Father Matthias clapped his hand on your back.
"Now, I know you like reading, and I approve, but there's a reason we spend time together. For it is in fellowship..."
His voice trails off expectantly, and you speak sullenly.
"For is in in fellowship we find salvation."
He smiles at you, hands the size of your head sprouting from arms like tree trunks. After a moment, the smile dims.
"You know, I never get a chance to speak with most of you one on one. Not for long - the city wants you educated, but there's only so much learning to go around. Can you tell me why? List the Three Rings, and why you're unfortunate enough to be in the third."
Father Matthias never stopped trying to make everything a lesson. You would've rolled your eyes, but he was looking right at you. Even when asking painful questions he always seemed so earnest. You speak.
"The inner ring is the High Ring, where the mages, governors, and full citizens of the city live. They live there as they are too important to risk against the Darklings in all but the worst need. The middle ring is the Trade Ring, where goods are bought and sold, and traders come from the other cities and the villages around. Those who produce valuable goods, like blacksmiths, live there. The outer ring is the Dead Ring-"
"The Shield Ring."
Father Matthias's voice cuts you off, calm and pleasant. You know better, though. They call it the Dead Ring, because the people who live there are either dead, or not that far from dying. You've seen Darklings before, huge leathery bat-things clambering over the walls in the night. Never close enough to die, but Volstead Street was burned down two years ago to root out some Darklings that had gotten into the Ring, and it still hadn't been rebuilt.
"The Shield Ring. The orphans, the beggars, the soldiery who need to be called to arms. Anyone who can't get into a better Ring."
His voice is still kind, but the next words are merciless.
"And why are you here?"
"My parents... my parents-"
[ ] Were Killed by Darklings A Few Years Ago
Madalgia maintains a large militia, but they are not well-armed. The population grows ceaselessly, and ways and means must be found to cull it. One of the simplest (beyond exiling those who are too many to a Lighthouse), is ensuring anyone without a trade serves as a militiaman, and given the number of them, they are not well-armed. Lives are cheap, and good equipment is not. Your parents were members of the militia, fighting against monsters with ten times their strength and speed with simple spears and shields. Eventually it overcame them. You hate the city for what it did to them, and your anger at the situation burns in you every day. If you go to a Lighthouse, it will be on your terms, somewhere the city doesn't control.
Become more Angry. Will not go to the Yellow Lighthouse, reducing the list of available Lighthouses to Orange, Blue, and Purple.
[ ] Tossed Me Out At Birth
Families grow large, in expectation of deaths. Some families are lucky though, if it can be called that. The seventh child of two blacksmiths, they could not even feed six. You were sent to the orphanage as a baby. You could not be fed by your family, and that was the end of the matter. You learned their names a few years back, but your attempts to enter the Trade Ring were met with beatings by the guards. You grew up scrawny but clever, scavenging for food and things to trade, trying to fend off the death you could always see coming. Fear defines your life, and you know the fear churning your stomach as not only a foe, but a valued protector, saving you from beatings and Darklings alike.
Become more Fearful. You will be weaker and scrawnier, but will gain better Survival Skills. Will not travel to the Purple Lighthouse (due to the danger), reducing the list of available Lighthouses to Yellow, Orange and Blue.
[ ] Sold me to a Trader
Slavery isn't legal as such, as human flesh isn't worth all that much, but your parents were villagers who had too many children. A passing trader had lost his only son, and took you in to raise you as his own for a pair of fine iron pots. Five years ago, Spinewolves attacked your cart, killing your adoptive father. In the light of the orange Lighthouse, they tore him apart as you watched, saved by a pair of passing Shaderunners escorting orphans to the Lighthouse to attempt Ascension. You'll always remember the orange light shining down on his lifeless body. You can't ever go back there. No, not ever. Still, when you think about what he taught you, he taught you to trade well, talk with all and sundry, and always, always find the best bargain. Every copper was counted, every item stored away, and your father was never against pilfering a thing or two if he didn't think he'd be coming back to that village in a hurry.
Become more Greedy. Will not travel to the Orange Lighthouse, reducing the list of available Lighthouses to Yellow, Blue, and Purple.
[ ] Attempted Ascension
They were only children, really. Ascension is usually attempted at sixteen, as that age seems to bring the most successes. Your mother was fourteen and your father fifteen, two orphans who fell in love. A year later, your father attempted to Ascend at the Blue Lighthouse, and never returned. Your mother attempted the year after, and returned maimed, missing her left arm. She was permitted to stay, having made her attempt, but the old wound was often infected, and she died a year ago. She sang to you, and loved you, and told you the stories of the old Age of Light, when there was peace and plenty, weaving words of happiness and hope throughout your childhood. She also asked you never to enter the Blue Lighthouse. She knew it would have to be one, but she could not bear sending her only child to the doom that took her arm and husband.
Become more Hopeful. Will not travel to the Blue Lighthouse, reducing the list of available Lighthouses to Yellow, Orange and Purple.