The city of Makepeace.

It was a frontier style town, full of log cabins and high, rickety watchtowers staring out over the palisade walls.

Nic could see where they'd spent their energy during the town's foundation. Each tower was a single part of a broad formation, a pillar that connected the earth and the sky above to draw Essence into the world; the town center was dominated by a massive oil derrick that served as the totemic axle around which the formation functioned.

It was pretty impressive for Natives who hadn't known what cultivation was a year ago. In fact, Nic was wondering if they'd managed alone. Even a Sophont couldn't just impart formation knowledge...

But a Sophont, a few cheap manuals, and a strong foundation of mundane knowledge could get you pretty far. As best he could figure, this was one of the production-centered Settlements. The formations drew in rich Essence, and numerous workshops he passed were waiting to process that energy into tools and treasures.

The one thing they were lacking was people. More than half the buildings were empty.

Going by what Moira had said to him when they last met, and the vague allusions of the stubborn cook, Kiana - this place had a nasty reputation.

The dryads marched him to the edge of the lush gardens surrounding the greenhouse. Once again, there were no locked doors. The greenhouse entrance was an open gateway leading to the garden path and spilling out onto the street beyond.

People sat on their doorsteps and watched him. Children gawked at him, clearly waiting by the prison in hopes of seeing some freakish alien Invader.

Nic fit the bill.

He was just becoming genuinely unnerved by the lack of defenses keeping him in when he tried to step past the final edge of the grass. One step too far forward, and instantly, flowers and vines of silver fire leapt up from the earth to block his path. They blazed so brightly that they actually forced him back, with not just heat but physical force.

In a way it was a comfort to finally know what he was up against. As he retreated, the silver flames faded back into the earth.

The dryads smiled faintly.

But every door had a key. The silver flames were locked to carved wooden tokens carried by the human half of the guard. As they arrived to collect Nic, they held up a token and the flames parted. Nic was very quick to note that of the two humans carrying keys, neither stepped through, giving the prisoners no chance to take them.

Instead, it was a third man, younger with a patchy face of stubble, who stepped through and kicked Nic in the gut. Nic bent into the blow, making it look like he was genuinely hurt and struggling to stand, while in his mind he quietly promised to kill this brat someday soon/. "Don't give us any trouble and we won't give you any." The guardsman informed Nic in a weedy voice.

Nic's eyes were on the tokens.

Stealing one would solve half his problems immediately. But to work, they'd need to be infused with aura he no longer had.

A second option was just to rush the guards in the moment the fire wall was parted. Unfortunately, the dryad jailers would definitely take note if the whole prison started grouping up near the entrance.

The jailers...

They'd be no problem if he could regain his cultivation. Similarly, regaining his cultivation would be easy enough if he could break free of the jail. Neither was a difficult hurdle on its own but the two restrictions held each other in place.

He only needed one domino to fall.

Nic allowed the guards to march him through the streets. He could still sense aura, after all, even if he couldn’t use his own. And the thin woman watching over the guards, with a pair of golden pince-nez spectacles perched on her nose, was giving him very dangerous vibes. She wore tall riding boots and a thin cavalry saber strapped to her hip.

If Nic had to guess?

She was part of the group that had conquered a dungeon and earned the Spatial Pillar Credit to establish this place. A little too dangerous for him to tangle with until he got free of his aura-shackles.

And she wasn’t fooled at all by his innocent smile.

“Come along.”

He was led towards a lodge in the center of town made from heavy redwood logs. Past the wrought iron gates, the lodge was surrounded by topiary statues of beasts. Chimeric lions, winged turtles, and enormous serpents sculpted out of living green briars surrounded marble statues of heroic hunters dressed in pelts and wielding bows.

It was an ostentatious touch.

Nic was surprised to see two enormous wolves guarding the entrance- a double door made out of bones and antlers. They were shock white from the neck down, but their heads were covered by leathery, bark-like skin painted with bright patterns of blue and red, as if they wore festival masks.

They had dull, unintelligent eyes. Nic couldn't be sure if they were like him, or monsters who'd gone fully feral, or something else entirely.

The doors creaked open. Nic was led inside and made to sit in front of a broad timber desk. The man sitting at this nexus of authority was short, but his strong, tattooed arms and heroic beard of curling black hair prepared him to play the role of leader.

Resting atop the desk was a gun unlike Nic had ever seen.

Dragonpowder rifles were common enough in d23. Some gangs saved up to buy them from off-world traders, and Nic had learned to sleep through the fireworks and shrieking volleys of warfare. Some guardsman would spend their own money to acquire delicately engraved pistols.

This was like none of them.

It was heavy, blocky, made from dark plastic and silver chromed metal. The curved grip had been engrained with a diamond lattice to give it friction, while the action was a complex mechanism Nic had never seen before. A thin rail ran across the barrel. It had a solidity and balanced weight that Nic could feel...

A beautiful killing tool.

The man followed Nic's gaze. "Sheila is a thing of beauty." His lips twitched, his expression souring. "And we may never make another like her, thanks to you."

“Me?” Nic croaked. “Not sure what I’ve done…”

“I can’t understand you.” The man scowled, gesturing to one of the guards. “Go fetch the dragon.”

Nic’s heart sunk as he saw the guard return with Inkspur, the tiny wyvern trapped in a bird cage of thick iron. Since arriving Nic had been caged up, kicked, and dragged through town like a trophy. All of that he was willing to forgive, if it meant sealing an alliance.

But Inkspur was so transparently harmless.

His mood darkened rapidly to see how poorly his friend had been treated.

“Translate.” The man demanded. “Tell the creauture my name is Samuel de Vega. Tell him that I know he’s in charge of Winterhome, I know he's obscenely rich, and I’m willing to let him go, if, and only if, his Settlement pays my ransom. I’m thinking... Fifty thousand credits..?” He lazily jabbed the wyvern in the side with a finger.

Inkspur translated, slowly, giving Nic a sideways look.

Nic could talk all he wanted and the human wouldn’t hear. Inkspur had no such freedoms.

“Don’t worry.” Nic said brightly. “I’ve got a plan. Er, don’t tell him that. Tell him…”

He thought for a moment. It sounded like Inkspur had exaggerated his wealth to keep him alive, resulting in this idiot thinking Nic was a walking piggybank to be shaken down. “Tell him I’ll send them a letter. I’ll need you free to act as a messenger, and I’ll need something of mine to show them it's from me. Say, my scarf?”

Inkspur repeated, but the man just smirked, leaning back and swinging his boots onto the desk alongside his weapon. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Nic tilted his head. “Ask the idiot - leave that out, obviously - how I’m supposed to tell my friends to pay my ransom.”

That made the man think for a moment, and slowly raise a dark eyebrow. “I could slice one of your fingers off…”

“Yeah, safe to say he’s forgotten the bit of hostage-taking where he pretends he’s actually going to let me go.” Nic’s opinion of this buffoon had started low and was sinking lower. More than anything, it was how the man luxuriated in the chance to flaunt his power, without realizing how small that power really was… “Tell him I won’t deal unless you’re set free to be the messenger. Make me sound desperate.”

Samuel de Vega leaned back as he listened, smiling and steepling his fingers. Like a prick. “Okay, okay.” He finally held up a hand to cease Inkspur’s endless rambling. “The little dragon goes. As a show of good faith.”

Nic smiled. If they were really dumb they would’ve fetched the scarf, showing him where they’d taken all his gear. But this was a close second-best.

And thankfully his gear was sealed away in a mystic bag nobody else could open.

As Inkspur was let out of his cage and shook out his wings, Nic was thinking furiously. Simply having a man on the outside opened up dozens of angles of assault to break free. Pen and paper were put in front of him, and he began to write his supposed letter, but all he was jotting down were the words…

Asshole asshole you’re an asshole…

“Inkspur, start talking. Make it sound as if you’re translating me, but really, say whatever to keep him distracted. This letter doesn’t matter. Just tear it up and come back with a new one in two days, then convince him to let me out to talk to him again…”

It was all about buying time and opportunities. Every time they let him out of the cage, he’d have a chance to talk to Inkspur and put events in motion. The guards would have a chance to slip up and let him steal a token to open the silver-flame gate. Windows of opportunity opened every time they had to move him from point A to B…

“In the meantime, start hiding explosive runes around the city. Get ready to make me a big distraction. Oh, and if you can steal a token, or figure out where my stuff is… Yeah, do that…”

In the background Inkspur was happily going off about how Nic was a foreign prince, a terrible young master who was famed for bedding one hundred axolotl maidens in a single night after rescuing their city from a dragon. Nic grimaced at the creative liberties being taken, but at least it made him sound valuable…

“Alright, enough.” De Vega’s temper shifted abruptly, overbalanced by the burden of listing to Inkspur talk, his teeth grinding. “Whatever you’re plotting, little creature, I’m not going to be yanked around. You have until the count of ten to finish writing…”

Nic added a flourish to the final ‘asshole’ and held the paper out to Inkspur.

Vega’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrists.

Nic smiled and dropped the pen he’d been trying to sneak Inkspur. Not because the pen mattered. Just because it was good, when you were faced with a paranoid idiot, to keep them paranoid about the wrong things.

“I’m onto you…”

Nic grinned ruefully, like he’d been caught with a hand in his cookie jar. “You died the moment you hurt my lizard, idiot.”

But of course, de Vega didn’t understand a word.

In the end, Inkspur was allowed to take off with the letter clutched in his claws, while Nic was once again marched towards the greenhouse prison. While it hadn’t been a total victory…

Nic was smiling. His payback was coming faster than any of these idiots realized.

He spent the walk back imagining how he'd do it. Breaking out, breaking out was the difficult part. But the moment he was free, Nic could crush these puffed-up fools like kindling...

Or maybe stomp them into dust?

If he was going all out with his Warform, he should probably try tearing someone limb from limb. He'd never done that before...

But he was snapped out of his vengeful fantasies as a loud, high-pitched voice cried out. “Oh! Oh! Maker-Mine! You’ve found me again!”

Nic turned. Running towards him was the strangest creature he’d ever seen.