4.2

Kargerran

Stylard shivered like a youngling as soon as they were alone in one of the hallways leading out of the City Forum.

Kargerran laid a hand upon the Medic's shoulder. "Don't care for public speaking?"

"Not particularly, sergeant, no."

That bluntly spoken sentiment brought a sympathetic snort from Kargerran. Stylard found a topic to shift focus to before Kargerran did, asking, "Are things really that tense with the artisans?"

Kargerran shrugged. "They come to the Rim to be near the sands of the Mana Wastes and to establish their Houses or guilds near the newly waking dungeons. It takes a long time for uprooting to profit them, and most of the crafters in Lotrot have already been pushed out of the Rimward cities with their own nearby dungeons. You've heard the reputation of the Prosing guilds, right?"

Stylard said, "I haven't paid much attention, to be honest, but I've heard some complaints that they're harder to join than the Old Guilds."

Kargerran nodded. "I buy the caravan guards a drink every so often mostly to keep up on the road gossip. It helps to have some general awareness of what's going on with the traders, be they merchants or tinkers, when we run into them on patrol. Prosing is half a day by wagon from their closest dungeon, and it's a shard dungeon. They have a few slower ones that are still taking on characteristics, and (if the dungeon lore is right) as the Wastes push outward, the weakest of them will fade away. That sharder, though? It is already strong enough to support monthly runs. The craftsmen that rely on dungeon materials, like mana shards and mana enriched flora and fauna, they are already feeling the sparsity of resources by being out here on the Rim. It will probably take a generation or two for Prosing's guilds to relax, for their members to feel like they have enough surplus to welcome new blood into their guilds.

"Now, think about Lotrot's situation. How many dungeons do we hold?"

Stylard scratched the back of his neck. "Not counting the Studio? Six, right?"

"Ten, actually," Kargerran corrected. "Howling Caves can support a quarterly clearing, and it's the strongest we have access to. It's already merged three times, too. None of our dungeons have specialized, so when the Delvers go into clear them, they're returning primarily with low grade mana crystals and random monster corpses. The merchants supply the difference in raw materials. Items that just need sand are as cheap here as resistant arms and armor are in New Karth, and as expensive there as those same arms are here."

"So, the crafters are feeling that tense." Stylard let his head tip to the side a bit, a gesture conveying his lack of assurance, but he still said it like a statement.

Kargerran nodded, pausing to shield his gaze as they stepped out of the Forum and onto the walkways of the city. "The arassi among them probably aren't feeling the pressure to claim their piece of the dungeon as badly as the beast kin, taurgonauts and the gnomes. Our families encourage diversity in occupations. But the ones who aren't arassi? Many of their Houses are specialists. We've used the guilds here more to help balance, I guess you could call it the access to opportunity. In other cities, the guilds focus more on securing their members against competitors."

Stylard frowned.

"Straighten up, soldier," Kargerran said, putting confidence into his tone. "Change isn't supposed to be sunshine and water trees all the time."

"I wonder if that's what they said in Old Botam?" Stylard asked, but he straightened his posture, his stride firming and his sour expression relaxing.

*~*~*

Brad

"I see walls ahead," Brad said as he back winged into a landing on top of the wagon in which Dibbs rode. Feltz shifted on the bench, pointedly ignoring Brad, much to Dibbs and Brad's amusement.

Dibbs said, "Ah, the last civilized stop before we get to trudge into the Wastes!"

"How's this?" Brad asked, content to remain on top of the heavy canvas holding down the sealed crates and barrels being transported on this particular wagon.

"Dungeons don't form next to towns or villages," Dibbs said. "Older ones can be coaxed into opening entrances near such places, but even that's rare enough no one really knows how it actually comes about. There's a fear that it has to do with where the majority of people who harvest the dungeons reside, and that's as good a guess as any we've got. With this being a new dungeon, the most likely place for it to open its first entrance is somewhere in the Mana Wastes. It won't be too far in or no one would have discovered it."

Brad let the implications sink in for a moment. "We'll be doing real camping, then, won't we?"

"Yep," Dibbs said.

Feltz's face scrunched up with grump.

Brad laughed. "Oh, that's why the Sour Puss has been so much more grumpy! And here I thought winning his hammock would only inconvenience him for a night or two! This is much better!"

Feltz flicked something pebble sized toward Brad while shooting him a dirty glare.

Brad used some of the wind manipulation spells he had started learning to block the thing, which turned out to be the shell of some acorn-look alike nut.

"Now, children," Dibbs said, not bothering to hide his mockery.

Feltz turned his glare on Dibbs.

One of the caravan guards, a black haired and bay centaur, trotted up to them. "Please refrain from any more magic casting. We may be close to Lotrot, but there's still an ambush spot between us and the city walls."

"Bandits operate so close to the cities?" Brad asked.

The guard shook his head. "Not usually, but we aren't paid to take risks with our clients' safety."

Dibbs frowned. "What is the general composition of bandits in this area?"

"Gnelves, arassi, gidas. Occasionally an exiled tribesman, but they rarely stick around the Whispering Steppes long enough to join up with anyone." His warning delivered, the centaur turned his attention toward the steppes.

"Are the tribesmen some kind of bear kin?" Dibbs asked.

"Parandrians can be mistaken for bear kin, but they're more often guessed to be burly deer kin, especially with their antlers. Why?" the centaur asked.

"Hm. Not seeing antlers and I've never seen a deer kin with fangs. There are two using an aversion cloak while they pace us." Dibbs dropped that tidbit with a musing, distracted tone.

The guard stopped for a quick moment before quickly shifting his hooves and moving up to the front of the caravan.

Brad leaned forward. "Are you serious?"

Dibbs flashed a grin up at him and said, "Absolutely. Deer kin are notorious herbivores. I was on good terms with one before Feltz took me on. He paid me to buy him several bouquets of flowers because the florists in our little town charged twice as much if he suspected his flowers were going to be eaten instead of displayed."

Looking forward again, the mage added, "If I thought they were doing more than just keeping up with us, I would have spoken up when I first saw them. They aren't giving off any killing intent, so they're probably with a group passing through the area."

While Brad didn't doubt that Dibbs had seen what he claimed, he had issues with the conclusion he drew. "Yeah, I'm not sure how much I trust this 'killing intent' sense you're so proud of. It sounds like the bullshit behind people saying they can tell when strangers are lying to them based solely on body language."

Dibbs took the doubt in stride, turning it into a teaching opportunity. "The [Sense Truth] skill and the related spells don't rely on body language. That's more of a liability with [Sense Motive]. There are very few creatures who can kill casually, and they tend to trip the [Danger Sense] skills if they aren't actively thinking of protecting you."

Brad blinked, then face palmed. "Of course you have skills for that. This bloody cock up of a system only seems to have skills and designs. At least G.U.R.P.S. has a reason for its endless skills list."

"What's this gurps?" Dibbs asked. Feltz, despite his grump, seemed to perk up a bit for the answer, too.

While answering, Brad turned his lean forward into flattening himself out over the top of the canvas. That allowed him to spread his wings without making a major target out of himself, which would make taking off that much quicker and safer should the need arise.

"Generic Universal Role Playing System. A creative lady I once knew called the idea collaborative storytelling, and thanks to the draw for creatively inclined people, there are a lot of different rule sets. Some were geared toward science fiction, others toward medieval fantasy, and others toward horror and gothic settings, but G.U.R.P.S. tries to be exactly what it says, a rules set that can be applied to any setting."

Despite the concern the scouts pacing them raised, the caravan reached the city gates without incident. All during that time, Brad rambled on about table top gaming, using the words as a distraction from his fear even while he held himself ready to launch skyward, his crossbow at hand and loaded.

They were settled at an inn, Brad watching Dibbs and Feltz eating a hearty yellow curry-like soup, when he realized that he hadn't even questioned that he would fight if it came down to one. He didn't think of himself as a particularly brave person, nor a violent one. Was this a change in his personality? Was it perhaps a result of residing in a golem's body, armored against pain in a way his mortal flesh had never been? Or, worst, was this a subtle geas of the mental enslavement?

*~*~*

Jason

"No," Jason said, holding his hands palm out like a mime demonstrating a wall. "This is a problem internal to Lotrot, and we are doing our best to stay out of it. When you have the approval of your City Council to come discuss imports and exports with us, then we'll talk, but not before then."

He stood just outside the cave in Lotrot's territory leading into the Studio of Capricious Dreams. Rob, the newly acquired pack of Hemat wolves, along with a pair of draft-horse-sized Armored Shadow Wolves, stood with him. Watching the Shadow Wolves squeeze through the portal like cats crawling through some amazingly dinky hole in a fence had been a sight that raised the scales and the fur on the soldiers witnessing it.

Before them stood a group composed of five gnomes, three gnelves, eight various beast kin, a gidataur, two minotaurs, two brightly colored arassi, and a gorgon. To the side, a small delegation from the Gharanguru, the parandrian tribe that took up residence not too far from the dungeon's entrance, watched with polite interest. The gorgon, one of the minotaurs, a gnelf, and an arassas held themselves back from the rest. They openly wore weapons and had the look of professional toughs. By the expressions on their faces, Jason guessed they were reevaluating their fees.

The remainder were craftsmen, probably crafts masters. They had elected a particularly surly bear kin by the name of Thormtock as their speaker.

That was without mentioning the squad of gray scaled guardsmen assigned to stand guard over the dungeon entrance. They had taken over the duty from the Lotrot Patrollers just the day before.

"Nonsense!" The bear man bellowed. "How much are the merchants paying you?"

"We have no contracts with the Merchants Guild or any individual merchants. We are not receiving any compensation. We are just waiting for your City Council to determine what will be in the best interests of the City of Lotrot before those negotiations open up." As he spoke, Jason felt the buzz of the Guardian Communication channel, but he ignored it. He had gotten in a lot of practice at ignoring the G.C. over the past week.

The bear opened his mouth, but the gidataur cut in quickly. "What are the immigration requirements for moving into your domain?"

That got the rest of the craftsmen turning to look at her with shocked expressions.

"We have not discussed immigration policy yet, and the Design Lead has her hands full at the moment with managing the linking with Priesley's Folly." Why was *he* the acting spokesman for their group? Wasn't Rob the smoother speaker?

"Do you have a list of -"

"What's this linking?"

"You've taken over another dungeon?!"

Among the visitors, the only people not shouting questions at Jason after that were the parandrian stags. The doe leading them was the first to stop talking.

In the middle of all this, he heard Rob's ecstatic shout over the G.C., saying, «You're aware again! Great! Lotrot's on the brink of civil war and Jason's doing his best to talk us out of taking sides.»

Lena responded to him with an expectable, «What!?»

Oh, yeah. *That* was why Rob, no matter how smooth his speech, was a bad choice for spokesman. He liked dramatic statements too much.

«It's civil unrest, not war, and we've got this,» Jason added quickly. Out loud, he pulled on his parade ground voice and bellowed, "CALM DOWN!"

Silence came down on the entrance several seconds later.

The bear kin, Thormtock, was practically drooling. "What's this linking? Have you established a portal to the city or the dungeon? What are the costs for taking our wares through?"

The parandrous doe stepped forward. "Please do explain."

Turning to face the doe, Jason said, "Some unknown someones on East Karth have been stealing dungeon cores, which has led to them losing their balance and turning into monster spawning hell holes. Thanks to the way the Grand Tapestry put Lena in charge of the Studio, she is able to produce some replacement cores, and we're trying to figure out the best way to get them installed in the dungeons that are now missing theirs."

The doe stepped back, spoke quietly to one of the stags, and then he took off, melting into the surroundings with a near magical ease. Jason ignored Thormtock for the moment it took him to settle his nerves at that sight.

When Jason turned back to the craftsmen, he gave a visible shake to clear his body of the creeps and settled his shoulders. He held his hands out again, getting quiet from those surrounding him much sooner. "Please return to Lotrot. At this time, we don't know enough about Rhofhir to be comfortable making any deals with people we don't already know."

And with that, Jason led the way back into the dungeon. The Shadow wolves came quick on the heels of Rob, with the hemats covering their rear in case the frustrated craftsmen turned violent.

Their group headed for the portal located in the Lotrot military's on-site administration building. Corporal Ignemrot nodded to them as their paths crossed, but continued on his own way through the administration building.

Over the last day, the Entrance Hall had been replaced with a chamber similar in shape and size to the [Commons] level without the kitchen, baths, or training field. A large circular room with inscribed portals greeted them along with the notice that they were now in the [Hall of Portals]. Jason looked around again as he paused to make sure they were all present.

The door they came through was centered within an embossed fresco of a pair of larger than life arassi in military uniforms with swords crossed over the door. To the right of that, the orange tree archway had been remade into an embossed fresco leading to the [Forest of Plenty] level. The Shadow wolves let their tongues loll out with happy expressions as they returned to the level that most suited them.

To the right of the Forest level, the portal to the [Sea of Grains] (Jason was pretty sure that had been the former [Entrance Hall] level) was decorated with a fresco of bundled wheats, corn cobs still in their husks in baskets, and the faces of various types of large herbivores. Many made Jason think of bovines, but there were some equine shapes, too.

Continuing to the right, next came the door to [Priesley's Folly], the dungeon level. Fresco reliefs of hemat wolves, goblins, and water fey that the Tapestry called naiads decorated this door. Beside that was the portal to the jungle just outside of the town of Priesley's Folly, decorated with cat kin and noct reliefs, the Sun Elf emblem sitting on the floor and deliberately given little significance.

The [Aviary] came next and was decorated by a scene of harpies around a large tree, with nests and perches and a variety of other flying creatures dancing in the air with them, or frolicking on the tree branches. Beside it was a portal to the new [Hall of Crafting]. Jason hadn't been to that level yet, but the various Aware races working at forges, work benches, alchemy labs, and other varied crafts made him curious. Rob was a machinist more than a mechanic, and Jason wondered what his friend would make as soon as they had the downtime to explore the tools. For his part, Jason enjoyed carving and wanted to try lathe work.

The [Prison] level portal stood between the [Lotrot Training Floor] and the [Hall of Crafting]. It had no pretty relief, just a thick metal door with a wheel lock blocking up the doorway.

The last of the hemat wolves entered the [Hall of Portals].

Jason inclined his head toward them and said, "Thank you for accompanying us."

A large, near white hemat at the head of the pack tipped her head to the side. «You and yours have restored peace to our home and enriched our pack. There is no need for gratitude among pack mates.»

Jason smiled and shrugged. "Need? Maybe not, but that doesn't keep me from feeling it. And speaking of needs, is there anything more we can do to better accommodate the Lusiano pack?"

«Aaron has provided much comfort to us already. We could not, in good conscience, ask for more,» the pack leader Starry Night demurred and led her pack through to the [Priesley's Folly] dungeon level.

Rob had already re-attuned the orange tree portal to take them to the [Commons]. They stepped through, the portal's attunement returning to the [Forest of Plenty] as soon as Jason disappeared from the [Hall of Portals].

Lena's avatar, her toon, was waiting for them. She hugged them both despite the lack of physical contact. "Now, fill me in!" she demanded.