In the bustling city of Heavenport, where the salty breeze from the docks carried the scent of fish and adventure, The Silver Quill Press stood as a beacon of knowledge. Unlike the dim-lit scriptoriums of monasteries, this establishment thrived as the heart of news and storytelling, employing scribes, criers, and storytellers to spread words across the land. It was more than a business; it was a nexus of information, a vibrant hub where the stories of Heavenport and beyond were collected, crafted, and disseminated to the eager populace.
I adjusted the strap of my satchel as I pushed open the heavy oaken door of The Silver Quill Press. Its stone façade, weathered by time, exuded authority, standing tall among the city's ever-shifting tides of commerce and politics. The scent of ink and parchment greeted me as I stepped inside, the low murmur of scribes at work filling the air. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting golden patterns on the wooden floor and illuminating the meticulous work of scribes whose quills danced across parchment in a symphony of precision.
The lower floor was alive with activity. Apprentices scurried between long tables where skilled scribes painstakingly copied manuscripts. The rhythmic scratching of quills on parchment was occasionally broken by the sharp snap of wax seals or the soft shuffle of bound folios being stacked. A boy hurried past carrying a tray of freshly mixed ink, its rich, dark hue promising stories and secrets yet to be told.
I paid them little mind as I climbed the well-worn stairs to the second floor, where the true business of the Press took place. The archives, a maze of wooden chests and scroll racks, held the history of past events, old manuscripts and unfinished works waiting for their moment. Further down the hall, the voices of town criers rose and fell in dramatic practice, their proclamations shaping public opinion and spreading vital information.
At last, I reached the editorial room. The day's labors had stretched long, and the room was buzzing with focused energy. My colleagues were deep in their tasks. Marla was engrossed in transcribing breaking news, her quill flying across the parchment with furious speed. Thomas, an editor, meticulously corrected errors in submitted drafts, muttering about misplaced commas and convoluted sentences. Meanwhile, a passionate debate erupted between two other editors, Silas and Anya, over the precise wording of a particularly sensitive political piece. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of candle wax, fresh ink, and the slightly acrid tang of drying parchment, while stacks of unfinished manuscripts threatened to topple from every available surface. I greeted everyone before settling into my seat, eager to review my notes from the day and prepare for the final edition, when the door swung open.
Edric Vayne's secretary stepped inside, clearing his throat. "Ricardo, the boss wants to see you."
Marla, a sharp-eyed woman with ink-stained fingers, smirked. "Looks like you're in trouble."
I sighed, setting down my quill. "Or maybe he finally realized I deserve a raise."
A few chuckles followed me as I made my way to Edric Vayne's office. The door was slightly ajar, revealing the old publisher seated at his grand desk, bathed in the flickering glow of a brass oil lamp. A sword hung on the wall behind him—a silent reminder that Edric had not always been a man of words.
I knocked lightly on the doorframe. "You summoned me, sir?"
Edric barely looked up, sliding a sealed letter across the desk. The wax emblem of the Heavenport Grand Council stood out in sharp relief.
"Another decree to distribute?" I asked, picking up the letter.
"Not this time." Edric's tone was unreadable.
I unfolded the parchment, scanning the crisp, deliberate handwriting:
To The Silver Quill Press,
The Aetherforge Consortium requests that a representative from your esteemed establishment attend an upcoming event of great import. The gathering will take place at The Spire of Accord, located in the northern district of Heavenport, near Starshard Keep. Further details will be disclosed upon arrival.
No explanation. No details. Just a location and an expectation.
"They didn't say what it's about," I muttered.
"No," Edric confirmed, fingers steepled. "But they mentioned who's behind it—Aetherforge Consortium."
That made me look up.
Aetherforge wasn't just another guild or scholarly circle. They were a weapons manufacturer, responsible for the D.E.V. (Dynamic Engagement Vanguard) units—Battle Dolls designed for combat. Their creations, a blend of mechanical precision and arcane enhancements, were used by mercenary companies, city guards, and anyone wealthy enough to afford them.
"They want us to cover whatever this is," I said, folding the letter and tucking it into my satchel.
"Exactly. And you're going."
"Me?"
"You." Edric's gaze was firm. "You have the sharpest pen in this office, and I need someone who can think on his feet. If this is as big as it seems, our report must be the first the people hear."
I exhaled as Edric handed me a second, smaller parchment. "Give this to the stable master. He'll see to it."
I nodded, tucking the letter into my coat. As I turned for the door, Edric spoke again. "And there's one more thing. The annual Harvest Festival of Rosalie Colony is coming up. I want the Silver Quill to have full coverage."
I blinked, surprised. "The Harvest Festival? I thought that was a local affair."
"It is," Edric said, "but it's an important part of the colony's identity. Tobin will be there, you'll be working with him on this."
I nodded. "So, two assignments?"
"Two assignments," Edric confirmed. "Get the Aetherforge story, and give the people a taste of the Harvest Festival. I want articles, illustrations, the full works."
I sighed, already imagining the stacks of parchment I'd be filling. "Understood, sir."
As I turned to leave, Edric added, "See that the Harvest Festival coverage highlights the traditions. We want people to feel like they're there."
By late afternoon, I left the boss' office, only to find the editorial room already deserted. The silence was a stark contrast to the usual clamor of the Press. I gathered my stuff, put it in my bag, and left too. The event intrigued me, but before I could delve too deeply into it, I remembered that I promised Alaric, a fellow town crier, that I would join him for dinner at Heavenport Grill, a well-regarded establishment famous for its spiced lamb and honeyed bread. It was this commitment that sent me hurrying to the restaurant as soon as my meeting with the boss concluded.
The rich aromas of roasted meats and cinnamon-laced stews filled the air as we discussed the upcoming event. Alaric mentioned a recent gathering of several influential figures at Starshard Keep. "It will be quite the spectacle," Alaric said, taking a bite of bread. "Nobles, guild leaders, and even a few rumored mages are expected to attend, all under heavy guard. There's speculation it's about trade agreements, but the secrecy... it's got everyone on edge. I heard they're discussing some kind of… expansion."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds intriguing. I'm not just heard about it; I've been invited to this event."
Alaric's eyes widened in surprise. "You're invited? You lucky dog! Do you know who the Diamante are? The most beautiful girls in all of Heavenport come from that clan, and they'll all be there. I wish I was invited! Besides the hosts, the Grand Council of Heavenport will be there, of course. And I've heard rumors the High Elves are sending a representative or two as well."
"Foreigners at an Aetherforge event?" I thought, surprised. "An event about weapons? Isn't that a national security risk? How did the General let this pass?"
Alaric shook his head. "They are our biggest allies, after the Angels of course, and they lost a lot of souls defending the city in the past against demons. And don't forget, they are our biggest trade partners. Of course, they will be invited."
The food arrived, steaming and fragrant. I, having ordered the establishment's specialty, found my plate filled with a generous portion of spiced lamb, slow-roasted to tender perfection, and served with a side of honeyed bread, its sweetness a delightful counterpoint to the savory meat. Alaric, ever the traditionalist, had opted for a hearty fisherman's stew, a rich concoction of various seafood caught fresh from the Heavenport docks, simmered in a thick, creamy broth with a medley of root vegetables. Both dishes were satisfying and flavorful, providing a comforting warmth.
As we ate, I posed a question, "What do you think the Grand Council's planning? You think they'll agree to make those Battle Dolls our military's main weapon? And what'll happen to the other weapon companies if they do?"
Alaric took a moment before answering, swirling the spoon in his stew. "From what I've heard, General Jabari is in full support of the D.E.V. Battle Dolls. And two of the right-wing factions are big investors in Aetherforge, so they'll probably support it too."
I frowned, "Only two? What about the other one?"
Alaric shrugged. "The other right-wing faction? Oh, Councilman Ferro? Tsukumogami Armaments supported his election campaign, and he's very fond of using their swords himself. I doubt he'd vote to replace swords with dolls."
I frowned. "But the rules say it takes four council votes to pass a measure like this, right? We only have two ."
Alaric sighed. "Even if the Council approves the plan, I think there will be an even bigger problem: whether the military will agree to use them or not."
I leaned back in my chair, my expression thoughtful. "Do they even have a choice? They're facing a severe shortage of recruits; no one wants to join the military. They say the Angels will protect them, and they always have."
Alaric sighed, rolling his eyes. "They face a budget deficit too. The public doesn't want to spend money on the military in any way. And the knights' salaries are very low."
I paused, considering Alaric's words. "Hmm, you're right. And come to think of it, Rio does invest a lot into those D.E.V. Battle Dolls, doesn't he? Maybe he has a plan after all..."
We finished our meal,I needed to get home and sleep. Tomorrow, I have a long journey, so I left Alaric sooner than I wanted and got home. When I woke up in the morning, I got my plan ready. First, I needed to get a wagon, so I needed to go to the stable, and the closest one to me was HillHaven. To get there, I needed to take Hopper number four. The things I needed to take with me were clothes, some food, and a knife. Once everything was ready, I left my home and got on the Hopper. It went slowly as we ascended the hill.
When I reached the summit, the view was incredible. All of Heavenport sprawled before me, a breathtaking panorama of the city. A crisp breeze caressed my face as I walked toward the stables. Eventually, I reached a large stable named HillHaven, nestled on the hilltop. The sign creaked in the wind, its painted letters faded but still legible,
I approached the stable, and after a brief exchange with the stable master, I was directed to a wagon preparing to depart for Rosalie Colony. Other travelers were already aboard, their faces reflecting a mixture of anticipation and weariness from their own journeys.
As the wagon rumbled along the main road, leaving the hilly city of Heavenport behind, the travelers shared stories and exchanged news. The terrain gradually flattened, making for an easier journey, and for what seemed like hours, we traveled, the rhythmic clatter of the wagon's wheels and the horses' steady gait accompanying our shared journey.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and deep purple, a peculiar sight shimmered on the horizon. A massive gate, crafted from a substance that seemed to absorb and then radiate the fading light, loomed into view. It pulsed with a soft, internal glow, its vibrant, almost luminescent pink contrasting sharply with the darkening landscape. The gate was flanked by equally striking towers, their design a strange blend of graceful curves that seemed to defy gravity and sharp, imposing angles that spoke of some unknown power. A low hum emanated from the structure, a sound that vibrated in the very air around it.
As the wagon drew closer, a group of heavily armed figures emerged from the gate, their faces grim and their armor gleaming in the fading light. They were Adventurers, elite scouts known for their speed and skill in navigating dangerous territories. The lead Adventurer, a tall woman with piercing blue eyes, raised a hand, signaling the wagon to halt.
"Halt! You must turn back," she commanded, her voice firm and urgent. "There's a great danger ahead. A monstrous spider with eyes of pink has emerged from the gate. It's unlike anything we've ever seen."
The travelers exchanged alarmed glances. Torvin, ever the pragmatist, spoke first. "We appreciate the warning, but we cannot turn back. We have urgent business in Rosalie Colony."