When Fates Cross Paths

John munched on his cigar, long-since spent as he ambled down the streets of Knife’s edge. He’d stopped a child a few moments ago, asking where this ‘Norlond Forge’ was. Apparently it was a few blocks over.

Not that I’d know, he thought, looking up to try and find his bearings. Either way it’s a few minutes walk.

Which left him with a moment to gather his thoughts. It had been nearly a year since he’d fought Artemis, and learned quite a bit from him. They had spoken about their similar trade in forging weapons and armor. Perhaps John’s skill with simple pieces was good enough, but this one was a challenge, especially with the enchantments requested for it, which were a complex series of runes and sigils engraved onto the ingots before forging, and then another set of engravings after the final cooling. It was a pain, but the coin was good and worth the trip, so here he was in Knife’s Edge, looking for a beer mug-shaped door.

Ridiculous. Who makes a-

As if to interrupt his thoughts, he rounded a corner, seeing just such a door across the way. Not only that, but it was made of solid metal.

Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it right, he mused as he walked up to it, noting that the thing was well-crafted, an advertisement unto itself of Artemis’ skill.

He hiked up his bag, which clanged with the ingots inside, and ducked his head down so he could fit through the door. He stepped through, thanking the gods (wherever they were) for Artemis’ ceiling height.

He took a step forward and smirked a little. It was impressive, how he recognized his own craft. You can practically smell the heat mixing with charcoal and hot steel as it comes out of the kiln, and the characteristic yellow-red glow of a forge is hard to miss, especially when the bellows are going full throttle.

A short-bearded dwarf sat at the counter before him, and a worker was toiling at the forge, doubtlessly apprenticed by Artemis. The dwarf, however, looked up and smiled warmly, despite his obvious surprise at the size of his newest patron.

“Come in, friend! What can we do for you?”

John took the two large steps required to cross the room, laying his bag on the counter with a clunk. The dwarf cocked an eyebrow as he looked upward, and the half-giant cast a glance around the shop, looking for his former opponent.

“I need to speak with Artemis, where is he?”

Bazzak clicked his tongue as he noted the man before him, the gargantuan man’s head just inches below the ceiling of their establishment. The dwarf reached a hand up to fiddle with a mithril clamp set at one of the ends of his mustache. He turned his head to the side toward the forge where a dwarf and human stood side by side, the former hammering away while wearing an unconventional outfit. “Artie, you have a visitor asking for you!” The dwarf had to yell over the roar of the forge.

Artemis turned at the call, his posture changing as he recognized the behemoth. “Well I’ll be,” he said through his mask. “Nalin, mind taking over?” Artemis asked as he placed his tools down. He pulled off his gloves followed quickly by his mask – pieces of his magical undersuit that protected him from the heat. “Good to see you again, John,” Artemis said, extending a hand to his old friend to shake.

John clasped the hand firmly in return, his gauntleted grip amusing Artemis. “Good to see you again. I have a request.”

“I can see that,” Artemis said with a chuckle. “What’s in the bag? And I was once told it’s bad manners to shake hands with hands covered.”

“They don’t come off,” the behemoth replied matter-of-factly. “And the bag has the materials. The project is beyond my ability. I hoped you could help.”

Artemis smiled warmly, his ice blue eyes glowing a bit in his eagerness. “I’d be happy to offer my aid, if I can.” He lifted a hand high, patting John on the back. “Is this something we have to do here and now or can we talk over a meal? I’m due for dinner, so it was good you arrived when you did.”

John looked unsure. He wasn’t a man others would deem a conversationalist by any stretch; he preferred action over words. After all, talk is cheap. But Artemis was a good man, and his words had brought some value to the big smith before. With a curt nod, he seemed to answer the question. “I think that is fine.”

“Great,” Artemis said. “Just one question before we go, since the brothers are probably curious too. What’s with the armor? I vaguely remember this when we first met, but certainly not to this extent.”

John stood stoic for a few silent seconds before removing his shirt, revealing a fascinating picture for the trio to see. The silvery gauntlets went almost up to the elbow, and his strong muscular torso looked normal, aside from the obvious size. Just then, a silvery liquid seemed to reach out from the gauntlets, climbing the elbows and arms of the man. Artemis walked around the figure as he watched the material spread, like liquid mercury, coating the man’s flesh like paint on a canvas. Standing behind the figure, he noticed a large marking on his back of a fist within a shield. He expected the marking, tattoo if you will, to be covered as the metal from both arms converged over his back. Yet as the substance kissed and climbed to combine into a solid mass of armor, wrapped around the burly man’s torso, the marking remained visible. The man cocked an eyebrow, noting the detail for later.

“You’ll put a smith outta work, I tell ye,” Nalin chided as he walked over from the forge to witness the spectacle. “What good will me metal do ye if ye got yer own! Bahaha!” Artemis smiled at the dwarf’s mirth, noting he’d tossed the item they’d been working on into a bowl of water to cool.

“That’s a neat trick,” Bazzak commented. “What exactly could you want from us if you have the ability to forge what you need as you need it?”

“Intricate sigils and enchantments aren’t my strength,” John replied, letting the metal revert back to its liquid form and crawl back into the gauntlets. As it did, he donned his shirt once more and looked at Artemis expectantly.

“Well,” Artemis said with a sigh, “let’s go get some dinner and talk this over. I expect we have some interesting stories to share as well.” He walked back toward the large metal mug and slid the door open, letting the whip of Salvar air rush in once again and mingle with the forge’s warm and thick air. Strangely, as though by design, it didn’t affect the room’s feel overall. “Off we go then,” Artemis said, and he walked out, expecting John to follow.

John had gotten used to slowing his pace long ago so that smaller folk could keep up. The result was a lumbering, slow swagger he quickly adopted as he and Artemis made their way down the streets of Knife's edge in the fading light of the late afternoon. The smells of heat and ozone faded as they left the industrial section of the city, ambling toward gentler fires and the smell of foodstuffs. It was a simple game of 'follow your nose' to get to the Bearded Gnome, the smells of bread and roasting meat drew them to a two-story building with gentle golden light spilling out of it onto the street.

"This is it," Artemis said, taking the few steps up to a modest porch, and entered the building ahead of the half-giant, holding the door open as he crossed the threshold.

A fireplace roared against the cold on the east wall, shedding a warm light on the entire room. The patrons were scattered, but not crowded, and though many stopped to stare at Artemis' supersized companion, it was fewer stares than he received in other places. It seemed a cozy place, with a large, burly dwarf tending the bar. He caught sight of Artemis and waved the two of them over with a smile.

"Artemis! How're ya, lad? And who's our friend?" he asked quickly, having to crane his neck slightly to see John's face.

"I'm John," the brawler responded before Artemis could introduce him, dragging two barstools together so he could sit without endangering the furniture.

"Well, John, I'm Harki, and I run the place. Nice'ta have ya. What'll ya have? I already know what he wants, of course," he said, smirking a little and jutting a thick thumb in Artemis' direction.

John responded quickly, nodding at a bottle he recognized. Nice stuff, but he didn't really worry too much about money any more. "Pint of whiskey and whatever you've got in the pot," he said, reaching into a pocket for a few of his coins, more than enough to cover his food and drink. "And a room for the night, if you've got one."

The dwarf responded with a chuckle as he reached backward toward the top shelf, pulling a kettle from a small fire with his other hand. "Normally I'd have issue with that, but I imagine it takes quite a bit to make you drunk, eh? As for your room, I can sell you one, but no promises on the length of the bed, friend. He slid two cups before them, John's with a deep brown, smoky-flavored whiskey, and Artemis' with steeping tea. He reached out to a spoon, stirring the leaves to aid the process as John took a sip, the spicy liquid smooth despite the burn.

"I'm working with John on a smithing job, that's why he's in town."

Harki talked, turning away from them to ladle stew into two bowls, one comically larger than the other. "Well ya came to the right man, John, Artemis here's the best smith in Salvar," he finished, returning to the two with filled bowls and spoons.

John looked at his stew, seeing thick chunks of meat, carrots, and potatoes, among other vegetables and thick with spice. He closed his eyes, breathing in an aroma that he hadn't savored in over a decade. Memories flooded his mind, of his wife, of his life before his banishment. A smile came, unbidden to his face as Artemis spoke.

"I was thin-"

John interrupted him, making a shush sound, and spoke slowly. "I have not had proper reindeer stew in fifteen years."

The half-giant breathed in again, closing his eyes as he turned the aroma over in his mind. It was dark, even the smell of good reindeer stew was dark and heady, and the brawler lifted a spoon to his lips, taking a chunk of meat with it.

The flavors assaulted him, the soft texture of the meat mingling with the spices of the stew perfectly, and John groaned, instinctively smacking his hand on the bartop.

"DAMN that is good!"

Harki turned at the noise, and John pointed at the stew, speaking quickly before raising his spoon again.

"I'll need another one of these in a second."

Minutes turned to hours rather quickly, with Harki sharing gossip with the two reunited friends and Artemis sharing some of his own jokes and stories that he hadn’t recounted in some time. Laughter came easily, and even John found himself chuckling on occasion and telling a few innocent stories of his own. The pot of stew diminished greatly as the big man ate to fill his enormous frame.

“Aye, ye can definitely eat,” Harki said after at least a half dozen large bowls had been consumed. “Then again, rather it get eaten than wasted, and I thank ye for the compliment!” He laughed through his thick charcoal beard, speckled with grays and so dense that you couldn’t even tell when he spoke – only that his beard would wiggle and sound would come out. He stood polishing mugs, as he always did, and eventually decided to leave the lads alone as dinner time dwindled. “Well, I’ll clear the tables while we wait for the evenin’ scene to set in. You two can enjoy a bit of peace for a bit.” With that he sauntered off and got to work, leaving the two smiths side by side with an empty tavern.

“So,” Artemis began, turning on his barstool to face the man and leaning an arm against the countertop. He ran a hand through his short dark hair and then scratched at the scruff of his beard. “You wanted some work done. What exactly do you need made?”

John reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a small diagram, elegantly and precisely drawn with intricate detail and dimension. “A sword and shield, with unique properties.” Artemis reached for the designs, scanning them and carefully calculating in his mind, recalling the bag of materials that had been dropped on the counter back at the forge. “The issue isn’t the metalwork, but the inscription. I have a client in need of a binding that can link a sword and shield, so they share impact in a way.”

“Interesting…” Artemis said quietly. “For someone who says he doesn’t do intricate, this is quite well done. But why do you need me?”

“I tried and it didn’t work. I hoped you had some insight.”

Artemis laughed at John’s answer, but never let his eyes leave the design. He noticed a second page and gently slid it out and scanned the inscription. Suddenly he understood what he meant by intricate. The markings were fine, elegant, stylized, and overlaid. This type of work took patience and precision that a only true craftsman could do, and a steady hand at that. Given Artemis’ entire life, combat included, revolved around precision, John’s presence made all the more sense – and the compliment of trusting him sank in a bit deeper. “I think I can help with this.” He said finally with a nod. “Let me look over these for the night so I can be ready for our work tomorrow. But before I turn in and the evening crowd arrives, I did have one question.” Artemis took a look at Harki, dropping his voice so even his trusted friend wouldn’t hear. “The mark on your back – it stayed even through your armor. I didn’t expect that. What does it mean?”

John looked at Artemis, gauging what to say to man. He did not want to lie, but he also felt there were some things he could not share with anyone, no matter the relationship. He glanced down at his whiskey, swirling it before taking a large gulp.

Into the silence, Artemis continued. “The mark looks familiar in a way, though I can’t explain it. I met a man not long ago on the west side of the mountains that split Alerar from Raiaera. I think his name was Vincent. He ripped his shirt off at one point in the fight and he had a mark on his chest. A crown over the number four, but in symbolic numerals – IV I think it was.”

As Artemis made his rather pointed inquiry, John wasted a few seconds drinking a sip of his whiskey, thinking up the words as he swallowed.

"Don't know. Queer stuff, it is," he said, holding up a hand. It looked statuesque, in the most literal way. Every tendon, every vein on his hand was there, coated in mysterious metal, mobile as quicksilver and strong as titanium. It defied logic.

Hopefully it also repelled Artemis' question.

Artemis looked the metal over as he raised his hand and furrowed his brow like John had countless times himself. But, no amount of staring would give either man the answers they sought.

"Regardless of that, we will have time for my armor later. For now let's focus on this," he said, finishing his whisky.

"Agreed," Artemis responded simply, and gave a curt nod as John stood from his twin bar stools.

Harki spoke pleasantly as John returned his cup. "Be sure'ta stop by again before you go, I'll give you some stew to go, friend!"

John smiled weakly, bowing his head a little as he thanked the kind dwarf.

A flight of stairs and two hallways later, and he was in his room. The bed was too small, but that happened all the time. John huffed, wishing he could bring his bed with him wherever he went. He smirked as the thought of buying padding for his shield crossed his mind. Either way the bed wasn't getting any longer.

He laid down, his feet hanging off the bed and resting on the floor, feeling the beams creak under his weight as he relaxed his breathing and waited until morning.

Artemis watched John ascend the stairs, wondering what weight so heavily bowed the big man’s shoulders. The goodness in the giant’s heart could not be questioned, but a dark cloud loomed. Artemis’ thoughts lingered on the point as he sat at the bar, his finger tracing a knot in the wooden surface. He sipped at a freshly steeped cup of tea and let the comforting noise of the tavern fill his ears.

“Interesting fella, yer friend,” Harki spoke, polishing mugs behind the counter again. “John, was it? Might his surname be Cromwell?” The black-bearded dwarf’s eyes showed an equal mix of concern or compassion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked, why?” Artemis sat up, looking at Harki more intently.

“Heard a story, near a decade ago. Lad named John fell in love with a noble lass, Katherine Irillien, and though she felt it too, it didn’t turn out so well for the two. Another man, fella named Flint Bard, felt slighted and went after ‘em. Killed the lass and their daughter, and the achin’ husband went on a rampage. Went murderin’ the lot in their castle; killed near a hundred men they say – clean sweep. Not one left standin’ that day but John Cromwell.” Artemis’ brow furrowed at the dwarf’s story, his gaze turned back to the steps. Given what he knew of the big man, imagining him clearing a castle alone didn’t seem all that unreasonable – especially if he’d lost a wife and daughter.

“Just might be one in the same,” Artemis said softly, though loud enough for the dwarf to hear. “I’m gonna head to my room. Get some rest before our work tomorrow. Thanks for the stew and tea, as always my friend.”

“O’course lad. Whatever ye need.” They exchanged a nod and Artemis left the noise of the common room, climbing the same stairs John had and finding his own room – his home. He stepped into the small room and locked the door for the night. His bedroom was small, enough to fit a bed for one with the necessities – though finer necessities than the average room. After all, having Daros as a friend meant the wizard would create some useful niceties.

He stripped his gear and set it against the wall, then washed up at an enchanted basin, whose water was always lukewarm and clean. He sponged off the sweat and grime of his body, the magic diligently cleansing his skin and leaving a pleasant floral scent behind. He rinsed his mouth, a glowing lime-colored liquid that Daros had assured Artemis would keep his teeth and gums healthy, and refilled anew every day. He spit it out into the small commode he used as a toilet – also enchanted to stay clean, fresh, and empty. He’d truly come to appreciate the benefits of having an artificer as a friend – even if it did come with its risks.

When he finally lay within his soft comfortable bed, head resting against the firm support of his pillow, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

’Artemis, we must speak. Come to my study.’ Artemis sighed deeply as the sentient item called out to him – currently in the form as a bracer upon his wrist. He felt the gentle tug, an offering from Judicis to enter his realm, so he closed his eyes and let his consciousness travel into the artifact.

When he opened his eyes, he sat in a comfortable lush armchair facing a fireplace. Within a twin armchair sat Judicis, his groomed elderly frame donning an immaculate black suit as per usual. A small mahogany coffee table, set with a fine porcelain tea set, served as a shared space between the two. The walls were lined with bookshelves, with an endless black void reaching up endlessly in place of a sealing. Artemis wore his normal attire once again – the realm of Judicis filling in the blanks with the young man’s memories and expectations.

Artemis leaned back into his chair, looking across at Judicis expectantly. “I’m calling you in out of respect for John, and for his privacy.” He spoke with an accent of nobility, and his demeanor always exhibited class and authority. “It has to do with the mark you asked about that he pointedly avoided speaking on.”

“The fist within the shield? That I could see through the armor?”

“Precisely,” the suited man answered. “I thought it curious when we first encountered the mark of the man by the Alerar mountainside, but chose to brush it aside more as coincidence. I am familiar with the markings and their meaning to some extent, but the presence of John’s as well leads me to believe this is not mere coincidence. The two men are connected in some way.”

“Connected how? That in itself doesn’t matter too much. Do the marks mean they are part of some sort of guild?” Artemis reached down for a cup of tea, raising the porcelain cup to his lips and sipping on the rich floral brew; it was more a mental pleasantry than a physical experience, but what did that matter?

“It is a group known as the Tarot, or so I believe. I can’t be certain, as they have not operated in millennia from what I know. Their motives and behaviors cannot be defined in simple terms, but they do have operations that can fundamentally alter the world – or so that is the pattern. It is hard to anticipate how their current manifestation relates to the origins that I speak of.” Judicis leaned back, crossing his legs. “The man you met in the mountains – his symbol included a crown. If my deduction is correct, that means he is likely the leader – or the ‘Emperor’ so to speak. If I were to guess John’s role, I would guess he represents Strength.”

“What does this mean for me exactly?” Artemis asked. “How do their operations affect me? After all, John is just a friend, seeking help on a project.”

“Indeed,” Judicis conceded. “I thought you’d like to know, as their existence may come to matter more to you than it does now. In the meantime, I suppose you should get some rest. If you’d like, I’ve set aside the designs here as well for you to study in more detail without prying eyes.” He gestured to a small lectern set behind where the men sat. Artemis nodded in gratitude, moving toward the lectern across the elegant rug beneath them. He sat at the desk, reviewing the documents, observing the intricacies.

“Who is this client of yours,” Artemis thought out loud, “and is he too part of this Tarot?”

John woke slowly, reaching up to drag a palm down his face, as if to push the dust off his head. An eye cracked open to see the light from an early morning streaming through a window, illuminating the room in soft yellow light. His hand found the edge of the bed and helped him right himself; he patted his knees, which ached from hanging off the too-small bed.

Not gonna get any easier until I move my ass, the half-giant mused as he reached down for his pack, standing in spite of his soreness. His shoes lay close to the window, and as he looked out on the now-waking city of Knife's Edge, his normally stern brow softened. He raised a silvery hand to the windows, lightly dusted with frost, and thought for a moment, his oversized shoes forgotten on the floor. Even here, a country he once called home, he felt removed from normalcy. The glass window was an adamantine sheet, separating him from a life he once knew, his gauntlets a constant reminder that a normal life was unattainable. Images of his late wife flashed in his mind.

He'd seen to his own banishment easily enough, and now paid his comeuppance every morning.

He tapped the window lightly, almost to reassure himself that it was just that, a simple piece of glass, before looking down, desperate for a distraction.


"Shoes," he said to himself as he realized he was still barefoot, and knelt down to lace up his custom-made boots, aiming to be at Artemis' forge soon, his woes nearly but not entirely forgotten by his thoughts of work.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He ducked under the doorway of the Norlond Forge again, seeing Artemis already tending a glowing pile of embers, his shadow flickering as he pulled a rope connected to the bellows, turning the coals with a poker. He looked up and waved, stepping away from the fire and toward the counter.

"John! I think I know what's wrong with your sigils, friend," he reached over the counter to the lowered one behind it, grabbing two papers. He held them up, pointing at a pair of sigils on the sword. "These transfer the magic from the shield to the sword, right? And let me guess, the spell energy transferred blows out the sword close to the hilt, where the sigil is, yeah?"

"Yes, that was the issue," John said, scratching his stubble as he wondered where Artemis was going with it all. The sigil placement was correct, at least in theory.

"See, that works for small stuff, but what's happening is you're getting the transfer, you're containing it, and you're transferring it into usable energy by the sword, but you're not letting it GO anywhere. The sigils work if the energy is coming from the person wielding the sword, but if you're getting the source from somewhere else, it's gotta be used along the LENGTH of the blade, which means..."

Artemis pulled another paper out, this one with a few additions.

"We need to put additional transfer sigil clusters here, and here," he continued, pointing at the thing with his other hand along the length of the drawn blade, "and it'll transfer in a linear fashion, and not just on one point. See?"

John reached for the paper, examining the sigil collections more closely for errors that Artemis may have made in the transcription. They were as flawless as his theory, and certainly would help the energy transfer. The smith had even included a few well-placed containment runes that would keep the sword from exploding, as the other had done.

"It looks good, Artemis, thank you," he said, grasping his bag and pulling out a bar of Titanium. The metal was covered in runes. "We shouldn't need to change any sigils on the raw metal, so we can get right to work."

"Excellent," Artemis responded, clapping his hands together, "The forge's about up to heat, so we can start soon."

The poker Artemis left in the fire had heated up, and now glowed orange in the coals. He spoke, walking over to a wall of tools. "Damn, let me grab the tongs."

"Don't bother," John said, using a gauntleted hand to reach into the fire, grabbing the poker and pulling it out. He turned to Artemis, feeling no heat from the fire.

"Ready?"

Meanwhile…

Outside of town, a small train of wagons meandered their way along the cold, icy road. A small band of merchants were heading into town looking to pawn their wares onto the “wealthier” city folk. Bearing wild pelts, “freshly” caught fish, and ore from the northern mountains, these merchants had little of note in their cargo.

Aside from one thing that is.

Well, less of a thing, and more of a person. Huddled in the back of the leading wagon, sitting atop a barrel of partially frozen Raiaeran wine, was Vincent Cain. He wasn’t quite sure why he always seemed to wander into this town in a wagon, normally he could just arrive via portal to anywhere he had already been. However, with Salvars borderline fetishistic hatred of magic, such methods of travel were strictly forbidden. Somehow, he still managed to end up sneaking into the town. He could have sailed up the river, he could have taken horseback, or even an airship, but no.

Fate seemed fixated on him always entering via wagon.

“For fucks sake Jormill.” Vince muttered under his breath as he pulled his coat tighter to his body. “We need to have a fucking talk about all of your travel plans.”

“Wazzat?” A large burly man called out from the driver’s seat. “I can hardleh hear yeh under all that chatterin, city boi.”

“I was thanking you for the ride.” Vince exclaimed as he rose from his seat and worked his way up to the front, such a feat made all the more difficult by every bump sending the contents of the wagon sloshing about. “How long until we arrive in town?”

“’Bout an hour.” The merchant grunted as he cracked the reigns slightly. “Maybe two if ole’ derks is at customs. I swear that man makes everything take twice as long as it needs to.”

“Well I can take my leave at the gate.” Vincent muttered shaking his head. He withdrew from the front and found a seat next to a rather large crate, waiting for the merchant to return his eyes to the road before peeking inside. The crate was filled with a long long parcel, some sort of slender metallic object wrapped carefully in sifan silk. Carefully, he extracted his prized and pulled it into his lap, marveling how light it seemed as he unwrapped it.

Sitting in his lap was an arm. Not a human one, but some sort of metallic appendage he’d recovered after a rather fateful excursion in the twilight mountains. It’s mere existence seemed to some sort of fluke, a monstrous mix of magic and science, rivaling some sort of marvel back on earth. It was without a doubt, to some degree, robotic. That alone was a feat beyond anything Althanas should have been able to create. Golemancy was nowhere near this precise of polished, and at the end was another small miracle. In place of a hand, was a strange apparatus that when tensed managed to create some sort of shield. Neither magic, nor science, the very nature of this device eluded Vincent.

He needed to know more, but he also needed an easier way to utilize it. He couldn’t carry an arm around everywhere he went. He needed something more discrete, and John Cromwell was too busy with another order. Vincent needed to enlist the help of someone special.

…

The fact that fate had marked him for testing only made things more convenient. Two birds, one awful trip to Vincent’s least favorite nation in the world.

The hot metal sang its tune like a well-rehearsed symphony to the talented smiths. Though they’d never worked together, their intuitive understanding of their craft allowed them to combine remarkably well. From forge to anvil and back again, the shield they had started with took on its form. Hours had passed while the two worked, giving plenty of time for Bazzak Norlond to come and open up shop. Some customers paused to admire the work before continuing on with their day, but the two men didn’t even notice.

“I have the molds,” John finally said as they entered the last stages of forming the aegis. He placed the nearly complete metal back in the forge and approached the counter where he’d left his bag of materials. He dumped its contents and clanked about, checking the various metal impressions he had brought to find the right ones. “These.” He returned to the forge, setting the marks aside and pulling out the hot metal once more. Artemis carefully positioned the rune-work upon the shield. Then John, to the surprise of Artemis and Bazzak, pressed the impression into the metal using pure strength, like he was cutting cookies out of rolled dough.

“Well, that’s certainly one way of doing it. Can’t say I’d have gone that route.” Artemis laughed at Bazzak’s comment as John carefully separated the two objects, squinting to ensure the details had properly transferred from the stamp onto the shield. “But hey, if it works, it works.”

“It works,” John answered, setting the block aside and dunking the shield to begin letting it cool. “We’ll have to make the stamps I’m missing.”

“Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Artemis said with a smile. “I have some hardwood we can carve the rune-work from. I expect that’ll take some time before we can cast the molding and make the proper stamps. We may as well let the forge cool.” Artemis walked over behind the counter, collecting various blocks of unshaped wood and two sets of carving tools. “The workbench should do.” He returned to John, setting the materials down upon the empty surface set against the wall. Daylight streamed through the window that oversaw the workbench, giving the two men a clear view of their work.

John went back to the design Artemis had corrected, bringing it over to the workbench as well as the impressions that he’d already had. “It seems we’re just missing two. I’ll work on this one.” As John took a block of wood and set of tools, Artemis did the same beside him. To all observers, it would have been an almost comical sight. These two vastly different men, both in love with their work, stood side by side at a workbench in a dwarven smithy of Knife’s Edge; quietly, they carved out intricate rune-work that would impress even the most well-read scholar.

“I’ll be honest, John,” Artemis laughed, pausing from his work, “this isn’t how I was envisioning the end of my week!”

John smirked at the comment, lifting a hand to snap his fingers to conjure a cigar and pop it in his mouth. He lit the tobacco, taking a deep pull as the tip glowed orange like a small forge of its own. Just as he did, the beermug door slid open to the small smithy, and in walked a man that John immediately recognized. “Me either,” he agreed, his eyebrows raised at the unexpected arrival of a familiar face.

“Vincent,” John quipped, looking up from his work. It honestly wasn’t surprising, his Emperor did seem to turn up at the most unexpected and inopportune times.

“John.” Vince quipped back, waving the metal arm slightly in greeting. “You should have told me you were seeing someone else…” He pantomimed a tear falling down his cheek with his free hand. “I’m always open to a good three-way every now and again.” He stopped and turned to Artemis and shot him a goofy grin. “Long time no see good sir.”

“Rush job, Vincent?”

“Well I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else otherwise, now would I?”

“Damn right,” John muttered under his breath, continuing to carve the rune into the wood. Vincent turned to Artemis and waved the robotic arm with a bit of a flourish once again.

“Remember this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I remember you tearing it off of one of those machines like a man tears a drumstick from a turkey…”

John waved the chisel he was holding between the two smaller men. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Vaguely.” Vince responded, a grin on his lips. “We got ambushed in Alerar by a bunch of dudes with some weird tech. I stole an arm and some other materials and have been studying it ever since.” The scholar waved the hand, its robotic fingers flopping about limply. “It doesn’t look like much but when you do this…” the scholar tensed one of the loose rubber ‘tendons’ in the arm, splaying each of the fingers out as suddenly a blue wall of light shot from each digit. “It creates some sort of shield.”

John cocked an eyebrow at the strange contraption. It may not have been magic, but the effect was the same. A shimmering blue barrier appeared between Strength and Emperor. The half-giant looked down at his chisel, wondering just how strong this ‘shield’ was. Without another word, he raised his arm, throwing the tool with considerable force toward it. The barrier let out a loud CRRRRRRRACK, before the makeshift projectile bounced skyward and lodged itself in the roof.

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.”

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.”

“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.”

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."

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.’

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.”

As soon as one of John’s targets had decided to teleport to safety, he had doomed himself, and his boss. Artemis noticed the man's disappearance, while John just continued with his fight. Artemis took the chance to expand his ability's area of focus, seeking the man’s signature and where he'd gone. It did not take long to find where the magic had taken the man, and that would be their destination.

“You know we’re being followed, right?” John asked, the two men wandering deeper into the dark and filthy tunnels of the underground network. His fresh cigar glowed amber as he pulled in deeply.

“Of course we are,” Artemis replied. “Let them. I’d love to see them try to actually make a move on us.” He walked calmly, his eyes taking in their surroundings and collecting information. His steps seemed fluid and easy, moving along the uneven ground toward his mark. The walls were metal and concrete, poorly kept and cracked sporadically. The muck beneath them sloshed and squished as they moved, though neither cared. The powerful pair knew little would threaten them, and with so little room, they would simply overpower any foe that dared impede their hunt.

“Take this back by the way,” Artemis said, tossing the pouch of coins to the big man. “Money is the least of my concerns.”

John caught the coins and pocketed them with a shrug. “If you insist. You won them fairly.”

“Your gamble paid me back in information, which I consider enough. We’re almost there. Try not to make too much ruckus. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be a strength of yours.” As he finished, Artemis reached into a pocket and pulled out his mask and gloves, donning the garments. Every inch of him, even his blades, were as black as night. “If you hear anything, then come in. If you hear nothing, it means everything is fine. Give me five minutes.” With that, Artemis slinked away, his movements suddenly remarkably silent.

John nodded, impressed with the man’s skill. He started counting off in his head, not willing to give more than the five allotted minutes. He took another puff of his cigar and waited. “Fine, but if I hear commotion, I’m coming in regardless.”

Meanwhile, Artemis had moved quickly into action. Two men guarded a steel door, reminiscent of a prison, blocking the way through a stone archway. A pair of arrows of black mist flew through the air, one for each, and they slumped over before falling to the ground. Artemis hastened over, finding a key on one guard’s body and opening the lock. He left the key in the door and moved on.

At the end of the short stone archway, the room opened into a large chamber of stone with vines crawling along the walls and ceiling. The stone and dirt of the ground appeared dry here, with steel grates allowing the water to flow out. The room had simple decor, with torches set throughout and countless crates and barrels all around. They had done well to keep the room orderly and clean, for the most part.

A large communal table sat in the middle of the chamber, with a pair of men talking over tankards of ale. They sat facing away from Artemis, making his work that much easier. In the far corner, off to his right, a man worked on a dais, occupied with his work and hunched over a table.

Artemis could sense the man he’d been tracking, down a hallway to his left, and stealthily continued on his path. He didn’t need to draw any more attention, but he also didn’t want any surprises. The gate guards were far enough out of the way and would stay asleep, but he worried knocking out these three might draw suspicion if someone came in from one of the other rooms while Artemis worked.

Creeping down the hall Artemis began to hear voices arguing in hushed shouts, as though the men were doing their utmost to control their temper.

"And you didn't think that drawing attention to yourself might be a mistake?" one voice asked.

"Drawing attention? Some big man offered a sack of coins for a fight. You expect us to say no? It's not like we're rolling around on beds with silk sheets and stuffed with premium wool."

"What, I don't pay you enough? Suddenly you're unhappy?"

"That's not what I meant," the man said, his voice retreating. "I didn't think . . ."

"Exactly! You didn't fucking think, that's the damn problem. They're probably looking for me right now you ass. Now get the fuck out of here and double the guards, get everyone on alert. I don't want any uninvited guests coming in."

"Yes sir!" the man replied, turning down the tunnel.

"And don't underestimate them!"

The man began to run down the hall, while Artemis had found a small alcove to hide. He activated his camouflage, hiding in plain site and nearly invisible when immobile. The target ran past, and a moment later found himself struck in the back, falling to the ground unconscious.

Artemis moved on, confused as to why his detection ability did not sense the man down the hall who the recently fallen man had been speaking with.

'Better to be safe than sorry then. If he has magical defense, we'll have to do this the old fashioned way.'

Silent and swift justice, invisible to the eye, rapidly advanced on its mark. Within seconds, Artemis had snuck up behind the man, hidden from view, and locked him into a powerful chokehold.

"Shh, just sleep. We'll talk soon."

As Artemis slinked through the shadows toward their goal, John tried to listen for any noises coming from beyond. His mind now at ease a tad, the half-giant noticed the smell of rotting meat and stagnant air. He refused to look down at what filth the ankle-deep water was composed of. One minute passed, then two. He swung his shoulder around, feeling the residual soreness of the dislocation. It wouldn’t hinder his movement much, but it was a little bothersome. After all, it hurt most when he popped it back in.

He counted down the seconds, as promised, waiting for Artemis to return from his excursion. A part of John hoped that time would run out and give him an opportunity to go and have a bit of fun. After all, though Vince had asked him to keep an eye on the applicant and see what he could do, there had been no instruction to stay out of the way. The fight pit had left John unfulfilled, and he yearned for a bit of distraction.

“Time’s almost up,” he mused to himself as he chewed the end of his cigar, taking a deep pull. Just as adrenaline began to trickle into his veins in anticipation, Artemis rounded the corner with a man thrown over his shoulder and seemingly unconscious. His excitement faded as he turned to follow the other smith.

“Quickly, he will wake soon enough. We have to find somewhere that I can speak with him.” Artemis hurried past the half-giant, leading the way to a room John could only assume his companion had already selected. Their steps sloshed through the water, the putrid smell of the sewers ever present though not phasing either man. The decayed state of this underground world made John wonder that much more about the fascinating engineering that ran this enormous city.

“He’s stirring,” John began, noting that their ‘guest’ had began to wake.

“It’s fine, we’re here,” Artemis said, turning abruptly and kicking down a door to a small storage room. The thick wood swung open on its hinges, the dark wood forever damp from the moisture in the air. Artemis sat the man on a large crate propped up against the wall, holding the man’s body up as he regained his awareness.

“Where am I?” the man mumbled as his eyes opened. “Who the hell are you?” His eyes caught John’s and went wide with horror. “I swear, whatever it is, I didn’t fucking do it.”

Artemis’ keen eyes locked onto the shit-brown irises of the Sewer King’s. His filthy black hair was slicked back, so greasy and oily that it looked like the man had just finished a swim; the smell told other tales.

“I have a few questions,” Artemis began, leaning against the wood that their visitor sat upon. “These are easy questions. Just answer truthfully.” Artemis turned and took a few steps away from the crate. “To make it easier for you, I can tell if you’re lying.” As he finished, he turned on his heel, his eyes aglow with gold once again. Though neither of the other men in the room knew what that meant, Artemis could see the pure gray tone of the Sewer King, reflecting an absolutely neutral alignment. There could be no question that the man was not good in the slightest, however, nor was he evil either. This man acted out of convenience alone, neither seeking to help others, nor to harm them. This man exemplified self preservation.

“Wh-what do you want to know?” the man asked nervously, clearly out of his element. Despite often being in control, he realized that these two men were not the type that he could outwit or outmuscle – especially outmuscle.

“First, what exactly does your role as Sewer King entail?” Artemis asked, arms folded over his chest as beside him John puffed a cigar.

“Nothing! I just . . .” He wrung his hands with anxiety, crossing his ankles as though unsure what to do. His whole life had been spent lying and deceiving, yet a little voice within screamed to not make that mistake. Not now. He sniffled and ran his gross hands through his even more gross hair. “I steal,” he sighed. “We have to. There’s no way else to live! If we don’t . . .”

“Don’t rush ahead,” Artemis said, lifting a hand to pat the air. His calm demeanor seemed both unsettling and soothing to the anxious Sewer King. “We aren’t with the authorities. We have other reasons for asking these questions. Now, take a breath. Who do you steal from, and why?”

“Well,” the lanky thief began, running a forearm across his nostrils with another sniffle. “Mostly the nobles. Sometimes merchants. Sometimes travelers. Depends on what they’re carrying.”

“What do you take, and why?” John interjected between puffs.

“Anything that we can take and sell without it tracking back to us. Things we can break down and sell. Metals are the easiest. Money. Jewels. Sometimes we come across magical trinkets, but that work is more dangerous, and I often handle that on my own.”

“What sorts of magical items?” Artemis asked, changing the tilt of his head with a sigh.

“Whatever they’ve got! I’m not picky. I figure out what they do after the fact. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve seen where I live!”

Artemis stared at the man, contemplating his words. The thief’s anxiety never diminished, as he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. “If you didn’t have to steal to survive, would you?” Artemis could see the man stiffen, unsure what to make of the question. It was as though he had never considered it.

“I . . . I don’t know. It’s all I’ve ever . . .” Silence filled the room as the theif’s gaze fell away and he mulled over the question. The doubt was answer enough for Artemis. Theft out of necessity was not the same as theft to cause suffering. Even if the man enjoyed his work, relished in his expertise and the thrill of the task, it did not appear that he had chosen this path. What life would he have found if he’d been born into different times or different means? It was a question that seemed a luxury, and one the Sewer King had never been able to afford.

“What’s your name?” Artemis asked the man. “Your real name.”

The thief looked up, a sad expression on his face. “Melvin. No surname. Just Melvin.”

“Well Melvin,” Artemis began, walking toward the thief. “I have a proposition for you. One you have time to prove me right or wrong about.”

“What’s that then?” he replied nervously.

“Work for us. Put your skills to better use. Prove you’re not a scumbag and that you’re not out to ruin lives.”

“Wh-what?” he asked, unsure what to make of such an offer. “What do you mean work for you? Who are you?”

“That’s an explanation for another to give you. My role here is to judge whether or not you are an evil man, and I don’t consider you to be. Prove it.”

Silent seconds passed as the man’s expression shifted from uncertainty and anxiety to determination, as the opportunity he’d been waiting for his whole life presented itself once and for all. “What do you need me to do?”

“Put your hand on my arm, and John, you too. Let’s get back to Vincent. He will take care of the rest.”

As John walked over, tossing his cigar into the murky water behind him, he put his enormous hand on Artemis’ arm beside the thief’s own. "What about the fight pit? I wanted to have another go," the big man said with a frown. Artemis ignored the comment and closed his eyes and envisioned the Aces High Tavern and Vincent’s office. A moment later, the three of them were standing in that very room, Vincent sitting at his desk as before.

Vince sat at his desk enjoying a nice sweet glass of wine smirking to himself. He had a penchant for sending new Tarot members on difficult missions to prove their worth. It was a bit of a tradition he’d started on his first mission when he’d almost been killed on three different occasions. It was a sort of baptism by fire, and Artemis had caught his eye a long time ago. A man of that caliber needed an exceptionally hard task. He had no doubt it would take at least a solid month before…

CRACK

Vince’s gaze snapped up as suddenly the two operatives were back with a rather squirrelly looking man. A bit of wine sloshed out of his cup as he regained his composure.

“Jesus Christ, is that what it feels like to be teleported in on? God damn.” The scholar exclaimed with a chuckle as he took a sip. “What brings you back so soon?”

“We found the Sewer King,” John replied shortly.

“His name is Melvin.” Artemis replied. “And I think he might be able to serve your cause.”

“Just don’t kill me!” The man squeaked as he sank to his knees. “I’ll do anything!”

Vincent rubbed his chin and raised an eyebrow before taking another sip of this drink. “You took an awfully long time for such an easy challenge.” He mused. “But good work. Leave…Melvin with me and I’ll handle the rest. I’ll contact you with your next mission soon, I have to look through my notes to find something worth your time…” With that he motioned for the duo to leave him with their newly acquired…asset.

“Are you kidd-“ John stopped Artemis’ mid sentence.

“Trust him. He knows what he’s doing.” The Giant grunted turning towards the door. Artemis harrumphed and turned to follow suit leaving the small man with Vincent.

“Mr. Melvin.” Vince cooed as he leaned forward. “Do you believe in Fate?” The rougish man looked up at Vincent skeptically at first, unsure at where this was going.

“I only believe in coin…” he muttered trying to sound brave.

“Shame.” Vincent replied standing up and cracking his neck. “But I suppose you will come to learn. Walk with me, let me tell you exactly what happens when people’s fate cross paths with mine.” He let out a small chuckle. “You’re destined for so much more than you could ever accomplish Mr. Melvin, and I’m going to show you.”

Redford receives 1475 EXP and 110 GP
SirArtemis receives 1910 EXP and 110 GP
Cards of Fate receives 530 EXP and 60 GP (Inc 10% bonus)

This workshop will now be submitted for review by your peers!

All rewards added!