You're in the famous school garden of beautifully trimmed green hedges lined with vibrant and sweet-smelling flowers on a clear-skyed summer afternoon, sitting on a wooden bench with your magical quarterstaff next to you as you wait for your party members to arrive. You decide to observe the passersby in order to kill time: most of them are fighter or paladin students in polished plate armour that gleams against the sun as they swagger and talk loudly, while a few in wizard or cleric uniform robes walk with their heads high as they quietly chitter and chat. You see one or two warlocks and you don't see any rogues, which doesn't surprise you considering they're not meant to be seen.

You eventually get bored with watching the people pass by and decide to take out a book from your bag that you'd recently taken from the library: Spell Slots in Theory and Practice, a thumb-length thick tome regarding the management and magical theory behind the consumption of magical energy for more advanced spells, one that you absolutely do not enjoy reading for a second but absolutely have to read. Sure, the author clearly didn't understand the concept of 'simplification of explanation' if you 'simplified' his form into that of a tadpole, but it couldn't be denied that it had useful information on what situations a young wizard ought to expend spell slots and how to best conserve and generate them, information that you need to pass onto your party members if they're to succeed on the quest. As you try to read through the pages and pages of minuscule, tightly packed text and feel yourself dozing off from the warm blanket of the summer sun and the dull pretentiousness of the book, you silently swear to yourself one day you'll rewrite everything this damn author did in less than fifty pages and put him out of business.

As you're trying hard not to doze off, you suddenly jolt as you feel a meaty hand clamp on your shoulder, followed by a hearty yet muffled laugh. You open your eyes wide to see the party's fighter, Alvar: a tall, slim and toned man, covered tip to toe in glinting steel armour and with his face masked by his famous helmet which he apparently wears even as he sleeps and bathes. Behind him stands the party cleric, Aala, a shorter young lady with a cheerful expression on her sharp-featured face and a mane of unruly long red hair that cascades down the back of her white cleric uniform and tanned cheeks. She clutches close to her chest a disproportionately large war-mallet with the crest of the Throne of Wisdom emblazoned on its face. Alvar's hand grips at your shoulder.

"All that reading tiring you out, eh, Hale?" He chuckles, his voice resounding in the helmet. "You're better at it than I am, at least. I can't get through a page without falling asleep!" He pulls his hand from your shoulder and playfully punches you in the shoulder.

You shrug his hand off your shoulder, smiling politely at him. "Wizards have to read, Alvar. A great deal of effort goes into learning new spells and preparing them."

Aala grins at you. "That's the great thing about you wizards, isn't it? Always putting in so much effort into studying and improving yourselves... that's some real dedication you guys have."

You raise an eyebrow at Aala. "Oh? It almost sounds like you have respect for the heretical wizard who dares to 'study' and 'learn' his way into divine power, wise cleric."

She laughs, while Alvar looks between the two of you in a confused motion. "Sorry, er, I don't really get the joke," he says.

"Oh, it's nothing," you answer as you snap your book shut. "Just a little in-joke between spellcasters. Anyway, we're still waiting for Donovan, aren't we? Where is he?"

The two of them shrug. Apparently, neither of them had seen the party rogue around either. You sigh in feigned annoyance.

"We can't start off the quest until all the party members are here," you mutter. "If he doesn't turn up, we'll have to go on without - "

Shock runs through you as you feel two cold taps on the back of your shoulder. You whirl around, grabbing your quarterstaff as you do so and -

You see Donovan standing above you from behind the bench: a dark-haired spindly man with pallid skin and a strange sanguine face, dressed in the brown leather rogue school uniform. He smiles softly at everyone.

"Hey," he says in a soft, cold voice, "how's it going?"

Everyone stays silent for a moment. You swear you can still feel tingling on your skin where he tapped you. You try your best to look as calm as you can, but you can feel sweat build up underneath your clothes as you stare at that serene, cruel man.

Alvar laughs heartily.

"It was cruel to sneak up on Hale like that!" He wheezes out as his armour creaks with his heaving lungs. "Look at him, he looks like a ghost, isn't that right, Aala?"

Aala, who had been looking on with a bizarre expression on her face you didn't recognise, suddenly goes red and speaks up quietly. "Oh - um - yes. I suppose."

"Anyway," Donovan says, "I was doing some research and I found something quite interesting - a goblin god-worshipping cult!"

Alvar turns his chin upwards, while Aala gasps. "God-worshippers? And they're goblins?"

"Exactly! We'd be doing the world twice the service if we take them out! Not to mention... they say their religious artifacts are made of gold."

Alvar tilts his head. "Gold! I don't know about you two, but I'm in - "

"You can count me in too," Aala cuts in. "It's my duty as a servant of the Thrones to destroy the gods, their worshippers and their remnants."

"Great! It's settled then!" Donovan says, clapping his hands together softly as he met everyone's gaze, before turning his icy eyes to you which make you shiver. "Unless, of course, you have any objections, Hale?"

"No," you barely manage.

"Then we're off!" He said, beckoning the party to follow him as he walks away from your bench. Aala and Alvar follow him while you shove your book into your backpack. After around ten seconds, you finally give in and follow him too as you clasp your quarterstaff with a white-knuckled grip. You trail behind the rest of the party, scarcely listening to their discussions as you walk to the school gate, with stormy thoughts brewing up in your head.

It was ridiculous. Donovan is the most charismatic man you had ever met and you're certain he has a Charisma score of 18. But he's also the most perceptive man you've ever met. He must have a Wisdom score of 18. He's also the best rogue you've ever met. He must have a Dexterity score of 18... he excels in everything with his innate talent, taking everything for himself as he steals away the things you desire from right under your nose... and the worst thing is, despite being the best wizard in the school, you can't call yourself his rival. The ice rogue manages to freeze you up every time you're in the same room as him from his raw, terrifying presence... to be honest, you were hoping he wouldn't turn up so you'd end up as the leader. You know it was a pathetic train of thought, but you don't care especially. All you know for sure is that this was your only shot at subjugating him - you know for sure you outclass him in Intelligence and Constitution, perhaps Strength too, if only by a little bit. If you could use it to your advantage, you could overcome his natural power and take his place as leader. That would bring you one step closer to becoming a true hero and a mortal god who -

"Hey, Hale, are you okay?" You hear, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to see a concerned-looking Aala at your side as you stand before the mighty school gate that slowly drawls itself open for your party.

"Yes, I'm alright," you reply. "Just a little lost in my thoughts, that's all." You go for a polite smile -

You accidentally make eye contact with Donovan, who still has that soft grin on his face.

He doesn't say anything, but you know exactly what those eyes are telling you.

Don't get in my way. I'll crush you underfoot.

Your smile fails halfway through. You pull up your hood to hide your face and continue walking as you trudge through town, ignoring the others as you do so. You silently recite the spells you prepared before coming here - Expeditious Retreat, Grease, Sleep. Expeditious Retreat, Grease, Sleep. Expeditious Retreat, Grease, Sleep -

Why are all the spells you chose that of a complete and utter weakling? Would these spells help you in defending yourself from your piece of shit father? No. All they're good for is running away. That's all you're ever good for. Talking a big talk, studying to prove you're not full of crap, and then when it comes to proving yourself, all you prove is that you are full of crap and get everything stolen from you from people who deserve it more as you run away. Be ruthless, Hale. Use what spells you have to scrape onto what you have like a screeching demon, even if you don't deserve it. That's all you're really good for, anyway. Do what you can with your feet planted on the ground.

You speed up and walk ahead, right up to Donovan, before turning to him and looking him dead in his cold eyes, your own eyes obscured from him under your hood.

"Hey Donovan," you say to him quietly. "Where exactly are these goblin god-worshippers? I think I'd like to lead our little group there..."

He smiles softly at you and you repress the reflex to turn away. "It's nice of you to offer to help but I think I'll be fine on my own."

You smile as you feel a tiny bit of magical energy pulse through your body, emanating from your core and reflecting back through your staff with renewed power, escaping through your fingertips as you almost silently mouth the incantation for the cantrip Prestidigitation.

"Is that so?" You say to him with an edge in your voice.

You tap Donovan's leather uniform twice, letting a tiny amount of heat into it.

His eye twitches.

"Yes," he curtly replies.

Your lips curl in quiet joy.

"Good," you reply. "Good."

You fall back to the rest of the party. Donovan's walking a little slower now. And now you know, for a fact, that by the end of this quest, this party will be yours. You'll scrape for it like a screeching demon.