After an hour of futile wiping and rinsing Tyron gave up and collected his documentation from the kitchen table where he'd last left it. The Mayor was a stickler for the rules and those rules required that a Status reading performed within a fortnight of Awakening be presented on the day before the ceremony. Not wanting to get caught in the late rush, he'd gotten his reading from Mrs Barbury the Scribe thirteen days in advance. He glanced down at the page, noting the clean hand it was written in.

Status Report Dated 14/6/5447

Name: Tyron Steelhand.

Age: 18

Race: Human (Level 10)

Racial Feats:

Level 5: Steady Hand.

Level 10: Night Owl.

Attributes:

Strength: 12

Dexterity: 11

Constitution:15

Intelligence:16

Wisdom: 15

Charisma: 13

Free points: 10

General Skills:

Arithmetic (Level 5)

Handwriting (Level 4)

Concentration (Level 2)

Cooking (Level 1)

Sling (Level 3)

Swordsmanship (Level 1)

Spell Shaping (Level 1)

Skill Selections Available: 3

General Spells:

Globe of Light (Level 8)

Sleep (Level 4)

Mana Bolt (Level 1)

It was short and to the point but it communicated the entirety of Tyron's eighteen years of life to this point. Strange, how so much of a person could be contained within such a short list. Yet, he had to admit it painted a rather complete picture. Almost everyone levelled up their Race to ten by the time they turned eighteen, many were able to push it higher than that. Since experienced was gained through what they were taught to call 'human experiences', such as socialising, forming emotional connections and engaging in community activities, it was a small miracle Tyron had gotten it to level ten. He had his Aunt, Uncle and small circle of friends to thank for that.

Some people liked to save their feat selections until they knew what their class was, but Tyron had decided some general purpose feats with a wide variety of applications would be fine to choose. He didn't like the idea of not moving forward at all with his life until he Awakened, so he'd chosen his feats as soon as he could. He'd been helping keep the books at the Inn since he was ten, so the Steady Hand feat made sense to him. It helped with his penmanship and would surely prove useful for almost any class he received. Mages needed fine motor skills, craftspeople, archers, even Clerks.

Since he was trying to balance studying with working for his Uncle, he'd found his nights had gotten later and later. The Night Owl feat kept him alert at night and helped to alleviate the fatigue he felt from lack of sleep. That was a choice he'd never regret. Many overlooked this feat but it had been a lifesaver for Tyron. 

His attributes were fairly normal for his age. Higher mental attributes as opposed to physical made perfect sense, considering his build and lifestyle. Sorry Dad, looked like you child had taken after his mother in this regard. Hopefully Magnin had given up hope of his son inheriting his Swordsman class years ago as it was certain it wouldn't happen. Higher than usual constitution was nice, he was rarely sick and could handle all-nighters like a champion. His Charisma managed to hold at barely above average thanks more to his inherited appearance than his own personal charm. His father's piercing blue eyes and mother's silky dark hair were surely worth a few points. Which no doubt compensated for his generally awkward demeanour and soft spoken voice.

He'd followed the wisdom of his elders in not distributing his free stat points. These were rare as Class stats were set in what attributes they would give. He might need those spares to shore up his weaknesses or push harder at his strengths depending on the outcome. His Skills were a testament to his hard work. Alright, he hadn't earned Arithmetic or Handwriting the hard way, but bought them using his Skill Choices, however the rest were all him. His father had insisted he train until he earned Swordsmanship and Tyron had almost cried with relief two years ago when it finally appeared. The endless drills had been far more draining that the hunts his Mother took him on where he learned the Sling. 

His crowning achievement was the Spell Shaping Skill and his small selection of Magicks. That wasn't an easy Skill to earn outside of a Class and without any of the bonus Attributes mages had access to, but Tyron had persisted until the endless mental grinding had paid off. Mother will be so proud when she finds out. The Spells were fairly basic, he used Light rather than candles to work at night since it was cheaper and helped him train. The Sleep spell had been tricky to learn but so far had been exclusively used on himself. Mana Bolt was the basic offensive Spell that anyone could cast. Spending his time wrestling with books rather than monsters had meant he hadn't had much chance to level it up.

With everything he needed to hand he might as well get going. Destiny awaits.

Chapter 2: Awakening

Tyron didn't even make it to the door before there was a modest knock. He frowned, it unusual for anyone to try and find him in this house, since he was almost never here. This person must have seen him come in. That narrowed the list of suspects quite considerably. He approached the thick wooden door and paused.

"Elsbeth?" He called through the door.

"How did you know?" Came the muffled reply.

"Intuition."

He smiled to himself and turned the latch, opening the door to the day and the bright young woman on the other side. He was greeted with a wide smile and warm green eyes that danced with excitement.

"Hey, Tyron! You ready for the big day? Are those clean clothes I spy?"

"Ah, yeah. I thought I should … dress up, a bit."

"You look good! I thought I'd dress up a little myself. What do you think?"

She performed a quick twirl for him, letting her long dress flutter in the wind as she giggled girlishly. The dress itself left her slender arms bare whilst reaching down to below her knees. Tyron idly noticed that she also had her best shoes on for the occasion, and maybe… was she wearing a hint of powder?

"You look great," he said, honestly.

She calmed herself with a hand to her chest and smiled.

"Thanks. I know I shouldn't have bothered, but I just couldn't help but get excited! I can't believe it's finally happening?"

She was so animated and full of life it was almost blinding to see, Tyron glanced to one side. 

"Yeah. It's getting close to time, are you ready to go?"

"Ready? I've been ready for hours! The only reason I'm out here is I've been waiting for you! The others are already waiting at the library, so hurry up!"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled as he stepped through the doorway and locked it behind him. "Nobody told you guys you had to wait for me."

Elsbeth just rolled her eyes.

"Oh sure, after ten years of class together we'll just drop you on the last day. Now come on."

She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him down the cobbled street, her soft shoes barely making a sound on the road. He put up with it for a moment until he felt uncomfortable and pulled his arm free.

"I'm coming, okay? You're going to ruin your shoes, let's just walk."

"Fine," she huffed and set off at a brisk pace toward the centre of town.

Foxbridge wasn't a particularly large or important town. It held no strategic value or rare resource and its relatively rural location doomed it to mediocrity. What it did have, was a fairly central location in this province, relative safety and a river. The Blue river flowed from the ironically named Red Stone mountains and carried its way toward the central province near the capital, which meant what little trade occurred out here all went through Foxbridge. The end result was a quietly prosperous rural hub, perfect for a family to live quietly, or for a roving pair of Slayers to drop their child in his Uncle's hands.

There were a few amenities that most children in the outer edges of the Kingdom wouldn't have access to, such as the school, library and among other things, fully charged Awakening stone. Which meant on the year they turned eighteen, people from all over the province would travel here for the ceremony. Tyron hoped the mayor had a good night's sleep, he'd be going from midday to close to midnight in all likelihood.

Indeed, as the pair approached the square, the crowds grew thicker and the faces noticeably more hairless. By the time they'd closed in on the Library the bodies were shoulder to shoulder. 

"This is why I wanted to get here early," Elsbeth threw him a mournful look as she raised herself onto her toes to look for their friends. "Ah! I see them! Let's go."

She started to push her way through the crowd with a determined set to her face, leaving Tyron no choice but to sigh and follow, apologising as he went. Thankfully, nobody took any serious offence and they were able to make their way to wooden railing in front of the library in one piece.

"Took you long enough," Rufus smirked, "I told you he would sleep in. You didn't need to wait for him."

Elsbeth waved a hand to brush off the criticism. 

"There's no harm done, we're all here now. Right, Laurel?"

The fourth member of their small circle just shrugged her shoulders. 

"It's fine. How're you doing, Tyron?"

"Tired," he sighed, "but I'm here."

Rufus threw him a baffled look, as if wondering how he could possibly be tired after sleeping in to such an hour, but Laurel just nodded.

"Had any more thoughts on what Class you'll get?" she asked.

Naturally all anyone had wanted to talk about for the last year was their Class, indeed, most of their childhood was focussed on this central topic. It created a lot of pressure and excitement amongst most kids but Tyron was just bored with it. They'd talked about it around and around in circles for almost a decade already. Nobody knew anything for certain until the event happened. Making up endless plans that may never come to fruition was a waste of mental energy.

"No," he sighed, "to be honest, I'm just looking forward to getting it done. I want to get my Class, read up on it and go home. I'm ready to move on with my life."

"Always the books with you," Rufus scoffed. "We should get out and celebrate! We're awakening today!"

"What if we get a unsanctioned Class?" Elspeth fretted. "If I got something banned, I don't know what I'd do."

"Get it removed," Rufus shrugged, "work on getting a new Class. You don't even need to leave town to get it done since that old bat, Barbury is here."

"Remember two years ago when that guy got Thief and refused to give it up? I'd never seen the Mayor so mad," Laurel laughed.

A sour feeling turned in Tyron's gut. That man had tried to flee town back to his village without having his status read after the Awakening. After being caught by the marshals and dragged back to town he'd been appraised and then refused to renounce the Thief Class. The mayor had cut off both his hands.

"I don't know why you're worried Elspeth, your practically a guarantee for Priestess," Laurel teased.

"Don’t even say that!" Elspeth raised both hands and shook them in denial. "Priestesses are rare! Just because I help out at the Church doesn't mean a thing."

Silently, Tyron agreed with Laurel, if anyone was going to be a Priestess it was Elspeth, but then, who knew? The Gods were fickle, after all. At the talk of the Priestess Class, Rufus' eyes flickered and he raised to voice to speak to the group.

"Have you guys put any thought toward my suggestion?"

Tyron's shoulders slumped a little when his old friend brought up the topic. He'd known this would come up, it always did.

"We don't even know what Classes we're going to get, Rufus. There's not much point pledging to be Slayers together now, is there?"

"Always a doubter, Tyron." Rufus mocked. "Look at the four of us. We've got a great mix, waiting to happen. I'll be a Warrior or Swordsman, no question, Laurel will be Ranger or Archer, Elspeth will be our Priest and Tyron can be the Mage. It's a perfect setup."

It wasn't as if Rufus' plan was entirely without merit. Rufus was a blacksmiths son and had built the muscle required to help at the forge, but spent most of his time doing weapon drills in the School practice yard. With his fiery red hair, solid skills and irritable temper, he had a bit of a reputation about town as a trouble maker. Laurel was a quiet, dark skinned girl who picked up hunting from her father. She was often away for week long stretches tracking weaker monsters in the woods. She'd confessed to Tyron once that her Archery Skill had reached Level five, a massive achievement for her age. Elspeth was likely to be a healer of some sort, given the time she spent volunteering to help the sick and her natural disposition. Having access to healing magic in the field was as rare as hen's teeth. Any group would be begging Elspeth to join should she get such a Class. Which just left Tyron. 

Even he had to admit he was perfectly set up to be a Mage of some type, be it Conjurer, Elementalist, Summoner or one of the other countless varieties. His Mental Stats were high for his age, he'd worked hard on his Spell Working theory and his practical Skills had progressed nicely. Secretly, Tyron hoped for the Wizard class. They weren't suited to working as a Monster Slayer, since they're magics where generally too broad in scale. If he could rank up to Arch-Wizard then he'd get his own tower somewhere and be left to his own devices until the Kingdom needed him to drop a comet on something, then he could go back to his books.

Still, he would commit to whatever Class he got. He just hoped it wasn't Dancer or Musician. Having to perform in front of crowds to level up would be a nightmare.

"Maybe if I get the Swordsman class your Dad might finally train me. You'll ask him for me, right?" Rufus asked.

Tyron shrugged again.

"Rufus, you've asked him to train you, I've asked him to train you. I don't think he wants to teach anyone."

"He taught you, didn't he?" Rufus refuted.

"He taught me some drills so I could pick up the Swordsmanship Skill," Tyron reminded him, exasperated, "you know that."

"I don't know why he wasted his time," the other boy muttered, "he could have trained someone who actually wanted to learn how to handle a blade."

"Oh, I think it's about to start!" Elspeth cut in, keen to avert an argument.

Tyron shook his head and Laurel flashed him a sly grin before they all turned to face the front. The mayor had taken the stage and had begun shuffling his papers in his too large hands. The mayor always looked out of place at formal events. In Tyron's opinion, he was far more suited, and happier, behind a plough working his fields. Since his family had slaved and saved for generations working the land, they had become quietly prosperous. Deserving folk if there ever were any.

Mayor Arryn wiped one hand across his dark tanned forehead to clear the sweat and steady himself. He hated this event. He had to put on his good shirt, buttoned all the way up to his neck for twelve hours straight, by far the longest public engagement of the year. Right in the middle of watering season as well. Idiotic timing and he'd told the Baron as much to his face. There was no changing that fat toads mind so there was nothing for it. He rolled his broad shoulders once and began to speak.

"Welcome all to this year's Awakening ceremony. I am Mayor Arryn of Foxbridge and I welcome you all. There are many from out of town here today and I welcome our friends from across the province. Break the law in my town and I'll have to run out by the marshals without a stich of clothing on your back."

Silence. 

"Glad we understand each other." He coughed . "Regulations around the ceremony are the same as last year. A five day grace period is allowed during which you must register with the Scribe to have your Status Appraised so your Class may be registered. Any Unsanctioned Classes must be revoked. That is the law. We will get started in the usual order, locals first, travellers after. If you've come from out of town, please move to the back or better yet, get out of the square, you won't be needed here for a few hours."

So saying, the Mayor jumped down from his podium and walked to the small plinth outside the town hall which housed the town's Awakening Stone only for this day of the year. Tyron had tried to learn what he could of the Awakening stone, but there wasn't a lot to go on, at least in the texts he was able to find. They'd been used for thousands of years to help Awaken people to their first Class, supposedly helping to channel the energy of the God's. Mother had said they were just high quality Mana Stones that acted as a conduit between the vessel (person) and magical energies that filled their world. Whatever the case, everyone would get their Class once they clapped their hands on that rock.

"You heard him, let's go."

Rufus jumped down and begun pushing his way through the crowd, using his height and strength to tunnel a path. Laurel and Elspeth followed eagerly in his wake whereas Tyron followed a beat behind. Which naturally meant he was jostled from start to finish by irritated farmers who'd travelled a long way and now had to wait for these nonce city-folk.

Grimacing behind his rigid smile Tyron pressed forward and joined the others of his age group for Foxbridge. There weren't many who turned eighteen this year, only thirty three, which was a decent enough group for a town the size of this. Most of them had attended school together, not all had been as frequently in attendance as Tyron. Most of them were farmers kids, or from merchant families or even dock workers and most of them spent their time helping the family trade. The Steelarms were in the Monster Slaying business and Tyron sure as hell wasn't helping out with that. But Slaying certainly paid well, especially for veterans with high levels like his parents. So Tyron had the luxury of being able to attend his lessons every day and get his head stuffed full of history, magical theory, monster biology, politics and mathematics.

Of course this meant his reputation as a stuffy bookworm was cemented amongst his peers.

Whilst Elsbeth, Laurel and Rufus greeted the others and engaged in excited banter as they formed a somewhat orderly line, Tyron held back and kept to himself until he could take his place toward the back. As he stepped behind the doughy form of the bakers son he felt ice creep into his veins and his heart begin to thud in his chest.

He took deep, calming breaths. No big deal. Doesn't matter what Class comes out. Just stick to it. Simple as that. You'll get other Classes down the road anyway, this is just the first one.

Just your main one.

He silently cursed the traitor voice in his mind and tried to master his emotions. Be calm. Don't worry. It'll be done with soon, you can go home and relax, study your new Class. You've been waiting to do that for a long time. As Tyron tried to settle himself, the ceremony began at the front of the line. Four burly town guards flanked the Mayor, who was larger than all them, who stood in front the brightly glowing Awakening Stone. The plinth the stone rested on was roped off from the crowd, though many pressed forward to watch the youths undertake this rite of passage. At the front of the line, naturally, was Rufus. He stepped forward confidently and half listened as the Mayor told him what to do. As soon as he was given permission he stepped forward and placed both hands on the stone, almost covering it with his large hands.

To those watching it looked as if his eyes went blank for a moment, the consciousness behind them gone, before they filled once more with life and a broad grin split his face. His jubilation was clear to see and those observing let out a smattering of applause. It was always good to see a young one getting a Class they hoped for. Brimming with excitement, Rufus stepped to one side and nodded absently as the Mayor reminded him of his obligations, his eyes already scanning the line for his friends. When he found Elsbeth and Laurel toward the front he grinned excitedly and clenched his fist. When he found Tyron at the back he flashed a gleeful look and waved.

Well, at least he's happy. Must have gotten a Sword oriented Class like he'd hoped for. Tyron knew he'd be getting pestered about asking his Father to train him until his parent's next came home. At least it wouldn't be long. His parent's had intended to get back yesterday but had been delayed on the road. They were four days out, a week at most. He could tolerate Rufus for that long.

The next person stepped up, then the next and then it was Laurel's turn. Her reaction was far more subdued than Rufus' had been but Tyron could tell from the slight upward curve of her lips that she was delighted. Which was interesting, since Tyron had never really pegged down what sort of Class she wanted. She tended to agree with whatever the person in front of her would suggest without ever offering her own opinion. She might tell him what she had, but most likely she wouldn't. She might have counted him as a friend, but she tended to keep her cards close to her chest.

There was only one person between Laurel and Elspeth and soon it was the young girls turn. Her bright blonde hair sparkled in the sun as she nervously stepped forward. He silently cheered her own in his head as she nodded dumbly to the Mayors words and then staggered forward, almost falling onto the stone but catching herself by planting her hands directly on it.

There was a moment of silence as her eyes went blank. When the light came back to her she was still and silent for a moment longer before a dazzling smile broke out on her face and tears formed in her eyes. To one side Rufus clenched both fists as his eyes blazed with triumph. Even Laurel looked shocked for a moment before she recovered her poise. It was harder for Tyron to see but from the stir at the front and Elspeth's body language it appeared as if the long shot had indeed come through and had become a Priestess.

"Good on you El," he mouthed to no-one in particular as the girl in question collected herself and dashed toward her Mother who had closed the tailoring shop to watch the big event.

Shortly afterwards Elspeth, Laurel both disappeared from the square leaving Tyron alone in the crowd. He tried to shrug it off. They had family to celebrate with and planning to do, their futures suddenly so much more clear than they had been a moment ago, whereas he still had to wait another half hour. It still stung. But no matter. He'd relied on himself thus far, he could cross the final hurdle the same way.

Person by person, the line diminished as each youth stepped forward and learned their fate. With every step forward Tyron had to master himself all over again as nervousness and anxiety rose to try and drag him down. By the time he finally reached the front he felt exhausted and a headache had begun to form in his temples. It could have been the lack of sleep, or the sun beating down on him or the repeated waves of emotion but as he stepped to the stone and the Mayor's mumbled words reached his ears he felt physically sick.

Almost done know. One step forward, throw your hands on the stupid rock and it's finished. You'll be able to make your own way, like you've always wanted. It's right there in front of you. Just TAKE IT.

And he did. 

He drew a sudden, deep breath, took a long stride forward and slapped his hands down on the stone. 

Immediately he felt his as if his mind had been pulled from his body and into a vast space of light and darkness. He felt infinity. He felt cold. He didn’t feel anything. Then a voice rang throughout his being.

Tyron Steelhand. You seek power. You seek control, both over yourself and your fate. What's more, you seek control of those around you, to ensure they will not hurt you, to ensure they will act according to your will. You have made the darkness your home and the study of the arcane your passion. Solitude and Authority are your desires. They shall be granted.

You have received the Class: Necromancer.

The Mage of the dead, the Necromancer can summon spirits, create undead and call upon Dark Magics. To increase your proficiency, you must engage in the core pursuits of the Class; Raise the dead and drive them to battle on your behalf.

Class Attributes per level:

Intelligence +3;

Wisdom +1;

Constitution +1.

Skills granted level one:

Corpse Appraisal.

Corpse Handling.

Spells granted level one:

Raise Dead.

Then his mind slammed back into body and his senses returned. For a moment he didn't move. Couldn't move. What Class was this? What had just happened? Before he could formulate his thoughts, another voice burst into his mind. Where the first voice had been powerful and righteous, this one was dark and sinister.

Tyron Steelhand. You have caught the Eye of the Dark Ones, The Scarlet Court and the Abyss. They have granted you a Special Class.

You have received the Sub-Class: Anathema.

You are the enemy of the righteous and villain in the eyes of the Gods. You have drawn the attention of those who lie beyond but not their favour. To increase your proficiency, perform those acts that will please your dark patrons. Give worship and spread the Will of the Dark Ones, offer sacrifice and blood to the Court or plumb the Mysteries of the Abyss.

Class Attributes per level:

Constitution +4;

Intelligence +4;

Skills granted level one:

None.

Spells granted level one:

None.

He just wasn't able to process what he'd just heard. Frozen in place with his hands on the stone his mind raced to try and catch up until he heard a polite cough from next to him. Tyron turned his frantic gaze to the side to find the Mayor kindly looking back at him.

"Everything alright there, lad?"

Tyron reflexively forced a smile to his face and nodded.

"Of course! Everything's great!"

He stepped to one side to allow the next person through and managed to keep his feet steady as he walked back into the crowd. He pushed through until he reached the edge and clear streets opened up before him.

He ran.