Class is in session.

Some time had past, and much 'sqee'ing had been going on during that hour or so. Ashes was excitedly reading through some of Cilla's notes on some form of giant bug creature; with our now once more cloaked friend explaining how dense its exoskeleton is, all while Gabriella and Ariel were talking about 'practice' of some sort. I, meanwhile, sat outside at the exit of the workshop; speaking to my selves.

So... we have another accompanying us. Will that slow us down too much? Will the extra protection help should Sarmenti Hoffman show his face? Thoughts.

Urge speaks first, adding the least to the discussion. "Well, she's hot. That's a bonus."

Fantastic. Logic?

"I don't know about you, but what little we saw of her blueprints has me overjoyed. Very detailed." Says another unhelpful voice.

What happened to you two? You used to be focused, serious even.

"They've been without their keys for too long" It says. "They are breaking away from us; forming personalities all their own. Not good."

As it speaks, the shadows around me seem to grow eyes; each a different color, staring into me.

So, should I return the keys? Wait, why am I listening to you!? Stop with this freaky eye thing!

"It wouldn't help them, not now. We need to find her. We need to be whole... unless you want to try option three?" It asks.

What do you mean? Option one would be finding her, option two... is finding our other core. What's option three?

Madness explains in a manic frenzy with its many voices. "Enoch, our perfect form. While what little of our soul we still have merges with our body, it would heal us, temporarily. From what the thump thump thump of our core tells me, it would act as a... small bandage, stopping the bleeding, letting the wound in our mind heal ever so slowly... but..."

But?

"What happens when you rip off a bandage too early, still stuck to a clotted wound?" It says, the eyes in the shadow gaining a look of glee at the bloody analogy.

If we exit that form too soon after entering it, it would shatter our mind further... you would love that, wouldn't you?

"What are you doing, sitting down all by your lonesome, boy?" The voice of Pyre calls from just inside the workshop; he seems to be looking for something.

"I'm... thinking." I reply; the less people who know of my condition, the better.

His gentle voice says. "Hmm. Well, would you like to do some more productive thinking? I do believe you will soon be traveling with my daughter and the rest out to Hoctin... yet you've no weapon of your own... would you like to help me make you one?"

Well then, that escalated.

I, befuddled, ask. "Why would you offer me a weapon? Especially when I'm... Me."

I look down at my clawed hands, and scaled body; but Pops interrupts any sorts of self pity I may have had by saying. "Well, your with some people who are held in quite high standing, boy. A Runacathy operative, AND a soon to be Emissary of one of the Gods? That, and you are far from anything I've seen; making a weapon that fits someone of your build, that fits your class, and fits your biology? A challenge if I've ever seen one."

"Hmm... when you put it like that, I can see where you're coming from." I say, standing up and walking over the old man before asking. "You learned of my class from watching my behavior; how? What are the tells?"

A familiar look comes over the man's face; the same as Ihsrom when he explained the Perpetual Chain. "Well, firstly, do you truly know what a class is? Where they come from?"

I shrug my shoulders, the old man saying. "Ah, well that comes first. I heard you know of the Pantheon, so this won't take too long. There are eight classes that one can be born with; Knight, Ranger, Artisan, Sorcerer, Monk, Priest, Barbarian, or Assassin. Now, you may notice that number..."

"It correlates with the Pantheon, eight seats on each side." I answer quickly, asking. "But what does that mean?"

And why wasn't I given the choice of Monk or Artisan by those twin evils? Perhaps those classes wouldn't have fit the role of a Chosen of the Dark? Spending weeks to make a sword or meditate is weeks spent not killing, i suppose.

Pyre answers, saying. "It depends on the day of the week you are born on; each one belonging to a God of the Light, and a God of the Dark. You know of the Perpetual Chain, yes? It works in much the same way; same order and all. Right now it is Kare, the first of the week. Any born today shall be of the Knight class, for they were born on the day of Love and Hate. Tommorow it shall be Saira, the day of Nature and Disaster. All born then will be Rangers. Is this clear?"

I nod along, but ask. "But, I have two classes. What causes that? I've also heard of other classes than those eight."

Enjoying the lesson, the old man takes a seat at a bench covered in schematics. "Training in a field not your own by birth can grant you that class; and the difficulty of doing so is based on the cycle of the Perpetual Chain. A Knight can easily take up the mantle of a Ranger or Artisan, but becoming an Assassin is a nearly impossible. It simply wouldn't... click. As for classes beyond those given upon birth? Evolutions, once more gain through practice; except within your own field. I, for example, was born a Knight. After my retirement, I trained to become an Artisan, and then worked hard within that field. Now, through my actions, I have become what many call a 'Steel-Soul.' A class which can forge just about any non-magical metal into any high quality arms or armor you can think of. I've also worked long and hard as a Carpenter, a Stonemason, and a Chef, but those three classes aren't nearly as noteworthy for most, almost as unpopular as 'Farmer'."

Ok, so by knowing what day of the week someone was born on, I could know their class? Good information... wait, aren't there seven days of the week?

Seeing the confused look on my face suddenly appear, Pyre asks. "Did the math not add up? Seven days, eight classes? I made the same face when my father explained it to me. It's the moon. When the moon is to be full, that day is the Day of ****, Null, the day Asssassins are born. I am sure such happened for your birth, as a Ranger becoming an assassin is nearly as impossible as it is for a knight."

I nod, my lie being more believable without verbiage to flounder and twist my tongue.

Pyre looks over his papers, sizing me up with each on, finishing his little lesson. "As for spotting what someone is? While not all act as such, it is generally at least a part of their personality, even as their class evolves. A Knight is usually quite the serious fellow, at the front of any group."

Sarmenti.

"A Ranger is curious, absorbing information like a sponge, often writes notes..."

Cilla.

"An Artisan is excitable, joyous at chances for discovery."

Ashes.

"A Sorcerer is usually sheepish, bumbling, clumsy. Their fields of work are not entirely of this world, so neither is their mind. I've known a few in my time, they can be some of the most gentle souls; baring they don't hold anything else gentle, as they may drop it.

Hmm, haven't met one yet.

"Monks are generally level-headed individuals, with a focus on the spiritual on par with the Sorcerers search for the mystic; leaving many to believe they are unfocused, when that is far from the truth. Trust me, I married one!"

Haven't met one of those either...

"Priests are devote, pious, and loyal beyond reason. The one who healed my throat, a friend by the name of Haze; why, he refused to leave my side for a year after my injury, all to ensure I was truly healed. A true friend, he is. He still visits once or twice every few years!"

Gabriella certainly seems devoted to her brother.

"A Barbarian, they can be rough folk, but not because they're always angry. They're the emotive kind. Hurt their friend, and they'll lob your head off. Save their child from a rampaging bull? They'll name their next three children after you, but only after they stop crying and breaking your back with a hug."

On second thought, Gabriella might be a Barbarian, given her back-breaking tendencies.

"Finally, Assassins, such as yourself. They prefer to be alone with their thoughts, with one track minds set on specific goals above all else. They... they get a bad reputation, as you would expect. If you want someone, or something, dead; you hire an Assassin to do it, and either they, their target, or both will be dead by dawn."

Sounds like us, only one goal in mind... Her.

"Now, while I've been chatting your ear off, I've gotten some examples of Assassin styled weaponry I can work on today while you fine folk go into the town today." He places multiple example drawings on the table, beckoning me to see them.

Well, I know Sarmenti is coming for me, and prefers a long thrusting sword.

Clawed guantlets, daggers, no... too short, he would kill me on the approach...

A thrusting sword of my own? No, he's most likely won many a one on one duel...

The weapon from the guest room! I wonder if he'd...

"Oh, not looking at the papers, but elated none the less? Must be something you saw in the house." Pyre says, the sly old dog.

"What was the weapon in the room I stayed in? I was across from Ashes, at the corner." I say, pointing towards the corner of the house that I had slept in.

"Ah... the Hooks. Those were used for a specific purpose; to conquer the Kingdom of Krow, back when it still stood. They were used by the Hordes of the Dark to counteract the primary doctrine of the Krow military at the time; a disarmed opponent, is a dead opponent." He stands up, moving to drawer, and pulling out a picture of those very same hooks.

Pyre smiles, grabbing his hammer; seeing my mind is clearly already made."Did you know the Kingdom of Krow's elite warriors specialized in thrusting swords? All of whom who had survived the war having been quoted as saying that the Hooks were the 'unfair weapons of scoundrels and fiends?"

Oh yes, this will work.