CHAPTER SIXTY

A Feast of Travelers

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“You didn’t have time to record me too?” Bram asked.

He couldn’t help but feel left out since everyone else was shown in the trailer. He’d even seen Ser Anthony in the background of several scenes.

“Did you want to be?” Rowan replied.

Honestly, Bram the prince wouldn’t have minded remaining in the shadows. Bram the bard, however, well, he wouldn’t mind being watched by millions of Earthers, which Bridget claimed wasn’t an impossible goal to reach in a world that was starved for entertainment.

Bram cleared his throat. “I feel like some representation is necessary.”

“I agree,” Rowan said.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Rowan winked at the crystal tablet.

“Don’t you, Bridget?”

Bridget flashed Rowan with a knowing grin.

Then…

ALERT! [Bridget Fowling] has sent you a message. Would you like to read it?

Bram tapped on [Yes].

Bridget’s message was a Loomtube video, prompting Bram’s Loomtube interface to appear once more.

He glanced sideways at Rowan.

“There was another one?”

“There is.”

“What’s in it?”

“Press play and you’ll find out.”

A highlight reel of Bram’s most embarrassing moments while in their company slid across his mindscape.

“I’m not sure I want to, but…”

His moment of indecision was quick to pass for his curiosity won out in the end.

PLAY

As the screen came to life, an image of Bram appeared. He sat on a rickety wooden stool while donning his bard’s disguise, the purple hair and purple coat that were his favorites.

“I remember this…”

Rowan’s fingers reached for his, their fingers intertwining.

“This was the day we returned to Bastille after our adventure in the Red Forest.”

“You said you needed to…unwind.”

Bram nodded.

“I didn’t know you were recording me.”

“Oh, we record everything these days,” Bridget chimed in.

The bard on screen strummed his lute, and a melody began to play.

“I have always dreamed of a faraway place,” the bard sang, “where I needn’t hide my ill-fated face…”

As the bard’s strumming continued, the scene shifted, replacing Bram with one that was all-too familiar for he saw it often replayed in his dreams. The prince stood on the edge of a skyship while a tribe of weargs cheered for him, his first moment of triumph.

“When I opened my eyes I could see,” the bard’s song resumed, “a world that was waiting just for me…”

Again, the scene shifted, one of Bram sitting on his Oaken Throne while Rowan was being knighted on the steps below.

“Through time and space, I hear a voice calling out,” the bard sang, “this is where I belong, have no doubt.”

The scene changed again.

It was a familiar one too, one where Bram fought tooth and nail against an abomination of hell.

From there, the song that had started as a hopeful tune turned into a lively melody that perfectly matched the tone of Bram’s battle against The Impure.

More scenes followed, the little moments of friendship blossoming from recent adventures, and the rising of the player’s campus that would welcome otherworlders to Aarde.

“I think of what the world might be,” Bram’s voice sang over a scene of brightly lit stars, “a vision of the future I foresee…”

The purple-haired bard returned for the final scene, the strumming of his lute ending on a soft note.

“The coming of a million stars is what it’ll take,” the purple-haired Bard stared straight into the camera, his molten-eyed gaze boring into the viewer, “to create the world we wish to make…”

End of recording...

Bridget laughed. “Surprise!”

“You sneaky women.” Bram couldn’t help smiling. It was a good video after all. “How did you record me without my notice?”

Being around a trickster who could read his mind, Bram had learned not to mind any breach of privacy. Indeed, he was flattered that they’d managed to capture his most impressive victories on camera.

Also, he had been a little too busy during those scenes to notice the blue eye floating above a cameraman’s head, but that last one where he was looking directly at the screen would’ve been impossible to hide.

“Rowan cast a ‘Shroud’ on the All-Seeing Eye so you wouldn’t see it,” Bridget explained as if she could read his mind too.

“Our friends call it a music video. They plan to release it along with the announcement trailer,” Rowan added.

“A Million Stars will be the first song in the game’s soundtrack,” Bridget continued. “It’ll be a hit for sure.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Bram said.

“It was Rowan’s idea,” Bridget revealed.

“‘Tis a gift for our bard,” Rowan answered. “Did you like it?”

There was a lump in Bram’s throat that kept him from answering. Instead, he nodded, though the women could clearly see the emotion on his face.

“He’s blushing!” Bridget laughed.

Rowan giggled too.

Fortunately, Bram was saved from further embarrassment.

A panel in the auto-carriage’s upholstered wall slid open, and the coachman informed his passengers that they were arriving at their destination.

“Thank you,” Bram replied from his heavily cushioned seat that had barely protected him from the bumps on the Sovereign’s Road. “And, Peetah…”

“Your Highness…?”

“Next time, maybe avoid the potholes… If you can.”

“O-Of course…”

The panel slid to a close, signaling the end to their conversation with Bridget as well.

“We’ll call you again once the feast begins,” Rowan promised.

“Sucks I won’t be there in person, but…” she glanced over her shoulder, “…these guys can’t finish the trailer without me.”

Bridget waved.

“The Loom guide you,” she recited.

“It guides us all,” Bram and Rowan replied.

The vision of the Red Ruin vanished, and the spell was undone. Right on cue, the auto-carriage pulled to a stop. However, before Bram and Rowan could even walk out the carriage door it was pulled open from the other side, and Hajime’s head popped in.

With a flushed face and wide eyes, he said, “Oh, I’m glad you’re here. It’s D-Day!”

Though Bram had no idea what ‘D-Day’ meant; he understood the sentiment. It was time for a feast…and perhaps a final run through before it truly began.

The prince and his trickster were greeted by quite a few people who’d been waiting for them in front of the unfinished summoning hall.

There was Chris, the Loom’s Co-Executive Producer, looking resplendent in the teal gambeson of a soldier of Bram’s household.

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

Yes, unlike Hajime and Bridget, Chris had completed his job advancement quest, and now he was a [Soldier Lv.1], the first otherworlder to earn a 2nd tier job promotion.

Bram glanced sideways at Hajime.

There were dark circles under the Japanese man’s eyes. He looked even more tired than the night he and Bram first met.

Rowan’s working him to hard…

To be fair to Hajime and Bridget, the requirements for their quests were more challenging. Bridget had to spend time with the wearg tribe so she could learn their ways. Meanwhile, Hajime had the unenviable task of impressing his master with his magic aptitude, but impressing the rebel trickster of legend might be an impossible feat.

Chris saluted Bram. “Welcome, Boss.”

“Well done,” Bram said.

It was praise that was well-deserved.

More than a simple increase in status, and perhaps new abilities, Chris’ aura had changed slightly too. There was a rigidness to him that hadn’t been there before almost as if he truly was a soldier now.

To either side of the Texan were Master Mina and Ravi, the master and vice-master of the Coven of Stargazers. Next to Ravi was Ser Aveline Allard, the newly appointed player’s campus Chief of Security. On Master Mina’s right stood Ser Anthony, Bram’s seneschal and most trusted companion.

Ser Anthony exhaled a thick cloud of smoke he’d inhaled from his pipe.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got cloud weed to spare?” Bram asked.

Ser Anthony patted his pants’ pocket. “Care to take a whiff, Your Highness?”

“Perhaps later…I may need help calming down…” Bram conceded. Then adding, “Are we ready to begin?”

For an answer, Chris pushed open the double doors.

The first place Bram inspected was the basement. Through a side entrance in the building’s foyer, down a series of steps, and through thick iron doors, they arrived at a low-ceilinged stone chamber filled with cages that were no longer empty.

Each cage contained a fel beast—a blackheart stag or a red grizzly, even a sabretooth wolf—with each one guarded by members of Chris’ unit, the men and women of the 2nd company of Bram’s household. Today, none of them looked like carpenters. Like Chris, they all wore their uniforms and looked prepared to fulfill the task assigned to them. They didn’t ask questions either. It was enough that the prince who had lost his ill-fated moniker commanded them, though it helped that they were also promised hefty bonuses for the butcher’s work they would perform.

“It seems your bandits are a reliable bunch,” Rowan noted.

“Told you,” Bram grinned.

He didn’t doubt that Lil’ Joss and Josslyn would keep their word, though these fel beasts were but the first transaction of what Bram hoped would be a long, fruitful partnership.

Bram observed the nearest cage.

It was large, made entirely of thick iron, and obviously enchanted. The runes on its floor and ceiling easily gave that away.

Bram glanced to his right.

Waiting there was an old man, pale silver hair framing a heavily bearded face, thick bushy brows over big brown eyes, a bulbous nose, and a mouth barely noticeable thanks to his thick beard. He looked old enough to deserve retirement, though the thick muscles of his arms and his broad chest suggested otherwise.

“Remind me, how does this spell work, Master Wolfgang?” Bram asked.

“The blood o’ anything you kill in it gets sucked up the pipes”—Wolfgang pointed a finger at the hole in the cage’s ceiling and the brass pipe that extended out of the cage to connect it with the basement’s ceiling—“and off to the corresponding summoning pod inside the hall.”

Though he couldn’t see his mouth because of his beard, Bram had no doubt that his bastion’s master smith was grinning widely now.

“Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy,” Wolfgang finished.

Bram nodded.

He turned to his left.

“Are the soldiers ready, “Lieutenant Winters?”

A middle-aged, cleanly shaven man with carrot top hair saluted his prince.

“We’re ready, Your Highness,” Lieutenant Winters answered.

Bram nodded again.

“Good, now it’s up to the summoners.”

Speaking of the summoners, not all of them were gathered in the summoning hall, the large windowless space that mirrored the basement below, but with a high ceiling and walls covered in signposts to help give otherworlders directions on where to go next.

“It really looks like the inside of an airport,” Chris noted.

“Except for the summoning pods,” Hajime weighed in.

Scattered across the stone floor were round depressions like shallow bowls. A formula of intricate patterns and runes were carved on each bowl, and sitting in the very center was a Stargazer.

“Only ten?” Bram realized.

Not all summoning pods were manned. Only ten had a Stargazer in them, and Bram recognized eight of them. Alkaid, Phecda, Merak, Megrez, Dubhe, Alioth, Alcor, and Mezar; the young Stargazers they’d rescued from the mad nymph’s influence.

Under Ravi’s management, these same young sorcerers had overseen distributing the waypoints across Central Lotharin. It seemed they’d also managed to learn Rowan’s summoning spell, a mark of their talents as sorcerers.

“These ten are the most competent in the summoning ritual. For now, it’s better that we use only them to ensure the ritual’s success,” Master Mina explained.

“If only ten can fulfill the summoning, how long will it take to summon all hundred otherworlders?” Bram asked.

“With enough sacrifices, we should be able to complete all hundred summoning rituals within four hours,” Master Mina answered.

Bram frowned slightly.

“Any chance we can cut that time down a little?”

Master Mina shook her head.

“Ser Rowan’s ritual is incredibly complex. Each step of magic casting — infusion, control, expansion, and manifestation — must all be at an advanced enough level to ensure a successful summoning…”

She glanced appreciatively at the young Stargazers’ faces.

“They are gifted, but they’re still young. They need time to work their magic.”

“I see.”

“Do not worry, Your Highness. Master Ravi and I will watch over them. We will be perfect.”

Each of those young Stargazers turned their gazes on Bram, and though they were respectful, one could easily see the challenge alight in their eyes. It was as if they saw Bram not just as their lord and savior, but also a rival they wanted to compete against.

Bram grinned impishly. “Show me what you can do then.”

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As a certain renowned philosopher once claimed; ‘the future is not heralded by a whisper but with a bang so flashy that the present is dragged forward kicking and screaming into the unknown without any recourse for turning back.’

Or as was the case with today, the rousing applause that accompanied the loud “Ding!” of a lift that had just pulled to a stop at the final floor of a tower whose true name was known only to those few fortunate beings who’d had the privilege to become part of the great undertaking’s development team.

The team had left the summoning hall behind. Once the prince was satisfied with seeing its functions up-and-running—including the immigration center manned by the Reise locals who’d been sworn to secrecy with the promise of ‘Bonuses’—Bram and his companions moved onto the control tower at the heart of the Players’ Campus, the aptly named Trickster’s Rook. All except for Chris who had to log out since it was his task to manage things from the other side.

“Interesting…very interesting,” Rowan said, adding, “I can’t believe how convenient this lift is whenever I ride it.”

Bright red irises hidden behind her spectacles glanced curiously at Bram.

“Using tier-one wind magic to formulate an arcane array that automates a lift’s winch system, making the lift many times faster while also eliminating the cost of slave labor… I suppose this ingenious invention was inspired by one of your otherworldly visions, My Prince?”

Bran’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Rowan…”

“Ah, yes.” Rowan smiled impishly, showing off the two pointy fangs protruding from her upper lip. “I am to call you ‘Director’ when we’re at work.”

Bram smiled widely.

It was as if the title of ‘Director’ was far more preferable than the ones the Sovereign had given him.

“One must dress for the role they wish. Naming included,” Bram said as he stepped out of the lift.

Rowan raised an eyebrow at his broad back. “Who said that?”

Bram glanced over his shoulder. “You did.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it aloud.”

The Loom’s Creative Director and Executive Producer stepped into the control room—a wide temple-like space with a vaulted ceiling, thick stone-cut walls, and oaken floors—to a second helping of applause from the gathered crowd who’d all taken a moment to look away from their floating screens to shower their bosses with praise.

“Nearly there, folks.” Bran raised a lazy hand in greeting. “Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

Excitement filled the room. One could almost taste the electricity in the air. Palpable as it was.

The staff returned to the ghostly blue windows floating above their desks, the Loom’s interface that they’d been gifted with which was meant to help them monitor and log the activities of the alpha testers that would be arriving soon to help reframe the future of Lotharin.

“Your team seems to have adjusted nicely to Aarde, Hajime,” Rowan noted.

“It helps that they haven’t been in a fight with a monster yet, or have a taste of Aarde’s food and culture,” Hajime answered.

“You haven’t let them out?”

“The monitoring team’s dayshift is strictly here for monitoring. When they clock out, they go back to Earth. The nightshift takes over. Rinse and repeat.”

“Not being able to experience the wonders of Aarde — that sounds depressing.”

“We don’t want to color their experience. Not yet. We’ll let them out eventually, but right now, we don’t want any biases to show up in their reports. It must be a closed environment for now.”

On Hajime’s other side, Ser Anthony took a puff of smoke, and Bram, who noticed, couldn’t help smacking his lips.

That’s when his seneschal offered him his long pipe.

“So, you can relax, Director,” Ser Anthony suggested.

Bram didn’t hesitate to partake, and the cloud weed really did help to calm his nerves.

Atlan’s seventh prince couldn’t help but be nervous. He’d been planning the great undertaking for a long time, and now that the Feast of Travelers was upon them, his anxiety had reached its peak. Bram was only capable of hiding his nerves thanks to his bardic training.

“Wipe that silly grin off your face,” Rowan chided as she walked alongside him. “We haven’t succeeded yet.”

“We will,” Bram replied.

Indeed, cloud weed had remarkable effects in calming one down. He couldn’t help but feel a little confident now.

On one end of the hall was a large rectangular table made of thick oak and designed to look as natural as possible.

Sitting around this table were members of the Loom’s dev team, which, minus Bridget and Chris, had only one person on it: Ravi. Two of the empty seats were filled by Hajime and Ser Anthony, with Rowan taking her spot at the head of the table. There were many more empty seats to fill, though none of them was meant for Bram. His place was a simple-looking high-back chair resting on the dais behind the table. It was gilded in gold and was furnished with thick violet cushions.

Bram had a noticeable hop in his step as he climbed the dais. It was accompanied by an excited grin.

I’ve waited so long for this moment…

He plopped his butt on his seat.

I can’t believe it’s finally here…

For as long as he could remember, Bram had been called the Ill-Fated Prince. Yet, here and now, in this place hidden from those who scorned him and sought to harm him, Atlan’s seventh prince was about to do something no one on Aarde had ever done before.

Starting now…

Today, he would usher in the future with his own hands.

…We shall make Lotharin great again.

Today, he would change the world.

Bram’s gaze drifted to Ravi.

“At your command, Your Highness.”

“Let’s go!” Bridget’s voice rang clear from the crystal tablet in Hajime’s hand.

Bram’s gaze drifted to Hajime’s next.

The first otherworlder to arrive at Aarde gave his boss the thumbs up. “Ready player one.”

Finally, Bram’s gaze drifted to Ser Anthony’s.

No words passed between them. It was enough that the old knight looked at his prince with pride. For the first time, Bram felt like he deserved that look.

“Shall we begin?” asked a voice whispering into his ear.

Bram glanced at his right. Rowan sat on the armrest.

Of course, she would be next to him on this most important moment. They started all this together. It was only fitting that they see its opening while hand in hand. Literally.

Bram’s fingers intertwined with Rowan’s.

“Let the Feast of Travelers,” she said, to which he finished, “begin!”

Right on cue, the Loom of Ill Fates awakened, sending a dozen ghostly blue windows appearing before the prince and his trickster.

ALERT! System update in progress…

ALERT! Let the game begin…

GAME START!

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Greetings, Dear Otherworlders,

I'll do a proper end of volume afterword soon, but I just wanted to give a big thank you to all my readers past and present for joining us for The Greatest Trick Ever Sold: Building the Loom. You showing such interest in the novel, commenting, voting, giving us reviews, or just binge reading up to this chapter, that means a great deal to me.

Thank you for enjoying the novel.

Look forward to Volume 2: Flames of Rebellion — Coming next week!

All the best,

G.D. Cruz