Item received: Attramancy Spellbook of Minor Telekinesis (Bronze)

  He opened his inventory and retrieved the spell book. It was a golden tome with the symbol of three swirls.

  Would you like to use Attramancy Spellbook of Minor Telekinesis?

  Y/N

  “Yes?” He asked aloud.

  A golden spell book magically rose in front of him. It was adorned with silver lettering that read “Attramancy.” The book faced him head-on, opened to the front page, and then flipped rapidly until it reached the end. The words rose from the page, swirling around his head like dust motes. He had to take a knee; it was as if he was receiving information through a fire hose. It all gave him a massive headache.

  “The first times always the hardest.” Roran groaned, sitting his back against the wagon.

  “Let’s hope it helps,” said Rook.

  “Well, it’s a good tome.” Roran paused. “However, not so much for fighting, and I had a tough time buying it from the builder’s guild, to get mushrooms. It cost me twenty silver, so I expect it back.”

  “How can I pay you back? I don’t even have pockets.” Rook sighed. Other than the migraine, he hardly felt any different.

  “Bring back my daughter, and I’ll call it even.”

  He looked at his active skills.

  New learned Spells

  Minor telekinesis: Atramancy allows the caster to force their will on an object and control it.

  “How do I use the spell, Roran?” Rook asked, pushing his hands out.

  “You don’t know how to use spells? You have to burn mana.”

  “Thanks.” Rook let out a heavy sigh. “Where I come from, I didn’t even have mana that I know of.”

  Roran looked at Rook with a mix of surprise and another emotion that Rook was all too familiar with. The look that said “Welp, we’re screwed.”

  “I’m not a great teacher by any means. You must feel the mana surge inside of you, focus on manifesting your will into the new spell.” Roran placed a few fingers on his temple. “Personally, I like to do this. Then I just reach out with the magic and.”

  A piece of debris a few feet away from them burst into flames, big as a small campfire.

  “Holy shit, you’re awesome, Roran!” Rook exclaimed, laughing at the fire.

  “I’m just a simple man, not any more or any less,” Roran said, giving him a weak chuckle.

  “Um, never mind, Roran, thank you, I’ll try it.” He felt guilt weigh on him for letting his curiosity take precedence over the bleeding man’s quest.

  Rook turned towards the wagon debris and tried to force his mana. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the Attramancy spell, and a see-through bronze line reached out to hundreds of objects. Some were darker and others were lighter in color. A head-sized piece of wood had a faint bronze line. He mentally plucked the line, but it wouldn’t budge. I guess I can pick up some of these objects.

  He tried a dark line and mentally grabbed it. A marble-sized rock rapidly rose from the ground to midair. As the rock hovered mid-air, he noticed the blue mana bar in the corner of his vision slowly going down. He looked at a tree, then mentally threw the rock towards it. The rock launched towards the tree as if it were shot from a cannon, embedding itself deep into the trunk.

  Atromancy: 11/100

  Atromancy: 12/100

  +5 Experience gained. 15 of 55 Experience until level 2.

  His mana bar shot to zero when he forced the rock into the tree, and he suddenly felt ill, as if he was carsick. Shit, I got to sit down.

  “God Maker!” Roran exclaimed. “Did you do that with telekenesis?!”

  God Maker? He crawled on the ground next to Roran and sat. “Are you supposed to feel sick every time you use a spell?”

  The merchant gave him a sympathetic look. “You have mana fatigue.” He then produced a small crystal vial with a cork topper. Inside was a swirling blue liquid. “I have one last mana potion, but it should only be used in an emergency.”

  Rook nodded, the nausea subsided, and slowly the bronze lines began reappearing in front of him, stretching out in all directions. He pulled at another small rock and launched it, only letting it hover over the ground for a short time. The rock hit a fist-sized rock and exploded into gray dust. His mana bar was blinking, indicating that he was below 40%. It seems that time is the factor for mana consumption.

  Attramancy: 13/500

  +5 Experience gained. 20 of 55 experience until level 2.

  “Hot damn, maybe I will be able to do something. Thanks, Roran, I’ll see about getting your wagon supplies back.”

  As Rook walked, he thought about burning his mana again, grinding his attramancy skill until he could level up, but figured it wouldn’t be conducive to survival if he walked into a bandit fight with no mana and no weapons. Also, does this have a time limit that I have to be back? Are there patrols walking around the perimeter?

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  “Shit. If I run into a patrol, I don’t know if Army combatives will cut it,” he muttered, while checking his map. “50 meters out.” Rook crouched down and crept towards the hill. He began to feel the familiar adrenaline dump. The back of his neck tingled, and he began to get hyped up.

  He began feeling like his crouch walking became slightly easier.

  Stealth: 6/250

  +12 Experience gained. 32 of 55 Experience until level 2.

  Whoa, what the hell, my stealth skill jumped 5 points. Rook paused in a knee and conducted a short recon or SLLS halt. What can I See, what am I Looking at, what am I Listening to, and what do I Smell? He squinted and craned his head to the left and right.

  To his left was the spongy ground; beyond that were mushrooms. Ones that were colorful, of all sizes, that faded into lighter shades, faint in the distance. To his right a beaten path that led around the hill he crept up. He looked behind him and saw Roran’s wagon in the distance, still overturned. No fucking idea how we’re going to flip that thing.

  “No signs of goblins or even people for that matter,” Rook whispered to himself. “No signs at all, might as well-”

  The low inflections of a conversation carried through the air, and Rook hit the ground. He was nearly over the crest of the hill. Shit, I almost fucked up. He started to crawl. The leaves beneath him gently crunched, and he swiped away sticks, staying low until he was within earshot of the group. He continued.

  Stealth: 8/250

  +5 Experience gained. 37 of 55 experience until level 2.

  Good, I think I'm getting the hang of the experience. Rook continued crawling up the hill, his chest and cloth pants were soaked with a mix of sweat and damp muddy earth. He looked momentarily at a pile of rocks, built up like a cairn.

  Would you like to loot the cairn?

  Rook let out a deep sigh, frowning at the pile. It’s either hidden treasure or a childhood pet. To be or not to be an asshole?

  “That’s the burning question,” Rook muttered. “Yes, loot.”

  You have received

  1 skinning blade (copper)

  3 copper

  1 rabbit pelt (copper)

  “Oh, dammit, was this a hunter’s cache or something?”

  Rook opened his inventory and focused on equipping the skinning blade. It placed itself and a leather sheath on the waist of his rope belt. Now they should fear me. Then he listened to the conversation. There’s more than one, but how many? His chest was tight with the thought of having to fight someone. He brought up his skills, only the telekinesis skill could be used offensively. What could he do, pelt rocks at people and knock them out? The Commanding Presence skill allowed him to think clearly within the tense situation. Not before or after.

  “Eh Rix?” A weasley voice said followed by chortling laughter.

  “Aye, better to be reasonable.” A deeper gravel-like commanding voice said.

  “Why you let him live?” A third voice asked flatly. “I would’ve gutted him, if I were you.”

  There was a commotion, an animal desperately trying to kick its way free of a trap. Followed by sobbing. At least they are speaking English. Crappy English, but English nonetheless. I didn’t think about how tough this would be otherwise.

  “The human had pretty thing here, swik naw.” The commanding voice said with a chuckle.

  Their conversation sounded broken, causing a mounting headache in his confused mind.

  “She’ll fetch fine meat uxlok. Young and unmarked. Good enough to eat. If only had more kids.” The weasely voice said.

  More sobbing began and Rook crept over the hill. At the other side was a cliff face. He checked his map and realized far too late. It occurred to Rook that he didn’t know what to do next. There were three what he assumed were goblins in this world, even though they looked like an artist’s conjured nightmare.

  They were all pale greenish-gray, and seated on great logs, sat around a campfire in the middle of the encampment. There were bags, weapons, containers, and other miscellaneous items littered around the ground. There was some kind of chicken or similarly smelling meat on a spit over the fire. It made Rook’s stomach grumble.

  You are Hungry

  “No shit sherlock,” he muttered to himself.

  One of the goblins no bigger than himself sat on a log in the middle holding a girl. He had a round bald head, minus a few tufts of hair growing sporadic, and two long ears that jutted out like wings on a helmet. He had an eyepatch over one eye. The goblin next to him had a crooked back and was thin. He had black stringy greasy hair that hung over his face, as if he was going to a punk rock concert. Man, I miss the time where these were just movie villains and not my new reality. The third goblin looked out of place. He had thick set arms that bulged from his sleeveless vest like a pro wrestler. They all were from what Rook could tell about three to four feet tall.

  They each wore mismatched leather armors of black and brown. The bald goblin had furs of red and black on his collar from unfamiliar animals. The thin one carried a crossbow, the large one an axe and the leader some type of short sword. He held the shortsword up to the woman’s neck.

  “Quit squirmin’. Keep Movin and I cut ya. Cix guk,” the goblin said, in an unfamiliar language.

  “Cut her Rix,” Weasel laughed. “Cut her.”

  Rook peeked over the precipice of the hill again and met the gaze of the girl who faced him. Her wild eyes in panic, pleading for his help. The bald goblin jerked his head around to see what she was looking at and Rook hid his head. Stupid, how can I help you if you give me away.

  Command Presence activated.

  Command presence? Rook remembered the skill, however it activated on its own. Strange. A wave of calm washed over him and he began thinking and analyzing. The feelings and emotions dulled, more of a background suggestion..

  “What are you looking at wench?” Rix grunted.

  “What the hell do I do?” Rook slammed his head into his hands. “Think.”

  Might as well get it over with. Rook slowly stood up, and burned his mana in hopes that there would be something that could help him out. The bronze lines of Attramancy reached out in all directions, multiple within the small encampment. One brighter line led directly to a group of bolts within the quiver of the stringy man. Ok I only have so long to burn my mana, maybe I can use a bolt to intimidate them. thirty seconds, no more or I’m boned. He turned his mana off and cleared his throat. Swallowing hard, he stopped the bile from rising.

  “What in the?” The wrestler said, lumbering to his feet.

  The rest followed suit. The leader looked up at Rook with a narrowed eye. The stringy one behind him loaded a bolt into the crossbow that he carried lazily. The bolt tip swayed back and forth between flagging baldy’s legs to his right and the trees to his left, as if the weapon was a toy. Just keep flagging your buddies, that’s fine. He became painfully aware once again that he was armorless and wearing just pants.

  “Who are you?” Baldy asked, pushing the girl down. “Hmm, what are you? Are you Sorcerer’s Guild?”

  Sorcerer’s guild? Rook looked down, and realized that all the neo-traditional tattoos he got while in the Army may be out of the norm here.

  “So you do know of me?” Rook asked, speaking from his diaphragm, projecting his voice like when he was giving an order to his Soldiers. “Gentlemen. I am looking for three needle dicked green goblins, who abducted a girl, if that’s you let her go.” He kicked himself for making fun of them, but what could he do? He was a sucker for a funny joke.