The Path

The blind arrogance of youth turned sour. That's why we joined. Why I did at least. Though, that was a good thing in my opinion.

If it weren't for him, our blind arrogance and inflated egos would have led us to explore Nonus or the other realms on our lonesome. Like the many who came before us, we thought we were the strongest because we were told we were the strongest. But what they didn't tell us was that the moniker was restricted to the realm in which we were born.

Like the many who came before, the lucky ones would have met a quick end. The rest of us would have returned to civilization scarred and traumatized to hang up our blades and live meek lives in peace.

You see them everywhere you go. The shrouded ones that go unseen in taverns and the cranky geezers who lived high in the mountains, unbeknownst to the townsfolk below. Telling stories of old to any who wandered by.

Stories that few believed to be true.

Wasted potential. That could have been us.

The shattered ego of the elderly is what brought me here. Misery loves company, as they say.

Wasted potential. That could have been me.

Instead, I saw firsthand what overwhelming power was and swore to never oppose it. I had no choice but to ally with it; for it was only a matter of time before such power came from elsewhere to oppose me and mine. That was the law of that world: No peace lasted forever.

Not on the Mortal Plane.

I had no choice but to pray and hope to claim some of that power for myself. To walk the path those geezers set me on and become more than they imagined possible.

And of course, I did. We all did.

What a responsibility it was. What a burden. Heavy, like the gravity of ten thousand suns. Such suffering we experienced. And such awe.

It was exactly as he said it would be. Everything. All of it was just as glorious as he foresaw. And more. Somehow, by the gods that looked down on that world, our lives were more than any of us could have ever imagined possible.

But still, it was a good thing.

Tales From The Frost Moon. Log #1

***

While she was annoying, that spell of hers was amazing. If not crass. So much ice and snow everywhere. So much that the mud she flung out earlier was now caked in permafrost, freezing our undead and Doppelgangers in place each time they reconstituted.

Effective and flashy, but not my style.

Still, the excitement of it all got me thinking about the limits of my magic and more, how they could tie into my Class. The time flew by after that. And before I knew it, our companions were corralling everyone into different groups around.

As they would any other time, my eyes and everyone else's fell toward Amun. Mostly because he was our leader now, but also because he loved to talk. What was interesting, though, was that we all liked listening. He was an enigma. To me, and to everyone else it seemed.

I knew him as the heir to the Odissian Empire. A Devil. Half-drow too, and damn proud of it.

I heard the stories just like every other Epethian. From slave to royal families, tales and songs of the devils from across the sea were passed down. Of the monsters in human form, prowling through the night. Spreading death and destruction in their wake, claiming innocent and sinner alike.

Of course, I never saw such a thing happen. Nor did anyone else I knew, back there in Maru. In my eyes, the Cole Family was nothing more than a myth. Even the Necro King was no different.

Even the House of Cole's Heir was no different.

The only monsters I knew were the crown and those that served it. Those who went against them may as well have lived in the Underworld, for they were unmercifully hunted and disappeared and tortured or enslaved or experimented on until the end of their days were near. Then, they were forced to breed so that the experiments and torture may continue with their offspring.

That left a blank slate for Amun, in my eyes. His personality aside, his choices were what fascinated me the most. He was born with all the wealth and power in Maru but cared little for it. I could tell it was only a means to an end for him. A means to explore the realms with no one standing in his way.

No matter how powerful they were.

He was a natural-born Rogue who sought to be the opposite, a Monk. And an Artificer too. Though with his genius, that was all but expected.

As a Monk would have done, I assumed, Amun built a tower- a temple. And invited us into his domain to learn alongside him.

The first day of such an endeavor was nearly done, and in the several hours that passed since I awoke I've accomplished more than in the six months that have passed since arriving at the Bodhi Tree.

Though, that wasn't entirely true.

It was truer to say that I was tested in a way that I never thought possible. Through training and lessons in science and magic, I learned about the complex idiosyncrasies that constituted Rommy Peak. My flaws, my weaknesses. My misconceptions about perception and life and death. It was all made clear in a way that was indescribable.

All made so by fighting until the brink of death, then healing to fight again.

There was nothing more educational than familiarizing oneself with the Shadow of Death, I soon learned. Nothing but the Sovereign who casts it.

The science of our affinities was one thing, and copying the paths in the library was another; but if there was anything the day had taught me, it was that whatever awaited us in the Temple would exceed our expectations.

What felt like a soft kick to my mid-back and a soft pale glow pulled my thoughts into the distance, long gone once I found myself in a cramped tunnel somewhere in the Temple.

That too was amazing. The floating rock in the sky that somehow held power. Everything about this was amazing.

"Everything I heard about the Cole family was wrong," I said to myself.

And myself replied. "Myths often are. But still, they contain truth."

It was said in my voice, though it eerily sounded like Amun. Or, perhaps it didn't, and it was just my mind continuing to hear it after the first time. "I should come up with a nickname for you."

"And an alias for yourself." He grinned at both me and the door. "To become a Rogue is to forever wear a mask over your true self. But we." He gestured between us. "Can be two places at once. Forever masked and unmasked."

"So, you'll be my Rogue identity?" I pondered aloud.

"Whenever you are not." He nodded.

"Alright." I nodded back. "I'll think of a name."

"In here." My clone said with a silent jerk of the neck.

Though he guided me further down the tunnel, he disappeared at the end so that I could be the one to force the door open.

The loud groan that spread through the room belied the fresh wood and black iron of the massive doors. An oversight on my part, bringing all the more shame upon me when I entered a doorless antechamber containing a single person. A weasel-faced guy lounging on the floor on the left corner, snickering through his eyes and a cloud of smoke.

"Ugh." I waved the lingering smoke aside and turned my gaze across the convex wall before me. Seamless and with towering ceilings. Just like the room outside. "We're supposed to train in here?"

"Naturally," the weasel said.

"And why are you smoking inside!?" I spat at him.

He calmly shrugged. "Amun does."

"Gross."

Sighing, I turned and started patting the wall, looking for a seam or hidden door or anything to get me out of this place.

Nothing. Not even a scratch was found on more than half the wall. Not until I stepped over a pinhole that pushed against the sole of my foot ever so slightly did I notice anything.

It was a soft hiss that suddenly rose and stopped when a relatively sharp something pricked at my back, causing me to turn just as a wooden stick clattered to the ground.

And the Weasel's judging eyes were brought upon me once again. "Watch out for traps." He snickered.

"You are Rogues. This is your Dungeon." My clone appeared from nowhere, turning his eyes between us. "The traps will become more complex as you traverse the labyrinth. More dangerous as the weeks pass into months."

"You are Rogues," the Weasel's clone said this time. "No guards, traps, or locked doors are to impede you. You go as you please because none are even aware of your presence. Such is the life of the Rogue. Such will be your life here." Both clones gestured around us. "Both inside this training hall and within the whole of Noctis Reach."

"Now this is exciting."

"What's more exciting is Amun's knowledge of Subclasses." My clone grinned wider than I was already. "Through me, you have access to these Paths."

"I've decided to be a thief," the Weasel said, both to his clone and me. "Basic, I know. But my hope is to get something special from this Twilight stuff. But I ain't stressing it if I don't. I'm good at what I do."

"We walk the path of the Grenadier."

I spun about at once and felt shame creep up on me again. To be so enamored by my situation that I failed to notice a second body and his clone hidden deep in the corner above.

It was admirable, on his part. Shameful on mine.

"As for us," my clone said, bringing my eyes down to him. "We were trained in the ancient art of a Master Class nearly lost to time.

"I'm a…" my clone said, paused, and waited for me to say it with him. We said in unison.

"Shinobi."