The steady rhythm of boots on stone echoed through the streets of Daunturia as the party walked in the center of the ever-growing escort of guards. Captain Leo Rhinestock rode ahead of them, his raptor mount strutting with the precision and pride of a creature bred for its role. Rhinestock himself sat tall in the saddle, his polished armor catching the light, the white cloak trailing behind him like a banner of authority. His demeanor was calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that hinted at a deeper unease.
Jannet—no, Magnus to these humans—moved with measured grace, his massive claws clicking softly against the cobblestones. The attention they attracted had not abated; if anything, it had grown more intense. Crowds gathered along the edges of the thoroughfare, their faces pale with fear or alight with morbid curiosity. They whispered in hushed tones, their words indistinct but their intent clear: this was not an ordinary sight. A beast of his size, adorned in glinting jewelry and bearing an aura of power that seemed to press against the air itself, was the stuff of stories and legends, not something that should stride the streets of Daunturia.
Jannet could taste their fear. It was palpable in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of sweat and the faint tang of metal from the guards’ armor. His reptilian instincts registered it as a predator might, cataloging the subtle shifts in posture, the nervous darting of eyes, the trembling hands gripping spears and shields. And yet, the fear was not wholly unwelcome. Part of him, the lizard part, reveled in it. These humans were no threat to him. Their weapons, their posturing—it was all meaningless in the face of his sheer physicality and the power that coursed through his veins.
But another part of him—the part that remembered being Jannet, the housewife—felt something entirely different. These humans were fragile, like the lizards of Newscar had been when he first began shaping them into a community. They feared what they did not understand. And while it would have been easy to dismiss them, to let their fear fuel his own sense of superiority, Jannet had no desire to rule through intimidation. He had taught the lizards of Newscar with kindness and patience, guiding them toward something greater than mere survival. Perhaps the humans of this world could learn, too.
As they neared the inner walls of the Dauntless Palace, the grandeur of the city gave way to something even more imposing. The palace was a marvel of architecture, its towering spires and intricate stonework a testament to a bygone era of craftsmanship. Jannet marveled at it, his sharp eyes tracing the soaring buttresses and the gleaming banners that adorned the walls. It was a castle in the truest sense, the kind of structure Earth had long since forgotten how to build.
Yet as magnificent as the palace was, Jannet couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The guards had grown more numerous as they approached, their ranks swelling until they formed a veritable wall around the party. Their movements were precise, almost rehearsed, and the tension among them was as tangible as the steel they carried. Jannet’s tail twitched slightly, his golden eyes narrowing as he sensed the unease radiating from his companions. Gerrin and Toren walked with hands close to their weapons, their gazes sharp and watchful. Leth stayed close to Jannet’s side, her knuckles white as she gripped her staff.
The group’s progress slowed as they entered a wide courtyard at the base of the palace’s outer wall. The guard headquarters loomed ahead, a fortress within a fortress, its heavy iron doors flanked by sentinels who stood at rigid attention. The air was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the crowd outside the gates fading to a tense silence. Jannet could feel the eyes of the guards on him, their gazes darting between his massive form and the adventurers who walked beside him.
“Hold formation,” Captain Rhinestock commanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd that had gathered just beyond the perimeter. “We will ensure this... situation is handled with the utmost care.”
Captain Rhinestock dismounted smoothly, handing the reins of his raptor to a waiting attendant. He turned to face the party, his expression calm but his tone clipped. “You are to remain here while we sort this out,” he said, gesturing to the looming doors of the headquarters. “I trust you will not make this process more difficult than it needs to be.”
Jannet inclined his head slightly, his tone measured as he replied, “I have no intention of causing trouble, Captain. But I trust you will extend us the courtesy of fairness in your proceedings.”
Rhinestock’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded curtly. He gestured to one of his lieutenants, a younger guard who had been hovering nearby. The man saluted sharply and turned to relay orders to the rest of the escort. As Rhinestock began to stride toward the doors, a younger guard, barely out of his adolescence, sprinted across the courtyard clutching a scroll. His armor rattled with each step, and he nearly stumbled as he came to a halt before Rhinestock, his chest heaving from exertion.
The boy guard reached Rhinestock just as the captain ascended the steps to the headquarters. He spoke in hushed tones, his voice too low for Jannet to make out. Rhinestock paused, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he listened. Then, with deliberate slowness, he turned back to face the group. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his gaze that made the hairs on the back of Gerrin’s neck stand on end.
“Magnus, the 7th Pillar,” Rhinestock began, his voice carrying across the courtyard. He unfurled the scroll, the parchment crackling softly in the still air. “You are hereby placed under arrest as an enemy of the state and for the murder of an entire regiment of soldiers.”
The words fell like a hammer blow, the weight of them sending ripples of shock through the group. Gerrin’s hand flew to his sword, and Toren’s daggers gleamed faintly in the sunlight as he drew them halfway from their sheaths. Fialla gasped, her staff trembling in her hands, while Leth took an involuntary step closer to Jannet, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Stand down, Gerrin,” Jannet rumbled, his voice calm but firm. He stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the assembled guards.
Jannet’s golden eyes narrowed, his mouth opening widely in defence as he processed the accusation. Enemy of the state? Murder? The charges were preposterous, but the delivery was anything but. All he had done was defend his own home. The guards around them had shifted subtly, their stances growing more aggressive, their hands tightening on the hilts of their weapons. The air was electric with tension, the courtyard teetering on the edge of chaos.
Jannet’s voice was calm, though it carried the undercurrent of a growl. “These are grave accusations, Captain. I trust you have evidence to support them?”
Rhinestock’s grip tightened on the scroll, but his expression remained impassive. “You will have the opportunity to answer for your actions, Sovereign. But for now, you will come with us.”
The tension among the party was palpable, their instincts screaming at them to resist, to fight. But Jannet remained still, his massive form coiled with restrained power. He could feel the weight of his companions’ gazes, their trust in him evident despite their fear. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head slightly, a gesture of acquiescence that was as much for his companions as it was for the guards.
“I will comply,” Jannet said, his voice steady. “But know this: I am no murderer. And I will not be treated as such.”
The courtyard was silent save for the faint rustle of armor and the murmurs of the onlookers beyond the gates. Rhinestock nodded once, signaling to his men. The guards moved in closer, their weapons drawn but held at the ready rather than pointed. The message was clear: compliance was expected, but resistance would not be tolerated.
As the party was surrounded and led toward the imposing doors of the headquarters, Jannet could feel the eyes of the crowd boring into him, their fear and curiosity mingling in the air. He held his head high, his golden eyes unwavering as he walked with deliberate grace. The name Magnus carried weight now, and he would bear it with all the dignity he could muster. The humans would learn, just as the lizards had, that he was not a creature to be feared—but that he was also not one to be underestimated.
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The grand hall of Newscar buzzed with a restless energy as its leaders gathered for what would be their most significant meeting since Jannet had departed. The newly completed cave arena, carved from the rich stone and reinforced with goblin ingenuity and gemstone gnome craftsmanship, stood as a testament to the unity and vision of their diverse community. It was a marvel of function and symbolism, echoing theideas that Jannet had, in his enigmatic way, imprinted upon their imaginations.
High, arched ceilings gave the space an air of gravitas, the natural contours of the cavern smoothed into elegant curves that played with the glow of bioluminescent fungi. Torches in sconces cast flickering shadows on the intricate mosaics that adorned the walls—scenes of lizards, gnomes, and goblins standing together, their triumphs immortalized in polished stone. The centerpiece of the arena was a lizard-sized table hewn from a single slab of gleaming obsidian, its surface etched with the runic symbols that represented Newscar’s tenets: Unity, Growth, and Resilience. Rose traced the grooves with a claw as she stood by the table, her gaze lingering on each rune in turn. These were not just ideals; they were promises to a future that Jannet had fought so fiercely to build.
The lizardfolk were changing. What had once been a primal existence governed by instinct and survival had evolved into something greater—a culture, a society, a way of life. The rings of speech, gifted through Jannet’s vision and the ingenuity of their goblin and gnome allies, had been the first step. They had allowed the lizards to understand, to listen, and now, to speak. But Rose had seen the potential for more. Words were powerful, yes, but they needed permanence. They needed to be preserved.
It had become her project, her purpose in Jannet’s absence. The hatchlings, tiny and eager, were the hope of their people. Rose had taken it upon herself to ensure they would grow not just strong, but wise. Using the rings and the knowledge she had absorbed, she had begun teaching them a lizard-spoken language of their own. Simple at first, built from the guttural hisses and clicks that came naturally to them, it was slowly expanding into something sophisticated. Words to express ideas, emotions, dreams.
Writing had followed soon after. Rose had worked tirelessly, carving symbols into soft clay and stone tablets, teaching the hatchlings to scratch their own rudimentary marks. The process was painstaking, but it was progress. Every hesitant claw mark was a step toward a future where lizards could record their history, their stories, their truths.
She glanced across the arena, where a group of hatchlings huddled around a clay tablet, their high-pitched chirps filled with determination as they practiced their newfound skills. The sight warmed her heart, and a faint hiss of satisfaction escaped her. These little ones would grow into a generation that could speak for themselves, that could shape their destiny with words as well as claws.
Rose turned her gaze back to the table, her claws pausing over the rune for Growth. It was Jannet’s influence that had made this possible, she knew. His vision, his teachings, had given them more than just survival—they had given them the tools to thrive. And now, it was her duty to ensure those tools were passed on, to see that his legacy was carried forward by every hatchling that emerged from their nests.
The arena was more than just a gathering place as well; it was a monument to the vision of the great Jannet, whose enigmatic guidance had shaped Newscar from the very beginning. In the early days, when the fledgling community had still been grappling with survival, Jannet had shared with them fleeting glimpses of a world beyond their understanding. He had spoken to them of a place called Rome-on-Cable, a realm of legends brought to life through strange and magical visions. Somehow, Jannet had shown them these incredible sights—vast coliseums where roaring crowds watched champions clash beneath the sun, marble halls filled with echoes of grandeur, and statues of gods that towered as high as their ambitions. The stories he revealed through these images were like fragments of another existence, and though the lizards, goblins, and gnomes could only grasp their meaning in pieces, they understood one thing clearly: Jannet had brought with him the wisdom of another world.
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Over countless evenings, as the community huddled around campfires or worked tirelessly to build their home, these tales had taken root in their imaginations. Jannet’s visions had been more than just entertainment; they were lessons, teachings of how to honor the gods and how to build a legacy. He had shown them not only what to aspire to but how to revere the unseen forces that guided their lives. He had taught them to pray, not with blind devotion but with thoughtful purpose, as though speaking directly to the powers that had shaped their existence.
The arena, now a centerpiece of Newscar’s burgeoning civilization, was the culmination of those early inspirations. Its design echoed the grand coliseums of Rome-on-Cable, a testament to the idea that unity, strength, and community could coexist with celebration and reverence. Every stone and carving whispered of Jannet’s influence, a subtle reminder that he was more than their Sovereign—he was their guide, their teacher, their bridge to something greater.
Even now, as Rose prepared to address the gathering of leaders, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of that legacy. The arena was a sacred space, one that symbolized not only their achievements but the path Jannet had laid before them. To stand here was to stand in the shadow of his vision, and Rose knew that every decision they made today would be another step toward honoring the foundation he had built.
Rose, the de facto leader in Jannet’s absence, sat at the head of the table, her posture regal yet approachable. Beside her, the other leaders took their places. Randel, the inventive mind behind Newscar’s technological advancements, adjusted the notes spread before him with methodical precision. Michelangelo and Raphael, the eldest of the lizard warriors, loomed at opposite ends, their scarred hides a testament to countless battles fought in defense of their home. Baby Goblin, small but brimming with an energy that belied her stature, tapped her claws nervously on the table’s edge, his wide eyes darting between the others. Lil Guy, the youngest of the leadership circle, sat with a quiet intensity, his gaze unwavering as he listened intently. Finally, #1, Jannet’s most trusted companion, took her place at Rose’s side, her calm demeanor a steadying force amid the undercurrent of tension.
The room fell silent as Rose rose to speak, her voice firm but warm. “Thank you all for gathering today. Jannet may not be with us, but his vision for Newscar continues. We’ve made incredible strides since his departure, but with progress comes challenges. We face decisions now that will shape not only our future but our very identity as a community.”
A murmur rippled through the group, their collective anticipation palpable. Rose’s gaze swept the table, lingering on each leader in turn. “First,” she continued, “we must address the plea of the catfolk children. Their emissaries have arrived, seeking sanctuary. They tell stories of displacement, of a marauding force that drove them from their home. These children—frightened, starving—have come to us with hope in their hearts. The question is whether we can, or should, extend our hand to them.”
Randel adjusted his spectacles, his sharp mind already calculating the implications. “We have the resources to accommodate them, for now,” he said. “But taking them in could bring consequences. If their enemies track them here, we risk drawing unwanted attention to Newscar.”
Michelangelo’s tail thumped against the stone floor. “We’ve fought off worse than marauders,” he growled. “If they come, we’ll deal with them.”
“But at what cost?” Raphael countered, his voice measured but firm. “Our priority must be the safety of Newscar. We cannot jeopardize all we’ve built for a decision made out of sentiment.”
Baby Goblin piped up, her voice high-pitched but resolute. “Sentiment isn’t weakness! Jannet taught us to be more than just survivors. He taught us to build something better. If we turn them away, what does that say about who we are?”
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the argument pressing down on them. Rose folded her hands on the table, her expression pensive. “We’ll deliberate further,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But we must also address the warning from Lady Dark Diamonds if this is still a stalemate.”
At the mention of the enigmatic gnome diplomat, the group tensed. Lady Dark diamonds had been a cornerstone of their burgeoning trade agreements, her influence and resources instrumental in Newscar’s rapid growth. But her latest communique had been ominous.
Baby Goblin retrieved a parchment from her satchel, her movements uncharacteristically solemn. “She says the gnomish laws are clear,” she read aloud, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Rapid technological and magical advancement is... discouraged. They fear drawing the attention of... larger powers.”
“Larger powers?” Lil Guy asked, his voice quiet but firm. “Like who?”
“Empires,” Randel said grimly. “Kingdoms. Maybe worse. She’s warning us that if we don’t slow down, we’ll attract attention—attention that Newscar might not be able to withstand.”
Raphael snorted. “Cowards. They limit themselves out of fear. That’s not our way.”
“It’s not about cowardice,” #1 shot back. “It’s about survival. The gnomes have thrived by staying under the radar. If we push too far, too fast, we risk becoming a target.”
Rose’s claws tapped against the table as she considered the implications. “Lady Dark Diamonds has also hinted that if we don’t heed her advice, the gnomes may withdraw. Their presence here is integral to our way of life. Losing them would be... devastating.”
The group fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The gnomes had brought advancements and stability to Newscar that would take decades to replicate on their own. But to compromise their vision of progress, to halt the very momentum that defined them—it felt like a betrayal of Magnus’s teachings.
Randel broke the silence. “There’s a balance to be struck though it pains me,” he said. “We don’t need to abandon our advancements, but we can be strategic. We focus on what strengthens us internally, what protects us, rather than what draws attention.”
“And what about Lady Dark Diamonds?” Michelangelo asked. “How do we convince her to stay?”
Rose’s gaze turned distant, her mind already working through the possibilities. “We show her that we’re not reckless,” she said slowly. “That we understand the risks and are taking steps to mitigate them. If we can demonstrate that our growth is controlled and purposeful, she may reconsider.”
The leaders nodded in agreement, their resolve strengthening. The road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but they would face it together, as Magnus had taught them. For now, they had decisions to make—about the catfolk, about their future, and about the delicate balance between progress and caution.
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The heavy air of tension thickened as the guards continued their advance, their weapons drawn but steady, like predators circling their prey. Jannet’s companions bristled, the urge to fight or flee etched on their faces. Even as he held himself poised, his immense frame coiled with the grace of restrained power, Jannet could taste the unease radiating from the humans surrounding him. His golden eyes flicked over them, measuring, calculating, but resolute in his silent declaration that he would not allow himself or his companions to be cowed.
Then, cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade, came the unmistakable shriek of a voice.
“Wait! WAIT! STOP EVERYTHING!”
The sound ricocheted off the high stone walls of the courtyard, sharp and commanding in a way that belied its pitch. Heads turned in unison, guards and adventurers alike drawn toward the commotion. From one of the winding roads leading to the palace, a figure sprinted toward them, his robes billowing behind him like an errant gust of wind. The robes themselves struck Jannet as strangely familiar—formal and academic, not unlike the ceremonial garb he remembered from graduations in his past life as Jannet the housewife. But there was nothing ceremonial about the urgency in the man’s movements or the flush of exertion on his face.
The platinum adventurer’s plate swinging around his neck was the first thing to draw the guards’ collective attention, its gleam unmistakable even in the dim light. The reaction among them was immediate: shock rippled through their ranks, confusion warring with the disciplined stoicism they tried to maintain. Even Captain Rhinestock, who had maintained his composure thus far, faltered for a brief moment, his brow furrowing as the figure skidded to a halt before them.
The newcomer bent at the waist, hands braced on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. His sharp features were framed by a cascade of pale silver hair that shimmered like moonlight, his striking green eyes flicking up to meet Rhinestock’s with a spark of irritation.
“Captain,” the man began, his voice breathless but firm as he straightened, “you’re overstepping your bounds. Again.”
Rhinestock’s expression hardened immediately, the earlier flicker of surprise vanishing beneath a mask of cold authority. “Caelan,” he said, his tone clipped. “This is none of your concern.”
“Ah, but it is,” Caelan replied smoothly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile as he pulled a scroll from the folds of his robes. “You see, it has come to my attention—through rather inconveniently timed channels, I might add—that this individual here…” He gestured toward Jannet, who blinked slowly, his golden eyes narrowing. “…is, in fact, a registered adventurer with the guild. On a trial basis, granted, but registered nonetheless.”
Rhinestock’s jaw tightened visibly. “This creature—”
“This adventurer,” Caelan interjected pointedly, unfurling the scroll with a flourish, “is therefore subject to guild law. Not yours. And certainly not Daunturia’s city guard.”
The captain’s glare could have scorched steel, but Caelan was unfazed. He held the scroll out for Rhinestock to inspect, the ornate seal of the Adventurer’s Guild glinting at the bottom like a challenge. “Any accusations levied against a registered member must be handled through the proper channels. Which, as you well know, means our channels. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the charter before making such bold assertions.”
Rhinestock did not immediately take the scroll, his gloved hands curling into fists at his sides. “The safety of Daunturia is my responsibility,” he said, his voice low but steely. “I will not have my authority undermined by—”
“By what?” Caelan cut in, his tone saccharine with mock politeness. “By a platinum-ranked mage acting in full accordance with the guild’s bylaws? Oh, how dreadful for you.”
The guards surrounding the scene exchanged uneasy glances, their stances shifting subtly as the tension mounted. Rhinestock’s composure, though formidable, was beginning to show cracks under the weight of Caelan’s relentless confidence.
“You don’t have the authority to override this arrest,” Rhinestock growled. “Adventurer or not, this creature—”
“Ah, Magnus,” Caelan corrected with a pointed glance at Jannet, his smile never wavering. “The Sovereign of Newscar. Do try to keep up.”
Jannet tilted his massive head slightly, his golden eyes fixed on Caelan with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The man’s brazen demeanor was unlike anything Jannet had encountered in this world—a sharp contrast to the deferential fear he had grown accustomed to seeing in the eyes of humans.
“Enough,” Rhinestock snapped, his voice rising as he took a step forward. “You overstep yourself, Caelan.”
“And you,” Caelan retorted, his own voice sharpening, “overstep the guild. If you have grievances, take them to the council. File a formal complaint. Hell, send a carrier pigeon if it makes you feel better. But you will not arrest a guild member without due process. I’ll see to it myself that this matter is addressed at the highest levels if necessary.”
The captain’s expression darkened further, but he seemed to sense the futility of pressing the issue further. With a sharp exhale, he turned his gaze back to Jannet, his jaw set and his tone icy. “This is not over.”
“Of course not,” Caelan said breezily, rolling up the scroll and tucking it back into his robes. “But for now, it is resolved. Shall we move on?”
Jannet rumbled softly, the sound low and contemplative as he regarded the exchange. He had no illusions about the tenuousness of his position, but the arrival of this strange, silver-haired mage had at least bought him time. He lowered his head slightly, the faintest hint of a nod in Caelan’s direction.
Rhinestock’s gaze swept over the party one final time before he turned on his heel, his white cloak snapping behind him as he strode away. The guards hesitated, clearly unsure whether to follow their captain or remain, but eventually, they began to disperse, their expressions ranging from confusion to barely concealed frustration.
As the courtyard emptied, Caelan turned to face the group fully, his earlier bravado softening into something more amicable. “Well, that was fun,” he said, flashing a wry grin. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Caelan Faelora, at your service. Platinum-ranked mage, occasional legal representative for the Adventurer’s Guild, and—” his grin widened—“your ticket out of this mess.”