According to the Imperial Calendar standardized throughout the known world, the year is 666 of the Fourth Era. On the other side of Tammus, a new adventure begins during times of unease and tension. Somewhere on the southern edge of the Annherteyn continent in the Kingdom of Scorcia, a constant flow of sailships enters and exits the congested docks of a large city.

Casturbon is a vast city with no end in sight, only once interrupted by a river that flows through and into the ocean. In every direction, there are streets upon streets of brick, stone, and half-timbered houses of varying sizes. It’s a pre-industrial city for sure, but it doesn’t seem too far off—one with strong contemporary European architecture.

It is among the largest and busiest mercantile cities in Tammus. It is home to one of the highest concentrations of trade, where countless traders and merchants converge daily. This is due to the Central Sea, a body of water with access to three significant continents, home to the most powerful countries with the largest economies. It’s a city of immense importance for its strategic location as the intersection of several high-volume maritime trade routes colloquially known as the ‘Otho Iter’.

At the waterfront overlooking the city’s vast piers, docks, and marinas is a bronze statue that is two stories tall. It’s of a man in armor triumphantly standing with one hand on the hip and the other on a shield.

At the base of the statue, four men approach before dropping four identical canvas sacks at their feet. Inside is their all-important cargo that only they alone can lay eyes on. The four men, codenamed Team Indigo, are the Hirreinican DED team sent for the first phase of Operation SIROTHESTER.

One of the members with short dark hair looks up at the bronze statue and sarcastically laughs. “So this is it, huh? Our grand adventure in another world.”

“Embrace it, brother. We aren’t going back for a long time,” another says.

“All right, has everyone memorized our new identities?” The tallest member with black hair and a short beard refocuses the group. “Let’s go over it again. What’s my name?”

“Mathew, or Matt as I’ll probably say,” one of them says.

“That’s fine. What’s my last name?”

“Gillick.”

The man named Matt then points to the man with short hair and a mustache. “What’s your name?”

“Raymond Faulkner,” he proudly says, “at your service.”

Matt then points to the clean-shaven blue-eyed blond man with a combover.

“Jack Irving,” he says with less enthusiasm.

“Yours?” Mathew asks the last member with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

“Kelly Morgan.”

The man named Raymond scoffs. “Hey man, aren’t they both women’s first names?”

“Yeah. My aunt is named Kelly, but it’s unisex, and I didn’t choose it,” he replies.

“I wonder who did? They could’ve chosen literally any other name. Sucks dude,” he softly punches his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, at least it rolls off the tongue easier. Raymond Faulkner. Sounds like your hobby is birdwatching near an elementary school.”

“It doesn’t matter who chose,” Matt abruptly says. “Just memorize them. It’s too late to change names anyway. The harbormaster has us logged.”

“Sir yes sir.” Raymond lazily salutes. “So, what’s our first course of action?”

“The One-Zero decides. Team leader.” Jack pats Kelly Morgan’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”

Kelly Morgan sighs heavily as he looks around the waterfront. He isn’t thrilled at being team leader, but the role was thrust upon him. ‘To busy the mind’, he was told, as some form of therapy.

“First, we need to find a hotel. Or any sort of lodging to drop our shit at. We’ll break our backs dragging them around all day.”

“Excellent idea Miss Kelly,” Raymond mocks.

“Blow me.”

The group all reach down, swing their canvas backs over their shoulders, and begin walking away from the waterfront and into the city.

It’s a surreal experience for them. It feels like a mix of time traveling to the past and traveling to a world that never existed. The city is nothing like the cities any of them have ever visited. The roads are stone instead of asphalt, the buildings aren’t concrete or steel, and there is not a single skyscraper in sight.

For several minutes, the group walks without direction. They are like tourists, swiveling their heads around and taking in the never-ending city’s scenery.

As they walk deeper and deeper into the city, the crowds become denser. Horse-drawn carriages must carefully maneuver through the people, constantly directing people to make way. The cobblestone roads are only wide enough for two carriages side by side and a little extra for a small sidewalk.

“We aren’t going to find any hotel by wandering,” Jack says, “we should probably ask a local.”

Lagging behind the group, Raymond bumps into one of the locals wearing a collage of loose-fitting clothes. He looks up at the stranger and realizes he’s not a local. The dark skin stranger is tall and has sharp facial features with jet black hair. Most interestingly, the person’s ears are slightly elongated and pointy. These characteristics are instantly recognizable to Raymond. A dark elf? He thinks to himself.

“Apologies, human.”

“Uh, no problem,” he barely responds. The team hasn’t been in Tammus for very long. Even after crossing the portal, Raymond has only seen a handful of elves in Hirreinica from a distance or in images. But only the blonde and pale ones.

“Hey, do you know of any hotels around here?” Raymond asks him.

The dark elf looks slightly confused. He doesn’t immediately appear to register Raymond’s question. “Place to stay?” the dark elf asks in a strange accent.

“Yeah.”

The dark elf points to a nearby brick building with a wooden sign hanging off the wall before saying, “For human. Silver Moon.”

“Silver Moon? Silver Moon is a hotel?” Raymond asks, and the dark elf nods. “All right, thank you.”

The dark elf disappears into the crowd while Raymond catches up with the other three. They stand waiting for him, having realized he has fallen behind.

“You good?” Matt asks him.

“Need someone to hold your hand?” Kelly Morgan playfully mocks.

“No, ma’am. I bumped into this dark elf back there, and he said that building right there is a hotel.” He points. “The Silver Moon.”

They all turn their heads and see the sign with the name written on it. “Then I guess that’s our destination.”

Moments later, the group opens the wooden double doors to the multi-story half-timbered building. It’s hard to tell what exactly the establishment is with the sheer difference in interior design and aesthetics. From what they can tell, the inside looks like some sort of restaurant with a bar in the back, but it’s mostly empty of customers.

They make their way to the bar, where there looks to be an employee writing in a journal. It’s a middle-aged gentleman with a thick beard. He wears a simple gray waistcoat over a white shirt with the sleeves folded up, and he quickly notices the newcomers that have entered the building.

“Welcome to the Silver Moon, gentlemen. I am the keeper. May I be of service?” he politely says.

All four of them pick up on the accent the keeper has. It isn’t one they can pinpoint, but they can roughly describe it as some sort of mixed British accent. They vaguely heard it along the way from people they walked past at the pier. Now that they think about it, it’s bizarre that they are speaking English at all.

Surely, there must be a reason. But whatever it may be, they aren’t likely to find out soon.

Putting those thoughts aside, Kelly Morgan steps up to the counter and says, “Hello, we’re looking for a hotel, and some guy told us this was it.”

The keeper pauses for a moment before saying, “Pardon, what is it you look for?”

“A hotel. You know, a place to stay for a few nights?”

“Ah, an inn!” the keeper says. “Yes of course! We offer accommodations on the first and second floor if that is what you wish.” He points to a staircase on the far left of the room.

“That’s perfect. Can we book two rooms for a week?”

“Of course!” The keeper flips several pages in his journal, dips his quill in ink, and says, “I shall need know your name, sir.”

“Kelly Morgan.”

“It is thirteen shillings for the week, Mister Morgan.”

“Great,” he says as he places the money on the countertop. The currency is yet another oddity the team pondered on. Pounds and shillings were the last things they expected. Not even Federal Intelligence knows about it since they gave the team counterfeit currency based on what was carried by the ‘Visantium’ explorers who landed in southern Samagos several months back. How a Hirreinican intelligence officer snatched a coin from those explorers is anyone’s guess. Regardless, the team exchanged their imperial coins for Pounds after hearing that the most prominent trade city in the region used a different currency.

“By the way, is there any major marketplace nearby we could see?” Kelly Morgan asks.

“Yes of course, this is Casturbon after all,” the keeper says. He thinks they are new to the city. Otherwise, they would’ve known about the historic square in the city’s center. “Simply follow the herd outside, always going to ‘Castra Square’, whereat you shall find the Statue of Turbonius.”

“Thank you very much, mister…?”

“Arthur Brewster, my friends,” the keeper responds. “It was my pleasure.”

The two shake hands before Kelly Morgan returns to the group, having made a mental note of everything the keeper said.

“I guess handshakes are still universal. What did he say, uh, Kelly,” Raymond says.

“You know what, that’s going to bother me for a while. Just call me Morgan.”

“Why? Your aunt?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. And since I’m the one who’s gonna be in the spotlight, it’ll sound like you don’t know me much. People don’t usually call their friends by their last names, only acquaintances and associates. Is that cool with everyone?”

“Morgan it is then,” Matt replies.

With a temporary place to stay, Morgan briefs everyone on what he thinks is the next step. Before anything else, they have to explore the city to get a feel for their new home.

One of them will stay in the Silver Moon tavern/inn to watch over their precious cargo while the others visit the marketplace unencumbered. The one picked to stay is Matt, the team’s most experienced member.

Once everyone agrees, they split up. Matt remains in the Silver Moon, and the other three depart to make their way deeper into the city, following the dense stream of people.

Even after already stepping off the boat, they are still in awe of their surroundings. Their eyes move without pause. They make mental notes of everything they see, how people interact, and other things of interest. Since the city is a significant mercantile city, a polished appearance is expected. But the city looks relatively clean and well-kept for a civilization they would consider backward. There is minimal litter and trash on the stone roads, and none of the brick or half-timbered buildings look run down or even slightly damaged. The citizens are also noticeably different than they expected. While many wear simple loose and coarse shirts or tunics, many also wear more modern clothes. Jackets and waistcoats typically identifying nineteenth and eighteenth-century fashion make frequent appearances. Several people wear frocks, rudimentary coats with little or no detail, while wealthier-looking people have embroidery. On the other hand, the women appear to wear various blouses, skirts, and dresses of different colors.

While much of what they see is similar to photos found in historical textbooks, noticeable aspects are more exclusively found in fiction. Every so often, the trio would walk past people armed and armored people with no uniformity or identifying insignia. They must not be uncommon as people ignore them or otherwise don’t treat them with suspicion.

As they get closer to ‘Castra Square’, the crowds get denser and more diverse. Elves are common; at least, that’s what the team can guess they are. It seems the dark elf that Raymond encountered wasn’t a rarity. They are everywhere. They are also taller than humans, as many elves that walk past are several inches taller than Morgan, who already stands at six feet, taller than the human average.

As far as they can see, there are two races of elves identified with their contrasting light or dark skin tones. And while the two elf races are easy to identify, the humans are not. Humans, unlike the elves, appear far more diverse. To the team, this suggests a possibility of a strong racial identity among the elves.

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As he walks, Morgan reaches inside his coat and takes out a small leather notebook and a pencil. Once unlocking the small latch and opening it, he scribbles down notes of interest. Any information to remember and anything that seems important, he writes down.

“This place is a lot different than I first thought. A lot more diverse,” Raymond says to the other two.

“I think it’s great,” Jack responds, “more people to make friends with.”

“Oh, by the way, I was thinking. We’re in the lands of kings, queens, and nobility, right? What do you think the chances are of meeting a real princess?”

“For you? About as high as getting thrown in the dungeon,” Jack says.

“Hmm, those are good odds.”

“Are you thinking what I hope you’re not thinking?” Morgan asks.

“I’m thinking we try to cozy up with royalty. If everything goes smoothly, we’re bound to cross paths eventually. With my irresistible personality, I can bag a date with a royal. Think about it, if we catch the big fish—”

“If anything, you’ll catch a prison sentence. Don’t even try,” Morgan argues.

“The point is to gain social status, isn’t it? And with the kind of attention we’ll get, what better way than marrying into royalty?”

“Woah! Marriage? Here? You’ve lost your mind, man.”

“I think the directorate would love that.”

“They want us to be industrialists, not playboys,” Jack argues, “it would give us more leverage with less drama that way.”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt ‘em. Think about it. We’re gonna be radio silent for who fuck knows how long until they get a satellite on this side of the planet.” Raymond smirks. “And with elves around—”

“Let’s just focus on getting a foundation built, okay?”

“Oh, sure. Let’s see how long ‘till we get shot or stabbed by then.”

The trio soon enters a massive open space with a stone statue that instantly catches the eye. It’s of a man wearing a cape with his hands resting on a sword. The man it depicts is identical to the bronze statue at the waterfront near the docks, only larger and more magnificent. Equally eye-catching is that the wide open area the statue stands over is aesthetically colorful and merry. It almost looks like there is a celebration going on. This is ‘Castra Square’, the city’s center where merchants sell wares and where information is abundant. All the activity and decoration could fool anyone into thinking it’s an annual fair when, in reality, it’s just another busy day in Casturbon.

“Okay, let’s look around and see what these merchants offer. Then we can come up with something they can’t,” Morgan says.

The trio goes on to explore the market from stall to stall. Traffic, if it can be called that, is convoluted at best. Carriages seem to be a constant hazard as they navigate the waves of pedestrians. People are yelling prices and pushing a variety of commodities to everyone in sight. Haggling, bargaining, and negotiating are constant earfuls; it’s inescapable.

Their goal, for now, is to scout the market for an opportunity to make a name for themselves. Coming from Earth, they have the unique advantage of advanced technological knowledge that Tammus lacks. They intend to integrate themselves into this new world as famed inventors. Unlike any other espionage effort, they aren’t planning to hide in the dark; they intend to hide in plain sight. And hopefully, climb the social ladder all the way to the top. Ideally, all the credit, attention, and social responsibility should rest squarely on only one member while the rest support from his shadow.

“Guys, look over there.” Jack gets the other two’s attention and points toward a nearby market stall. They approach and find that the merchant is selling rocks. Strangely, some of them appear to glow.

“Rough gemstones?” Morgan says.

The merchant behind the stall enthusiastically approaches and says, “Not any old gemstone, sir. These are Rythic Gemstones. No greater quality than here!”

“And, those are?” Raymond asks.

“Blessed by Rythis, of course.”

“Who?”

The merchant frustratingly takes a red-tinted gemstone in his hand, which then erupts into flames. “Magic, stranger. Have you a rock in your head? Not a living soul who knows not of Rythis’ creations.”

“How much?” Raymond asks as Morgan writes a note in his notebook.

“A pound for a pound.”

While Raymond thinks of buying a magic gemstone, an elf approaches the stall. “I shall buy a pound of the small ones,” he says. Raymond, Morgan, and Jack turn to find themselves dumbstruck. This isn’t an elf they have seen yet. His skin is pale blue, and his hair is bleached white.

“They have blue elves too?” Raymond whispers.

“Shut it,” Morgan tells him.

While the merchant collects a pound of small magic gemstones, the blue elf turns to glance at Raymond, whose eyes are fixated on the elf’s exotic appearance. “What are you looking at?” the elf says with obvious displeasure.

Morgan grabs Raymond’s shoulder and pulls him away from the blue elf. “Sorry, he’s just stupid.”

The blue elf turns back to the merchant, who puts a bag of small magic gemstones forward. Once the elf places several coins next to the bag of gemstones, the merchant argues. “A pound, I said. Not six shillings.”

“A pound for decent quality. This is worth less than what I offer.”

The merchant grunts and takes the coins. “Damned Salerian,” he says as the blue elf leaves with the gemstones.

“Let’s get going,” Morgan tells the others, “we don’t know enough to not get scammed.”

The trio continues wandering around Castra Square, but they get little luck. For what feels like several hours, they only get a handful of ideas, but few would work. What they need would have to be a relatively simple invention or innovation that appeals to as many people as possible. Even though they can develop many machines that would make them renowned, too many require resources they don’t yet have.

As Morgan ponders, he notices something subtle from all the carriages traveling through the roads. They aren’t riding smoothly, and the horses seem to exert themselves more than they should. He hatches an idea and looks around for a carriage to inspect. He searches for one that seems expensive and luxurious. Most carriages and wagons appear rough and built only for utility, but he spots one carriage near a building at the outer edge of Castra Square. It’s painted, and its wood finishing is clean and polished, clearly maintained for appearance. It’s decorated with silver trinkets and carved with patterns. Only the rich can afford to show off novel designs and engineering, meaning that if the technology he has in mind already exists, it should be on that carriage.

Morgan waves at the others, says, “I’ve got an idea,” and walks towards the carriage.

“Hatch a good one?” Jack asks.

“Golden. I think I might just know what we can invent.” Morgan nears the carriage and kneels next to one of the wheels, ensuring the owner isn’t around to chase him off.

Morgan looks at the wheel and suspension of the luxury carriage to see if there is an engineering problem to solve. It’s equipped with a primitive form of leaf suspension, which he could improve on, but it wouldn’t be worthy of recognition. He then looks at the wheel itself. It has a thick layer of rubber wrapped around the wooden wheel, meaning he could introduce pneumatic tires at some point. The third thing he looks at is the axle assembly. It looks small and doesn’t look like much engineering went into it. Morgan grips the wheel and tries to nudge the carriage, but there’s too much resistance, and it hardly moves. Perfect.

Morgan takes out his leather notebook and starts scribbling down his idea.

“What hatched? A pile of shit or a pool of soup,” Raymond says sarcastically.

“A pile of whoop-ass if you keep talking,” Morgan responds. “I think this thing is using plain bearings. Wood on wood friction. If we can make roller or ball bearings, we are money.”

Suddenly, a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman approaches the trio. “Rapscallions! What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan calmly stands up, “just admiring the craftsmanship of this fine carriage.”

“You have admired enough! I suggest you step back.”

“All right, I’m backing up. No need to get angry. We were just interested in how it’s built.”

“Interested how? Only a thief would be interested as such.”

“We—I am an inventor. I was examining its design. Could you maybe tell us who built it, by any chance?”

The man continues to stare them down with suspicion angrily. “Try the Artisans Guild,” he slowly says and points to the other side of Castra Square. “If there is nothing more, leave.”

“Will do.”

With nothing more to ask, Morgan, Raymond, and Jack leave and start walking toward where the man pointed.

“A rich asshole. What else is new?” Raymond complains.

“We were checking out his ride,” Morgan says. “Not like we look any different than every other sketchy dude around here.”

“So where next, boss?”

“What that guy said. The Artisans Guild. I think it’s worth checking out,” Morgan responds.

“So we’re making ball bearings then?” Jack asks. “Don’t they need precision machining to manufacture? I could have sworn this place is pre-industrial.”

“I’m thinking rollers. But with magic being a thing and all, I don’t know. It’s just a few simple shapes made of steel. How hard could it be, right?”

“I’m actually surprised you still have optimism. I thought you lost it all after—”

“Don’t! Remind me,” Morgan hisses.

“Ah shit, sorry.” Jack pauses. “At least you’re making some progress. That was a while ago, man,” Jack says.

“Just don’t talk about it, and I’ll be fine.”

Raymond listens to their interaction with surprise. “What are you guys talking about? What happened when?”

“Nothing, man,” Morgan says with a more quiet and serious tone.

“Nah, I’m too curious. You’ve had that hollow look through the whole boat ride. And I’m the only outcast in the group who doesn’t know you much. I only knew Spear before coming here. Or Matt. Gillick. Whatever the hell his name is now. Shit, at least tell me who caught the bullet?”

Jack gently pushes Raymond before saying, “Just shut up, man. He doesn’t want to talk about it, then we aren’t gonna.”

“Come on, bro, he’s the team leader. How am I not gonna—”

“I said drop it. We’ll tell you some other time, just not now.”

Raymond can see that he hit a sensitive spot with Morgan. His face says it all. Raymond didn’t personally know either Jack or Morgan before crossing the portal into Tammus. He only knew Matt. And when Matt recruited him, he only told about Morgan’s hospital visit but never mentioned anything that led up to it.

Defeated, Raymond tucks away his curiosity. He’ll have plenty of time to learn about his troubled teammate’s backstory. For now, they have arrived at the multi-story stone building, which should be the Artisans Guild they were told about.

Once they climb up the marble steps, they enter. Inside, they find a grand interior with wide open floor space and an untouchable ceiling without the tallest ladders. It’s a luxurious space with lots of decorations and furniture in what appears to be a lounging area or hall. It’s crowded with well-dressed businessmen and rough-looking craftsmen loitering, waiting, or conversing with each other. On one side of the building, there are countertops with neatly dressed people behind them. It gives the trio an image of bank tellers.

“Me and Jack are gonna stay here,” Raymond says as he leans next to the front door.

“Why?” Morgan asks.

“You’re the inventor. We’re nothing but your humble assistants.”

“Okay, whatever, I got this.”

With a few people curiously watching him, Morgan walks up to one of the female tellers and says, “Hello, is this the Artisans Guild?”

“Indeed it is,” the young woman behind the counter says. “My name is Rodelinda. How may I be of service.”

“Your name’s what?”

“Rodelinda.”

“Uh-huh, okay. Could you tell me what the Artisans Guild is? I’m new to the city.”

“Certainly. The Artisans Guild is a guild of craftsmen, tradesmen, architects, and builders known as ‘Artisans’. We are sanctioned by the Triennial Summit to provide training, apprenticeships, certifications and to charter organized commercial businesses all across the Annherteyn continent.”

“Really…” Morgan takes a mental note of her explanation. An international institution regulating skilled labor? That’s a very interesting concept. “And are all skilled laborers required to be members?”

“No, there remain plenty independent craftsmen, howbeit reliability is the buyer’s responsibility to consider. Hiring an Artisan whose quality is guaranteed is more recommended.”

“Good to know. Well, I’m an inventor, and I was hoping to find people willing to help me build a design I came up with. Can you help?”

“Of course, sir. We can direct you to an Artisan’s workshop, a chartered business, or you may publicly offer a contract.”

“Offer a contract; what does that mean?”

“I’m sure you have heard of bounties. It works much the same way. Anyone can see the contract, and Artisans may decide whether they want to take it.”

“Like a bounty…” Morgan slowly repeats.

“It is best in attracting specialized Artisan workshops or large commercial businesses.”

Morgan then starts gently tapping his finger on the counter. “I think I’ll just take your recommendation. I need a blacksmith. A good one.”

“While there are a few blacksmiths whom we can recommend, I strongly suggest an inventor, such as yourself, join the Artisans Guild.”

“Join? Is that necessary? I’d rather not, if possible.”

“The Artisans Guild has authority to grant patents only to members. Without a guild-issued patent, we can not defend your ownership of the invention or originality.”

“Really…” Morgan slowly mumbles as he continues to tap his finger at a faster pace. He feels a bit agitated, but he continues. “Sure, sign me up. It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

“Excellent,” Rodelinda says as she takes out a registration form and a quill. “I shall need your name.”

“I’m… Kelly Morgan,” he replies after a little hesitance. He almost said his real name, and he takes a big breath in.

“Your age?”

“I’m twenty-three.” Morgan looks around at the other tellers as she asks him questions.

“Profession?”

“I’m a…” He trails off. His mind briefly blanks as he turns to glance at Raymond and Jack by the door. “Uh, no profession. None. Just an aspiring inventor.”

“And may you show me your invention?”

“Sure.” Morgan reaches into his coat and tries to take out his leather notebook but accidentally drops it onto the countertop, startling Rodelinda.

“Oh, sorry, it just slipped out of my hand,” Morgan says as he opens the notebook.

As he slowly flips through the pages, Rodelinda notices that he seems more panicked. He sluggishly navigates through the notebook, and his fingers are jittery.

“Are you well? Need you any help from me?”

“No, no, I’m just—” He pauses and deeply inhales and exhales as he makes eye contact with her. “Just a little overwhelmed, thank you.” Once he finds the sketches, Morgan pushes the notebook forward for Rodelinda to see.

That was strange, but Rodelinda moves on and asks, “What function does this have?”

“Well.” Morgan brushes his hair back. “The idea is to minimize friction between an axle and a wheel so that the wheel can spin smoother and with less resistance. If fitted into carriage axles, a horse can pull it with less effort.”

Rodelinda looks at Morgan’s sketches. It doesn’t look revolutionary, but the illustrations seem more complicated than they should be, and she isn’t sure many blacksmiths can match its precision. As far as she knows, only one available blacksmith has the talent to achieve it.

“It appears this requires accuracy too difficult to achieve. And using steel, no less. An expensive material to come across. Mister Morgan, have you a working example?”

“No, not yet.”

Rodelinda reaches down behind the counter, retrieves another document, and begins writing on it. “The guild needs see a functional example to grant the patent,” she says.

“Then I need a blacksmith to help me make one,” Morgan argues.

“Duly noted.” Rodelinda quickly finishes writing on the document before she stamps it with the guild’s seal and rolls it into a scroll. “Take this. It is a commission. Show it to the blacksmith listed, and he shall forge you the invention. Once complete, bring it here for inspection and the patent.”

Morgan takes the scroll and notebook and puts them in his coat pockets. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, Mister Morgan,” Rodelinda says with a tone of indifference as Morgan walks away from the counter and towards his waiting friends by the door.

“So then, are we screwed?” Raymond asks as they walk out of the building and back into the busy streets.

“No, not really. I don’t know if it’ll be a problem, but this guild acts like an all-powerful labor regulatory agency. Licensing, certification, training, and all that.”

“So it means we’ll be at their mercy.”

“It means I need a patent from them for roller bearings. And now I’m a guild member too, cus I guess I can’t do shit otherwise.”

“So they are like some Department of Labor equivalent here?” Jack asks.

“Maybe. But they said they’re international. Sanctioned by a summit or something like that.”

“We’ll have to look into that later.”

Even though they have what they want, the trio continues exploring the city for the remainder of the day. Casturbon is a large city, and they must try to get familiar with its most important locations and landmarks.

The sun begins to descend towards the horizon as the day goes on. On their first day in unknown lands, the team has made good progress, and they hope to carry the momentum into the next.

Their otherworldly adventure has only just begun.