Three portals hung in the air in front of Bowie. Pages from the journal floated beside them, listing the name and a brief description of each location. The first of the lot was familiar.
The Anglar Plains are safe and fertile for most of the year, making them an almost idyllic space for those looking for a peaceful life surrounded by nature. However, the winters are long and harsh and come with awful monsters and otherworldly raiders, seeking food stores, valuables, and slaves. As a part of the Empire of Gilded Sky, it is under their paladin orders’ protection, but the defensive forces don’t always make it in time.
It was one of the options the journal had offered El-Prime following his arrival on Fracture alongside Iskander and the Gray. El-One, who went on to become the first ‘named’ clone, Elvis, had picked Iskander, believing the crime and corruption would have been the perfect playground for their growth. Now they needed to decide where to go next once their time in the Gray was over, or circumstances forced them to leave. It was more likely the latter now that El-Prime and Weaver believed that war and disaster were approaching, and all other parties seemed determined to bury their heads in the sand.
All three options undoubtedly contained Lady Silverspine’s interests. Just because the Anglar Plains sounded idyllic didn’t mean it would result in a good time. In fact, Bowie believed he and the clones, and by extension El-Prime, would be incredibly bored—unless they pursued journal quests, of course. The rewards were great and would get shard abilities over their current humps, but they wanted to avoid strengthening the dragon or helping her in any way if possible.
At the same time, Bowie liked the idea of lively country pubs, harvest festivals, and environments where he’d get to play his music and make merry. He believed that, by extension, El-Prime also liked the idea of something similar. There was a reason he had fled to a remote mountain village in the Realm of Greater Beings and made it his home. Given their current and constantly growing wealth, they could afford to burn essences and control where the portals took them.
The moving city of Tortuga sits on the back of the last known remaining titan. It's as old as the birth of Fracture, and the ever-growing magical forest on its back is a valuable source of alchemical and medicinal materials. It has a symbiotic relationship with the city’s residents, as they keep the plant life from overgrowing and also keep annoying pests at bay. In recent years, the city has become the target of a mysterious cabal that seems determined to take command. Their goals are unknown.
A lush green forest waited on the other side of the portal. Colorful birds flew between the titanic branches, and the city was a collection of grand treehouses connected by a chaotic network of bridges. Bowie imagined it was a location El-Prime would eventually like to visit, as he had an interest in alchemy but wasn’t a current priority. Also, he was sure that Silverspine’s interests somehow involved the cabal. It wouldn’t surprise him if they got entangled in a quest that demanded assisting or challenging the organization. El-Prime didn’t want either headache.
The final option intrigued Bowie. Grand towers, flying vehicles, and citizens in colorful robes waited on the other side.
Only the chosen or guided may enter and find the sky city of Encant. It's the seat of the Conclave and several influential arcane organizations responsible for training the world’s best magic users. It is a city of academies, research centers, and arcane development.
Information regarding Encant was sparse, but that only made it an even more tempting target. El-Prime wasn’t sure about exploring it. Entering the city without an invitation felt dangerous. He didn’t worry about clones heading to other locations. If they got into any trouble, or once the assigned task was complete, they had instructions to disperse. El-Prime worried that Encant and its residents would have no difficulty using soul entrapment magic, and the last thing any of them wanted was for a fragment to get trapped. If witches could use soul magic to manipulate subjects, the Conclave and similar influential organizations had the power to do the same.
“What are you waiting for?” Ace asked, nudging his fellow clone. “The sooner you do this, the better. Right?”
“Are you sure Encant’s portal is a no-go?” Bowie stared at the colorful lights with wide eyes. Academia and research were apparently the city’s primary focus, but the clone saw potential. Where there were students, academics, and free-flowing money, there were raucous parties, music, and dancing—environments where he, the Joybringer, was supposed to thrive. He felt stifled in the military state that was the Kingdom of Schwarzberg. It had soirees and gatherings, too, but everything was far too tame and contained.
“It’s bright red in my eyes. Whenever you even think of Encant, or move toward it, both of you turn black. I also pick up a dark red hue. That’s not just danger. It’s the king of danger. Danger to end all danger. It is the end.” Ace sighed. “Believe me, it looks like a whole lot of fun, and I’d like nothing more than to try my luck there.” His eyes drifted through the opening in space. Ace removed his hat and held it over his heart. “There are gambling halls that might never get hustled. Hustlers who’ll never meet their match. It’s a sad, sad reality.”
“What’s the harm? Let’s go through, cut loose for a couple of hours…” Bowie grinned, stepping toward Encanto. “El-Prime won’t mind as long as we get him something cool. Maybe a tome, relic, or a new arcane shard. I—”
Ace grabbed his collar and pulled him back. “I’ll have no choice but to steal your luck and report you for immediate dispellment.”
“Kill joy.” Bowie rolled his eyes. He marched through the portal to Anglar Plains.
“Don’t forget the amulet, dickface!” Ace called before the portal closed behind Bowie.
The clone squeezed the locket hanging from the silver chain around his neck. Its function was active, but the magic stores felt low. So, he fed it, ensuring the illusion that masked his face wouldn’t run out any time soon.
The Anglar Plains didn’t seem like the worst place to end up. Bowie had studied the local maps of the region beforehand and had a rough idea of his surroundings. Clusters of townships, forts, villages, and cul-de-sacs populated the landscape. The portal seemed to have dropped him off at the center of it all, in the biggest settlement of the region: Market Town. It wasn’t just the local trade hub, as the name suggested, but also where the Empire of Gilded Sky had its largest military encampment.
Market Town didn’t seem anywhere as affluent or industrious as the Gray. However, almost everyone wore smiles instead of frowns. People appeared to be engaged in idle conversation on the streets, sharing drinks and trading food through open windows.
“Young man!” An older woman hollered, waving violently. Bowie checked over his shoulder, looking for whoever she was beckoning. No one paused or slowed. He raised an eyebrow, pointing at himself. “Yes, you! Get over here.”
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“Can I help you with—”
“What’s with the pale sourpus?” She demanded. “Is it because you’re all skin and bones? Not got a good woman to fatten you up?”
“I’ve just been on the road—”
“Have you been traveling at night with a tarp over your head?” The woman interrupted him again. She grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side. “Not a speck of color on you. Are you ill? Seriously. What have you been eating?” She sighed, shaking her head. “No. No. We can’t have that.”
Before Bowie could protest, the woman took him by the hand and led him off the main road running through the town into a squat stone building with a thatched roof. Several middle-aged men sat outside it, smoking long pipes and drinking colorful beverages. Instead of the suspicious glares that Bowie had grown used to—until he opened his mouth and flexed Joybringer—smiles and waves greeted him.
“I’m afraid I only have shells and large—”
“Don’t worry about the coin,” the woman said, waving dismissively. “No one walks past Elle’s Pie Shop looking underfed. You look like one of those sad Schwarzberg prisoners of war. Shivering and starved.”
“Don’t fall for the act, boy,” a rotund and white-haired man called. “Elle’s pies are addictive. The first meal is free, and before you know it, you’ll be here every day.” He rubbed his large belly as he spoke. “Then, you’ll wake up one day and be big and round like me.”
“You shut your mouth, Jimothy!” Elle exclaimed. “You got fat because you put your feet up as soon as your daughter got married. That poor son-in-law of yours is being worked to the bone.”
“If that greedy sod thinks marrying my daughter is all he has to do to earn an inheritance, he’s sorely mistaken!” Jimothy yelled. “Cheese-making is not for the faint of heart. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Talent!” He raised a fist. “Bastard took my little girl. He needs to show me he’s got what it takes—”
“Just stuff your face, Fat Man.” Elle grabbed the palm-sized tart on his plate and stuffed it into his mouth as she passed. “Ignore him.” She waved a warning finger at Jimothy’s laughing entourage. “And all of his fat friends. The skinny ones, too. They’ll see a young handsome man like you, and try to get you to marry one of their daughters. You’ll see a pretty face, big breasts, and a fat dowry and think you’re set for life. Next thing you know, he’s gallivanting around the plains with his friends, and you’re stuck running some silly enterprise.”
“Pretty face and big breasts, you say?” Bowie raised an eyebrow. A passing serving girl winked at him, and he couldn’t help but follow the sway of her hips. A smack to the back of the head snapped him back to reality.
“Don’t fall for it,” Elle said. “You barely look twenty and have your whole life ahead of you. Make something of yourself first. Are you passing through or here to stay?”
“I’m just passing through,” Bowie answered, honestly.
“Traveling musician?” She waved at him to take a seat at the counter. Elle moved swiftly, plating a meat pie. A tall glass mug of an aromatic amber beverage followed.
“Musician, yes, but I haven’t had the chance to do it much on the road.” Bowie removed the lute slung across his shoulders and carefully leaned it against the counter before sitting down. “You could say this is more of a scouting mission.”
Elle paused, looking Bowie up and down. “Scouting mission? You’re not a spy of some sort, are you?” She glanced at a table of uniformed soldiers sitting at the back of the eatery. “They might look as fat and lazy as Jimothy, but they’re a powerful bunch. I wouldn’t want you to—”
“No, no.” Bowie laughed. “Nothing of the sort. I work for Zaun and Co. We’re an Arcane Smithing and Enchanting company.” He greedily tucked into the pie. The clone’s eyes widened after the first bite. “Jimothy wasn’t lying. Are you drugging these? How in the world are they this good?”
“You’re not changing the topic with flattery, young man,” Elle said, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. There was an air of playfulness to her words, but Bowie believed that every word out of her mouth was serious. Joybringer’s side effects had sharpened his instincts in that regard.
“We started in Iskander, but the corruption and crime made it nearly impossible to grow and operate. So, the company moved to the Gray so our artisans could improve their craft for cheap. We’re doing well, but have plateaued. Further growth seems impossible as an outsider.”
“I’m told the Schwarzbergs are an inhospitable bunch.” Elle shook her head, dolloping mashed potatoes and peas onto his plate. “I bet that’s why you’re all skinny and sickly looking.”
“No. You can thank a life as an indentured servant and then tortured by Wyrmkins for that. Zaun and Company saved me. They gave me new opportunities. So, since the locals are determined to keep them down, I’m out here looking for a new home.”
“And you think Market Town could be a good location?” Elle asked, leaning on the counter and watching Bowie eat.
“The plains have aetherite and iron mines. Their prices might not be as good as in the Gray, but given the trade routes running through here, we should have no trouble reaching more people.”
Elle studied him silently for a moment. “I believe you. You seem like a good egg, and we need more good musicians in this town. Just be wary that, except for in the forts, there aren’t a lot of people with deep pockets around here. The guilds might buy your wares, especially close to spawning season, but otherwise, you’ll struggle to sell to the locals. Their pockets get tight unless food, drink, or Sellis Weed is involved.”
“You leave that to me, kind, pie-making madam.” Bowie grinned. “I’m a musician second and a merchant first. Are you sure you don’t want coin for this lovely meal?”
“I won’t hear of it. We need good resident artisans bringing more money into town. All we got now are those lazy braggards.” Elle nodded at the men sitting around the front of the shop, smoking, drinking, and snacking. “So, it's important you get a taste of Anglar hospitality.”
Bowie’s smile disappeared. “Are you sure it's not because you’d rather have me in your Debt, Witch Elle?”
Elle chuckled, her hands disappearing under the counter. “What gave me away?”
“A witch used me for blood rituals before the Wyrmkin came along, and their Shamin did more of the same,” Bowie answered before pausing for a spoon of pie and some mash. “My employer also got entangled with an evil coven in Iskander. I know a witch when I see one. The insistence on the free food, the compulsion charm, and the way you command the men outside told me who you are. They’re not evidence I can present to the garrison, but enough for me to piece the puzzle together.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Elle asked, her eyes taking on a faint, noxious green glow. “Are you going to report me? Are you going to turn me in even though I’ve done nothing but do good for this town and—”
Bowie held up a hand, feigning surrender and silencing her. “No, my dear lady. I’m going to clear my debt and have you owe me a favor.” He helped himself to more of the delicious food. “First, I’m going to finish this delectable meal and the drink you’ve spiked. Then, I’m going to repay you for them with a couple of songs.”
“And how are you going to get a favor out of me?”
“By keeping your secret, of course. I believe that’s a fair trade.”
“I suppose it is.” Elle sighed. She shook her head, smiling. “I knew I liked you. No favors or debt for this, but would you like a bed for the night?” The witch nodded at the serving girl who had smiled at Bowie earlier. “I believe someone might be considering it warming it for you.”
“Let me dine and sing a few songs as I consider that offer.” Bowie glanced at the young woman in question. She appeared in her mid-twenties, and he had caught her eyes wandering to him and the string instrument several times during the conversation. “She’s not a witch, too, is she?”
“As far as I’m aware, I’m the only witch in Market Town,” Elle answered. She kissed her right index and middle fingers and held them over her heart. “Witch’s honor.”