Barlor wandered through crowded streets and empty backroads. He took his time watching the crowd as he walked. Watching for expressions, for laughter and tears, idly wondering if the people here were the same out there. His childhood was lived between cramped alleys and narrow corridors, and his teenage years were spent on a farm close to town. The people out there, for all he knew, were alien. Strange and wonderful all at the same time.

There was a shadow in the corner of his vision, a flick of movement. Barlor turned in alarm. He was greeted with music and laughter from a distant stall and a group of people dancing in front of a small bonfire. A trick of the light maybe, or perhaps a tired hallucination. After all it was already midnight and he'd spent the whole day dancing, gambling and eating. At one point he and about a hundred people on either side were trying to kick a ball to the other side of the town.

Eager to get some rest Barlor decided to go through the backroads, there were far fewer people wandering around that area given that celebrations were mainly concentrated on the main roads. Travel through there would be faster than taking the main roads and more straightforward than the alleyways.

He turned onto an empty street and continued to walk at a leisurely pace. Over time the festivities began to die down, and torch lights were extinguished as townsfolk went to sleep. Soon Barlor found himself alone, flanked on both sides, by complete darkness, with only the light of the moon to guide him.

The shadows shifted and Barlor realized where he was. Not a witness in sight, not a soul to hear him scream, and surrounded by darkness. Again the shadows crawled and Barlor was compelled to watch the area more closely. He took a few slow glances around, careful to make it look completely natural. This could’ve all been for nothing, complete paranoia on his part, but he looked around nonetheless. There was nothing except; a very soft noise. Thinking back on it he realized that whoever it belonged to it was most definitely a footstep. Quiet, and muffled, but it was definitely there.

There was a breeze, an unnatural wind. On instinct Barlor rolled forward hoping that whatever it was, he dodged it. He stood up, turning in time to see a figure in a sheepskin cloak land exactly where he was mere moments ago lash out with a steel blade. Barlor pulled a dagger from a sheath on his belt. Upon close examination the figure looked to be fairly bulky and well muscled, he wore a large wooden mask with a ridiculous yellow-painted smile. Behind the mask he could make out dark brown hair and striking blue eyes. They both stood in place, sizing up the other before making any movements.

Smiley charged him sword in hand. Barlor waited calmly, stepping forward and parrying an overhead strike with his dagger and proceeding to deliver a sickening punch to his liver. Smiley dropped to his knees, soundlessly clutching at his sides. Barlor took a couple steps back. Immediately he felt a pair of hands crawl around his neck. He dropped his dagger in surprise and grabbed at the hands desperately, holding the them away from his throat. Then, taking a step forward; he turned his hips and threw the other one over shoulder. His new assailant crashed into the other with a heavy thud. Barlor wasted no time trying to get a good look, instead choosing to run the other way. He found an alleyway tucked between two buildings and ran through it. At its end was a solid stone wall, for others it would’ve been a literal dead end. Instead, Barlor ran a couple steps up its surface and grabbed onto a nearby roof. He pulled himself up and crouched low, moving slowly so he didn’t disturb anyone sleeping below.

There was a light tap on his shoulder. Barlor pivoted, but not in time to deliver a strike instead being met with a leather boot to the chest. He was sent hurtling across the roof coming to a stop at its edge. The world spun and blurred, but stopping now meant death so he rolled to the side and stood up arms raised and ready for a fight. Another one, this time clad in black and wearing a hood. He wore a pair of brass knuckles on his hand and kept a dagger on his belt. Looking down he noticed that Smiley was waiting down below and whoever it was that tried to strangle him was gone.

His new assailant closed the distance rapidly, moving quickly but never rushing. He shot outwards with his right hand hoping to catch Barlor on the side of the face. Barlor ducked low countering with another jab aimed at the gut. The assailant’s left hand rushed downwards, and rather than blocking he punched Barlor’s hand with his brass knuckles. Pushing through the pain and desperate to end the fight Barlor kept going, moving his whole body and tackling the Assailant. Both fell onto the roof of the building. As Barlor struggled he realized he was being slowly overpowered. He head butted the new assailant and used the moment of shock to grab the dagger from his belt.

Barlor held the dagger to his throat. “Try anything funny and you’re dead!”

His assailant held up his hands and laughed.

“What? Hey… I said nothing funny. That’s… that’s the opposite of what I said. Stop laughing!” Barlor pushed the blade closer to his throat.

The hood fell from his face. “I surrender.”

“Tommy?” Barlor got off Tommy and looked around, completely dumbfounded. Realization seemed to strike him, and Barlor doubled over in laughter.

“You guys… you really got me good there. Man, you really had me for a while. I bet those weren’t even real weapons!”

Tommy picked up the dagger and made a very shallow cut on his finger. “No they were real alright.”

Barlor’s expression quickly shifted into one of alarm. “What?”

Tommy nodded off to the side. “Ask the old man over there.”

Barlor followed his gaze and sure enough the old man was standing right there as if there were nothing out of the ordinary.

“What’s going on here?’

The old man ambled in their direction. “A test of sorts. Mostly to see if you could handle yourself in a fight.”

“What, no test of character?”

The old man simply raised an eyebrow and looked him in the eyes. “Oh please, you’ve lived on the farm for… what? Five years now? I know you. And I know your brothers didn’t believe for a second that you’d actually kill them.” Then he added on to it “Which in this case was probably a bad thing, but you can handle yourself in a fight and that’s what’s important.”

“So what do I get? A cool battle staff? An enchanted sword? A potion maybe?”

“Even better. A tattoo.”

“Really, a tattoo?”

The old man raised his hands in his defense. “A magical tattoo of course. The kind that gives you special abilities.”

Barlor perked up at the idea. “Oooh like what?”

“A number of things really, it’s sort’ve a mixed bag, but it’s everything a battlemage needs. And some quality of life stuff also.”

“What if I don’t want to be a battle mage?”

“Ok then what? You aren’t the type that enjoys sitting around and studying all day.”

Barlor shrugged. “That’s fair. You’re going to teach me everything today?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Why though?”

“Because A. I don’t want you getting too reliant on the damn thing, I know I was. And B. There isn’t enough time left.”

“So really it’s not going to do anything whatsoever?”

“Well there is one thing… I’m going to suppress your mana by like… half. Actually, three quarters.”

“That doesn’t seem like a benefit.”

“Not usually, but for people like you; who quite frankly have an absurd concentration of mana. It gets pretty hard to tell the difference between the amount that constitutes a knockout, or a lethal strike.”

Barlor paled at the idea. “Oh.”

“Yep. Now, if ever you take part in say… an extremely important tournament, find yourself in dire constraints, or you’ve just plain graduated. I’ll tell you everything there is to know about that tattoo.”

“Alright. Sounds good.”

“Great. Follow me.”

Barlor sat on a wooden chair looking into a broken mirror, ready to get a tattoo that somehow qualified as magical, in the basement he never knew they had, after fighting three assassins that turned out to be his brothers, after finding out that he had a great deal of magical potential.

What a day.

Cal ran around the room. “Oh big bro!”

“Yes?’

“We should dye your hair like… purple or something!”

“Why?”

“ Your brown hair is too normal. Mages are supposed to look all kinds of weird and cool.

“I’m not sure about…”

“Oh I know! We could give you one bad eye like Mr. Old Man over there!”

The old man grunted. “Alright bite down on this please.” He held up stained with some form of liquid.

“What is it?”

“It’ll make you numb to pain for a while.”

“And we didn’t use this at the ceremony?”

He shrugged. “Tradition.”

Shep and Fel were off in the corner. Shep was massaging his shoulder and Fel seemed to be oddly attached to the mask, wearing it on his belt rather than throwing it away. Even going so far as to reapply the yellow paint. Tommy was watching intently, curious as to what would happen.

“Alright let’s get started.” Barlor bit on the napkin.

The old man returned holding a large piece of parchment. “Alright take your shirt off.”

Barlor did exactly that, admiring his form in the mirror.

“Too scrawny, if you’re going to be a battlemage you’ll need to put on some muscle.”

“Hey!”

“Alright sit still you.”

Barlor sat as still as possible. For the next few minutes he could feel something be pushed into his secondary skin, but not experiencing any pain coming from it. It was… weird. To say the least.

“And… done! Alright turn around and take a look.”

Barlor turned around and looked at the mirror behind him. The tattoo was made from black ink, a multitude of geometric shapes in different rotations surrounding a black circle. Upon closer examination the shapes were made from a multitude of other much, much, smaller shapes and lines arranged in ways he couldn’t even fathom.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“You haven’t actually learned how to use and detect mana yet so you haven’t noticed exactly how much is being locked away from you. When you finally figure it out you won’t notice any differences either. I’ve left you at above average, but not so much that you’ll have any major issues with control.”

“Sweet.”

Barlor put his shirt back on. “And thank you, for everything.”

“No problem. I needed some help on the farm anyways.”

Shep stood up. “Oh and Barlor. Here, a parting gift.”

Barlor turned around. “You too Shep? Aww you guys are the best brothers a guy could ask for.”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Here.” Shep handed Barlor a dagger. The handle, whatever it was made from, was extremely comfortable. The hilt was adorned with a black gem, and the blade was razor thin.

“How did you ever get your hands on this?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy who knows the Brandys.” He waved the question off. “Anyways, it’s yours now.”

“That’s amazing!” Barlor enveloped Shep in a crushing hug, and for his part Shep didn’t struggle at all.

Tommy and Cal stood up too. “We also have something. Isn’t that right Cal?” He looked down at Cal, who was vigorously nodding his head.

“We got you this!” Cal gave Barlor a small notebook. Barlor patted Cal’s head. “Thanks guys! This is pretty neat.”

Shep turned to Fel. “And you little brother? Come on I know you got something.”

Fel coughed into his arm. “Right well… I don’t quite have the connections Shep does, nor did I save enough money to buy something, but I uh… made you this.” Fel held out the mask, the one with a yellow painted smile. “It’s supposed to go on your belt. Or the face, but you know… yeah.” He offered weakly.

Barlor took the mask and used the two thick strings attached to tie it to his belt. He smiled at how ridiculous it looked. “I love it.” He then pulled everyone into a big hug, making sure to grab Shep and the old man before they could get away.

“You guys are the best family an orphan could ask for.” Cal and Tommy openly embraced the hug, while Fel and Shep struggled awkwardly. Old man Brown reluctantly accepted his fate with a grumble or two.

Maybe he would come back every now and again.