Chapter 3: Sorcerer says
Irwin walked away from his house, holding back his desire to run. It would relieve some of his listlessness and annoyance, but if he ran into someone again, things would only get worse. Besides, his legs and arms felt alright now, but who was to say the pains and aches wouldn't return with a vengeance?
So, he stalked through the town towards the school building near one of the central squares.
The odd sensation that was the connection to his card lingered in the back of his mind. He fiddled with the sensation, but not enough to accidentally trigger it. With his hands in his pockets, that'd ruin his pants.
It feels like a mug slowly filling with water, he thought.
He flexed the connection, noting the sore sensation. Did Bronwyn have this with both of his skills? He hoped not. It was one thing to have a sore body from walking up a stair, but if he was also going to be in pain from using his card, he wasn't sure he'd ever use it again.
After thinking about it for a bit, trying to recall if he'd ever heard about it before, he decided it was probably because he'd only just gotten his first card.
As he moved, he bent down and grabbed a little grime, wiping it across the back of his hands, instantly hiding the thin, tattoo-like lines from sight. He wasn't interested in drawing any attention to it, at least not just yet.
The narrow streets he walked through were quiet and empty, which made sense as the first bell still had to ring. A dull chime suddenly rang from far to the left as if to mock him.
Irwin looked up at one of the dark spires from Lastristal castle. It was the place the whole of Malorin was built around. Situated less than twenty minutes from the Gloomforest, it had been the sole bastion for survivors in these backwater parts.
Ahead of him was the largest square of the town, lined with craftsman's workshops to one side and the town's school to the other. The central street ran through it from left to right, and he knew that if he followed it, he'd either reach the castle or the town gate—neither a place he wanted to go to. Straight ahead was the Nobles District, the direct opposite of the Rats District, both in location and who lived there.
I wonder who they will send, he thought, staring at the wider, cleaned streets. If they really needed to send twenty people, that meant there weren't enough children from the Rats District or even the crafters. The nobles would have to bleed with them.
Somehow, that made him feel slightly better.