The clouds are gone from beneath us. The flying mansion twists in the air thousands of feet above the surface, the lazy spinning revolution showing two mountain ridges on either side of us rising to break through the clouds above. The chill of the wind bites into my uncovered face, the cold up here greater than anything I have ever known. Inside the heavy coat I wear, I rub my gloved hands together to stay warm. The misery I feel toward the cold is reflected on the faces of the elves that stand out on the rocky drive in front of the house with me. Neither Macille or Kendon wear their armor, a rarity for the two; the frost will chill it to their skin in a few minutes if they don it.
Arabella Willian stands at the edge of the drive wearing a summer dress, unbothered by the cold, looking far down into the distance toward the ground. I have pieced together that her abilities deal with the cold in some way, or perhaps at the higher ranks this level of cold is something anyone can shrug off. I haven’t built up the courage yet to stand on the edge and look down, but I know that we have arrived at our destination. In the distance, a sailing ship that looks to be made of ivory descends from the clouds and continues down toward the ground past us.
A human man arrives in the air, floating up from beneath the flying mansion, landing on the soft grass near the edge of the platform. No, the grass does not bend when he lands on it. His feet stand on the tips of the grass without pressing down upon it. He wears a heavy coat of fur and leather, and a woolen cap covers his brown hair as he puffs mist into the air, turning toward Arabella.
Kellis Voy (Rank Three)
Zephyr Conflux
“Kellis!” Arabella says, bringing the man in for a quick hug before standing back and smiling at him. “It has been so long since I last saw you. Rank three, quite the achievement. Will you be participating?”
“Just for logistics,” Kellis says. He turns his brown eyes toward the five of us standing up the drive in line.
“You know that’s not what I meant, you silly boy.” Arabella laughs behind her hand.
“I know what you meant.” The man’s eyes stop on me for a moment, and I feel some kind of power wash over me that even my Dragon’s Eye cannot perceive. “Your landing station hasn’t been established yet.”
“I notified Gore three days ago that I would be arriving soon,” Arabella says.
“He said that he didn’t know how large of a space you would need until you arrived. He asks that you wait for a moment longer as he has one of his students dig out a hole for your flying house.”
Arabella rolls her eyes. “He knows the dimensions of this manor.”
“I apologize,” Kellis says.
She waves her hand at the man, dismissing him, and with a bow he backs away, falling off the platform toward the ground below without concern. I see annoyance flash over Arabella’s face for a mere second before she turns back toward us with a new mask of pleasant amusement.
“It seems that we will all have to suffer in this uncomfortable chill a while longer. Blame the event organizer.” Despite her words, her breath does not fog in the air the same way all of ours do.
I look down the line of the group. Kellen and Macille wear identical leather armor, black, trimmed with golden string and pearl buckles, over their heavy woolen clothing. The wool underclothing is finer and more expensive than anything I have ever worn before, deep scarlet in color. In front of them, their steel armor is bound into a bundle along with their weapons and pack supplies.
Jor’Mari lounges in a patio chair just past them, wearing the same loose-fitting robes he was dressed in the first time that I met him, rose-colored silk embroidered with green flowers and thorns. The man is obviously suffering, his full lips tinged blue at their edges and the red of cold infecting the skin of his neck and hands. Despite it, he keeps his jaw clenched tight to stop his teeth from chattering.
Coriander Mel’Draven stands at the end of the line, the hare coat she wears over tight traveling clothes putting mine to shame. Like Macille and Kendon's clothes, though her clothing is only for travel, I would expect to see it going for a dozen gold or so in some big city store. All the buttons of her form-fitting, azure blouse are made of silver, the family crest of the Mel’Dravens, a diving hawk, is embroidered in amethyst string on her chest. Her pants are of the same impossibly expensive material, and her boots, adorned with real gold, likely cost as much as all the possessions I own put together. Of all of us, she seems to be the least bothered by the spiteful cold.
Next to her, my simple leather gloves, boots, and woolen clothes are uncomfortably common. Coriander catches me looking her way, and her sneer forces me to turn away.
“I suppose that we shall prepare you here,” Arabella says, stopping in front of us.
“You are finally going to tell us what it is we will be doing?” Jor’Mari asks from his seat.
“No,” Arabella answers. She stares down at him for a moment, humming to herself. “Get up.”
“Excuse me?” he says.
“Get up,” she commands. I see the shroud of Arabella’s soul presence spring away from her skin, but she holds it back from washing over anyone.
With a sigh, Jor’Mari stands. “Yes?”
“I have been waiting several weeks for this moment. I have envisioned it, the five of you standing here, before me, about to head off on the most exciting and dangerous part of your young lives, so far. In my vision of this moment, no one was lounging in a chair. It looks stupid.”
I see Jor’Mari clench his fists despite the wry smile he wears. “If it--”
“Coriander,” Arabella says, turning away from him before he can speak. “My first gift is for you, but it is a conditional gift.”
“What kind of condition?” Coriander asks, both women ignoring Jor’Mari’s fuming.
“In this upcoming competition, each participant is allowed a single magical item to enter with.” She turns and looks at Macille and Kendon. “Armor and weapons are not allowed to be brought into the competition.” When the two brothers are about to announce their protest, Arabella holds up her hand to forestall them. “Those are the rules. If such rules were not in place, then especially wealthy sponsors would be able to purchase their participant's way to victory. The guild is not trying to measure the wealth of the participants, merely their capability and determination.”
“Does this limitation include my artifact?” Coriander asks, seemingly unbothered.
“It does not,” Arabella says. “Items bonded onto the soul so completely are exempt. Each of you should take notice of this, as many of the competitors in this competition will have recourse to such powerful items. Not all, but likely most.”
Coriander looks down at her embroidered gloves, frowning. “All of my clothing is enchanted to some degree.”
“All of it?”
“No, not literally all of it.” Coriander looks back to Arabella. “Most of it. What other stipulations are there about what we can bring into this competition.”
“Only the clothes on your backs. No supplies other than the single magic item you are allowed. Before you ask, each of your pieces of clothing will count as separate magic items. Choose wisely what you wish to bring.”
Coriander tsks. “You said you had a gift for me?”
Arabella raises her hand, and a circlet of woven gold appears in the air just above her fingers before falling, hooked on the nail of her middle finger. I see the glimmer of heat haze rising off of the circlet. Squinting, the ripple in the air losses its transparency, turning almost white. A message window appears above the circlet.
Crown of Glorious Light(Very Rare):
This crown, when donned, empowers the bearer with the light of the dead sun Solinus, greatly empowering light-based magics.
Enhancements: +10% Efficacy of Light Magic, +20 Magic
When Arabella begins to describe the aspects of the crown to Coriander, it occurs to me that no one else can see exactly what the magic item does, apart from Arabella that is. I have a feeling that she can do what I am doing at a glance and likely sees even more information about the item. With that in mind, I turn my eye on Coriander’s clothing once again, a little shocked to see a soft green light emanating from her clothing as I look at it, almost as if she already has a soul presence.
Cloak of Equilibrium(Uncommon):
A cloak crafted with excellence and care by the artisan, Caleb Ghast. This cloak is endowed with magic to help the wearer feel comfort in even the harshest of climates and will allow the wearer to hold their breath for up to ten minutes without strain.
Enhancement: Ignore the effects of extreme hot and cold environments
Long-Journeyed Boots(Rare):
Boots crafted by the extremely skilled artisan, Caleb Ghast, over a century ago. These boots were originally commissioned for Goram Mel’Draven when he first set out on his journey to slay the abolith, Rathfaga, the creator hoping that they might help bring their lord back home safely.
Enhancement: +10 Recovery, +10 Speed, +50 Stamina
Mage’s Resilient Attire(Rare):
A set of clothing commissioned by Goram Mel’Draven for his daughter Coriander Mel’Draven from the artisan crafter Caleb Ghast. The crafter has poured the father’s desire to protect his daughter into this work.
Enhancement: +15 Defense, +15 Magic Defense
I blink, but the color remains, shrouding Coriander as she taps her chin in indecision. The second that I relax my stare, the green color around her begins to fade back into the air, turning transparent, before even that all but vanishes. Coriander’s eyes flick in my direction, and I try to find something on the far mountain to capture my attention.
“Galea,” I whisper in my mind.
The small dragon emerges into the world, looking at me, puzzled. “What might I do for you, Mistress Charlene?”
“Have I always been able to detect magical items just by looking for them?” I ask.
“Prior to your integration of the Eye of Volaash, I do not believe so.”
I almost growl at the spirit. Galea laughs to herself as she flutters in the air. “Did you not think that this would be useful information for me to have, knowing that I could do this?”
“Didn’t you already know?” she asks. “When I assisted Mistress Charlene in choosing her essentia, did I not manage to give you descriptions of those magical items as well as their rarity prior to you picking them up?”
I huff, thankfully no one is paying attention to me at the moment. “Fine. Since you can detect these things better than I can, let me know if you spot any magical items. It might be a useful thing for me to know.”
“As you wish, so shall I do.” Galea delivers an awkward bow, considering that she is floating in the air.
I wave my hand to dismiss the fey spirit, perhaps copying Arabella’s gesture from before just a tad. When I look back toward Coriander, where everyone is looking, I find that only a few seconds have passed and that the woman is still tapping her chin, considering. The elf woman doesn’t look the least bit put off by being the center of everyone’s attention.
“What would you suggest?” Coriander asks Arabella after she has thoroughly taken her time thinking.
“To be asked for advice,” Arabella says, putting her hand to her chest, “how flattering. In my opinion, the circlet will be the most superior item for you. What you have already is quite good, especially for a rank one, but the circlet will be the greatest boon.”
Coriander blows air through her nose and nods to Arabella, accepting the offered circlet. “Then this is what I shall bring.”
“Be sure that you are thorough in leaving all other enchanted equipment behind when you set out. People will be watching, and you do not want to be discovered cheating so early in the competition.”
“I would not debase myself to cheat,” Coriander says, raising her chin. “I will excel on my own merits, as is befitting one of my breeding.”
“Of course,” Arabella says, shifting her eyes to Jor’Mari. “Your turn.”
“You have something shiny for me?” he asks, still clearly a bit peeved from being reprimanded earlier.
“Not shiny.” Arabella rolls her fingers, and a jar appears in her hand, hundreds of tiny, blue beads inside. It occurs to me–not for the first time–that she must have some kind of storage item. I strain my vision again, but I see nothing standing out on her person other than the jar she holds in her hand.
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Somber Pills(Rare):
Somber Pills, once imbibed, help the imbiber to enter a state of reflective meditation, calming the mind and assisting in the recovery of healing points, stamina, and mana. These pills are often used as training tools to assist young magicians in discovering a meditation technique.
“Oh, great,” Jor’Mari says, groaning. “More pills. Have I ever told you how glad I am to have you as a mentor?”
“Not even once,” Arabella says. “If you do not want the gift then you can always enter without anything.” She begins to pull her hand back, but, fast as lightning, Jor’Mari’s hand lashes out and steals away the jar.
“Even after I asked for something else, specifically,” he grumbles.
“I told you that I would consider it. I did.”
Jor’Mari shakes his head as Arabella turns her attention to the brothers. She is about to open her mouth to continue the giving ceremony, when Kendon holds up his hand to forestall her.
“My brother and I already have our chosen items,” he says, motioning to the items laid out on the ground in front of him. Looking down at the bundles of steel, leather straps, and provisions once again, two windows appear in my vision.
Shield of Esfelle(Rare):
This shield, passed down for three generations among the family of Esfelle, is crafted from Dwarven Pearlsteel and is nigh unbreakable to all but the most powerful of foes. The nature of Pearlsteel allows for the shield to be wielded with unnatural grace, its slight weight barely an impediment.
Hammer of Esfelle(Very Rare):
This hammer, discovered in dwarven ruins by Henriette Esfelle, bears on it the remnants of a long-purged curse. The lingering effects of the curse cause blows from the weapon to inflict even greater wounds while siphoning healing points from their victim to heal the wounds of the wielder.
Enhancement: +10% Physical Damage
“I thought that you might,” Arabella says. “Still, I prepared alternatives for you if you would like to see them.”
“That’s alright,” Macille says. “Better not to be tempted.”
“Well, that’s not very fun,” Arabella says. She sighs, finally turning to me. “For my last pupil, I have something interesting for you.” Arabella rolls her hand, producing a simple, leather pouch that looks like it might clip onto a belt. I notice the distinct lack of a message window appearing above the bag.
“This is a storage bag,” Arabella says. Out of the side of my vision, I see Kendon’s eyes widen. “The ability to carry many things without being weighed down by them will prove invaluable in the upcoming competition.”
I gently take the bag from Arabella as she offers it. I don’t know what possesses me, but I pop the clip off the top and dip my hand inside. When I pull it out again, I am holding a book that I have taken out of my ring’s inventory. I look at Arabella, hoping that my surprise at the sudden magic before me is believable. “I don’t know what to say.”
Arabella giggles and shakes her head. “You are very welcome.”
“I thought that you said we could not bring anything into the competition,” Coriander says from the other end of the line. “I hope that Ms. Devardem was not planning on smuggling anything inside.”
“The book was for demonstration purposes only,” Arabella says with a calming gesture toward the elf. She looks back at me, her face not as serious as her words. “If one of the proctors caught you with items from the outside then there would be quite a lot of trouble.” No one misses the emphasis in her words.
“I will make sure not to be caught with anything then,” I say, working at buttoning the bag to my hip.
Arabella nods, stepping away from us a few feet to take in the look of all of us. “Yes, I think that you are prepared.” She points two fingers and Kendon and Macille. “Strip.”
“Pardon?” Kendon says.
“Did I not just inform you that outside items such as armor were not allowed. Remove your armor.” She then points at Coriander. “You, you shall need to change your wardrobe completely. Do not attempt to conceal any magical equipment, I will know.”
“The indignity,” Coriander mutters, turning and walking back into the manor to find a change of clothes.
Kendon sighs as he picks up all of this metal armor and provisions alongside his brother, the two also returning into the manor to change their outfits. I am left standing with Jor’Mari as Arabella returns to her position at the edge of the level ground to peer over.
I look at the man, finding him sitting in his chair once again. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and licks his lips. I take a big step away from him as a shudder runs through me, once again looking for something on the far horizon to occupy me.
The shaking of the mass of earth I stand on nearly knocks me over. I see Arabella there, at the edge, where the driveway meets the sky, holding her hands high as her aura of winter blue spreads out around her. As fast as lightning, it races past me into the manor, seeping into every corner of the flying island we inhabit.
The beams in the manor behind me groan as I see a massive weight settle onto Arabella’s shoulders. She breathes through her teeth, and a sensation of weightlessness begins to well up in my stomach. The island is descending.
“We aren’t waiting for the others to come back out?” Jor’Mari asks, once again in his chair.
“No need,” Arabella calls back to him, not a hint of strain in her voice.
The slopes of the mountains to the east and west rise high as the island falls in a controlled spiral. Some of Arabella’s ice clones exit the manor behind me and walk to the edges of the island, purple power sparking in their hands. Six minutes pass as the manor sinks toward the earth, and by the time that it is done, the ranges of mountains on either side make me feel as if I am now in a cage. The unbroken ridgelines of the mountains rise to the clouds like the walls of a prison, a vast forest running off into the horizon just in front of me.
Other vehicles, sailing ships made of metal, pearlescent platforms upon which cottages sit, mansions similar, and some even larger, than the one we arrived on, sit in an open area that stretches toward the trees to the north. The trees of the forest stretch higher than any I have seen in my life, three-hundred feet at least, with gaps that entire caravans could drive through. In the shadows of the high canopy, only the shaking of branches gives away that anything might be lurking within, studying the strange gathering of flying machines and magical conveyance that scatter hundreds of individuals out upon the open prairie in front of the giant forest.
Directly behind the manor that continues to descend, falling into a hole perfectly cut into the earth for it to rest, rises a man-made wall of stone a thousand feet high. Built into the wall of gray, unadorned, granite, rises an entire city of stone buildings that climb the side of the wall like ivy. The buildings mesh into the substance of the huge wall that bridges the two mountain ranges as if they had been grown upon its flat surface rather than built.
Grander than any structure I have ever seen, even the wall–the construction of which is impossible to fathom–there rests a single castle of quartz that sparkles in the sunlight. The castle is made of seventy or more towers thrusting toward the sky like spears, the reflection on the tips of their spires so bright that it is impossible to stare at for long. The keep of the castle is of a darker stone, orange, but one that catches the light even better than the strange quartz of the rest. Set into the front of the keep are a set of doors I know I will never forget. Twin slabs of gold sit open, soaring a hundred feet or more up the side of the keep, a web of storytelling so intricate engraved on their surface that I cannot begin to understand it. The top two-thirds of the doors stand bare, the loose scaffolding that rises on either side of the huge doors giving away that the story may be added to at any moment.
I hear the clicking of heels behind me in the same instant I feel the manor settle into its final position. I turn and see Arabella striding toward Jor’Mari and I, an infectious smile on her lips as she stares at the castle in the distance.
“Home at last,” she says.
“Where exactly is home?” I ask. I look back toward the castle and notice only now that we have come to a stop at ground level that a second wall of marble stands in front of the castle, only a story or two high, but also running off toward the mountains in the east and west.
“This is the city of Grim,” Arabella tells me. “The home of the Willian Guild.”
“It’s massive,” I hear Jor’Mari whisper from next to me.
I manage to tear my eyes away from the spectacle of the vertical city climbing up the side of the impossible wall of stone before us to see the man with awe stricken across his face. I had thought the same when first seeing it. The falling sun on the other side of the wall casts a miles long shadow across not only us but even the forest to the north. Hearing the wonder in this man’s voice–a noble’s voice–makes the structure seem all the more ludicrous.
Settled now, the ground sturdy beneath my feet, I take time to count the hundreds of buildings that speckle the wall and notice the bridges and elevators of chain and stone that connect it all along with sloping streets. When I pick out the movement between the structures as people, I have to turn away, afraid that I might become too dizzy staring up at the climbing city of Grim.
“I thought you said you were from the desert,” I say to Arabella, turning to look at the towering trees that frame the north of the open side of the prairie Arabella has landed her manor in. As I look about, admiring the metallic ships especially much, I see people moving about us at a meandering speed, walking between the ships and the flying houses. Tents are still being erected throughout the prairie, tarps as large as some of the buildings in Westgrove, held up on wooden pillars as thick around as my brother Halford. I realize that we have landed on a parade ground of sorts.
“I am from the desert,” Arabella says. She does not turn her eyes from the city in the distance, leaving us looking opposite directions. “Grim is where I live now, when I am not living in the manor at least. I will show you my estate if you manage to survive the contest.” Arabella points toward a cluster of buildings far up the side of the wall, near the top.
“I hope that I can at least survive,” I say.
“I am confident that you will,” she says.
I pull up the window that displays my information.
Charlene Devardem
Human(Level 7)(Rank 1)
Emperor Conflux
Attributes
Vitality: 22
Strength: 11
Magic: 53
Defense: 18
Magic Defense: 15
Speed: 39
Recovery: 58
Perception: 12
Presence: 0
Healing Points: 220
Mana: 530
Stamina: 238
Over the past few weeks, I have managed to gain two additional levels from my daily training. There have been no further encounters with real monsters, though I have had a go at the Desert Spearman on my own once or twice. I am nowhere near strong enough to kill such a monster on my own yet. For the two levels that I have gained, all of my training has been intended to boost my Magic, Speed, and Recovery, and I have done the same with the free points that I managed to accumulate.
Honestly, after having dedicated myself to it for the last six weeks, I have found a joy in running that I never expected to before. I still hate it sometimes, but other times it helps me block everything out and focus on the present. I am faster now than I ever dreamed before. Almost fast enough to keep up with the boys, almost.
“You landed the house while we were inside?” I hear Kendon complain as he comes hopping outside, taking a second to lace his boot every few steps. He is dressed in traveling clothes, wool for the chill that still pervades everything even though we are on the ground again and hard leather for his boots and gloves. When his brother emerges behind him a moment later, I see that they are once again matching in their attire, though Macille still carries his shield and Kendon his hammer. Kendon looks like he is about to launch another complaint when he freezes in place, seeing the city of Grim climbing up the side of the thousand-foot wall to the South.
“So, this is Grim,” Coriander says as she too emerges from the manor a few minutes later. My eye is unable to notice anything magical on her aside from the sparkling circlet that rests beautifully in her onyx hair.
“Now that you have gathered,” Arabella says, calling out to all of us. “Let us get this underway.” Without another word, the woman turns and begins to march out past the line of grass that divides the end of the manor’s front lawn from the wildness of the prairie. We follow.
We are mostly ignored as we travel, almost all of the arrivals on the massive parade grounds moving in the same direction that we are, but I do not ignore everyone else. I see people all around us, rank ones the most common, but rank twos and threes interspersed between them, as well as some who my eye tells me no information about. The clang of activity and the smell of cooking food lashes out from inside of the tents still being put up. We pass one tent that smells of pies of different fruit flavors. I catch a glimpse of a long table where a hundred pastries sit, still warm and enticing inside.
I am a little surprised to see so many humans passing by us as we walk. There are other peoples: elves, dwarves, lizardkin, eldari, and celenials, but there is a clear plurality of humankind among the rank ones that flood toward wherever our destination is. Even more surprising is that there are some titles of station above some of the human’s heads: Knight, Lord, and even the son of an Earl. With an effort, I banish the reality of humans having noble privilege to the back of my mind for the moment, though it isn’t easy. I will maybe need to ask one about it sometime later. No, if they truly are noble, then they would have little reason to speak with me.
There are others more like me among the churning crowd, those without any grand station that might account for their presence here in this gathering of elite magicians, and this crowd is obviously elite. One woman, dressed in loose-hanging silks of orange and teal rushes past us on long legs the color of honey, a halo of gold floating along behind her head and giving off a pink light to my dragon’s eye.
Halo of Everlasting Glory(Artifact):
This Halo, created by an ancient king whose name has been lost to antiquity gathers the light of the sun to empower and protect its bearer from harm. May the Halo’s bearer reach towards the height of glory only captured by the elite few.
Enhancement: +50 Magic, +25 Magic Defense
Power: Call of the Chosen Radiant
I am so boggled by the attribute bonuses that I see on the information window in front of me that I lose sight of the woman in the crowd before I can get her name. Luckily, the information window stays with me as we wind our way between the parked vehicles and still-rising tents. My mind races. That single item gives that woman a bonus to her magic attribute greater than my total points in the stat.
Still staring at the window, it is hard to think of doing anything other than that, I notice that the Eye of Volaash is now able to discern if an item is an artifact or not, something I don’t remember it doing when I first used it to identify the eye itself. I glance at the four companions around me that also follow along behind Arabella, remembering that each of them is in possession of an artifact as well, and as far as I am aware, I have never seen their artifacts. If theirs are as powerful as that woman’s halo, how much do these people really outclass me? If that woman’s artifact is so evidently powerful, how much power is in the Eye of Volaash that I still haven’t realized how to utilize properly? Then again, just through recapturing the energy that I may have lost during soul reinforcement, the Eye of Volaash has allowed me to allocate sixty attribute points that I would have not been able to use until I reached rank two.
From the small amount of information that I have learned about artifacts, they appear to be magical items bonded to the soul of an individual before they have fully integrated their essentia. I have never heard of a person having more than a single artifact, but I don’t know of any reason they should be unable to. Artifacts grow in power alongside the power of the magician that wields them, becoming lifelong magical items that make up an important aspect of any given magician’s power.
My ruminations are cut off as the crowd in front of us narrows between two erect wooden barriers. On the other side of the barriers are seven risers that climb thirty feet into the air on any given side. A man sitting in one of the risers spots Arabella and leads us to a section away from the general mill of the people entering the obvious performance ground. The heat of the crowd slowly fades away as we sit in the risers, and I notice that Coriander is now having to deal with the unpleasantness of the pervading cold.
The crowds continue to flood into the area, filling up the risers before having to content themselves with standing in the huge field that leads toward a stage sitting a dozen feet above the level ground. Men and women move back and forth along the stage, their movements fast, almost panicked, though they don’t seem to be doing anything in particular. After an hour of the crowd filing in has passed, a boom that cracks the air bounds off the stage to silence the crowd.
A woman, dwarven I think, though it is hard for me to tell at this distance–we are more than two-hundred feet from the stage–walks toward the middle of the wooden stage. The woman coughs into her hand. Others leave the wings, walking onto the stage and standing toward the front of it, though I cannot hear their words as they begin to speak alongside the dwarven woman in the middle of the stage.
“My name is Gaeth Moore,” the dwarven woman rasps as clearly if she were just in front of me. I realize as I watch each of the speakers’ mouths move, that they are speaking different languages, though only the words of Gaeth Moore, speaking Castinian, are directed my way. “It brings me great pain and frustration to announce that the Passage of Rising Tide must be delayed until tomorrow!”