It turned out Sofia had actually warned him this was coming, days ago. Nic just hadn’t been paying the most attention at the time.

The Convocation was a kind of divine auction between Settlements. Each Settlement had an altar on which they could surrender precious materials and treasures, with the first pick going to the ones who sacrificed the most. As for what was being picked...

Formation runes.

A building was just a hollow structure. But it could form a foundation driven into the earth, in the same manner as the crude wooden totems they’d spent yesterday setting up.

The Settlement would have to build the actual structures, but the Formations would provide purpose. A wall could lift a protective dome over the entire Settlement. A watchtower could let them see any point within their territory.

Except, of course, that Nic hadn’t sacrificed anything this week. A small, spiteful part of him actually considered throwing the key on the altar, but that would be trading something priceless for nearly nothing.

And now it was too late to find a better sacrifice.

A portal of rippling black water sprang into being.

“You won’t have me, or Inkspur, beyond this point Nic. But people will be able to understand you. Make the best choice you can and try not to draw undue attention to yourself; these people will be our main competition on this world.”

Nic nodded, and stepped through.

---

He emerged onto a balcony of cold blue stone, ice sunk into the gaps between the masonry. A terrible wind howled through a desolate string of mountains, their ridges bedded down in deep snow and their valleys filled with tropical basins of tall, verdant jungle.

The balcony led into a palatial room, in which he could see countless people dressed in rich, beautiful clothes, talking amongst the warm light and gentle heat of a massive fireplace. A man stood by the doorway, his head bent respectfully.

His entire body had been altered until the human shape was almost gone.

Golden rings had been stacked along his neck, slowly stretching it to alien heights. Huge plates of delicately patterned wood had been inserted into the lobes of his ears until they hung, elephant-like, down to his shoulders. Plugs and needles of bone were pierced through his face.

He was dead. His eyes had been replaced with polished glass beads, and his skin was withered down until it resembled old leather, nearly mummified. The entire strip of flesh from his shoulders to his back had been flayed away and raised overhead on a strange collar of wooden supports, creating a kind of skin-banner that stood over him, displaying tattoos in the shape of a serpent coiled around a tree.

“Esteemed guest, you may drink until our wells run dry, and you will be safe among the forest of our spears.”

Nic was taken aback for a moment, staring at the carved bone and wood that distorted his flesh.

“I am from the Tsumara clan, esteemed guest. We are very fond of shaping our own bodies. It shows a sort of mastery, over the human form. I do not mind you looking.”

Right. Right. Nic nodded, and asked, “Do you, uh, have a name?”

“I am Enzo. Come inside. The others have arrived by now. I will warn you, some will be your enemies, but you cannot raise your hand against them in this house.”

Within, the walls were hung with enormous tapestries depicting a world of gods, warriors, and demons. Spears crossed, but the pose of the combatants was closer to dancing than fighting. Looking at the gold and red cloth fluttering in the faint breeze that crept like a cold guest into the atrium, Nic was struck with the same feeling he’d had observing the frozen warriors in the amber world.

These were Concepts, preserved in tapestry.

Nic moved forward, having to mind himself, as he was half the height of the people around him. He was pushing his way towards the front of the crowd when a tiny elephant interrupted him, its body covered by an elegantly patterned saddle carrying a tray of clay cups. Its gold-tattooed trunk reached up, grasping a cup and offering it to Nic.

He took it and eyed the elephant as he lifted the cup to his nose. The scent of sweet red tea, earthy and spiced, greeted his senses.

Taking a sip Nic felt a rich thread of medicinal Essence enter his body.

“Everyone…”

From the front of the crowd a voice echoed out. Nic continued shoving his way forward until he approached a clear space at the front of the atrium, where a lowered bed of soil ran the outer edge of the room like a shallow stage. Ornamental flowers of every color grew runic circles, bright and beautifully scented.

Three men stood in the garden, wearing long beaded robes and rich furs. While their style of dress was clearly rustic, the sheer density of runes woven through their robes and etched into the bone jewelry they wore marked them as powerful.

The unrestrained aura billowing from them reinforced that point.

“Greetings, and welcome to our Kingdom of Mossau.” His face was picked out in perfectly rounded studs of dyed-white scar tissue. His entire torso was threaded through with pins of jade, until they formed a kind of armor. “We are but men of clay before your might; we offer petty trinkets and hope the meagerness of our finest thing will amuse you. The best drink we can offer is little better than sour wine, and my soul shrivels with embarrassment to put such threadbare tapestries on display, for my humble tribe has nothing better to show for itself.”

He spoke the words with such a perfectly serious tone that it was impossible to miss the humor underneath. Nic wondered if all greeting started this way in Mossau- insulting yourself to raise the listener up.

“We have prepared some small and unimpressive gifts for you all. But there are rules, laid down by greater souls than my own, which we must respect.”

“One. You shall be called forth in order, based on who has sacrificed most this week.”

“Two. There will be a fighting ring for your amusement, where some slaves of mine will struggle between freedom and death. If you wish, you may settle your disputes in that ring, by arranged duel. Any other form of violence is strictly forbidden.”

“Three…”

“Any deals you make on this ground are sacred, and will be upheld to the letter.”

“I lack the power to save any man who defies these simple laws. Now…”

He stepped back.

Within the garden were a series of small ponds. As the man lifted his hand, the water rose up, forming crystalline images.

A watchtower.

A church.

A granary.

“These are the formations you will be drawing from. We have inscribed the details on these gifts.” He waved his and a set of golden bracers flew out, landing in the hands of the Settlement leaders. Each was divided into eleven segments, holding short descriptions of the formations.

There were clear winners and losers.

The best was the Church of Opulence. A set of ancient draconic glyphs that drew power into gold and gems, creating a potentially vast reservoir of Essence. Neck and neck was the Thunder-Driven Leyline, a set of formations that created a self-growing railway, allowing you to bridge potentially distant territories in a matter of hours.

It would’ve been even better than the church, except the only trains that could survive traveling over the tracks were made from extravagantly expensive materials.

Then there were middling options. A granary-vault that nurtured the soil and grew mundane crops at tremendous speed. A watchtower that could observe any point within the ruled territory. A guardian statue that could shoot flame from its mouth.

But Nic had his eyes set on one thing and one thing only. A formation designed for a training ground, which would conjure illusionary scenarios to test your mettle against.

As Nic’s gaze swept the crowd, he saw a mix of Natives and Invaders. The grim, hard faces of the Natives who struggled for their planet’s survival were a stark comparison to the smiles of the Invaders, drinking wine heavily as they bantered. For them…

This was a playground.

None of the Invaders would care about a simple training formation. Their skills already far outstripped what it could provide. But to the Natives, it was a lifeline.

His chance was slim.

A beam of light shot from the crowd.

“The young master from the Lightning-Pillar Temple has been most generous. He will have the first pick today. Unless…”

There was one nuance to these auctions. You could forfeit your pick for a week to carry the value of your sacrifices to the next. You’d lose any benefit, but in the end, it might be impossible for you to construct the needed ‘housing’ for the runes to begin with; golem runes required expensive bodies, formation runes required entire buildings.

Spending massive amounts of wealth every week wouldn’t help if you lacked the means to build the final product.

For that matter, only one major formation could be built in a triangular territory between three Nodes; it was possible to simply run out of room to expand.

It was a lot to calculate. And long-term thinking, weighed against short-term greed, was a balance Nic was bad at keeping a hold on. “Sofia?”

But of course, she couldn't answer. It was just his instinct to rely on her by now.

Ahead of them, a young man strode out of the crowd. He was clearly an invader. Even if he wasn’t eight feet with a single eye in the middle of his face, the cyclops would have given himself away with his clothes and his noble posture. Elegant snow-white robes fell from his massive shoulders, and he carried a a bow made from emerald-green wood with clouded crystalline leaves unfolding from the grip.

He gestured towards the pool that showed the Church of Opulence. The image shattered, the water falling back down in a storm of raindrops. An inscribed golden bracer flew out of the pool to his hands, carrying a compressed form of the runes.

One by one, the wealthiest of the Settlements took their picks. The granary went next, followed by a weather-controlling formation. The lightning rail lasted for nearly half the picks, the requirements for actually building it too expensive to bear.

It was finally taken by a Native woman with long gold hair who wore a blood-stained apron. Rather than haphazard smears of red, the blood actually seemed to be moving, forming spontaneously into crooked runes and then receding.

Nic was beginning to get a hold on the situation. There were short pauses between each leader being called up to choose, and people were talking, forming groups, whispering.

There were eight Settlements represented here, and only eleven prizes. With five picks down…

If it was a die roll he’d lose a third of the time. But the other formations weren't prizes he could count to draw fire away from his preferred choice.

There was a straw doll formation the size of a giant that was meant for hunting, a kind of living trap that entangled beasts with its limbs. A mud hut that allowed you to commune with spirits when sacred herbs were burned. A meditation pond that would draw from the power of the sun to create golden carp with medicinal cores….

With that kind of trash on the line, there was more and more chance someone would pick the training field.

Another beam of light rose from the crowd.

Nic’s time was running out.

He was going to have to play politics.