An Unwavering Craftsman

The following week passed far too slowly for Damien, as time tends to when there's an event to look forward to in the future but nothing more to do to prepare for it. He'd even started to wish that he'd put more time and care into the various application forms still lying on his desk, just so that he had something to occupy himself with. Nevertheless, time still passed, and eventually he woke up on the morning of the seventh of August, in the five-hundredth-and-third year since the defeat of the Other.

Well, morning was theoretically accurate. It was actually three AM, but Damien didn't even entertain the idea of getting any more sleep. Brains could be traitorous like that, and Damien was under no delusions of his ability to drop back into the land of dreams while as nervous and excited as he was. Instead, he lay imagining his future. If he got this class, he would do that.

After a few hours of plotting out unrealistic futures in exquisite detail, noises from elsewhere suggested the other residents of the house were up and about, so he threw on some clothes and headed downstairs for breakfast. Important as it was in shaping the entirety of his life, the ceremony of paths never stood much on, hah, ceremony, and no-one bothered dressing up for it. Well, no doubt poncy nobles did, but no real people would bother. Besides, the nobles had ceremonies of their own, on their children's actual birthdays, rather than the large, shared biannual event for commoners.

Missing out on two months of levelling was something else that caused Damien much annoyance, but he had no intention of letting that bubble up and spoil his day.

The ceremony itself didn't start until nine, leaving plenty of time for good natured banter around the breakfast table, the two parents arguing over which of them Damien would take after. They'd been doing that a lot the previous week, having refused to leave to take on any further missions, in case they were delayed and forced to miss this day.

"Perhaps I'll skip you both and take after Grace instead. The Five know that she's the only one around here who's taught me any common sense."

"Oh, you little traitor!" laughed Shigeo, but Damien hadn't missed the slight twitch of fear on his face as he imagined his son with a low tier, unusable class. The banter was, at least partially, a smokescreen. Beneath it, his parents were almost as nervous as he was. They both knew first-hand of the problems a tier seven or eight class would bring; problems that Damien was soon likely to be facing himself.

And so the family of three made their way to the town plaza, the day crystal-clear and the entire rim visible. It felt like the entire world was looking down onto Thale, in its position about two-thirds of the way down the bowl. While the closer islands were masked by the surrounding houses, some of the larger, more distant lands were clearly visible. The green fields and plantations of the Kingdom of Greenrim to the west. The shadowed ice of the Thief's Wastes to the north, where the loss of the source-light had resulted in the freezing of the formerly tropical island. Smaller and further away was the Kingdom of Ergland to the south-east, nestled between the pair of source-lights. Even the Isle of Mist wasn't completely veiled, the outline of the island visible through its namesake fog halfway down the eastern wall of the bowl.

In the plaza, a group of fresh adults were already starting to congregate inside the simple but oversized circle inscribed on the ground, not just from Thale but also the surrounding villages and smaller towns. Parents lined up at its edge, friends and other family hanging further back, along with most of Thale's population. The ceremony was always worth turning up to, even if someone didn't personally know any of the participants, given that there were always one or two surprises. Watching the child of a low tiered [Fisherman] be unexpectedly blessed with a tier five mage or combat class was always worth getting out of bed for.

Between the circle and the manor-house of the town mayor, a raised platform had been built. Normally, it would be occupied only by the mayor himself and the group of clergy conducting the ceremony, along with a servant or two of the Earl who owned this land. Today it was substantially busier, and Damien was under no delusions as to why. He did his best to ignore the eyes that were on him, but the sheer intensity of their gazes made it hard. One of the people up there was dressed in noble attire, even, the colourful outfit bulging at the seams as the obese sack of meat inside threatened to leak out. Someone had sent an actual member of their family, rather than a servant. Probably trying to make a statement that they were serious before any negotiations even started. Another immaculately dressed servant wore the king's insignia on his jacket, a statement that even the royal palace was watching.

Sometimes, Damien really hated having famous parents.

One of the priests invoked a feat, probably something like [Public Speaker], and the volume of the crowd dropped. It wasn't that people had stopped talking, but that voices ceased to carry. Or at least, the voices of the spectators. When the mayor stepped up to speak, the opposite applied, his voice carrying effortlessly across the entire plaza. Not [Public Speaker] then, or he wouldn't be able to apply the effect to a third party.

"Greetings, new adults of the Gretton earldom. Today, you enter a new stage of your lives. This will be the first of only two occasions in which you will stand in the presence of the Five. Accept the gifts they offer you with gratitude, whether you follow in the footsteps of your parents, or are granted a new path on which to forge ahead. As a reminder, anyone with a class of tier five or above will be required to submit to an appraisal and register themselves. If that applies to you, do not leave the circle. I'm sure no-one in this fine town would be bestowed with a criminal class, but again, should that apply to you, remain within the circle. And be warned that the circle will prevent you from leaving. All others may leave as soon as you have received your class."

The mayor stepped back, replaced by a group of priests and priestesses, one representing each of the Five. Raising their hands in supplication, they invoked their prayers. The circle started to glow, and the sky faded from green to black. With it went the others, first those within the circle, then the spectators, and then the town. Damien stood alone in the glowing circle, now suspended in empty, black space, as all faded to silence. The stage was still visible before him, but where it was previously crowded, now only the clergy stood. As one, they turned to look at him, and they were more.

"I KNOW YOU NOT," intoned the priestess wearing the robes of Gaia the Mother. "YOU SHALL RECEIVE NO CLASS FROM ME."

"YOU STRIVE FOR KNOWLEDGE, YET YOU REJECT MY HAND," followed the priest of Illumis the Learned.

"EVEN IN YOUR DREAMS, YOU DENY US," spoke the priestess of Murill the Dreamer.

"YOUR MIND IS CLOUDED BY DOUBT AND FAITHLESSNESS," judged Kakkerxat the Mighty, through his muscle-bound priest. "NO WARRIOR OF MINE ARE YOU."

Damien reeled at the voices of the Five. It was true that he questioned them, questioned the fairness of the world, but was that not normal? Did everyone else accept the way things were without question? But even if he questioned their actions, it wasn't as if he sought to spread discontent or overthrow them. And no-one ever came out of the class-giving ceremony without a class. One of them had to give one.

He turned expectantly to the priest of Grungle the Maker, the crossed hammer and needle displayed prominently on his robe, and awaited the words of the god.

They never came. Instead, he felt the chill of ice run down his back, the pitch darkness somehow seeming to grow even darker. Even the clergy of the Five started to fade, but he knew he wasn't alone. Something was behind him, and every instinct he possessed screamed at him that he really didn't want to know what it was. Not to look. Not to listen. To shrink and hide, and pray that the existence behind him wouldn't notice his presence in this place.

Pray. Hah. Here the Five were, judging him for his faithlessness, and yet he was praying for their protection.

One of the priests began to glow in the darkness. The vessel through which Grungle the Maker spoke. "EVEN THE PRAYERS OF THE FAITHLESS MAY BE ANSWERED. YOU DESIRE TO EXCEL WITH THE STRENGTH OF YOUR OWN HANDS. I SHALL GRANT YOU THAT CHANCE."

"H̵̰́ë̴̪ ̶̩͝w̵̘̉o̷͓͂u̴̘͝l̵̨̀d̸̘̋ ̸̲͒s̶̰͑t̵̙͋i̷̳͠f̴̼̈́l̷̞͒ȩ̷̛ ̴̧̚y̷͓̆o̶͍͐u̷̟̾.̶̥̇ ̵̫̒C̶̨͑r̴͎̃ḯ̵̧p̵͙͆p̶̭̔l̶̝̓e̷̦̔ ̴͖̇ẏ̴̼o̷̺͛ǘ̶̞.̶͙̆ ̵̬̕D̴̠̈́é̷̘b̶̰̔i̶͇̽l̸̛̯i̵̞͛t̵̻̔ḁ̷͝t̴̖̆e̷̖̿ ̷̹̈́y̶͈͂o̶̖̒u̷͍̔.̶̲̊ ̷̡̐Ȉ̷͔g̸̮̽n̵̼̾o̴̹͐ŕ̴̭ě̴̜ ̷͙́t̷͙̓h̶͈́e̵̹͐ ̵̟͑t̵̠͝r̶̼̂a̸̞͋i̷͋͜t̵͍͑ọ̶̒ŗ̸͊s̴̹͗.̸̙̆ ̵̺̔T̵͉̈́h̸͓̓ẹ̶͌ ̷̪̏b̶̖͘ẻ̴̲ṫ̶̼ṟ̷̇a̵͍̓y̸̲͗ë̸̝́r̶͈̎s̵̨̄.̸̬̓ ̸̫̔Ṱ̸̓h̵̰́e̴̘̓ ̸̰̚t̸͖̚ḫ̵͝i̷͈̓e̴̻̋v̵̧̍e̵͉͑s̸̰͆.̴͇̚ ̴̠̀T̵̟̒u̶͈̅r̷͔͋ṉ̸͝ ̷͚̐a̴̜͛ṙ̸͔o̶͗ͅu̴̗͋n̸̘̂ḏ̶̈ ̶̳͂a̷̞̅n̷̝͆d̶͖̒ ̷͆͜ĺ̵̼o̴̯̅ô̵̠k̸̻̂ ̵̦̚ä̶̠́t̷̰̀ ̸̳́m̷̫̑e̵͚̓.̶̮͌ ̵͎͛S̴̢̿ĕ̶̼e̷͔͑ ̸̹̊m̵̨̓e̷̡͝.̵̘̆ ̴͉͒H̴̫̍ē̴͙a̷̧͂r̶̍͜ ̷̥͌m̷̧̊e̸̠̒.̴̦͑ ̴͕́I̶͋ͅ ̵̭̎w̸̜̅i̸̡̅l̵͜͠l̸̈́ͅ ̶̡̎ḡ̵̹r̸̤͝a̴̹͝n̶̝͋ț̴͘ ̷̧̋ŷ̷̟o̵̝͆ư̵̡ ̴̻͠m̵̭̌y̴̹͑ ̶̞̑p̸̗̔o̴͍͌w̷̨̓ȇ̶̺r̷̜̎,̷̦͑ ̶̖̇a̷͜͝n̴̪̄d̶͙͆ ̶̫͆t̴̩̉h̸̽ͅe̵̖̎ ̸̹̍w̷̹͠h̷͕͌o̵̞̊l̵̝̕ë̴͖ ̸̟̇w̵̩͆ỏ̵͜r̶̗̈l̷̫̿d̶̦̐ ̶̹̆s̷̹̅h̴̹͛a̴̱͛l̵͓͘ḻ̶̇ ̸͔͊k̶͝ͅn̴̥̽ö̶̪w̴̭̋ ̵͉͊y̵̖̽ò̶̼ú̵̜.̵̺̌ ̸̦̏B̶̯̓ȏ̶͓w̶̙̓ ̷̲̎t̸̲̒o̸̥̔ ̶̤̕y̶̙͗o̸͉͊ṷ̶̆.̸̻̈́ ̶̘͒F̷̝̊e̵̻̅ä̶͙́r̵̼͝ ̷̻̽y̵̢̌o̴̦͆u̴̦̒.̸͓̊"

Damien's breath froze in his throat, sweat beading on his forehead as his body shivered. He fought against an intense urge to turn around. As little as he thought of the Five, he'd trust them any day over whatever that voice belonged to.

"T̴̝̦̈́͒̕U̴͙̽R̶̡̯͋N̷̹̠̒͝"

"No!" screamed Damien, stumbling forward towards the priest of Grungle, but crashing into an invisible obstacle in front of him.

"Oi! Watch it!" exclaimed someone, and the world was bright again. The skies were green, and he was in the middle of the crowded ritual circle. None of the clergy were glowing, or even looking at him. There was excited chatter all around, and people were already starting to leave the ritual circle. A few shocked looking individuals were making their way towards the stage, presumably to register tier five classes.

Taking a moment to collect himself, cognisant of the number of eyes still on him that had witnessed his little display, Damien brought up his status, taking advantage of the feature of the ritual circle that granted full self-appraisal for the duration of the ceremony. Once it was over, he'd require the aid of a priest of Murill to interact with his status again.

Name: Damien

Species: Human

Age: 17

Class: Neophyte Tailor (Tier 1) (Level 1)

Skills: Tailoring (Level 1)

Perks: None

Feats: None

The moment his eyes reached his class, Damien completely blanked, even the memories of that alien voice wiped from his mind by the shock. Tier one? The child of tier seven and eight parents was tier one? He knew more than enough to be aware that the 'neophyte' in the name was a misnomer. You couldn't change your class. He'd go his entire life with only a single skill, only able to take two feats even if he reached the level cap. Which he wouldn't, because how in the hells was he supposed to level when he couldn't even get his first feat until level fifty?

No. The Five might be complete dicks, but why would they lie? Grungle the Maker had promised him a chance. That meant there was a chance. There was a way to succeed. All he needed to do was find it. Forget the disadvantages of low tier classes. What advantages did they have?

Lower experience requirements for levelling, for a start. Advancement costs for skills were multiplied by the square root of the class tier, so it would cost him less than half the experience to level compared to his parents. That hardly offset the single skill slot and lack of feats, but it was something, and at least the single skill meant that he only had to work on one thing to level up his class. Particularly since the basic [Tailoring] skill was eminently grindable; all it needed was resources and time. Normally, the resources would be a problem, but with his parents to fall back on, they'd be effectively unlimited.

Second was how generic low tier classes were. A high tier tailoring class might only be able to manufacture dresses, or only work with specific fabrics, or require all sewing to be performed while hanging upside-down over a snake pit. Admittedly, Damien had never heard of any examples of that last one, but given the behaviour of the Five, it wouldn't surprise him if such a class was around somewhere. His [Tailoring] skill would let him make anything out of anything, as long as needle and thread were involved somewhere.

The effect would extend to perks, too. While his dad could take a perk that granted a forty percent boost to strength, the same perk would boost Damien's dexterity, speed and endurance too. Of course, his version of the perk would only grant a five percent boost, so that was only a small comfort.

That thought brought Damien some pause. If his dad wanted to boost all his physical abilities, he would need four perks, which would boost them all by forty percent each. If Damien wanted to, he could take the same perk four times. But perks were multiplicative, not additive. If he took it four times, he would get... twenty one and a half percent? Something like that. He would need some paper to work it out properly, but the point was that it was more than twenty. Still a long way off forty, of course, but the effect would only build up over time. He'd need to do some maths later. There was the whiff of a possibility there, if he could find it.

For now, he just wanted to get back home. He had neither a tier five class nor an illegal one, which meant he could ignore the waiting figures on the stage. He turned his back on them and made his way back to his parents.

The reaction was, of course, immediate. Not only did half the contents of the stage start moving like some sort of migratory herd, but even a few town guards moved to intercept.

"I know you don't want to deal with that lot, but the barrier won't let you..."

The words of the guard were cut off by Damien effortlessly stepping through the barrier.

"My class is neither illegal nor tier five, so I don't believe I'm under any obligation to deal with anyone," he stated flatly. "Come on. Let's go home."

"Not over tier five?" exclaimed his dad in shock. "You're only tier four? Or... Oh, please don't tell me the Five took your joke to Grace seriously..."

"I'll tell you when we get back. For now, let's just get out of here."

The guards stood dumbfounded, but as Damien had stated, they had no reason to stop him.

"Stop him!" yelled a voice, even the simple shouted pair of words managing to contain a significant amount of pomp.

The voice belonged to Roderick Gretton, second son of Earl Gretton, who had been sent to secure the services of Damien for the Earl's household. Unfortunately, that did give him the authority to order the guards around, at least to that extent, and so they suddenly found themselves with a reason to act.

Damien cursed under his breath, having assumed the obese noble wouldn't have moved so quickly, but of course, he no doubt had a high tier class of his own. Life was unfair. Perhaps he should have listened to the thing that had invaded his class-giving ceremony.

He remembered the feeling like ice at his back and the soul-sucking wrongness of its voice, and quickly dismissed that thought. Even had he come out of the ceremony classless, it would still have been better than accepting whatever 'gift' that had to offer.

"And what can I do for you, sir?" asked Damien, voice caked with fake politeness.

"You can report for appraisal and registration, for a start."

"I apologise if our mayor did not speak clearly, but that is only for those with classes that are either illegal or tier five or above. Mine is neither, so I have no need to register."

"You expect me to believe that you, the child of an [Adamant Guardian] and [Alacritous Blade], are below tier five?"

Keeping the anger out of his voice at the way the arrogant noble didn't even use their names, as if their classes were all that mattered, Damien continued with his sarcasm. "Again, I apologise if the clergy sent to perform the ceremony have done something to suggest to you a level of incompetence that could leave the barrier non-functional, but that's something you would be better off discussing with them in person."

"Keep your tongue in check, you brat. We all saw your reaction to the ceremony, and that was not the reaction of someone with some boring tier four class. Doubtless you're using some enchanted item provided by your parents to escape scrutiny. Now, I demand you report for appraisal!"

Damien smiled at his victory as silence spread out from the second son in a ripple. Even the guards took a few steps away from him.

"You demand?" intoned the [Adamant Guardian], as the high tiered but low levelled young noble broke out in sweat at the sudden pressure pressing down on him. He did manage to remain standing, though, which secretly impressed Damien even if he would never admit it. "I see the apple has not fallen far from the tree. I think I need to teach you the same lesson I once taught your father."

"That would not be appropriate," came another voice, perfectly enunciated and clipped. The representative of the royal palace. "A serious allegation has been made here. Interfering with a class-giving ceremony is a grievous offence. Of course, it is easy enough to disprove, and should the claim be unsubstantiated, there are more befitting measures that can be taken than a beating from a commoner."

Damien cursed again. After the current Earl Gretton had attempted to forcibly take his mother as a concubine, back when he was still only the first son and heir, Shigeo had beaten some sense into him. It had worked, too, and obviously even this new brat feared him. Nor would a mere noble's servant interfere. This newcomer was no mere noble's servant, alas. Damien couldn't see a way out other than submitting to an appraisal.

Not that an appraisal would do anything other than confirm he didn't have a high tier class. It was more the thought that he was letting these people win. Unwilling to give in immediately, he pondered how to mess with them further first.

"So, you think I've got a high tier class, and am deliberately avoiding registration? What for? I wouldn't be able to join the adventurer's guild alongside my parents, or join any institute of higher education. Any place like that would require an appraisal of their own, and they'd spot that I was unregistered instantly."

"I see no basis for such an accusation," replied the royal representative, not rising to the bait. "But nevertheless, the accusation has been made by a noble, and must be investigated."

"And you?" Damien asked the noble in question.

"The thought that a child of those two isn't at least tier five is ridiculous."

Another victory. The foolish noble had phrased his answer in exactly the wrong way. "You dare to accuse my mother of infidelity?" Damien asked with a smirk.

Shigeo's barely restrained aura expanded once more, and this time Roderick Gretton did fall to his knees, his face pale.

"I... Of course not!"

"But you said a child of those two can't be less than rank five, yet I'm less than rank five, therefore I can't be a child of those two."

"What? I never said anything like that."

"That's what it sounded like to me. Did I mishear?" asked Damien of his mother, trusting her to be more restrained than his father.

"Yes, that's exactly what I heard," she confirmed, still wearing her usual unflappable smile.

"Enough," said the royal representative quietly, and Shigeo once again backed down. As little respect as he had for nobility, he did respect the palace. There were tier eights who didn't, but as a general rule, they weren't living free lives in peaceful seaside towns.

"Okay, I've played enough," laughed Damien. "Let's go get me appraised, and show the world my new and shiny tier one class."

Shigeo's aura dissipated entirely as he stared at his son in shocked disbelief. "Your what?"