Garzha bicep bulging, lifted her daughter up and over the ledge, as easily as one might a sack of potatoes. Her top knot was cinched tight by a scarlet band; she wore dusty brown scout's armor, orcish runes stamped into the rim of each piece – one single spiked shoulder guard, a matching scarlet. Her rune-mark was a sleeve covering her sword arm – visible beneath her vambracers.

  Garzha still wore a grin as she looked her daughter up and down. Before she could speak, Meen-Tra cut her off, “My party! They are trapped below –”

  Garzha raised an eyebrow, moving to peer over the side. As she did, DG4 zoomed up from below, their lights running.

  Meen-Tra, a look of surprise, “DG! What – is the team ok? What happened, where –”

  Two bodies, one in a duster, the other short, cute, and pink, fell from the air – beneath DG4.

  Silence. The two did not look good, both unconscious, Garzha knelt by their side – no questions asked. “They should be fine, probably. Let's get them up to the guild outpost. Looks like they fell into a pit trap. Sleeping spell, keeps them knocked out, until a cube can jump in behind and…”

  Garzha stood, eyeing the flyer. Meen-Tra stood dumbstruck, her mouth hanging open, as she looked up – “DG! What happened to you?

  DG4 had undergone a drastic transformation: gone was the simple canvas balloon; in its place, shining emerald scales, living armor as if a dragon of legend had gifted the little flyer a new armored coat. Their cockpit window was blacked out, and beneath it stretched the head of a monster, a figurehead as dusky as its wings, folded back slightly as it glided through the air.

  Meen-Tra’s eyes wide like saucers, “Is that – Pat, w-what…” She stammered, Pat had – integrated? Into DG4, the old basket and its soft netting were gone, replaced by a chain-link harness adorned with bones (toad and bat skulls) and feathers painted crimson and orange, clearly cut from mithril links. Tubes of plas-glas snaked from Pat up and around the basket’s chains before penetrating DG4’s scales beside angled ducts, which swiveled in all directions as the flyer held in position. The cute flyer was gone, and in its place was a fearsome craft of myth and legend, the last detail a stubby fin wiggling back and forth like a cub's tail, centered at the top of the balloon.

  Pat answered nonchalantly, “We leveled up.”

  Garzha put her arm around her daughter, “Are these your new friends, dear? Why haven’t I met them yet? They're adorable and quite powerful too — a spatial transport capable of sustaining life? That's a high-level skill, dear. I can only think of one or two shamans capable of the feat in all of the swamp.”

  Meen-Tra’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. DG4 gave an ascending whistle, its top fin momentarily halting as it spoke, before continuing in its aggressive wagging.

  A jointed black pole extended from where Pat’s neck should be; it was tipped with a power glove – black leather fingers and reflective polysynthetic knuckle pads – the glove clenched, giving a thumbs up, “Could we get some help carrying these two? DG4 says his skill has expired, and we won’t be able to transport anyone for a fortnight – Hmm, oh we can still carry bags and supplies of course, but their [Emergency Evac] is on cooldown.”

  Meen-Tra shook her head, “You and DG – can – speak?”

  For an answer, Pat reaffirmed their thumbs up.

  Garzha released her daughter, stooping to pick up Draven’s slumbering form, she effortlessly slung the lanky orc, duster and all, over her shoulder, “Grab the mecha daughter.”

  Meen-Tra's head was spinning as she lamely spoke under her breath, gently cradling Mitzy, “You know what she is?”

  Garzha laughed, “Oh, sweetling, you haven’t read your histories at all, have you. That's crafters for you, if it doesn’t concern their next item build, it doesn’t concern them, at all.” Garzha shook her head as she exited under the dungeon's arc, its runes glowing dimly in the light.

  The Wayfarers outpost wasn’t far from the dungeon's entrance, situated atop a small hill. The entrance itself was nothing more than a small cave mouth, cut into the rock, positioned between two flat stones that leaned up against one another.

  Garzha led them to a long rectangular container with windows spanning its length. It was a synthetic building, easily assembled from paneled sections, capable of fitting into an explorer's satchel. Its tan panels were weather-worn, and windows of plas-glas were covered in dust and silt. A crooked sign extended from two poles, off the side of the structure, the rectangle surface spelled, ‘Wayfarer’s Guild,’ down its length, in the flowing system script, seen across Murkspire.

  Across the top of the outpost, mana crystals were housed in totems of carved titan bark. Their short forms and stubby wings marked them as shamanic, as crystal blue runes painted across their surfaces burned in the day's swamp light.

  Garzha kicked open the front door as Meen-Tra followed along behind. They were greeted at the entrance by a zeppelin, which, at about half the size of DG4, eyed the sleek, verdant flyer, clearly apprehensive.

  Garzha slung Draven across a worn, torn couch, made a spotted mire mander hide, of black and tan, before tucking a pillow beneath his head, “He’s cute, dear. How long have you two been dating?”

  Meen-Tra spluttered, “Dating – I’m not, we, I – we just met. And that's not –”

  Garzha nodded, as she stood looking down on the slumbering orc, “Ahh, I get it. It makes sense you’d go for the gnome. She’s an ancient race, powerful too! I like where your heads–”

  Meen-Tra squared her shoulders, “Mother, can we not?” She rested the gnome at the foot of the couch, carefully laying her head against the armrest.

  DG4 landed on a shelf, designed for flyers to rest and recharge from the ambient mana. Garzha strode to a desk in the corner before taking a seat and kicking her bare feet up on the desk. She gripped her fists behind her head as she spoke, “So, daughter of mine, care to explain what you were doing in a nomad-ranked dungeon? You with no rank, and a workshop-bound crafter to boot?”

  Meen-Tra stomped over to a large, lumpy sack stuffed with dried tar pellets and plopped herself down, the bag's form molding to her shape, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She crossed her arms and stared out the far window.

  A buzzing whur from DG4’s shelf, as spider legs (matte black, bolted at the joints, needle-like feet, and elbows) unfolded from beneath Pat’s helmet, instead of the black pole arm. Throughout this process, DG4 slumbered like a bird atop its egg. Pat’s eye triangles went to the top of their visor. “The little guys tuckered out; it seems like the transformation and the use of the transport skill really drained his mana crystal.”

  Garzha raised an eyebrow while Meen-Tra just turned her head to stare out the other window.

  Pat continued, “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, I – we, only just met your daughter, she rescued us from the spirit veil. Apparently, she has magic toes? Or was it the sandals? I don’t know, I’ve only just arrived here myself. Possibly as part of the new VR streaming service, my provider is really pulling out all the stops. It's a rapidly changing market, as new, more advanced forms of AI emerge every day. Boy Rondale is really going to have to shift their–”

  Garzha threw a feather pencil, hitting Meen-Tra in the forehead. Meen-Tra wrinkled her nose, rubbing the sore spot, as Pat continued their ramblings. “Daughter dear, you’re going to have to speak up at some point or another. I know you like to hide things from me, but this seems–”

  A loud, high-pitched groaning ascended into a squeal, as Mitzy awoke, stretching their arm, as the dish atop her head began a slow rotation, light pinging sounds emanating from its smooth folds. Mitzy opened her eyes slowly at first, then paused, reached down a hand, before flipping a boot-heel switch, plucking the last gumball from her candy cryo. She rubbed the sand from her eyes with one pint-sized fist, as she looked around the room, loosening the gum in her mouth, until she could gather some momentum in her tired jaw.

  A slow smile spread across Garzha’s face at the absolute cuteness. Meen-Tra just sighed. Mitzy seemed content to chew her gum and stare at the wall, as she allowed the sucrose particles to work their way into her system.

  Meen-Tra looked down at her sandals as she spoke, “I got an ultra-rare when I received my class. I never spoke of it, because I didn’t know what it did. Recently, I found out.

  Meen-Tra looked down at her sandals and indicated them with an open fist. “These sandals were a creation of my skill. I crafted them after using my skill on an albino blood fly whisker. Imagine my surprise when the sandals turned out to be cursed. Heh…” Meen-Tra sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck.

  It was Garzha’s turn to sigh, “Daughter of mine, I’ll skip the lecture, since it's obvious where you went wrong. It's not like I haven’t been preaching about the importance of consulting with an elder shaman before testing out ultra-rares, especially one that requires an ingredient as rare and dangerous as an albino blood-fly.”

  Mitzy's eyes were open wide as she moved her head around the room, her expression blank, her brain still mostly asleep.

  Pat stopped their ramblings, “We did get a final quest update, in case you’re interested.”

  Garzha snapped another pencil as she glared daggers in her daughter's direction. “A quest – Meen-Tra, this is –

  Garzha looked to Pat as they shuffled their legs, the weight of Garzha’s levels bearing down on them, “What was the reward?”

  Pat replied, “A party interface – seems handy, although I’m not loving the colour scheme, it looks like a Marvel Movie and a Yahoo News feed got into a fight, gave up, and let a twelve-year-old finish the designs. Did I ever tell you two about the application apocalypse of the –”

  Mitzy, eyes foggy but mostly awake, piped up, “Don’t worry about Pat; high-level skills warp the minds of constructs like them. I’ve seen it before.” Mitzy snapped her arm claw as she blew a bubble.

  The ground beneath them shook, as if gravity were giving way; windows rattled, and Pat danced on the shelf, trying to keep from falling. Draven bolted upright as he shoved his sandals in Mitzy's face.

  As the shaking stopped, a roar followed in the ensuing silence, the sound coming from the direction of the dungeon's entrance. It thundered across the rocky surface, silencing monsters across the Broken Lands.

  Garzha casually sucked the broken half of a pencil. “Right, I almost forgot to ask – what did you and your team awaken down there, daughter dearest?”

  The sound of rock tearing, like a cacophony of titan trunks snapping, was joined by another quake in the ground as the outpost shook. Garzha walked to the window, looking in the direction of the dungeon’s entrance.

  Half of the hillside fell away, crumbling into rock and debris, as a cloud of sand and dust swept into the air. For an endless moment, the outpost's occupants stared into the haze, the only sounds coming from the rock as it slipped and slid down the broken hillside.

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  A gust of wind shot from the fallen hillside, pushing the cloud of haze out in a gout of air. All except Garzha flinched as another roar followed in the wake of the burst.

  The land came to life. Except it wasn’t the rocky hill, bursting forth in an imitation of a dragon. It was a colossal worm. Inky black chitinous fingers, a grown bearkins length, squirmed along its body as it dove from the ruins of the hillside before crashing into the sand below. The ground parted like the still waters of the marsh – the beast, a miasma of power, slithered beneath, a trail bulging above in its wake – it headed straight for the zone line and the soft bog soil.

  Garzha looked to her daughter, a smile on her face, “That looks like fun.”

  Meen-Tra kicked a rock from her path as they crossed over the border back into swamp territory. Unlike the bog in and around Murkspire, the party's new direction, a series of small tribal villages on the outskirts of Grumakh territory, was off the beaten path. There would be no roads to tread or signs to follow.

  Draven angrily swatted at vines as he led the party into the deep bog’s rich and dense foliage, the very aether vibrating with life. The new party: Mitzy, Meen-Tra, Draven, and DG-Pat slogged their way through dangerously damp ground.

  Mitzy was dashed in and out of sight, criss-crossing their trail, as she explored the tapestry of flora on display, “I’ve not seen such plant life! There, look over here! My dish indicates levels of sucrose packed beneath these violet petals, like – like, the lands of the fey!”

  DG4 gave a sharp, excited whistle as he hovered between Meen-Tra and Draven, his fin wagging. This was all very exciting for them!

  Mitzy had been backed into a corner by her mother – true, it had been the fault of a district-spanning dragon worm, but still – this was all Garzha’s fault! Mother had insisted that she, Meen-Tra the craft-orc, take her new ‘party,’ Meen-Tra did air quotes, as she scrunched up her face, in mockery of Garzha’s Wayfarer lingo. Ever since she was a grunt, her mother had spoken about the joys of exploring and bonding with one's party.

  Meen-Tra couldn’t help but feel like fate conspired against her as she touched her titan-mark. As Meen-Tra ducked under a branch swinging widely from another of Draven’s tantrum swats, a crazed Mitzy broke out of the foliage, her eye wildly spiraling, “Team! This way, I’ve found – you’re not going to believe this!” So saying, she spun around and darted back the way she’d come, leaving a small hole in the dense, verdant brush.

  DG4 whistled in excitement as Pat cried out, “Wait, you're going to scratch my helmet. I can’t be introduced to new people, looking like I’ve just been dragged through the swamp. Even though technically, we are dragging ourselves through a swamp. It's still best to put your best visor forward. And anyway–”

  Meen-Tra sighed, ignoring the helmet; they were really going to need to see a shaman about them. It was too late for Pat, as DG4 dove like a bearcub on the trail of a fenstalker hive, thoughts of honey baths dripping in their head.

  Draven's finger runes burned as he fished a small rectangular case from his pocket. Garzha had let the brooding orc raid the outpost's supply of rollies. He popped the small stick, traced with intricate runes, into his mouth before saying, “I’ll wait here.” Before blowing a thick smoke ring in her direction, only for it to be split in half by a swinging vine. Meen-Tra shook her head before hiking up her qipao and dipping her sandals into the damp brush.

  Ahead, she could hear the crazed laughter of an out-of-control addict. As Meen-Tra broke into a clearing, Mitzy was appearing and re-appearing in a mad dash from stem to stem, as she eagerly stuffed mallows into her endless pocket, “You're here, hurry up, come and help – before we’re discovered! This is a mithril mine – the amount of sugar packed into these scrumptious orbs of the heavens is –” Mitzy’s head turned, her eye spiraled in reverse, “Meen-Tra, get over here, help me load up – where is that dirigible!”

  DG4 let out a low moan, clearly worried about their party's leader.

  Meen-Tra spoke up, “Mitzy, those mallows, ubiquitous in the swamp; they grow like weeds here.”

  Mitzy shook her head in denial, “Th-thats impossible, why, why – if that were true, you’d have infinite candy here. Infinite!”

  Meen-Tra stood arms akimbo, “Mitzy Bubblesnaps, get out of the mud right now. We have more mallows in these swamps than there are blood flies in the hivelands!”

  Mitzy paused, mud and muck oozing from between palm and claw. The mecha-gnome’s eyes slid from their hands to the soil, and the dark green tufts of stock shooting from their soopy contents, “But, Meen-Tra, I-please.”

  Meen-Tra set her jaw, “Let's go, we have a long journey ahead of us. There will be plenty more beats to collect along the way.” So saying, Meen-Tra grabbed the mech by the elbow and all but dragged her away from the patch of ground. DG4, despite Pat’s protests, swooped down to collect a few roots, refusing to leave the ground until Pat used their arm to collect a few mallows and add them to their dimensional pocket.

  Meen-Tra exited the brush, dragging Mitzy behind, who couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the direction they’d come. Draven raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  Meen-Tra released Mitzy before gesturing for the mech to take the lead, “Candy.”

  Reluctantly, Mitzy walked towards Draven’s position, her head dish swivelling as it stayed locked on the trove of beats. “This swamp is an absolute treasure trove, Draven. I don’t know why you're always brooding. You have access to infinite candy.

  Mitzy shook her head as she walked up to the leather-clad orc, tapping her foot patiently. She waited for Draven, who stared back down at her, a blank look on his face. Mitzy tapped her shoulder, “Are you gonna make me ask? It's considered rude in my culture to ask – but, should you–” She again gestured to her shoulder, with an open palm, while raising her eyebrows.

  Draven, the insightful, got down on one knee, eager to escape the awkwardness. Mitzy hopped up, “Wonderful, now perhaps you can tell me more about this swamp, and this mission we’re on.”

  DG4 took up position behind Draven as Meen-Tra followed up the rear.

  Draven, less pouty now that he had a passenger, spoke up, “We’re headed into the deep swamp. The area is full of orcish tribes, who maintain traditional lifestyles.”

  Mitzy materialized a bite from her side pocket, before snapping off a byte. She spoke around a mouthful, “Oy shee,” The mecha wiped their face, before finishing the rest of the mouthful, “And what is tradition for an orc? Where I’m from, we don’t have any. Barbarians, yes, they are also a tribal people, tattooed, large and brooding – kind like you, actually.”

  Draven sighed, “I’m not brooding.” he thumbed his finger runes as he continued guiding the party around quagmires, across patches of firm soil (firm in this case meant, not sinking up to your ankles), and through areas dense with brush, your skin constantly crawled, for fear of bugs and spiders traveling from branch to clothing.

  Pat chimed in, “DG4 says you are.” The flyer added two short ascending beeps in confirmation.

  Meen-Tra wondered aloud, “You seem to know the trail well, Draven. Are you from the Tribelands? I’m a city orc myself – kind of, Garzha lived a nomadic lifestyle, her way of staying in touch with our roots.”

  Draven, who was definitely not brooding, replied, “Grumakh.” Mitzy was happily munching away on her mallow, dark red juices running down her chin.

  Meen-Tra nodded, “Really, it's rare to see a believer of the shelled ones venture so far from home. What brings you – actually, where did you come from?”

  Mitzy sucked juices from stained fingers, “Yeah, you never told us why you were down in the heart of that dungeon. Or why we were tasked with saving your life, the system was adamant about that.” Finished cleaning herself, Mitzy stared at the side of Draven’s bald head. Studying her reflection.

  Draven pulled out his rune-stick case, “Honestly, I don’t know what I was doing there. Following DG4, I guess. We were headed to a Wayfarers guild, to see about becoming explorers.”

  Mitzy picked at her teeth, “Uh huh, and then what happened? Where was your party?”

  Draven took a long inhale, “Betrayed.”

  DG4 emits a series of animated beeps and whistles. Pat translated, “DG says it wasn’t their fault, they being an orc with a satchel and a hood? I’m not sure, DG isn’t exactly speaking English in here.”

  Mitzy, who couldn’t get a tricky bit of mallow from her teeth, was considering pulling out her light-knife. “What's English?”

  “The language we’re speaking?” DG4 zoomed around ahead of Draven, their jets in reverse, as Pat spoke, “You have trust issues, Draven. I don’t think your teammates betrayed you. DG seems certain.”

  Draven looked Pat in the visor, “It's DG4.”

  Pat’s eyes alternated back and forth between flat lines and triangles several times before they spoke, “DG says they like – flip-flop-guys? Name for them.”

  Meen-Tra’s curiosity piqued, she spoke up, “What are flip-flops?”

  “A kind of sandal, they split the toe, with a single connecting strap.” After Pat spoke, Meen-Tra went suspiciously silent, where moments before she’d been animated. Pat blinked a few more times, as DG zoomed them over to hover in front of Meen-Tra, “How has a sandalmancer never heard of flip flops?”

  Meen-Tra looked anywhere but at Pat, “It's not a design I’m familiar with.”

  “Flip-flops? Really.” DG4 gave two short beeps, “Really, DG confirms it, I guess, it just seems strange to me. I mean, back on Earth, they say Egyptians invented them, so that's pretty old.”

  Meen-Tra shrugged, “It seems like a design poorly suited for swamp life. I mean, those things would just get sucked right off your feet.” Meen-Tra gestured to her own sandals and their calf straps.

  Draven spoke up, “It was odd, Ren, the flip-flop guy. He showed up on my doorstep, broken and bruised. With those strange sandals on his chest, like a gift someone left for him. Ren also came from the outside.”

  DG-Pat swiveled to face Draven before turning back to face Meen-Tra. Back and forth they went until Meen-Tra spoke up, “What? Before looking away.

  Even Draven, the insightful, stopped walking to stare directly at Meen-Tra, “Why are you looking at me like that?” She reached up nervously, touching her titan-mark.

  Mitzy joined in on the party, looking from Meen-Tra’s face now several shades lighter, to Draven’s narrowed eyes, “What am I missing here, Pat?”

  Pat, the helpful, said, “A stranger shows up with weird sandals – a stranger from the outside – Meen-Tra is a [Sandalmancer], which, for the record, what does that even mean? But if it meant anything, surely it would be that Meen-Tra makes magical, mist-parting sandals. That she must have left – Ren was it?” DG beeped in agreement, “So little Miss Sandal foot is keeping secrets from us.

  DG-Pat zoomed over to sit above Draven’s shoulder, as the four of them gave Meen-Tra the stink eye, “Why are you keeping secrets, Meen-Tra? What nefarious plots are you keeping? I can understand you keeping secrets from your Mom, but we are your companions!”

  Meen-Tra scratched the back of her neck, “I, I don’t even know you. We only just met –”

  “Ah Hah! So you admit that you lied to us.” Pat was self-satisfied, flickering their face runes.

  Meen-Tra spluttered, “I didn’t lie, I just. I don’t want to be an explorer, and I don’t want every guild council in the swamp coming after my neck when they learn of these cursed sandals.” Meen-Tra pointed at her footwear.

  Draven crossed their arms, “Then why are you even here? ”

  Meen-Tra shrugged, “Uhm – I, I don’t really know.”

  DG4 let out a sharp whistle. Mitzy spoke up, “That’s not a good reason. I appreciate you pulled us from the mists, but – you’re saying what? A cursed item made you do it?

  Meen-Tra shrugged; she didn’t really have any other answer. Mitzy snapped a claw hand, “If we’re going to rely on each other, exploring the unknown, and facing down monsters, killing separatists – we have to trust each other.”

  Meen-Tra bawked, “Killing a – who? Look, I’m just an artisan. I like leveling in my shop. I don’t want to be out here in all –” She waved her fists in a circle above her head, “this chaos. I’m not my mother.”

  Mitzy sighed, “Look, kid, I appreciate the mother-daughter issues, but don’t you think it's a little late for that attitude? I mean, you crafted an item that literally set you to exploring the unknown – yah know?”

  “I don’t have any issues with my mother; I just don’t like how she acts like I don’t have a choice. Alright, and yes, if I’m being honest, and since my secrets are out, I’d rather not continue.”

  “Leave then, you’ll just betray us, at the first sign of trouble.” Spat Draven.

  Meen-Tra shot back, “And how do I know I can even trust you! You could sell my secret to the highest bidder. I’m sure there are plenty of tribal orcs willing to trade away their precious relics for a shot at fulfilling the wandering prophecy!”

  Draven was clenching his fists at his side, “The Grumakh people are just, and would never force their prophecy on any!”

  “Then why are you flinching like a whipped mire mander, every time your supposed home city is brought up? Or did you think I was too stupid to notice!”

  Draven took a physical blow from that comment, as he staggered in place, before his face screwed up in rage, “You don’t know anything about me, or my people! You would do well to hold your tongue!”

  Mitzy interrupted their shouting match, “Look, kid, I think you're great, honestly. And I’m glad you made those sandals, else I’d be dead. Or worse, the separatists would have their hands on an offworlder, and who knows what kind of technology they might peel from his brain. But if you don’t want to be here, you shouldn’t be. I get that you're scared, and if you're worried – I won't spill your secrets. I can swear an oath, right now – as the last of my kind.”

  Meen-Tra looked away, “That won’t be necessary, I never said I didn’t trust you, it's just, look, maybe I can help better from the city – right, didn’t you say this – Ren, was taken? I’m sure he’s there, right?” Mitzy regretted that last statement as soon as she said it.

  DG4 zoomed over to her, its fin wagging in excitement. Pat spoke up, “Do you really mean it? You’d risk that? To help rescue DG’s bonded?” Pat’s eyes slowly blinked, expectantly.

  Mitzy nodded her head, “It's alright, kid, head on back to the city, we got this, I’ve more than enough levels to carry out this simple fact-finding mission, Draven’s no slouch, and with DG-Pat, we’re unstoppable.” She raised her hand, snapping her claw.

  Mitzy shrugged, “Fine, I can find my own way back, thank you.” And with that, she turned and stomped off in the direction they’d come, leaving nothing but a vague impression of her outline as she pushed through the brush.

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