Loremaster of the Amaranthine lands

“I told you that taking those weird coins was a bad idea. Now look at us!”

“Stop whining Nate,” another voice interrupted. “We have to get out of this stinking place as soon as possible.”

Hearing those voices, the young man immediately shoved his glowing amulet inside his clothes and hid at the side of the tunnel, well out of the arriving pair’s sight. Soon, greenish-skinned creatures with human-like features walked out of the shadows. They wore dirty rags and had inch-long shaggy hair.

“What’s that smell?” one of them asked. “It reminds me of, urgh...”

Before the creature could finish its thoughts, an old blade slit its throat. The other one turned towards the strange noise, trying to defend itself from the sudden attack, but got struck in the head with the staff’s heavier end. It fell on the ground, looking up to see a fast-coming blade that lodged itself into its neck. Once the blade got yanked sideways and back out, murky dark blood gushed forth. The creature could only see an emotionless face staring at it while trying in vain to staunch the bleeding. After a short death throe, the green-skinned humanoids stopped twitching and released a pitch-black fog that covered them entirely. When it dissipated, the corpses were gone as well, only leaving behind a faint trail of green mist that floated towards the youth’s tattoo.

“You sure are bloodthirsty,” an aged voice startled him. “You’ve killed two strangers without any hesitation.”

The owner of the voice was an old man that appeared at the stairs, looking at him with squinted eyes as he took one step after the other.

“They weren’t strangers,” the young man answered. “They wanted me dead before and I wouldn’t give them another chance.”

“Oh, so you’re a boy, eh? You could have fooled me with that figure.”

“What do you want, old man?” He asked, clenching his fist.

“The better question is; what do you want from old Bray here?”

“I want nothing from you.” He said as he headed towards the stairs.

“You’re not the talkative kind, are you? Or the trusting one.”

“Not on the first meeting in a sewer.”

“Well, you should at least learn to ask when you have the chance. You don’t even know where you are, outlander.”

“You know what I am?”

“People don’t just disappear in smoke once they die, lad. Not the ones born here at least. And if you were familiar with those two, then you must be one of their ilk. Even an old man like me understands that much. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m trying to get out of here. Anywhere is better than this dark hole.”

“Are you sure about that?” Bray sat down on the stairs. “In that case; welcome to the dying port city of Hunor, the wet edge of our faded kingdom in this corner of the Amaranthine lands.”

“Amaranthine lands? Really?” The azure-haired youth’s eyebrows twitched.

“We had a proper name for our world once, but that was before the fall of the gods. A few aeons of decay were enough to erase it.”

“That’s quite a cliché so far.”

“I don’t know where that cliché place is, but we just call this world Amaranthine lands because of the Amaranth shards that fill it. Then again, you would need to have Shardwaker’s mark to be able to use those.”

“Are you talking about this thing?” He asked while raising his left hand.

“I guess you outlanders do get one upon arrival,” the old man scoffed. “For us ordinary folk without the coin, we have to find a corpse or a weak opponent to take away from. Still, it’s quite useful to have around, especially if you can get your hands on a legacy. You’d be surprised at the things you could find lying around this dying land. Of course, if I were you, I’d try to get my hands on a basic skill crystal first. You won’t get far without the proper abilities and learning them on your own takes too much time. You could also try to see if you have a head for magic. Then again; that rune-carved crystal you’re wearing seems to come from a spell weaver. Not going to ask how you’ve got it, even if their numbers are scarce around town. As for their guild; you can forget about them unless you have something good to trade.”

“Am I supposed to understand what you’re talking about?”

“No,” the old man shook his head “Not yet. That’s why I’m telling you about it and you might as well listen, if you want to survive in the long term. For now, it’s enough for you to know that our world is filled with magic and the like. The problem is that normally, that magic is untouchable unless there’s a Landwaker tree nearby.”

“And you’re telling me this out of the goodness of your heart?” He looked at him warily while cleaning the rusty dagger.

“Of course not,” Bray laughed. “I’m trading common knowledge for the safety gained from the rats you’ve killed.”

“How do you…”

“Those claw marks are hard to miss, lad. With those critters gone, the sewers should have become a bit safer to live in.”

“Sure. Suit yourself, gramps. I won’t fight with you over this place.”

“Alight, lad. Do you have a name by the way? It’s weird to always call you lad."

“My name is Regis.”

“Regis? That’s a strange name.”

“It means ruler, kingly person, or something like that."

“That doesn’t sound like you. Anyway; where was I?"

“You were rambling about the Landwaker."

“I wasn’t rambling,” Bray huffed. “Those trees are important. They are the soul of any kingdom and their source of power. Once its seed is planted and grown, its leaves will breathe in the mystical power of the world and its roots will feed it to the ground surrounding it. Depending on the grade of the tree, more and more power will awaken on the land. With enough magic around, the people will flourish and villages can rise to greatness. The whole reason why there are so many refugees is the last war that was fought over the high-grade Landwaker trees in the middle areas of the continent. It turned the kingdom of Ecragurne into a corpse-filled death land.”

“What about this place? Is it safe?”

“Safe?” Bray scoffed once more as he lowered his gaze, breathing deeply. “Nowhere is safe; especially not in a port city full of exhausted and desperate refugees. Once the war turned for the worse, everyone rushed here to curry favour with the noble lord in control of the city, hoping to get a seat on the ships leaving the kingdom. We tried to get away from Ecragurne, away from the blight of the battlefields, but this land won’t let us go. I got here with the first wave of refugees a good week ago and we were greeted by a ruined city filled with the undead with no ships in the harbour. Almost a third of our people died in a single night before the first area got occupied by the soldiers. Now Hunor has been fully cleared of the fallen, but outside the city walls, monsters are getting more numerous and the local guards won’t be able to hold out for much longer. That’s why you need to get some skills for yourself.”

“Only useful people get to survive.” Regis mumbled.

“That’s right, lad. If you can get useful enough, you might just get out of here alive.”

“Well. Thanks for the lovely if overbearing info dump, but it’s high time I get out of here.” He tried to end their talk, but he reeled back as for the first time since his arrival, golden letters burned through the air in front of his eyes for a few moments.

{You have learned about the desperate circumstances of Hunor. You have 3 days, counting from tomorrow morning, to get either strong enough to fight your way out of the city or get trapped by the next wave of monsters heading your way. Success will open up a path to the inner parts of the war-torn continent for you. Failure will trap you in Hunor until the next wave is finished off.}

{You have learned some of the history and workings of the Amaranthine lands, gaining the ‘Lore’ skill.}

“What the heck?” The youth asked taken back by the turn of events.

“Let me guess,” the elderly man said. “You’ve just received the Heart’s warning to get out of here in 3 days.”

“Yes. How did you...”

“Don’t be surprised.” Bray raised his hand with a familiar tattoo glowing on it. “All shardwakers are connected to the Heart, receiving the same warning. Although we all have our paths to tread, we still have some common goals.”

“The Heart? Is that the thing responsible for the weird floating message?”

“Yes,” Bray agreed. “We only call it that because no one knows what it truly is. All we know is that it’s been here since the fall of the old gods, watching over the world and the shardwakers. It informs us or advises us based on our circumstances and rewards us with good fortune or hands out punishment in the form of bad luck when needed. It sometimes feels like it took on the role of fate’s hand, guiding us forward.”

“That's a disturbing thought.”

“Disturbing? Why?” Bray asked confused.

“Back in my world, I could at least pretend to have control over my life. Now I have some kind of divine GPS tracking me, telling me what I should do.”

“Like it or not, that’s how it works. Now stop moping around and get moving! You won’t get any skill crystals standing here, and your equipment is atrocious as well.”

“You sure care a lot for a stranger.” Regis let out a lukewarm chuckle.

“To be honest,” The man sighed. “I'm old, lad. I mean, really old. There’s no way for me to get out of Hunor and even if I did, I wouldn’t survive against the monsters that might lurk inland. You on the other hand are still just a kid. Dark elves live much longer than us humans, so you have a lot more to look forward to.”

“Elf?” Regis took a step back, almost tripping on his own feet. “I’m an elf? How the hell did that happen?”

“You didn’t know?”

“How would I know? I don’t even know what I look like, besides being grey and dirty from all the dust.”

“That's not dust, lad. Your dark grey skin and deep azure hair with purple eyes would mark you as a dark elf, but those amber edges of your eyes mean that you have the blood of some surface race in you. Not to mention that wide jaw of yours. No elf would have that. Why don’t you ask that mark of yours? It should be able to tell you your ancestry.”

“My mark,” the youth mumbled. “Soul-space. That’s a thing here, right?”

“Oh,” Bray raised his eyebrows. “You seem to know about it already. Go ahead then. I’ve no interest in harming you and with me here, you don’t have to be afraid of others sneaking up on you.”

“Fine.” Regis agreed after eyeing the old man suspiciously.

Despite having a sharp enough instinct when it came to people, Bray might as well have been a potted plant from what Regis could tell. The old man gave out no sense of danger or ill intent. Or any other sense for that matter. In the end, the young man sat down beside the stairs in a lotus position. After closing his eyes, Regis began what would have been called meditation by most people while following a pre-determined breathing pattern. Soon, he began to feel warm currents spread through his body, meaning that he was actively replenishing his mystical reserves. Now was the time to try and reach out to his alleged soul-space.