Mason trudged miserably through the pouring rain, taking full stock of all the reasons he was unhappy to be awake.

First off, he hated that it was thunder itself that woke him up, and that despite having woken up warm and dry in a tent, he was then ordered to leave that tent to march through the rain. Second, he hated the way the mud squished beneath his boots, and how much of it had somehow inexplicably found its way inside of his boots. Third, he hated that this happened to be one of the coldest days he’d experienced in The Trials, while he was soaking wet.

And finally he hated that every bit of his body ached from the difficult bouts of sparring he had undergone the previous night.

All in all, he felt like he looked more like a prisoner than an ambassador, and it seemed like an awful way to greet the council of New Marra.

It wasn’t all bad though. As it became obvious they were nearing the city, Torysen herself had come up to him to adjust his cloak. Clearsay was at her side, and together they made sure that the embellishment was obvious and that the cloak was adjusted to obscure his face. There was nothing they could do about his height, but at the very least it would be hard to confirm that he wasn’t a member of the Darkest Night.

They passed guardposts and sentry towers, and everyone hailed Torysen as an old friend, making idle chatter with several members of the band as they passed by, though the rain had made each person gloomy.

Mason kept his head low, and wished he had spent some time mastering his glamour. It was at a decent skill level at ten, comparative to the rest of his skills, but he had a suspicion that the skill levels he was seeing were pathetic compared to the rest of his companions. There was no way his mana manipulation, for instance, at seventeen was anywhere close to the skill of a Darkest Night who constantly moved mana around them in order to see.

He dug into his stat screen, quickly dismissing the notifications from his earlier training: two levels to Blade Specialization and Footwork, and one to Indiscriminate Force, and tried casting Analyze.

Nothing happened at first, but he maintained the skill while watching his stamina burn. Out of curiosity, he even pushed a bit of mana into it as well. He felt a sense of wonder looking at his skills- a concept he would have found laughable before. It seemed like there were mysteries loaded into that screen.

Why did certain things boost his skill levels by tens at a time?

What did each skill level truly represent?

Why did those levels transform when skills like mana blade changed to mana-blade?

Skill level analysis initialized. Please raise your Analyze skill to uncover more relevant information.

He grinned despite the apparently unhelpful notification. Those status messages were directly linked to Analyze in some way. And more importantly, all he had to do to figure out more about his skills was gather more information. That was something he could gladly put his mind to.

With the perfect first target in mind, he brought forth a mental image of his rune and poured mana and stamina into Analyze. Moments later, he felt as if locks were clicking into place in his mind.

Raw Force Rune: A rune capable of transforming mana into a more efficient projection of physical force. This rune can be used in an unknown number of spells through runic modifications.

Raw Runes are the basic building blocks of some veins of spellwork. Though they are more difficult to use than Spell Runes, they the user to master a variety of magic to a much greater extent.

Mason was just about to try casting analyze on the rune again to see if he could make any headway on those modifications when he swayed, then stumbled and tripped over something and landed right in the mud. “Aw fuck,” he moaned quietly as he pushed himself up and looked around.

Leornal looked at him patiently and shook his head. Judging by the additional smear of mud on his leg, Mason had tripped over the archer’s foot while lost in his status screens. “It’s customary to watch where you’re going while travelling. I know you’re not a scout, but you can’t be excused from paying attention because you’re inept.”

Knowing better than to take Leornal’s insults seriously, Mason mumbled out something that was between thanks and an apology, which seemed really like a lot of nothing. He was going to keep walking when Leornal put his hand on Mason’s shoulder and said, “You might want to put your hood back up.”

Mason obliged, then looked around and realized he could see the city’s walls from there even through the rain and haze. He shivered, and wasn’t able to identify whether or not it was from the chill of the rain or anxiety about meeting more of the Darkest Night.

They started again, and Mason hazarded one last check at his status. He had one new level in Runecraft, two in Analyze, and even saw an improvement to his Creativity stat.

He really wished he had some skill like Stalwart Heart or Bravery, because he was terrified.

The band marched up in formation to the edges of New Marra, and Mason did his best to keep his head down as they got closer to the guards. He snuck glances alternating between his normal sight and his mana sight, and shivered as he realized that the guards around the city were all as loaded up with mana as the Roving Band.

For a race that was supposedly starving for mana, they sure had a surplus.

The walls of the city were surprisingly high and inelegant. A layer of wood from trees which had been obviously culled from the surrounding region formed its basic structure, but the Darkest Night were not without a unique skillset. The walls seemed to be reinforced by a black, almost tar-like substance which glistened even as the rain beat against it. There were embellishments which Mason imagined might actually be a form of magical enchantment carved invisibly down its length, which gave the pock-marked and uneven surface a very alien feel.

He wondered whether or not the spellcaster that had spread that black substance was really adept at the spell; it looked very unevenly applied, as if the tar had dripped upwards along the wooden wall.

Mason turned his attention back to the guards just in time to see one of them shake Torysen’s hand and launch a rune that he didn’t recognize into the air. Several corresponding runes shot into the sky from the town, magically visible through the rain, and Torysen motioned for the band to begin moving into the town.

Shayjol and his family had long since been warned to stay far from Mason- it wasn’t worth incriminating them if something went wrong. But Leornal proved his loyalty by volunteering to guide Mason into the city according to the plan they had worked out. With his hand on Mason’s arm, he guided the human boy slowly away from the group and between several houses made of a variety of unnatural stones and wood.

With his head very far down now, Mason only had a vague idea of what anything looked like around him, or where he was being led, but he hadn’t come this far to get uppity now.

Several minutes later, he had begun to understand that this city was much larger than he expected. What did that mean for the humans, then? Would they be coming in the tens of thousands? Even if he trained constantly until then, what chance did he have of getting the strength to protect that many against any real threat?

Problems for later, he reminded himself as Leornal pulled him to a stop. “Stand back,” he whispered and then knocked confidently on a door.

The building they stood in front of was two stories and wide, much larger than most of the homes they had passed so far. The door, too, though it was made of a substance similar to that of the walls, seemed to be polished and perfected, with embellishments more elaborate than Mason had seen on anyone’s outfits, certainly.

“What, who is here in this weather?” asked a tired, feminine voice. Despite the time of day, she looked as if she had just rolled out of bed.

The woman tried to get a look at the cloaked Mason, but Leornal moved forward and got her attention, “Well aren’t you going to let us in?”

She eyed him warily, then, recognizing who it was, she made an exasperated noise and stepped out of the doorway. Leornal half-dragged Mason in behind him as the door was shut.

“Leornal, what are you doing here? I just saw the rune that Torysen’s band had arrived. Shouldn’t you be with her making your report? Nothing is wrong with Faynel, right?” she tried to get another look at Mason as she turned from the door, but Leornal seemed to be between them no matter how she moved.

“Torysen is cashing in a favor. Or rather, all of them,” Leornal explained quietly, not taking his eyes off the woman or giving her any opportunity to see past him.

“You can’t simply come in here, barge into my home and then demand favors, Leornal. You do remember I’m on the council, correct?” She kept one hand on the door as if hoping for an opportunity to throw him out, but her body stretched and curved under her gown as she stared him down. Mason couldn’t quite figure out what signals she was sending.

She was an attractive enough woman, but even unfamiliar with their race, Mason could tell she was nearing on elderly, though she would have some time before anyone would insult her by pointing it out. There was a lined weariness to her face, as if time and stress had sucked the roundness out youth out of her, and her hair was the silver of mercury.

“I thought you would want to be the first to meet our new ambassador. We found a source of mana, but the situation is complicated,” his eyes locked on hers on that word, and Mason noticed her almost move to touch him. “It’s very likely the council will not be immediately friendly to any of our potential new allies, but there are debts owed here and dangers that can be avoided. I need a place to secure this man before we can arrange a full meeting with the council.”

“Ambassador? Secure? Friend? Leornal, since when do you have friends? You’re more crotchety than my ex husband,” the woman teased, though her expression was terse.

“Then you understand the importance of the favor I’m asking.”

The woman threw up her arms dramatically and stalked away- but Leornal continued to move between her and Mason, seemingly amused by her predictable tricks. “I can’t just protect this mystery person without the council’s approval. If I do so, I’ll be forced to defend him in front of…” She stopped in her tracks, and turned straight on Leornal. Mason backed up, intimidated by the change in demeanor. “That’s exactly what Torysen is counting on. If she has me protect him now, she can have me stand for him before the council.”

Leornal smiled, “We would never presume upon your graciousness like that.”

“You would ask me for my last mana crystal if you thought it would serve your ends,” she shot back.

“So you’ll help him?” Leornal asked again, calmly.

“Can I see him?”

Leornal nodded lightly, and Mason stepped forward and pulled down his hood. Most noticeably, he felt a change in the mana in the air, and he imagined Leornal had taken down some sort of vision barrier.

“Damn you, you’re playing with fire here. Don’t think I can’t sense the soul arts all over him. You’d bring a demon into the city and call it friend? I should have your whole band hung!” she was yelling now, and gesturing wildly, but between Leornal’s calm and the mismatched look on her face, Mason felt like this were a test more than anything.

“My name is Mason Nevels, and I am a human. I represent both my own race and that of the Biord, who currently guard a city rich in mana, of which I’ve been told the Marrans are in desperate need?” Mason tried to keep his smile polite, but he felt ridiculous acting this formal, and giddy because he thought he pulled it off nicely.

She didn’t address him though, but instead turned to Leornal, “My debt to Torysen is not only wiped clean, but she owes me, especially if this goes wrong. And you owe me personally. There’s a house on the north edge of town that you’ll recognize by the burn marks. A family was killed by some goblins that snuck over our walls a few days ago. The house should still be a mess, but the bodies have been taken care of. Guard him there, and do not leave under any circumstances. And do not speak to me until we get him before the council.”

Leornal nodded seriously, and Mason flipped his hood back up, feeling dismissed. As the two turned to leave the woman added, “I am Councilwoman Leenel, by the way. I do hope things work out for you, honestly. You’re just going to make a lot of people very angry.”