Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

Several unwritten laws existed in Mystria, one of them being that you never talked about life before the discovery of the terna. It was like admitting that you were once an Ernite.

“I’m talking about the School of the Arts.”

“Well, well,” Mary sneered. “You remember school?”

All the Ternites, by the order of the king, had to go to the School of the Arts, where they were taught their skills and made to choose a profession, from that of an assassin to that of a paladin. The training didn’t last long as the students were taught only the basics, but many still found it too difficult. Of course, not everyone went to school. Some joined artisan or merchant guilds, some became traveling merchants, others entered the sovereign’s service, worked on farms, or simply lived in cities and traveled throughout the word like hermits. The latter was the rarest kind of Ternite, as fledglings didn’t know how to defend themselves even against a sick fox. Because of this, schools soon gained popularity.

The swordsman spat out the bun and waved his hand. “Let’s not... Look, another one.”

The group simultaneously turned toward the mage that had approached them. Their kind was easy to spot as they all had a staff and a robe. But figuring out which type of a mage one was, for example, a priest or a druid, was a bit trickier. For that, one needed to be familiar with their distinctive features. The man in front of them, for example, had nothing but the robe and the staff, as basic mages needed nothing other than those. Besides, in the note that they had hung on the bulletin board, it said that they were looking for a mage.

“Are you the Wandering Stumps?” he asked, coming closer.

Mary snorted and almost choked on her ale. The others desperately tried to hide their giggles by coughing and clearing their throats. Even the little Alice was smiling to herself.

“We are.” Mary nodded. As the leader of the group, it was her duty to deal with the new members. “And you are...?”

“Hvurd Thunderous,” the mage said and blushed in both anger and embarrassment when the giggling started again.

“How did you get that name?” Mary asked, poking fun.

“I... chose it myself,” Hvord replied.

The swordsman, pretending to have dropped a coin, crawled under the table to calm down and muffle his giggling, but ended up only laughing louder. Oh, the newborn Ternites who were in a hurry to choose a powerful sounding nickname for themselves. Little did they know that such a name held no power. The best names were given by people who spread rumors about you and your deeds. Only that these sorts of names were very harsh and unflattering.

“A schoolboy?”

“No, I’m a graduate. By the way, here’s my recommendation from a Mr. Fetch,” Hvord said and handed a rolled-up piece of parchment sealed with wax.

Mary handed the scroll to the swordsman, who was still laughing into his thick, black beard. “So, Mr. Hvurd, you’re saying that you can make it through the Fiery Mountains?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, miss...?”

“Birch,” Mary said. “Don’t ever ask me how I got that name... The last person who dared joke about it was turned to minced meat. Now,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “how many Words do you know?”

“Twelve.”

“That means no more than seven...” Mary, who was famous for single-handedly defeating a group of demons, chuckled to herself.

“And your specialization is...?” she asked despite it being obvious.

“Lightning.”

Mary nodded. Lightning was a powerful weapon in the hands of a skilled mage, and getting such a weapon is very tricky. This element was difficult to tame, and it more often than not resulted in the death of those who tried to acquire it.

“Then let’s do a couple of tests.”

“Like?”

Mary smiled. “Sorry, you failed.”

“How―?”

Mary glanced behind Hvord’s shoulder. The mage turned and saw the swordsman holding a fork to his neck. Hvord couldn’t believe his eyes. Just a moment ago, the man was sitting under the table and laughing at him!

“That’s the speed with which the toads in the swamps of Lurk move,” Mary continued in a mentoring tone. “A slow mage is a dead mage. I’m sorry, but you’re not what we’re looking for.”

Hvord turned red and spat.

“To hell with you then! Let me see you find a mage who’ll want to go with you who knows seven Words and can tame lightning!”

“Ah, you said you know twelve,” Mary smirked.

The group burst out laughing again. Pulling up his hood, as if he were a vampire count from the old ballads, Hvord turned on his heels and marched out, mumbling curses under his breath. Mary and the others continued laughing and even Alice joined in, causing the others to smile gently. They had always thought of her as their little sister.

Calming down, Mary shook her head. She ought to submit a complaint to the Magic Guild to let them know that Mr. Fetch should no longer issue any recommendations. The old mage seemed to have decided to earn some extra coin by selling documents that he had no right selling. She admired his business acumen but thought that he could’ve been more careful.

“Which one was he?” asked the swordsman, calming down.

“Sixteenth this month,” Mary said and reached for her mug.

“Sixteen...”

“And we can’t go without a mage?” the archer asked.

Mary shook her head. “Too dangerous. I talked with Moro, he looked through the scrolls... All in all, going there without a mage is suicidal... We might lose someone along the way.”

“Maybe we could take a couple of Ernites with us? You know, use ‘em as bait?” the swordsman asked and immediately rose his hands in a defensive manner. His proposal was equal to standing in the middle