Eldrin sat atop his throne, nails drumming on the armrest, as he looked into his viewing sphere. He’d watched as some loon – a human, nonetheless – pinwheeled through the air, a stupid look on their face.

  Shortly after the [Dread Sight] had shifted from the shambler's target – an insufferable [Ranger], hurling axes in a futile attempt at staving off its own death – to the mists above, only to tumble onto the ground.

  This had left him with his current perspective, a sideways shot of the ground.

  Eldrin’s throne was made from stone and vine, an aggressive design, more suitable for scaring small children than acting as the seat of power for a Dread Lord.

  This throne, however, was special. The top of the chairback twisted and spun into life – Bergm?nch’s head shaping itself out of the materials, a concerned look on his face.

  The head curved around, on a slender spirit limb, coming into position at Eldrin’s feet, looking up into its master's face. “My Lord, is there something this humble servant might provide for you?”

  The neck stretched, bringing the concerned spirit's face up from the ground, hovering above Eldrin’s legs.

  Eldrin sighed, resting his chin on his hand, “I don’t know, rampaging on the Tribal Plateau hasn’t been as fun as I’d hoped–

  The [Dread Druid] shifted hands, drumming his fingers on the other side of his chair, while doing the same with the fingers on his chin.

  “When can we go to Murkspire – the Keeper’s, I must have my revenge, anything less – bitter fruit!”

  Eldrin slammed his fist down, clenching with the crushing force of an avalanche—movement out of the corner of his eye, drew him back to the [Dread Sight].

  Just in time to see an odd pair of…children’s boots? Walk across the screen. A moment later, as the screen began to fade, a smiling bloody face, mouth full of mettle, a crazy spiraling eye, and some kind of…dish?

  The screen cut out, and Eldrin shot to his feet. He gripped his throne in one meaty celestial fist and hucked the thing across the room.

  Bergm?nch hit the wall like a spider, sticking like a fist full of muck. His face formed up in a swirl of magic and dust. “My lord, what has happened?”

  Bergm?nch popped himself off the wall, landing on bent legs, before scuttling over to the divining basin and jumping to its rim. The servant tended to the liquids, ensuring magical purity, as it poked and prodded various elements visible only to its sensitive eyes.

  “Do not ask such questions, servant! You know well my burdens – I must be away from this place, the Spire…it calls.” Eldrin paced the room, Bergm?nch’s head moving back and forth, tracking their masters' every move. “But, sire, we can’t leave – the seal is—”

  “Daybroke damn you!” Eldrin stopped his pacing, fists gripped to his chest, as he screamed into the air – the sound like a thousand titans' trunks snapping in unison.

  The walls of the chambers shook as Eldrin’s screams echoed across the cavern; crystal golems paused in their endless work, their sensitive bodies vibrating with the power and vitriol of the cry.

  Eldrin slumped into his throne, Bergm?nch slid into place, while his master languished in the throes of despair.

  “Soon, master – soon, once the quest is complete, you will be released – the time is soon,” Bergm?nch spoke in soothing tones, like gravel on stone – repeating the same mantra, as he’d done countless times before.

  Hecate and Spike padded up next to Ren’s prone form, sticking out of the ground like a stick in the mud.

  Spike sniffed at Ren’s snide, licking his hand as he let loose a whining hiss. Hecate slid from the saddle.

  “There yee gew lad – thas a fun skill yee hava got.” Hecate wrapped his arms around Ren, as he dropped in a lunge, his swollen muscled thigh bulging with effort, as he heaved. “Cum on ladie – eeurh–” Ren popped free, in a shower of dirt, as Hecate scrambled back a few paces.

  Propping Ren up against Spike, Hecate gripped one of his many belt axes, “Now wha seems ta be – ahh.

  The grizzled [Ranger] pulled one of his smaller throwing axes from its loop before flipping it around in the air, gripping the axe-head first, and shoving the handle into Ren’s mouth. “Nah gunna stick me harnd in thur – har har.”

  Ren’s eyes told a thousand tales in a moment, as Hecate repeatedly plunged the haft in and out, using Ren’s oral cavity as nothing more than a pestle and mortar.

  “Wecking Mall – Wreakung Bwall–” Ren coughed, expelling dirt and something that smelled suspiciously like bile, “[Wrecking Ball]!”

  Ren collapsed into a pile at Hecate’s feet, coughing in fits and starts. Spike, the ever-helpful, licked Ren’s face before sucking in a mouthful of hair – giving it a few playful chews – just in case.

  Ren flopped over onto his back, arms and legs splayed wide. Spike went back to licking Ren’s face, his long, thick tongue, and its hooked ridges – pulled the wayward bard's face into wet folds of wrinkled skin.

  Ren opened his eyes and looked up into the smiling, bearded face of “Brewgar?”

  Hecate reared back, gripping his belly, as he roared with laughter.

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  Spike kept licking.

  Ren wasn’t having fun anymore.

  Meen-Tra had watched in amazement as Ren left her in the dust. She wasn’t a pushover; she trained, but Ren was faster than anyone she’d ever seen – save for Kythan, who moved like the wind.

  She gritted her teeth, she wasn’t jealous, she was a crafter, it was the path she’d chosen, and she didn’t regret it – not even for a minute.

  Still, the way Ren ran…especially his rear muscles, perfectly sculpted and–

  Meen-Tra gritted her teeth.

  She’d seen the wagon train rolling on the horizon not too long ago. As the distance closed, she picked up her pace, eager to meet up with DG4 and Pat.

  Mog and Nosh rode at the head of the train, their expression calm – like this was any other day, their mounts bounding along beneath them. As they approached, Nosh called out, “Deep roots – I’m Nosh,” he pointed his chin in Mog’s direction, “And this is Mog – you riding with us?”

  The train drew to a halt in a cloud of dust, as wagons rattled and creaked, their beasts groaning and mewling with effort.

  From the back, a shape flipped onto the road, as Camo hoped his way to the front, “Riib, Nice to meet you – I’m Camo, riib.

  The yellow spotted frog doubled over at the waist, one webbed hand in front, the other across his back, in the formal bow of the frogkin.

  “I’m an apothecary – are you in need, mistress…?” He trailed off.

  Meen-Tra pressed her fist to her heart, “Deep roots, Mog, Nosh, Camo.

  She gave a slight bow in Camo’s direction.

  “Thank you, Apothecary Camo, but no, I’m–”

  A flash of jade drew her eyes upward, only for DG4 to zoom down from above – skidding to a halt mid air – their jets flaring, as they spun and bounced. Whistles and beeps preceded the rattling of chains and hoses, as Pat swayed beneath their shimmering, scaled balloon.

  “DG-Pat!” She reached out, taking the flyer in a double-armed embrace.

  “Hello Meen-Tra, it's good to see you again. DG’s been very worried – they say Ren’s ok and Draven too.” Said Pat.

  Meen-Tra backed up, giving the flyer a serious look. “What are we going to do.

  She leaned around Camo and DG – looking over the gathered – what she supposed were now refugees, like so many back in Murkspie – Garzha.

  “Where are we taking everyone? Murkspire isn’t safe.”

  Camo hoped to face in the direction of the rampaging colossus. Meen-Tra shared a look with the flyer – Mog and Nosh sat still, watching their surroundings.

  Meen-Tra bit her lower lip. Murkspire had been chaotic, but with so many high levels and resources – what choice did they have, after all, if Murkspire truly wasn’t safe then…

  Meen-Tra didn’t want to think about it. She patted DG on the balloon before walking around the wagon train, putting on her most reassuring smile. “Hello, I’m Meen-Tra, daughter of Garzha Trailfinder – we’re going to take you all back to Murkspire, but–”

  She explained the situation, trying to cause as little alarm as possible, and mostly failing. There was no good way to explain that a district had fallen, and an ancient weapon rampaged unchecked across the Mire.

  A general feeling of malaise rolled across those gathered around the train. Meen-Tra’s danger sense tingled, and her head whipped around, her eyes locked to the distant shamblers.

  Their rampaging stopped, and as one, the moving mountains turned to face them. It was as if Meen-Tra stood directly before them. She was drawn into the inky black pits of their eyes – they were coming.

  Meen-Tra took a step back, shaking her head; her fingers reached up to touch her titan-mark.

  She set her shoulders, nodding her head in the direction of the zoneline, “We move, with all haste, Pat inform Ren – and tell him to hurry, we have company.” She thumbed over her shoulder, refusing to look in their direction again.

  Camo made their way back into the train, and Meen-Tra joined him, while Mog and Nosh bumped fists, setting their mounts forward, the rest of the train following suit.

  Ren was still lying on the ground when the sweet smell of Draven’s rune-sticks filled his nostrils. Groaning like rusted hinges, the [Echo Runner] peeled himself off the ground, much to Spike's chagrin, who was sure they were just getting to the good flavors – if the veracity of their tongue bathing was any indication.

  “Eauk–” Ren rubbed his face on his shoulder before remembering the utility of his new fit, pulling his hood around to give himself a good scrub. He spotted Draven and made his way over to the duster-clad orc, who stood smoking near a pile of rotting – and, rapidly withering shambler vines.

  Draven looked down into the mess, a smug look on his face, which was for him, practically beaming with joy.

  “Deep roots, Draven!” Cried Ren as he approached, slapping fist to chest.

  Draven looked up from a smoke ring that sprang from his mouth, “Ren.”

  Squeaking mewling sounds drew Ren’s attention to the pile of pink grime and Draven’s feet. Mitzy was covered in dust and blood; the bleeding stopped – her condition was worse for wear.

  Draven started summoning leeches, chucking them at her prone form, with little rhyme or reason as to their placement. “She’ll be fine – just needs a bit of blood, the leeches will do the trick – she’s got healing gumballs.” He pointed a rune-wrapped finger at her jaw, still working vigorously.

  Ren nodded before placing a hand to his ear; comms were coming in from Pat.

  Hecate, Spike, Draven, and Dusty rode out while Mitzy sat astride her new mount. She waved after Draven, as Ren took the lead, “Don’t worry, Drave – you're still my favorite.”

  Mitzy asked to ride with Ren, as he was going to speed ahead and ensure everything was safe with the train, since they were the more vulnerable group.

  “So, Ren, from which land do you hail?” Asked Mitzy around a mouthful of bubble gum.

  Ren distanced himself from the pair of riders as he picked up speed, looking to the distant shamblers – now moving with purpose. “Earth – how about you? And you're a…gnome?”

  “Earth…is that very far?” Mitzy was bouncing her boots as she swirled a pigtail around her finger.

  “Yeah, it's far.” Replied Ren.

  “I see, I see, well it's a pleasure to meet you – and yes, I’m a mecha-gnome actually.” She blew a bubble.

  “That trick you did with the cable was fire – I thought for sure I was gonna die.” Ren picked up speed much faster than before, lengthening his stride and stretching his lungs.

  Mitzy looked down, the ground blurring beneath them, “Wow, you’ve got some speed in ya – don’t you.

  She sucked her bubble back in, in case of bugs – at this speed…

  “And yea, [Gnomish Utility Chord] I never leave home without a field full.” She pulled out a wad.

  “Chill, can I get some? I’ve got one of those spatial storage deals, best part about this place.” Said Ren.

  Mitzy began pulling out lengths of chorde hand over hand, like a clown doing the bottomless pocket full of hankies, “Sure sure, like I said, I’ve got loads of the stuff, it's quite handy – ultra sensitive to the flows of mana.”

  The chord piled up in Ren’s arms. Once finished, the end was cut free with Mitzy’s light knife. Ren disappeared the stuff into his spatial.

  Mitzy sheathed her knife, “So, have you heard of Xylos – the city of infinite mana?”

  Ren shook his head no, “Well, Ren, let me tell you about the biggest threat to the world – and my mortal enemy.”