The Gunda Mountains were the primary feature of the large island far southwest of Gronwood. Two fortress cities were constructed long ago within the range, Glimmergard to the north near a wetland nestled in a wide valley called Middenmarsh and Automaport to the south near the Dark Swamp. The Gunda River flows south from the Middenmarsh and the Dark Swamp.

Vibrant fluorescent lights dotted Glimmergard, a bright spot among the dark mountain faces. Damian Cashew, a stout dwarf with dark grey skin, spiked black hair and tightly groomed beard stood in the middle of his penthouse office, his red headband securing his hair from obscuring vision, his hands calmly behind his back.

His ruby gemstone eyes surveyed the open space, his desk and other office furniture pushed against the walls. Five fighters stood around him, all adorned in martial art gis.

Each activated their abilities.

The chimeran with a zebra head and torso and scaly alligator arms and legs, grew a foot taller, her skin turning golden metallic.

The kappan's turtle shell grew fiery spikes that he could pluck and throw or use as brutal clubs.

The gorgonian, her snake hair hissing aggressively, extended a whip of green vines that ended in flowers bearing rows of teeth.

The phoenixfolk, a humanoid bird with feathers ranging from yellow to red that shifted like flames, raised his fists to guard his face, his clawed hands encased in glowing sky blue ice.

The Thunderstag's lightning antlers bristled as he bolstered his speed, his hands and feet becoming blurred as he quickstepped.

They all moved simultaneously, their auras leading before physical contact. The Thunderstag was quicker by far than the rest, his aura attempting to slow Damian's movement as he punched at his face.

Damian sidestepped the blow, shifting his weight to present a target to the phoenixfolk's icy fist. The fist struck true, ice encrusting Damian's right shoulder as he continued his flowing movement, his hands never leaving their relaxed state behind his back.

The fiery spike from the kappan struck the ice on his shoulder, the elements dissipating one another. The chimeran grabbed his left arm, and he pivoted, the lashing whip of the gorgonian biting at the chimeran's metal arm instead.

The fight continued for some time, with Damian navigating around his five foes, redirecting or simply avoiding their strikes. They began showing signs of exhaustion and desperation, making more and more reckless maneuvers.

Damian unclasped his hands, his movement becoming a blur. He finished in a position looking out over the city as the five combatants collapsed behind him, unconscious.

A well dressed grey haired human shifted from next to Damian's desk, a white towel tucked over his right arm. He snapped a finger and the penthouse doors opened, four other servants entering the room holding rolls of fabric. They unrolled them next to each of the unconscious forms and channeled into them, the fabric tightening and hardening. They worked together to load each on the fabric and the hardened cloth boards floated up.

“Well done, as usual, sir,” the man said as the combatants were all floated out of the room.

“They fought well for Adepts. Increase their training. Have we pinpointed the next storm?”

“No, sir. The last one over the Dead Wood was the last recorded six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks is a long gap,” Damian said as he pushed his furniture back in place.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Yes, sir. That may have to do with the energy pulse we-”

Damian's desk, its surface a large slate, made a sharp notification sound. They shared a look, and Damian appeared before his desk, tapping several runes.

A holographic globe appeared, with several minor flashing lights throughout and one bright spot centered on Gronwood. Damian tapped the hologram and a window appeared, showing an inquiry in the SCN sigil stone database.

“Someone's been looking up sigil stone interactions with the Interface stone,” Damian mused.

“Several people have over the years, sir. That could just be some random researcher.”

“The filters were altered over time, looking for something in particular. Interface, Familiar, and…” he trailed off.

“And what, sir?”

“We may have a luckomancer.”

Conroy's eyebrows raised slightly, but he said nothing.

Damian tapped more runes, the globe dissolving as a translucent chimeran materialized who mostly resembled a humanoid golden retriever except for the ram horns that wrapped around his floppy ears and his cloven sheep hooves that made it difficult to find appropriate shoes. He wore a lab coat, thick glasses, and was holding a clipboard.

“-reason we do these experiments! Poison mist isn't supposed to dissolve the glass unless someone misenchanted it! Fix it now!” The chimeran barked, not realizing he'd been contacted.

“Stephen, it sounds like your research is going well.” Stephen jumped, a short whine of surprise slipping out.

“Damian! We aren't scheduled for another three days.”

“Something's come up. Send a Storm Chaser team to Gronwood.”

“Acquisition or alliance?”

“Start with alliance, but have them prepare for acquisition.”

“Certainly, sir. This about the delayed storm?”

“No. Do we have open Null cells?” That got Stephen's attention. “I'll explain in a bit. Call an emergent meeting. I'll be right down.”

Damian was the Fist of the Scuffle Alliance, one of five conglomerate companies that formed the group known as the Storm Chasers. The elevator dropped quickly several floors down, opening into a large open space with a round table whose center was a series of holographic displays.

As they were closest, Damian and Conroy arrived before everyone else. Conroy stood quietly behind Damian's chair as they waited for the others to arrive.

Within 15 minutes, the table was full. Stephen sat across the way from Damian, still wearing his lab coat.

To Damian’s right sat Mika Rian, the human currently serving as the Heart of the Scuffle Alliance. Her short red coat barely reached her midsection, and her tight blue dress stopped mid thigh. She looked annoyed to have been interrupted, but smiled at Damian nonetheless.

To Damian’s left sat Frank Cashew, another Dwarf who looked nearly identical to himself, except he stood a few inches taller and was thin and wiry with tinges of grey at his roots. He served as the Brain of the Scuffle Alliance, and he straightened his pressed suit before sitting, nodding politely at his younger brother Damian.

Also at the table sat the Knee, a colorful Mothkin named Kiran Black wearing equally colorful and distracting attire, and the Foot, a pure rat Chimeran named Sprinter, his white suit with red pocket square blending well with his white fur and red eyes. His nose twitched as he sat.

“I’ve called this meeting for full transparency,” Damian said.

“Please tell me this couldn’t have been handled in a slate-mail?” Kiran, despite her colorful appearance, was usually in a sour mood. “Our manufacturing doesn’t run itself.”

“You can spare a few minutes,” Damian said, “I wanted you all to hear this from me before the rumor mill took hold. We may have tracked down a Luckomancer.”

Fierce whispering cascaded over the room. Damian raised his hand and they dropped to silence. “It is paramount that we control this as long as possible.”

“That’s what the Storm Chaser group was sent out for?” Sprinter squeaked out the words in a high, adorable voice.

“We will try to form an alliance with the Luckomancer, and capture them if necessary. Our hope is that the Luckomancer is still early in their power.”

Frank nodded, “Getting them on board early will make our competitors green with envy.”

“And keeping them on good terms should reduce the risk of them using their abilities against the Scuffle Alliance,” Mika said.

“That is the plan. I’ve sent the Storm Chasers with our standard Luckomancer treasures and a contract should they choose to accept the gifts.”

“And we take him by force if he refuses?” Frank asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Naturally.”