(Edited with Grammary on 10/30/25)
(A/N: Hey guys, trying something new. I'm using Grammarly to help with my major errors, tell me guys what you think down below!)
After making doubly, no triple sure that his curtains were drawn and door barricaded, Albert couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh. Shoulder slumping, he reached underneath his office desk. Reaching not for the underside but more along one of its sides. Fingers roaming, something nearly nicked the very tips of his appendage. Turning slowly, the small object came undone and fell out into his palm.
A glance down revealed a simple screw and the inner, wooden lining of the desk popping open. And there, pressed in tightly was a simple bundle wrapped thoroughly in plastic wrap. Glancing around once more, he pulled out the hidden stash and began to gently unwrap its covering.
And before long, a familiar fine feeling, a stack of paper was revealed. Its surface, scrawled in small and fluid writing, slight imperfections here and there revealed the fact that it was indeed handwritten by someone with high levels of penmanship.
'Welcome back, old friend.'
Just looking at the thin stack brought back memories of simpler but lonelier days. Ducking and dodging out of the sights of goons, living from one crappy motel room to another. Back then, these pages were the reason why he'd been quick enough to find a shelter in time. Sure, he would've found out what was going on through his voicemail, but with how close he was to accidentally passing out on that bathroom floor, it would've been far too late. And then where would he be then?
From the routine radio reports, Gotham had almost been a war zone. With looters running rampant and the monsters of society finally letting their mask slip during that period of turmoil.
He wouldn't have been safe, that's for certain. Maybe he would've been turned into some lackey barely scrapping by or considered a target because of both his age and apparent lack of group. Shooting away his problems simply wasn't an option; he only had so many bullets after all.
So, in some ways, Albert was very attached to what he dubbed The First Chapter. It was both one of his few power-ups back in the day and possibly the only reason why he was in as 'good' a position as he was in now. He had a roof over his head, food in the fridge, clean clothes ready for him to wear, a way to make more money legally, and friends to fill those empty moments.
'The world is funny sometimes.' In the beginning, he'd frantically sought ways to access these 'fortunate' secrets just beyond his reach to give himself an advantage and an edge over the competition. He'd thought maybe he was in a pretty good position not to feel the need to still possess that 'hunger'. 'One negative experience was the time it took to make me come scrambling back.'
'Status.'
[Albert Nelson
HP: 20/20
MP: 9/9
SAN: 37/47
LCK: 45/45
IP: 5
Skills:
- Appraise: 26%
- Art/Craft (Photography): 55%
- Acting: 7%
- Disguise: 26%
- Dodge: 23%
- Fire Arms (Handgun): 62%
- Library Use: 60%
- Listen: 35%
- Navigate: 24%
- Occult: 35%
- Persuade: 4%
- Psychology: 54%
- Spot Hidden: 60%
- Stealth: 45%
- Psychometry: 22%
Talents:
- Resourceful
- Lucky
- Psychic Power
Cthulhu Mythos: 0%]
Sure, he'd grown a bit, whether it was from near constant practicing of the sheer danger pushing him forward. If the system was as hostile as he assumed, it was probably the latter.
But despite how well everything was coming along...that interaction with 'Yanny', who certainly had some form of specialized training, had highlighted once more how completely out of his depths he was. The servant wasn't some named character or heir to the League of Assassins, instead just some unknown drone, trained and taught the ways of more shady dealings. And he'd still almost killed Albert.
There wouldn't have been a chance to resist or anything, he would've just 'disappeared' and his fate would've become entirely unknown. A mere oddity, a drop in the ocean, yet another missing person devoured by Gotham. Sure, Harley would kick up a stink, but it would be far too late by then.
And that helplessness rankled him on a level that brought him right back to his earlier days.
He came out on top this time around by pulling out the stops and just barely squeaked by, but that wouldn't always be the case. Eventually, his collection of tricks simply wouldn't be enough.
'I need more.'
Quite the slippery slope he walked upon.
Hence, there was once more seeking answers in the academic writings of a prince from a different era, world, and maybe even universe.
Placing down The First Chapter, another hand reached down and pulled out multiple sheets of paper. Even through his gloved fingers, it was easy to tell the difference between the samples. Some felt more like silk or cloth, while others were as coarse as sand. Some couldn't even stand under their own weight and flopped weakly between his grip, while others stood ramrod straight, resisting even his prodding.
Lying them out, there were four sheets of differing makes.
The system, in all its 'kindness', had the ability to brand the knowledge of Fortunecraft into reality. Something it gained by absorbing the texts from his inheritance...a tome he'd stupidly sold away to the very man he knew would never, ever give it back.
At the time, it had seemed like such a great idea...until he found out that if the quality of the material in question wasn't strong enough, the knowledge emblazoned across its surface would cause it to burst into flames.
And if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed that each 'chapter' would require a higher quality ceiling than the last. Something he'd guessed after trying to inscribe even a single page beyond The First Chapter, only to meet with failure along with burnt fingertips. So, trying to reach further hadn't amounted to much, with the primary bottleneck being his limited funds.
'It's a good thing Madame Clements was feeling so remorseful.'
During that little meeting with Madame, he'd gotten her to agree to provide him with a few sheets of high-quality paper. Not just the mundane stuff either. She had her fingers in a lot of different pies out there. So it was easy to source some material. Having given him four different samples with around five pages each, finding a material that works shouldn't be too difficult.
Picking up one, he stared at its fine surface. Rough and untreated like leather, it didn't really look like something people could write on. Maybe a brush would be a better tool to use here. Having been made from some sort of specially cultivated tree, specifically designed to resist tearing from all but the most resolute of sources.
Before doing anything, for fear of starting a fire in his home, he quickly dragged a small bucket of water between his legs.
[Fortunecraft: Anchor found! Transferring…]
Initiating the transfer, he could feel his providence latch onto the sheet. Those tiny grains act on their own, grinding themselves into their surface to create shallow grooves. It was an odd thing to see, especially now that he was able to both sense and see what was going on all at the same time. As before, it just seemed like the system was inscribing the words itself, and if the material wasn't good, the knowledge from it would cause the paper to burst into flames.
But it seemed things weren't as fantastical as he once thought. As, instead, somehow, his LCK had temporarily become something physical and was washing itself over the surface at a greatly accelerating rate. Slow and pondering, almost shy before becoming comfortable, to almost drill into the sheet with what seemed like reckless abandon.
Just as a single word began to appear, a spark followed in its place, and before it had a chance to burn his fingertips like last time, he quickly allowed the paper to slip out of his fingers to safely fall into that emergency bucket.
'Friction.'
It wasn't some mystical force stopping him, or the fact that lesser material simply held the knowledge jammed into his head, forever out of his reach. But instead, it was something simple. The system seemed to have stored the knowledge of Fortunecraft directly into his own LCK, using it like a printer to inscribe the information over. But whether from how cruel or incompetent, it wasn't able or willing to adjust the speed enough to allow all but the most durable of materials to survive.
'If that's the case,' He rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, an idea already spinning. 'No oxygen equals no fire.'
And so, pushing the lightly charred paper to just below the surface, he once more initiated the transfer. Feeling those grains rub and bump against his skin, they collected and clumped at his hand before crawling over the sheet like little ants. There he sat, hunched over as his providence did its job and slowly, over the course of a few moments, more words began to appear on its surface. Each letter emanates a gentle golden hue for just a mere fraction of an instant before being snuffed out.
Just as hope began to bloom in his chest, life reared its ugly head. At first, he could feel the water grow a few degrees warmer, before small tears began to appear throughout the sheet. Until, in a final flash of movement, it was completely torn to shreds. Filling the small bucket with fragments of slowly dissolving matter.
'Three words.' That little test hadn't been a complete failure after all. If water could really provide a times three boost to inscription, then that in itself opened up a whole new can of worms. What if he used cold water? Maybe freezing the sheet first would make it last longer? How much did he need? A full bucket like this, or maybe just a thin layer? A whole bevy of questions slammed into him, each falling deeper down that rabbit hole. 'Another day.'
He needed to take things one moment at a time, for now, just finding material strong enough was the primary goal. Everything else could wait. Any good building needs a strong foundation first.
Picking up another sheet, its smooth and soft texture was the first thing he noted. In all appearance, it didn't look like something to be written on easily. More like something to be sewn together to form a sort of sleeve or patch. Honestly, with how good it felt even through his gloves, he wouldn't mind seeing if he could get them made into another pair.
Putting that thought aside, he once more initiated the transfer. Watching and waiting as words began to scrawl themselves across its surface. Grains lump themselves together and grind into the material itself. And from how quickly the page was being filled, this was a far better product than before.
Just as the page was nearly completed, the first signs of trouble began to appear. A small hole, rimmed in fire, began to spread from a single letter in the middle of the page, and as quickly as possible, he dunked the sheet into his emergency bucket in some hopes of at least completing something before being forced to try again.
A few seconds later, he carefully lifted the sheet high as he carefully observed the densely packed letters on its surface. From front to back, every square inch was covered. It was nearly perfect...if only there wasn't a pretty small hole near the middle. And with how densely packed everything was, it had devoured enough to make a few sentences lose all their meaning.
Not something ideal, especially not when dealing with supernatural forces like this. It would be like begging for the world to screw him over if he tried to take things as is, and so with a sigh, he dunked it back underwater and initiated yet another transfer atop its already filled surface. Overlapping letters emblazoned across it, only getting around a sentence or two down before it too nearly exploded into a cloud of slowly dissolving matter.
This was his method for the next half an hour, testing the tolerance of each sample before destroying it and going on to the next. Soon, he had two possible materials that could work for at least The Second Chapter.
The first, obviously, was the silk-like paper. Despite it not holding up above water, in its things was a different story. He would just have to make sure to let it dry before trying to read anything. While the second candidate was a smooth sheet of what seemed to be specially treated paper that glimmered lightly under those beams of light that leaked in. Like stars in the night sky, bits of wonder splashed across its surface.
'Contract paper and alchemically treated paper..'
While he didn't fully understand the fine differences between the two, he'd been told that contract paper was primarily used in magically enforced deals. Specifically between human Ignited and Magis. It wasn't some sort of divine parchment that would strong-arm a party into doing something through the use of mind control or something similar, but instead, any broken deal would send a notification to the nearest Council of Seven branches, and they would dispatch an Enforcer to investigate. A scenario most people wanted to avoid.
This was made through the use of some sort of magical method closely guarded by the major Magi Houses; for that reason alone, he was very hesitant to use it for his purposes. Sure, he might be a small fry, but that didn't mean he was willing to trust inscribing secrets onto something so unknown….well beyond what he'd already done. The prince liked to ramble on, so there wouldn't be much gleaned from just one sheet.
A real shame, too, as it had been able to thoroughly withstand the friction even above water.
That only left the alchemically treated paper as his option. As it turns out, plenty of alchemists out there worked in some pretty dangerous environments, slowly accumulating knowledge in a notebook or tome over the course of years. Most would have a heart attack if something unforeseen happened and they accidentally dropped some acid, oil, fire, goat's blood, or anything overly destructive on their prized possession. Hence, it wasn't uncommon for an alchemist to treat paper specifically designed to be resistant to those momentary slip-ups.
Made in a wooden vat, a mixture of tonics was carefully measured and stirred continuously over a low flame for around ten to fifteen minutes until the concoction took on a thick, mud-like appearance. Then, it was sealed and stored in a dry and dark environment for two days. After which, a thin layer of inky black liquid will be left atop a massive block of wax. Disposing of the foul-smelling byproduct, a fine layer of wax could be scraped off into a small tray and heated.
By drenching sheets of paper in the wax, they would come out feeling like silk and resistant to most forms of accidents. From forceful erasing, spillage, or having it too close to an open flame.
And while it hadn't completely matched up, he trusted this one way far more than the other stuff. Not just because it seemed to have very little to do with the unknown magic represented, but also due to how Madame Clements had been all too eager to spread the general idea of the method. In fact, she'd been almost giddy, and it was honestly the first time he'd ever seen her so animated.
Combine that with the fact that she apparently had stacks of the stuff lying everywhere, and it was also the most cost-effective method out there. No weird magical spying, no binding contracts with major Magi Houses, just good ol'fashion alchemy.
Pulling out four more sheets of 'alchemist' paper, he dunked them in his thoroughly muggy water tub and initiated the transfer once more. If there wasn't enough, he could always order more. Just getting an introduction would already be more than enough to start.
Albert could feel the tub growing warmer under his grip, feel his grains of providence surge down his arm and clump onto the thin stack. Grinding and burrowing, dull golden light flashed through the murky depths. Keeping up its dim intensity for only a moment before the room dimmed once more. Leaving him only the beams of natural light slipping through his closed blinds.
On the count of three, he raised them out of the sludge and placed each one of them down on a nearby towel. Allowing them to dry in peace.
It wasn't much, but he couldn't help but feel a bit accomplished.
'Honestly,' His thoughts were even a bit mirthful as he lifted their lightly charred brethren to his face. It wouldn't hurt to get a peek at what he had to look forward to. 'I'm just glad I don't need Contract paper, that stuff was pretty pricey.'
Starting off at around a hundred bucks per page, it wasn't something he could so carelessly sink money into.
Beginning, he allowed himself to sink into his chair.
'Fortunecraft is not just a tool. To treat it as such is blasphemy of the highest order.' Wincing, he couldn't help but feel a bit called out there, but still continued. 'Take this, for example, our world is one giant spider's web. Composed of infinitely tight and compact strands of Providence. Connecting each of us through the Grand Plan. And normally, we would go our whole lives never interacting with those massive weaves. But through the use of Fortunecraft, we can perceive these strands and understand why we reign supreme in a universe filled with alien monstrosities, not a part of that tapestry.'
'From our previous chapter, I introduced a way to step onto the path itself. To open ourselves up to the whims of fate, to fully place our necks at the behest of this Grand Plan. Infunda Fortuna is something that can take multiple volumes just to explain the extensive history and philosophy of it. Of how many wars and battles were single-handedly won by The Children of Fate relying heavily on this 'beginner' technique, but that is outside of the purview of this instructional manuscript. If this does interest you, please read the following volumes: The Battle for the Black Peaks, The Final Slave Uprising of the Old Republic, Introduction to the Religious Order of Fortuna, A Deep Philosophical Analysis of Providence-'
And the list went on. And on, filling up almost half a page with various titles and references that he had no way of ever accessing unless it was thrown from the heavens themselves. While most of the stuff there seemed mighty interesting, he was forced to skim the lists until the author finally got back on topic.
'-Again, I must reiterate that despite Infunda Fortuna being classified as something basic, its depths are greater than what can be crammed into a single chapter. But its primary reason for being condensed in such a way was to help introduce the actual prospect of feeling for one's own fortune. Some will have more and others will not; that is simply the way of The Grand Plan. One is not considered lesser for having a lot, nor should they be praised for having more. It is not a symbol of one's nobility or right to rule. As from that massive tapestry, we're all insignificant. A mere speck of dust in the collective history of humanity.'
'I say this not only so any prospective readers believe themselves ready to lead a crusade against anything Arcane would think twice but also to lessen the blow that my words will bring.'
'Chapter One, Infunda Fortuna, was meant to act as a foundation. To not only build up familiarity with your own Providence but also to experiment, to broaden your horizon. But this is not Chapter Two; it is more accurate to call this a screening before you continue forward and to come to terms with yourself.'
'I will list a variety of feats, and if you find yourself able to do at least four of them without relying on this manuscript, then you may skip this and continue onto Chapter Two: Introduction to Beginner Providence Weaving. But if you do not meet these requirements, I cannot in good faith suggest you move beyond this chapter.'
His heart froze in his chest, anxiety burning a hole into him as he felt like the floor was collapsing beneath him. This was literally HIS cheat, and he might not even have the qualifications to move forward? What was he supposed to do if that was the case? Give up and throw to the far back of his mind? Or guide others more talented than him on this path?
'Calm down.' He tried to reassure himself, but nothing was concrete. Maybe he did meet the requirements. 'Let me just check, the list can't be that long...right?'
Taking only a mere fraction of eye movement, every bit of confidence he'd managed to scrape together. There were a little over thirty feats….Thirty! Frankly, with how many there were, it was better to list out everything he actually achieved.
'Possess a Fortune Blessing.'
He took that as meaning a talent that, in some ways, interacts with his LCK. Maybe it would be considered cheating if he took both Resourceful and Lucky as their own entries.
'Used your fortune to divine a path forward.'
Again, he kind of used his talent in this way. As both the job opening at the park and running along those identical doors in search of his query.
'Can see or hear your own providence.'
That was a severe stretch. He didn't believe this prince expected the possibility of a system distilling their entire belief system down into a series of two-digit numbers. Hell, he was sure they would consider it some trick of the 'Arcane' and be hunted down by a literal luck-infused super soldier that the world made extra sure that everything just worked out for them in the end.
The last thing he wanted was a group of lucky investigators knocking on his door.
But that's it. No matter how many times he scanned over the extensive list, nothing else aligned with his actions thus far. And reading some of the facts made him scratch his head.
'Can sense the providence of others.'
'That's possible?!'
More immaterial stats like LCK, INT, and POW were often extremely difficult to glean from an enemy, requiring meta knowledge...and if the Game Keeper kept rolls hidden, then it really was impossible. But here this madman was saying that they could sense the LCK of other people?! How was that fair? Wouldn't that essentially let them see through walls? Track people easily and even sniff out the spare Wizard hiding amongst their midst?
A broken ability that he desperately wanted to acquire.
But alas, he simply wasn't talented enough, and just looking at the list once more was enough to nearly drop him into a pool of depression. By cheating and stretching the rules, he may have been qualified for the full four requirements...but who was he fooling? It was only two, if he were being completely honest with himself.
Shaking it off, he forced himself to glance over at the other sheets of paper. They looked dry enough to read.
'If you do qualify, please feel free to skip over this chapter. But if you don't, worry not, there is still something here for you. This chapter, Freeform Fortuna Methods, still contains a few minor abilities to last you a lifetime to master. While the higher forms of Fortunecraft will be out of your reach, it is not the worst fate out there. You're still miles better than any who dare to dabble in the Arcane.'
'Particularly, after this, there is a technique that is technically classified as free-form. Something that even the most un-adept of people can perform. It is not recommended, as throwing oneself fully onto the sword of fate is usually seen as an absolute last resort. Please, take my caution to heart. Do not use this method casually.'
Of course, if there's a super secret 'method' that even the author preaches cautions over, especially after being told how untalented he was, how else was he supposed to react? By greedily devouring the introduction.
'When the time is both dire and dark. And when all hope is lost, there is but one single thing that can help you achieve victory from the jaws of defeat. Gambit. The act of placing one's hand on the scale of fate, tipping it in one's favor. A great ability? I daresay, godlike? But it is not without a price...a dire one at that. Whenever performing Infunda Fortuna, you can 'burn' a part of your providence to affect the outcome of any given situation. To manipulate fate itself.'
'You will succeed, but at the price of earning the ire of the Grand Plan. A dark fate will always follow, and whatever remnants of your expended fortune will be forced to deal with the brunt of the fallout. But if you decided to 'burn' everything….Then I can only say I've many knights' fate tragedies beyond their means to recover from.'
'If my warning and caution as Grand Elder of Fortuna Academia is not enough to make you take this seriously, then allow my title to pick up the slack. I, Casper Shalmaujek Gitremrurni, Third in line to the throne of the Whaosa Empire, command you, as your Prince, to heed my words.'
Albert could feel the command, the majesty of it all oozing off the page with that simple command. But, this wasn't the Whaosa Empire. That was in some far-off world in some long forgotten time in a possibly dead universe. And he wasn't a subject for this prince to command.
While he would take that warning to heart, this was exactly what he needed. What felt missing from his toolkit all along. In both Pulp Cthulhu and Call of Cthulhu, one could alter the results of a die roll by spending LCK. For example, let's say someone rolled a fifty-five for a Spot Hidden roll, but they only had a forty in that skill. Instead of failing, they would have the opportunity to spend fifteen points of LCK to drop them where they need to be.
But nothing stopped them from dumping forty-seven points and forcing an extreme success. That was the power of Gambit. An edge he needed in a world like this.
And so, picking up another sheet, he began to read. Studying to learn how to take his own fate into his own hands. Literally.