Luke leaned against the side of a less crowded stall, trying to catch his breath, his mind still reeling from the encounter. “I… I don’t know, exactly. He started talking about Fate, and Paths, and Reapers… then all my stuff just vanished.” He omitted the part about the quest and the permanent death penalty; it felt too raw, too terrifying to voice aloud just yet.
Lestor stared at him, bewildered. “Fate? Like, the Fate? From the old myths? Speaking through Orsul? That’s… that’s insane, Luke.”
“Tell me about it,” Luke muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair. He felt marked, singled out, burdened by a destiny he hadn’t asked for and didn’t understand. And broke, thanks to Fate’s ‘sacrifice’. He needed to assess what, if anything, had changed.
“Give me a second,” Luke said, closing his eyes and focusing inward, trying to access the character status screen that had been a constant, if sometimes annoying, presence since he arrived. The familiar mental command brought forth… nothing. No flickering interface, no neat lists of stats and skills. Just the residual thrum of his own heightened senses and the chaotic noise of the market pressing in. Panic fluttered in his chest again. Had Fate taken that too?
He tried again, focusing harder, picturing the layout. A faint shimmer resolved behind his eyelids, different from before. Not the clean, corporate looking interface of the Initiative’s System, but something more organic, fluid, lines of faint purple energy weaving into symbols he instinctively understood.
~ Character Status: Luke Renoka ~
~ Level: 8 ~
~ Class: Death Merchant (Provisional) ~
Note:
~Spells
can be learned from outside your class via Tomes, Skillbooks, grimoires and through other special circumstances.
~All spells learned outside the Death Mercant class have a reduced 75% effectiveness.~
~ Provisional Status: Must complete quest “The Reaper of Souls”. Permanent Death Penalty Active. ~
~ Attributes: ~
~ Vitality: 2 -> 2 (Base) ~
~ Strength: 2 -> 2 (Base) ~
~ Dexterity: 2 -> 2 (Base) ~
~ Intelligence: 4 -> 4 (Base) ~
~ Wit: 3 -> 3 (Base) ~
~ Charisma: 3 -> 3 (Base) ~
~ Attribute Points Available: 10 ~
~ Skills: ~
~ Class Skills (Death Merchant - Branch Two: Confusion/Deception): ~
~ - Truth Seeker (Rank 1): Probe target’s mind for information. May receive false details based on target Wit/Willpower vs Caster Wit. Cost: 20 Mana. Cooldown: 10s. ~
~ - Synaptic (Rank 1: Briefly cloud target’s thoughts, slowing reaction time and movement speed. Effect/Duration scales with Wit vs target Wit/Willpower. Cost: 30 Mana. Cooldown: 20s. ~
~ - Distortion (Rank 1): Temporarily induce blurred or warped vision in target. Effect/Duration scales with Wit vs target Wit/Willpower. Cost: 25 Mana. Cooldown: 15s. ~
~ General Skills: ~
~ - Pack Mule (Rank 2): Active. Triples carrying capacity. Concentration required. Weapons cannot be wielded. Duration/Concentration improves with rank. Cost: Sustained Stamina Drain. ~
~ - Basic Evasion (Rank 3): Passive. Minor increase to reaction time and dodge speed under duress. Stamina cost reduced slightly per rank. ~
~ - Basic Knife Proficiency (Rank 3: Passive. Increases effectiveness with dagger class weapons (Attack Speed, Accuracy). Unlocks basic combat maneuvers (requires practice). ~
~ Skill Points Available: 0 ~
~ Special: ~
~ - Mark of Fate (Provisional): Token of Fate’s interest. Potential dormant. ~
~ Inventory: ~
~ Equipped: Worn Leather Armor (Chest), Steel Daggers (Pair, Common), Basic Boots, Flimsy Helmet. ~
~ Carried: Empty Sack, Waterskin (Half Full), Rations (Gifted). ~
~ Currency: 0 Copper, 0 Silver, 0 Gold. ~
Luke let out a slow breath. Okay. The interface was different, less game like, more integrated into his perception, but the information was there. His level ups and point allocations had stuck. And the skills… Truth Seeker, Synaptic, Distortion. They weren’t combat spells, not directly. They were subtle, manipulative, focused on influencing the mind and senses. Confusion and Deception. It fit the cryptic nature of Fate, perhaps. He had no idea how effective they’d be, especially at Rank 1, but they were tools. New tools. It would be really nice to have some fire power though. He thought back to the battlefield at the mages wielding arcane abilities, massive fireballs, lightning. He blinked slowly rereading his status. “All spells outside his class learned had a reduced 75% effectiveness?”
“Find anything useful in that head of yours?” Lestor asked, breaking the silence. He looked concerned now, the earlier shock replaced by worry.
Luke opened his eyes, meeting his friend’s gaze. “Yeah,” he said, a small, grim smile touching his lips. “Maybe. Got my Class, sort of. Provisional. And some… interesting skills.”
“I have a note on my class that says I can learn spells outside my class but at a 75% reduced effectiveness.”
“You have a what?” Lestor said stopping mid stride. “Luke that is pretty much unheard of. Learning spells outside your class is next to impossible. There are rare quests and other hidden things but it is NOT the norm. Even at a reduced effectiveness, whatever in Jeffersons name that is, that is incredible!”
Luke dropped the complaint on the tip of his tongue about the 75% reduced effectiveness with how animated Lestor was about it. Personally he still felt a little miffed. Could he still shoot off fireballs?
Out loud he said “Yeah I just have to find skill books, tomes, grimoires, or something.”
“Oh. Well that makes me feel a bit better.” Lestor said
“Huh? Whys that?”
“Outside of some very common spells and skills, finding skill books and the like are ridiculously hard. Since you can only learn from ones you are compatible with skill books found are usually tossed. They aren’t rare its just that since finding ones that are usable is like a needle in a haystack vendors don’t typically stock them, collect them and they usually end up basically anywhere.”
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Luke filed that away for now. If he found some skillbooks great. But for now he had other priorities. He decided not to mention the permanent death or the vanished loot just yet. No point worrying Lestor further. “Welp, if I I find a skillbook of some sort I find one. I think the priority is gear though. Especially weapons.”
Lestor nodded, “Ain’t that the truth! Them standard issue Imperium daggers don’t look like they have been sharpened since they day they came out of the forge. Lets hed to camp and then I’ll show you the market.”
Luke mentally reviewed his stats. Wit was decent, Intelligence okay, Dexterity his highest thanks to the points dump. These new skills seemed reliant on Wit versus a target’s resistance. He’d need to be smart about using them. Maybe test them out subtly?
He pushed the thought aside. Camp, then gear. He needed armor that wouldn’t shred at the first hit, and blades that could actually bite through enemy defenses.
They made their way through the bustling market, the weight of Orsul’s – no, Fate’s – words settling heavily upon him. The sights and sounds of the bazaar felt distant now, a muted backdrop to the storm raging in his mind. His empty sack hung limply at his side, a stark reminder of the tangible loot he had just sacrificed, and the intangible, terrifying potential he had hopefully gained in return.
The quest prompt still lingered at the edge of his vision, its stark simplicity almost mocking in its understatement. Permanent Class: Death Merchant. Failure: Death. He’d already accepted, felt compelled to accept, but the finality of that choice gnawed at him. It wasn’t just the inherent danger of seeking out some ancient trial at the Cliffs of Drono, or the cryptic warnings Fate had delivered through Orsul. It was the weight of it all. Marked by Fate. Why him? What made him special? Or perhaps, what made him expendable enough for such a gamble?
Lestor gestured to the market as they walked. “You’ll need supplies out here. Market’s brutal if you dunno the ropes.”
Luke nodded numbly, his thoughts elsewhere. He’d made the deal, accepted the quest. Now came the hard part: finding these cliffs and surviving whatever trial awaited him there.
Later that evening, as twilight painted the sky in hues of orange and bruised purple, Luke sat near the edge of the sprawling military camp, staring out at the distant horizon where the Cliffs of Drono supposedly lay. The sun had dipped below jagged, unseen peaks, casting long shadows that swallowed the landscape. The air was cooler here, quieter than the market hubbub, but Luke’s mind refused to rest.
The idea of facing a dungeon – because that’s what the ‘Cliffs of Drono’ sounded like – so soon was daunting. He barely understood the basic mechanics of this world, how combat really worked beyond frantic survival, how to balance risk and reward when failure meant oblivion. And yet, here he was, committed to throwing himself into one of the most dangerous challenges imaginable.
Why? The answer was simple, brutal. For Jason. For Irara. For the chance, however slim, to earn their passage, to pull them into this strange, violent world that was, at least, alive.
But there was something else driving him too, now. A small, stubborn spark of defiance deep inside that refused to simply accept being Fate’s pawn without seeing what power this path offered. He’d been given an opportunity, a rare one according to the entity speaking through Orsul, and he wasn’t going to let fear cripple him before he even started.
Luke opened his inventory interface mentally, scrolling through the mostly empty slots. His eyes lingered on the lone item residing there now, besides his basic gear: a small, faintly pulsing shard of what looked like solidified shadow, labeled Mark of Fate (Provisional). Its description remained cryptic, unhelpful: “A token of Fate’s interest. Its true nature is bound to the Path chosen. Potential currently dormant.” He didn’t fully understand what it meant, what potential it held, but he knew, instinctively, it was important. And it was his. For better or worse, he’d accepted it.
A sudden notification flashed across his vision, stark against the dimming light:
*~ Quest Timer Activated: The Reaper of Souls ~*
Travel to the Cliffs of Drono and begin the Trial of Echoes.
Time Remaining: 47 Hours, 58 Minutes, 12 Seconds.
Luke stood abruptly, brushing dust and dried mud from his worn leather armor. The countdown had begun. No time left for second guessing, for doubt. He turned toward the darkening northeast horizon, his jaw tightening as determination firmed within him, pushing aside the lingering fear.
He found Lestor sharing rations with a few other soldiers around a small campfire, the mood subdued now that the adrenaline of battle and bartering had faded.
“You look like you’re gearin’ up for somethin’ nasty,” Lestor observed, looking up as Luke approached.
“Got a quest,” Luke confirmed, keeping his tone level. “Need to head out.”
Lestor raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry, a sign of respect Luke appreciated. Instead, he rummaged in his own pack and tossed a small satchel onto Luke’s lap. “Figured you might need this. Didn’t see ya buyin’ rations.”
Luke opened it. Dried meat, a few pieces of hardtack biscuit, a small flask likely filled with water. Basic, but essential. “Thanks, Lestor.”
“Don’t mention it,” the younger man said with a shrug, though his eyes held a flicker of concern. “Got that look about ya. The one that says you’re about to do somethin’ either really brave or really stupid.”
Luke managed a small, wry smile. “Probably both.”
“Fair enough,” Lestor conceded. “Just remember what I said before – don’t hafta take on the world all at once. Survive today, fight tomorrow.”
The simple words landed with unexpected weight. Luke nodded, tucking the satchel into his own worn pack. “I’ll try.”
“See that ya do,” Lestor replied, turning back to his companions. “If ya make it back, first drink’s on me. If not... well, try not to die permanently, eh?”
Luke lingered by the fire for a few moments longer, staring into the dancing flames, the crackle and pop a comforting sound against the vast quiet of the approaching night. He thought about Jason again, about the life he’d left behind on a dying Earth, and the violent, uncertain one he was trying to carve out here. The pieces didn’t fit neatly, the path forward shrouded in shadows and cryptic quests. But maybe this trial, this ‘Reaper’s Path,’ was the first step in making some kind of sense of it all, in finding the strength he so desperately needed.
The quest timer ticked down silently in the corner of his vision. 47:48:02.
He stood, shouldering his pack, tightening the straps. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that seemed to momentarily carve away his youth, leaving something harder, more determined in their wake. For better or worse, he had made his choice. Now, all that remained was to see it through.
Luke turned toward the northeast, where the horizon was now fully swallowed by darkness. He needed to grab some gear quick and then to The Cliffs. The Cliffs of Drono awaited. And oblivion, if he failed.