It was 9:30—a solid two hours since the morning briefing had begun in earnest—by the time I headed into the hallway outside the Command Room with Abby, Amara, and Cutter in tow.
“Thank the gods above and below that’s over,” Cutter said with a grin, instantly looking more alert and interested now that the meeting was over. “How in the bloody hell can anyone make a war sound so bloody boring, eh? That’s what I want to know. But that’s all behind us. What’s the plan now? Hopefully it involves drinking, eating, maybe a spot of gambling. We never did have a proper celebration for taking Glome Corrie.” He looked me dead in the face and rested a hand on my shoulder. “We need to celebrate the small things, Jack. And the big things too.”
“I’d love to,” I said, shrugging off his hand, “but I’ve got myself an appointment over at the Crafter’s Hall.”
“Gods, are you still doing that?” He rolled his eyes. “You’re the bloody Jade Lord, you don’t need a craft or a profession. You kill monsters and capture cities. That’s enough in my book, friend. Give over already.”
Amara and Abby shared confused looks, then Abby gave me a sidelong glance. Keeping secrets, Jack?
I blushed furiously and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“It is fine,” Amara said, killing the conversation before it could hit peek awkward. “We are busy anyway. Jake is preparing to initiate a few new recruits into the Bastards and he wants us there.” She latched onto Cutter’s elbow with steely fingers and gave a gentle tug. “Come along, Spy Master.”
Cutter grumbled but followed, offering us a quick wave as they descended the stairs and vanished around the first turn.
“Crafter’s Hall?” Abby asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Something you want to tell me?”
“It’s nothing,” I replied scrunching my nose and waving her question away with one hand.
“Jack …”
I sighed. Thanks Cutter. “Fine. Look, I’ve sorta taken on an apprenticeship. Kind of.”
“You thinking about swinging a different kind of hammer for once?” She eyed the warhammer sitting at my hip, a slight smile playing across her lips. She was an excellent blacksmith thanks to her skill with flame—controlling heat and the temperature of the fire was a critical ability, apparently—while I was … lacking. There were few people who could take me in a fair fight—especially since I didn’t believe in fighting fair, not if I could find a cheat instead—but on the crafting side of things I was worse than the lowliest lowby. I’d spent so much time questing that I didn’t even have a proper Profession.
Something everyone and their brother seemed to have.
I’d unlocked Mining, true, but aside from swinging a pick axe a little faster and minutely increasing the chance to spawn certain rare stones, that wasn’t a terribly practical skill. At least not for me.
I sniffed and shrugged. “What if I am? I’ve been learning a thing or two about Runic Ward work. I’m getting pretty good.”
She guffawed, snorted, and rolled her eyes. “Runic Ward work? That so?”
“You sound skeptical.” I made for the stairs.
“Obviously,” she said, following behind me. “That’s a subspecialty profession. In order to unlock one of those, you need to practice, Jack, and you don’t have two spare minutes to rub together. You haven’t even slept in the same city for more than two days running. The only profession you’re likely to unlock in the near future is either Professional Meeting Attendee or Dragon Slayer.”
“Which is why, I need to get over to the Crafter’s Hall.”
She caught up to me and slipped her hand into mine, our fingers entwining. “And you told Cutter, but not me?” This accusation was quiet, more earnest. Her playful tone gone.
“I didn’t tell him,” I finally admitted. “I was trying to keep anyone from finding out. Its kind of embarrassing. But he’s our Spy Master. He found out in about two seconds and started making fun of me. ‘The great Jade Lord,’” I said, trying to effect Cutter’s cockney accent, “‘bent over a table with an apron on, scratching runes into metal, and taking orders from some grouchy old woman.’” I shrugged. “After that, I thought it was probably best to just keep it to myself.”
She gave my hand a squeeze. “Don’t listen to him. I’m proud of you for trying something new. Come on, I’ll walk you over. I could use some hours at the forge anyway, then maybe we can grab lunch together. Sound like a plan?”
“Totally,” I said, squeezing her hand in return. Letting the simple gesture say what I couldn’t.
Instead of trekking down the gajillion steps that lead to the bottom of the tower we ported directly down to the Keep’s looming entryway. Faction leaders inside the Keep could teleport anywhere inside the building in an eyeblink, but outside of the Keep proper, we had to hoof it just like everyone else. Behind us, Dark Shard rose up into the sky like a behemoth of rounded edges, flowing curves, elegant spires, and artfully carved stonework depicting fantastical beasts and epic battles.
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It always vaguely reminded me of some grand Buddhist temple from a bygone era.
Abby and I headed down the steps—worn smooth by age, elements, and the passing of countless feet—and into the colossal courtyard nestled inside the inner walls. Those walls stood tall and proud, the stones gleaming and clean, its many towers, manned by keen-eyed Rangers, were defiant. They practically begged for an invader to try and attack, though they wouldn’t have much luck; not with the formidable array of Arcane Shadow Cannons facing outward.
Once upon a time—and not so long ago, really—Dark Shard had been in absolute ruins, but things had changed a lot since then. Dark Shard itself was now a small, thriving city in its own right, housing a couple thousand people. And those people were everywhere. Walking, talking, working, most moving with purposeful strides in these early morning hours. The grounds themselves were well kept; the vines, trees, and jungle flowers trimmed back and beaten into beautiful submission by an army of professional gardeners and plant-based Druids.
We were headed over to Yunnam proper, so we cut through a row of stone buildings and made for the port pad, located in the outer courtyard. Those buildings had been leather shanty tents not so long ago, but not anymore. Nope. Dark Shard no longer resembled a rundown refuge city, but something sleek and beautiful and amazing. We skirted around the outside of the main barracks: a boxy, three-story building with terraces jutting from each floor. The place looked pretty empty, but that was expected at 9:30 in the morning.
Most of the Alliance members were out training, crafting, running missions, or—if they were night crew—catching a few winks of shuteye while they could.
The port pad lay on the other side of the barracks.
We’d upgraded that since the founding, allowing parties of people to travel all at once; an absolute must considering the overflow of humanity. Now it was a raised stone platform, ten by ten feet, with an elaborate golden circle inlaid into the surface. A Dawn Elf acolyte, wearing brown cleric robes and a near-permanent scowl, sat on a wooden stool eyeing the metal circle and the roped-off waiting line, currently devoid of people. He looked bored out of his mind, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. The port pads, necessary and convenient for Darkshard residents, still required a magic user to oversee them.
A dull duty, but someone had to do it.
Abby and I made our way up the steps, and the acolyte rose, eyes distant and hazy. I’m not sure he even recognized us, which was a rarity these days. Probably lost in some daydream about slaying dragons. That or drinking a tankard of ale when his shift ended.
The pad engaged with a blinding flash, and in a wink Abby and I were on an identical metal ring down in the center of Yunnam, not far from the chief’s towering, moss-covered tree.
The Murk Elf city had also grown dramatically over the past few months, nearly quadrupling in size thanks to the steady influx of Alliance members. And it wasn’t just the number of people, but the city itself that had undergone drastic changes. There were still lots of spindly Dokkalfar homes, raised up on their dark wooden struts, giving the homes a strangely arachnoid appearance. But there were also plenty of Wode, Risi, and even Dawn Elf buildings thrown into the mix. Traditional structures of brick and stone, showing off gracefully arched ceramic roofs.
We wandered past one towering building of particular interest.
It was a stately structure with walls of gleaming white marble topped by a blue-capped dome in the Imperial style. The Yunnam School of Excellence.
A lush, grassy lawn boarder the building’s front and a playground of wood and steel had been set up—built by Vlad and some of the other crafters in the city. Children ran and squealed, some little more than toddlers, others in their early to mid-teens. Many were NPCs, but others were Travelers. Kids who’d successfully made the transition. I grinned as a Murk elf girl slapped a Risi boy of twelve or thirteen on the back of the head, only to sprint away, laughing wildly as the Risi boy glared after her.
The play yard was presided over by the watchful eyes of several fiercely protective Dread Hounds—each two hundred pounds of black fur, yellowed fangs, and hellfire eyes—and Mrs. Claire. A short Dawn Elf woman with golden skin and corn silk hair pulled back in a sharp ponytail. She was a Warlock by trade and responsible for the Dread Hounds. She wore a gray dress and subconsciously rested a single hand on her distended belly. My heart beat a little faster when I saw her. She was a Player, but unique. The first Traveler in V.G.O. to get pregnant.
No one was sure what would happen with her or what the baby would be like, but she was still a sign of hope. That maybe this place really could be a home. And the kids, likewise, were a beacon of joy. Not only had they survived Asteria and the transition, but they were growing. No one—not even Osmark—had been sure what was going to happen with them, but they seemed to be changing. Maturing. Though admittedly they were maturing at a rather disbursing rate, which was still some cause for concern.
Abby hooked her elbow through mine as we headed into the sprawling market place chock-full of vendors from every race, hawking their wares from beneath colorful awnings propped up on wooden struts. Meat pies, blades, skill training, ingredients, and just about everything else. My mind wandered as we walked. We’d never really talked about starting a family, since it hadn’t seemed possible, but now? Well Claire changed things. We’d wait to see how things turned out with the pregnancy before really talking about it, but it was a conversation we’d have to have eventually.
We wandered past a squat Svartalfar man with an impressive beard, slow roasting skewers of sizzling meat over a bed of coals. The aroma of char, grease, and meat tickled the inside of my nostrils and my stomach let out a furious roar of protest. I want this and I want it now.
Abby just grinned, slipped her arm from mine, then fished out a handful of silvers. True, a meal like this would cost a few coppers at most, but it was good to let the people in the Alliance know that we were more than happy to be generous with what we had. The Dwarf handed over the spits with a nod and a few mumbled words of gratitude. We ate our mid-morning snack as we wove through the marketplace, keeping our hoods up so we wouldn’t be stopped by a gaggle of Alliance members.
After a time, we found ourselves outside a rectangular, two-story structure with a high stone foundation on the far side of Yunnam. There were a variety of outdoor work spaces, a large stable—mostly used for shipping—and a pair of circular towers flanked the main building. But the real magic happened inside, carefully guided by Vlad’s steady hand. At last we’d come to the Crafter’s Hall.