When Fates Cross Paths

[Cards of Fate]

Well then, that’s cool as shit.” Vince uttered, staring wide eyed at the nearly lethal projectile that had been thrown in his own direction. His sapphire eyes ran over the barrier, looking for any sign of damage. “I definitely want to use this for my new project.”

John reached upwards and yanked on the chisel, breaking the handle off. He humphed, reaching again for the metal bit, using his armor to provide a firmer grip on the chisel’s working end. He twisted, popping a chunk of the wooden ceiling out as the tool broke free. He stared up at the marred roof.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Artemis.”

“Yeah, well . . . I suppose we’ll have to take care of that by day’s end.” He scratched at the back of his head, staring up at the small hole in the workshop’s ceiling. “After all, I think a storm’s due this eve.” The two smiths turned their eyes back to Vincent as he turned the shield off.

“Why are you here, Vince?” John grunted as he crossed his arms.

“Aside from poking holes in my roof . . .” The other smith grunted as he turned back to his work.

“I need a shield.” The scholar stated flatly. “Well, I need this shield…”: he said waving the hand. “But without the arm.” He paused for a moment. “Well, more like…” Vince snapped his fingers and pulled out a roll of parchment from thin air. “I need this!”

“You have it.”

“Fuck you, you know what I mean,” the scholar quipped as he gestured for Artemis to take the schematic. “I can draw all the damn plans in the world, but I’m absolute shit when it comes to building it.”

“So you brought it here?” Artemis asked as he set down his tools. He reached for the design, his sharp eyes scanning the parchment. “You know, I’m not exactly an expert on this magicyte business that we found. I have a friend, a wizard, researching some of the ammunition shells we found. But we’re nowhere near understanding this stuff, even with the existing research we have on hand.” He rolled the design back up, extending it back toward Vincent. “I don’t think I can help with this . . . at least not yet, Emperor.” Artemis added the comment, guessing at the role the man played and his relationship to the behemoth of a man they both called friend. Vincent blinked for a moment before taking the parchment and cokcing his head to the side.

“That’s a pet-name I’ve never heard before. I didn’t realize you rolled like that, but okay. I’m open minded.” His face didn’t betray an ounce of surprise, instead his mind reached out to John.

<What the fuck did you tell him?>

<Not a thing, Vincent.>

<Where the fuck did he get the title ‘Emperor’ then?>

“I don’t know, boy! For all I know he’s psychic,” John said out loud.

“God damnit John.” Vince growled, turning to the giant. “Inside thoughts, outside words.”

Throughout the entire conversation, Bazzak Norlond had stood behind the counter of his workshop and watched this display, staring through narrowed eyes at the novelty of the scene. “You know Artie, I think I’m gonna take the day to meself. I’ll leave the shop in your capable hands. I need a drink . . . “ he added as he walked to the beermug shaped door, sliding it open. “Or seven.” As he started to slide the door shut, the trio in the room heard his last comment as he yelled, “And fix the durned roof!”

“So there is more to your friendship.” Artemis grinned at the two, realizing his comment had some effect on the situation at least. “Listen, if you want my help, we should probably start with a touch of honesty. What exactly is the link between you two, and those marks you each have?”

Vince turned and looked at Artemis, giving him a deadpan stare. “John is me, from the future.” The smith stared blankly at Vincent. “He’s my dad? How ‘bout uncle?” He turned and looked at John. “He totally could pass as my uncle, just give him a purple robe. You’d see the family resemblance.”

John rolled his eyes. “Have I told you you’re a fool today, Vincent?”

“Fuck you, I’m the Emperor. We don’t have a Fool yet.”

“So,” Artemis looked on, crossing his arms over his chest, “the Tarot is back after all.”

[SirArtemis]

Three weeks later
Aces High Taven, Beinost


“So let me get this straight,” Artemis began, holding his mug of tea aloft. The trio gathered in a small office, Vince across from Artemis at a work desk while John stood off in a corner. “You two are from an ancient organization based around protecting and preserving the balance of the world?” He cocked an eyebrow and took another sip before setting down his mug upon a coaster, careful not to tarnish the workmanship of the amethyst colored liviol. “And you do so by collecting and studying rare magical artifacts, and other such devices. That sounds like it would require quite a bit of resources.”

John looked up from his task of rubbing linseed oil into his massive talymer bow. He drew on his cigar and reached for his whiskey.

“Pretty much, yeah,” the two responded in unison. Vincent turned to John and scowled slightly, given the man was stealing his thunder.

“We appear every couple thousand years, whenever Jormill foresees an event that would need us to show up.” The scholar shrugged and took a sip from his glass of wine. “So far it seems like we’re the clean-up crew from the last batch. A lot of fuck-ups have been made, so we’re here to make things right.”

“When exactly was the last Tarot? From what I know, you haven’t operated in millennia. Why would you suddenly have to clean up after mistakes made so long ago?” Vince raised his eyebrows at Artemis' question.

“So much for being a secret organization,” Vincent growled, downing the rest of his drink. “As far as I know the last iteration of the Tarot was during the War of the Tap.” Vincent turned to his left, his eyes staring off at the small fire that flickered and crackled in an ornate marble hearth. On the mantle, twin statues of dragons wrestled over possession of a small orb.

“If that’s the case, and you refer to your last iteration as having made mistakes, are you implying the Tarot had something to do with the rupturing of the Tap? Because that’s a pretty substantial fuck-up, and I couldn’t begin to imagine how anyone would go about fixing something of that magnitude.” Artemis shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he entertained such an absurd notion. “No, that can’t be it.”

“Nope, but our last Empress was Pode, if that means anything to you,” Vince replied chuckling. “I’m not even sure about some of the other ones; half our archives are either destroyed or missing.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Oh, and our current Empress is an alchemical clone of Pode.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, Vince. You’re saying your former leader was one of the six involved in one of the largest known cataclysms we’ve ever recorded. I’m not even going to touch the clone business; I’m just going to hope - really hope - that the current version doesn’t have the actual mind and personality of the original, because that opens the door for round two of cataclysmic tragedy.” Artemis laughed at the absurdity of the conversation, wishing that he were back at the forge and working rather than thinking about such large-scale consequences.

“Well she and I killed Pode, so we have that going for us, if it means anything.”

“I’m really trying to find what part of all this is a good idea, and I’m struggling. So. . . your former leader was killed by a modern reincarnation produced through alchemical means in order to correct the wrongs of the same institution thousands of years apart?”

“No, someone else cloned her, not the Tarot. That part was just convenient. . .” Vincent paused and leaned forward. “Or was it fate?”

Seconds of silence passed as Artemis rested his face in his hands, processing what this man across the desk shared while a giant smoked a cigar in the corner.

“It takes time to get over,” John added, his deep voice interjecting into the silence as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “That’s what I tell myself.”

“I’m not sure my lifetime is going to offer enough to get over this, John,” Artemis added, reaching for his tea like a medicine he desperately craved. “I am almost regretting asking about the Tarot in the first place.”

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think we were doing good," John added with a shrug, popping his cigar back in his mouth and returning his attention to his bow.

“It gets better, trust me,” Vince replied nodding. “We’re some of the world’s best and brightest, working to help restore order!” He paused and poured himself another glass. “I mean, we have one of the most talented steam mechanics, a mage gunner, a literal tower of walking titanium.” Vincent gestured wildly at John. “What more do I have to say?”

Artemis shook his head at the enthusiastic man’s sales pitch. “So, I feel like I’m going to immediately regret asking this. . . but. . . what exactly are the Tarot trying to redeem?”

“Well,” Vince laughed, swirling the wine in his cup. “Funny story. . . “ Vince trailed off, “We’re kinda trying to clean up. . . everything.”

“Everything?”

“Well, we have the Plaguelands, the Red Forest, the fact that Salvar has been frozen, I’m assuming we fucked up Fallien somehow. . .” he paused for a moment and looked over some papers. “That’s the agenda at a glance really. We might find out some more, add some stuff on. . .” he shrugged.

“I was right,” Artemis sighed. “I do regret asking.”

[redford]

“Perhaps you do, but you have to keep in mind that these event aren’t entirely our fault. Pode was acting outside of the interests of the group, and due to her leadership she had managed to suppress any suspicion on her. It is more that when we acted against these forces, centuries ago mind you, we were met with odds that were less than favorable. It is hard to come out on top when you’re throwing down with some of the most powerful evils this world may have ever known.” Vince drained his glass as he finished speaking and set it aside, leaning forward and folding his hand in his lap. His sapphire eyes were trained intensely on the man in front of him.

“While I gather you may have your reservations going into this, allow me to elaborate for a moment.” he frowned as his fingers absently tapped his legs. “From what I’ve gathered you’re a good man. No, not a good man, a great man. You have an outstanding sense of morality, and empathy for your fellow man. You don’t seem like the type of man who would simply turn away someone in need.” He paused, letting silence fill the room. “I’m not asking for you to commit your very life to the cause right now, that comes later, but at least give it a shot. We’re poised to do some really great things here, to reverse some mistakes that have caused suffering for millions of people for a countless amount of time. That should at least be worth a bit of your time, right?”

Artemis set his tea down before folding his hands beneath his chin, elbows on the table, and let his gaze fixate on Vince. The irises of his eyes shifted from their typical icy blue to a metallic gold. Though Vince could not know, the young man utilized an ability gifted by a golden dragon, Graxis, that let him see into the true nature of living beings. Through his eyes, as Artemis expected, Vince appeared mostly gray - expected because most people were not overtly good or evil but rather comfortably in the middle. However, Vince also clearly exuded a hue of blue, reflecting an overall nature of goodness. Artemis shifted his eyes back to icy blue, barely seconds after activating his ability. Seconds more passed before Artemis sat back, taking his tea with him, and taking a sip before finally responding.

“Ok, let’s give this the consideration it deserves. Tell me more about what it is you want or need from me exactly, and I’ll consider whether or not it is something that I can offer in the good faith that I will keep my word. But please, take into account that I am no hero, nor do I wish to be. On the contrary, it seems time and again I simply seek to find reprieve from the toxicity of most people only to find myself pulled into events of far greater consequence than I’d like to be involved with. I already have a feeling that this is more of the same, so if I’m going to go into this willingly, I need to know what it is that’s expected.” His eyes remained locked upon Vince’s own the entire time: sharp, focused, and attentive.


John lifted his bow, guiding a practiced, keen gaze along the length, searching for imperfections in his talymer. He spoke in the following silence, catching Artemis’ ear amidst the gentle popping of the fire.

“If you want nothing of consequence, then do not join.”

The half-giant put his bow down, and pulled his cigar from his mouth, fixing Artemis with a sober gaze. Well, more sober than his usual gaze, that is.

“But what we do is important, and it is good, and many people live and live better because of it,” a pause followed and his gaze softened, and he turned his head to the fire. Vincent, Jamie, and others had helped him live with his demons instead of constantly fighting them. Maybe Artemis didn’t have the same troubled past as he. Maybe he missed the profundity of what the Tarot was. He continued, still staring at the embers.

“Especially for me.”

[SirArtemis]

Artemis sat back in his chair, eyes closing as he found reprieve within. Nearly a decade had passed since the day he’d fled home, furious at the notion that his father murdered ruthlessly as a member of a branch of assassins. Since that day, every passing year had brought more tragedy and strife than he could have ever imagined. A boy growing up as the son of a smithy in a small town - and now, this.

In that brief decade, Artemis had done battle too often. He had seen war on multiple continents, and more always lingered on the horizon. No amount of optimism and hope could supersede that unfortunate reality - a difficult lesson to learn. He had lost many allies during that time, and was fortunate to still have some of his dearest friends by his side. The looming possibility that any day could mark the end of his comfortable reality only made the ever-present danger that much more real.

The Norlond brothers and their forge, his dark elf lover Jay, his eccentric wizardly friend Daros, and even the barkeep Harki had become the foundation of his life. Were he to lose them, would he lose himself? What would they want him to do, or expect of him, in this situation?

He slouched forward in his plush chair, burying his face in his palms. ’Will I ever be able to bring solace to this struggling world? How many times has my only wish been to create a safe place for people to simply live without death haunting their every movement? Will this finally grant me the chance to actually do something about it?’ He sighed deeply, opening his eyes.

“Too many times I’ve found myself acting only when I had absolutely no choice. Too many times I’ve intervened when events had already gone too far. Too many times I’ve failed those who needed me, or hesitated needlessly. Too many times I’ve stayed my blades, believing it not my battle.” He rose from his chair and walked over to where John sat in a cloud of his own cigar smoke. “Too many times I’ve passed on the opportunity to do something that matters and chosen to be a spectator rather than direct events as I see fit and control the outcomes.”

John looked up at Artemis. The man’s eyes burned with conviction, perhaps not yet directed. His acquaintance had reached a turning point in his life, not quite knowing what to do, but knowing something had to be done.

“Aye, maybe so. Now what?”

“Now, it’s time for the hand of virtue to guide the happenings of Althanas. Judicis has been guiding my path since I could first hear his sentient voice. Every year, I have grown in strength, and will continue to. Now, that strength will have a larger purpose.” Artemis walked back over to the desk, setting his hands upon the wood and looking upon Vince. “Justice will be done."

[Cards of Fate]

Ironic as the statement was, Vincent couldn’t help but get a slight chill as the smith seemed to finally make up his mind. Very rarely did he ever recruit someone into the Tarot with such clarity to their fate and purpose. The best laid plans of Vince, John, and Joseph oft went awry. If they weren’t nearly killing a recruit with blunt force trauma, they were burning something down. It was a never ending game of cat and mouse, luring people to their fates purpose was a hard task. Most people wanted to believe they were free; the very notion that they had some pre-set task was off putting.

Vince understood otherwise.

But still, no one gets into the Tarot without a test. Anubis had to brawl with John, Ray almost died, Stella had lost her celestial powers, and Vincent had been sent to visit a god. Every task had their own worth to them, so it was up to Artemis to prove himself.

“Excellent! We just have one minor matter to attend to.”

“Is there some sort of paperwork we need to fill out?” The blacksmith asked, furrowing his brow as his lip curled up in an almost mocking smile. “Or perhaps some membership dues?”

“Nope!” Vincent exclaimed rising to his feet. “We need to send you on a mission!”

“Already?” Artemis quipped turning to John for confirmation as he sat back down. “It seems the whole organization cuts to the chase much like you do.” The giant wordlessly nodded and let out a chuckle.

“Everyone in the Tarot has to do some sort of test!” Vincent exclaimed. “Luckily, yours isn’t very hard!”

“Okay then. Seems a bit sudden, but go ahead. What is this test?”

“My spies tell me of a rather notorious thief in Alerar. They call him Ettermire’s sewer king, the Rabid Rat of Ruthe Road. He has stickier fingers than Alydia Ettermire, and a penchant for sniffing out magical items. If the Tarot is to ever have any hope of locating all of its lost artifacts, we need to make sure that a man like this doesn’t filch any of them from us. I need you and John to go to Ettermire, track him down, and make sure he isn’t a problem anymore. I’m giving you free reign - his fate is in your hands.” Vincent walked from around his desk and moved over to the fire, peering into the flames. He tapped his amulet and focused on John for a moment, trying to establish a mental link between the two.

<Yes?> The giant grunted as he ‘picked up’ the imaginary call.

<I want you to keep an eye on him for me. Watch how he handles this mission, how he walks, talks, what he drinks. I need to know more about this man, so that I may discern his role in the Tarot… I have a hunch…>

<Will do.>

“So…” Artemis replied rising from his chair. “You want me to find and take care of this man for you?”

“Yup.”

“With next to no information other than a city and a street?”

“Hey, that’s almost enough to send him a letter.” Vince replied chuckling. “Anywho…” Vince snapped a finger and a portal of teal energy erupted to life by the door. “Off to Ettermire! Don’t worry, I’ve seen at least fifteen ways you manage to solve this conundrum already!”

“Which means?” Artemis asked as John stood and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t ask, you’ll only get more confused,” John finished, leading the way as he stepped through the magical gateway.

[redford]

John often appreciated Vincent’s sense of humor; the way he merrily leapt from one concept to the next like young people often do was somewhat refreshing.

But just as often, it went awry. As the almost-vertigo faded, the first thing the half-giant noticed was the noise. The clang, not of hammer but of machinery, drowned out other sounds as he finally got his bearings. The machines of Ettermire were nothing if not impressive. A haze of smog obscured his sight, but they were on the street outside a massive foundry, the gray cloud half-lit by the orange glow of hot steel. To his left, mighty steam engines rolled their flywheels to drive the great industry of the city, turning a network of gears and chains that fed nearly a quarter of the city its mechanical power. He shouted at Artemis above the clanging din.

“We’re south of the heart of the city! Best we get that-a-way!” he finished, pointing a silvery finger down the street and upwards toward a small cluster of Ettermire’s famous dirigibles, centered above the commercial heart of the city.

Artemis’ attention drifted from point to point, seeming to take it all in for a moment; John wondered if the recruit had even heard his comments. “That’s fine by me,” he replied after a few moments. “I just need to find a place to sit down and not be distracted for a bit. Do you know this city well?”

They began walking toward the blimps that marked the center of the city. The thrum of machinery continued below them, transmitting power even as the din of the forges and boilerworks faded behind them.

“Well enough, Artemis. Let’s get some food while we wait. The Market is close by.”

The Market served as a vital organ in the complex system of Ettermire. While the lifeblood of mechanical energy flowed throughout, like veins in a body, The Market became the lungs and provided the fuel for the economy to flourish. Every gear in the enormous machine served its purpose. What began as simple market buildings eventually became two-story, then three-story tall structures, until The Market was dotted with spires filled with every kind of shop, from bulk ingots to the finest magical craftsmanship. The buildings rose above the smog, steeples to the god of the economy.

John looked round, attempting to spy the steelworker’s guildmark on any of the buildings, having to wade through a swelling crowd of people. Eventually he spied it, and purposefully made his way there. Hopefully he and Artemis would both get something they needed.

And if it can be bought, it can be found in Ettermire, so they say. He spared little thought to whether Artemis followed, as the half-giant was hardly easy to miss. As they entered the shop, John willed his armor to move up and out of sight. Made for easier conversation.

Inside the metalworker’s guild and shop was a dizzying array of bins, buckets, and tools. Every common metal sat stacked in ingots along the far wall, with barrels dotting the shop floor full of essentials like powdered glass, sand, nails, and alloying materials. A crowd of swarthy, stout-armed men stood around the shop, eyeing pieces or heckling over this and that. One of them, in a black leather apron, walked by to leave, eyeing a bright new hammer with a smile. The shopkeep who served him saw John and waved him over, whistling in surprise as he walked to the counter.

“Yer a big’un, yeah? What’cha need, friend?”

The half-giant pulled from his bag the massive bow he’d been working on for the last couple weeks. “I need braided steel cable and fittings for this bow.”

The shopkeep smiled, looking around as if it was a trick. He pinched his beard, replying while still eyeing the unfinished bow. “You’ll have a hard time drawing that, I don’t care how big you are, friend.” John’s sober demeanor had some effect though, and the tender continued, wiping his hands on a cloth. “But, iffen y’want, I’ll do it anyways, it’s your coin.”

John’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I’ll make do. Do it. Name’s John. I’ll be round when you need to string it.”

[SirArtemis]

Artemis found a steel bench set just outside of the shop John had entered. Waiting for the big man’s return, he soaked in the uniqueness of this remarkable city. He had never visited Ettermire, though he had been to Alerar. Everything around him rumbled like an enormous workshop. The shop sat on the third story of a spire, overlooking a busy road. People moved between one another like they were passing through a sieve, while strange vehicles transported people like carriages without the horse.

Artemis had grown up in the forests of Corone, where dirt and trees lined your paths. With his time in Knife’s Edge, he’s grown more accustomed to cobbled streets of stone lined with buildings of like material. This was something entirely different, where metalwork and ground stone, molded and left to set, defined its shape and structure. There was very little left of the natural world, and what there was sat isolated in little enclosed pockets of designated space. Small gardens and sparse trees lived segregated lives like unwelcome visitors to a world that had originally been their own.

After only a couple minutes John exited the shop. WIth a snap of his fingers, a thick cigar appeared between his lips, lighting with a second snap. He sauntered over to Artemis, sitting down beside him and filling the rest of the bench with his large frame.

“Mind if we linger?” Artemis asked.

“Sure. I gotta stick around anyway,” John said before taking a deep pull on his cigar. “They’re working on something for me.”

“Perfect. I just need to concentrate.” John cocked an eyebrow at Artemis, noticing the man’s eyes close and his hands rest in his lap.

Artemis began to attune himself to the surrounding world, utilizing an ability that had built upon his ever-astute intuition. He could feel the world, like an omniscient presence, within a limited radius. He’d spent months honing his ability, alone in his pursuit with no understanding of his newfound power. Much of Artemis’ power had been more or less improved the same way: endless practice.

An invisible sphere, undetectable, emanated from Artemis and expanded outward, rapidly stretching like a soap bubble that a child blows. The borders extended a few meters per second as minutes silently passed, passing through the world without notice. As the sphere grew, so too did Artemis’ understanding of the remarkably intricate nature of this city. The machinery that ran through the ground snaked and twisted between many subterranean passages and a complex sewer system. From those very sewers beneath to the tops of the spires where nobles made their homes, this city had become very much like an ant colony housed aboveground. Very little excess space remained as efficiency became the priority.

Artemis’ reach eventually extended to its limit of roughly a fifteen kilometer radius, allowing him to take in just about the entire city. He mentally outlined the entire metropolis, taking in the diversity as much as the ingenuity. The sewers were filled with impoverished citizens, while on the surface spires erupted from the ground for the wealthy to call home; a palace for royalty sat in the middle of their district. Even the dwarves managed to build a home beneath the city. The entire region seemed bizarre and unfamiliar. Artemis discovered an enormous tavern and gambling hall, six stories tall, not far from The Market. Ettermire even boasted its own underground fight pit.

He could see all the people of the city as well, tracing their features, deducing their words from their lips, reading their body language. Every detail laid itself bare before his ability. He could sense the complete indifference of the wealthy, their enormous and spacious homes a testament to their disinterest of the world below. Their luxuries, habits, moods, and homes embodied the insensitivity that wealth wrought upon the soul. All the while, their starving and sickly counterparts rummaged for scraps of food and cloth simply to survive. Disparate worlds, so close yet so far apart, coexisted in this massive mechanical beast masquerading as a city.

“This world is so fucking rotten,” Artemis said as he opened his eyes. “He called the guy the sewer king, right?” he mumbled as he scratched at the back of his head.

“Yup,” John answered, giving another puff of his cigar. “Why?”

“Just trying to think of where to start our search. There are sewers beneath the city and the fight pit connects to it. Seems a shady place. Shady people like shady places, so maybe we can get a lead there.”

“Or a fight,” John said, as a chuckle rumbled out of his large frame.

[redford]

John smirked a little, looking up at the dirigible above The Market. He blew a smoke ring at it, recalling his time spent with the half-orc who fancied himself a knight.

Now commotion I can do, friend, was what he said to him then.

Maybe it would be the same this time. Before he could muse further, however, a voice across the street called above the crowd and the low thrum of machinery beneath the streets.

“John!”

The half-giant looked up, standing as he glimpsed the shopkeep. John waded through the crowds massing in the early afternoon, crossing the threshold into the spire yet again. On a bench lay his bow, thin steel cable looped around one of the nocks.

“Alright, friend, let’s see if you’ve got it,” the shopkeep said, sliding the talymer bow his way while stroking his beard with his other hand.

John grabbed the yet incomplete weapon, resting the pre-set nock on his thigh close to his hip, and reached upwards with his right hand to grab close to the other nock. He pulled down, bracing against his hip, grunting as the normally rigid wood finally yielded to his massive strength, and looped the other end of the cable on the opposite nock.

A whistle came from the shopkeep, and he raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Well, friend, looks like you’re stronger than you seem. Hard to believe, that,” he finished, sliding a receipt to John, who paid the man quickly. Nice prices here too, I got to come up to Ettermire more often, he thought as he exited the shop. He spied Artemis and slung the bow across his chest. He smirked a little, jerking a big thumb down the street.

“Ready?”


“Let’s get moving. I want to wrap this up before nightfall.” Artemis stood as he finished, walking over to John. “I have a map of the city, so just follow my lead. This city is a maze - a massive one at that. Shouldn’t take too long though.” They walked side by side, which surely looked out of place given that even on their own they’d stand out in a room. “This should be relatively quick, assuming nothing drastically unexpected slows us.”

Easier to assume we’ll be waylaid and work from there, John thought as they meandered, Artemis leading. If the smaller smith claimed he had a map in his head, so be it.

Far from the strangest thing he’d ever encountered.

The meandered northwards, taking back alleys which at first were well-kept, flanked with buildings of respectable purpose and exceptional quality, but soon it faded. After a few minutes of walking from the center of the great city, trash began to litter the streets, and the people walking thereon adopted a more downtrodden or desperate countenance. Some begged, and others sold their wares or their tricks to passers by, but largely kept out of the way of John and Artemis.

Plying onward, they eventually found an unmarked building, one of dozens which led into the great underground sewer network of Ettermire, and one of several which led down into the Bottomless Pit, or so they called it here. The building was small, one-storied, and as they entered, there was but one room, with a staircase at the far end leading downward. The fading light of day allowed the illumination of torches below to be seen, and as John and Artemis descended, they heard the sounds of the Pit.

[SirArtemis]

Of the many reasons why they called this place The Bottomless Pit, one likely stemmed from just how far down one needed to go in order to reach the establishment. The two smiths descended at least a hundred feet before finally reaching the end of the stairway. The noise of the establishment gradually increased from a low hum of voices far away to a clamor of shouts and boisterous disagreements.

They were now in the sewers of the city, and the rancid smell of decay wafted into their senses like an unwelcome guest entering a home. “Charming,” Artemis said, turning to John; the big man seemed completely unphased, but that seemed in theme with his rather stoic approach to life.

They stepped into the enormous amphitheater, seeing a ring of people standing over an open hole in the ground that served as the actual arena. John and Artemis walked over, gazing down into the blood-stained filth. The arena sat lower than either of them expected, with enough room for a few rows of seats. The mostly abandoned citizenry of Alerar - the poorest and most hopeless of people - found themselves relying on this place as their only source of entertainment. They didn’t care that the fighters sloshed through shit and muck in a hole in the sewers.

Surrounding the arena, the Bottomless Pit served as a vibrant merchant hub, tavern, and lounge. Tables and booths littered one side of the large space, enough room for at least three score people to sit and eat and drink. A bar tucked into the far corner served drinks, which likely acted as catalyst for plenty of battles as well. On the other end, instead of stalls, there were enclosures where fences and brokers could talk with some privacy to make their shady deals. And off in the other far corner, wenches lingered, waiting for their prey to wander over and lose all their coin for the sake of one good night.

After all, they didn’t have much left to lose - neither coin nor many good nights.

“I’m gonna go see if there’s any worthy contenders,” John chuckled, taking a deep puff of his cigar.

“I’ll grab a seat in one of the booths after taking a quick lap. Maybe I’ll hear something of this sewer king.”

John nodded in reply. “If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.” He then walked back to the pit, the giant crossing his arms and watched over the crowd with little issue.

’I almost envy your cigar right now,’ Artemis thought, still adjusting to the foul smell of the place.

The masses down here had little to lose, and they eyed Artemis with equal parts fear and suspicion. Though he didn’t intend to, his very presence often intimidated those who did not know him. A man dressed in all black, well armed, and with the appearance of a seasoned warrior, didn’t often elicit a sense of calm and safety in strangers. It didn’t help that the magical markings on his body had crept onto his face and hands, like tribal tattoos. Artemis looked like a man sent to kill, even if not always the case.

With that simple fact, it didn’t surprise Artemis that most people hushed their voices or stopped talking when he approached, so he settled for the booth after all.

“What’ll ye have?” a busty waitress asked, pulling a notepad from her bosom.

“What’s on the menu today?” Artemis replied, curious as to what thoroughfare these people served.

She dropped her arms to the side and gave Artemis a look of exasperation, cocking her head and staring at him with her double chin tucked into a triple chin. “Ale. Liquor. Tit’s across the way. And shite food that will make ye sick. Now. What’ll ye have? Or are ye wastin’ my time?”

Artemis gave a half-hearted smile. “A tankard of ale and a loaf of bread with some butter if you have it. If not, just the ale.” The woman didn’t even jot anything down. She just walked away and tucked the notepad back into her full chest.

As she left, Artemis closed his eyes once more. He didn’t worry for his safety, as his attunement would be more honed in this small space. He allowed his concentration to fill the room, shifting his focus from group to group. Here, in this smaller space, he did not need to expand the sphere of influence very much. That allowed him to pay attention to the finer details.

Artemis didn’t often reflect much on Judicis and his capability, the sentient entity of his bow, but this ability often reminded him of just how beneficial their relationship had grown to be. Though Artemis could not pay attention to all the points within the room, Judicis served as an enhanced processor. His magic was not limited by attention, or scope, or memory. Judicis, being a tool crafted by the Thayne Khal’Jaren, could instantly store and calculate information on an unimaginable scale. After all, once Artemis scanned the city of Alerar, the layout existed within Judicis’ archives and could be easily accessed. That was what allowed Artemis to find their way so easily.

Now, Judicis could track every detailed event happening in the amphitheater, instructing Artemis where to focus. Minutes passed and Artemis moved around the room, listening in for his own sake to small conversations one at a time. He did not have the ability to hear sound when scanning large areas, but did when extremely local. So he moved around the room, listening in to the most suspicious and seemingly influential individuals.

’C’mon, Sewer King. Rabid Rat of Ruthe Road. Someone here has to know you.’ Minutes passed and felt like a lifetime, yet nothing had come up.

Clang!

The loud sound brought Artemis out of his focus as the waitress returned, dropping a loaf of dark brown bread and a spat of butter, along with a pitcher of ale and a tankard. “Fifteen gold coins,” she said, reaching out her hand.

“Fifteen!?” Artemis said in shock. “It’s bread and beer!”

“Welcome to the sewers of Ettermire, fancy pants. Fifteen gold.”

Artemis stared at the woman, knowing full well she was swindling him, but he couldn’t raise any attention. He dropped the coins on the table and waited for her to leave. Once gone, he closed his eyes once more, waiting for any mention of his target.

’C’mon, someone has to know of you.’

[redford]

John was glad for the height of the ceilings in the theater. His neck ached from ducking in order to descend the stairs into the sewers. It smelled of filth and stagnant air, but hey, he’d fought worse people in worse places.

In the dim light amongst the shouting patrons, he looked into the pit. Apparently they were between rounds, and people were exchanging coin, and paper wager slips as they prepared for the next bout.

Hopefully he could make it more fun. If there was anything he knew about, it was how to fight, especially in front of a crowd. Without hesitation, he dropped his pack beside Artemis, left his bow on the table, and pulled off his shirt. The half-giant willed his armor to slide downwards out of sight, below his waistline where his pants could cover, and strode purposefully toward the railing, planting a foot on it to toss himself inside.

He sailed toward the center, landing in murky water that ran to his mid-calf, and straightened his back, marred by both scar and ink. The crowd hushed, and for a moment all John heard was the slow rushing of water and the dull thrum of the machines of Ettermire.

He smiled a little. Before he had taken up smithing, before he had become Strength, this was his home. He fought with little care for anything, and he learned how to make the crowd love the way he would, and could, take anything head on. He scared people, but here, they wanted to be scared. They wanted the wild side of the half-giant John Cromwell.

And he would give it to them. He shouted up at the crowd, turning and holding his cigar up. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a bag of coins that he shook before them.

“A hundred gold to the man who can take this cigar from my mouth!”

Hushed murmurs followed, and John laughed loudly, his voice booming again as his armor slid up his torso, covering him almost like a sleeveless shirt. Maybe Artemis would have some luck if the people had a curious magical item to focus on. Perhaps they could lure this ‘sewer king’ out while having a bit of fun.

“What? Nobody? Come on, this is the famed Bottomless Pit! Who here can snatch this from me?” he shouted through his teeth. He jangled the coins for emphasis. “Bah! What about the Sewer King?”

John shouted, coating his arms in shiny metal, forming studs at his knuckles. He returned the bag of coin to his pocket and lifted a titanium-clad arm.

“Any of his lackeys around to take this magic from me?”

Murmurs from the crowd sounded above the thrum of the machine heart of the city, and a low clang sounded from a grate at the edge of their makeshift arena. Three figures stepped from shadow to torchlight, two humans and a mixed-blood orc, sporting the slightly smaller tusks than his pureblood counterparts.

Both humans wore leather armor, accented with small metal plates at the chest and shoulder for strength. He was blond, with brown eyes that betrayed arrogance. He spoke as his companions walked to the side of him, forming a slight arc around John and his cigar. All had their hands on swords, save the half-orc, who simply held a maul in his hands.

“Big talk for a big man, friend. But I’ll have your cigar, and you’ll come with me. I do love magical trinkets after all. He smirked, drawing his sword. “And I’ll take that coin purse too, I think.”

Wordlessly, John dragged his right foot through the brackish, filth-laden water, spraying the human underling to his left and creating a split-second pause before he reacted. The human had already stepped forward, keeping his footwork proper as the orc managed to yell.

The crowd, confused for the briefest moment, erupted into new fervor with the exchange of bets and screams for blood. It seemed they were getting the fight they wanted after all.

John stepped to his right quickly, aiming his fist at the half-orc’s chest as the brute tried to bring his maul to bear in the fight. Lucky for John, enclosed spaces were not conducive to large weaponry such as his. He stumbled backwards, John’s knuckles leaving dents in the half-orc’s metal chestplate. As the orc’s back struck the stone wall of their arena, the crew’s leader managed to bring his sword down in an arc at the brawler’s neck.

Easy block and counter, John thought as he raised a forearm, and the sword connected with his metal skin with a clang.

What John didn’t anticipate was the brilliant flash of white light that erupted from their point of contact, flooding his vision with the flash. He reacted on instinct, sweeping a leg out where his assailant’s feet would be. He connected with something and a splash followed as the half-giant backed up, his vision clearing slightly.

The shouting of the crowd changed tone, with those once betting on the goliath now changing their tune, and those who bet against him cheering the three onward. He heard the slosh of water from his left and struck out blindly, failing to connect but stepping forward to kick a leg out, his vision finally revealing a vague form which belonged to the smallest of the three, wielding a dirk. His kick landed but managed to push more than impact, and John had to settle for driving that particular opponent to the back of the arena with a wave of murky water. John willed his armor to extend to his head and around the rest of his body, his focus blinding him to the half-orc’s hammer.

It connected with his shoulder, and a thunderous crack sounded as John was thrown from his feet, striking the grating at the edge of the arena, bending the entire gate concave. His ears rang as he regained his bearings, pain blossoming from his shoulder, likely dislocated. It appeared that the orc wielded enchanted weaponry as well. The blonde, now recovered, closed in with a stab at his chest, with the half-orc close behind.

Got to disarm him, John thought.

Or……

The half-giant shifted his weight to the side, letting the sword glance off the side of his chest as a new flash of light burned his eyes, blinding him anew. Throwing himself off the wall, he pushed the leader off balance, and they both went splashing into the water. Hopefully he could confuse the orc.

And he could definitely brawl with his leader. He managed to grab the man’s sword-arm, pinning it to the ground, using his weight to force him underwater as he brought the crown of his head down blindly on to where he estimated his opponent’s head ought be. He felt the crack of his forehead on another, and heard the thud of the leader’s skull on the water-covered stone below. If it didn’t kill him, it would surely knock him out.

He rolled over, his vision clearing just enough to see the half-orc standing over him, warhammer in both hands. He roared as he brought it down, and John felt one of his rings activate as he thought of it. Invulnerability was useful, especially when he was about to get his ass kicked.

A jade crystal grew up over his armor in an instant, covering his body in the strange green stone. His vision and hearing muffled, he only saw a blackish green streak, followed by a brilliant flash of white as the crystal began to slough off, sinking into the murky water to dissolve.

When John’s vision returned, the half-orc wasn’t standing above him, but cratered against one of the walls of the impromptu arena, holding a broken haft of a hammer, parts of his body covered in soot. John rolled over and righted himself, pointing at the unconscious half-orc with his good hand.

The smallest of the three prudently decided that this fight wouldn't be worth it, and blinked out of the arena, teleporting away with a pop. Apparently the underlings of the Sewer King got magical items too.

“And THAT is why you don’t take magical items that you don’t know about! He raised his finger, now aimed at the master of ceremonies, who paused in his doling out of cash. “Tell the ‘Sewer King’ that I’ll see him soon.”

There was the faintest moment of silence before the tiny arena erupted into cheers, jeers, and calls for money and drinks.

He chewed a soggy cigar, spitting the thing out at the half-orc. If this was all this Sewer King could muster, it would be a short mission. Though his shoulder would still need fixing soon

As the cigar flew through the air, a crystal projectile pierced the wrapping and pinned it to the wall of the arena. Artemis stood in the rafters, looking down at the victorious fighter.

“Let’s go. I know where the third went,” Artemis said.

John pulled the pouch of coin from his pocket, throwing it to his companion. “Fine. I’m coming back before we leave though.”