The Next Day
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Grand Dining Hall. Local Ti: 0730 Hours
Thacea
“The pair should be arriving soon, if all has gone according to plan.” Ilunor announced casually, his head craned lackadaisically towards the grand windows overlooking Elaseer.
“Indeed.” I acknowledged.
“What do you suppose will happen once they succeed?”
“Once?” I shot back with mild surprise.
“Yes, once. Do you take for a pessimist, princess?”
I paused before cocking my head, narrowing my eyes in a wordless response that gave Ilunor all the answers he needed.
“Your grievances notwithstanding, I refer back to my initial question. Lest we dive into another introspective sojourn of my integrity or what-have-you.”
“Understandable.” I nodded, leaning back against my seat. “I imagine not much will happen, in that the goal of this entire… adventure is one of preventive intent. A mission ant to avert the inevitable consequences should Earthrealm proceed with a large-scale and unaided portal reactivation.”
“Yes, yes. That's all well and good… but what happens after that?” The Vunerian continued unabated, his hands doing sothing rare in this social context — they remained still, away from food and drink.
“Elaborate.” I urged.
“The earthrealr is planning to send a ssage back, yes? A ssage that will announce her safe arrival and continued survival. But even if the capacity of these ‘pulses’ — as she calls them — are as limiting in their density as she makes it out to be, what’s stopping her from elaborating beyond the bare minimum? What are the chances she might add more pressing details of her experiences thus far?”
My eyes narrowed as I, too, put down my cup of tea, both palms now finding themselves resting thoughtfully on my lap.
“You’re asking to postulate how Earthrealm will react to these details, yes?” I clarified, my gaze drilling into that of the Vunerian’s thoughtful stare. “Details, which would undoubtedly consist of an inexhaustible list of damning infractions committed on the part of the Nexus?”
“I wouldn’t phrase it so harshly, princess—”
“Regardless of how you wish to phrase it. Is that or is that not what you are asking ?”
“It is.” He nodded.
“Then, you are asking the impossible.” I concluded.
“I beg your pardon—”
“We do not have enough… context for precisely how a state as enigmatic and decentralized as Earthrealm would react.”
“I’m not asking for specifics, princess.” Ilunor spoke with a tired sigh. “What I am asking for is general intent. From what we know and from what we understand, which way will the winds blow once Emma relays all of the Nexus’ supposed ‘transgressions?’ Because I highly doubt she will be sending back any glowing reviews once all is said and done.”
“Perhaps. Though perhaps you’re rely seeing this from the Nexian perspective, Ilunor.” I countered with a graceful chirp.
“Excuse ?”
“While Emma may not have much of anything positive to say on the part of the Nexus, I do imagine that she might balance that with a degree of optimism for those adjacent to it.” I clarified, eliciting a narrowing of the Vunerian’s pupils.
“You put too much faith in the earthrealr.” He countered.
“I’m simply extrapolating based on the experiences we’ve shared thus far.”
“While that may be so, this doesn’t detract from my point.”
“And what exactly is your point, Ilunor?”
“Trust. Not in Emma Booker herself, but in the state she serves and the authorities she is beholden to. You misconstrue the emissary for the monarch. Or worse, the personal for the amalgamate. Because that is what they are. Not a monarch with predictable aims and logical drives, but the discordant will of the screaming masses. That is what Emma Booker represents, and that will be the entity that will be reacting to whatever she relays back. And I highly doubt that a blanket sense of offense can be overruled by so personal anecdotes of optimism for those adjacent to its actions.”
I leaned in close, my gaze narrowing. “And yet here they stand. Perhaps not so much in spite of those discordant voices, but because of them. What they’ve built is sothing that rivals not just the best amidst adjacent realms, but the Crownlands itself. This is what my trust is ultimately based on — the resultant ends of this alien system.” I took a mont to pause, moving to address a personal failing of Ilunor’s argunts.
“What’s more, you of all people should know, Ilunor, that predictable aims and logical drives are axioms derived from Status Eternia and the culture that it purveys. And while the predictability of such drives may assist in the goal of an Eternal Dawn, do you genuinely believe that those who explicitly taint such a canvas would find comfort in the totality of such a system?”
That… blatant pushback was perhaps the first genuine shot at the Vunerian I’ve had thus far. Prior spats and argunts have been superficial at best, but this? This was an arrow aid at the very heart of our grievances.
And, just as unprecedented as this conversation began, so too did it end with a newfound expression I rarely saw in the noble’s eyes.
As thoughtfulness of a different sort, a far more wary sort, seed to spoil his appetite for further follow-ups.
At least, that’s what I thought at first.
Following nearly twenty seconds of silence, did the Vunerian speak once more.
“I, for both of our sakes, hope that your optimism bears fruit, lest you find hollowness in the wake of ruinous promises as the followers of dragons and giants did in the days of old.” He announced ominously, just as the call to classes ended our morning discussions.
The Nexus. The of Transgracia. En Route to the North Rythian Forests. Local Ti: 0900 Hours.
Emma
[‘QUEST’ Ti Elapsed: 68 Hours. Ti Remaining: 100 Hours]
We were about an hour out from the forests.
At which point, we finally had our first — and hopefully only — interaction on the otherwise empty and desolate roads.
And that latter sentint wasn’t because of any ill will or frustration with this stranger, no.
He’d been exceptionally grateful and very polite as we repaired and replaced his cart’s broken-down wheel after all.
If anything, I’d have loved to invite him to the party as a sidekick with how he stole the show.
“Nono, I insist. A scratch for a scratch, a al for a al, a deal for a deal, and in this case…” He paused, barely stifling a laugh. “A wheel for a wheel?” He spoke with a half-restrained cackle, erging from the labyrinthian maze of a cart to reveal… a wheel of cheese.
The little kobold looked so proud of himself for that pun too. He held that red and orange delectable delight high above his head, his little arms shaking, as if about ready to give in at any mont.
This gave us little choice but to accept, if only to prevent a cartoonish death from manifesting before our eyes.
At which point… we fell for his trap.
His cheesy, gooey conversationalist pit of never-ending anecdotes.
Our host in question was what I could only describe as a mirror universe Ilunor. With scales of brown instead of blue, an outfit more eclectic than planned, and a mouth that never once spoke ill save for a questionable penchant for self-deprecating humor.
He brought us on a tour through colorful depictions of far-off realms. From skyward spires to swampy marshlands to cosmopolitan tropolises and finally to magma chambers of, as he called it, fondue despair.
“Those chambers were as troubleso as they sound, by the by. Because as nostalgic as they were and as hosick as they made , their environnt — by their very nature — forced to purchase enchanted chests of constant cooling, if only to ensure my cargo did not preemptively fondue-ify! Speaking of which, have I told you exactly why I left the kobold mountains?”
This definitely grabbed both of our attentions, as Thalmin leaned in for the proverbial tea and the literal crackers while I kept all auditory sensors open for that juicy primary-source intel.
Sadly, I was about to encounter precisely why primary sources were as useful as they were superfluous.
“The first ti I was introduced to ‘room temperature foods’ — courtesy of the kindness of a charitable noble — I was astounded. But it wasn’t the ice, nor iced creams, nor delectable confectionaries that did in, nonono! It was cheese. I’d never had any texture but gooey and lty before! To finally sink my teeth into hard and flaky textures, to feel resistance in my gums and the crumbling of fat against my tongue… it brought forth an epiphany, and I made it my life’s purpose to seek out, uncover, and taste all of the wondrous textures of this delectable food!” He paused before reaching for sothing else in the back, revealing an ornate bottle of so mystery reddish liquid. “Furthermore, I was introduced to the wonders of cold wine. Cold! I felt like a blind man who, for the first ti, was finally given sight!” He rambled and rambled, pouring Thalmin a chalice of wine, which he eagerly accepted.
The rcenary prince took a mont to swirl the fernted grape juice, sniffing it… only to recoil from it and then imdiately move in for another big sniff.
My eyes imdiately narrowed, as a pit of distrust grew at that visceral reaction.
However, before I could even voice my suspicions, Thalmin did the unthinkable.
He let out a burst of mana, then imdiately went in for a gulp.
Not a sip. Not a taste, but one big gulp.
His whole body winced at that however, as concern once more grew within . “What is it, Thalmin?” I urged, my hand reaching for my dpack.
“It’s… it’s—” He struggled to form words, his voice hoarse, and his words interrupted by fitful coughs.
I turned to the kobold, my eyes narrowing. “What did you do?” But before he or I could react, Thalmin ca back in with an ear-to-ear grin.
“It’s Havenbrockian.” He muttered under a strained breath, his hands gripping the little cart’s fold-out counter tight. “Old barrel?” He addressed the kobold, who could only snicker and cross his arms in a show of pride.
“Mid-shelf, but old barrel, yes. Right at the turn of the monarchy, if I recall. It was the last blighted season, so grapes of that vintage were uncharacteristically—"
“Tart.” Thalmin managed out, finally recovering. “And practically undrinkable.” He spoke through a grin. “Just the way I like it.”
“I knew you’d appreciate a taste of ho, your majesty.” The kobold bowed deeply with a flourish of his cape, as the pair laughed in so sudden display of boozy camaraderie.
Before he could pour Thalmin another glass, the prince motioned against it, shaking his head in the process. “We have a quest to do, if you recall.”
“Of course, your majesty!”
“Which is why we’d probably best be on our way—” I urged but was quickly silenced by the frantic pitter-patter of the excitable rchant’s feet. “Thirty minutes! That's all I ask! I’ll even throw his majesty a bottle of Old Barrel Red!” The kobold shook the bottle fitfully, only for Thalmin to turn to with an expectant gaze, which I couldn’t help but relent to.
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“Alright, ten minutes of conversation, then we’re out.”
Eventually, it was my turn to face the schmoozing antics of the smooth-talking rchant, as he attempted to glean as much as he could off of , if only to pull the sa smooth gesture he did with Thalmin.
Sadly, and rather disappointingly, all he ended up offering were about thirty kinds of cheeses, a whole array of fine wines, and quite literally nothing else.
But what could I expect?
This was a cheesemonger’s cart after all…
However, this trend of haphazardly guessing my preferences ended the mont he placed a small notebook in front of .
Before confusion could set in, the brown and orange kobold glead with a satisfied grin. “You talk of travels, of exploration and pioneership, yes?”
“That is the intent of my mission, yes.” I confird.
“Well… how about I offer you this.” He opened the booklet to reveal ruled and lined pages, each one containing three large squares. Within so of those squares were stamps. Others contained seals, while many more also contained sothing resembling black and blue imprints from novelty rubber stamps.
It didn’t take long to understand what this was, as the similarities to Earth’s own tourism booklet were just too glaring to ignore.
“Are these… stamps from different towns you visit?” I asked.
To which I gained several yip-yaps of affirmation.
“Yes and no, fair knight! It’s a little sothing we independent carters sotis commit to for our own sake! Perhaps for a future where our mories fail us, but more so, just for our own amusent. A [hobby. 92.7% Accuracy] if you will! Though there’s more than just town seals in that book—” He paused, flipping the pages to reveal less official and more artistic-looking emblems. “—I also collect rubber stampages from the restaurants and taverns I supply! Which I one day hope to turn into a sort of road book, a restaurant guide for the wayward traveler!”
“And… you’re just giving this to —”
“Erm…” The little kobold interjected, shaking his head nervously. “I… am afraid not, fair knight. But! I am willing to give you a completely new one I had been putting together!” He placed another notebook beside the first. “Consider this my gift to you. A bit of a more abstract and cerebral gift, of course, but one that hopefully is as aningful, no?”
I smiled warmly at that, despite the kobold being unable to see it, as I flipped through the surprisingly clean pages of the book before pocketing it. “Thank you, Togor.”
“No, thank you, fair knight—” He bowed his head once towards before turning to Thalmin. “—and your majesty, for both the help and the company! However, I know when I have overstayed my welco, so I will be a bother no longer and make haste for my next destination!” He bead before closing up ‘shop’ and scampering back up to the driver’s seat. “I do hope we et again!”
“Drop by Elaseer and maybe one day our paths might just cross again.” I offered warmly, garnering a nod and a little impromptu salute from the kobold before he just as quickly dashed off into the distance.
I quickly turned to Thalmin, the whirr of Lightningtread and the clops of Aquastride buffeting each word. “So… Ilunor’s people can be rather nice, after all.”
“His subjects, yes. But his own elite peerage? Not so much after the Nexians elevated them from kobolds to Vunerians.”
My eyes narrowed as I paused to consider that. “Speaking of that ‘uplift,’ what exactly changed about them anyways? Dragonfla’s the most obvious one, but aside from that…”
“Scale color is one, from what I’ve gathered.” Thalmin offered. “Beyond that, I think the elves gifted them maybe two or three inches of height? I know Ilunor would claim a whole foot, but… I personally can’t vouch for that.” He chuckled.
“Right.” I acknowledged.
“However, I’ve also often heard claims over draconic essence being grafted to their souls.” He pondered. “Though you’ll have to ask a professor about that.”
“Well, here’s hoping we won’t be freeing any draconic essences today.” I sighed, eliciting a cock of Thalmin’s head. “As in, I’m hoping our plan works out, Thalmin. Just a clean fire and collect mission.”
“Let’s hope for our sake that we won’t even have to resort to that.” The prince warned.
“Yeah… let’s just pray that the drones manage to find a stray piece of crystal sowhere on the forest floor. Because if not…”
“Then sniping the dragon’s crystals is our only remaining option.” Thalmin concluded.
“Mmhmm.” I affird with a sigh. “Anyways, once we arrive at the forests, we’ll have just under three days’ worth of ‘quest ti’ to burn before we have to bug out to et the Academy’s deadline.”
“I would say that’s impossible without the aid of a war table and map-seer, but given your swarm…” Thalmin paused, once again committing to so sort of inside joke I still wasn’t privy to. “... of ‘drones’ more or less fulfills the sa role, I’m certain that this will be plenty of ti to carry out our plans, Emma.” The prince reassured , even going so far as to thump his chest in what I’ve learned was a Havenbrockian equivalent of a thumbs up.
The Nexus. Skyway Upon the Clouds. En Route to the North Rythian Forests. Local Ti: 1200 Hours.
Captain Ignalius Av-Lisinius
So this is what Rasante was so infatuated with.
This… airiness to authority.
Hmmph.
He truly did have his head in the clouds.
While a journey through the transportium would’ve been so much more convenient, I wasn’t a fool nor a stranger when it ca to the more… roundabout ways of travel. At least, insofar as discretion was a priority.
Flying, however, was a new one.
And one for which I found my body punishing .
I should’ve chosen the underslung carriage in one of the greater drakes… I chastised myself but knew that I had little choice to begin with.
To enter said carriage would be to admit defeat, as Rasante had personally offered a drake.
A challenge disguised as a benign offer.
And while drake riding brought with it regal connotations, it likewise carried with it a grueso toll for the inexperienced — nausea and sickness.
It was following this developnt, and after hours of attempting to hold both breakfast and morning tea in, that I eventually relented.
With a signal to the flying armada, I dove down beneath the clouds, ordering them to circle above whilst I… ‘scouted ahead.’
No one needed to witness this episode of weakness.
I made certain to park a little ways off from the , in a clearing beside a small outcropping of the Great Plains.
It was a desolate place.
A place which I eventually gave in to my body’s weaknesses in flight.
The Nexus. The of Transgracia. En Route to Telaseer. Local Ti: 1200 Hours.
Carter Togor Zariel
Bright was the noon, and cheery was my mood.
Whilst I was a rare Havenbrockian Red down, I was a wheel and a journey up.
A fair exchange for mirth, punctuality, and the most commonly overlooked commodity most other rchants failed to see value in — conversation; the accumulation of stories that made life worth living.
I humd along to the tune of the squeaks of the cart, bobbing my head to and fro as I counted the gold and silver pieces I’d ticulously saved up to finally purchase that darned music box.
However, no sooner did I resu that traveler’s trance than I noticed sothing up ahead.
It was far off, barely visible, but an enchanted spyglass and a few minutes of finagling brought to a horrid realization.
Ahead was a weary traveler in need of aid!
And as was the balance of things, it would be I who would be reciprocating following my own stroke of good fortune.
I led my cart as far as it could to the difficult-to-reach alcove of this downed drake rider.
Following which, I strutted along, health potion in hand, ready to assist.
“Are you alright, fellow traveler?” I spoke urgently. “Do you need any assistance?” I looked over to see a heaving but well-armored elf.
This urging imdiately prompted the man to straighten up, however. His spine seed to snap into place as if bound by so unseen tether, akin to a puppet being lifted by its minstrel.
“Oh, I’m perfectly alright, good stranger.” The elf spoke with a raspy breath. “What makes you think otherwise, if I may be so bold as to ask?” He continued, attempting to speak in so sing-song voice but failing miserably due to a sore throat.
“Well, I saw you from afar, Sir Drake Rider. And I heard sothing akin to you being sick or so such.” I responded genuinely.
“Ah… and you’re certain that’s what you saw, good stranger?” He asked innocently, his arms now firmly placed behind his back.
“Erm, yes, Sir Drake Rider.” I nodded.
“Then perhaps I myself saw sothing worth noting.” He spoke earnestly and with great concern.
“Oh, do tell?”
“Yes, that’s precisely why I landed here. You see, it just so happens that my sharp eagle eyes spotted a rather peculiar sight. A traveling rchant, his wares beset by crystalline shards and his innards strewn about them. Oh, what a poor and appalling sight, wouldn’t you say?” He explained with genuine intent, his tone of voice moving into pity for this wayward traveler.
This prompted to turn around, craning my head far and wide, but finding nothing that the drake rider had described.
“Erm, I’m afraid I don’t see anything of the sort around us, Sir Drake Rider.”
“A sha.” He sighed, a gravelly disappointnt coloring his voice. “That should have been your answer to my earlier question. Alas…” His smile returned as he tilted his head, his words as soft as silk. “I’m afraid you’ll not be needing another.”
The Nexus. Just outside of the South-Eastern edge of the North Rythian Forests. Local Ti: 1400 Hours.
Thalmin
[‘QUEST’ Ti Elapsed: 73 Hours. Ti Remaining: 95 Hours]
[ESTABLISHING BATTLEFIELD CONTROL. STAND BY…]
In front of was a projection, depicting a world so similar yet filtered through alien eyes. A world defined not by learned senses nor ditative insight, but one composed entirely of cold ocular precision.
DRONE FLEET STATUS:
[INFIL-DRONE01… ESTABLISHING ANCILLARY NODE 1: SECTOR A-1]
It was a world of numbers.
[INFIL-DRONE02… ESTABLISHING ANCILLARY NODE 2: SECTOR B-1]
A world of grids.
[INFIL-DRONE03… ESTABLISHING ANCILLARY NODE 3: SECTOR C-1]
A world organized with the thodical indifference of a bookkeeper.
[INFIL-DRONE04… ESTABLISHING ANCILLARY NODE 4: SECTOR D-1]
Yet thoughtfully collated with the purposeful mind of a map-seer.
[SUR-DRONE01… RECON PHASE 1… NORTHWEST QUADRANT]
It was a world analogous to that of a war table.
[SUR-DRONE02… RECON PHASE 1… NORTHEAST QUADRANT]
Yet it lacked its intuitive sensibilities, its visceral presence, and its personal adaptability.
[SUR-DRONE03B… RECON PHASE 1… SOUTHWEST QUADRANT]
It instead focused on the world beyond manasight… and it did so to a degree that was difficult to snub at.
“So what you see there is the forest being divided up into four quadrants. Each quadrant is assigned an infil-drone, and each infil-drone is helping to ground and coordinate the actual search, courtesy of the survey drones. Typically it’d be the other way around, but given the thickness of the forest, the survey drones are my only assets with sensors powerful enough to pierce through the canopy. So the plan right now is to more or less hunker down, have your camouflage magic maintain our cover for as long as possible, while we let my ‘swarm’ do their job.” Emma spoke abruptly, jabbing on the shoulder, as if finally taking note of my multiple assertions as to her true nature.
“And this… this… webwork—”
“Er, network Thalmin, network.” She quickly interjected.
“Right. This… network of manaless make, is this a… unique asset found amidst your elite ranks?” I questioned.
“Oh? Battlenet? Nah, it forms the very fundantal foundations of any operation. From the grand strategists back ho to the specialists and junior non-commissioned officers in the field, everyone’s expected to be connected to battlenet. You can’t wage war if you don’t know where you or the enemy is on the battlefield, after all, right?” Emma spoke casually, too casually, as if the fog of war was a blindfold that had simply been lifted… permanently.
“I…”
“You told about your war table before, Thalmin. And how you had map-seers giving you the real-ti lay of the land. I’d have assud this would be a similar equivalent, no?”
“Yes, yes it is. But… the universality of it is what surprises , Emma.” I spelled out, garnering a long ‘ahhhhhh’ from the Earthrealr.
“Right… yeah, no, that makes sense. I kind of overlooked that.”
“Hence why I asked.” I reiterated, my eyes still entranced by the motions on what was ostensibly a bird’s-eye view of the world in front of us.
…
Then it hit .
“Emma?”
“Yes, Thalmin?”
“These… oculi in the skies. The eyes through which your golems are relaying their sight to us. I imagine these are also capable of being taken beyond the veil on one of your firespears?”
“Yup! I an, you rember the first images from space I showed you—”
“Right. Perhaps I need to clarify. Are there… ‘drones’ capable of permanently encircling your realm, forever relaying sights and sounds back to you through the veil?” I took a deep breath, pacing myself, as the implications started to stack one atop of the other.
“Yup! You actually predicted sothing I didn’t touch on yet in the most recent sight-seer trip, what we call artificial construct-stars! They’re more or less what you’ve just described, Thalmin. Permanent ‘drones’ of sorts, relaying pictures and moving images from the void to the surface.”
It was at this point that silence returned once more, and I couldn’t help but slowly reflect on what this truly ant.
Earthrealm… trulyhadvanquished an entire dinsion of warfare — the fog of war.
The Nexus. North-Western edge of the North Rythian Forests. Local Ti: 1700 Hours.
Captain Ignalius Av-Lisinius
We arrived so hours before sunset.
At which point, we began making our way into the forest proper before setting up camp to rest and unwind.
The n were exhausted from their trip, and I — playing the good Captain — allowed them this one respite before we set out on our first patrol in the dark.
Tents were promptly raised and tables laid out, each one now stocked to the brim with exotic cheeses complenting our own supplies of bread, at, and fresh produce.
I wasn’t the greatest fan of cheeses, however, so I let the n do as they pleased with these putrid wheels of moldy milk.
Instead, I opted for wine and my own supply of foods courtesy of Rasante’s special stash.
“Ulther.” I announced, calling for my second in command, who dashed here under a hastened hop.
“Yes, Captain?” The long-eared leporidian responded.
“Dont forget to give the forest a bite to eat too. Wouldn’t want it creeping up on us.” I proclaid, garnering a deep nod from the white-furred man.
“Yes, Captain.”
With a wordless hop, the leporidian returned to the shadows, effortlessly lifting a barrel and so paper-wrapped packages deep into the woods.
“These new growths are always so… fickle.” I complained to no one in particular, standing up, and taking careful steps deeper beyond the periter of our camp. From there, I summoned the first patrol leader, his wings flapping as he landed softly next to . “The first patrol leaves as soon as the camp is set and secure, and the forest is satisfied. I want a sweep of this place before midnight.”
“Yes, Captain.” The Shatorealr bowed deeply, before moving swiftly back towards his n.
At which point, I eventually retired to the recently set table, pulling up a book as I flipped through its well-worn pages. "Hm..." I grimaced, rubbing my fingers at the ragged and torn edges of the bloodied book cover.
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