Chapter 1  (page 4 of 6)   -   Chapter 2    -   Chapter 3

         The young mage wandered aimlessly for an hour or so, following the whims of the bustling masses, passing in front of windowed shops and pillared buildings hung with flags and banners. The life of the city was palpable; young boys strapped with glue buckets and rollers posted signs advertising all manner of performance and invention on walls thick with peeling versions of the same, while on every corner newspaper merchants called the days events with worn voices, ink-stained hands filled with rolls of newly printed page. Carriages-for-hire searched for clientele, the crowd parting and closing in their wake. Everyone seemed at once to be at ease and on edge, unaware of each other beyond the occasional avoidance of crossed paths. After a while, Perriman found himself physically and mentally spent. A small, well-groomed park offered wooden benches for the general public, and he slumped into one, content to pass the remaining hours in quiet contemplation of all he had seen.
         A hunched figure across the street caught his attention. His thick, short neck supported a smallish head crowned with a shock of unruly coarse hair, while dark eyes darted to and fro from beneath a pronounced brow. His arms were long and heavily muscled, and in each callused hand he carried a burlap sack of unknown content. Perriman couldn't believe his eyes, and frantically grabbed the sleeve of a passerby.
         "I say! There, across the street! Do you see? Call the authorities! What manner of intrigue is this?"
         The man, a simple laborer and dressed as such in a plain shirt and breeches, looked to where Perriman had indicated.
         "Yes, dreadful bunch, aren't they? Nothing to worry about, though,…"
         "Nothing to worry about? That's an ORC!"
         "Bloody half-breed, more like it. But they've been put in their place here in Tarant, that's for certain. The council put a stop to all that union drivel, and they've been right cooperative ever since."
         "Union drivel…what are you talking about? Someone needs to do something!"
         The man looked at Perriman, a bit crookedly, and then seemed to make an assertion. He placed a hand firmly upon Perriman's shoulder. "Its already been done, lad. The council gave them an ultimatum, and they agreed. Orcs may be slow, but I don't know a one that would rather starve than work an extra hour for a decent wage. Listen, you might give a thought to stopping by the hospital down the street. Give you a room for free, and the doctor's there…"
         But Perriman was already hurrying through the crowd towards where he had seen the orc. Unions? Wages? Had these people gone mad? By the time he made his way to the opposite side of the street, the orc was gone. There was a door ajar in an alleyway to his left, and he entered it, only half-believing what was behind it.
         The door opened onto a large room, which was full of orcs just like the one he had seen. Almost in unison they looked up, eyes wary and reproachful. But it wasn't this that Perriman marveled at.
         One corner of the room was piled high in what looked to be cotton; an orc, which he assumed to be the one he had observed outside, was unloading more of it from the two burlap bags. The rest of the opposite wall was taken up by something to which he could give no name, a thing full of wheels and pulleys, shaking with a life of its own and making the most awful racket. One end of the monstrosity was being fed great armfuls of cotton, and the other end spewed forth what looked to be tightly rolled bolts of cloth in a myriad of pattern and color.
         Perriman stood dumfounded. These things were beyond his limited scope of experience. And so, like any mage of sound judgement and good-standing, he called to mind the Lesser Rune of Knowing, to divine this strange thing and the magicks involved in its operation, so he could best decide on the correct course of action to take.
         Almost immediately there was the crack of splitting wood, and the air was filled with smoke and small flying objects. With all the commotion, Perriman's mind lost the Rune, and when the smoke had cleared he was asked to leave the premises by the shop's proprietor.

         Vermillion Station was situated in the very center of Tarant, and it was there that Perriman was to meet his gnomish client.
         The Station was the crossroads for all manner of travel both in and out of the city limits. The building itself was a massive structure built of engraved stone blocks and woodwork, with thick metal buttresses supporting both. An expansive walled courtyard housed an array of fountains, as well as various pieces of sculpture and other curiosities of Tarantian art. Beyond the walls were great caravans of many-horsed freight wagons that had been fitted with the benches of passenger carriages, and from these poured outlanders with business in the city. Above the station hung the strange vehicle that Perriman had seen before, tethered with cables as thick as man's arm. These were anchored at the far end of the station building, near a raised platform upon which small groups of travelers milled impatiently. The platform overlooked two sets of parallel metal rods, mounted low to the ground and disappearing behind the station.
         Somewhere in the distance there was an unnatural sound, not unlike the roaring of a great beast. Perriman shivered, despite his greatcoat. He had never felt more alone than in this very moment.
         He was to meet the gnome at the toll of the fifth hour next to the Harriman Fountains; Perriman guessed they were the ones within the enclosed courtyard. He was unsure as to the time, and, in fact, hadn't once heard bells sounding the hour while in Tarant. After what seemed an appropriate wait, he approached a knowledgeable-looking gentlemen in uniform near the raised platform, who was engrossed in a sheaf of loosely bound and printed paper.
         "Excuse me sir. Are you an employee of the Station? I only ask because of your rather official-seeming dress and obvious air of confidence…"
         The man turned his head slightly, not looking up. "Yes, can I help you?"
         "I was just wondering if perhaps you'd know the hour. I've just recently arrived from Tulla, and I'm to meet an acquaintance here at fifth toll."
         "Just a moment," he reached within his jacket, pulling out a small, round object attached to a chain. "That was the Brackenton Line sounding not long ago, and it arrives at fifth toll. I'll just check…" He was studying the thing at the end of the chain, shaking it.-it appeared to be giving him some sort of trouble. Looking up, he seemed to notice Perriman for the first time, giving his greatcoat a good, long look, and then holding the object up to it. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. "Say, where did you say you were from?"
         "Tulla, City of Mages, and I'm in need…"
         "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave immediately."
         "Excuse me?"
         Again, the unknown roaring, this time much closer.
         "What on earth is that…?"
         "Right now, sir. It's imperative you exit the station grounds this instant. Didn't you read the sign posted?"
         Perriman turned to where the man was gesturing. A framed wooden sign, painted in large block letters, read:

Continue the adventure . . .