Charley woke up on his face. Again.

In retrospect, it might not be his week.

As he came too, he realized he was in a real bed. Well. He cast around blurrily. It was a rough spun cotton mattress, stuffed with something. And there was a real honest to goodness sheet on top of him.

A SHEET. It wasn’t thick. It wasn’t soft.

“I love you so much, sheet.” He rubbed his face against it, scratchy as it was. “Don’t ever leave me again.” As he rose, he kept the sheet wrapped around himself.

The second floor of Yellow Wall was mostly empty on his side. There was a bed, two high benches for work, some odds and ends on the planks. A low circular table, with cushions instead of chairs in a distinctly Eastern style.

Charley teared up for a moment. He couldn’t help himself; he ran over and rubbed his face against the cushions.

Maybe it was his week, after all.

Letting out a happy sigh, he got back to his explorating.

The far wall had a rough series of Pegs, to hang what looked to be an assortment of tools. They were mainly missing.

Two windows, one shuttered and the other open to the light. He bet it would make for a decent cross breeze when they were both wide. A small stone hearth, blessed be, on the wall farest from the stairs.

A tiny anvil and an ridiculously sized hammer sat in the far corner, leaving the major of the room open, twenty by twenty feet of space echoing the merchant’s stall below.

There were some boxes stacked up here and there, but Charley figured he could move those out if they needed the floorspace.

He heard a small thud behind him, and screamed like he was being assaulted in a Macy’s parking lot, “Eiiiiieeeeeyyyyeeeee!”

At the foot of the stairs, Brand had thumped down a full box, and on top of it there was a plate of food. He raised an eyebrow, seeing the reaction. “Breakfast and some of my dad’s tools.” Brand ignored the cowardly reaction. A complicated looked crossed his face. “This was my father's workshop. Be respectful.”

Charley crooned as a mother does to her baby birds, immediately running over and grabbing the box, setting the food to the side. “My pretties!”

Brand pinched his temple above his nose, and let out a tortured sigh. “Let me know what you need to get started and we’ll talk acquisition when you’re settled.” He gave Charley a serious look. “Be settled soon, Peace.”

Charley didn’t even look up, running his hands lovingly over each objects in the bin.

Seeing the care in Charley’s hands, Brand paused. He took in the [Inscriptionist]’s antics for a moment. A smile broke over his face. A frown fought the smile, but didn’t conquer it.

“I will.” Charley answered without looking up. “Take care of them. You mostly don’t have to worry.”

Brand’s smile turned sardonic. “Get me a list of what you need whenever.” He waved, and with that he stepped out, gently closing the door to the second floor behind him.

Good riddance. It was tool time.

Charley couldn’t help the puns, but still apologized, “Anddddd I will hold you, and squeeze you, and...ohhhh a backsaw!”

Metal calipers, chisels, a jackplane, a fancy handbrace, tongs. Heaven.

He cleared the shelves, and stacked the tools onto the pegs behind him. He found an old grinding stone and sharpened up one or two of the chisels that had lost an edge.

A few hours later, he nibbled on a sandwich was surveying his tiny kingdom. Shelves clear, tools clean and shiney.

It was time to make stuff.

--

But what to make?

He held himself frozen for a moment, his hands reflecting his anxiety.

Weapons?

Psshaw. Anyone could make weapons. He bet himself a hot meal that the other two enchanters in the city had oodles of them.

Armor?

Equally likely. Equally useful, no doubt. But would a blade increase the quality of life in the city? Maybe he’d make one eventually. Certainly for peace of mind. Heh. Couldn’t stop those puns.

Would it help *him* get flush plumbing?

Charley didn’t think so.

He blinked owlishly and cast his gaze around the room.

His eyes fell onto the peg board.

“Why, hello there. You’ll do.”

--

He started with a simple chisel.

It was what he’d need to engrave, afterall. Holding one of its larger chisel brothers above the target, he tried to recall the feeling that he’d gotten when he received his class.

He breathed a huge breath through his mouth, and started engraving.

--

He was doing it wrong. The handle of the chisel was covered in failed versions of the omega rune.

And he knew without a doubt that it wasn’t the shape.

To be more precise: his hands were freaking scary nimble. That thing that had happened, when he gained the class. [Nimble Hands]. He was never this dexterous. It was shocking, and humbling, to see the hands in front of him hold and tap the chisel with enough grace that he barely felt the shock. And the tip didn’t move a millimeter off his target.

Which was beyond weird but that was clearly how this world worked.

And it was hard to argue with the results.

He was capturing the swerve of the character’s lines perfectly. The deep trough at the start of the omega. The gentle lilt at the end, suggesting more was to follow.

No. It was something else he wasn’t getting right. Geez, he thought to himself. If only this class thing came with a man page or some kind of status--

Class: [Natural inscriptionist].

level: 1

Skillset:

[Runic Enchantment]

Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent.

[Corvus Enca] Runic language of the First People. Level: 1. Limited to lesser effects.

[Passive: Nimble hands]

Your fingers can move with speed and grace, your hands still and capable.

“Catboots shit nerfherder!”

He let his heart settle back out of this throat and took in what he was being shown.

All this information was interesting. And perhaps even helpful. He did his best to ignore the screaming incoherent questions his rational mind kept throwing up about how impossible any piece of that was.

Sometimes rationality was distinctly unhelpful.

He took apart the problem one piece at a time. “A [*Natural* Inscriptionist]. Not just an [Inscriptionist].” There had to be a key, there.

He thought about what he knew of his skill, [Runic Enchantment]. There were only two examples of it that he knew of. The one in front of him he was using as a study-guide.

He glared at the offending hatchet sitting on the table.

And then there was the event of the floating lines and explosions.

He calmed himself, slowly. If the problem wasn’t with his hands, then it was with his head.

Nisi quod.

If not that, this then is truth.

Charley thought back to what he had *felt* in that moment. Wonder in the world. A deep and strange calm on his heart.

“Nothing for it, then.”

He needed to get in the right headspace.

He slowly laid out on the floor, and started to flow into his yoga practice.

“Whatever works.”

--

An hour later, he shook himself slowly from shavasana. It had taken a while to limber into the experience. His aches and pains were many, but the night under a roof had done wonders. And now He felt light, and grounded.

For the first time since he had arrived, really.

He sat back down at the table, and took up the chisel again, grabbing a fresh target.

And then he got to work.

As the lines flowed out of his tool onto the handle of his target, something felt different.

It was strange, and joyous.

Something in him was leaving, flowing gently out of his center while he was working. It was small.

It felt like the time he had played catch with his dad, and it had starting raining, but they kept playing anyway, smiling at each other through a downpour.

It felt like the time his mom had gone into remission with her cancer, and his dad and he had stayed up all night and made a surprise thanksgiving meal for her a week after the holiday because they had missed it the first time, and she had woken up to the smells of cranberry sauce and turkey and two family members smiling like crazy people.

It felt like touching an exposed powerline, gurgling with battery acid, and drinking an Red-Bull chaser.

He liked it.

He liked it a lot.

The feeling uncurled through his fingertips, and he could feel it sinking into the shape of the runes on the blade.

This wasn’t at all what it was like the first time -- that was an accident. Some system giving him the base because the pitcher had hit him with the ball.

This was so much better. There were even flickers of violet energy that he could see trailing the last few taps he made with his blade, like phosphorescent kelp at night. Fucking cool.

[Natural inscriptionist] reached level 2! Rune learned: Origin!

[Meditative Focus] gained!

Soft focus can be held for extended periods of time without loss of ability or concentration. Negative effects from any source delayed until effect is broken.

All to soon the moment ended. The flow of energy stopping up and leaving him horribly drained, covered in sweat and hungry again even though he had just ate.

And grinning like a madman.

It wasn’t done. It wasn’t even close to done. But the omega rune was inscribed on the handle of the chisel in front of him.

He frowned. What was next? His last project didn’t *do* anything. That was clear. With just the starting rune, there wasn’t much to do. It was just a starting point. The beginning of the river.

So what next? His hand faltered, his confidence shaking. The state that he was in flickered, and he felt the exhaustion come on as blackness around his vision. The rune demanded that something follow it.

Ah.

The grin came back in full force, plastered firmly on his face. So what did river’s do?

River’s flowed.

He let his hand move, and unbidden it traced the second symbol he had seen days ago in the glade.

[Corvus Enca] reached level 2! Rune learned: Flow!

As soon as he completed it he knew the symbol like he knew his own face. This rune wasn’t a rune. It was ‘flow.’ It was the way a river moved down the stream, the flight of birds on the air.

“They’re onomatopoeia’s.” He whispered with reverence.

He realized that these runes were not just simply language -- not words that conveyed meaning.

They *were* meaning.

They mimicked the flow of energy in the natural world to harness the natural bends, eddies, and streams to channel..something.

He didn’t know if the same system that had delivered those messages to him had given him this knowledge or if he had intuited it from his actions.

Didn’t matter which, really.

The omega rune wasn’t meaningless. Far, far from it. The omega rune mean ‘origin.’ He felt it in his bones.

Like the Chinese language, these were ancient pictographs that conveying meaning and expression through their shape. In Chinese ‘Water’ was three rivers converging.

And in Corvus Enca, ‘flow’ was the shape of infinity.

“Huh. Makes sense.” And it did. With a clarity way beyond what he thought he knew about the world.

Elated, triumphant, did the only thing he knew how to do next. He looked down at the chisel in his hands lovingly.

“Hello Fiona, welcome to the world. Want to help me add some magic to it?”

He felt the magic kick at his utterance. His eyes were as large as dinner plates.

Charley looked up at a small sound, and noticed Brand standing at the stairs. “Ah. How long have you been here?” He wasn’t sure if he should feel embarrassed. Probably.

“Just the end.” Brand stepped forward, a look of respect and something more complicated on his face. “May I..?”

Charley handed Fiona over.

Brand was completely taken back. “You did this...in one day?”

“I know! So cool, right!” Charley frowned. “Wait, what?” He glanced at the window. “I think you mean an afternoon.”

Brand cleared his throat. “This is the fourth time i’ve checked on you. It’s almost evening. Of the next day. You were locked into whatever..you were doing. I waved a hand in front of your face. Didn’t want to shake you out of it.”

Charley nodded gratefully, “Ah. Fudgesickles. That would explain the exhaustion then. Tell you wha..”

He collapsed, and the last thing he remembered was landing on his face.

Again.

Sigh.

**

Name: Charley Peace

Class: [Natural inscriptionist].

level: 2

Skillset:

[Runic Enchantment]

Able to inscribe runes onto objects. Permanent.

[Corvus Enca] Level: 2. Limited to lesser effects.

[Passive: Nimble hands]

[Meditative Focus]

Runes known:

Origin.

Flow.