Buildings fell away to either side as Klarion followed Rolfun down the street to what looked to be an open square. Alesin was still close by his side, and while he remained irritated at her for how she had criticized him, he also knew she had only said the things she had said because she was concerned about him. Though he would still have made the same decision to fight against the Storm Wolves, given what Rolfun had said as well, he would make sure to be smarter about things in the future. Perhaps putting some extra stat points into intelligence and wisdom would help with that. He’d have to think a bit about how he wanted to distribute his free stat points. While it had been weeks, that was still strange to think about.
“We are here.”
In the middle of the square loomed a large, fortified stone building. The structure was intimidating. Round in shape with thick walls, the two-story structure had narrow windows and was surrounded by hastily constructed barricades. Wagons had been overturned and lashed together, piles of crates and barrels filling the gaps. There were even chunks of wood and rubble stacked in places. Nervous members of the City Watch crouched under cover, warily watching the surrounding approaches to the square. A number of them were staring in their direction. A number started to whisper to each other, and one even pointed out his appearance and bloody clothing.
Alesin tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Here,” she handed him a letter that she had pulled from her storage ring. “Once you are inside, show this to the Waypoint Attendant. They will send you to the capital city of this world. Once you arrive, ask to be taken to the Waygate for the Imperial Academy. Show the letter if you need to, but make sure to keep it in your hand when you cross through. You will need it to gain admission. Do not do anything else, or go anywhere else, until you arrive at the Imperial Academy. Any questions?”
Holding the letter tightly in his fist, Klarion responded, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then this is where we part ways,” Rolfun said, a hint of sadness in his voice, though Klarion couldn’t see it on his face. “Just remember what we said. Keep your head down; train hard; make allies; and beyond everything else, please don’t be foolish with your safety.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, feeling sad himself.
In the grand scheme of things, the past two weeks really hadn’t been that long, but the time he had spent with Alesin and Rolfun had been incredibly important to him. Not only had they given him his first taste of experience with the new existence he was heading into, but they had been incredibly kind and, he suspected, went beyond their duties to help better prepare him for what was coming next.
“Thank you. For everything,” Klarion said. Without a word, Rolfun stepped in close to pull him into a full-body hug. The air was pressed from his body as the large half-ogre briefly forgot his own strength. Before he could say a word, another pair of arms wrapped around them both. If anything, they squeezed a bit harder. After a long few moments, both released him to stand back. “Hopefully I’ll see you both again soon.”
“We’ll see. Now, get going,” Alesin said, nodding to a Watch Sergeant who had stepped from cover, waiting for Klarion to approach.
While he felt a bit uncomfortable leaving his escorts behind, he did not glance back as he approached the Watch Sergeant. Without a word, Klarion extended the letter Alesin had given him.
The Watch Sergeant took it without a word, opening it in a smooth motion. But as his eyes scanned the paper, the man’s expression changed. His face lost color, and his stance shifted subtly, a sign of cautious respect tempered by underlying dread. This wasn’t the first person to react this way, so just what in the hell was written in the letter?
With a single nod, he motioned Klarion forward, gesturing for the two guards stationed on either side of the heavy, iron-bound door to the imposing building to let him through.
Klarion looked back down the street to where Alesin and Rolfun stood watching him. He gave them a wave goodbye, already knowing he was going to miss them no matter what came next. His escorts, no his friends, both responded with salutes of their own. Without another backward look, Klairon turned back to the building and pushed open the heavy door to go inside.
The room he entered opened up into an expansive hall brightly lit with what looked to be some kind of glowing rocks embedded in the walls. Across the floor were four raised platforms, each holding a softly glowing circle on top. Even with his limited experience, Klarion could tell these were the Waypoints. Above each of the walls loomed a raised platform, on which stood guards wearing different armor than the Watch. Each wore dark plate decorated with an emblem of a green tree circled by a thorned crown. Each of the roughly dozen who could see stood still, but the nearest three shifted to watch him as he entered. Almost like they were determining if he was a threat or not.
“If you are here to use one of the Waypoints, you will actually have to come in, you know.”
A man in blue robes stepped forward into his line of sight. His movements were calm but deliberate, carrying an air of quiet authority. His hood was pulled down, preventing Klarion from seeing his face. Despite that, it still felt like the man was impatient for some reason.
“So? Where are you bound?”
“The capital.”
The blue-robed figure visibly stiffened. “By order of the lord of Thorn’s Rest, no one is permitted to use the Waypoint to the capital so long as the Storm Wolf threat continues. You will have to wait until then.”
Klarion’s heart rate picked up as he began to experience a mix of panic and anger. Alesin had been clear he needed to go through the Waypoint now, not later.
“But I have to get to the capital,” he insisted, urgency in his voice, “and I was told I need to leave for it. Now.”
The blue-robed man shook his head, his tone remaining firm. “This is not a matter open to discussion. The capital’s safety demands strict control over these Waypoints. The lord ordered the one linking Thorn’s Rest to be shut down until the crisis ends. You can wait here or return from where you came, but you will not be able to go through the Waypoint.”
Recalling Alesin’s earlier instructions, Klarion pulled out the letter she had given him and presented it to the blue-robed figure. “I think you should read this. It explains why I need to leave now, even amid this crisis.”
The blue-robed man looked at the letter skeptically before accepting it. He opened the document with a practiced hand and leaned closer to the letter to read it. Partway through, he stiffened in clear surprise. Taking a small step back, he jerked his hooded head in a nod. “My apologies, Scion Blacksword. I was unaware of your status. ”
The complete change in how the man was treating him was a bit jarring, but Klarion was gradually growing used to the impacts of the letter. While he hadn’t read it, he had his suspicions that its contents were backed up by the might of House Blacksword. That would explain why everyone changed their treatment of him after they read it. He couldn’t wait to learn a bit more about his family.
“Please, this way,” he said, his tone now deferential. “The central Waypoint is the one that will be able to take you to the capital.”
Klarion followed him toward a raised platform at the room’s center. Stepping onto it, he could more clearly see the circle inscribed with symbols of some sort which had been giving off that soft glow when he had first entered the building. Motion to the side brought his attention back to the man in blue robes.
Making several rapid motions with his hands, the man caused the inscriptions at Klarion’s feet to flare into life. As they did so, the man raised his head and Klarion was finally able to see under the hood. Eyes glowing a soft blue met his own.
“Safe travels, Scion Blacksword.”
The humming sound nearly drowned out the words. The brightness of the inscriptions at his feet increased once more in a burst of light. A jerking motion nearly took him off of his feet right as he was blinded. Moments later, his feet slammed against the ground, and a massive room filled with movement came into focus around him. His stomach had twisted in protest, but he was able to keep everything down. It seemed being teleported became easier on the body the more you did it.
The sprawling chamber that he had appeared in came into sharp focus. Circular in shape, much like the chamber he had just come from, this one was almost impossibly large. Vaulted ceilings carved from polished stone gleam under enchanted lights. Beneath sat at least a dozen Waypoints. Intricate marble tiles stretched across the floor around him. Klarion felt very self-conscious at the dark stains of blood on the floor around him. Apparently, his arrival had caused some of the Storm Wolf blood, and his own, to be scattered across the tiles nearest him. Since it couldn’t be helped, he turned his attention to all those moving around him.
Dozens of people, likely more, moved all around with purpose. Though the activity was jarring, what truly shocked him was the sheer diversity of the people. Meeting Alesin and Rolfun had been his first true experience with there being more than just humans. Thorn’s Reach had built on that, confirming to him that all the classical races of humanoids from Earth’s mythologies likely existed somewhere out here in the multiverse.
But apparently, the capital of a frontier world on the edge of the Empire he now found himself a part of was a different thing altogether.
A group of elves, with hair as pale as snow and exposed skin little darker, moved with lithe grace off a neighboring platform to his right. They moved without stopping in the direction of a number of what, in his previous life would have been TSA checkpoints.
His attention was pulled to the left as two groups of dwarves converged on each other with a cacophony of clashes and clangs. Much like those he had so briefly seen in Thorn’s Reach, the stout figures garbed in heavy leather carried with them stacks of crates and boxes of tools. Apparently, the ones in the front of each group had not been watching where they had been going, leading to the collision unfolding now. Beards of brown and black bristled as they barked orders at one another. Seemingly this happened often enough that no one else nearby, let alone security, was seeking to intervene. Indeed, it seemed like a number of nearby figures wearing uniforms similar to those back in the Thorn’s Reach Waystation were focused on a group of arguing gnomes pointing at some kind of mechanical device that sat on the floor smoking.
Then there were the stranger races. Ones he couldn’t even begin to name.
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A towering creature with the body of a man but the horns of a stag carried a massive pack with apparent ease, its hooves clicking against the marble of the tiles. A trio of beings loomed just behind it, each with glistening, translucent skin, almost like living crystals, glided silently past. Each of their bodies refracted light into rainbows across the floor as they moved. Off to the side, a tiny reptilian figure darted between the legs of a tall human trader, its scaled tail flicking in irritation as it hissed something incomprehensible over its shoulder.
The scale of the Waystation he found himself in only amplified his sense of awe. These weren’t just travelers moving through - they were builders, merchants, soldiers, and more, each with their own reasons for being here. For perhaps the first time Klarion got the barest bit of insight into the enormity, and complexity, of the Empire.
He swallowed hard, the weight of his own insignificance pressing down on him, despite the letter that supposedly said otherwise still tight in his fist. For all the training Alesin and Rolfun had worked to give him until they reached Thorn’s Reach, he still felt so incredibly small. Perhaps he should have asked more questions about what it was like to live in the Empire, and not just about weapons and history.
Before a panic could set its hooks into his chest, Klarion exerted a great mental effort to change his perspective. Yes, he was apparently so very, very far out of his depth. Yes, he barely knew anything about the Empire. But. Yes, but that was something that he would quickly be able to rectify at the classes in the Imperial Academy once he arrived. Yes, curiosity and a desire for knowledge and learning were what he needed to focus on, not how much he was treading in the deep waters.
Having grounded himself, Klarion looked in the direction of the checkpoints he had seen earlier. At intervals along the walls stood tall desks staffed by harried-looking officials. They seemed to be orchestrating the chaos, their hands darting over papers and glowing crystals as they barked orders and instructions at the lines of people forming before them.
“Look at this dirty mongrel, dripping filth and blood all over that Waypoint!”
Following the direction the voice was coming from brought Klarion’s attention to a group of finely dressed human merchants standing off to one side, their attention fixed squarely on him. Their silk and tailored jackets gleamed under the lights of the Waystation, jeweled pins and chains catching every glint. One of them, a tall man with slicked-back hair and a sneering face was apparently the one who had spoken, as the others gathered around him were laughing.
“I can practically smell him from here,” a portly man with multiple rings on every finger said in between snorts of laughter. A renewed gale of laughter greeted his words.
Klarion stiffened, heat rising to his face as their mocking words reached his ears. He could feel their eyes still staring at his bloodstained clothing.
“Honestly,” came a third voice, this one belonging to a sharp-faced woman whose voice dripped with disdain, “do they let just anyone through the frontier Waypoints now? I thought the riffraff would know to stay where they belong.”
The tall man smirked. “Must be some backwater bumpkin. Probably doesn’t even know where to go. Hey, boy!” he called, his voice also laced with mockery. “Lost, are we? Maybe you should ask for directions before you bleed all over civilized society.”
The group laughed again, their jeers slicing through Klarion’s growing embarrassment. He clenched his fists, his knuckles going white. His first instinct was to snap back, but he bit his tongue. There was no point wasting energy on their pettiness. Instead, he ignored their laughter and forced his attention back to the lines of people. His jaw tightened as he fought to stay calm. Let them laugh. He had far more important things to worry about than a pack of overdressed jackals. The sooner he could get to his destination, the better.
Klarion carefully stepped off the Waypoint platform, his boots slick with blood and greatsword shifting on his back. He nearly lost his footing, catching himself in time, but the stumble was enough to send the human merchants into another round of raucous laughter.
“Careful there!” another called out. “Wouldn’t want you to fall - though it might improve your appearance!”
Klarion’s jaw tightened further, but he refused to look back at them. Let them laugh. Let them mock. He focused on the task at hand: getting into line so he could figure out where he needed to go. Unfortunately, it was soon apparent that the shortest line leading to the exit of the Waystation was directly adjacent to the group of jeering merchants. The other lines stretched out into the throng of travelers, and Klarion wasn’t about to waste any time here if he could help it. Steeling himself, he moved to the checkpoint.
The human merchants noticed his approach immediately, their attention sharpening like predators spotting wounded prey.
“Oh, look at this,” the portly merchant said with a grin, nudging the tall woman. “He’s coming closer. Guess he does want our help after all.”
“Careful, darling,” the woman said, wrinkling her nose as Klarion passed near the group. “He might get his filth on you.”
Klarion said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed forward as he moved to take his place in the back of the short line. The smell of Storm Wolf blood apparently still lingered around him, as a number of other travelers edged away. The line got shorter, though, which was a relief.
“Silent now, is he?” the tall one spoke again, his voice dripping with mock pity. “Maybe he is smarter than he looks.”
Klarion continued to ignore the taunts, standing stiffly in line as the merchants continued to chuckle at jokes that were progressively more insulting. His heart pounded with suppressed frustration, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. They were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, an obstacle to be endured and left behind.
He focused on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of his heart, and on the letter clenched tightly in his fist.
Finally, it was his turn.
Klarion stepped forward as the official manning the checkpoint that seemed almost an elevated office desk waved him forward. His boots continued to leave faint, bloody smudges on the marble floor. The official, a thin man with sharp features and an expression that spoke of boredom and irritation, wrinkled his nose as Klarion approached.
“What is this, then?” the official snapped, his eyes raking over Klarion’s disheveled and bloody appearance. “By the Seven, you’re tracking blood all over the floor. What is your business here in the capital, vagrant?”
Klarion’s grip tightened on the letter in his fist but kept his voice steady. “I am here to be directed to where I need to go to get to the Imperial Academy.”
The official barked incredulous laughter, leaning back slightly as if Klarion’s very presence offended him. “The Imperial Academy? You?” He sneered. “They don’t take beggars. Enough with the poor jokes. What is your name and why have you really come to the capital?”
Rather than answer, Klarion extended the letter to the official without another word. The official hesitated, then snatched the letter with an annoyed huff. Without bothering to look at the seal, he pulled open the letter. His eyes darted across the words, only to freeze within seconds.
The transformation was almost instantaneous after that.
The official’s face went pale, the color draining away from his cheeks. His eyes darted back to Klarion, then to the letter, and back again. His mouth opened and closed as though searching for words, but none came. Finally, he managed a hoarse, “You are…?”
“Klarion von Sturmwacht,” he responded, his voice attempting to carry a weight of authority he still didn’t feel. “Scion of House Blacksword.”
“You—” the official stammered, his voice catching again. He cleared his throat and straightened abruptly to find solace in formality. “How might I assist you, Klarion von Sturmwacht, Scion of the Imperial Archducal House Blacksword?”
The official’s voice rang loudly, catching the attention of those nearby, including the merchants who had been harassing Klarion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the merchants go rigid. Their laughter died mid-chuckle, replaced by horrified silence. The woman’s face paled, and the portly man fumbled nervously with the edge of his gaudy cloak, bravado evaporating like a puddle in a desert.
“He’s a scion of House Blacksword?!” one of them whispered harshly, but still loud enough for Klarion to see the words cause a ripple through others near them. He grew uncomfortable as he felt more eyes shift in his direction. Just what was the reputation of House Blacksword?
Again refusing to acknowledge those around him, he spoke directly to the official. “I need directions on how to get to the Imperial Academy,” he repeated evenly.
“Of course, my lord! Right away!” The official gestured frantically to a nearby attendant, who scurried over to take the official’s seat as he stepped down. The official then returned the letter to Klarion. “Please, follow me. I’ll ensure you reach the proper Waypoint without further delay!”
As the official came out from behind the elevated desk, Klarion was surprised to see how short the man was. Easily a foot shorter than his own height. When he moved past, Klarion followed along behind. He felt the stares of the merchants boring into his back, but thankfully, the mocking had ceased altogether. Luckily for them, he wasn’t the vengeful type when it came to simple mockery.
The official led Klarion across the chamber at a good pace, but as they got closer to the other side, the crowd grew thicker, and their progress slowed. He could clearly see that the official was starting to grow panicked at the people getting in their way, so Klarion spoke up.
“It’s alright, I understand the Waystation is busy,” he said to the official, causing the man to hesitate and turn to him. “Just lead me where I need to go as best you can, I can be patient.”
“Of course, lord,” the official responded, though he did appear a bit reassured. “The Waypoint to the Imperial Academy is in the upper tier of this chamber. Even with your patience, it should only take us a few more minutes to get you there.” So saying, the official returned to trying to make progress through the crowd.
Klarion followed him across the bustling chamber, his boots echoing on the marble as people gradually ceased moving to watch the curious situation unfolding in their midst. Merchants, guards, and even what Klarion expected to be legionnaires all paused to observe the official’s unusual behavior. Conversations began to die off as those observers realized that the official was acting so strangely because he was escorting Klarion.
The soft roar in the Waystation was starting to die down as Klarion and the official arrived before an ornate doorway set into the far wall from where they had started. Two massive guards, nearly the size of Rolfun, wearing blood-red full plate armor, stood on either side of the doorway. As the official led Klarion to them, a pale elven woman in black leather seemed almost to appear from behind the one on the left. As they came to a stop before the trio, the elven woman spoke.
“Waykeeper Oswal, what brings you to the entrance to the second tier?”
“I come bringing Scion Klarion von Sturmwacht of the Imperial Archducal House Blacksword into your care. The lord seeks to make use of the capital’s Waypoint to the Imperial Academy.”
At those words, somehow, the whole chamber seemed to sink into a preternatural silence. Klarion continued to try to do the best he could to ignore the shocked stares of all those around him, but he promised himself one of the first things he would do at the Imperial Academy was try to find out just what the hell was going on with House Blacksword that would cause these reactions.
Oswal turned away from the stunned guards to face Klarion and bow. “My lord, I leave you in the capable hands of the Wayguard Captain.”
“Thank you for your help, Oswal.”
Oswal froze, then bowed even deeper. “Your lordship is too kind, I was only doing my duty.”
The elven woman cleared her throat. “If you would follow me, Scion?”
Nodding, Klarion followed behind the elven woman as she made her way through the ornate doorway. Stepping to the right, she led him to a stairwell that spiraled upwards. It was thankfully not an uncomfortable climb for Klarion. The steps were of a decent size, and the spiral was large enough that his greatsword did not scrap or clang against the wall as they went.
Finally, the Wayguard Captain stepped out onto the second floor, then moved to the side to gesture Klarion through. Stepping past her, he saw a single raised platform in the surprisingly small room. He glanced around, taking in the plain surroundings. The chamber was a stark contrast to the bustling chaos below. No other guards were present.
“I thought there would be other Waypoints up here?”
“There are,” the Wayguard Captain responded politely. “Just not in this area. Direct travel to the Imperial Academy is strictly regulated, and this Waypoint is reserved for only those who have gained permission to travel there. Now, if you would step on the Waypoint, I can send you on to the Imperial Academy.”
Klarion stepped onto the Waypoint platform. It hummed faintly beneath him, the inscriptions carved into its surface beginning to take on the brightened glow of the one he had taken from Thorn’s Reach. Soon, the hum was vibrating up his legs and the light bathed the entire room. He was preparing himself for the teleportation when the Wayguard Captain broke the silence.
“Good luck at the Imperial Academy.”
“Ah,” he was caught flatfooted, not sure how to respond. “Thank you.”
The Wayguard Captain offered a faint smile, then pressed her palm against the wall near where she stood. The platform underneath Klarion’s feet erupted into a burst of light. The world around him again disappeared, but rather than simple brightness, this time everything seemed to dissolve into a kaleidoscope of shifting colors and sensations. Then, with a jarring lurch, the world reassembled itself as his vision was gradually restored. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to bring the world around him into focus.
He had finally arrived at the Imperial Academy.