Tradesdale, a city of commerce, has possibly the most unoriginal name for a city since Townsville. A wide variety of goods flows through the city, from western merlots made by high level [Winemakers] to southern [Slaves] sold by well regarded [Slavers]. Since Tradesdale borders the southern region, it trades primarily in [Slaves], which are sold to the eastern kingdoms to serve in various ways, such as pleasure, labor, or to battle in the many coliseums.

And, within the city, near the center is a massive shopping district where all manner of items are both bought and sold. One such seller by the name of Vrautal perks up as his eyes land on an old friend.

“Graso, over here!” a portly man calls out to a [Slaver] while waving a half-eaten skewer in the air.

Graso turns towards the sound of his name. He sees Vrautal and the [Slaver] quickly perks up. Without waiting a beat, the man weaves through the crowd of people in the trader’s corner to chat with his good friend.

“Vrautal, it’s been a while! Did you level up in your [Trader] class? I heard you pretty easily despite the crowd. Did you get a new skill?”

The [Trader] chuckles. “I did. I’m over level fifty now. I got [Throw Voice] and it works well with my [Pinpoint Buyer] skill. I can yell to anyone that looks like they might buy from me and then I can call them with ease. But, enough about me, how have you been? It’s been, what, two years since we’ve seen each other?”

Graso nods. “Yes, that sounds about right. As for how I’ve been… well, it’s been pretty bad. Trade’s been slow ever since the war between the [Warlord] Dominus and [King] Henceforth started.”

“Huh. Those two are still battling it out?” Vrautal asks.

Graso sighs. “Yes, and it’s gotten a lot worse. In all the nearby towns and neighboring territories have joined in. Every [Slave] is to be given a weapon, trained, and sent out to die like a soldier. All the good product was claimed already. I was barely able to bring a measly thirty with me, and even then, they’re children or elderly; not worth much. I’m just hoping that the demand is high enough that I can make a good profit.”

“Wait, Graso, that doesn’t make sense. Wasn’t the [Warlord] winning? His skills are specialized for war. He should have the advantage.”

“Bah, you always were interested in these stupid wars. I swear, Vrautal, you should have been a [War Trader]. As for your question, if the rumors are true, [King] Henceforth hit level one hundred and got some rare skill that has allowed him to fight [Warlord] dominus on equal footing.”

Graso quickly raises his hand, stopping the [Trader], “Before you ask, I don’t know what the skill is or does. Besides, it’s just some gossip I’ve heard.”

Vrautal pouts for a moment, “Well, do you know of anything else interesting? I think I heard something of a [General] living deep south.”

Graso shrugs, “I’ve heard the same rumor, but I have my doubts. What [General] would live in the south anyways? The whole place is pretty much a low-level graveyard.”

Graso leans on the stall, taking a moment to look over the selection of goods, ranging from furniture and art, to weapons and enchanted items. Graso licks his lips.

“To be honest, the south doesn’t have much of interest for a [Trader]. There are no dungeons, no rare metals, no rare plants, and more recently, there’s a food shortage, which is why the majority of the towns, cities, and villages are turning into [Bandits]. The south has always been a shitty place, but it’s been getting worse” Graso sighs, “But enough about the south! How is it here in central? I heard battles between the west and east have been picking up. Do you think it will turn into an all-out war?”

Vrautal takes the last bite of his skewer, one which has gone cold while he was immersed in conversation.

“War? Absolutely not. The Olympians wouldn’t want war, and I doubt the Asgardians would invade the east either. Especially not with the huge difference in population.”

“Well, that’s good. I dou-”

Graso is interrupted by the ground trembling and the clap of an explosion. Both the [Trader] and [Slaver] regain their posture andlook towards the city entrance to discover the walls in ruins.

“By Thor’s hoary arse, what the fuck is happening?” Graso curses as he stares at the huge hole in the wall.

Another explosion goes off in the center of the trader corner. The fiery explosion kills dozens in an instant. Graso can feel the heat emanating from the nearby fiery crater.

Not a second later, fireballs drop out of the sky like a storm of meteors. They slam into homes, buildings, and populated centers, destroying and burning everything to a crisp. Screams are heard from the citizens as they look for cover, running into homes that wouldn’t protect them one bit.

“Vrautal, what the fuck is happening?” Graso yells, but the plump [Trader] only stares up, not at the falling meteors, but at the winged individuals flinging them with every swing of their swords.

Graso gawks at the fliers as they glide lower and lower, until he’s finally better able to make out their features.

The winged, weapon wielding warriors are women wearing pristine Asgardian armor. On their chest is the depiction of what seems like three interlocked triangles.

“I-I don’t, I don’t know. [Analyze].”

Vrautal’s eyes glow for half a second as he examines the closest winged woman.

The world reacts to his skill, feeding information directly into his mind.

Enerva level 231 [Grand Valkyrie]

“Shit.”

“What did you see?” Graso voices.

Before Vrautal can say anything, the Valkyrie with the largest set of glowing wings speaks.

“We have waited too long.”

The words flow out, sounding across the city. Every man, woman, and child hears her voice.

“With this act, the reckoning shall begin.”

She continues, each sentence punctuated with power. She raises her glowing spear, the tip of which is reminiscent of a lightning bolt. The clouds darken the sky, a shadow looms over the entire city.

“Let it be now!”

The sky turns blacks. The wind howls and the rain pours. Thunder echoes as electricity crackles between the clouds.

“[Odin's Storm]!”

________________________________________________________

Tartarus once served as a prison for those that would not fall to the passage of time, but were useful alive. It was a prison meant to trap the most dangerous of individuals for an eternity, a semi-sentient jail created for the Covens by the [Demigod] Mimir.

Of those that are held prisoner, one is held at the top of Tartarus, at the tip of the tower, and where the most powerful protections are in place.

In the highest room of the tower, behind a thick pane of enchanted glass made harder than adamant, sits an old woman. Her wrinkled and pallid skin does not truly convey the dozens of millennia she has waited. She sits hunched in a chair almost as old as herself, the dust gathering and her still posture making her look like a corpse.

But now, she raises her head. Her empty eye sockets gaze through the glass.

For it is time.

On the other side of the screen, the world cracks. An opening in the fabric of reality forms and a figure in black steps through. Their stygian garb and their dark fur is what she first sees, followed shortly by his tail; However, the old woman focuses upon one item in the man’s possession, a cape within which she can see the starry sky obscured by a black haze.

‘[Cape of Inexistence]’ she thinks to herself, seeing the divine item that grants its holder the ability to create alternate worlds and hide oneself from the eyes of those ever watching. Even the ever constant gaze of the world.

The man studies the elderly woman, or the Panoptic as she is known. He frowns as he scrutinizes the woman three hundred levels higher than himself.

“How did you know I was here?”

The ancient woman slowly stands, joints crack as her body straightens. Unused muscles begin to mend, strengthening her enough that she can move. She takes several steps forward, each more sure than the previous. She stops in front of the glass and taps its surface.

The wall flows down onto the floor as though it were liquid. She smiles, a ghastly thing without mirth. “I am a [Fate Weaver], my dear. It’s much easier to see what will come when you can see the threads.”

The man glances down at the puddle of rehardened glass, a surface that he could never hope to scratch. Even his divine cape, as amazing as it is, would not allow him to enter her cell. All she had to do was touch it.

“No need to spend so long gawking. The timer has begun and we all have a part to play. Now, take me to my mistake, Adam.”

The last sentence she speaks sends a shiver through the man. The cape should render him unidentifiable, but she still knows his name. The man gulps and sends a silent prayer to his goddess Laverna.

“Very well,” he says as he flourishes the cloak. Reality cracks open like a mirror,. within the crack is naught but darkness. He walks into the black and the Panoptic follows.

The gate closes behind them, the only signs of their passage are the melted glass and the empty chair.

___________________________________________________________

Two low-level [Guards] sit atop a lookout tower and stare across a barren expense, looking for either movement or light. They keep an eye out for [Bandits] or [Thieves] that are looking to secretly enter the town or climb the fifteen-foot wooden walls, though it is possible a [Trader] might show up too, despite it being the middle of the night. Several months since anyone of interest has arrived. The only [Traders] that ever get near are from the city Sanavil, and that’s usually to trade food.

Pelmer yawns as he takes another sip of his beer and looks at his buddy who is snoring a storm. He could be joining him, but he doesn’t want to be yelled at again for sleeping on the job. At least, not so soon.

He yawns once more, desperately fighting away sleep, and looks back out at the horizon. There on the horizon he sees a light. A trail of moving trail of flames that, after a moment, appears to be growing larger every second.

“Shit,” Pelmer exclaims as he quickly smacks his partner. “Erson! Erson, wake up you shit! We’ve got something!”

Erson, to Pelmer’s surprise, starts and abruptly sits up. “I wasn’t sleeping, I swear!” he shouts.

Pelmer rolls his eyes and then points, “Oh for- Knock it off and look. Something’s coming! Should we sound the alarm?”

Erson blinks at Pelmer, his bedraggled mind attempting to piece together what Pelmer said. After a moment, he turns his head to follow Pelmer’s finger.

“The fuck is that?” Erson voices.

“That’s what I want to know.”

The two [Guards] watch the incoming trail of flame, the moonlight barely giving enough light for them to realize that something is trailing ahead of it.

“That’s not… That’s not a carriage, is it?” Erson asks, right before they can finally hear it.

“VRRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!”

The two [Guards] look on in a mix of curiosity and alarm as the vehicle nears, the only thing stopping them from sounding the alarm being the fact that the… “cart” is slowing. Eventually, it stops in front of the gate.

They look down, watching in awe as a masked man and woman get off the… carriage? Horse? Magical vehicle? Words cannot describe what they are seeing, but what they can see for sure that it’s a bleached white vehicle with only two wheels.

“Why does it need to make so much noise? None of your other creations make any sound.” the masked woman speaks up as she folds her arms.

“Motorcycles need to make sound! It’s, like, their thing.”

The masked woman’s head tilts, ”What about the fire? Why does it spew fire from the back?”

The masked male points at the vehicle, causing a cane to fly off its side and into his hand.

“Dammit, woman, it’s a Bonecylcle, an undead motorcycle! Of course it needs flames. At least be happy that I forgot to take my chain with me.”

“And the skull mask with the fire enchant?”

The masked man sighs, “Dammit! Fuck, I forgot that too.”

He shakes his head before pointing his cane towards the vehicle. A purple shadow spreads out beneath the man’s feet, extending outwards towards the motorcycle. The darkness moves beneath the vehicle and covers the ground surrounding it.

The two [Guards] stare wide-eyed as the vehicle slowly descends into the shadow, disappearing a second later. The shadow then retracts back to the man and stops glowing.

Erson mouths the words ‘High Level [Mage].’

Pelmer nods, still unsure of how to deal with the situation, especially since they have no idea how powerful the [Mage] is. If they sound the alarm now, they could risk angering the as of yet unknown duo.

With a sigh, Pelmer decides to take a friendly approach.

“Hail, travelers!” he calls down to them “I am sorry to interrupt your conversation, but may I ask what you are here for?”

The masked man turns his head up towards Pelmer, and a chill crawls down his back. The mask looks like a smiling skull, with slight changes to the structure to make it seem almost mocking.

The masked man stares up at the two [Guards], which sends a shiver down their backs as they notice the mask has no eye holes.

The man reaches up, his hand searches around the top of his head, and then he stops.

“Shiiiiitttttt,” he exclaims. “Did I forget my hat too? Dammit!”

The masked female sighs and holds out a hat, “You told me to hold onto it, remember?”

The man looks at her raised hand and snatches the large, decorated, tophat then arranges it on his head. He once again directs his gaze towards the two [Guards].

He takes a slow breath, pinches the front of his hat, and gives a slight bow. “Good day, sirs. My apologies for the late arrival this evening. My name is, uh…”

“Bone,” the female supplies.

The masked man looks at her, ”Really? That’s the Alias you choose for me? Bone? Out of the quite literally millions of names you could have used, you choose Bone?”

The woman rolls her eyes under her mask and then looks to the [Guards].

“Sorry, he’s been in his laboratory for almost two years and can be a bit confused and forgetful.”

“I resent that remark.”

She ignores him.

“Now, me and Mr. Bone here are tired and hungry. We wish to enter your fair town. Could you please open the gates?”

The two [Guards] look at each other and begin whispering for a few moments before turning to the two masked individuals.

“Er… Miss, we would love to let you and the fellow through and would be more than happy to have you both within the town. I do apologize, but by order of [Lord] Donnar, we are forbidden from opening the gates at night..”

Bone quickly raises his hand, “Wait, so we can enter the town, but you can’t open the gates, correct?”

Pelmer nods confusedly, “Uh, yes?”

“Works for me!”

Bone turns to the female, reaches down, and then puts her in a princess carry before she can protest. He bends his knees and adjusts his stance.

Realizing what’s happening, she starts to panic. “Wait, what are you doing!? No, stop!”

He jumps and she screams.

“QUASSSIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!”