“There are, all in all, somewhere around three dozen people who have reached or exceeded level 30 alive today. We are in an epoch of the powerful-- make no mistake.”

Karnik Wellwatcher

Helena and Greg had reunited with the rest of the group. When the sun rose, and Darla and her family descended the stairs to check on their revolutionary guests, they found a fireplace full of ashes, carefully extinguished, and bedrolls carefully rolled up and sorted off to one side of it. Their guests, though, were nowhere to be found.

🟌

“I just don’t know how we’re supposed to defeat Devoleon.” Helena said, ever the optimist.

“We would all have said the same things about Andrium a month ago.” Zara shot back, a bit testily.

“While I don’t know about the motivations behind the statement,” Bim said peaceably, “You do have a point, Helena. We’ve lost the element of surprise, Devoleon is a great deal more intelligent and well-prepared than that fool wizard ever would have been, and his web of deceit and connections only grows as time goes on. He’ll be a tricky foe to take down, but we will take him down. Andrium was practically invulnerable and could kill scores of people with a snap of his fingers and an ounce of will, and we still took him down with little more than three weeks of prep time.”

“Yeah, but we had help from a cabal of superrich oddballs and a priceless anti-magical relic on our side at the end. I doubt we’ll have that kind of backing again on this mission.” Greg pointed out reasonably.

“Then we go to the East, and seek out Gontan aid. Greg, you know some people there, I believe? And Zara, they’re bound to respect a of your level. We have inroads there, and they have powerful folk on their side.” Bim said.

Helena scoffed derisively. “I still think this is faintly ridiculous. Gontad, really? A bunch of backwards savages, most of their population obsessed with meditation and unable to break level 10?”

“Don’t put them down so readily. They’re a strange people compared to the rest of the continent, I admit, but they’re dedicated to self-reflection and enhancing one’s inner strength as much as one’s outer strength. Plus, census data states that the median level is 12, and the average level is 14, both of which are one level of overall Esultaran median and average levels.” Zara spoke crisply and sharply, as if handedly patronizing and educating the at the same time.

Greg gaze Zara a curious look. “How do you know that?”

Zara was silent for a beat, responding haltingly, a bamboozled look in her eyes. “I don’t actually… know.”

Helena spat on the dirt and shook her head, unpersuaded, as the wagon picked up speed. They were following an old beaten dirt path, having been traveling for days northeastward, heading toward the closest major settlement, Brosiad. While Brosian, the predecessor ruler to Stillbottums, had been considered weak and insufficient by the current oligarchs of Cardona and Esultare as a whole, the city of Tyriz, as it had been called just a dozen years ago, being the original home of Brosian, had flipped their lids after Brosian’s death. A not yet well-established Throne, in a diplomatic placating tactic, renamed the city to the name of their beloved deceased leader, which settled things for a time.

Of course, as much as an artistic and intellectual powerhouse the city had been historically, with the refounding of the Magian College in the capital, and a nationwide investment in education, the political influence held by the city’s leaders suffered and dwindled. In the present, it struggled to remain competitive with its peer cities, let alone regain the position of a shining gem of artistic ability that it had in the past.

All of which was the result of an elaborate and long-term revenge scheme by the Founding Four-- Stillbottums, Oakchild, Devoleon, and Andrium-- as revenge for the metropolis’ quasi-rebellion in the new administration’s early years.

All of which led to, some nine days after setting out from the capital, the arrival of the four’s wagon in a city a decade past its prime, and a city perpetually imprisoned by nostalgia, mourning, and long-overcooked resentment, burned like ash from aged fire-pit logs and carved into the hearts of its populace.

It was, Bim reflected, a good city in which to incite rebellion.