It can't wait

[bookcrazI]

You were abandoned, you were left to die.
You lived, against all odds, you survived.
You miraculously used what little skill you had then to keep you alive.
You were about five when it happened, you managed to keep yourself all in once piece since.
Luckily you pulled on the heartstrings of one certain fellow or madam, they took you in.
They grew you up right, teaching you all that they could and you absorbed it like a little sponge.
They were one of the working peoples of the slums, they were fixers or finders or makers or watchers, they're all under one term though- scrap people.
You turned out to have talent, some little glimmer of 'Damn, you're pretty good at that!' and you knew that little spark was your meal ticket.
So did your adoptive parent, they did all they could to nurture that tiny flame.
They loved you even when you failed.
They loved you.
They got sick.
They weren't as young as they used to be.
Together you and they lived on meek cash, sometimes your talent and their work didn't make enough, you had to do other jobs to just get enough food.
They would go without so you stayed healthy.
You knew this and tried all your might to keep food on the table, but sometimes it didn't help.
You knew, that nagging voice had gotten a megaphone in the past years, that you had to leave.
You did.
You left a note, of course, and you left money, all you took was a few pairs of clothes and a few notebooks.
You loved them too much to watch them suffer.
They loved you too much to watch you suffer.
It was painful to say goodbye, and you remembered that night when you were left alone.
You cried, just a little, they always told you that it was okay to cry once in a while.
You barely cried, but this time you couldn't stop yourself.
You didn't care that others were watching, you were on your way out of your little town's slums; on a train, or a steam bus, or tagging along with the merchants.
Finally your tears stopped and you began your new life.
You were in a new town.
A city actually, you adapted well to all the strange new steamtech that your little slum couldn't afford.
You began to study when you weren't working, rekindling that little talent you had to forget about when they were sick.
You began to make money off that little talent, soon you could rely completely on it and your knowledge for income. You were slowly rising to the top of your field, you knew that they would be proud.
Then you heard the news.
They had died.
You were crushed.
You had their stuff sent to you, every cherished moment together held in a few wooden crates of belongings.
Strangely enough while going through it, you found a package.
On it your name was written, in their handwriting.
In it held a pendant, a mysterious piece of clockwork, and a dagger, intricately designed, a leather bound book, almost an antique lastly a letter sat in the package.
It read:
" Dear child,
This was with you when I found you, I know you don't remember much of that time," It was true, it was all quite hazy to you, "From research of both of those items I can only conclude that you're much more special than an ordinary scrap people. I always suspected that, with your amazing skills," You had to stop for a moment, tears threatening to spill over, "I know that this might be hard to hear, as I suspect at this time I am dead, do not cry for I am always with you. Remember that I love you, dear child, and begin your new adventure of life. You are special, I think you might have magic. Be careful, you know how the Federals treat those with magic, you know how it is a forbidden and ancient art. I love you, dear child. Live."

You must have read that little letter a thousand times, what did it mean?
You put on the necklace and the dagger, in hilt of course, and opened the book.
It wasn't in english, you flipped through the yellowing pages and scrambled through your memories, hoping that at least one of the words could be recognized by your desperate brain. Pictures littered those old pages as well, strange designs that were vaguely familiar to you.
You screamed in rage.
You couldn't remember for how long or when the scream dissolved into sobs but all you know is that you woke up in your bed with all of their clothes surrounding you, some of the clothes had been soaked with tears.

You sat up and got dressed, you left your nice loft and went into the dark streets of the city, morning light barely peaking through the night's darkness.
You had to find someone who could read the words in your book, you had to be careful about it.
After months of searching and little to no sleep you finally found someone, they lived in the dark side of town, the very dark side of town.
It wasn't anything you couldn't handle but you were still frightened.
You entered their shop, it assaulted all your senses; different scents slamming themselves into your nose, hundreds of colors and shapes climbing into your eyes, sounds slithering in your ears and the overall feeling of surprise.
You felt the hem of your expensive shirt be tugged and when you looked down a small child is looking up at you, wide orange eyes that seemed to glimmer like flames.
You let the kid, a little girl that looked about eight or ten, lead you down stairs into a dark cellar like room.
Inside a few strangers stood, each apart from each other, each looked worried.
Then an Asian man appeared, a long white and wispy beard blended with his mustache and his hair long hair was pulled back.
He looked like one of those wise men from your fairy tale books.
He looked up, revealing ice blue eyes, and scanned the small crowd.
"I have gathered you all here. You are ancestors of the great magicians, you hold their powers though you may not know it yet. I am here to train you."
--
Name:
Age:
Talent: (finder, maker, grower- description below)
Color of book: (orange-finder, blue-maker, green-grower)
Gender:
Appearance:

Finder:
A person who is extremely talented in finding things, they are also very talented fighters. They tend to be males but there are a few females, usually they are employed as guards but some successful ones can survive off the their fees for finding things. They are quite clever and love riddles but not the brightest when it comes to technology, it baffles them, and they tend to stay away from it, they are okay with plants and know basic remedies as they need to if on a mission and injured but by no means are they well versed.

Maker: A person who creates steamtech among other things, they are usually quite good at fixing things. They are usually equally represented among both genders, normally employed as fixers or factory workers. They tend to be on the weaker side of the fight scale as they rely more on tech to protect them than their physique.

Grower: A person who is exceptional at growing things and knowing how to use them, they are usually very good at healing and medicine. They tend to be females rather than males but there are males out there, they tend to be employed as healers and doctors for there vast knowledge in herbs and other plants. They are weak fighters but are pretty good with technology as it usually quite helpful with doctoring.


Lets keep the gender number even kay?