Of all the Avensi, you’ll more often than not, meet a Corvani anywhere in a big city. They are the most resourceful, adaptable caste and can be deemed as jack in all manner of trade. They are merchants, couriers and information brokers among other classes and occupations. Even though their plumage has scant variations ranging from blues, blacks, grays and whites they do make up for it with their agreeableness and talkativeness. They are well traveled and more often than not, you’ll find a corvani or two serving as an aership navigator or a [Sighter]. Beware however, they like shiny things. Excerpt by Valerith Quillworth in his book: An Exposition on the Genesis of Races.

Sometime after Arthur’s and Nora’s clash with the vespertine

In the middle of a gorge stood an ancient edifice—remnant from a bygone eon. In the shape of a toroid, it was slightly taller than the steep walls of striated rock, towering above a platform with stairs descending from each of its open faces. The platform, a large structure in its own right, sat in the middle of a large pond, created by a waterfall pouring into the gorge.

There, mist pervaded the air nurturing a colony of moss over its niches, old runes and glyphs—it was a testament to its age and resilience. Below that, absurdly large water lilies swayed in the current, their masses anchored to the bottom of the not shallow pond as the water parted around the hexagonal construction.

A disconnect to the gurgle of falling water, a motley of various races added their own commotion to the sounds of night. There were jeers, grunts of pain and raucous laughter but it was not a sporting event that one would have found upon such a place. The wooden cages arrayed around its perimeter bespoke the perverseness of the occurrence as within, were people shackled in chains and cowering in fear. A few cried in subdued hiccups, clinging to whoever was close to them for safety or muttering to themselves in the furthest corner they could find.

The smell of unwashed grime was almost suffocating, as was the metallic tang of old blood and other unmentionables. Most notable were the men glowering balefully at their captors from beneath swollen eyes. Blood caked their hemp clothing, matted hair while a smattering of bruises disfigured their faces.

On the other side of the cages were, of course, the perpetrators; a few sniggering goblins who took sadistic amusement in scaring their captives by rattling the bars of the cages with blades. Only half a dozen had remained, the rest having thrown their lot with the wing of vespertine that had flown out of the gorge a couple of quarts past.

In another corner of the structure, hobs and orcs were bantering in their pidgin as they gambled around a campfire where a spit roasted a large haunch of meat. The bet was who would get the rest of the auroch steak remaining from their raid on the village, as well as some valuables they’d pillaged.

Their tongue was a brutish dialect of snorts, grunts and sharp sounds accompanied by gestures that were way more physical than they were supposed to be. Whatever back slaps, leg shoves and abrupt jarring pokes were used to convey was anyone’s guess.

One more group stood apart from the chaos undisturbed and unruffled by the events transpiring around them. Not the vespertine who stood watch over the throng below with their crimson gazes, but another group of less barbaric looking people surrounding one of the structures’ curved columns.

Garbed in the color of the night sky, they wore half capes, with embroidery of sigils on the left, a cluster of interlinked silver and blue stars. They also had ornamental silver aiguillettes as though they were part of a navy or a mage academy. Holstered on their belts were arcane artifacts that their less ostentatious companions eyed with greed. But even they knew better than to attempt something untoward. They were undoubtedly the most dangerous of the lot, not excluding the lone vespertine who stood head and shoulders above the group as he watched his kin from below.

“ How much longer Ismuth?” the vespertine spoke, voice coming out as a rumble from his chest. The impatient tapping of his bone claw weapons ceased as he looked over. His visage had minimal in the way of bat features save for his long ears and slightly upturned nose which flared to the sides. He had a prominent brow ridge ringing his eyes. His phylogeny might have not been further from that of an old world primate who perhaps decided to sprout wings. Shaggy hair cascaded from his head and summing up the bizarre features was a pair of sickly white orbs which flickered at every sound as though he wasn't blind.

The woman referred to as Ismuth had been crouching at the bottom of the towering structure. She looked askance at the bat person , giving him a roll of the eyes before resuming what she was doing. Her skin was lilac shade, and two horns curved back from her forehead while salt and pepper tresses jostled on her back as she moved her hands through the air in front of her. A scrying slate sat on her lap while her gold on black eyes were awash with the telltale glow of mana sight.

“ Look, I get it you don’t like daylight…,” she snorted, continuing her actions . “ It's not like you’re a vampire―what are the goggles for?”

“ Don’t interrupt the lady Zsulfur,” another man whose face was obscured by a drawn hood muttered from where he was leaning. He was tinkering with an orb on his hand, poking at it with a rune scriber. Different parts of its faces which retracted and extended accordingly like some puzzle game as runes lit up at his prodding. A variety of enchanted daggers made from a dark metal were sheathed on his belt.

“ Translocation is a very complex magic,” Ismuth the tiefling continued as she manipulated something unseen in the air. “ If I miscast a single vector of the matrix, and there are more than enough of them to power a hundred spells mind you—we could just as well end up in the bottom of the ocean.”

“ Or open a rift gate right in front of our faces,” a fourth person said. Their hooded compariot shivered at that utterance as he looked up at the gate with more wariness . A large youth, the new speaker had a claymore on his back— His outstanding height alone put him crown to crown with the vespertine. He was fair of complexion and a chin so prominent it looked like crush bricks.

“ Still at it, Ismuth?” the new entrant said. Ismuth the lilac skinned tiefling was still engrossed in whatever she was doing.

“ Maybe I would get it done faster if you stopped pestering me about it, “ Ismuth snapped.

“ Listen to the girl Balto,” another one said from where he sat with his legs folded under him. He had his back to them and his eyes were scrunched in concentration as sweat beaded on his brow. The mana around him was so thick the very air itself felt electric as his half cape fluttered from the movement. He had the dark skin and sandy blonde locks of hair of someone born on the Tronesian archipelago. His complexion made the runic tattoos on his biceps stand out all the more as they pulsed with power.

“ Zsulfur, your men failed,” the man suddenly said.

“ You lie!” the vespertine growled, pushing up against the structure’s facade as he walked towards the man. “ I debilitated them enough that some of their abilities wouldn't work. One of them was a shadow porter.”

“ Clearly you underestimated the interlopers,” the man continued to say, not even turning to regard the vespertine. “ Are you sure they were the best of your broodkin Zsulfur? Rabble that has no use will get left behind. ” The batkin was incensed as he advanced to crouch in front of the man. He blew hot air into his face. The surrounding mob of orcs, hobs and goblins went silent at the confrontation.

“ Hoy, we’re all on the same side here, ” Balto said, interposing himself between the two. “ I’m sure the gobs who went after will bring back some news, right?” he said, turning to the group of pillage gamblers, two female orcs, one male and three hobgoblins.

Said group sat at the top of the raiders hierarchy. It was a ragtag band of pinkish, grayish and ashy green and colors in between standing two and three mesurs in height. The males wore a collection of pelts some showing where fur had fallen out—you'd have thought they'd skinned a sick mongrel for it. It was the two women who wore the better gear of the five, seemingly well maintained as it was devoid of unmentionables.

For all of them however, bone necklaces, and a morbid collection of skulls and coccyxes rattled on leather strings; a generous sprinkling of war paint and tattoos spread all over their sinuous bodies. Save for one who was bald, the males’ hair would've let them fit in with punk rockers as they sported mohawks and spiky hair held up by ochre and lard. The women were more conservative, opting side shaved heads and one large braid.

By the number of skulls strung in a necklace around his neck and the ghastlier than thou scarring on its face one of the hobs seemed like the bruiser of the party. An ear looked like a mutt had mangled it before stopping half way gave him the meanest countenance besides the vespertine. It would have been easy to peg him as the leader of the group, because goblins did respect strength and strength alone but would've been further from the truth―

The chieftain did not necessarily have to be a muscle head, but she was no slouch either as she lowered herself from the ground. Biceps and thigh muscles peeking from a loin cloth quivered and flexed as she walked towards the human stopping just short of the three men. A maul fashioned from the jaw of some beast with some wicked teeth sat on her shoulders. Showing her own canine teeth from an underbite, she spoke in broken Common. But for her large frame, scars and gray complexion, she wouldn't have looked out of place at a fishmarket.

“ As long as we get our payment, yes?” she said looking towards the vespertine who snorted her away in contempt.

“ Mara, is it? You will be compensated handsomely for your services,” the Tronesian man said as he got up from the ground. He adjusted his cape as the rune inscriptions on his skin died down. “ And it seems, we’re about to have more company,” he said, staring where the groups of vespertine had gone. They were supposed to have returned, presumably with prisoners but it seemed that was too much to hope for.

” Mara, you'll have to pull your people back. Ismuth, how goes the gate?”

“ A few moments then we’ll be ready,” the tiefling [Wayfarer Mage] replied, not breaking a stride as her motions got more animated.

“ Why take humans from the land of ‘Kerd?” the orcish woman asked with narrowed eyes. “ Easier to take from your land, no?”

“ Haha, we’re not that uncultured,” Salamon called out from where he stood. “ Not as much as the filth that calls this continent home anyway,”

“ Hooh,” the woman purred. “ And what of us?” she added, throwing a gesture towards one of the goblins who proceeded to smack his fellows upside the head. They left hurriedly to go call back their people.

“ Salamon!” The claymore swordsman snapped. “ Forgive my compariot, he has a slippery one on him.” Balto said glaring at the hooded youth who shifted uneasily. The orc just shrugged as if the sentiments had plainly bounced off her thick skin.

“ You never said your name man from the lands of the sea,” Mara put across. She hefted her maul to the front of her,placing both of her palms on its haft.

“ My apologies―”

“ Ah, it's ready!” a scream cut across their conversation as they were rudely interrupted by the tiefling. Every gaze turned towards the gate as the platform they stood on rumbled. There were shrieks of alarm as several arrays of conduits around the hexagonal construct lit up sequentially.

Some of them were even underwater, illuminating from within before the glow ran atop like a doused wick catching on fire. It crossed the platform, running the full length of it and lighting up more runes arranged in arcane mandalas before it zoomed towards the giant toroidal structure. The air in the aperture buzzed as more runes lit up clockwise like a time dial counting up the time.

“ Now just to attune the gate to its leyline….ugh, lessee―half a quart till full attunement. Hmm, slow but better than the last one.”

“ Is it going to work for real this time?” Salamon asked, eyeing the charging Antecessor construct.

“ Who knows?,” Ismuth said, shrugging. She was still engrossed in her slate which was now displaying her work. “ This one seems more intact than most.”

“ Finally, we can finally go home―what I would give for a good side of veal.” Balto said, also looking at the structure.

“ Think the other parties made it before us?” Salamon asked.

“ What is this? A race?” Ismuth snorted. “ I am the best [Wayfarer Mage] there is.”

“ Then pray to the Primals it works, else we’ll be stuck hopping from town to town,” Salamon supplied.“Or worse, translocate an entire swathe of land into the aether.”

“Still hung up on that are you?!” Ismuth fired back. “Let's see you reattune millenia old magitech to the laeghsphere if you can,”

“ Best be getting your people hereabouts Miss Mara,” The Tronesian Islander hummed, hands behind his back. “ I have a good feeling about this one. And if you must know, my name is Zeur.”

It took some doing but the old elf masquerading as a sylvani cryomancer did it; only it turned out he needn't have worried too much. However something was wrong—not in a bad way per se, but not in a good way either. By the time he’d gotten it to work, Arthur, Nora and Umbra were within eyeshot of the village of Dorn. As always, Umbra was ranging ahead, scouting. The goblins seemed to have been content to stay back as their presence was barely there this side of the hills.

“Arcis?" Arthur spoke over the linked [Farspeak]. There was a slight delay as the spell was rerouted by Volemhir's [Proxy] spell. Thankfully the old elf had kept out of it.

Besides him, Nora walked on her own two legs, feeling rejuvenated as they descended the last knoll. The village could be seen over the top of the sparse woodland separating the farms from the river.

“Hello to you dear father. We finally speak again…”

And that was the clincher that something had gone wrong.The voice was the same, but the cadence was not and the synth spoke with an almost bored detachedment.

“What did you do to her?!” Arthur growled. He shuddered to think that the former host-mind would've turned into a body snatcher and that the girl he knew was no more.

”At ease father, if you must know Arcis is in hibernation.” the synth said as a matter of fact.

“ What?! That does not tell me anything.” Arthur blustered, attracting Nora's attention. the dhampir tapped her own telecry choker to listen in.

“ That would best be explained in person. I am currently devoting all my faculties to take care of a few hiccups at the moment.”

“What’s going on?” Nora asked worriedly. She'd caught up in the middle of the conversation. “There was an incident. I seemed they had been closer to you than we thought,” the synth paused. “ Added to that the ship came under fire―”

“ Vesper’s Pits! “ Nora hissed, interrupting the girl. “ I knew there really was something more to it than just one dwarf,” she said as her pace picked up. She literally slid down the hill, jumping boulders as her pace picked up. Arthur hastened his pace struggling to match her nimbleness over treacherous footing.

“ However, we managed to turn the situation around and are now en-route. I should be there under a par.”

“ You? What do you mean you? Are you flying the Stormbreaker above its tolerances? I barely fixed the cooling yesterday, “ Arthur interjected, surprised. “What about the rest of the crew?”

“ Correction dear father, I borrowed a vessel. The Stormbreaker is in Miss Elena’s capable hands.”

“And the dwarves?”

“ In custody, the owner of this vessel is on a temporary truce―she says there are individuals affiliated with the Void Syndicate in the vicinity.”

Arthur almost stumbled and twisted his ankle. Nora halted coming up short; she turned around and looked at Arthur with a mixture of shock and bewilderment.

“ While heroics are commendable, we are woefully unprepared to meet the horrors of this world. On the totem pole of hierarchy and power, it does not bear need repeating that we’re barely hovering above the dirt―”

Arthur resumed walking, gritting his teeth in chagrin. ‘I get it, you don’t have to rub it in when we had our asses handed to us.’ he fumed, before he crushed the conceitedness that was fanning up a retort. Instead, he centered himself by focusing on the matters at hand.

“ What do I call you?” Arthur asked. Nora beckoned him for a short [Shadow Port] through the river. Still reeling from mana depletion, it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

“And will Arcis be back?” He inquired hesitatingly. “ From whatever hibernation she's in?”

“ What could have happened to make her like that?” Nora asked Arthur, almost whispering. She was not acquainted with the other side of the synth; not as much as Arthur anyway. As soon as they emerged on the other side of the [Shadow Port], the synth who was not Arcis continued.

“ To the first question, you may call me Numen. As for the second, I guarantee an affirmative. My extrapolations have never been wrong—she is currently in shock however, and it seems you shall have to bear with me for a while―”

Arthur groaned. Nora had a questioning expression that seemed to ask how insufferable this other personality of hers was.

“ At least until I ascertain you are out of danger.” she picked up where she'd left off. ”As for Lady Nora’s question―”

Nora snorted a laugh at the appellation.

“ My soul-sister had an unfortunate acquaintance with a mana seeking spell from the Sturmjager.”

““ What?!”” both Nora and Arthur yelled.

“ In doing so she saved the ship.”

“ And this Sturmjager you speak of?” Nora inquired on their behalf.

“ Captured and commandeered by the aforementioned acquaintance,” she answered without hesitation; however the vitriol in her voice was hard to veil. There was silence; the synth intuited that they would ask how it came to be so she filled them in, “ It was with the help of adventurers that they were brought to heel. Ah, I should be coming up on your location, please standby.”

By then, the duo had reached the site where they’d had their campfire. There, they found Umbra sniffing at a familiar necromancer who was snoring under the tree and muttering something or another about his strelitzias and livingstone daisies. Arthur shook his head wrly.

Seeing the drachenflieger in person was a surreal experience in and of itself. Arthur could not help shake himself from the stupor of seeing the vessel come in for a landing. Its approach was no different from the helicopters of Arthur's world—only the fanfare of whipping air and thundering rotors was conspicuously absent. In its place, two pairs of gossamer wings levitated by its side seemingly independent of attachments .

They were ringed by the unmistakable glow of Aer mana, tracing circles of runes—was the same collector mechanism Arthur had used for his hoverboard but larger. Part of the wings were made up of the metal that covered the rest of the craft while the other half towards the apex was really just mana sails over and below the frame. And when it finally landed they swiveled, parallel with the airframe the same way a bird would furl its wings.

For the sake of whatever Erythean called their Pete, it even had it even had landing skids! And it was for the first time that Arthur got his first look at what the foci for artillery spellcraft looked like. The one on the right was a red cut gem the size of his fist, ensconced inside an emplacement that looked like a heater coil. The left one had the same design but with a blue gem— there was a bit of frost still melting off the thing showing that it had seen recent use.

Overall the vessel had an apt moniker as the drachenflieger since its design language actually borrowed from the insect but without the slenderness. That said, its size could easily rival that of a Merlin MK4 helicopter used by some navy back in Arthur’s world. Even the camouflage paint motif of greens and browns would have been some military aircraft outright.

‘Whoever built it did their homework,’ Arthur mused. Finally the canopy opened. The canopy, where a dragonfly would have its compound eyes bulging from its head, detached halfway at the frons, or in the drachenflieger’s case, the nose cone. It opened upwards with a pneumatic hiss as though the notion of pressurized cabins in a world of magic was actually a thing.

Arthur’s reverie was broken by a thump as the sole flier disembarked from the vessel. Her hair was bound up in braided buns on the side of her head— Arthur had to blink to make sure he was seeing the right person. The eyes had gold irises instead of the blue he was used to. However, the thing that threw the youth for a loop more than most was the leather multi pocket jumpsuit―flight suit?

It was something he didn’t remember Arcis having. It did seem borrowed as it bunched up at the legs where a fitting pair of boots completed the ensemble. Holstered to her thigh was―

‘Mud on a dipstick!’Are those guns? Arthur’s mind whirled.

He felt like he was looking at a very young and absurdly short air cadet―no from the way she stood there with her hands behind her back you would have thought her the flight sergeant instead. Her expression was flat and stern.

“ Father, Lady Nora,” the synth spoke through their respective communication artifacts as he nodded to each in turn. She faked covering a cough with her palms, the gesture more than enough to convey clearing her throat. Arthur could not mistake the flush of blue for anything other than the synth’s equivalent of a blush.

She schooled her face as she continued. “ Excuse my inability to use spoken speech; I am still getting used to this body―” she communicated. Her lips barely even moved. “ I hope you will not begrudge me for that— I find it rather limiting in some ways,” saying that she looked at Nora who stood aghast to the side of Arthur. Umbra was napping beneath the tree as was the necromancer who had barely roused. For a moment, no words were spoken.

Finally finding his voice,Arthur asked, “ What’s with all the get up?”

“I recall mentioning that my twin took an artillery spell to the body,” she stated. “ I thought to remedy that by leveraging my temporary association with the dwarven Seeker to get this enchanted garb.” she added pinching the suit by the sides of her chest. “ I predict that such occurrences might be more frequent in future and therefore, I would recommend that we be given armor for future engagements.”

“And the weapons?” Arthur asked the million-dollar question. “ We’re making flintlocks now?”

“ No—rune wands, ” she shook her head. ”A casting aid as we are not able to cast conjuration magic,” she said, drawing both from hastily fashioned holsters. She seemed to have shorn off the bottom of sword sheaths and improvised. Arthur threw up his arms saying, “ I knew this would happen.”

“ It was inevitable, “ Numen nodded. “ I would like to add that leaving the ship undefended with no shields and artillery was inadvisable, “ she narrowed her eyes.

“ What else are you hiding from me…Numen?” Arthur said, advancing on her such that he towered over the 4 foot 7 girl.

“ Nothing that would conflict with our mutual interests,” Numen said, meeting his gaze with unflinching eyes.

“ I recall someone locking me out of my Psiphone,” Arthur said with a thin smile. “ I don’t exactly see that as being mutual.”

The synth sighed, breaking eye contact. “ I shall remedy that—At the time I thought it appropriate to have you focus on building the aership as I too have vested interests―”

Arthur gave her a look.

“ Which I am not obliged to tell you at this time,” she went on as she holstered the rune wands. “ Now shall we get this underway?”

“ What?” Nora chipped in, speaking for the first time since the conversation began.

“ I believe an appropriate expression should be, the cavalry has arrived.” Numen replied, she turned around to stare towards the sky. The night blue was starting to blush from a pre dawn light, driving home just how long Arthur had been up through the night. On the horizon, it was then that they saw the unmistakable silhouette of two ships.

“ Whuh, ah? What cavalry?” The necromancer finally started. “ How did I get here?”