It was the time of the harvest for the town of Blackstone.

There was reason to be happy, as, after years of meagre results, the crops were plentiful. The farmers made their way through seas of gold and green as they worked to bring home the fruits of their labors. Entire wagons full with baskets of fruits, grains and vegetables were hauled daily beyond the city doors, with still a long way to go.

Even the animals were going great, both their numbers and health having remained good despite the harsh winter.

Larders and warehouses, left empty by the long winter months, were being stocked once again. Famine, that had stalked the town for so long, seemed to have finally become a thing of the past.

The people were happy, and their cherfulness filled the air, making the pleasant summer air even more brilliant, the cloudless sky even more limpid.

Still, there was something heavy in the air also. As they hauled sacks on carts while smiling, reaped through flurishing fields while laughing, recorded with satisfaction the good harvest, joked with each other about good dinners and full stomachs and helped with the work, there was an undercurrent of tension in the motions of the inhabitants of the town.

There had been rumours going around, voices. They talked about movements east, over the Rurian Plateau, where the Flames ruled. The Flamelings seemed to be getting antsy again. Why, they even had some of them come in town, some kind of important personage, supposedly.

It wasn’t anything new. The flamelings had always some interest toward the town and the region that it ruled over. Still, they never advanced any real claim, held in check by the presence of other city-states in the region and, more importantly, the Seveli, to the west.

They had butted heads about it for quite some time, Seveli and Flamelings. The Avurran valleys were a rich country, ruled by city-states that had grown prosperous over a good commercial position and fertile soil. Each of the two kingdoms would have gladly taken over, but each had avoided strong moves, in fear of retaliation from the other.

The inhabitants of Blackstone were used to living between two angry elephants that hated each other, as used one could be, and they felt that things were different this time.

Seveli and Flamelings were at their patience’s end with each other, they said; that something had happened, up north, that had strained their relationship much past the usual head-butting, that maybe, just maybe, the Valleys were going to end up as the battlefield of a war very close in the making.

The inhabitants of Blackstone didn’t know anything precisely, but they could feel it nonetheless, a suspect made stronger by the come and go of important characters.

Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. It remained to see if and where they would discharge their deluge, and even a good harvest wasn’t enough to quell the tension.

If they could choose, they would have gladly remained independent, just like their fathers and fathers’ fathers had been. If they couldn’t, well, at least the flamelings were humans…

It was in this moment of general anxiety that an unknown coach stopped before one of the mansions of the Old Ruins.

Together with its neighborhood, it had been abandoned since everybody could remember, hence the name. All the nobles had always lived in the district closer to the Palace. And yet, there had been voice of a regular purchase, just a symbolic price, and then, curious strangers had started to come and go to it. They had all been the reticent sort, never engaging in conversation that went further the bare minimum, and even then only if strictly necessary. They all wore large hats that shielded perfectly normal faces, if one didn’t account for the unexplicable unease that came from the large smiles. Not like they had been rude or anything, in fact, it was the opposite. Always polite, always ready to wave some greetings to the passer-by, their social limitations seemed relegated only to the speaking part. Still, there was something strange about them, some unknown vibe that the inhabitants couldn’t understand, but that still pushed them away from trying to make further acquaintance.

As the strangers kept coming and going, more remained on site. For many days and nights, there had been a lot of banging, stomping and other, less identifiable sounds coming from the Ruins. They were repairing the place, that was for sure, but something in those sounds made them somewhat ghastly, maybe because they came from a part of the own the inhabitants were used to consider silent, maybe something else.

They had stopped just a couple of days before. The mansion, that, despite being a tumbledown wreck, was still the most serviceable of those forming the neighborhood, was looking a lot more like something resembling a true house, even if the old elegance was nowhere to be seen. The doors had been replaced by massive specimens that looked like they could have taken a battering ram without flinching. Bars had been affixed to the windows. The garden had been trimmed and most of the rubble cleaned away. The roof had been patched up, and a balcony, that was about to go down, had been shored up with heavy props.

All in all, only the most basic repairs had been made. Still, during a hot summer evening, the coach stopped before the entrance to the mansion‘s garden. It was a big, foreboding thing, all black panels and veiled windows. It didn’t emit as much as a creak as the two horses pulling it came to a stop.

The driver, a short, modestly-dressed member of the smiling strangers, jumped down and ran to open the side door. He squeaked something in a high-pitched voice, to which a gruff reply came from the shadowed inside.

A moment later, an unknown gentleman stepped out the couch.

He was tall, and well-dressed in an all-black attire that wouldn’t have cut a poor figure compared to those worn by the richest nobles of the town. The stranger carried himself with poise, but whatever sympathy one could feel toward him disappeared the moment one looked at his face. He was old, that was for sure, but nobody would have been able to guess his exact age. His face was set with deep lines and framed by a snow-white crop beard cut to almost geometrical precision. His features had something of the patrician in them, but his eyes, of a shining gold, held a surliness and at the same time a disdainful arrogance that few could look upon without feeling immediately judged and found wanting.

Or at least, that was what Old Ruddy had told people. The drunkard was between the few being present when the coach arrived, and the only one with the guts to get close to the curious stranger, asking for some coins, only to risk receiving a kick where the sun didn’t shine for the trouble.

After that, the stranger disappeared inside “his” mansion, and nobody had seen him since.

Two days had passed, and the town was abuzz with gossip. Blackstone had received few new residents over the years, and questions abunded about the newcomer.

He was certainly rich, since he had so many dependants to his service and even a private couch and could afford to live in a house as big as that. Apart from that, there really wasn’t any certainty, and so the inhabitants’ fantasy ran wild.

Conditioned by the current state of affairs, many theories ran toward spies, covert agents and things like that, either from the Flamelings or the Seveli. Others shook their heads at the notion, pointing out that a spy would choose a much less obvious method to sneak in the city. These thought more about the lines of some kind of refugee, an exile abandoning his homeland for some reason. The idea was romantic enough to attract the attention of many, especially young girls, but the most were concerned about the possibility that whatever the stranger was running from would bring more trouble that they didn’t need.

These and a moltitude more of theories, ideas and fantasies ran about the mysterious stranger, but in the end they shared one particular. Whoever he was, whatever he meant to do, right now Blackstone wasn’t welcoming to new residents, and so it wasn’t welcoming to him.

Keeping the moth-eaten curtain aside, Gorren peered through the window. The glass, stained and warped by who knows how many years of not being cleaned, gave him a twisted image of the street. Still, it was empty, and that was enough for him. The guards he had posted, a quartet of men and women armed with spears, swords and shields and covered in leather armors reinforced with iron, were at their place as well, surveilling the approach to the mansion. More were posted at the windows of the first and second floor, keeping careful watch for any possible intruder.

He grunted, and left the curtain fall back in its place.

The room he had chosen to serve as his study was large and, between all those contained in the mansion, was the less hit by time’s disrepair.

It had to be a nice place, once, as the large fireplace, the luxurious crystal chandelier and the plates of wood that still covered the walls could testify. Still, time and neglect had eaten away at whatever elegance that had existed there. The floor tiles were chipped, marred or missing in multiple places, whatever design they once showed lost amidst the cracks and the fading colors. The fireplace was clogged and unusable, while the majority of wooden panels were rotten and had to be removed, alongside the mouldering wrecks left by previous pieces of forniture. The chandelier had survived remarkably well, but Gorren despised such extravagance, and had it thrown out.

The place, after a good dusting and cleaning, was left sparse. A sturdy desk, a table, a chair and a file cabinet, that Gorren had his servants bring there, didn’t even begin to fill up the space. Still, as much as he was concerned, it was more than enough. He didn’t care for comfort, never had. As long as he had what he needed and there was no pesky draft, he was okay with it.

He glared at the damp stain that covered the majority of the ceiling. He wasn’t going to complain, but still, he missed the blessed solitude of his laboratory, his tools and machines and projects.

He grunted, dispelling the thought. No point lingering over it. He needed to be there, even if he didn’t like it.

There was a knock on the door. Expecting it, Gorren took seat at the desk.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, and four figures, two men and two women, filed in.

The first was short and broad-chested, and advanced with martial strides. His boulder-like head, from which two color-mismatched eyes peered over the world with grim intensity, was topped by a mop of straw hair. Everything about the man bellowed power, from the thick neck to the arms bulging with muscle. He was covered by a mix of leather and iron armor, but wore no helmet. A beautiful scimitar hang at his belt, and he carried a round shield over his back.

The man’s rough features were set into a grim expression, but his strange eyes shone with a lethal light. Stopping before the desk, he bowed in a martial manner.

Just after him came a woman that seemed his perfect opposite in every way. She was as tall and thin as the man was short and wide, her soft, pale features set into a serene expression. Everything about her whispered peace and welcome and kindness, from her soft smile, to the candide mane of white hair flowing down her back to the humble way she carried herself. She wore a simple, rough dress that reached at her feet, complete with a large hood. A thick, twisted rope made for her belt, and she had a bag tied to it.

She inclined her head toward Gorren once, smiling.

The other two were less a man and a woman and more a boy and a girl. They shared the simple clothes and the short heights, but apart from that their features couldn’t have been more different. The girl had red hair and hazelnut eyes, the boy black hair and blue eyes. They shot each other irritated looks, both completely at odds with the strangely fixed smiles they wore.

As they stopped before the desk, the girl bumped into the boy, the boy bumped back, they threw each other a poisonous glance and looked ready to start bickering.

Gorren’s firm knock over the desk made them freeze right away, and jump to attention.

The mage took a moment to take in his work. The trasmutation of his Gremlins had been a lenghty affair, especially about Dara and Tur, as the two were already going through their own controlled mutations, but, considering the time and method constraints, it was a success. Or at least, it would be, if someone decided to be more cooperative.

“I told you to stop smiling like that.” Gorren grunted with irritation. “I am sure you’re already scared the people of this town enough already. I don’t need more of it.”

Trich and Krik quickly bobbed with their heads, earlier skirmish forgotten.

“Yes. Master. Forgive us, Master.” The male said.

“It’s just that it still hurts a bit.” The female completed through clenched teeth and the large smile.

To their credit, they tried to take other expressions, even if grimacing was the most succesful.

Gorren fumed, but didn‘t press his rebuke. Alchemical-only trasmutations wasn’t as effective as trasmutation that was supported by both alchemy and pure magic. It offended and umiliated him being forced to resort to such second-hand work, but prudence had its price.

“It will pass with time.” He said, waving the matter aside. The two trasmuted Gremlins nodded hopefully.

Gorren crossed his fingers on the desk before him. “Now, to business.” Trich and Krik straightened up and looked nervous. Dara nodded gently. Tur didn’t move of an inch. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but right now this town doesn’t like me.” Gorren said.

There was a small wave of disbelief running through the four. Why would the humans don’t like their honored Master?

“It’s my intention to reverse what they think.” Gorren continued, ignoring the reaction. “We will make so that not only they will accept us in their town, but they will consider us, and consider me, an unreplaceable addition to it.” His eyes blinked with mischief. “That is how we will do it.”

The four trasmuted Gremlins listened with the utmost attention while Gorren explained his plan. To them, it was strange and full of unknowns, but none dared to question it and, if they spoke, it was only to ask clarifications, accepting without a protest if the Master decided not to give them.

Like they had accepted without a question being trasmuted in those new forms, like they had accepted all the instructions that the Master had given them about the way they were to conduct themselves about humans, now they accepted that plan. It was more than absolute trust and faith; in their minds, the word of the Master was law. The possibility of disobeying was unthinkable, not even taken into consideration. To them, they felt, it fell only the duty to make sure that the Master’s vision came to life, offering, at best, suggestions as to how that could be accomplished, but not to question, never to question.

“And that’s all.” Gorren concluded. “Go now. Go and do as i command.”

The four bowed in aknowledgement, then filed out of the room.

Once he was alone once again, Gorren got up from the desk and went to the window, extracting a small box from his pocket as he did. Smell of cigar filled the room as he lit up one from his personal escort. He took a long drag, feeling the flavor fill his lungs. He kept it in for a moment, then sighed, puffing out a small cloud of white smoke. Fragrant and heady, just like he liked it. It added to his growing satisfaction.

As they often did as of late, his thoughts ran to the strange barrier enclosing the palace. He had passed weeks studying the damn thing, while scouting the city, first through the eyes of his golem and then in various forms, animal and not. The precise nature of the Mana that formed it still eluded him, but of one thing he was sure: it wasn’t the work of living mages. If it was, it should have shown peaks and falls in its intensity, each corresponding to the moments when the mages recharged it and refreshed the structure that sustained it. Instead, the blasted thing was like a wall. It never changed, never pulsed, never let up. It had to be the work of some kind of machine, but then again, what kind?

Gorren entertained himself with various possibilities for a few moment, before shrugging. Whatever it was, it was a problem. That barrier was powerful, even him had to admit it, but that wasn’t the real quandary. He was confident he could pierce it, given time. What it concerned him was who, or what, had built it. And also, its other functions.

Other mages could have been fooled, but he wasn’t. He had perceived that, whatever held that barrier up, it also acted as a long-range detection tool. He wasn’t completely sure about it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the blasted thing could detect bursts of magic in a radius that encompassed the whole town and its immediate sorroudings.

In two words, slightly impressive.

As much as the people of Blackstone weren’t politically allineated with the Kingdom of the Flaming Light, or the Flamelings, like they called them, they still venerated that heathen god, and had a branch of its church there. From his scouting runs, he had learned that the clergy of the Flaming Light was concerned with holding up that barrier and other more… unsavory business.

So, here he had a clergy that preached against every use of magic and made use of some kind of magic to protect its assets and detect its enemies. The irony delighted him.

From what he had learned, Blackstone was still inside the territory held by old Truvia, but outside of those held by the Flamelings. So, apart from Blackstone’s importance as a commercial hub, the church of the Flaming Light had enough power to plant something like that even outside their own nation. With that kind of prowess, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities that they also had some ways to communicate with each other.

The obvious conclusion was that he couldn’t underestimate them.

That was why he had opted to enter the city under that disguise, while limiting as much as he could the use of raw magic. That would have kept him out of the watchful eye of the Flamelings, while allowing him to ingratiate himself with the population. He was loath to appear in person, but it wasn’t something he could trust to anybody else.

Reaching a respectable position in the community would have allowed him to gather information impossibile to acquire from the outside, while avoiding the use of magic that could bring unwanted attention from a power he wasn’t sure he could face head-on.

It would be a long road, no mistake, and with its risks, but he relished the challenge. After so much time, he could finally strike back…

“I am back.” He singsonged in a low voice.

He chuckled, a dark sound echoing in the room.

It was a busy day at Blackstone’s market square. The merchants, after having braved the passes of Erchart and Erfurt, had come from all the sorrouding territories and farther to buy and sell their wares.

The large, round square was crowded with stalls big and small. Merchants praised their merchandise with loud voices, customers haggled in earnest, everything was a hubbub of voices. Tall and lithe Seveli, red-robed Flamelings, variegate-looking inhabitants of the City-States or travellers come from farther still, clothed in exotic dresses, all were present, their mutual enmities forgotten for the moment.

Still, for all the chaos, voices still ran, and more than a couple of eyes had been watching, and still did, the sturdy, two-story building that stood at the southern end of the square. It had been used as a warehouse, but recently voices said that it had been sold to a good price, even better than its optimal position for business could request.

It had been site of a lot of comings and goings, of stuff moved out and furniture moved in, but right now it was silent. The sign “open” hang by the door, flanked by a boy and a girl that held large signs announcing the great opening of the establishment.

Already a small knot of people had formed before it, curious as to what it could be.

“A Guild?” Said one, scratching his head while looking at the sign above the door.

“An Adventurers Guild!” Specified the girl with a large smile, primly.

“What it does do?” Asked another one.

“Easy!” The boy replied eagerly. “You have a problem? You go inside, tell what it is, pay and they will send people to fix it!”

There was an exchange of glances between the presents.

“It… it’s expensive?”

“Not at all! Come in! Ask! The Gray Goblin Guild is open to everybody!”