A towering man with thick arms and a bushy moustache emerged from the forest near the small mining outpost, called Avalon. Hoisted on his enormous shoulders was the carcass of a deer. His name was Frank Strongarm, a farmer’s son who took up his father’s trade of harvesting the earth, until that fateful day when he travelled too far south into the wilderness, and was taken by slavers.

Remembering his years as a captive to first the slavers and then kobolds, Frank felt a great debt to his savior Forte Mott, who not only freed him from the kobolds’ cages, but also gave him honest work, generous pay, and an important position within the outpost. The kobolds didn’t treat him or the rest of the captives too poorly, but they denied him fresh air and an axe to swing for far too long. He vowed to work hard to repay Forte for saving him.

Frank had a great deal of respect for Forte, who amazed him and the rest of the miners with both his display of magic, and his strength with that large greatsword of his. He took in a breath of the crisp valley air, and headed out of the forest, towards Avalon with his catch. The deer would be enough to feed the colony for the night. Although, normally it was the dragon that hunted for food. Frank never felt completely comfortable around Forte’s dragon, with his piercingly intelligent golden eyes, and of course the monstrous jaws. But he had come to like the dragon.

He entered Avalon, and was amused by how much the outpost had grown since Forte was gone. The dwarven builders that Forte let into the colony had built the beginnings of a large, stone watchtower in the middle of the outpost, next to the refinery and blast furnace. Several new houses had sprung up to accommodate the builders, and they now had a mess hall and the beginnings of an armory. Frank greeted the miners as they rushed towards the mess hall for lunch.

A roar rang through the sky, as a dark, regal figure descended onto the ground with a loud thump. Frank smiled—it was the black dragon. They had not had trouble with beasts as long as the dragon was around. The sight of him made Frank feel at ease, and at home. The dragon walked off to its favorite spot, the top of a hill overlooking the outpost, and Frank followed, ready to report the day’s update.

They reached the top of the hill, and Frank began to speak. “Greetings, dragon. As you can see, the weather is clear today, and I have neither seen nor smelled the tracks of orcs, kobolds, or dwarves in the forest to our west. As for the builders, I was thinking that we should construct a rudimentary wall around the outpost, to further deter—“

A strange, rumbling sensation entered Frank’s mind, and his head nearly split in pain. A smooth, masculine voice began to speak.

We will not build a perimeter wall. The outpost still needs to expand, and will not be limited by such a thing. Not yet.

Frank was shaken. He didn’t understand where the voice was coming from, and yet the answer seemed so obvious. It was the dragon speaking. He had no idea that the dragon could speak, since it had always communicated through nods or head shakes in the past. “A-are you speaking, great dragon?” the lumbering man said with a deep but slightly nervous voice.

Kekekekekek.

The dragon was laughing.

Yes, it is I.

You heard what I said, I presume.

Frank nodded quickly. “Yes, great dragon, I heard. We will not build the wall yet, and will focus on expanding the outpost first. The town coffers have grown by nearly two thousand in the weeks your master has been gone. Should we invest in a--"

The builders are dwarven, are they not? Tell them to refurbish our blast furnace, anvils, and smithing equipment. Eventually, we will produce the best arms in the entire continent. But for now, refurbish the arms production line as if we are preparing for war. It will be ready for Forte when he returns. In the meantime, make sure to plow the fields and get ready for a large harvest.

“What will we do with arms and no army?” Frank questioned.

The army will come later. Logistics come first. Food, weapons, and an impregnable fortress. That is what we need. And plus, we can always sell the weapons. But we must be careful who we sell them to.

“You are right… Avalon can specialize in mining and smithing. That would attract merchants here, and then more people could come settle here when they realize it is safe from beasts. Then, the outpost would grow into a small town!” Frank reasoned.

Yes. That is why we must invest in infrastructure and defenses first and foremost. We are still under threat of being attacked by orcs, kobolds, and dwarves. We should construct four archery bunkers to supplement the watchtower, and arrows for ammunition. Tell that to the dwarves, and Horton Chestgrove. You are dismissed.

“Thank you, dragon,” Frank responded, as he turned around and headed back towards the outpost. He had his work cut out for him.

He arrived in the outpost amidst a brawl. A few of the miners were trading blows with the dwarven builders.

“You dirty thief!” a dwarf shouted, as he slammed his fist against the midsection of a man.

Frank Strongarm broke into the clearing and thumped his chest. “Hey now, stop! All of you!”

The brawlers landed a few more blows before turning to regard Frank. “Who started this mess? What happened?” he asked.

A tough looking dwarf stepped forwards. “This human right here tried to steal my beer! My best beer, no less. There’s no drinks around here, and so that stuff is worth its weight in gold.”

The thin looking man who was accused spoke up. “I just wanted a sip, and maybe pour a bit for my brother. Wasn’t trying to steal the whole bottle.”

Frank silenced the two of them, and shook his head. “You should’ve known better, Ern. That was stealing, nothing about it. I will repay the dwarf with my own silver.”

The tough dwarf looked enraged. “That’s it? I want that thief lashed! Human scum. Should’ve known better than to take this job. Who knows if I’ll get paid at the end of the day?”

Frank’s expression hardened. “You will get paid. In fact, I will pay you right after this. But we can’t do lashings. Choose a softer punishment.”

The dwarf scoffed and kicked the ground, loosening a bit of dirt that swirled like dust through the cold air. Ern coughed from the dust. “Fine. Don’t let the lad have dinner for three days.”

Frank nodded. “That sounds like a fair punishment. What do you say, Ern? No dinner for three days as punishment for stealing.”

Ern grunted. “That’s not fair! I was just borrowing the bottle for a bit.”

Frank walked up to Ern and grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. “I’ll decide what’s fair or not. Do you want to break the fragile truce we have with these dwarves right now? I don’t think so. So shut up and take the punishment that you deserve.” He pushed Ern back, whimpering.

-----

Vaun sipped his tea as he surveyed the map Gerald Leblanc laid on the table. It was a map of the capital, showing an array of tunnels and sewer systems.

Gerald tapped the map with his cane, pointing towards a particular tunnel leading out of the capital. “This is where the more… unsavory… slaves get into the capital.”

The elderly man wiped his glasses, then turned to face Vaun. “What I’m about to tell you next, you must swear to me never to mention this to anyone else, until the ordeal is over. Understood?”

Vaun nodded. Gerald continued. “Good. There is a carnival of sorts that takes place in a coliseum within the tunnels and sewers. That’s right, there is an entire coliseum built down there. Slaves are forced to fight to the death in a ring with various weapons and scenarios, while watched by a few select nobles. The latest scenario was a forest setting pitting four unarmed slaves against a bear. Needless to say, the bear won.”

Vaun gagged, revolted by the revelation. “How do you know about this, sir?” He didn’t know how to react, as the revelation was more than he expected. Vaun’s mind spun as he imagined the different ways he would love to poison all the aristocrats that went to such a venue.

“Why, I’ve been invited there myself. The carnival is the reason why I abhor the practice of slavery so much. Now you understand,” he replied.

Vaun still did not understand why Gerald had told him this. If anything, it could turn him against the elderly man. Gerald sighed. “I had to confess this to you to proceed. You see, I suspect that it is my sudden absences from these events that have prompted the attacks against me. Unfortunately, I myself cannot investigate this matter without being instantly recognize. That is where you come in, Vaun. You will investigate on my behalf. You will attend the carnival, and figure out who exactly ordered my head to be delivered to his or her doorstep.”

Vaun shuddered. He did not want to be part of this endeavor, but it seemed like his role was essential to bringing down the inner ring of slavers. He reluctantly agreed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. Now I have a gnawing suspicion of Mortimus Beetley. He is a short man with a flamboyant moustache, and always wears a ridiculous plumed hat. I’m sure you will find him. Now, we may need to pull a little ruse to get you in the event in the first place…”

------

Seamus was exasperated, as he tried for the thirteenth time to stay up in the air, falling after a mere two seconds. “What’s the point of all this anyway?”

At those words, Professor Salamander turned and faced Seamus with a fierce look on his face. “Levitation is one of the key tenets of magic, boy. You must master it to delve into the more advanced arts. Ariz corpus!” he shouted, as he levitated Seamus helplessly in the air for a brief moment.

“That split second can be the different between life and death in a mage duel, or in a combat scenario. That is why levitation is so important, son,” said Professor Salamander. “Class is over.”

The sound of shuffling bags could be heard again, as students rushed to the dining hall for lunch. Seamus walked besides Forte, clutching his pants gloomily. “Any tips on levitation, Forte?”

Forte knew that he could teach Seamus how to levitate for half a minute, but he did not want to reveal his prowess. “Sorry, I’m not quite sure myself. I think it comes naturally.”

Seamus groaned and kept walking. “Natural talent, huh. I don’t have any of that.”

Forte looked encouragingly at Seamus. “Hey, not with that attitude you won’t have any. You just have to work harder.”

Seamus looked enraged. “Work harder? All my life I’ve been working harder to cast magic. My mother and father expect talent from me. But what do I have? Nothing! I don’t have any talent for magic, and without talent it’s impossible to to achieve half the results of a genius like you, even if I work twice as hard. How is that fair?”

Forte sighed. “It isn’t fair, Seamus. The world isn’t fair. Some people just have more power than others, and it is up to the powerless to stand up for themselves.” He gritted his teeth, as he was thinking about the king.

Seamus nodded. “You’re right. The powerless do have to stand up for ourselves. And I’ll do it with hard work and diligence. I’ll work twice as hard as you if I have to, even if I only achieve a third of your results.”

Forte was not listening to Seamus, as he was already planning steps to oppose the king. He would need an army.