Window, door, cupboard, stair, and wall – grown from a single seed; one born of a skill and shaped by design. A lost method of construction, from the era of Eldrin, [Titan Singers] possessed extraordinary skills, especially when working with titans. Though they are gone, their legacy yet remains, and one such – Screechfang Tower: a series of geodesic concentric circles, sprouting from the district itself, and grown into a home and community.

  Warm light emanated from the windows that ringed the bottom floor, and John could see that the common area was packed like a festival day – but there was no laughter or song, or the chink of cup and dish, for this was the end, occupations were never kind.

  It was a cage inside, where the faces of the many pleaded with John. He bared his fangs, “Zoo animals…”

  Earl clicked his tongue in admonishment, and the big man’s face flushed, as he knew better than to break decorum, especially in public. Despite the embarrassment, John was happy to have someone like Earl watching his back; he knew there were things in life beyond him, and he relied on the other man’s wisdom to keep him on the right path.

  None dared speak, and John wondered if there weren’t invisible shackles at play, a skill perhaps. In all his time in Murkspire, he’d not known its residents to be meek. In fact, they seemed to buck authority like children, a phenomenon that had almost pushed Earl to the brink of insanity – on more than one occasion.

  Such minor details had little effect on him. He didn’t operate in the political realm like Earl; John got his way through brute force, and though he was loath to admit it, his new body and skills suited him better than humanity ever had.

  The armored, armed, and lethal human led them up a spiral staircase and away from the pathetic and empty stares of the captive Mirefolk.

  John marveled at the flexibility and durability of the armor the other man wore, like a diver's wetsuit, but hard as steel, it wrapped the considerable bulk of the soldier like some kind of…space gladiator – and the [Grappler] wanted no part of him – at least not until he knew more. John was stupid, but observant, especially when it came to his craft.

  He and Earl were led into an empty residence, which had been stripped, with shelves torn from the walls and all non-essential furniture removed – leaving only a table and chairs. John’s hackles were up; entering an unknown space with an unknown threat was always a bad idea, but he trusted Earl with his life and stayed his shadow, as they were led through Screechfang.

  “I am General Gorthow of the Xylosian Defense Force, speak planely monster – why the secrecy?” Gorthow unclipped his helmet as he spoke, resting it on the table, before taking a seat at its head.

  John followed Earl’s lead, who waited respectfully for the Gorthow to be seated, before they joined.

  “General Gorthow, it is an honor, and let me apologize for our outward appearance – monster…an apt description, but not entirely accurate.

  John marveled at the way Earl could make even the most outlandish ideas seem boring and mundane – as if it were an undeniable fact, and he was doing you a favor by taking the time to explain it. “I am [Guildmaster] Earl of the Assassins, and this is my right-hand man, John.

  Earl pointed a thumb at John, “For the last year, we have been trapped here in this place, not just Sinking Gods Mire…but this world, we are from another called –”

  “Earth.

  Finished Gorthow, who flipped open a panel on his gauntlet, before punching in a command, a series of runes and symbols began to flash across his helmet's visor. He continued, “Outworlders. Doubtful – but not impossible.” He crossed his arms, waiting.

  John, catching the hint, flicked his eyes to the side and observed Earl casually leaning back as he spoke, “That is an interesting helmet, the style would not be out of place back on Earth… you're doing some kind of deep scan, I take it?”

  The lights on Gorthow's visor quit…he raised an eyebrow, “Interesting…welcome to Xylos Outworlders.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He leaned back in his chair, “What happened to you? Why are you in the body of a monster? A [Wizards] cast, or a [Necromancers] curse? Or is this some skill of your own…are you a [Spy]?”

  “We arrived this way…much to our shock and horror, a physically imposing body, but the mind – my wits aren’t half as sharp as they once were. Maybe it's the foul and depraved magics in this place, I couldn’t say.”

  Gorthow twiddled his thumbs, “You are here by Systems design. Vim and the System Church, back in Xylos Prime, can tell you more. Mine is a simple life: defeat my enemies and level.”

  Earl chuckled, “And how will you proceed here? General Gorthow…if I may ask so delicate a question, obviously your battle strat –”

  “There are no levels to be had here. We could power level a few recruits, funneling the monsters here to slaughter, but at what benefit? System requires a challenge, that we push ourselves, and these pathetic creatures offer little in the way of struggle or power…

  He made a fist, gritting his teeth, “I’ll not end up like that fool in the Stonecoils, endless war, and no victor in sight, if not for the levels, surely the Emperor would have declared defeat by now…” He sighed, trailing off.

  Earl cut through the silence, probing for information, “Xylos – a fitting name for our rescuer. Was it you who unleashed the world-ender…to control such a power?”

  “No, that was not us. We managed to clip it, but it got away – unfortunately, but many in the armada leveled from the combat – it's gone, escaped into the Crystal Plains.

  Gorthow perked up, “Perhaps you can tell me – was there another of these world-enders…or perhaps a high-level hunting the beast? There was a signal – it is gone now.” He fixed his attention on Earl.

  “Signature…I can’t say. It’s unclear where it came from, its arrival was sudden, and after the collapse of the Shamnic Pools and their runes of protection – it's lucky you came along when you did, I fear we’d all be gone…it was only a matter of time.”

  Gorthow banged his hand on the table, “System blasted, I should have pursued…but the Crystal Plains, too dangerous. Tell me, Outworlder, how can we farm mana here? The trees seem promising, but our harvesters are having trouble with their magnitude. We’ve already had an overload. Tell me have you have any knowledge in this area?”

  Earl presented his open palms, “I must confess to having little knowledge in this area, but if you need the help of the locals…I may be of much greater help, perhaps a shaman or two, to answer some questions? I’m sure John has someone in mind. After the evacuation, there are not many left, but we know places to search, and we have [Spys] threaded throughout the known Mire.”

  John did indeed have his sources, but none he wanted to involve; this was going to be a messy business if his experience was anything to go by, and he didn’t want those he’d grown close to to get involved – despite the unfortunate accident of their birth, there were a few noteworthy Mirelings to be found.

  “Information – yes, was there a city official or…” Gorthow rolled his wrist.

  Earl shook his head, “I’m afraid Murkspire is…chaotic. They operate on a loose guild system.

  He chuckled, “They don’t even have a valuation for property here – real estate is determined by some communication between shaman and tree…it’s lunacy – pure lunacy.”

  Gorthow pushed himself to his feet, with the grace and power of a predator, “Perhaps you and this third Outworlder can figure out a way to profit here. I’ll be heading deeper into the swamp, looking for a proper challenge. After you meet with our people, we will talk again.”

  Gorthow exited the room, sealing his helmet with a hiss as he left.

  John let out an audible sigh, and Earl was silent, deep in thought.

  “I’m going, and I don’t care what you boys have to say. Something is wrong, the refugees from the Tribal Plateau haven’t been acting right since the mists disappeared, and Ren has gone and joined some kind of death cult – I won’t have it, I won’t have it, I tell you. Answers are in Murkspire, and we're drifting among the upper bows, isn’t doing us any good. I understand the danger of DG being taken, but we can’t continue as is. And how do we know if we can even find Grumakh – they’ve evacuated, by all accounts!”

  Draven took a long, deep pull from his rollie. “I’m with the [Sandalmancer].” He exhaled a stream of Os as he spoke.

  “I dunna chare who yee are with. Unknown troops are marching from the south, and Murkspre crawling with outsiders – tis foolish to tread tha path.”

  “I’m going, and Draven’s coming with me. I understand it is a risk, but I think it is worth it. Keep to the upper canopy – stay out of sight, and let us see if we can’t get some answers.”

  DG rumbled softly; it was felt by all, as the deck beneath their feet vibrated up their legs.

  Pat’s image appeared on the far wall of the bridge, “I’m afraid DG won’t take no for an answer. They have also seen the footage on Renddit – and are worried sick about Ren. The newcomers are our only lead. I do worry about the refugees…something isn’t right.”

  Meen-Tra touched her titan-mark, “I have work to do before our arrival. But first, the orc from the Tribal Plateau.”