Synopsis: After hoodwinking Darkos, a holy priest, into escorting her back to her castle, Dark Enchantress Geela has one item left on her list: revenge on her ex-husband. With a confused Darkos in tow, she sets out. However, Geela isn't the only one with secrets. And Barney isn't the only old enemy who's about to get a visit.
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Jane peered through the dim light of the bar at Geela. It took the dim-witted woman far too long to recognize the delicate woman with bright green eyes and an abundance of golden locks. When she did, however, her eyes brightened, even as her shoulders slumped.
“Miss Geela! You’ve come to rescue your poor, wretched servant.” Jane’s lips twisted into a sad arc. “I messed up most terribly. I wanted a drink but didn’t have the two copper I needed, so I bet three years of hard labor against a bag of copper in a card game. But it wasn’t the game I thought it was.” Her face drooped further til it looked like it was about to melt off. “It was very complicated and they didn’t tell me the rules so Iost really badly.”
Huh. Geela didn’t have a single thing to say to this. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, that would convey how she felt about this.
Instead, she turned to Darkos. “Undo her bonds. We’re leaving.”
“Ah ah ah, stop right there little lady.” This warning came from the man who owned the belt loop, and apparently Jane. He caught Darkos tugging on the rope and stood up to face the two. He was a good foot taller than Darkos and probably weighed the two of them put together.
Great.
“She works for me now.” He yanked the rope and Jane fell to the ground, far more dramatically than she needed to. Even the man looked concerned for a second before looking back up to Geela. “You’ll be needing to pay up three years worth of labor to get her back.”
Geela scoffed. “She’s worth that much to you? What kind of hard labor do you want from a failed smuggler and a bad alchemist.”
“Money’s tight since the Blackheart sunk,” he said. All around them, the table had quieted as more tuned into the conversation between an utter mountain of a man and a woman who barely broke five feet. “We take what we can get.”
The Blackheart was a well known enough ship name that even Geela, who rarely dealt with affairs of the ocean, recognized it. A fabled pirate ship, the kind that scourged seas and pillaged ports and stuff like that. Now Geela understood this man and his ilk a bit better. Any pirate caught in the city was liable to have any property of their removed before being kicked from the city.
“Blackheart?” Geela raised an eyebrow about a quarter of an inch. Curious, not concerned. “The owners of this establishment know they’ve got a little pirate infestation?”
“Not so little,” said a voice from behind her. Geela turned to find the entire room had gone more or less silent as they all stared at her. “Blackheart was a big ship,” the woman’s raspy voice continued. “Lotta people worked on her before she ate it in the harbor. Damned enforcers oughta’ve kept their noses out.”
“You, uh, you weren’t thinking of ratting on us, were you little missy?” asked a third patron, an eager laugh following his words. “Could do with a good brawl.”
Ah. This was enough for Geela to click two and two together. The Objectionable Opium was a pirate establishment. That’s why it was so big. Needed to be large enough to sufficiently hide the illicit activities going on and provide a good safehouse for anyone running from authorities. No doubt the authorities of the city knew there was some kind of illegal behaviors happening in the dingy building, but as long as it all happened in one place, and didn’t cross any paths with them, they were probably happy to let it continue.
Just another classic case of the stunning Flavianport law enforcement being as honorable as they were thorough.
Geela’s lip curled. “I assure you, I have no interest in the authorities myself. I just need my minion.” Then she lowered her voice. “The girl’s not even mine, but I promised my henchman he could keep her. Poor Darkos would be crushed if he lost her.” At this, she patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.
“He’ll have to cough up,” the first pirate said. “I won’t be letting her go til her debt’s paid.”
Geela let out a pent up sigh. “Jane’s not worth three years. She’s got sentimental value, not objective. Look at those scrawny arms, that vacant expression, that weak chin.”
Jane’s lips parted before she scowled and rubbed her chin, potentially trying to strengthen it, for all the good that it would do her.
The pirate gave her a once over and grimaced. Good. The man was questioning what value keeping her was.
Geela continued. “But you’re a pirate, aren’t you? You won her in a game, a gamble. I’ll win her back.”
The man laughed. “Cards? You look like the fancy type that knows how to play ‘em. I’d be at a disadvantage from a high board lady such as yourself.” There was nothing respectable in his tone but Geela wasn’t expecting it. She hadn’t won his respect yet. The game was still on.
So she slipped the strap of her bag off her shoulder, kicking it under the table, and took a seat. Still keeping eye contact with the pirate, she rested her frail hands on the table and began drumming her lily white fingers on the sticky surface.
“How about an arm wrestle?” she asked.
The laughter that broke out in the room was exactly what Geela wanted. Perfect perfect. Work up the crowds, get the egos going. The was shaping up to be an excellent show.
“I’m sorry, mlady, but I ain’t breaking any wrists today. ‘Specially not ones that are so likely gifted at penmanship or embroidery. Would be a waste to snap them like twigs.” He swiped a grubby hand at his face, snorting as she wiped away some spittle from his cheek. Geela wrinkled her nose. It would be worth it.
“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” she said. “I don’t plan on breaking your wrist either. So what do you think of my challenge?”
A chorus of ‘oooooos’ broke out as the pirate’s companions began egging him on. He shook out his hand and tipped his head at her, before flashing a grin at his companions.
“So what’s your twist, eh?” he asked. “My arm’s the size of your body. You gonna have your pretty boy do the fighting for you?”
Geela laughed. “I’m stronger than I look,” she lied. “I’ve got six older brothers who taught me to fight.” Another lie. “I grew up in the Farmlands Region—” truth “— bailing hay and picking wheat.” Lie. “This might not be as easy as you think.”
“Alright then. What do I get if you lose?” the man asked. From the way he was scrutinizing her, Geela knew this was part of the game. If she bet too much, he’d assume she had an ace in the hole.
“Money I suppose? I’m not betting labor but I can give you one year’s labor. I know it’s a third of what you asked for, but she’ll collapse after six months, so you’re technically getting the best out of this.” Geela looked at Jane, her eyes spitting venom before she plonked her elbow on the table. It slipped on a puddle of grease and she managed to knock over the man’s tankard. A sludgy, foul smelling beverage spread over the table. “And I’ll buy you another one of… whatever that was.”
The pirate laughed. “Bet you never had a mud puddle, eh? Alright, I’ll take your bet, but I don’t pay for any of your healing bills, you hear?”
Geela smiled and put her arm in the middle, hand up, the only contrast on her slender pale fingers being a solitary blue band. “Ready when you are.”
Her hand disappeared inside the massive fist of the pirate and his friends chanted down.
Three.
Two.
Geela was already hard at work long before they hit one, however. Her ring, the shield against unpleasantness, had activated the minute he’d taken her fingers in his sweaty, greasy hand. The shield that veiled her hand was enough to keep it safe but she kept it low grade, not enough for him to notice.
Then the chanting crowd hit zero and her hand flung towards the table as he pushed with all his might. It wasn’t… a pleasant feeling, but again the shield activated, feeling the grossness of the mudpuddle coated table and rebelled, pushing her hand back up. Protected by the shield, Darkos’s healing, and a separate healing garment in her back pocket, Geela wasn’t concerned about longterm effects. Instead, she pushed a little extra power into her ring, which pushed it fully away from the table and back into neutral ground.
“How,” the pirate whispered. He pushed more and more of his energy into Geela’s hand, but it wouldn’t budge. Beads of sweat were trickling down his cheeks, but that ring wasn’t getting any closer to the table. Darkos and Jane stared, jaws on the floor, as Geela effortlessly held her own.
The tricky part was winning, but Geela did have a plan there too, of course. The ring’s twin was in her bag, which sat below the table. Triggering the homing device on the twins would pull them together. Since the other ring was stuck in her bag, it would just pull the ring on her finger down towards the bag. All she had to do was shift the bag below into place underneath the spot on the table she needed to force the pirate’s hands.
“Darkos, dear,” she said. “Would you mind giving me a count?”
It only took him a few seconds to scrape his jaw back onto his face.
“Uh. Three, two, one?”
At one, Geela tripped the homing device on the rings and her hand slammed down onto the table as the ring on her finger made a desperate bid to join its counterpart.
Darkos and the pirates all counted five beats, to make sure Geela had it, before announcing her the victor.
Geela deactivated the ring fast before it had a chance to smash both hands through the table. She pulled her hand back to her, trying hard not to let it quiver in pain, just from the pressure and strain.
“Alright,” Geela said. “I think that’s enough of that.” She desperately wanted to wash her hands, but that would have to wait. “I’ll take my minion and be on my way.”
She expected him to fight back but instead he just unlooped Jane from his belt. “I don’t know what you did,” he said, still shaking his head. “But you did it damn good. I ain’t fighting you further.”
There were a few disappointed groans from the pirates behind him, though there were also a few appreciative whistles and claps.
Geela herself felt almost let down. “Not even with all your comrades?”
“His beef is with you,” said one of the pirates, a large, barrel-chested woman. “Unless you cause trouble for us, then. But I also would rather not fight you, little one. You’re hiding something.”
Geela considered it. Really, this could be a golden opportunity. And she had been just itching to do a reveal.
“Well,” Geela said, “since you asked so kindly.” On the last word, Geela’s tone pitched to an icy, ghostly tone, her voice laced with spectral energy. A flick of her wrist and a dozen separate illusions sprang to life. A proper tricorn hat adorned her head, tattered but bedazzled with gold trim. Beneath it, her hair fell like a drowned woman’s and her very skin festered and sloughed, revealing bone in several places. The only part of her face spared from the terrifying transformation were her emerald green eyes, which glowed with a deadly intensity.
Her robe melted into a long coat befitting a great ship’s captain, all dark blue and red, as though a once-proud admiral’s jacket had spent too many years at the bottom of the sea. The strappy sandals that had been whining on her feet the whole time they were at the Opium, shifted into blood-stained leather boots that reached up her calves. The large buckles on each showed a skull.
The bar had gone so silent that the only audible sounds were the faint, echoey breeze of spectral lights floating around Geela and Jane’s whimpering.
“You… what are you?” asked the pirate Geela had so formidably wrestled.
“I am the dread pirate, Ja’Eel. The scourge of land and the hag of the sea.” Her voice had the same wild, ghostly shriek brushing it, coloring her words with darkness and harsh whispers. “You’re down a ship and I’m down a crew. You’re honorable but despicable. Good at your craft and out of work. I have a boat and more money than you’ve seen in your life. It seems to me, there might be an arrangement we can make.”
The pirate’s face paled at her words. “Well I… I can’t claim to speak for all of us but—”
“I can.” This new voice came from an older but still well in his prime man who stood by the bar. He shoved his way through the crowd to Geela. “Name’s Bob Grok. I’ve run the bulk of this crew through several different ship’s owners. Didn’t own the Blackheart. That was a man with whom I will no longer deal. But I keep this little bunch together and in one piece as we’ve searched for our next buyer. Been scouting out voyages and never heard you were in port, oh Great Ja’Eel Scialtia.”
His voice was almost mocking, but Geela didn’t really need to respond to that. “Mmm, tell me, Bob, did you expect to find me before I made myself known? Perhaps you aren’t as adept as I’d first thought.” Her eyes flashed. “Still, I can look past that. I need passage to the Third Southern Island Region. We’re taking down the Bella twins.”
The old man laughed at this. “You’re mad.”
Geela smiled with the half of her mouth that still had visible flesh. “I am. I am also the same void mistress who gave life to their entire damned lineage. I’ve taken out three like them. Two will be no trouble once I get there. For payment, I offer a sack of gold…” she let it hang in the air, watched Bob sigh in disgust and just start to open his mouth to laugh at her offer when she dropped the other foot. “Per sailor.”
A gasp of shock and murmurs broke among the crew as they very quickly learned what ‘more gold than you can imagine’ actually looked like.
The old pirate held up a hand and looked back at the group. Their faces were greedy masks of elation and excitement, and when he turned back, his mirrored theirs.
“You have yourself a deal, captain,” he said.
“Good.” She leveled him a look. “Then have my crew prepare themselves and be ready to head out. We set sail tomorrow at sunset!”
And just like that, she's got herself a crew. The Dread Pirate Ja'Eel is ready to sail the high seas. Nothing can stop her!
Also the results for the best of 2020 came in today! We got fourth place of close to 50 entries! Thank you so much :D

The winters here are biting, not just cold. Biting in a way that makes it feel like the coldest place on Earth.
But Sarah seemed very insistent on this house specifically, and the location.
I'll admit, it has a certain charm, how it bumps up against a nearly untouched wilderness. After the first snowfall and the accompanying soul sucking cold, that "charm" rapidly turned nonexistent.
I hated the large, lonely house. How the mammoth furnace blasted through the corridors to combat the almost innate chill of the area. Our two boys, Tommy and Monte, were playing outside, throwing snowballs at each other.
Skull, the family dog but mostly Monte's, wrestled with both of them, and all three of them looked like they were having fun.
As the furnace made the blasting sound again, almost like a muffled gunshot, I started to accept our surroundings as a sort of necessary evil. It made the children happy. It made my wife happy, so I guess I should've been content.
I ventured out into the wintery front yard, squinting at the glittering snow.
Turning to my left, I saw our neighbor, a friendly old man by the name of Victor. He'd welcomed us when we first moved in, seemed affable and as non-threatening as could be. Appeared to have a bit of a drinking problem, but that didn't change how he acted toward any of us.
Yet Sarah didn't want the kids being around him too much. Said she was concerned the "habit" would rub off on them. Still, Victor and I were fast becoming friends despite the age difference.
Smiling as I trudged through the snow to where Victor sat on his porch swing, bottle of vodka in hand, I waved to indicate I was coming over.
"Hell of a storm last night," Victor commented as I clomped onto the porch. His face twisted at the mere thought of it. When you got older, the almost gnawing winter chill becomes more easily felt, and being in nature's icebox only increased my sympathy for his apparent discomfort.
"Yeah...," I said. "Sucks, but the kids seem to like it. I can't argue with Sarah on that one."
Victor smiled, rubbing his knees. "True, but when you've lived all the way out here for as long as I have, well, you learn to hate the cold."
I chuckled. "I already do, my friend. I already do."
Taking a swig of vodka from Victor's bottle, I stared out at Tommy and Monte, who were throwing snowballs at Skull, who yipped excitedly.
I thought maybe Sarah had been right all along. Maybe she possessed a wisdom that I didn't, about how this barren and almost dangerous landscape brings a family closer together.
Then I took a look at Victor's sullen, wrinkled face. He seemed tired and worn, but contemplative.
"Something on your mind?" I asked, tone polite and a little distant. I couldn't help marvel at the thick, suffocating blanket of snow covering everything.
Victor gave a slight nod. "Yep. Guess, well, this time of year always brings out the curmudgeon in me. Can't help it."
Victor lived alone, had for close to half a decade. His only child lived far away, according to him, though I was starting to doubt he had one at all. He didn't talk about him with much affection, or any attachment whatsoever.
"Just...be careful this time of year, Miles. It has a way of straining a family. Winters here are like in no other place in the world. I don't mean just the temperature," Victor went on.
"What other things are there to worry about?"
A light shiver went up my spine, and roughly halfway up it became a violent shiver. Victor only looked at me and raised an eyebrow. After a while, he just shrugged.
"The atmosphere I guess. It'll be mid-January, and you'll think there's no hope left, that it'll go on forever," he replied, taking another swig from the bottle. "Snow practically takes on a life of its own, if you take my meaning."
We sat on the porch in a reflective silence. The only sounds were the howling of the post-blizzard wind, something more akin to an arctic blast, and a plopping which occurred at regular intervals as the old man let the bottle fall from his lips.
Even the sounds of Tommy, Monte, and Skull were fading. Increasingly, they felt like they were on the side of some impenetrable curtain. The porch began to feel isolated, as if the chill in the air was concentrated there.
"I can't believe how long Olivia's been gone," he said. "Every winter, especially harsh ones like this, I think to myself she'll be coming back home."
"I'm betting she will one of these days," I said, not sure really how else to comfort him.
Later on that day, as sunset approached, I was sitting in the living room, enjoying a rare moment alone with Sarah and reading a book.
"Thinking Victor's really missing his wife," I commented, putting my arm around her, suddenly consciously grateful of her just sitting in the red, overstuffed chair. And the two boys, even Skull, who never ceased finding opportunities for getting into trouble.
Sarah frowned, a subtle expression momentarily changing her fine features. "It's almost Christmas," she replied, placing a hand on my knee. "You should check on Victor. Maybe ask him if he wants to come over. I don't think he's a good influence on the kids, but he's harmless enough and it'll be for just a little while."
I nodded. After a few more minutes of fragmented conversation, I stood up, stretched and put on my hat and gloves.
Tommy and Monte were in the living room watching TV, their arms around Skull. His tail wagged contentedly, and he gave me a yip of acknowledgement as I walked out.
The omnipresent redness of the setting sun hit me right in the eyes, and I held up a gloved hand. I took the shortcut to Victor's, which meant trudging through foot-deep snow.
Victor wasn't on the porch, and an unexpected shiver rippled through my body as I scanned the empty wooden swing, then the abandoned bottle of vodka which already had frost around it. If someone gripped it right then, it would slip through their fingers.
Strangely the door had been left open a creak, but then I reminded myself that maybe Victor probably wasn't in a sober state of mind.
The wind increased to a roar, slamming the door against its wooden frame. I hastily closed it, heading past the entryway into the living room.
Only a small reader's lamp with a green shade had been left on, and the place was still mostly shrouded in darkness.
My back tensed as I stared at the empty furniture. I'd gone over to his house a few times, always finding him sleeping on the anachronistic couch, his drunken mind spinning some dream drowned in booze and fragmented thoughts about his wife Olivia.
A crashing sound upstairs shook me out of my reverie, and I whirled around and headed for the stairs. I halted at the bottom, peering up to the upper level, heart beating furiously. I could've sworn I glimpsed a flash of white mixed with red.
The only reason I didn't scream was simple--I didn't want to alert whatever was up there. Standing there, I debated whether or not to climb the stairs at all. Victor was a friend, but was he worth dying over? I asked selfishly.
I realized I couldn't live with myself if I let him die.
But what if he's already dead? My thoughts bled into my character, trying to find a loophole so I'd be able to flee the house with a clear conscience and not look back.
There wasn't a loophole, and I slowly cleared the stairs, one at a time, vision pounding and heart racing. I hoped against hope I wouldn't see the flash of white and red which seemed to slice through reality in the blink of an eye, terrifying me in the moment and leaving me perpetually on edge.
The hallway confronting me was narrow, covered in dust and a bygone era. I realized for the first time how old this house was, crumbling silently with each passing second.
Another booming sound, this one sounding like a civil war canon went off.
I froze after hearing the creaking of floorboards, then resumed my slow, quivering pace. At the end of the hall, I found Victor in his bedroom, right above his bed.
His body was held in place by a scythe made of ice, and the curved blade had been buried in his forehead, blood trickling down the flawlessly carved weapon.
I stood there for several seconds, limbs as frozen as the blade. I was absolutely terrified, and thought whether moving would alert whatever it was who killed Victor.
Noticing a small leather book on the nightstand, I hastily lurched forward, grabbed it, and ran from the room and down the stairs, almost tripping at the bottom.
I didn't stop until I reached my own house, which stood against the cold with a kind of bleak resoluteness.
Inside, Sarah had a big grin on her face, said I looked ridiculous running through the deep snow with my boots and that "oddly determined" expression on my face. The last thing I wanted to do was smile, but I mustered a lopsided, tired grin.
She asked me if Victor was okay, and I nodded.
"He's tired, hon, but doing...alright. Honestly, he's sleeping off the booze. I'll check on him tomorrow."
Sarah looked satisfied with that, and I told her I'd be up to bed in a little while.
Tommy and Monte had gone to bed an hour ago, yet I could still hear them playing upstairs.
In the living room, Skull lay on the carpet, eyes half-closed, sleep regular and lulling.
The wind had reduced to an eerie whistle, and I sat on the firm couch Sarah let me pick out, and flipped open to the first page.
"I'm starting this journal because, even though I have this sense every winter, this one especially stands out as the one where Olivia will return. I see her face in the mirror, icy, implacable. I know she misses me. There's something different in her eyes now. Maybe she's been gone too long, but I haven't lost faith in her coming back."
As I flipped through the pages, briefly staring out the large window in front of me at the full, infinite seeming night, I began to get a deeper feeling for what had really happened.
Instead of Olivia dying due to some terminal disease, he made a bargain with the winter so she'd be frozen in some other world for an indeterminate amount of time.
The last few lines gave me goosebumps. It read "knowledge is corruption. I'm an old man, only visitor is Miles on occasion but he hasn't seen this book. I'm not a religious person, but I pray he never will."
I slammed the book shut and shoved it in the end table's drawer, then I put my face in both shaking hands.
What had I done? I thought maybe the book's ramblings had been penned by a crazy old codger, but I'd seen his body held to the wall by a scythe made out of ice. I saw the blood.
And that flash of white and red...
I went to bed about an hour later so Sarah wouldn't get suspicious. She murmured in her sleep and turned away from me like she always did, pulling the blanket up to her chin and sighing.
It occurred to me I wasn't able to allow myself any soft feelings because of the knowledge I possessed. What happened to Olivia could happen to any member of my family. My only solace came from the fact that I hadn't made a bargain with the snow, but Victor's commentary wouldn't leave my mind.
A few hours later, I woke to the surge of adrenaline, slowly realizing a startling crashing sound woke me up. Similar to what I heard in Victor's place.
Sarah stirred but didn't wake. I hurriedly brushed the covers off of me and ran to Tommy's room. Safe and sound, sleeping off the edge of the bed.
But Monte's room was hauntingly empty. Muttering to myself, I mindlessly checked under the bed and in the closet, then I bolted out of the room and saw her again.
The slender, almost emaciated woman, the color of snow, eyes as penetrating and merciless as any icy wind. She had a scythe in her hands, and it looked like it would freeze any hand which touched it. She let out a scream, and suddenly I couldn't move. Then she traced an oval with her hands, and it turned into a white shimmering portal.
In the next instant, she was gone. Seconds later, Sarah's anxious but confused face appeared in the doorway to our room.
She couldn't stop crying when we couldn't find Monte, and I was damn near joining her in her tears.
"We need to call the police!" she said, on the brink of tears again.
I held her, not sure what else to do. I wasn't sure if I should tell her what I saw in Victor's bedroom, or in the hallway just then. But I knew calling the police would be absolutely fruitless. If Monte had wandered outside in such harsh weather, he probably would've been dead by now.
Even worse possibilities occurred to me as my mind involuntarily explored what would happen if the woman of ice took him into the portal. Monte was argumentative, and would probably anger her to the point something awful would happen.
"Why aren't you as worked up about this as I am?!" Sarah pounded my chest with her tiny fists.
The decision was made for me.
Tommy lingered in the doorway to his room, and I tried to give him a reassuring glance as I took Sarah by the shoulder.
We were by the stairs, and I looked into her red, puffy eyes.
"Sarah...I need to tell you something, in private. It's about Victor, and...I don't want to say it in front of our son," I said, subtly pointing my head toward the stairs.
A minute later, we sat on the couch, and I stared at her again.
"Honey, Victor's dead. I think I know who killed him, but you won't believe me."
"Victor's...dead? W-How?" Sarah replied, wiping her eyes.
"Like I said, you won't believe me if I tell you," I said. "I can show you, but not sure if it's something you want, or even need, to see. Besides, I don't want to take Tommy over there."
The only thing I could suggest was asking one of the neighbors if they'd be willing to watch Tommy for a few hours.
Most of our neighbors either wouldn't be willing, or weren't capable of watching him.
"Mrs. Campbell would work. She's rarely busy, and she was good with the boys last winter when we had to visit your mom," Sarah suggested, her gaze fixed on the floor and absent.
Luckily, the elderly woman was willing to take in Tommy for a few hours, said she'd be delighted. I knew Tommy hated it, but I told him we probably wouldn't be that long.
Victor's house offered a biting chill as I held the door open for Sarah. Once inside, I took the lead in case we encountered the bloody ice woman.
Upstairs, everything was eerily quiet, and the chill became something almost arctic. I rubbed my arms, and Sarah did the same.
As we entered Victor's bedroom, Sarah screamed.
His body was still "nailed" to the wall above his bed by the scythe of ice, and with his gaping mouth and still wide open eyes, he looked like some bizarre hunting trophy. Sarah stood shaking for a moment, then ran from the room after giving another half-scream.
Turning to go after her, I was horrified to see the bloody ice woman standing in front of Sarah, holding her scythe (it seemed like she could generate them at will).
She took the scythe, touched Sarah's head with the tip, and her limbs, once shaking in terror, had been frozen. The tip of the scythe touched her head again, then a shimmering portal engulfed her body, making her disappear in an instant.
The ice woman lingered, freezing my own limbs with a smile somehow so reminiscent of winter, my bones began to ache.
"In order to save your family, you must make a bargain with winter," she said, and my ears instantly felt the sensation of frostbite. Then that oval of shimmering ice appeared again, and she disappeared inside it. It shrank until it was little more than a teardrop hanging in midair, but before I could snatch the shriveled, crystallized portal, it seemed to slip into nothing with all the instinct of a turtle going into its shell.
With Sarah having been taken by the ice woman, I didn't linger in Victor's house. Instead, I ran down the stairs, out the door and trudged through the snow at a breakneck pace.
Mrs. Campbell's house felt like she had left the door open for days, and the darkness which enveloped me gave the distinct impression of being wrapped in a cocoon of maple syrup. For some reason, the smell invaded my nostrils and I was afraid to turn on the flashlight I used to illuminate Victor's house.
Once I did, the bright beam reflected off ice, momentarily blinding me. So I moved it a little to the left, still tracing the frozen shape until I saw a gaping mouth, and finally the curved blade deep in Mrs. Campbell's forehead, blood having wrapped around it in a web of tributaries.
"My g-," I started, but renewed thoughts of Tommy made me search the rest of the house in the semi-darkness. I found I couldn't stop trembling, implications of what happened to my family after being spirited away by some abomination left me utterly shaken and terrified.
Then what I read in Victor's journal came to mind, how "knowledge is corruption."
Knowing I wouldn't be finding Tommy here, and now with every member of my family save Skull having disappeared, I knew I had to act quickly.
I hurried over to our house, trying my best to ignore the whine of the wind as it ran through me with almost savage force. Inside, everything had been plunged into darkness just like Mrs. Campbell's house, and I gripped the flashlight with an anxious, sweaty tightness.
Scanning the living room with the flashlight's still strong beam, I located Victor's journal. I knew I needed to "make a bargain with winter" I just didn't know how. Part of me wasn't sure if I even wanted to, but there weren't any other options within my mind's immediate grasp.
The haunting whine outside turned into a hair-raising shriek, and for a moment I thought the house would collapse under the strength of the wind. Fortunately it didn't, but the windows creaked and the walls groaned all the same.
I thumbed through Victor's journal, hoping to find something that would put me on the path to getting Sarah, Tommy, and Monte back.
Then, on the second to last page it read:
"In order to make a bargain with winter, recite this passage, but beware the season is treacherous and fickle. It has many faces, pouring into human vessels at will. Flip a coin into the mouth of your snowman, and the bargain will be irreversibly struck."
Outside, holding the hood of my parka closed with one gloved hand, I eagerly flipped a scratched quarter I'd plucked from an abandoned change machine a week ago, and then stood back and waited.
Nothing seemed to happen. The snowman just stood there, smiling an empty grin with hollow eyes. Then one of its stick like, gnarled arms reached for me.
I jumped back, giving a mild scream right before the sculpted smile, and the rest of the snowman, became a crater of shard-like, glittering snow. The gnarled branch twitched as a harsh blast of cold whipped through my already chilled bones, and another scream escaped my lips.
Once I realized nothing was going to happen, I hopelessly clomped through the snow back to the walk leading to the house.
It took me over a minute to realize the porch lights had turned on, and with that, Mrs. Campbell's, too. Victor's house across the fucking tundra plains also looked well-lit and inhabited, although on that point I knew the truth.
Inside, I was greeted with a happy sight.
Tommy and Monte were sitting in the living room, playing with Skull, whose eyes were a pale blue.
No Sarah.
The happy moment turned to one of horror as I figured out she must still be trapped in the ice world.
Later, Tommy approached me, saying he had to confess something.
"You can tell me anything," I said. "I doubt it's that bad."
Tommy played with his hands, and I became even more worried. He wouldn't even look at me.
"I...well...I. It was Victor, you know, your friend. He told me to build the snowman, convince Monte to help me. He said you'd need the snowman for later, but I couldn't say anything to you. Now, Monte's different, Mommy's gone."
I comforted him as best I could, but deep down I knew there wasn't much I could do.
Monte had problems sleeping that night, and when I went into his room to check on him, he had the pale blue eyes like Skull.
"I'm having terrible dreams about the ice world," Monte said. But he didn't look scared much at all, yet the driven, almost obsessed expression on his face scared me.
The only stories he wanted me to read to him had to do have something to do with winter.
I made many suggestions. He scoffed at all of them.
"Why don't you read Victor's journal?" he finally suggested.
"Monte, I want you to feel better, and I'd do practically anything else, it's just...," I began.
Monte folded both arms and stared at me, resolute.
I felt torn. From a father's point of view, I would do just about anything for Monte, but what was going on behind his eyes seemed vacant, and a little manipulative. I knew if I caved, I'd be in for a world of trouble. More than what we were already dealing with.
Knowing I had to be diplomatic, though seeing it as potentially fruitless, I said, "Monte...I'm not sure how you know about Victor's journal, but...let's just say I think there are things in there someone of your age shouldn't see. I'll read you any spooky story you want, from our current collection anyway."
The pale blue eyes flashed, and his jaw clenched.
"It might bring Mom back, and you love her, don't you?"
"Of course I do, and I love you, too. Which is why I want to read you something that'll take your mind off Mom. I'll find her. I'll always look for her, you know that, Monte," I tried saying his name with extra affection to soften the blow.
In the end, Monte relented, and I read him one of our standby books. Afterward, going by Tommy's room, I found him fast asleep. I figured it had more to do with him being exhausted by whatever happened in the ice world, than a lessening of worry or fear.
Or maybe I was only projecting. I was sitting in the living room, staring down at Skull, who growled, featuring the same wintery, haunting eyes. I was afraid of him, and wondered if he'd leap up from the round, multi-colored carpet and maul me mercilessly.
It scared me how I viewed my own son that way. I felt like Monte and Skull shared the same evil identity, and the fear built in me as I wondered if Sarah would come back changed too. Or if she'd come back at all.
I corrected myself on that last point, considering Victor's wife returned, albeit in a horrific form.
That night, I woke to the sound of someone rummaging in the kitchen. I jolted upright, adrenaline already making my thoughts pop and crackle with anticipatory dread.
I sat for a moment longer, confused and frightened to find out who was making that sound. Part of the horror dissipated because I realized it might be Sarah, then swiftly returned for the exact same reason.
Monte emerged from the semi-darkness of the kitchen, bottle of booze in hand.
"I prefer vodka, but this'll do just fine," he said, and as I stared into ice-rimmed eyes, the menacing glare in them, I knew what consciousness stared back.
X

I made this Background for my Artillerist Artificer as well as a Downtime Activity of Dueling. Working with my DM it evolved into an emerging sport in Eberron, similar to a Martial Arts Tournament crossed with the Major League Football. Below I am posting the Wandslinger Duelist Background as well as a reposting of the downtime rules I came up with. Feedback is greatly appreciated!
DnDBeyond Link

Background: Wandslinger Duelist

Following the Last War, a number of spellcasters from the Five Nations were left without jobs but still had plenty of grudges. The Aurum has capitalized on this and set up a series of public dueling competitions for sport, organized at local and continent wide levels. These non-lethal competitions are growing larger crowds each time they are held, especially when National Leagues get to compete with each other. The Wandslinger Association of Khorvaire hosts bi-weekly through yearly events for participants of all skills and abilities. You have begun to participate in these events and have qualified to compete for Silver level status in the Association. The call to adventure is a simple next step for many Association members, most using the opportunity to practice new skills, obtain exotic materials for their spells or wands, or to find more challenging opponents and push themselves further.
Skill Proficiencies: You have proficiency with Arcana and one the following skills: Acrobatics, Sleight of Hand, Perception, Insight, Intimidation, Medicine, or Performance.
Tool Proficiencies: One gaming set (Dragonchess, Dice, Playing Cards or Three-Dragon Ante) and Woodcarver's tools.
Equipment: Two wands (suitable as Arcane Focuses) both rough-worn and won in duels, a gaming set of choice, one brooch or keepsake from a mentor, a small medal or ribbon from a small Dueling competition, a letter challenging you to a duel that you never showed up to because the date and location got smudged, and a pouch containing 15 gp.
Signature Implement: While you've many Arcane Focuses over the years and have several on your person, there is one which is your favorite and most known for using. Choose or roll on the table below.
d20 Signature Implements
1) (Wand) A simple wooden wand like what most people learn with. It's my Ol' Faithful.
2) (Wand) A garish wand plated in electrum and fake rubies.
3) (Wand) A dagger handled wand I keep in a sheath at my side.
4) (Wand) All my wands are identical Zebrawood with Copper trim.
5) (Wand) A curved Purple Heartwood Wand that forks at the tip. It's a family heirloom and very sought after by other duelists.
6) (Wand) A Wenge with Turquoise inlay wand, which I recently lost in a duel.
7) (Wand) A narrow and long blue colored wand with a spiral copper inlay running the length of the implement.
8) (Wand or Crystal)A single piece of fulgurite you found after a bad storm.
9) (Wand) An intricately carved Cherry wand with a carved spiral grip. The handle is hollowed out and a small vial of Eberron Dragonshard dust is visible between the spiral wood of the grip.
10) (Wand) An unusually squared wand, colored grey and black. There are yellow draconic runes carved into it that the salesman who sold it to you swore meant "Strength Through Intelligence"
11) (Wand) A Cannith made 12 piece wand that is meant to be disassembled and reassembled for cleaning and maintenance. There was supposed to be a 13th piece, but you couldn't find it in the box. (Shout-out to u/MakerMage for the suggestion!)
12) (Rod) An Mahogany and Iron Rod I keep strapped to my thigh or back.
13) (Rod) A piece from a shattered Siege Staff you helped destroy in the War. You worked the charred remains into a functioning, but not entirely attractive looking, Rod.
14) (Rod) A simple but sturdy Steel and Oak Rod that you were issued when you joined the military.
15) (Staff) An Ash Staff I keep meticulously clean in a fringed leather carrying pouch wherever I go.
16) (Staff) An Oak Staff with intricately shaped iron capped ends. It was a gift to your grandparent for their deeds in combat and they left it to you when they passed away.
17) (Crystal) A Crystal on a leather string tied to my wrist. I like throw off my opponents with my unusual style.
18) (Crystal) It used to be an Orb, but now its a Crystal. Guess the Maul is mightier than the Orb.
19) (Orb) An blue and green hued Glass Orb. (I prefer the term "Orb-Slinger", thank you very much)
20) (Any) A regular off-the-shelf Arcane Focus. It is in no way physically distinct from any other Implement of its kind, but you are always able to tell it apart from the others. Winona is special and better than all the others and no-one can convince you otherwise.
Suggested Characteristics
As a duelist, your experience and ego can vary widely - you could be humble about your countless wins, and a willing mentor to admiring young duelists. Or, you could be insecure about your barely-held-together streak and snappishly refuse to add anyone else to the competition.
d6 Personality Trait
1) I always fight fair, for winning a duel by cheating isn't winning at all.
2) I'm always willing to give tips to those willing to learn.
3) I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
4) I never turn my back to anyone. Ever.
5) My honor above my life.
6) Dueling is the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.
d6 Ideal
1) Generosity. Everyone should be given a proper chance to surpass the expectations of others. You never know, they might surprise you. (Good)
2) Duels have rules, and I would die before I break those rules. (Lawful)
3) Flexibility. If someone wants to duel me under unusual circumstances (possibly because those circumstances might be illegal), I don't have a problem with it. (Chaotic)
4) Pride. I never, EVER, back down from a challenge. (Any)
5) Dignity. If I lose a duel, I will accept the result with honor. If I win, I will not lord my victory in front of my fallen opponent. (Neutral)
6) Bloodlust. The song of the wand and the smell of hot blood are my only joys in life. (Evil)
d6 Bond
1) Dueling is an art that should not be forgotten; I travel around the world teaching tomorrow's duelists the art of the wand.
2) I am fighting to restore the honor to my family's name, and won't stop until the world recognizes my house once again.
3) I'll carve my way back to the one(s) who killed my family.
4) I will become the greatest duelist that ever lived.
5) Someone I loved died because of I mistake I made. That will never happen again.
6) My weapon is like a person to me.
d6 Flaw
1) I like dueling... too much. Whenever I see anyone with a Wand, all I can think about is my strategy for when I inevitably duel them.
2) I'm hotheaded and reckless; if anyone slanders me or my name, I show them why I am called so handy with the wand.
3) When faced with a choice between revenge and my friends, I usually choose revenge.
4) I have a fondness for low living: I drink, whore and gamble, often in excess.
5) An innocent person is in prison following a duel that I won. I’m indebted to his family.
6) I have a crippling addiction to gambling.
Feature: Fan Favorite
You are making a name for yourself through the various duels you have been in. A lesser noble or wealthy merchant is quite taken with your grit and determination and has told you how much they admire you and offers their services. You begrudgingly accept their offer of favors. You may use this lesser noble as a contact for small favors or information. These favors have not come with any strings attached...yet.
d6 Contacts
Roll on the table below to see who you are the Fan Favorite of.
1) Lord Artanis ir'Hasting. A retired merchant who bought his title and land outside a small seaside town for retirement. After turning his shop over to his grandchild he focusses his newfound free-time on Wandlsinger Duelists, specifically you.
2) Lady Nessa ir'Wolfhammer is a local legend. Earning her Knighthood, surname, and position as Sherriff by defending a settlement from a pack of Dire Wolves at the cost of her left arm, she still makes time to mentor people she thinks have great promise.
3) Lady Cassandra ir'Nestaroth is the fifth heir in line to her family's Barony. With all other duties relegated to her older siblings, she spends her generous free-time studying and researching matters of the Arcane and watching Arcane Duels.
4) Krusk Ironstripe. The Half-Orc who runs the Dueling Arena where you developed your skill. A no-nonsense businessman and one heck of a Wandlsinger himself. Speaks softly and carries a Rod of Scorching Rays.
5) Harald "The Axe Beak Jarl" Falkenberg. This self-proclaimed Jarl is the founder of a very successful Axe Beak farm and sells them as mounts across the country. He has become a very invested fan of yours. He made signs for you; the Axe Beaks weahold them.
6) Captain Vanessa Camish. Captain of the local guard, Vanessa strikes an imposing figure even with a Silver Ring on each finger. She has taken an interest in your skill, and believes you could have a great career working for her.
Variant Feature: Renown of the Arena
A Wandslinger is in every way a fighter and a performer. In the Arena, you rouse the crowd with your displays of fighting prowess killing or maiming other combatants, and like any other well-known performer, there is rarely a dull moment in your day-to-day life. On the streets, the people may recognize you for these feats of in the Arena. Oftentimes your fans might present you with small gifts, discounts on combat gear, a free round of drinks, or a free nights stay at the local Tavern & Inn. Sometimes you might have to deal with the occasional stalker, or other times you are the victim of an "unfortunate accident" due to vengeful fans of a fighter you've fought against.

Xanathar's This Is Your Life Additions

Personal Decisions: Backgrounds
d6 I Became a Wandslinger Because...
1) I come from a family with a strong Arcane tradition. I've been using a wand for as long as I can remember.
2) I was trained as a Wandslinger by the military and am just trying to use my skills to make a living.
3) I was saved by a Wandlsinger at a young age and have always strove to emulate them.
4) Wielding a wand gives me a feeling of strength and purpose that nothing else ever has.
5) A close friend or relative gifted me a wand before they died. I endeavor to be the best Wandslinger I can be to honor their memory.
6) I always played Adventurers VS Monsters as a child and teenager. One day while playing with an old, fake wand I'd had for years, I actually cast a spell. I saved up to buy a real one and am living my childhood dream.

Downtime Activity: Dueling Tournament

In my Eberron, Wandslinging Duels are an up and coming form of entertainment, especially popular among Aundairians and Nobles.
*I HIGHLY suggest to use the Rivals, Patrons and Pit Fighting Complication Tables that already exists in Xanathar's Guide. I don't feel the need to completely reinvent the wheel.
DOWNTIME RULES
Wandslinging Dueling
A Wandslinging Duel is more than just two individuals throwing spells at each other until one falls. Accuracy, nimbleness, adaptability, terrain and reading your opponent all factor into it. This ruleset is designed to be class neutral, only requiring an individual to be able to cast an offensive spell.
Resources: Engaging in this activity requires one workweek of effort from the character.
Resolution: The Character must make a series of checks, with a DC determined at random based on the quality of opposition that the character runs into. A big part of the challenge of Dueling lies in the unknown nature of the character's opponents. What spells have they prepared? What spells do they favor? Etc. The Character makes three checks:

• A Spell Attack Roll to see how accurate you will be.
  
• An Athletics or Acrobatics Check to see how nimble and hard to hit you will be.
  
• An Intimidation, Deception, Investigation, Insight, Performance, or Sleight of Hand check. This is to either read the opponent, prevent the opponent from reading you, or tricking them in some way.
  

If desired, the character can expend Spell Slots or uses of Pact Magic to augment their rolls. You can gain a bonus equal to the Spell Level expended, up to your Proficiency Bonus. You may do this for each roll as long as you have Spell Slots to spare. You do not regain any Spell Slots or Pact Magic uses between each roll. You must decide to do this BEFORE you roll your check.
Example: Leon d'Cannith is a 5th level Artillerist. He has a Proficiency Bonus of +3, as well as two 2nd level Spell Slots and four 1st level Spell Slots. He spends 3 first level slots to augment is first roll and can add +3 to that roll. He spends his last 1st level on his second roll for a +1 to the roll. For his last roll, he uses two 2nd level spell slots, but only gets a +3 to the roll because that is his Proficiency Bonus.
The DC for these checks is 2d10 + 1 Renown Die. (Renown Die will be explained below)
It is also common practice for Duelists to wager their wands in duels. The winner gets the wand of the loser. In most Tournament settings, this is carried out as a "Buy Out" of the loser giving the victor the coin value of their chosen implement rather than actually turning it over.
Results

• 0 Successes: Lose your duels, earns nothing. Lose 1 Renown Die x gp cost of your Spellcasting Focus of choice.
  
• 1 Success: 25gp + (1 Renown Die x 10gp)
  
• 2 Successes: 50gp + (2 Renown Dice x 10gp)
  
• 3 Successes: 75gp + (3 Renown Dice x 10gp)
  

Tier-less Play
If you don't want an established sporting event for magical dueling as listed below, simply replace any reference to Renown Dice with your Proficiency Bonus.
Tiers
As you duel, you can advance in Tiers of Skill. You can earn more money, but also will face on average tougher opponents. You start at the Copper Tier and work your way up to Platinum. You only have 1 Renown Die value at any time as indicated on the table below.
TIER NAME : RENOWN DIE

• Copper : 1d4
  
• Silver : 1d6
  
• Electrum: 1d8
  
• Gold: 1d10
  
• Platinum: 1d12
  

In order to advance through the Tiers, you must accumulate 10 total successes from Duels in order to qualify to attend a tournament where you can attempt to advance in rank in the competitive circuit. These tournaments require 1 week of downtime and follow the same rules as standard Downtime Dueling with the following results for the number of successes rolled.

• 0 Successes: You perform poorly and must accumulate 10 more Successes before you can compete again.
  
• 1 Success: You do not place. Win no money, lose no money. Can compete the next time a tournament is held.
  
• 2 Successes: You compete well enough to advance one Tier, but win no money.
  
• 3 Successes: You win the tournament! Congratulations! Not only do you advance to the next Tier, but you also win 1 Renown Die (from old Tier) x 100gp! (This is also a great time for DMs to implement a Rival or SponsoPatron)
  

Complications
Each week spent Dueling brings a 10 percent chance of a complication, examples of which can be found in the table below.
d10 Complications
1) An opponent swears revenge on you.
2) A Crime boss approaches you and offers to pay you to intentionally lose a few matches.
3) You defeat a popular local duelist, drawing the anger of their fans.
4) You defeat a noble, drawing the wrath of their house.
5) You are accused of cheating. You cannot participate in official Duels in this area for 30 days while they investigate the allegations.
6) You accidentally deliver a near-fatal wound to a foe.
7) You had an upset victory and cost a member of a local crime guild to lose their bets. They want their money back.
8) Someone you didn't get matched against wants to duel you: alone, at dawn, and outside the city.
9) A local approaches you about hiring you to deal with a local gang in possession of a Wand of Acid Arrow.
10) You wake up to find your Signature Implement stolen and being used by another Wandslinger who refuses to return it.
Some things to keep in mind:
Tournaments aren't held every day, or even every week. The higher you are in skill, the less often a High Tier Tournament will be held. Copper Tier Events are held once or twice a month across Khorvaire, but there might only be one Platinum Tournament a year held in Sharn. You can only compete in a Tournament up to 1 level below where you currently are (Electrum Characters can compete in Electrum or Silver tier tournaments, but are too accomplished to participate in Copper.)
Copper level events have turnouts similar to a small city baseball team while a Platinum Tournament is akin to the Super Bowl. Nobles often attend Copper and Silver events in order to find rising talent and become their Patrons.
Tournaments are also watched by various government and criminal organizations looking for potential new recruits. Aurum members may pay particularly popular Duelists to NOT join other organizations.
Due to the recent outlawing of sword duels in Aundaire, this sport is particularly popular. Arcanix allows Upper Class students to participate.
Dueling Arenas are typically held 200 feet away from the audience in outdoor events, in a 20ft deep pit in smaller areas, surrounded on the sides by panels of Arcane Resistant Glass (made by Cannith with ground Dragonshard powder added to the glass before melting. Gives it a slight Orange, Yellow or Purple Tint based on the Dragonshard used) when indoors, or several Kundarak Wandslingers are on site with Wands of Counterspell to protect the Audience. Arena's have no set size or layout. Some utilize Medium sized geometric obstacles make of wood or stone, others are completely unobstructed.
Higher tier tournaments are also more likely to have Common, Uncommon or possibly Rare magic items as prizes for Tournament Champions. (Wands of Pyrotechnics, Imbued Wands, Wands of Magic Missile, Wands of Ice Knife, Wands of Scorching Ray, Brooches of Shielding, etc)
PERSONAL DUELS
Sometimes, you might be challenged by a rival or other passing Wandslinger to a duel outside of a tournament setting. The rules can be very different from traditional tournament rules, but will always be agreed upon by both parties prior to any wands being drawn. Below are the most common rules.

• First to land 3 spells on the opponent wins
  
• K.O.s are automatic victories
  
• Killing is a victory, unless agreed upon beforehand that the duel will be non-lethal. Lethal Duels have been outlawed in most areas.
  

Losing Duelist forfeits their equipped wand/implement to the victor. This is a tradition outside of the tournament setting, and most accomplished duelists have a collection of wands from their defeated opponents. This can be a great way to earn a new Wand of Magic Missile or Imbued Wand.
How you want to handle Non-Downtime Duels is up to you. You can run them with the above outlined Downtime mechanics, you can have first to 3 with contested Spellcasting Rolls, you could run it with standard 5E combat mechanics in a 1 vs 1 setting or you could have it set up as a Skill Challenge.
I personally like the idea of the Skill Challenge, and think 5e missed an opportunity to carry over one of the best ideas of 4e. The opponent casting Burning Hands results in the PC needing to make an Athletics or Acrobatics check to get out of the way to not take the hit and cast their own spell back.
At the end of the day, do what is most fun for you, this guide is primarily about the Downtime aspect, but I felt a need to address a more "Live Action" version of dueling also.
EDIT 1: (11 Nov) Spelling and Formatting.
EDIT 2: (11 Nov.) Lowered base gold winnings of Tournaments otherwise it's more profitable than Adventuring which is against 5e design intent and balance.
EDIT 3: (11 Nov.) Added links to the Background on DnDBeyond.
EDIT 4: (11 Nov.) Adding more options to the Signature Implement Table. Too much fun to come up with them.
EDIT 5: (12 Nov.) Added a Tier-less play option for those who might not be able to fit a structured organization of magical dueling into their setting (for the non-Eberron players out there)
EDIT 6: (13 Nov.) Added a "Contacts" section for the Background based on an entry in DnDBeyond. Cause why not?
EDIT 7: (13 Nov.) Added a Complications Table HEAVILY copied inspired by the Pit Fighting Downtime Activity.
EDIT 8: (13 Nov) Added a Xanathar's This is Your Life rollable table for the Wandlsinger Background.
EDIT 9: (8 Dec) Changed how spells can be used to affect the rolls. No longer replaced the rolls, but provides a bonus to them. Also rearranged the Signature Implement table.

The arrow grazed his left shoulder and black blood poured out. The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight and Aben was once again reminded that they were here to see him die, or at least that’s what they hoped for. He ran to another boulder only to realise that this too had been moved since his last fight, it was now four steps further away, another arrow whistled a hand span away from Aben’s neck, Gerret had changed the layout of the arena, a new layout meant the memorized map in Aben’s mind was of little use. Gerret was probably standing there rooting with the crowd for Aben to be killed. Aben peeped around the boulder to see Diel, his latest opponent, preparing his next arrow. At the sight of Aben’s red hair Diel released another arrow but Aben had moved back behind the safety of the boulder and heard the arrow ricochet off the stone edge of the boulder. That was Diel’s third arrow, he would have two more before he would discard the bow and revert to his sword. Aben had every confidence in being able to make Diel waste his remaining arrows and killing him once they were both fighting with swords, but he thought, where was the challenge in that. Aben raised his wooden shield and leaped over the boulder and charged toward Diel, he felt the thud of an arrow hitting his shield before he saw the steel tip penetrating through, a finger length away from his left eye. The crowed initially cheered thinking Aben was hit but when they saw him speed toward Diel they starting booing.
Diel too realised that his arrow had not hit Aben and tried to move back as he drew his short sword, but it was too late, faster than Diel thought possible, Aben had closed the distance between them, the last thing he saw was Aben’s sword slashing toward his neck.
The crowds seemed to hold their breath as they saw Aben’s sword cut a clean slit across Diel’s neck. Diel collapsed to the ground and his last words were lost in the blood overflowing from his mouth.
Aben looked at the hundreds of faces that were now hurling abuse and whatever they could get rid of into the arena. There was that face again, the one that looked at him directly in the eyes, that never screamed for his death. She saw him look at her and nodded with a silent applause, this was the first time she had engaged in anything more than her steely gaze. Aben had to raise his shield to his face to protect it from the rotten vegetables being directed at him by the crowed, when he looked back, she was gone.
Aben looked down at Diel’s body, leant down and closed his eyes.
He whispered. ‘May the mother embrace you.’ He did not remember where he had heard the saying, but it was something he started to whisper to all his fallen foes.
Aben looked at the red blood pooling around Diel’s neck and was forever amazed to think that this difference in the colour of their blood, his own black as the darkest night and Diel’s red as a rose in bloom, was the cause of such hate, war and death.
Gerret walked into to the arena, his arrival got the unhappy crowed somewhat more unhappy. His booming voice proclaimed ‘My dear Edsanian’s, what a thrilling fight! For a second, I too thought that Diel’s arrow had pierced into the chest of Aben and we would have seen the black blood of his heart.’ This thought got the crowd less rampageous.
Someone shouted. ‘Death to immortals.’
Another shouted. ‘Mortals rule all.’
Gerret continued. ‘With his victory today, Aben has secured his place in our championship final. He will be fighting the victor of tomorrow’s fight where Faud, the tribal warrior will face our very own, Edesa’s war veteran, Palas the slayer. And the best part, it will be at a discount ticket price for everyone who had tickets for today.’ The cowed erupted in cheers.
After getting stiches for his shoulder, Aben entered Gerret’s office, like Gerret, the office was small and smelt like a latrine.
‘I see you got your stiches.’ Gerret said, pointing toward Aben’s shoulder.
Aben nodded. ‘You changed the layout.’
‘My arena, my layout.’
Aben did not want to argue with Gerret about he rules of arena combat.
Gerret threw a pouch of coins which Aben swiftly caught in one hand. The weight was wrong, Aben checked inside.
‘You owe me five hundred ru’el. This is three hundred.’
‘I told you to make the fight interesting and you would get give hundred ru’el. You killed Diel in less than fifty heartbeats! You are lucky you are getting paid at all. I nearly had a riot on my hands!’
‘I am paid to kill my opponent, how I kill them is up to me.’ Aben rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger. A gesture that did not escape the attention of Gerret who suddenly changed his tone. ‘I tell you what, you win the final fight and I will pay you the one thousand ru’el winner’s prize and a bonus of five hundred ru’el.’
Aben knew he and his father could do with the extra money, it would also mean Aben could afford to not fight for a few months. Aben’s stony expression hid his consideration of Gerret’s offer, Gerret who was unable to read Aben thought he had not convinced the fighter yet. ‘Also, I will let you keep the armour.’ Gerret said somewhat reluctantly.
Aben would never replace his father’s sword, but he could do with a new shield and an extra pair of daggers. Aben smiled.
Immortals did not age much beyond their thirtieth year, so for observers, Kyros did not look like Aben’s father. He in fact he looked like Aben’s younger brother, they shared the same dark red hair colour and something about their lips and jaw suggested a relation, but that’s where the similarities ended. Aben towered over Kyros, both in height and bulk. His skin colour was more tanned and his eyes were an unusual shade of brown-red.
Upon seeing Aben, Kyros ran to hug his son and then inspected his latest stiches.
‘That was too close, He almost killed you.’ Kyros said worried.
‘He would have had to be a lot better to do that.’ Aben replied with a smile. ‘She was there again today. Did you see her?’ Aben asked a little more seriously.
‘No. I was too busy praying to the angels for your safety.’
‘You worry too much, these fools are not fast enough, strong enough or smart enough to hurt me.’
‘They do not need to be, they only need one lucky arrow shot, that you do not see.’
This was an old argument and one that Aben did not want to repeat. ‘Let’s eat,’ Aben said as he started walking toward the town centre. ‘Victory always makes me hungry.’
Father and son had taken a few steps when someone hurled a stone at Aben. Aben reacted on instinct and caught it in mid-air, it was missing him but could have hit Kyros. Aben immediately looked to stand in front of his father, his legs slightly bent ready to leap, his left hand shielding his face and his right hand went to draw his sword.
‘Eat shit you black blooded bastard.’ A man walking from the betting house said, he was joined by another man who spat at Aben but the phlegm did not travel far enough.
Before Aben could unleash his sword, Kyros had put his hand on Aben’s hand and firmly said ‘Abenthos No.’ He nodded in the direction of soldiers at the end of the road, who had noticed the commotion. ‘If you react, they will have us both in cells with your winnings gone missing.’ Kyros said quickly.
Aben took a deep breath, withdrew his hand and straightened. The men walking toward them suddenly realised just how much taller and broader Aben was than them, they slowed their approach and kept their distance. ‘Lose some ru’el, betting against me?’ Aben asked.
‘You got lucky, that arrow should have taken you in your black heart.’ The man said.
Before Aben could respond the soldiers had arrived. ‘What’s going on here?’ One of soldiers barked.
‘These men are fans of mine; they were just congratulating me on my victory in the arena’ Aben said. ‘Isn’t that right gentlemen?’
The men sneered but walked away.
The soldiers wearing the dark green cloaks that all Edessa soldiers were issued. They watched the men walk back to the betting house and turned to Aben, ‘I saw you fight today. You fight well, for a black blood.’ One of the soldiers said. ‘But fighting in an arena and fighting in a war are very different things.’
Ignoring the back handed compliment, Aben noticed the scar on the soldier’s arm and replied. ‘Thank you. Which campaign were you part of?’
Kyros had never seen Aben meet a soldier and not immediately want to talk about which wars they participated in, how the armies had set up, what tactics were employed and how the soldier fared. Luckily, most soldiers did not entertain his questions.
‘The Hurish incursion of Samdek.’ the soldier replied and then spat on the floor.
Six years ago Edessa had lost that battle and ended up losing the south of Samdek to the Southern Kingdom of Hur. Aben had his next question at the tip of his tongue when Kyros interjected. ‘Thank you for your intervention, we will be on our way now.’ With that he grabbed Aben’s arm and started walking away.
‘I wanted to ask them...’ Aben did not get a chance to complete his sentence.
‘They are not interested in answering your questions.’ Kyros interrupted.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Didn’t you just say you were hungry? I heard of a place a few streets away. They won’t let us sit inside of course, but will sell us hot food and we can find the shade of a tree.’
‘You think they will recognise me?’ Aben asked.
‘Your blood is still visible.’ Kyros said, pointing toward Aben’s shoulder.
Aben has forgotten about the wound.
‘Never forget who we are Aben. For surely they will never fail to remind us.’

Synopsis:
A young woman finds herself dead and is given the chance to reincarnate in another world with cheat-like magic powers. She accepts, only to find that the world treats magic users the same way ours did— by hunting them down and killing them for heresy.
My name is MELAS?! As in Salem backwards? Oh my God, and my mother is a Witch. I am SO going to be burned at the stake!
[Previous Chapter] | [Chapter 1] | [Cover Art] | [RoyalRoad Index and Synopsis] | [Patreon] | Tags: Isekai/Reincarnation, Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Weak-To-Strong Protagonist, Female Protagonist
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For the next few days of travel, I spent every waking moment while not on the road practicing my drawing skills. I tried jumping straight to carving the runes on mana crystals, but that ended up being a waste of resources because of how imprecise I was at it; I went through three Lesser mana crystals— despite filing away the surface when I made a mistake— before learning my lesson and transitioning to paper.
Now, I worked with a pen, gripping it in the same way I would a carving needle; it was not an exact simulation of working with mana crystals, but it was as close as I could get to it. I continued drawing the four basic symbols of fire, water, earth, and air in repetition, focusing solely on learning the fundamentals of tinkering before I actually started work on creating proper mana tools.
I stayed up sleepless nights working on this, and spent the hours Gennady and I were on the road on the back of his mana powered bike, resting my head against his massive backpack and sleeping. It was not the most comfortable way to take a nap, however it certainly was not as bad as sleeping in a cage at the back of a caravan with my arms and legs bound and shackled. So it sufficed most of the time.
This, however, was one of the times I was unable to sleep while Gennady was driving. I could not toss and turn since there was not enough space for that, but I did fidget uncomfortably where I lay: I was thinking. Thoughts filled my mind in an endless stream of consciousness, keeping me awake despite what my closed eyes might seem to indicate.
I could not stop thinking about all the different tools I would be able to craft once I had fully mastered how to tinker; the nebulous idea of the various machines and weapons I could create to both protect myself and make my life a lot easier was an entrancing thing to imagine. I felt my lips curl up to a smile before a voice broke me out from the thoughts in my head.
“Oi lass, wake up,” Gennady spoke, his rough voice perking up my ears. “You probably want to see this,” he said.
I forced my eyelids open, blinking away my tiredness and sitting up. I rubbed at my eyes for a second as it tried to adjust to having vision after seeing nothing for so long. “What is it?” I asked, yawning.
“Look to your left.” The Dwarf did not twist his head to face me. He had his eyes on the road, but he did gesture his head in the direction he wanted me to face.
Slowly, I sat up and turned my neck to the side. My eyes widened and I gasped as I took on the marvelous sight before me: I was faced with a palette of sharp, contrasting colors in the canvas before me.
A beach stretched out for a few hundred feet, turning from a dull gray gravel into a neat brown blanket of sand, wrinkled by the waves rolling in and out of the ocean. The endless deep blue expanse of the sea morphed into the azure blue of the sky, but at the line where the two met, the sun rested there, muddling the pure colors with a bright orange. The water shimmered as the brilliant sunset shone down upon the world, bringing with it the last semblance of light for the day at this moment of twilight.
There was not a cloud in the sky, but it was going to be a dark night; the lunar cycle brought with it the new moon, and travelers would only have their paths illuminated by the specks of light that came in the stars.
“That’s a beautiful sunset,” I breathed. I had not seen a sight like this in over a decade: the sparkling sand and the glistening ocean was a spectacular view to behold. The empty serenity of the beach was only accentuated by the setting sun, which gave the dark brown surface an amber tint that was rarely ever seen in the crowded beaches of Earth.
“‘Course,” Gennady said, still not facing me. “I knew you’d like it. This is your first time seeing the ocean, eh? Most people never get the chance since not everyone travels to port cities.”
“It is.” In this world, I added in my head. I took a moment longer to gaze into the nostalgic scene of a beach, then turned back to the Dwarf. “Shouldn’t we be stopping soon? It’s late.”
“We’re a tiny bit ahead of schedule. So I think we should keep going for a bit longer.”
“Are you sure we should be traveling when it’s dark?” I asked. “I don’t want us to get lost or attacked by bandits.”
“Don’t worry, lass,” he said reassuringly. “As long as we’re not out there”— he pointed at the ocean— “we ain’t running into any trouble.”
“But—”
“And,” the Dwarf cut me off. “We won’t be out when it’s night.”
I cocked my head, not sure what to make of what he was saying. Then, I saw it.
In the distance, a few miles ahead, a sprawling city came into view. There was a tall wall surrounding the perimeter of the city, which opened up at the side where the harbor was; streetlights and lamps were visible even from where we were, giving the city a sense of life with its light, in sharp contrast to the darkness of the wilderness to my right. I saw a small line of caravans, carriages, and a single car queuing up to enter the city gates as night slowly descended upon us.
“This is… Luke?” I guessed.
That was the Capital city of Laxis, and our final destination in this country; we were not supposed to arrive here until tomorrow, but…
“We’re more than just a bit ahead of schedule, are we?”
“Nope,” Gennady chortled, leaning back in his seat slightly. “We’re very ahead of schedule.”
​

​
We reached the city half an hour later. The sun had just finished setting, but the gates were still open. Apparently the threat of Monster attacks was less of a problem here in the Capital, which made sense, but did not put me at ease; after what happened in Bys, I did not feel safe even behind the walls of a big city— and Luke was not nearly as large as the Free City of Slaves was.
In fact, I was pretty sure this city was not as big as Boleria, and neither was it as big as the Rem Republic’s Capital city of Remheart. I had never been to the latter, but I knew that my home country was one of the richer nations in this world, whereas Laxis was undergoing an economic crisis that was only exacerbated by the influx of refugees from the Free Lands.
We were momentarily stopped at the entrance of the city— the guards wanted to check our bags for any illicit goods. I almost had a heart attack.
“Um, are you sure that’s necessary?” I asked the guard while trying to hint at Gennady that I was indeed carrying ‘illicit goods’.
The guard shrugged. “It’s the law, Miss. I’m just doing my job.”
“Of course you are,” I said, trying to sound like I understood his situation. “But we paid the fee for entry, didn’t we? And we’re not even traders. This just seems like an unnecessary hassle.”
“It would be less of a problem if you didn’t argue, Miss,” the guard said, and I knew he was right.
I quickly glanced over at my travel companion with panic in my eyes, and he finally seemed to get my message. He got off his bike, and approached the guard. “Sir,” he started, reaching for his pockets. “It’s a troublesome job, ain’t it?”
The guard eyed the Dwarf warily, but didn’t say anything.
Gennady continued. “I wanna help you out, but we also want to be helped out. So how about this?” He pulled out two glistening silver coins from his pocket. “A tip. For your troubles. And for our ‘troubles’.”
The guard hesitated, before quickly looking around; when he saw no one was looking, he quickly snatched the coin out of the Dwarf’s hand, and pocketed it. “Go,” he said, waving us off. “You’re all clear. I found nothing in your bags.”
“Good lad,” Gennady said, smacking him in the back, before hopping back on his bike. Then he winked at me. “Problem solved.”
I sighed in relief as we finally entered the city, and drove away from the guardpost at the gates; the guard did not look through our belongings, which was a good thing considering I had a dozen books containing heretical contents inside of it. Not all of them were books on spells— that made up slightly less than half of my personal library— but I was pretty sure most of the others were illegal to own as well.
I probably should throw some of them away, since I had finished reading pretty much everything of note in those books. And the fact that a majority of them were hand-me-downs from Victor, my former friend and a rapist, urged me towards that course of action. However, not only have I simply never found the time to do it, a side of me felt like I could potentially find a use for them in the future.
I was not sure how accurate or trustworthy that side of me was, but I listened to it for now. It was risky, however perhaps I could maybe sell these books on the black market if the situation ever arised. Not that I knew how to access the sale of illegal goods: I did not even think of bribing the gate guard to Luke!
“How’d you know he’d accept it?” I asked Gennady as we were driving down the streets of the city, drawing some attention because of how much gas was being puffed out of the Dwarf’s vehicle. “The bribe,” I specified.
He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “The country has been in hard times, lassie. Corruption is not uncommon when people just want to earn a living.”
“But what if he reported us to a superior?” I asked, frowning. “We’d be in a lot more trouble.”
“Then we bribe him instead,” Gennady answered simply.
“I… but…” I paused, considering his possible responses to any further questioning I might have. Eventually, I acquiesced on the issue. It worked out without a problem, I told myself. Why are you complaining?
It was a nonsensical part of myself that worried over possible scenarios that never came to fruition; it usually was a longing for what could have been better, but sometimes it was a fear for what could have gone wrong.
Gennady and I continued down the haphazard streets of Luke, before finding ourselves at an inn. It was a more luxurious inn compared to the ones we had been staying in for the past week— all of which were fancy compared to the inns I had been staying in by myself before I started traveling with the Dwarf.
He insisted on finding comfortable lodgings most of the time, even if it were not necessary. I understood the concept of treating oneself once in a while, but it seemed as though he took it a step further and lived life on the edge in exchange for always getting what he wanted. That was why he left the Taw Kingdom in the first place: he was dissatisfied with how things were going with him there and took a leave even if it had no long term benefits.
Plus, Gennady warned me that we were probably going to be staying in Luke for a while; it was difficult to find transportation out of the port city due to all of the hazards with pirates infesting the waters right outside of it. We had to find a ship willing to bring us out of Laxis— possibly all the way to Taw— which required a significant amount of protection in the form of Mercenaries, as well as Hunters if a sea Monster decided to attack the ship.
And while the former was a problem endemic to Laxis for almost a decade, it seemed the latter was simply a seasonal issue. The stormy weather supposedly attracted creatures of the deep to gather closer to coastal settlements, lying in wait to sink unguarded ships and feast on its crew.
It was not the wisest idea to go on a seaway voyage at the current time, and while I was not in a rush to get to Taw, I would prefer to find myself in a physically and financially secure position as soon as possible.
“Remind me again, why can’t we travel to Taw through land?” I asked the Dwarf as we settled into our room.
“It’s not that we can’t travel by land,” he said, wagging a finger to point out the nuance in his statement. “Traveling by land means going through lots and lots of rocky, mountainous terrain. My bike is not designed for such travels, and it would probably take us an entire month longer than the two to three months it would already take us to get to Taw by ship.”
“But what happens if the ships here refuse to leave the port until after the storm season is over?” I pointed out the flaw in his reasoning. “That would take at least another month for that to happen.”
“Well, ya haven’t taken into consideration the other factor which makes traveling by sea far better.” The Dwarf shot me a wink, as I stared blankly back at him.
“Out with it already.”
“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I thought you Humans liked your dramatic reveals.” He shook his head, and pulled out a map from his backpack. “Here.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?” I asked, raising a brow.
“The city of Jahar’taw, Capital of the Taw Kingdom, and where King Adilet resides.”
I carefully took the map from Gennady’s hands, and looked over it. “It’s… a coastal settlement,” I said after a moment of scrutinizing the map; I finally realized what he was trying to tell me. “We can head straight to the Capital of Taw if we took a boat!”
“Exactly.”
I glanced back up at the Dwarf, and saw his eyes sparkling. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I asked. “This is incredibly efficient.”
He snorted. “Hah, ‘course. I’m a Dwarf, after all.”
I rolled my eyes, but did not comment on that; I turned back to the map and looked at where we were. Laxis was not the largest country out there, however it was still sizable. It was almost surprising that it was having as many internal problems as it was, despite having very little enemies beyond its borders. I would have thought a country with less threats from the outside would be more stable on the inside.
“So,” I started, “what about the pirates?”
“What do ya mean?” Gennady asked, leaning back on his chair.
“Who exactly is going to be willing to transport us to Taw, past the pirate infested waters surrounding Laxis?”
“We’ll figure it out later,” he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “But I reckon we’d hafta hire a couple of smugglers and the like to bring us out.”
“Smugglers?” I felt my forehead crease into wrinkled lines.
“Yes.” The Dwarf began to explain, “You see, most likely regular sailors and merchants would wait out for the storm season to blow over. Neither pirates nor any sane sailor would dare risk their ship out during a bad storm. This just means that on clear days like today, pirates would be a lot more active in patrolling the trade routes, looking to intercept any fool who decides to attempt to cross the sea.
“However, if we hire a band of smugglers to bring us out of Luke, pirates would be less likely to attack us. Most pirates would be affiliated with a smuggling group or two, to bring their illicit goods into the city. If they attack their own smugglers— well, that’s just a bad business move, y’know?”
I nodded, considering this.
“And you think you can find trustworthy smugglers to bring us to Taw for us?”
“Not all the way to Taw,” Gennady corrected me. “Just partway through— far enough to get away from the pirates, and board a proper ship to finish the voyage.”
“The question still stands,” I said.
He stroked his beard in thought. “It’ll take some time, but I’ll be able to do it. I know my way through the underground, and I bet ya I can find someone willing to do this job for us within the week.”
“If you say so.”
I did not fully trust Gennady for some reason, despite knowing him for a week. Or perhaps I should rephrase: I had only known him for a week, which was why I did not fully trust him just yet. Whichever the case was, I felt like I should still be somewhat leery of the man.
I had paid him almost a hundred gold coins to escort me to the Taw Kingdom, and while that certainly helped to abate some of my uncertainty regarding the situation, I still did not feel fully at ease about the things he did when I was not around. After what happened in the Free Lands with Victor as well as what happened with the slaves, I tried to keep my eyes on Gennady at all times, even if that was not physically possible.
The Dwarf eventually retired to bed once our discussion was over, while I stayed up to practice my drawing skills. I drew the four same symbols over and over again, until my hands and fingers ached all over, but I still continued.
When I first started doing this, I had only drawn the runes of the same symbols in succession: fire, fire, fire; water, water, water; earth, earth, earth; or air, air, air. Now, however, I was drawing the different symbols in tandem with one another, mixing up the combinations to varying degrees.
Fire, fire, water, air.
Water, earth, fire, air.
Earth, earth, air, earth.
Earth, air, air, fire.
From what I had studied in the books Gennady lent me and from what he told me himself, all four symbols could theoretically be put together in a rune and create something. However, there were certain pairs that almost always went together more often than with others. These pairs were:
Water and earth. Earth and air. Fire and air. Fire and fire.
The last pair was an oddity in that they were both the same symbols. Gennady seemed to postulate that this was due to how the fire symbol seemed to generate the most amount of energy by itself. I thought differently: to me, it probably was the prevalence of weaponry in the daily lives of the people in this world, which made the fire symbol more needed than the others.
In a similar vein, the reason why the earth symbol seemed to pair with the others fairly liberally was probably due to its importance when it came to tinkering with a mana crystal to affect objects around it. It was not due to the effectiveness of the symbols itself, rather it came from the necessity of it all.
I went through pieces of paper incredibly quickly; it was not the most expensive material in the world, but it still cost quite a significant amount to buy as much paper as I had been using (I used both sides of the paper and tried not to waste space). I finally found myself at the end of my current stack and was forced to stop for the night.
I slowly slumped over the desk, exhausted from working for so long into the night. I rested my head on my arms atop the table, facing to the side and out of the window.
It was dark.
The moonless night shed no light down from the heavens, as dark clouds gradually formed overhead, covering the celestial bodies from illuminating their shine upon this earth. Yet, I saw not the darkness of the void ahead of me, but instead a picturesque scene layered over the window frame like some sort of portrait.
I remembered the sunset from earlier today. The tranquil view of the beach, the sounds of the waves crashing into the sand, and the rays of the sun beaming down at my face.
It was almost relaxing.
I glanced over at the clock to the side, and checked the time. It was late at night— past midnight— but it was hardly the usual time I went to bed. I felt almost as if I had become a workaholic with all the things I had been doing since I was freed from slavery; every single one of my days had been filled with traveling, studying, or fighting without any moment of reprieve in between them.
The last time I got the chance to simply enjoy myself was the time I went shopping for a new set of clothes since my Goblin outfit was getting used and worn.... and my wallet felt very bad about itself the day after!
I sighed wistfully as I remembered my previous life and all the fun times I managed to spend with my friends doing various different activities in between our studying, volunteering, and school.
“I want to go to the beach,” I muttered under my breath.
It was most definitely not the best time to go outside; being a kid and wandering the streets alone at night was a recipe for trouble. I did not want to be forced to expose myself if push came to shove and I had to cast magic to protect myself again.
And yet, once night ended and morning came to replace it, I would lose the opportunity to go to the beach without wasting any of my time. Time was precious, and its wastage on something as unnecessary as enjoying myself would guilt-trip me to no end.
I looked over my shoulder, at the sleeping, rotund figure of the Dwarf laying in his bed. He was going to go to the market tomorrow in search for any Superior mana crystals, bringing me with him to teach me things I needed to learn about them. After that was finished, we would head down to the docks to find any ships that were willing to take us to Taw.
I had no window to act, and the stormy weather would probably bring the tides dangerously close to shore once I finally found the chance to visit the beach. It was with taking all this into consideration, I made my decision.
“I’m going to the beach,” I said, standing up and grabbing my dagger and other protective gears.
After all, there was no time like the present, and this wasted no time since I probably wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep anyway.
[Next Chapter]
​

Author's Note: The ending of this chapter was inspired by my friend who dm-ed me on Insta that I should go to the beach when it was 40C outside. I'm an introvert, I don't understand why that would be a good idea lmao

It is a while since something in Madden Ultimate Team has utterly thrilled me. EA's reveal of Series 5, which drops Friday in MUT, qualifies as that.
It's not just the arrival of a new Series, which resets the XP grind again, or its accompanying drop of new Challenges (these tied in with a new Journey, which is itself tied to Theme Diamonds 2.0). It's not even just the rejuvenation of the much-loved Theme Diamonds program, which had been tipped off since basically the drop of the original round and partially revealed by Madden Mobile's inclusion of some of the selected players.
Really, it's what seems like a holistic approach to MUT and what it needs being executed on, with smallish touches complimenting a massive content drop, and vice versa.
Let's run things down, starting with that content.

Theme Diamonds 2.0: Back And Even Better

Theme Diamonds 2.0 arrives Friday, with 33 new cards — one 94-95 OVR card per NFL team, and a 98 OVR Night Train Lane as the program's Master — that almost all represent new additions to MUT. Here's the list, grouped by division because that's how EA revealed them.
AFC East

• Bills - Eric Wood
• Dolphins - Olindo Mare
• Jets - Joe Klecko
• Patriots - Logan Mankins

AFC North

• Bengals - Taylor Mays
• Browns - Joshua Cribbs
• Ravens - Jamal Lewis
• Steelers - Joey Porter

AFC South

• Colts - Edgerrin James
• Jaguars - Tony Boselli
• Texans - Brian Cushing
• Titans - Derrick Mason

AFC West

• Broncos - Rod Smith
• Chargers - Antonio Cromartie
• Chiefs - Will Shields
• Raiders - Nnamdi Asomugha

NFC East

• Cowboys - Erik Williams
• Eagles - Brian Westbrook
• Giants - Victor Cruz
• Washington - Doug Williams

NFC North

• Bears - Mike Brown
• Lions - Johnnie Morton
• Packers - Gilbert Brown
• Vikings - Daunte Culpepper

NFC South

• Buccaneers - Simeon Rice
• Falcons - Alge Crumpler
• Saints - Tracy Porter
• Panthers - Kris Jenkins

NFC West

• Cardinals - Anquan Boldin
• 49ers - Garrison Hearst
• Rams - Mike Jones
• Seahawks - Marcus Trufant

At first glance, I don't see any players that don't really fit or teams whose fans should be incensed except maybe for the Dolphins, who could obviously use any number of legendary or beloved players (Larry Csonka, Zach Thomas, Mark Duper) more than a kicker to fill out their theme team.
That doesn't mean there aren't selections I'd quibble with: Eric Wood doesn't stand out as much as most of the players, but he did have a long career with a single team; Will Shields is the second lineman the Chiefs have gotten from Theme Diamonds (after Brian Waters), and Derrick Thomas is obviously a white whale worth pursuing from that franchise; Garrison Hearst isn't really going to play for 49ers theme teams that now have a Raheem Mostert at RB1, and he said some really ugly things about the prospect of gay teammates (before later apologizing).
I think there will also be some significant frustration about what the Theme Diamonds 2.0 sets require, as they appear to be following in the stead of the Team MVP cards from a year ago in requiring a number of cards from previous programs. The set for Mare was the only one shown on stream, and it required Dolphins players from Flashbacks, Team of the Week, MUT Heroes, Harvest, Football Outsiders, and Zero Chill as well as Core Elites that were already used once for the original Theme Diamond; a pack with players needed for these Theme Diamonds sets also revealed that NFL Playoffs players will be required for some sets.
If you really want a Theme Diamond 2.0 player at program launch, do your best to collect a bunch of program Elite players from the team you're looking to get one from, and you might get lucky enough to have half or more of the required pieces on hand tomorrow. If you're not willing to pay what will now be inflated prices, too bad: These prices are going to remain inflated, and the Diamonds themselves overpriced, for some time to come.
Despite that inevitability, and without even experiencing the release tomorrow, it's impossible to deny that Theme Diamonds has been a grand slam of a program, one that has seemingly opened the floodgates for EA in terms of spending the money to obtain licensing rights to players both integrally important to teams and deeply loved by fans and players. While there's no single player in either Theme Diamonds pool who was new to MUT and a knockout addition on his own, a few players (Edgerrin James, Nnamdi Asomugha, Brian Westbrook) come close, and the breadth of the program is breathtaking: The 50ish new-to-MUT players included in Theme Diamonds is essentially a match for the Legends crop EA has rolled out for several years, and yet it didn't stop EA from also including new players in the Legends pool, churning out a robust NFL 100 program, or dropping surprising big names (Dante Hall, Kordell Stewart) out of nowhere.
And these 2.0 Diamonds are all coming out at competitive OVRs, and with theme teams prebuilt to accept and boost them. That wasn't really the case for all of the original ones, some of which required then-expensive Training to get to competitive levels.
MUT 20 is by far the best MUT for players with even a bit of a historical sense of the NFL based on the work EA has done to obtain as many licenses as it has, and Theme Diamonds is at the heart of that. While there are ways to improve the program going forward, any critique of it at present is nitpicking.

EA Finally Gets a Nerf Right on the Specs

As exciting as Theme Diamonds 2.0 is, though, my single favorite reveal from the stream was what EA is doing to nerf the most overpowered part of the MUT metagame, Eric Dickerson's on-from-kickoff NFL 100 X-Factor. That X-Factor has served as a get-out-of-tackle-free card for about three months now, and its end condition — a tackle for loss — was difficult to satisfy, as Dickerson would consistently shed that first tackle for loss attempt.
Per Kraelo's explanation on stream, telemetry told EA devs that this was being used enough that it merited a nerf, so it got hit with a soft bat: Instead of turning off after a first tackle for loss, it will just turn off after five plays, including special teams.
I think that compromise is perfectly fair: Players who were abusing Dickerson for entire games by grinding out runs based on him breaking tackles won't be able to do that, even if players who run stretch plays with Dickerson hoping to break them for touchdowns, only to find trouble, spin back inside, run into their own offensive lineman, break a tackle, and somehow keep their X-Factor on no gain will still get five chances to do just that — which is probably about as many as they were getting in the first place.
And the compromise offered to players who have obtained Dickerson (likely specifically because of the ability) is also very generous: For a week, there will be trade-in sets available that allow players to swap an auctionable Dickerson for any auctionable NFL 100 player, or an NAT Dickerson for any NAT NFL 100 player.
Even if you don't have or care about Dickerson, that presents one hell of an opportunity: Having an auctionable NFL 100 Centennial Edition fantasy pack on hand for the inevitable release of Ultimate Legends that will exceed some of those NFL 100 players is going to be worth hundreds of thousands of Coins at the proper moment. I'm preparing for that, and suggest you consider doing the same.

Series 5 Changes

In addition to a massive new program and a meta-shifting nerf, Series 5 is also bringing some of the changes that we've come to expect from Series changeovers in the last two years of MUT
The rundown of what you'd more or less expect:

• The MUT Level Cap is being raised to 90.
• New Store pack offers, packs, Level Challenges, and Power Up Passes will unlock as you level up.
• A new Journey is coming, with deep integration with Theme Diamonds 2.0.
• Torry Holt is getting an OVR bump to 97; the Level Master Tokens will show up where they usually do in the MUT Level path.
• Pat Tillman is getting an OVR bump to 97, and players will be able to get it either with extra cards already earned for him (the superfluous Image and Border Tokens you would have gotten for either Challenge Star accumulation or H2H wins) or with Training.
• The Series 5 Master is a 97 OVR Joey Bosa.
• New sets allowing players to acquire Super Bowl players in exchange for Elite players are coming.
• New 93-94 OVR exchange sets (requiring 91-92 OVR cards) are also coming.
• Dozens of previously LTD players are being re-released as part of the Series Redux program, as was previously announced.
• 22 new Power Ups are coming, as was also previously announced.
• "60+" throwback and alternate uniforms are coming as of tomorrow, via a Training Store tile.

Those changes will come in addition to the unmentioned but critical update of pack odds, which is the most important reason that the market should be set to crash on Friday — even with Theme Diamonds 2.0 providing some ballast to many parts of it.

Ultimate Legends and More on the Horizon

That is a lot for Friday, and marks it as one of the most exciting days of the MUT calendar.
But Saturday, the beginning of the Ultimate Legends cycle, might be even more exciting.
Kraelo confirmed on stream that Ultimate Legends begins Saturday, making clear that all of the speculation that it would drop the weekend after the Super Bowl was correct. He didn't give any more details, except to say that the first reveal of Ultimate Legends would come through Muthead's Friday Night Football Twitch stream, but we don't really need details to get excited for Ultimate Legends.
EA's pool of possible picks is unfathomably deep this year, too, so I would expect a large crop of ULs to begin with, perhaps as many as 10 or 12, and I would consider it an upset if there isn't a major offensive player and a major defensive player in that first batch. A Calvin Johnson at WR would fill the most significant hole in the current spectrum of available Legends and historical players, and top-tier defenders like Brian Dawkins and Ed Reed have been out for months.
And Ultimate Legends, too, is a guaranteed market crash, with players often liquidating binders to scrape together the Coins to nab a few shiny new players.
But that's not all: While running down the last few NFL Honors players who got LTD cards on Thursday (MVP Lamar Jackson, Fantasy Player of the Year Christian McCaffrey, and Defensive Player of the Year Stephon Gilmore), Kraelo let slip that there was no Comeback Player of the Year Ryan Tannehill "because he was being saved for another program."
Now, if I were a betting man, which I am not, I would consider the lack of a 96-97 OVR Tannehill card in NFL Honors and explanation that he's being saved for another program pretty good indication that said other program will include such a card and be released fairly soon.
Would I bet on that being this year's version of the well-received Team Builders program from MUT 19? I don't think so: There's enough that the MUT team could do that Team Builders might not be the next thing on the hit list. But I also wouldn't bet against that specific prospect.

Previous | First
DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own any of the ideas or worlds described in the story. The ‘They are Smol’ universe is the intellectual property of u/TinyPrancingHorse. Nothing in the story is canon to his universe, and I’d suggest you visit his writings if you love wholesome stories about humans being human.

• Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tinyprancinghorse
  
• TPH Author Page: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/wiki/authors/tinyprancinghorse#wiki_they_are_smol
  
• TaS Series Page: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/wiki/series/they_are_smol
  
• TaS Discord Link: https://discord.gg/hSAj9qW
  
• TaS Twitter Link: http://twitter.com/TheyAreSmol
  

—|—|—|—
ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER:
This story was NOT written by me. It was, instead, created by the beautiful and certainly not a snake-person “@not-a-jornissian” (currently @spookwoodle) on the They Are Smol discord. I was given permission to post his wonderful story on his behalf, so please direct all praise to him. I’m just the messenger. He’s the good writer.
—|—|—|—
ADDITIONAL ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER
“You’ve read They Are Smol. You’ve enjoyed They Are Smol (If you haven’t, well, prepare to not enjoy this one either). But this is smols like you’ve not seen them before. This is extreme smolness with a lemon twist: smols fucked up big time in this one, and Earth, well… Earth is empty of smols. At least the ayys hope so, because it’s fallout time back there. The ones that got away — and let’s face it, it was all of them that were left — had no place to go. Homeless, smol and needing protecting, they were taken in. For the lucky ayys out there, they’re our smols.
This is a not-so-serious slice of life alternate universe where the entire population of Earth - what was left after the dead man’s switch was flipped and the nukes successfully irradiated the planet - was evacuated en masse and then taken in by the galactic civilization at large.
I’ll probably write a few more in this silly, comfy alternate timeline to expand on what’s different, but don’t take it too seriously, okay?
So, without further ado...”
—|—|—|—

Part 5: Murder Darts

“So… this says… the… ball is red. Really? haven’t we covered this page before? But… what’re all these extra details if I turn on—”
“[Whoops! You’re not quite ready for all that yet. It’s too complicated.]”
“I’m not a child you know!”
I pouted — I could feel the pout even though I felt stupid for acting this way — as Cherry turned off the extra details in the ‘book’ I was reading. The ‘book’ was a typical alien affair, a lightweight yet sturdy device with one large screen that could be rolled up or folded, was touch sensitive, could speak in multiple languages — including my own — and held vastly more than just the one nursery-level story adventure about a bright red ball that I was reading for probably the fifth time.
The book actually held a good chunk of the sum of all Senate-species books produced over the last however-many thousands of years. It was a standard data terminal given to pre-schoolers when they were practicing their reading and writing. It kept my place between lessons with cherry little creatures that I presumed were native to karnakia and helpfully gave me tips on how to improve my reading comprehension skills with their happy animations and infinite patience.
It patronized me even more than Cherry did.
I was using it to learn Karnakian and Galactic Standard Script, a midway language that was fully computable and logically consistent. Nobody natively spoke GalScript, but it was used as the go-between in all translators, including my own collar. It was also used galaxy wide as the standard script for all multi-species documentation, signage and other written communication. That now included all official Terran-Senate communication.
Humans were learning it en masse as part of our integration tasks, even those not living with the aliens on a daily basis. The GalNet news stations were reporting on the difficulty working with Newport on Mars which had proclaimed itself a sovereign state for the benefit of humans only, but the independent colonies were picking it up well, as were Luna and United Earth Government members on the moon.
In some ways, for the people in my position, it was harder to learn GalScript than for those in the colonies. We had our translators and our benefactors looking out for us, and it was stupidly easy to put puppy dog eyes to good use. With the way they fell over backwards to give us everything we could ever want, I for one didn’t quite have the strength to not take advantage of it. It didn’t work in the colonies where human teachers were quite able to be harsh enough for their students, of any age, to get them to shape up or ship out.
Newport, of course, didn’t want to pay ball in general. They weren’t entirely anti alien, but they definitely weren’t interested in becoming part of the Senate at large. The Martian city was being built with the lowest, sturdiest technology available that the Senate were willing to give unrestricted access to. It was comparably cramped, smelly, dirty and a far cry from the comfortable, airy, well-appointed quarters I enjoyed. True to their word though, the Senate were air-dropping materiel and machines from orbit, and hadn’t set scaly hide, talon, paw, claw or feathered backside on Mars, nor would they so long as the colony remained viable.
Of course, I didn’t have any pretensions that showing the naked truth of non-integrated living wasn’t deliberate propaganda by the Senate, and part of the effort to integrate the majority of mankind into the galactic community at large, but it was the truth.
“But… why won’t you turn it back on?” Annoyingly, puppy dog eyes weren’t working this time.
“[No. You’re not ready for it. You can barely manage your lessons as it is! You’re not ready for that level of detail, not yet, it’ll just distract you and you’ll make no progress at all.]”
I narrowed my eyes, poking at the screen attempting to turn it all back on, but Cherry had used her ‘parental permissions’ to lock me out. “That’s very fair of you, stifling my inquisitive nature.”
Cherry fluffed up angrily. “[Okay… you asked for it. Holoprojection, data display, level [ten] Galactic Standard Script, last spoken phrase by [Dean].]”
There was a burst of light as the dwelling’s holoprojector activated. The room flooded with information. I was almost blinded. All that for a simple phrase?
“[Here is the basic meaning, that you believe I am a fair and just giver of knowledge… but that’s not what you meant, was it? No, the modifier noted by this axis negates the normal adjective of that clause, actually inverting it. The predicate and arguments here show your emotional state, a frustration with the boundaries given, implying I think you are a rowdy chick who is anxious to show off his first moult before the feathers are even full. Do you want me to go on?]”
I grumbled, swiping to ‘turn the page’. “The ball is bouncy and… pretty.”
“And if you’d been paying attention you’d know you were being asked to provide the extra meanings from these words this time. It means the ball is ‘rubbery’ and ‘pretty’ and ‘attractive’ and ‘interesting’.” Cherry clucked, dismissing the light show with a wave of her talons. She then sat down again and gently but insistently turned off the book, pulling me into her feathery embrace as she made herself comfortable in the reading nook hollow of the den.
“[You have time, [Dean]. You have plenty of time to learn. It is hard to learn a new language, especially GalScript. Would you rather try Karnakian again?]” Cherry gestured and the holo-emitters fired up once more.
I couldn’t speak Karnakian, but I was doing a relatively good job of learning to read it, even if that was through—
“[Dancing through the stars! We found them! [One and all!] Upon their green world, blue sky and waters! [All the colours!] Come to us, small heroes! Defend your lands from terror! TALONS! TEETH! WARMTH OF HEART! SMALL HEROES!]”
—cartoons. I didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted, but [Small Hero Colourful Friend Defence Team] was certainly popular and I never missed an episode, though plenty of snobs said the Karnakian vis-dub — somehow the show was being produced in English, like some sort of reverse alien anime — was unfaithful to the English original. It featured a band of alien children who accidentally washed up on a version of Earth that was in danger of being attacked by evil space pirates and plundered for their cute denizens and other riches. Through quick thinking, magical powers granted by talking trees and technology from ancient machines, the children aided by their human allies sent the dastardly space pirates packing in episode after episode. I watched it in Karnakian, and had the house systems translate into both English and Karnakian subtitles.
The Senate had tried to ban it from being displayed on Zephyr stations, but that ban had been about as effective as you’d expect. With all their technology, they’d seemingly forgotten about things like the Streisand Effect. In moments from the initial premier, it was the hottest traded commodity from the restricted pile, so much so that they just gave up and looked the other way when it was surreptitiously rebroadcast on the local datanets.
Come to think of it, allowing [Small Hero Colourful Friend Defence Team] to flourish may have been the simplest way to let off steam and avoid even more sensitive shows becoming so highly sought after.
I settled into the cool floof as Cherry combed my hair. Karnakians enjoyed grooming each other almost as much as Dorarizin did, but human hair fascinated them even more than usual. I had to be stern during such sessions or she’d be putting bows in again. Karnakians adored fetishes in their feathers and manes, but I wasn’t quite so fond of the idea.
“I just don’t like feeling stupid,” I grumbled. I was working with material that aliens practically a tenth my age — or so it felt — had already mastered. Cherry shuffled about in the seating hollow we were in, clearly distressed.
“[You’re not stupid,]” she said, swaddling me with her wing-like arms. “[You’re brave and clever and smart… you’ll learn soon enough.]”
I was saved from further platitudes and ruminations by Chuck’s return. The other member of our household was on a staggered shift compared to Cherry, but during the on-station evening they were both home most of the time as they had me to look after. He noisily shook himself out as he crossed the threshold, unbuttoning his waistcoat and dropping his sash onto a nearby hook. He kicked his shoes — more ceremonial claw-guards than what I would call actual footwear — across the room into a corner before stretching out in a long karnakian sigh, rattling his fur-like feathers as he did so.
“Long day?” I asked. Chucky just ducked his head in a karnakian nod, gesturing for the house to widen the pit so he could join us.
“[The [humans] with children are mostly safe, but we had a whole commune to evacuate in one go, all of them malnourished, many of them sick. They were… they were very scared.]”
Cherry nibbled at his neck-fluff where the desert-dweller’s scalier hide gave way to the thin, reed-like fur-spikes. “[They are safe now, they will learn not to fear us.]”
“[I wish they had learned quicker.]” Unsaid was that something had happened, but it was written large across his features, so plain that even I could read it. He may not have been on the ground, but he still got telemetry and co-ordinated raw, unfiltered video feeds.
“You do your best, that’s all you can do. Sometimes it’s not enough. Like Cherry says, they’re scared. As far as some of them know, they lost a war. For all they know, you might find humans as irresistibly tasty as you do cute.”
If pointing out how I was basically a cross between an exotic pet and a child made them upset, you can imagine how saying that made them feel. It was the closest thing to anger with me that I’d seen.
“[How could you—!]”
“[Don’t even joke—!]”
“[We would never!]”
“[Unthinkable!]”
“I’m sorry! It was just a joke! A joke!”
“[Horrible!]”
“[To suggest such…!]”
It took me until after the episode had finished — it’s not like we didn’t have the whole season so far downloaded, this episode included, but it’s the principle of the thing — to calm them down.
On reflection, I felt sorry for what I’d said, truly sorry. By now I’d heard enough rumours to understand that they’d accidentally yet badly injured a human during the initial first contact and that this whole mess was kind of their fault. For me, I tended to see it as taking two to tango, what with the whole nuclear fallout thing. It certainly wasn’t Karnakian missiles that destroyed my home after all.
Most Karnakians were rather straightforward and honest people, loving to a fault. For them, they could never forgive themselves for the absolute travesty that First Contact had turned into, it would be generations before the hurt would fade. With their lifespans being at least a thousand of our years, that meant grieving and pain for a span as long as a good chunk of recorded history so far. My life pre-contact, whilst comfortable by historical standards, was a far cry from the modern amenities I now enjoyed in their care. The kind of dark humour that I was used to made them uncomfortable at the best of times, and to even joke about eating sentients was beyond the pale.
“I’m sorry Cherry, Chucky. Come here… I’m sorry, really.” I pulled their heads down towards mine, bumping foreheads. The standard expression on Karnakians easily translated to ‘angry’ for humans who were uninitiated, but I’d learned to read past that. They were sad and hurt.
“You can forgive your [dilligent little school chick] can’t you?” I looked up at them, wide-eyed and innocent. I couldn’t speak Karnakian, but I could speak GalScript, or at least the standardized Terran pronunciation of it… when aided by the house’s holo-projector and my collar. It was below the belt, really, but as much as they knew I was a full adult, something about us humans just screamed ‘wobbly helpless chick’.
Chucky was the first to fold. He closed his eyes. “[I forgive you, little one,]” he sighed. “[I t-try so hard…]”
I made small, soothing noises, patting his side. I picked at his feathery fur around his head in an attempt to groom him, and a few moments later he was doing the same to my hair.
“Who’s my big strong Karnakian EM Squire? I know you’re the best on the boards. And Mommy is such a friendly, helpful Karnakian too, isn’t she? You’re both doing a great job at saving humans like me, I know you are.”
Cherry squawked in annoyance, gently picking me up and pretend-snapping her teeth across my face and down my chest in an impromptu grooming session, it was similar to having a large dog slobber all over you, only worse.
“[How many times have I told you not to call me that!?]”
“Daddy! Mommy is being mean to me!” I mock-pouted, rubbing the knuckles of my fist on Cherry’s face as she fluffed up in annoyance.
“[You’re not helping your case you know!]” Cherry continued, but by now even Chucky was laughing, trilling helplessly as tears rolled down his muzzle. The tension slowly leaked out of both of them, though I knew I’d be getting grumbled at later. For now though, it meant we could finally wind down as a strange family.
It was a bad habit, perhaps, but I let myself fall asleep held by either or both of the Karnakians. I don’t think I’ve found anything quite so comfortable as an oversized alien space-raptor for a couch. I had my own bed, of course, but I let them take me to it. Don’t look at me like that! I know how you fall asleep watching the telly, and how you’ve never watched all of Star Wars and you used to wake up only half way through the credits. This is pretty much the same, just with less steps.
When I woke up again, it was still ‘night’. That didn’t matter for me though, I’d had enough sleeping for a while and really needed to get out, to clear my head. I didn’t want to wake Cherry and Chucky this early — they, we, had a joint free shift in the ‘morning’ — so I’d make do with just the emergency glow from my collar to get me to the front door. I’d shucked my pants when I’d gone to bed proper, now I pulled them on as quietly as possible, cussing only infrequently as I struggled to get the legs the right way around. A few minutes later and I was out the front door.
Looking back at the house, it remained dark. Streetlights, sensing my motion, slowly grew in brightness until their blue-green glow suffused the area with a friendly light. I took a deep breath of the ‘night’ air, it was fresher and cooler at this time of day, rolling in from the park found spinwards and aft of our house. The center of this cylindrical residential zone was speckled with mobile drones full of lights and holo-effectors that could make the space above the houses look like anything from outer space to a chasm on a distant moon — every so often someone would get to pick a vista for it to display — but right now it was showing the stars as they would appear outside, as if I were on the inside of a partially see-through tube floating in space. Beautiful, but eerie. The lights of other dwellings twinkled distantly on the other side of the ‘arch’. Beneath my feet, the rough and regular footwalks stretched onwards through the habitable zone as it stretched right the way around to the opposite side of the tube, above me, and back down again the other side behind.
I made sure my collar was happy about my relatively unplanned constitutional, the last thing I wanted was to wake everybody up with the silent alarm causing the station security forces to lock the whole floor down and descend en masse, then started walking up the street.
This arcology platform was something else. I was living in suburbia, in space. Despite being quadrillions of tonnes of exotic alloys, it was practically able of landing on a planet — not that it was supposed to — and came complete with its own gravity generators. Where I’d expected our apartment to be down some meandering space corridor with a door like any other, it wasn’t. It was a relatively uniform yet distinct house, complete with garden, babbling brook and patio, just the way Cherry and Chucky liked it. I liked it too, but I had places to go. A hover-skimmer soon descended on my position, picking me up. There was no driver and no charge, the perfect taxi.
“Charlie’s,” I said. The taxi interrogated my collar, picked out where I meant and then accelerated at speed, the inertial dampers meaning I couldn’t even feel it as the scenery first fell away then sped past below me. A few minutes later, I was entering the ‘downtown’ district, the next floor ‘down’, aft of my own.
From the air — and we weren’t all that high up, we were after all inside a space-station — the ‘downtown’ district was a blaze of neon. Dropping to ‘floor’ level on the inside of the cylinder’s walls, the taxi slowed to a halt, the gull-wing doors rising up as I stepped out. Here the lights were less dazzling, the sidewalks less gargantuan. This was ‘little Terra’, a home away from home for us humans, especially when the ‘babysitters’ were sleeping. It was almost disorientating when the door was normal sized for once, and it somehow felt… not cramped, but the ceiling being a normal height — at least in the patron side of the bar — was kind of intimate. Even the outside of the buildings were hauntingly familiar, in a strange kind of fashion.
“Hey Reshy, had a good one so far?” I asked the bartender.
“[Starting to warm up,]” replied Chrlesshnethggrethraf noncomitally. He reached up, took down a pint glass and pulled a pint of cider for me. The red and white striped adder-type slid the glass across the top of the bar. I took it gratefully.
“Put it on my tab.”
“[You know you don’t have a tab, right?]”
I snorted, taking a swig. “You say that every time. It’s the principle of the thing.”
“[Same here.]”
I grinned, then wandered over to the jukebox and dropped in a few of the fake coins passed around — for some reason, they had pictures of random humans on them instead of any specific monarchs, along with writing on the other side in a variety of alien languages — before punching buttons on the deliberately clunky interface. Tunes from my home blared over the speakers as I sank into the ratty yet comfortable seats. The fake patina was slowly being replaced by real stains, and although it looked dog-eared, I knew it was meant to but was in fact as new as the rest of the human adaptations to this space station.
Taking another swig of cider, I finally started to relax. Thinking back on the day — evening, for ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’ — I reasoned that Cherry, Chucky, and in fact not only all the karnakians but all the resident aliens, were doing their best to set right what they’d set wrong, even if it didn’t always feel like it. I figured that was because I didn’t see the full situation back on Earth with the holdouts who, rightly or wrongly, were scared of the aliens. Instead I was here, in absolute comfort, because I wasn’t.
I guess that’s why I came to places like Charlie’s. ‘Charlie’ may have been a Jornissian, but the rest of the denizens were, broadly speaking, humans. This was what Cherry and Chucky were working towards, the ability for us humans to have our own culture once more, our own space. I just wasn’t sure the aliens were ready for it.
“Okay, are we ready?” Ollie, special forces vet, was acting as referee tonight. A stalwart Northerner from the UK, he was keeping the peace between Ivan and Seamus, at opposite ends of one side of the room. The crowd was cheering them on.
“Murder darts! Murder darts! Murder darts!” The chanting started up, getting louder and rowdier as the excitement built up.
“Aye, I’m ready,” Seamus said, once Ollie had gained a modicum of control over the crowd. He took a swig from his own bottle as he eyed the shots in front of him.
“Da! Let us begin!” Ivan said, hammering his chest with one hand.
The chanting started up again after that. “Murder darts! Murder darts!”
“I want a clean competition, one drink, one shot, alright? Okay, go!”
Each competitor took a shot of the clear liquid in front of them, then took aim, and...
“Ooohh!”
The crowd winced as one as twin darts sank into the two competitors. One in the arm of Seamus, and one in the shoulder of Ivan. With the medical abilities of the aliens being so far ahead of hours, otherwise debilitating injuries were more or less just an annoyance. Hence, pastimes like ‘murder darts’ had grown in popularity, where injuring yourself or someone else was the aim of the game.
“Give up yet, ya pansy?” Seamus taunted, pulling his dart out. A dribble of blood ran down his arm
“Go cry to your mama,” Ivan retorted, slamming back another drink. He flicked the dart in his shoulder contemptuously to the floor. Seamus took another shot.
“Remember! Miss, and your opponent gets a free shot, their choice of dart or drink!”
“Ivan will not miss.” Ivan took his shot, and took a shot.
“What, you think I’m gonna back out? Feck off.” Seamus did the same.
Two more darts went sailing across the room, more drinks were knocked back, followed by another pair of drinks and another pair of darts. Money changed hands, though in the strange situation we humans found ourselves it was more a set of IOU’s. Eventually, the whole initial row of shots was emptied, their glasses upturned. Both competitors looked a little woozy, but that was because they’d not been drinking on an empty stomach. They’d put alcohol in it first.
“Alright gents! Warmup’s over! Neither of our stars are backing down! It’s time for another round!”
The clear gutrot was once more portioned out, and soon darts once again went flying across the room, finding their targets, though with a wider dispersal now. Some of them did miss, usually to be replaced by a drink from the victor. Off to one side, separate games of ‘punch-face’ were starting up, where the winner of a timed downing of a pint got to punch the loser in the face before having another pint. Things were getting interesting. Having sunk several double shots of my own in addition to a number of pints of cider — quite how many, I was no longer sure — I got up from my seat to move a little closer, maybe take a part in the betting. Unfortunately, several others had the same idea and a pint glass caught my elbow, to get sent flying over me and its owner.
“Oi! What the fuck do you fink yer doin’?”
“Oh shut up you gibbon,” I retorted, words slurred as I wiped myself down, livid. “If you’d looked where you were going—”
“What the fuck did you call me?” I was interrupted by the gibbon in question, all greasy hair and dragging knuckles, and barely a single pair of brain cells to rub together.
“I said you’re a gibbon, you half-witted, window-licking, crayon-eating, knuckle-dragging simpleton, waving your stupid hands all around instead of watching where you’re going. You’ve got your piss-water all over me!”
His friend squared up. “I think you’d better apologize, you little shit.”
I sniffed. “Alright. I’m sorry your friend is a half-witted, window-licking, crayon eating, knuckle-dragging simpleton. Sorry your girlfriend—”
In hindsight, that may have not been the right answer. Live and learn. Predictably perhaps, the gibbon drew back his hand, made a fist, and punched me in the face. I was sent staggering backwards through the rapidly parting crowd into Ivan, who slipped with his dart and sent it sinking into Ollie, who slapped two others in their faces, spilling their drinks, which set them off and the rowdy game of murder darts devolved into a rousing rumble.
“Sassenach!”
“Limey bastard!”
“Come on then! One at a time or all at once, ya slags! I’ll nut ya!”
By this time, chairs were flying across the room, the wooden floor was stained with beer and blood, glass littered the tables, Charlie had put up the blast screen, and as for me, I found myself heartily defenestrated. I rolled to a stop outside in the road as a whole pack of armoured dorarizin descended from rapid-response troop carriers. Drones buzzed around, lights piercing the otherwise dark streets, as the peacekeeper forces arrived.
For some reason, at least one of them was wearing what appeared to be a British policeman’s outfit, the strangely bell-shaped archaic hat on his head looking rather out of place. He bent down and cleared his throat as a circle of light surrounded us two in particular.
“[You’re [nicked], [mate],]” he said, through a thick mask that was probably intended to prevent the inevitable dorarizin hug that followed unscented humans and instead made him look like a nightmare in metal, leather and fangs. “[Did that translate properly?]”
I burbled something through the blood streaming out of my cut lip in rough assent and he nodded, seemingly satisfied. At some point after that, the world went dark.
Chr'ter trilled softly in annoyance as the call was resolutely passed through both the privacy and courtesy firewalls and filters, waking her up. The house systems did their best not to intrude during bedtime, but when you do have to handle a priority communication, intruding comes as part of the job.
“|Hello? ...Yes, I am Chr’ter of House Tr’ck’rk’tktk, what…|” she stifled a yawn, feeling all the feathers down her back flutter, her tail-fans cramping, “|what can I do for…|” She sat up straighter as the voice on the other end of the line — audio only for privacy’s sake at this time of night — inquired whether she had one ‘Softy Tr’ck’rk’tktk’ as a part of her Family.
“|By Br’nk’trrr’s last feather,|” she swore. She took a deep breath. “|I do, is this — yes, the local peacekeepers, I under — no, no, he’s a good boy, he’d never… injured? My baby is injured? If you’ve hurt him I’ll tear every scale from your… just you try to charge me with verbal assault and I’ll have your hide! What did you do to my baby!? Chrk’chrk, get up! Right now!|”
“|Rrff? Mff? Wha’?|” Chrk’chrk was kicked in the face by a very agitated Chr’ter. He circled his jaw and shook his head, making sure nothing was injured. “|My prr’nktun blossom, what is it?|”
“|The [peacekeepers]! They’re holding our baby prisoner! He’s been arrested by the not-so Noble-Family-Hunters-Yearning-For-Life!|”
For a brief moment, Chrk’chrk was still, then a low, rattling growl emanated from deep within his body. “|Ripped pinions, tell them we will be there momentarily and that they had better have a very, very good explanation.|”
The call was cut on a frantic jornissian as she tried to calm things down. She decided clocking off early was probably a good idea as the equivalent of a dial-tone was her only companion.
“[Hi [Mommy], hi [Daddy],]” The little-needs-protecting croaked out, smiling through the gaps in his missing teeth as he tried his best ‘little lost chick’ act. It was a bit of a stretch, given how he was currently lying on a relatively spartan bench in a plascrete cell, in the middle of the detention block. His soul-lights were a whirl of painkillers, inebriation and injuries barely suppressed by nano-meds. He was also rather worried about his ultimate fate this night, as he should be.
“|Don’t you try that with us! What did you think you were doing?|” rumbled Chrk’chrk, his spiny feathers rattling. Chr’ter, however, had other things on her mind than her errant’s ‘chick’s behaviour.
“|You have him restrained? In [handcuffs]? Are you a [barbarian]!? Let him free this instant!|”
“[Miss, it is customary in his society—]” the jornissian civilian safety officer tried to explain, but Chr’ter had her back feathers rising and there was a low growl emanating from her throat. Her tail-fans widened and she tried very, very hard not to gouge the floor with her claws.
“|He is not in his society right now, he is in mine and if you do not start treating my baby with a little bit more care I will show you—|”
“|[Burnished feather of the morning light], please calm down. There is already one member of our family in trouble, we do not need another,|” said Chrk’chrk soothingly, trying his best to keep his own feather-spikes down. He then turned to the jornissian that was standing to one side in the grey detention block of the peacekeeper’s station and narrowed his eyes, forked tongue flicking over his lips. “|On the [flipside] of that, if you do not release him this instant I am not responsible for what may happen. He is perfectly safe to handle, and most certainly will not be escaping our tender mercies.|”
“[Un-understood… now if you would just sign this release form and-and-and w-waiver—]” Rsssthssprrktthh tried very hard to keep smiling and remembering to blink. She herself knew what it was like with children, you never forgot the feeling of their teeth as they clung to you, it made her warm even now thinking of the warm-cuddle she’d been tending, so she knew what it was like for the two Karnakians in front of her. [Dean] had been so cute, despite her being forced to keep the warm-cuddle restrained as per his society’s customs until his carers arrived to request he be relinquished from his cell.
“|Waiver?|” growled Chr’ter.
“[He, ah, was part of a public disturbance and-and-and—]”
“|How badly was he injured?|”
Rsssthssprrktthh rattled off a list of injuries, which included bruised livers, cuts and abrasions and a broken shoulder to an increasingly irate karnakian. “[But his teeth will grow back, though you may want to have him on a liquid diet for a while.]”
“|And you want me to sign a waiver for what before you will let me take him home to be properly cared for?|”
“[He was p-part of a p-public dis-disturbance and-and… and I suppose we know exactly where to find you should we require any more information! Just sign th-the release form! Here and here and… thank you he should come into a [little-needs-protecting] hospital later today or tomorrow for another standard dose of nanites, medi-skin re-application, more antitoxins for the intoxicants he digested, and removal of the quick-cast for his broken arm, but for now you are free to go and please don’t come back!]”
The jornissian signalled the cell to release its occupant, then vanished as quickly as her long, yellow and orange tail would let her. For their part, Chr’ter and Chrk’chrk turned to the widely grinning little-needs-protecting. He smelled happy, hurt, pungent from ‘alcohol’ and very, very recalcitrant. His soul-lights were also calmer now that he was back with his family.
“|You have a lot of explaining to do, [Mister],|” grumbled Chr’ter as she pulled the sliding barred door open.
“|Indeed. Just wait until your moth… er, I mean Chr’ter and I, get you home!|”
The little-needs-protecting’s face fell as he was gently, but firmly, pulled to his feet.
“|So you say you were innocent?|” Chrk’chrk asked, his feathers rippling up and down his body.
“[Honest. I was just there for some… time to myself. W-with others. I mean—]”
“|With others of your own kind. We understand. Just… that’s a… a bad part of town—|” Chr’ter stated.
“[Hey!]”
“|Sorry, but it is. And then you got into this… riot?|” Chrk’chrk continued.
“[I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t going to get involved in anything dangerous or illegal when I went out!]”
“|At least you’re safe now,|” Chr’ter said, fussing over Softy’s injuries. She yawned, fluffing herself up as she pulled the injured little-needs-protecting into her embrace. “|Now all we need to do is relax a little. Maybe put the holoprojector on whilst we wake up properly.|”
“|...In local news today, there was an altercation with the [little-needs-protectings] at a bar colloquially known as [Charlie’s]. A fight broke out over a dangerous game known as [murder darts] went awry during an illegal betting session.|”
“|You WHAT!?|” Chr’ter felt the little-needs-spankings tense up in her grasp as she heard and saw the news footage.
“|The instigator of the fight has been identified and appears to be one [Softy Tr’ck’rk’tktk], and will be—|”
“|YOU ARE SO GROUNDED!|”

Chapter Select
Unsurprisingly, Hal wasn’t a fan of sporting events, and he quickly learned this extended to all tourney events. At least when Chris or Theo were taking part he had some stakes in the action, but most of it he found dreadfully boring. With nearly a week of events planned Hal had tried to bring some large scrolls to his seat to work on the design for the ramp he was planning to fit to Prometheus, but Diana stopped him. Said he should at least appear to be watching. He was allowed to send occasional messages, which was good because the guild’s stonesingers were now working on the new tower for the remnants of the Hidden Star. After Hal had explained the design of the tower, with various enchantments, they’d readily agreed. They’d even named the circle after their new tower, becoming the Circle of the Stolen Sky.
When the events finally ended for the day Hal had to hide his relief, managing to do so until he and Diana reached the keep of castle Prometheus. Another hour was spent in the workshop still trying fruitlessly to make a radio analog before he retired for dinner.
“Damnit, you’re early,” Diana said as Hal reached his private dining room, after a day of sitting and smiling he wasn’t really in the mood to sit and smile while he ate in the main hall. The mage was hunched over a small brazier repeatedly striking flint and steel. Hal wondered why she needed a fire, the entire castle was lit by enchanted lights of various kinds, and he was about to ask when he noticed several candles on the small table beside two plates of food.
“My virtual girlfriend feeling neglected?” He asked with a bit of a smile.
“A little,” she admitted, “it’s been big battles, racing around to find or save people, figured since we’re stationary for a bit the two of us could make the best of it. Also, you looked like you needed a pickup after watching the tourney all day.”
“Killing two creepers with one fire?” he grinned and the mage shook her head at the joke, “why not go down to the kitchen? They have a fire going there.”
“That would be admitting defeat,” she growled, striking the flint with the steel several more times, “I am a mage of fire, and a divine conduit of the mistress of flame. I shall not stoop to borrowing other’s flame.”
“And your staff?”
“Already tried it, it doesn’t actually set things on fire.”
“Shame you can’t snap your fingers and create fire, like your students can.”
“That exercise they do to focus their minds?” She asked, Hal nodded in response, “screw it, if they can cast spells without saying things, so can I.”
Hal smiled and leaned against the wall, deciding to humor her as she stood to face the table, dropping the flint and tinder. Diana took a long breath and closed her eyes, opening them she focused on the candle, held her hand out and, after another moment, snapped her fingers. Both of them froze when the candle lit. Nearly a minute passed with them staring alternately at the candle and each other. Without saying anything Diana turned slightly to focus on another candle, took a breath, snapped her fingers and that candle too lit.
“Explain,” she half demanded, looking over her shoulder at Hal.
“Uhhh,” he thought for a moment before responding, “hidden casting method? Elwin does like to hide things in his games. Maybe the machines can read our brains for intent, combined with an action and cause some minor effect?”
“Not just minor effects,” Diana’s eyes widened, “that’s how you killed that judgement. In your rage your mind was so focused that the computer read it as intent.”
“I didn’t have specific effects in mind though,” the knight argued, “I just wanted to kill it for hurting Ash, who I thought was dead.”
“They always say that your emotional state can effect your magic, maybe the focus and anger was all it needed. The system deciding you had enough of both to trigger the effect and took it from there?”
“And the locals don’t see the difference between casting methods, seeing the use of words and gestures as methods to focus one’s thoughts,” Hal added, then shrugged, “seems as reasonable as any explanation to me.”
“Before you run off to do tests, dinner,” Diana pointed at the table, now with all the candles lit.
“What are you doing?” Chris asked the next morning, approaching the training ground where Hal was standing in a typical warrior skill stance, 10 meters away from the dummy and glaring at it.
“Trying to activate a skill without saying the words,” Hal replied, shooting the champion a glare before returning to concentrating on the dummy.
“Maybe there needs to be an action,” Diana called from the sidelines, ignoring Chris, “I had to snap my fingers, maybe you should, I don’t know, swing your sword?”
“Worth a try,” the knight shrugged, resuming his stance.
“Shouldn’t you focus on min-maxing your abilities,” Chris grumbled, “this is a game after all.”
Hal and Diana ignored him, the former taking a moment to focus before lunging with his sword as though he had just completed the charge. Several attempts later he hadn’t made any progress.
“Why even practice?” Chris asked, pulling his spear out and walking over to a dummy. He took a halfhearted swing at it, the blade on the end of his weapon taking a decent chip out of the wood, “doesn’t matter how good your stance is, attacks do the same damage.”
Before Hal could respond something whistled past them and landed with a dull thud into the head of the dummy Chris had chosen. Eric walked over to them to retrieve the knife he had thrown, which was buried halfway into the wood.
“You need both,” the sniper said, “something Hal taught me when I first got here, you need to know how to throw a knife and how to activate a skill. Without one you’ll be beaten by someone who has both.”
“Really, jarhead?” Chris scoffed, trying to hide his surprise at the dagger that just flew past his head, “how much you wanna bet I could beat you with just game mechanics?”
“If I win you join our guild,” Eric responded instantly, pulling the knife from the target dummy and sheathing it with a showy spin.
“You guys are trying to get me to anyway,” Chris shrugged, “dangling those hippogriffs out as a prize, don’t think I hadn’t noticed. If I win you will treat me with the respect I deserve.”
“If you win, you’ll have earned it,” Eric replied motioning to the nearby training field. Once again, a ‘master of duels’ appeared out of nowhere, just like when Eric had challenged Hal, and promised to keep the duel non-lethal. As they both took their positions Eric removed his bow and quiver, tossing them on the ground. Both Hal and Diana paused experimenting to watch.
“You’re a sniper, don’t you think you’ll need that?” Chris asked lifting his spear.
“Nope,” Eric replied simply, entering a combat stance with both hands out with the ease of someone who’d spent years training. The duel master counted down and signaled them to start.
Chris made the first move, lifting his spear above his head and shouting activating a skill Hal recognized it from several of his bouts in the tourney as ‘warcry.’ Unique to Champions it drew attention from all enemies in range, applying a minor taunt and building the champion unique resource called glory.
“Charge,” Chris half shouted after brining the spear back down and began sprinting forward as the skill took over. As he came to a halt he thrust with the spear directly for Eric’s chest, the CIA operative easily dodged, pushing the spear to the side with one arm while slamming his other elbow into Chris’s chest. The champion stumbled slightly but remained standing.
“Right, you’re stronger than me in here,” Eric said dryly.
“If you want to surrender now then-,” Chris began to reply before being interrupted as Eric ducked under his spear, grabbing it and twisting it free of the other man’s grasp. With a practiced spin he struck Chris in the back of the knee with the butt of the weapon. The champion cried out in pain as his leg gave way.
“Your stance is bad though,” Eric explained as he spun the spear once more, stepping behind Chris and placing the tip of the weapon to the back of his neck, “Backstab.”
The weapon glowed briefly as the trickster skill activated. With one foot on Chris’s calf and the point of the spear, with skill ready, to his back Eric paused.
“I could kill you here,” Eric said, pressing the point of the weapon so it almost drew blood to emphasize his point. Chris froze for a moment before grumbling something Hal didn’t catch, but it had to be some form of supplication as the duel master called the match in Eric’s favor. The sniper removed the weapon, the skill timing out after a moment, before reaching out one hand to help Chris to his feet.
“Now what?” Chris growled when Eric refused to return his spear.
“Now,” Eric explained, stepping back and leveling the weapon, “I’m going to teach you how to do what I just did.”
“Wha- why?”
“Because you are part of Gordon’s Hope now. You know how to game, good, that’s half the process. Now I have to teach you to fight.”
“He spent several weeks showing me how to swing a sword,” Hal called from the sidelines.
“And me how to swing a staff,” Diana added with a smile.
“And they taught me how to game,” Eric finished, “now, we’ll do this slow the first few times.”
Hal and Diana left them to their training, exchanging pleased smiles with one another.
“Here I thought Theo was a good rival for him,” Hal explained later that day to the rest of his party as the Tourney continued on before them, “seems Eric was a better influence.”
“He didn’t seem any nicer at lunch,” Isabella replied, then admitted, “though he was quieter.”
“He doesn’t have to be nice; I’ve worked with plenty of dirtbags before. But he has to work with us.”
Meanwhile in the arena Theo was dancing around an opponent with a much larger weapon. The swashbuckler had quickly become a crowd favorite with his antics, at times it almost looked like he was toying with his enemies but that was just how swashbucklers worked. Still seemed to piss off whoever he was facing, something he was quite willing to exploit.
“Any luck finding new weapons?” Hal asked, glancing at Isabella.
“Diana and I teleported around a few larger towns in Ulyssar, found a bow that deals more damage at short range, scaling off my strength based on the identify spell,” the Beastmaster replied.
“That’s a good match for you,” the knight nodded, “you have decent base strength and tend to be at shorter range than Eric.”
“Oh, we found a couple things for him too,” Diana jumped in, suddenly remembering something, “specifically arrows that gain armor penetration the longer they’re in the air.”
“How many you get?”
“Around a hundred, I think. I was going to speak with Theylin, see if she can’t produce them in house for him. Be cheaper in the long run.”
“We thought it’d be funny to pair with his distance bow,” Isabella added.
“Seems like a fun combo,” Hal agreed, “more damage and armor pen at range, and bonus range. I should explore the stealth mechanics more, see if we could stack sneak attack crits on top.”
They were interrupted as the crowd let out a loud ‘ooo’ of sympathetic pain, looking up Theo’s antics had finally caught up with him and it seemed that while attempting to dance past his opponent again he’d been clotheslined by the stronger man. Theo tried to get to his feet but was forced to forfeit when the large Warhammer his enemy wielded was placed against his head, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Nonetheless they cheered when the swashbuckler gave an elaborate bow to the victor moments later.
“And then there was one,” Diana said.
“I was hoping for a climatic Theo vs Chris final battle,” Hal admitted, “but it seems the locals are not to be underestimated.”
“That’s one lesson to take from it,” replied Isabella with a laugh, “another is to not mess around so much in combat.”
Before long Theo joined the small group in the royal booth, responding to some good natured ribbing with grace, and a few self-deprecating jokes of his own. As he was getting settled in the next bout began, Hal didn’t recognize either combatant so he leaned back to spend another hour pretending to be interested. As he did so he caught a glimpse of a gem on his collar that was glowing, it was the invisible detection item he’d created. His breath caught in his throat, it had a short range, barely ten meters so whoever was triggering it was close.
Hal turned his head as though to look at whichever one of his friends was speaking at the time, but he tuned them out to listen behind himself while peering out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t hear anything over the clashing of weapons below and the various shouts and cheers of the crowd. The arena was hastily built, and the build quality has suffered somewhat, something the knight was instantly glad of when he saw one floorboard flex as though someone was carefully stepping on it, but no person was visible. Standing up fast enough to knock his chair over Hal got into a casting stance.
“Shockwave,” he half shouted, the dark blue runes appearing around his outstretched hand and moments later discharging a wave of energy down the short hallway leading out the back of the booth. He was grateful no servant had chosen that moment to walk behind him as the blast of energy ripped down the hall, wall mounted banners and tapestries shook and several were torn from their hangers. But what held Hal’s attention was the clearly caught off guard men who appeared, their invisibility spell disrupted, and several of them falling onto their backs as the spell caught them mid step.
“Blade Call,” at level twenty blade call had improved so the weapon no longer flew to his hand but simply appeared in it, materializing in a pulse of blue light. One of the assassins, and there was no other word Hal could apply to them, charged, brandishing a pair of wickedly curved knives. His face twisted in surprise as Spero-Arcanis cut through the dagger he’d placed to parry Hal’s attack, the look became shock and pain as the weapon continued through his arm, black leather armor, torso and out the other side.
The rest of the group was only just starting to react as Hal jumped over the still breathing corpse of the first assassin to attack the second. All four of the men were dressed identically in black leather that was embroidered in a deep red forming barely visible glyphs and runes. In the back of his mind Hal recognized the largest of the symbols as that of the warmaster, a hand reaching upwards towards a flame. But he had more pressing matters as the second assassin dodged the thrust of the knight’s great weapon. With a spin and twist twin cuts appeared in Hal’s side, the assassin danced past to reach the others of the guild but was met with a barrage of fire spells. Hal ignored the burning pain in his side, focusing on the three remaining assassins, wishing he’d worn at least a light chain shirt under his tunic.
Hal started a thrust at the next man in line, only to pull back and reverse it into a slash when the legion rogue dodged. The body hadn’t hit the ground when Hal was forced to parry a double slash from the third assassin.
“Diana’s been poisoned!” he heard Croft shout form behind him, confirming in his mind that the burning pain in his side where he’d been cut wasn’t just from the wounds themselves.
“Cure her!” the knight shouted back, pushing the assassin he was tangled with back and trying to land a quick slash but missing as the skilled assassin moved with the push and flipped back out of reach just in time to avoid the attack.
“You’re poisoned too!”
“Save her!” Hal bellowed, charging forward as a cluster of arrows from Isabella’s bow took out the rearmost assassin. The knight entered into a complex exchange of blows with the remaining two assassins, parrying, dodging or just tanking their attacks. No more arrows came, the beast master unable to get a shot around the rapidly moving melee. And in the enclosed space of the royal booth she couldn’t reposition to get a better angle.
“Avatar of Arcane Might,” Hal growled as he thought he spotted an opening to cast, still taking another cut on his shoulder as he returned to fighting after casting. Long snakes of blue lightning danced up his body as the spell burnt through the arcane potential he’d built up. The man who’d just cut him didn’t get away, underestimating Hal’s speed with the spell active, the legendary blade cutting clean through his body. Excess energy from the attack lashed out at the wooden structure behind him, leaving deep furrows where Hal’s blade hadn’t even touched.
The final assassin turned to run, fleeing in panic down the hallway. Hal pushed off with one foot, the world blurring past him. The best way he could describe using arcane avatar was trying to hit a target with a baseball bat when traveling at highway speeds. He timed the attack right, the dark blade reducing the legion assassin to a pile of so many limbs, but, possibly distracted by the pain, Hal failed to stop in time. He glanced off the side of the hallway, his sword cutting through the wood and cloth tapestries even as Hal struggled to regain control. He planted his foot, coming to a sudden and seemingly inertia-less stop through the logic of the spell. The attack, however, continued a short distance, curving up the wall and across the ceiling before stopping.
“Dismiss Avatar,” Hal said carefully, not wanting to move again with the spell going. Once the lightning had vanished he turned and limped back towards the booth. Diana was on the ground breathing heavily while Croft tended to her, the ranger skill to cure poison controlling his movements as he applied herbs, bandages and dabs of water seemingly at random.
“I’ll get to you next,” Croft assured him, not looking up from his work.
“I knew I should have gotten that skill too,” Isabella cursed herself, rummaging through her pack for a moment before pulling out a potion and tossing it to Hal who barely caught it, “anti-toxin, should keep you up till Croft’s finished.”
Hal nodded and downed the foul tasting potion before casting greater reinforce body on himself which, if he remembered correctly, also gave a bonus to poison resistance. Dropping Spero-Arcanis on the small drink table he half collapsed onto the ground to wait his turn. He fumbled to pull his slate out, Theo and Isabella covering the hallway incase any more assassins appeared. Finding the party page he was relieved to see that Ash and Pearce’s health bars were both full, while Eric was ‘out of range.’
His health bar, however, was getting perilously small. Poisons did damage, they’d found, but also reduced max health until they were cured making simply healing less effective and even killing the target eventually if not dealt with. Hal knew this well, having spent several hours researching poisons after the death of Gordon.
“Burning cure,” a soft voice said besides him, and a light blue flame seemed to burst from the knight’s wounds. Looking up Diana was back on her feet, a look of deep concern in her eyes even as her spell burnt away at the poison in his system. Croft was staring at his own slate, willing the natural cure ranger skill to cooldown faster. Burning cure undid some of the max health damage done by the poison but didn’t cure it. It was a race between his slowly ticking down heath and Croft’s cooldown, which, if Hal remembered, wasn’t that long. If it was short enough, however, he didn’t know.
“Diana,” he gasped, reaching for her hand, pulling her down to sit beside him. She held his hand and looked him in the eyes trying to smile, as though everything would be fine, but he knew her well enough to see she was holding back tears. He pulled her closer, “if I don’t make it-.”
“You’ll make it,” she replied in a voice that, despite her attempts, cracked with emotion.
“I love you,” Hal whispered just for her, tears began to flow from her eyes as her false smile faltered. Before she could reply Croft grabbed the knight by the shoulder and pushed him onto his back.
“Natural cure,” the druid said, his hands beginning to move to remove the toxin. Relief flooded Diana’s face, once the skill started the effects of the poison were paused until it was either interrupted or completed. Croft smirked as he began the process of curing Hal, “we’ll get you back on your feet soon enough Romeo.”
“You can’t just drop that bomb on me like that?” Diana half shouted later that evening, “not while you’re dying!”
After the assassins were dealt with and Hal cured of the poison, they had secured the area, finding the two guards to the royal booth dead, throats slit with the same daggers their attackers had used. No other assassins had been discovered, whether that meant they got away or there weren’t any more they had no idea. A few civilians were found dead a couple floors down on the stairs, presumably they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Once they felt reasonably safe they began the investigation. Croft was casting every divination spell he knew on whatever he could think of that might give information. Pearce had begun asking his minstrel network, seeing if he couldn’t trace the assassins back to how they got into the nation. The most upset from the attack was, oddly, Sir Ade who considered the attack on Hal a personal affront to the Promethium Knights. He’d asked Hal for permission to expand the small order to a couple dozen, promising to take care of the vetting and training of each man to join. The tourney had been paused for an hour or so, but Hal insisted it resume same day, unwilling to let a failed attack disrupt the event. He had readily agreed to move to Prometheus for the rest of the day, just in case.
Now he stood atop his tower over the main keep of the floating castle with Diana, getting chewed out for some reason.
“I didn’t want to die without saying it,” Hal replied.
“And what if you did die? What would that do to me?” She insisted, “If you’d said it before hand, and simply wanted it to be your last words that’s one thing, but just dropping that on me in that moment?”
“I’ll remember that next time I’m dying in the arms of the woman I love,” the knight said dryly.
“Good,” the mage grumbled, folding her arms and collapsing in the chair next to Hal. After a moment of silence, she continued, “you don’t want to know my response?”
“If you’re willing to tell me, or you could save it for when you’re dying to punish me.”
“Tempting,” the mage said, then once again spent a long time silent, “but I feel the same way. I don’t know when it happened, at first, I just thought you were a nice guy I could find some companionship in. But now… yes, I love you too.”
Hal smiled in response, taking her hand in his.
“I’m not good at this emotional stuff,” Hal admitted after another long silence.
“Me either,” Diana agreed, “change the topic before we both feel super awkward?”
“I was planning to start construction on the loading ramp for Prometheus today,” the knight replied, “probably give the go ahead tomorrow now though.”
“How will it even work? One hell of a ramp to reach this height.”
“It’ll only be thirty or forty feet long, after it extends.”
“That won’t be enough to reach the ground, unless you’ve got some magical shenanigans planned.”
“No shenanigans, though I do have to add another scrying point to the main console,” Hal replied, “I plan to simply land Prometheus in a river or lake when we need to use the ramp.”
“That’s… why didn’t we think of that sooner?”
“Cause we’re stupid?” Hal offered with a smile, “it’s actually surprisingly common in engineering, people think of increasingly complex answers to a question that has a stupidly simple solution. Assembly lines are simpler than cottage industries once you understand it. Jet engines have one moving part, while internal combustion engines have dozens if not hundreds.”
“So… the answer to moving men and supplies between a magical floating castle and the ground is… a non-magical drawbridge?” asked Diana.
“Pretty much, although I do plan to use some strengthening enchants on the bridge, just to ensure it holds.”
“But just chains and winches to raise or lower it?”
“Got some stone singers to alter the gatehouse to handle the bridge. That’ll be the hardest part of the construction, apparently singing enchanted super hard stone is difficult. And most of the singers, including master Janel, are at the stolen sky tower construction site.”
At that moment a couple servants, escorted by a paranoid Sir Ade, walked out onto the tower top, platters of food and drink in hand. Between the sunset, food and company it ended up a nice evening, despite the attack.
Chris had been doing well in the tourney thus far, all things considered. He’s easily secured the win in the melee against a knight errant named Sir Thompson. Considering the level advantage he’d had it was hardly fair, and unlike Theo he was taking it very seriously. His use of superior strength, skills and knowledge of game mechanics had beaten the much older knight down within a minute, to the chagrin of the audience. But there was a reason the winner would the person with the most points between both the melee and joust. It was partly because that’s how things were done on Tiadas and partly because the kingdom was starting an order of mounted knights, so prowess in the saddle was a must. At least, that’s what they told Chris, and while true the final reason was they were trying to challenge him.
He’d spent the days leading up to the tourney learning to joust with Eric, several knights of the Promethium Order offered to help, but were rejected. Probably a mistake seeing as Eric had only slightly more experience with jousting than Chris but it was his choice. Despite the lack of experience he’d done well in the first rounds of the joust, some passive champion skills assisting him with a lance as they did his normal spears. Later rounds he’d struggled, muddling through with some wins on points rather than straight victory despite his level advantage.
All of which lead to this, the semi-final match of the joust. Once again Sir Thompson was his opponent, and the crowd loved the rematch and revenge story the announcers were spinning. Both men kneed their horses into the first pass of the match, and it was clear early on that Thompson had Chris beat on technique, saving lowering his lance for the right moment while the champion was mostly relying on his raw strength.
The crowd held its collective breath as both lances made contact with their opposite, but while Chris leaned into the attack Thompson tilted his shield out, deflecting the blow away while his own slammed into Chris’ shield, showering the pitch in a hail of splinters as the lance broke. Thompson played to the cheering, holding the shattered lance aloft while a squire got him a replacement.
Chris, on the other hand, looked pissed as he righted himself in his saddle, angrily grabbing a new lance while wheeling his horse around. Again, both horses broke into a gallop at the urging of their riders, thundering down the hard-packed dirt. This time the lances themselves hit one another, the blunted tips bouncing off one another with a muffled crack. Chris used his greater strength to full effect, keeping the lance on target while Thompson nearly lost his grip on his own weapon. This meant it was Chris’s turn to shatter a lance on his opponents shield, adding to the plethora of wood fragments that had built up on the track despite the best efforts of the cleaners.
Near as Hal could tell this tied the score, leaving both men with one pass in their favor. The third and final pass would decide the match, at least that’s what Hal had been told. Apparently if it ended in a tie they would make up to another three passes till a winner emerged. After that Hal had no idea what happened, no match had gone that far.
Both riders lined up on the track, Thompson lifting his new lance in salute to Chris who halfheartedly returned the gesture. Clearly playing to the crowd Thompson pulled his horse into rearing while lifting his lance high as the final pass began. It was easy to tell that both men were completely focused, and the crowd was dead silent, leaving the pounding of hooves to echo around the stadium unopposed.
Like the first pass both of their lances hit, but there was a critical difference that Hal barely caught as it happened. Chris’s lance hit his opposite’s shield while Thompson landed his in the middle of Chris’s breastplate. Despite the curving of the armor he kept the lance wedged as the movement of the horses lifted Chris from his saddle. The wood of the weapon finally gave way to an explosion of splinters, followed closely with the dull thud of a man hitting the ground.
The crowd erupted in cheers, the underdog had come back to win in the end. What’s more Thompson demounted his horse and went to help Chris to his feet, while any words between them were lost to the roar of the crowd. All Hal saw was Chris stomping from the field.
There were two more matches before the tourney ended, the last semi-final and the winner of that match against Thompson. Winning the final bout Thompson came away with a second and first place finish, putting him above Chris’s first and third place. That left Chris at second overall, though he turned down to join the new knightly order which was to be lead by Sir Thompson. Hal only hoped the other player wouldn’t fall into a pit of despair after this. But the next order of business was the raid and Hal didn’t have time for much else.
“Not much of a tower,” Eric said as they walked up to the large spire of stone, in a field of smaller stone spires, all of which looked like natural formations with no pattern.
“There’s a reason they called it the circle of the hidden star,” Hal replied, the pointed to several surrounding stones, “supposedly these spires form a solar calendar of sorts. The first mages of the circle carved them out to look natural, including the surrounding field of them.”
Field was an understatement, as the veritable forest of spires stretched out in all directions like a god had dropped massive stone needles everywhere. The tallest was nearly a hundred feet from base to tip, and was supposedly marked the main tower.
“So, how do we get in?”
“There’s no direct entrance to the main spire, apparently,” Diana said, “we’ll have to find the entrance to one of the other spires, then brave the labyrinth to reach it.”
“Labyrinth?” Isabella asked.
“And underground maze that serves as the only physical entrance to many of the spires, normally they just teleport or gate in. Back when the circle still controlled the tower anyways. They wanted a back way they could use without magic, but wanted to keep it secure. Therefore, labyrinth.”
“It was also filled with illusions designed to mislead people,” Hal added, “though it’s unlikely those are still around.”
“That’ll make it easier to navigate,” Theo commented, “though I’m guessing some monsters moved in since.”
“Once we find an entrance to the Labyrinth, we won’t be leaving till we find the tomes and scrolls we need,” Hal added unnecessarily, “but we have no leads on which spires have external entries, right?”
“Correct,” Diana nodded.
“Well, let’s make use of our new hippogriffs, teams of two at a minimum. If you find an entrance to a tower send us all a message, don’t go in without the full raid. I’ve no idea what we’ll find inside.”
“So long as it isn’t a bloody Minotaur,” Croft grumbled loudly, “that cliché is worn out.”
“Unless one moved in since, unlikely,” Hal agreed, “I don’t even know if they’re native to this region.”
“They aren’t,” Chris said in a flat voice, already moving to mount his own hippogriff. After loosing the joust he’d been distant, moreso than normal. Hal still hoped he’d bounce back, and considered it a good indication that he was still showing up to train with Eric daily.
“They’re native to the islands south of the coastlands,” he continued, “one would have to cross the entire world to get here.”
“Call it a low chance of minotaur then,” Hal said dryly, “well, let the search begin!”
((Hope everyone enjoys, no bonus lore this week, been a long week for me. Feel free to bother me about this on discord, where I should be on most days. Chapter 38 is up on Patreon for a buck a month. As always, feel free to comment below.
Map by thegurw ))