image [https://i.imgur.com/J9aF6cv.jpeg]
Hey, all!
No need for lengthy greetings here.
It's time for our travelers to arrive on Aarde — let's get it on!
- G.D.
P.S. If you haven't yet, please read the event announcement for FORUM that came out today. It'll be fun.
NOW, Volume 2: Flames of Rebellion...Start!
CHAPTER ONE
Arrival
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Dear, Traveler,
Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as a provisional employee of Trickster Studios!
Your duties are as follows:
Alpha Tester for Project Loom
As part of this assignment, you’re required to sign a non-disclosure agreement. It is imperative to the company that no leaks occur during this important phase of the development.
We expect you to arrive at the Trickster Studios office at 81 Plymouth Street, DUMBO, Brooklyn, New York, New York, 917 for orientation this Monday.
Welcome to Project Loom!
We look forward to seeing you experience an epic journey in a brand-new world!
The Loom guide your fate,
Bram Attilan
Creative Director
and
Rowan Wolfe
Executive Producer
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“When day is young and songs are sung,” sang the prince pretending to be a bard. “Oh, let my heart in echoes drum…”
Usually, bards needed all manner of sorcerous illusions to accompany their songs. From conjured fog to colorful lights and even dancing spirits; the master bards of the Atlan Imperium turned every tune into a magical performance—but not him. Especially not today. He didn’t need to do anything special because excitement could be felt all around him. One could almost taste the electricity in the air. It was that palpable.
He strummed his lute with a skill that belied his young years. “The first hour wanes through twists and churns. Yet fate may shift as fortune turns…”
The bard sat on a tabletop counter of a booth meant to welcome travelers to Aarde, his one leg crossed over the other as if to exude a sense of calm. He didn’t feel calm, though—far from it.
Originally, he was meant to watch the event unfold from the comfort of his highback chair on the top floor of a tower called the Trickster’s Rook which was still under construction like most of the buildings on this patch of land known as the Players’ Campus. He was too excited to sit still so far from the action though. Funnily enough, the bard wasn’t the only one to feel this way. Members of his core team were in this low-ceilinged hall too, with all of them looking as excited as he did.
“Take your time, earn your keep, dreams shall rise from where you sleep…” The melody of his voice turned soft and wistful. “One day soon this world will shine, and with your help, it shall be mine…”
As he finished his melody, he heard no applause. He wasn’t disheartened though, for the silence permeating the hall meant one thing…the first summoning ritual was nearly finished.
“Did you just turn your sworn oath into a song?” asked the redhead who leaned against the counter.
“A song is an oath, one spoken from the heart.” The bard cast a sideways glance at his companion. “Did you like the melody I gave it?”
She was a pale beauty; her long crimson hair was slicked back and done in a single neat braid reaching down to the small of her back. It was a style that gave breath to a heart-shaped face that would make most men swoon.
“I do — ‘twas a lively tune that made my heart skip.”
She flashed him an impish smile that made his own heart skip a beat. It was far from the image of a ‘Rebel Trickster of Legend’ the gods had imprisoned for a thousand years, the same trickster the bard had freed from her ancient prison three months ago.
“They’ll be arriving soon, our travelers,” she said.
“Remember when we used to call them otherworlders?” he asked.
“Ah,” she giggled, “the good old days.”
In a recent survey his team had done, a focus group determined that ‘otherworlder’ might seem offensive to people of that other world, and there was a recommendation to change it so prospective ‘travelers’ wouldn’t be upset when they arrived on Aarde. The bard knew firsthand that pleasing everyone was impossible, but wanting to win hearts and minds, he accepted the recommendation. It wasn’t a big deal, at least not to him.
As for the good old days, they weren’t so old that the scars he’d earned had fully healed. Indeed, as he lay his lute on the counter, the bard couldn’t help scratching the blackened scar that trailed up from his hand to his wrist like a lightning bolt.
“Things have escalated since then, haven’t they, Rowan?”
“But isn’t this what you wanted, Bram?”
At Rowan’s question, Bram recalled his first meeting with the travelers who would later become core members of the Loom’s development team. They were a group formed to aid Bram and Rowan perform the greatest trick ever sold; tricking travelers from another world into making the Forest Kingdom of Lotharin great again while believing they were playing a video game.
It was quite the scheme, this great undertaking, one born from the mind of a young man who’d had visions of a world beyond Aarde and chose to use that knowledge to his kingdom’s benefit. This was Bram’s way of fulfilling the duty placed upon his shoulders by the Sovereign of the Atlan Imperium, his mother, who, on his seventeenth nameday, bestowed on him the title of governor for the weakest of the Imperium’s twelve kingdoms.
A curious look flashed on Bram’s face. “I wonder if they’ll be more like Chris and Bridget…”
“Confident and quick to adapt,” Rowan supplied.
“Or Hajime…”
“Frightened and confused.”
“Eh?!” came the complaint from Bram’s other side.
The prince glanced over his shoulder.
Standing behind the counter was a scrawny-looking, middle-aged man. He had dark, scruffy hair that framed a tan-skinned face with angular features; slanted eyes, a short, pointy nose, and thin lips surrounded by a five o’clock shadow.
“That’s harsh, Master,” Hajime complained, adding, “You isekai’d me to another world. Frightened and confused is the normal reaction to that.”
As usual, Rowan ignored Hajime’s complaints. It’s been that way since she agreed to teach him the kind of rare and ancient sorcery that not even the grand sorcerers of the Sovereign’s court could wield.
“Talk to me about competence after you can cast a chantless spell,” Rowan teased.
Hajime looked hurt.
“I’ve asked around. No one in Bastille can cast spells without chanting first,” he insisted. In an undertone, he added, “No one but you…”
“And as my apprentice, ‘tis your job to follow in your master’s footsteps,” Rowan countered.
Hajime sighed. “I’m going to fail my job promotion quest then…”
The requirement for Hajime to rise from the 1st tier job ‘Arcane Novice’ to the 2nd tier ‘Sorcerer’ was simple. He just needed to cast a spell without its incantation, the tool meant to focus the caster’s intention, enhance their concentration, and provide the structured verbal expression to their arcane desires.
Even Bram thought this might be too difficult for someone new to sorcery. Not Rowan though.
“You can do this, Hajime,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have given you the task otherwise.”
So firm was her voice that Hajime couldn’t help but nod.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“I…I will keep trying.”
Bram leaned back to whisper into his friend’s ear. “Is this why you look so tired?”
It was true.
He looked skinnier these days. There were dark circles around his eyes too.
“It’s a little of everything.” Hajime shrugged. “I’m working overtime on two worlds just so the alpha test goes perfectly… I don’t get much rest…”
He stifled a yawn.
“But I’ll sleep like the dead once the Loom’s up and running,” he assured them.
Bram doubted this.
Unable to travel to the other world himself due to its lack of magic, Bram could only rely on Hajime as one of his three main representatives. And now that alpha testing was truly beginning, he didn’t doubt that the work would only pile up from here on.
“By the way, Master,” Hajime’s gaze turned to the large mirror covering the wall facing the line of booths, “it looks like the Stargazers mastered your ritual.”
This was no mere mirror that showed one’s reflection but one that allowed others to see elsewhere. Usually, to another ‘Enchanted Mirror,’ which in this case, hung on the wall of the hall above.
“I wouldn’t say they’ve mastered it.” Rowan corrected. “But watching others perform a trick I originated — and to do it with such a large production — ‘tis an exciting change from the old days. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Bram and Hajime said together.
The prince spent another moment observing the trickster’s face; dark eyebrows arched over eyes that were the same shade of bright crimson as her hair. Her nose was long and widened at the tip, and she had a pair of dimples around the edges of her puffy lips. Lips which were at that very moment telling him words he longed to hear since the day he’d first imagined his great undertaking.
“They’re finally here, My Prince.”
The scene beyond the enchanted mirror could only be described as otherworldly.
Dozens of bowl-like depressions were carved into the hall’s stone floor, with each summoning pod’s walls lined in an intricately designed magic circle. Only ten of them were in use but from each pod was born a flash of brilliant crimson that enveloped everyone’s vision.
Ever the showman, Bram stretched his arms wide and proclaimed, “It has begun!”
Months of planning, development, late-night crunch sessions, and life-and-death battles against assassins, fel beasts, mad nymphs, and even a lesser demon of the Seven Hells have culminated in this very moment.
Beside Bram, Hajime whispered, “Game start.”
As if on cue, the crimson light vanished, and those looking through the enchanted mirror became witnesses to an incredible sight.
Within each of the ten summoning pods, lines of blood rose into the air to weave an intricate pattern of roots that were the veins at the core of a human body. Sturdy bones and pulsing organs grew from these veins, and muscle and sinew wrapped around them. Skin and hair spread over flesh, and soon enough, ten travelers from a world called Earth finally arrived on Aarde.
“And they said it couldn’t be done.”
This was a bittersweet moment for Bram, the seventeen-year-old who’d been ridiculed as an ‘Ill-Fated Prince’ most of his life just because he had a body that couldn’t contain magic inside it.
“What about now?”
He couldn’t help flashing a grin. For whom among his siblings—the royals who’d given him his cursed moniker—could ever imagine such a scheme as the one he’d just pulled off?
‘Clap.’
Like a snowball cascading into an avalanche, that first clap was followed by a second, a third, and then a fourth. Soon enough, the whole chamber was cheering.
Hajime pumped his fist into the air. “Yosh!”
His enthusiasm was so infectious that Bram couldn’t help but copy him. “Y-Yosh!”
To his right, Rowan giggled.
“This is why you two are friends,” she commented.
Rather than making him feel embarrassed, Bram’s chest swelled with delight. Growing up, Atlan’s seventh prince didn’t have friends, and although he was twice Bram’s age, Hajime had certainly earned his place as the prince’s first friend. They’d shared enough near-death experiences to even claim that their bond was stronger than traditional friendships.
“We did it, Bram!”
“Congratulations, Hajime!”
They gave each other a high-five, the first perfect one they’d managed since their first meeting. It was a good sign.
“But…I have thoughts.”
Bram’s gaze drifted back to the enchanted mirror.
Like Hajime’s first visit to Aarde, most of the travelers were desperately trying to hide their privates with their hands. Only one or two didn’t seem to mind being naked.
“Can’t travelers arrive on Aarde wearing clothes?”
It was well-known by now that a traveler’s soul retained their original forms when summoned to Aarde. That part couldn’t be contested. However, being naked upon arrival might not be the best first experience one would want to have in another world.
“Even just undergarments?”
The prince was no prude. He’d spent much of his childhood in the capital’s brothels using their hidden rooms to secretly train in martial studies that could be his one tool against sorcery. He’d seen more than his fair share of naked flesh along with the perverted acts of desires done by nobles and commoners alike. But, having seen Hajime looking embarrassed anytime he saw a naked person, Bram surmised that Earthers weren’t as comfortable with nudity as Aarders were.
“Y-Yes,” Hajime’s cheeks grew redder the longer he stared at the enchanted mirror though he also couldn’t look away, “w-we should treat this as a game bug that needs fixing. The Loom of Ill Fates might get banned in some conservative countries if there’s too much nudity…”
That seemed like a legitimate concern. After all, Bram wanted as many Earthers to play the game as possible to find those special travelers like Hajime who could further the Kingdom of Lotharin’s development.
“A traveler’s soul doesn’t need clothes while it moves from Earth to Aarde,” Rowan pointed out, “and we can’t dress them until they’ve formed bodies here.”
As Rowan mentioned, the sorcerers who’d summoned them helped the travelers onto robes prepared beforehand. Bram didn’t think this was good enough.
“We can conjure living flesh from the blood of beasts so can’t we use their hide to make clothes too,” he argued.
He recalled with clarity the steps it took to summon travelers to Aarde.
Down in the basement was a chamber containing dozens of iron cages. Trapped inside each cage was a fel beast—a blackheart stag or red grizzly, even a sabretooth wolf—meant to become sacrifices for the summoning of travelers. With each violent death at the hands of the soldiers who guarded their cages, a sacrifice’s blood was magically drained from its corpse and sent up to empower a summoning pod’s ritual.
“Surely, we can use the hides. It’ll be more cost-efficient too,” Bram suggested.
Rowan’s face turned contemplative. After a second or two, she said, “‘Tis not impossible.”
She snapped her fingers, and a ghostly blue window appeared floating in the air.
Several options were listed on the window’s screen.
Rowan tapped on [Notes].
“Summoning ritual update… Modify the magic circle’s formula to include undergarments. Use a sacrifice’s hide for the material.”
Hajime raised his hand.
“Can you save that to the ‘improving user experience’ folder so all admins can see its progress later?”
“Certainly.”
Once she finished Hajime’s request, Rowan snapped her fingers again, and the ghostly blue window disappeared to be replaced by another.
ALERT! Your note has been saved.
“The new menu is quite convenient,” she said.
“That’s all Hajime’s doing,” Bram replied.
Hajime’s cheeks, which had just returned to their original tan, blushed again.
“We awakened so many of the Loom’s features that I thought we should have a nice interface for navigating them,” he answered.
Hajime’s words stung Bram though the prince didn’t show it.
In truth, the system that Rowan had named the ‘Loom of Ill Fates’ hadn’t always been so accessible to its users. Rather, the original user. Since he was magicless for most of his life, Bram couldn’t use the self-improvement system that had been born inside him. Instead, it became a constant reminder of his ill fate; magicless in an empire where sorcery was the dominant power, which, though not a crime, was seen as the harshest failing among nobles and commoners alike.
Alone, Bram couldn’t change his fate. It’s why he sought out Rowan who helped him forge a new path that led Bram to meet Hajime and the other core members of his dev team. Their involvement made the Loom more accessible, giving birth to new features like the ‘Finance Tool’ that Hajime and Chris worked hard to implement across two worlds, or updating existing features like the ‘Item Tool’ that Bridget fixed to provide more information for each item a user possessed.
“‘Tis such an ingenious tool, this strange sorcery of our prince’s,” Rowan said.
“Not just mine,” Bram reminded her. “Not anymore.”
Indeed, the Loom had changed much since Bram first beheld it. Not only because of its recent update but because Bram could now share it with others…a feat Rowan was responsible for.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Rowan’s power was the battery that fueled the Loom’s growth so what started as a single user would soon grow to more than a hundred. That kind of sustained magic must have been taxing.
“There’s a slight strain, flashes of a mild headache, but I’m managing for now.”
She offered Bram a wan smile.
“I will need to feed again soon if we’re to keep our momentum going. Preferably something more appetizing than another shard of the Midnight Stone.”
Imprisoned for a thousand years, the rebel trickster of legend had lost much of her power. Bram had promised to help Rowan regain her strength as part of their agreement, though this was no easy task. To replenish her strength, Rowan needed to absorb powerful magical energy like those found in relics of divinity or their equivalent. So far, she’d eaten two shards of the Midnight Stone, an ancient relic that held the essence of true darkness within it.
“I’m working on it,” Bram promised.
The problem with consuming the purest of dark energies was that Rowan could literally go dark—and the world would suffer for it. To ensure she didn’t turn evil, Bram needed to balance her diet with the magic of a light nature, something that was unsurprisingly difficult to find in a world whose gods were just as capricious as their creations.
“We may need to raid a temple soon,” he joked.
He should have known Rowan would take his joke seriously. She would never pass up an opportunity to mess with the gods she hated.
“Phoebus’ temple is only a few minutes away from here,” she pointed out. “I wouldn’t mind finishing what I started on its lawn.”
The day Rowan and Bram first discussed the great undertaking, they’d visited the town of Reise and passed by a temple of the sun god. True to her trickster nature, Rowan had cursed the temple’s front lawn with a blight that killed the grass. Since then, nothing’s grown on it, and not even the prayers of Phoebus’ clerics could break the trickster’s curse.
“Let’s not,” Bram chuckled.
As the kingdom’s governor, he needed to keep up appearances. Being pious was his one good image and his one sure way of winning over the commoners who hated him.
“We’ll get the players to—”
CONGRATULATIONS! The arrival of new users has helped to grow the Loom. Resources have increased by [0.010%].
Bram grinned. “About bloody time.”
Current resource rate: 1.28%
Bram sighed. “Honestly, if you keep growing at this snail’s pace, my hair will be gray by the time I gain a level…”
Unlike the other jobs recognized by the system, Bram’s job of [Administrator Lv.1] refused to level up. Acquiring experience wasn’t enough. He also needed to develop the Loom further. Only then could the penalties that kept his growth stagnant be removed.
“Stop pouting,” Rowan teased. “They’re nearly here.”
It was true.
The view from beyond the enchanted mirror showed that the travelers were moving toward the sweeping staircase that led down to the chamber Hajime had named the “Immigration Center.” It looked nothing like an immigration center though. At least not the way the Earthers had described one. This low-ceilinged hall was far from the messy, uninviting space they’d evoked in their explanations, but more like a tavern one might find in Bastille city’s Hightown district; polished parquet floors, dark wood booths resembling a bar’s tabletop counter, and even the soft lighting provided by the iron torch sconces set at intervals of the wooden panel walls, the prince had spared no expense to make travelers feel welcome. Thanks to this diligence, the immigration center might be the only space on campus that had been completed in time for the Feast of Travelers.
“How do I look?” Bram asked.
Whenever he donned his bard’s disguise, Bram usually dyed his hair a different color, Often, he’d wear loose-fitting flashy suits while slouching to make himself look smaller. He would even alter his face with dye and clay or hide his eyes in tinted specs. All to keep nobles and commoners from recognizing the features that marked him as a child of the Sovereign…but not today.
“You look like a prince,” Rowan answered.
Today Bram didn’t hide his wavy pale blonde hair and eyes of molten gold—these rare physical traits that proved his bloodline as one of House Attilan’s royal family. Today, Atlan’s seventh prince wanted to look impressive to his guests, and he was.
Bram clapped his hands, and all eyes turned to him.
“Places everyone!” He flashed his employees with a charming grin. “It’s showtime!”
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A big thanks to @AsteriusDaemon for letting me use his poem and having Bram turn it into song!