“To the East, not much is known…but there exists a people more in touch with Eryth than any of us could ever hope to be. They are methodical, fascinating and multifaceted. Yet you would think them homogeneous if not for the way they govern themselves; there we have kingdoms of traders, of monks or Vulpes. Less is known dear reader because our forays to our eastern neighbours are few and far between. But for the two seas that separate us, Oceania Cen’orbis, the central ocean that graces our beloved shores and Oceania Eurusia, the eastern Ocean that comes after we would have learnt more. –Oceans and Landmasses by [Geographical Sage] Keanu Silvertongue.

Arthur was getting the idea that Livierre must have been thrown his way in an attempt to slyly stall him for whatever reason their head healer had in mind. A sort of passive-aggression move to frustrate him or make him realise who held more cards between the two of them.

The woman in question was not in the oasis, and she might have been the one who held his hoverboard for safekeeping. Yet Arthur's fulfilment of his end of the bargain depended on what Livierre required, which was a bit more than she was asking for. The fact that it was not a written agreement made things doubly complicated.

Grudgingly, he trudged after Livierre, who carried a tool chest to go fix whatever emergency had her cursing a blue streak. Her demeanour had done a complete about-turn from the mellow woman Arthur had encountered that morning. Joining them was a familiar face; Nora.

“ Morn greetings,” Arthur started.

“ Morn greetings,” she mumbled back awkwardly. They were in a party of five, Livierre tromping at the front, Dalaia the older of the other Djy’veli women and Pesphi her younger sister.

The pink Djy’veli sisters were on pump duty to make sure that water reached the outer camp when it malfunctioned. The two were very forthcoming with information, hence why Arthur had been interested in seeing what this dwarven pump looked like. It was magitech. Arthur wondered if the more developed cities had magitech trains.

The pump was supposed to be situated at some old well of the fortress. Long before the Dust was desert there had been an ancient village right outside of the curtain walls. The well was also the very same that kept the moat-troughs full for the humpbeasts to drink from. It was just on the other side of the fortress.

Arthur wondered what sort of conveyance system they used to carry water some hundred metra to the outer camp. Of course they had pipes, but not the ones he’d expected to find on site. They were not metal, that would be a frivolous use of it since there wasn’t much to go around in the desert. Even their weapons seemed to be made of bone.

Neither were they some sort of hollow wood, but rubber. Or something close to it. It was reddish brown and the size of an industrial grade delivery hose with circumferential rings for reinforcement. He saw the creases where it had been unrolled, but something about it made him swear it had been part of a creature.

The group came to a stop in a clearing where the land dipped a little, like a basin. The ground there was well watered. Moisture mingled with the soil and dead leaves from lush trees on the fringes of the basin to give the smell of humus. There were freshly tilled mounds of soil in the periphery of the plaza that had seen cultivation.

At the bottom of the basin was a circular paved area. Years of growth pushing the grass between the cobblestones had resulted in a patchwork of grey and green. And sitting there, incongruous with the scene, was the dwarven artifice.

The steam pump was the size of a cart with two wheels and struts that wouldn’t have been out of place in a cannon. It had a hose sitting at the side of the wellhead, now dripping mud from recent use. Three concentric platforms crawling with vines encircled the wellhead, putting it above the rest of the ground.

It was an ingenious contraption for a pump that did not use impellers. It was not quite the Newcomen engine because it was meant to be detached into two components. It was most definitely an antique hand-cranked pump connected to the reciprocating rods of the steam engine’s flywheel.

The flywheel was then connected to the piston via an eccentric mechanism and rod, which extruded from a piston right above a cauldron shaped boiler. The interior of the cauldron was lined with runes of [Heat] that gathered mana from the air without the need for crystals. As long as one had enough of the runes, raising the temperature of water to boiling was cost-efficient on a per aum basis of water.

“ Quite a beauty eh?” Livierre said, a bit of world weariness in her tone as she went around to the other side of the pump.

‘ Yes, if witches went steampunk perhaps,’ Arthur left unsaid. Arthur studied the dwarven serial number on the cauldron boiler. The pump was at least 100 years old from the date it was assembled. Cast iron parts really endured.

“ Bought this thing 50 years ago,” Livierre said wistfully. She touched the frame of the thing as though feeling for something.

The Djy’veli [Artificer] opened her tool box to pick an open ended wrench, “ Learnt everything about it before my old man passed away,” she added, unfastening the nuts below the pump mounting. The pump was still warm from being recently powered down, and heat radiated off the boiler section.

“ What’s the kh’fec doing here?!” a brusque voice called out from behind, interrupting Nora’s chatter with the pink Djy’veli sisters.

‘Oh joy,’ Arthur groaned. He drew up from his appraisal of the contraption to see a familiar face come tromping towards the well with flunkies at his tail. Arthur had gotten a good read at telling the Dyjevali’s approximate ages by their horns.

Djy’veli horns sprouted near their hairline, just above their brow ridges. They smoothly curved upwards and backwards following the shape of the head. There were, of course, variations, where they could spiral like a kudu’s, continue curving back like a nubian ibex or curl forwards like a bighorn sheep.

Females generally had slimmer horns than males but one could still tell their ages by the prominence of their ridges or the amount of tinting in their points. Horns started tinting at adulthood, and the number of ridges was a good indicator of their seniority.

Blue did not have the tell-tale tinting of the points of his horns nor a single ridge to his horns. That put him firmly in the teenage category. Livierre’s, Dalaia’s and Pesphi’s had all started tinting and ridging.

“ You might as well start calling me kh’fec too Dharxi. I am part human am I not?” Nora spoke up, surprising even herself.

That got Arthur’s attention ‘So Bruised Blueberry’s name is Dharxi huh?’.

“ So Nora wasn’t a full vamp?” He couldn’t help whispering to Dalaia, who seemed to be the more talkative of the two sisters.

“Dekara, you didn't know?” Dalaia giggled mirthfully . “ Of course not. Otherwise she wouldn’t dare walk under the sun. She’s a daywalker…half-blood. Dhampir,”

“ Stay out of this,” Dharxi said with clenched fists. He looked past Nora’s shoulder and bored his silver eyes into him, “ Why is he even here? He’s practically an eyesore. Outsiders should pay their dues and leave. We don’t have food and water for the likes of them who do not pay,” he spat.

Arthur couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. He knew someone with something to prove when he saw one.

“ Orn'ghoc's dung!” Livierre swore from the other side. The sound of a tool clanging on the cobblestones rang out as the woman drew herself up, interrupting the commotion. She muttered under her breath as she flicked mud from her gloves.

“ Well, ladies, gents and gentladies―” Livierre said. “ I have good news and bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?”

“ Eh, the good news?” Pesphi chimed in, unsure.

“ Good news is, there’s nothing wrong with the artifice,” Livierre said, doffing her gloves. “ The bad news is, the [Sygnumeric Artificer] was right all along. The oasis is dying.”

“ What?!” Dalaia baulked. Even Dharxi and his flunkies blanched.

“ I should tell Mastresse Venara,” Livierre said. “ Looks like you made a good call stopping me from sending [Message] the first time Master Arthur. Now we have a good reason to send one.”

Dharxi and his flunkies found a reason more urgent than bothering Arthur and went storming off to the outer camp. Dalaia and Pesphi left to go to the inner village to tell the rest of the womenfolk in the camp to go easy on the water. Fortunately, they had wagon tanks of water to use; the first thing they always did was refill those. Meanwhile, Arthur found himself in the company of Nora and Livierre as they went to send that [Message] spell.

“ So, this [Sygnumeric Artificer] who were they and what did they do?” Arthur asked as the trio trudged along.

“ You truly do not know Master Arthur?” It was Nora who asked. “ Where are you from?”

Arthur hesitated, and schooled his expression from becoming a grimace. Livierre jumped in just in time, “ He was in a translocation accident… Unfortunately, he can’t say because of a geas or something.”

“ Ah, apologies, Master Arthur,” Nora remarked.

“ No harm done,” Arthur replied.

“ What do you know about dungeon’s Master Arthur?” Livierre said from the front.

“ A bit of discourse here and there, read Nithonoel Wyndham’s papers, a bit from Zentrahl’s treatises on the subject,” Arthur said not wanting to sound ignorant on the subject. Nonetheless, he still couldn’t get his head wrapped around what a [Sygnumeric Artificer] had to do with dungeons.

“ Hoh, learned one aintcha?” Livierre said. “ This will be easy,” she said as they walked within sight of the fortress. Nora was also interested.

“ Sooo, dungeons are these artificial loci of power that draw mana to them and change the environment,” Lievierre started. “ Like this oasis for example. Some dungeons are also populated with monsters who seek mana so that they can grow. Those are classified as Lair types. Pure happenstance, by the way. It’s just a theory that wasn’t their maker’s designs.”

“ Who do you think made them?” Nora said, half staring at the old fort casting a morning shadow over the trio.

“ Who can say?” Livierre murmured. “ The Antecessors? Some say it was the Eldrenari, some the Illvari, Arpvia, Nhemeans, Vharnosh. I could go on.” Livierre shrugged. “There are also theories that explain the origin of monsters, but none of them seem to stick. One of them does, it's called the Theory of Rifts,”

“ Rifts?” Arthur said. It had been a passing glance when he was reading something about the Locus affinity but with the amount of pontification in some tomes, he’d skipped things.

“ Mmh. The theory of Rifts says that one of the races, was responsible for creating gates―translocation gates,” Livierre said, her eyes lighting up in excitement and then squinting at him as if seeing him in new light.“ You should know more since you had a translocation accident and all,”

“ I wish I could,” Arthur shrugged. “ But I lost my memories too,”

“ Huh?” Livierre gawked, looking between Arthur and Nora.

“ He’s not lying,” Nora blurted out before her cheeks turned pink. Arthur suddenly stumbled at the realisation that Nora could also tell lies.

“Scat in a creak,” Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. “ How many of you are walking lie detectors?”

“ Only me and Mastresse Venera,” Nora mumbled, clenching at her poncho guiltily . “ I ah, I can leave if I make you uncomfortable,”

“ It’s fine,” Arthur said. “ At least you’re honest about it. I don’t have to worry about mind-reading though, right?”

“ Ye―yes,” Nora said trailing off. “ Sorry, it slips out sometimes.”

“ Hmm, where was I? Ah yes, rifts,” Livierre mumbled as they crossed the inner camp. The womenfolk were clustered around talking about the water situation, no doubt.

“ So the theory of rifts supposes that the presence of monsters is tied to translocation gates. It is said that after their owners had long died, with no one to maintain them, their anchoring matrices started decaying and such,” then she tutted. “Tsk tsk, the [Sages] use big words. But the short of it is that, when a gate malfunctions, it becomes a rift, an unstable phenomenon in another plane of existence. Then monsters come out. You follow?”

“ Yes,” Arthur murmured. It was now sinking in for him. What if he was an outcome of such a destabilisation?

“ Pretty much anything can come through though,” Livierre said, oblivious to Arthur’s mulling. “ Most monsters that come out don’t survive outside of the dungeons. But a few do and adapt, mostly the riff raff and nuisances, nothing big I think. Ah, but here’s the other part. Sometimes rifts bring treasure and artefacts,”

“ Is that your theory Livierre, hmm?” Nora said. “ I haven’t read such a thing.”

“ Hoh, you do read Angustifolia…that’s good on you,” Livierre piped up.

“ Mastresse Venera says an ignorant healer is a dangerous one,” Nora said, blushing.

“ So treasure and artefacts?” Arthur said, snapping out of his funk. He was going to have to delve deeper into these gates and rifts. Be it on a hunch or misplaced hope it was better than nothing.

“ Yes, some gates were like dimension pockets, hmm. How to describe this?” Livierre said, pursuing and blowing her lips. “ Lessee, like [Inventory Vault] or a [ Voidscape]. I am sure you would know better than me, you made a bag of holding dintcha?”

‘Ah, like my inventory chest?!’ “ And you know that because [Appraisal] huh?” Arthur inquired with a one-arched brow.

“ Ah, can’t say,” Livierre grinned. They’d reached her wagon. “ Hmm, it is about time we sent in that [Message],” she huffed, pulling down the ladder.

Interacting with people was filling in gaps Arthur never thought he’d had in his common sense. Books weren’t everything and there was only so much time to stay buried in paper or parchment, whichever. Paper, just like steam power, was making its debut, circa one hundred years ago.

Nonetheless, technology's propagation being what it was, even with magic, meant some people were stuck in some mediaeval backwater while others lived in the beginnings of magical modernization thanks to magitech.

It was confusing, like being in the Wild West but with smart devices instead of a telegram. And Arthur wasn’t just saying it just for the sake, he was seeing a real-time example right in front of his eyes, namely, the sygnum and the mageslate. Of course, the mageslate was not new to him. In fact, he’d forgotten that he still had his.

The one the Djy’veli [Artificer] was using was a few generations ahead. If his mageslate was using a command-line interface then Livierre’s slate used a graphical shell. Even if it was just a small gem of crystal on the side, the rest of the real estate inside the bracket was the equivalent of Etch a Sketch™ but for drawing runes. It was still better than Arthur’s and he had to build his own from a slab of magestone by etching the rune matrices himself.

Lamenting how out of date some of his artefacts might be, Arthur watched the woman attune the sygnum to the mageslate. First she tied up the sygnum on her wrist, because it was meant to be worn on the arm like vambrace. Then she tried to find the psionic resonance or something along those lines. Thereafter, she tried to cast the [Message] spell matrix the same way using the sygnum as a conduit.

The less magically adept could not do two things, actually three because you had to find the resonance, hold the matrix to keep the connection active and then compose the [Message] in your mind, making sure you sent only what you meant. That made Message one of the hardest tier 3 spells to learn.

However, the sygnum, a dwarven artefact, would initiate and maintain the connection in your consciousness. All you had to do was think of who you wanted to resonate with and compose your message.

Where the sylvani had magic in spades and the humans made up for it with adaptability, the dwarves were enterprising master crafters. That was the conclusion that Arthur made as the first [Message] was sent via the mageslate and sygnum combo.

[Message]; The aquifer has dried up earlier than previously thought.

That was Livierre [Message]. She sent it by jotting it down on the slate with a rune scriber. Not more than a few casions later, came the reply.

[Venera]; Orn'ghoc's dung!—we just finalised our business, but I'm still indisposed. I was meant to assist the Clanhead at the Gathering.

Livierre scrawled furiously. The old crystal powering the sygnum had only a few par’quartz before it needed to recharge—ambiently. A special artifice was needed to for that too. Too much and it would just implode.

[Message]; What do we do? Can't you send it ahead? You know that if the aquifer was that low, then it means the self-regulatory mechanisms would start skewing. The Auric shield keeping the magic inside the oasis will fail if we don't do something.

[Venera]; Vesper take me—I understand the broad strokes, but the minutiae of it is lost on me. I don't know how you crafters do it but dekara... there is hardly any time to do anything. I doubt we can get ahold of the [Sygnumeric Artificer] before the next supply moon. We will have to try our way. You're our only hope because if the oasis dies, our hopes of rebuilding die with it.

[Message]; You cannot possibly think I am ready for this do you? I am just an ordinary artificer—It's still too early. What if I mess up?

[Venera]; You won't mess up—I am sending Kervir ahead with it. He should arrive in the morning by wyvern courier, I have given him instructions on what to do.

The crystal on the sygnum was starting to dim, about a par or so before the connection snapped.

[Message]; It's too risky—you know I do not do well under pressure. This is the future of more than a hundred people, and you're putting it on my shoulders—Xhezw! Anything but that.

At this point, Livierre was actually pacing around and chewing her nails. Her mood swings were really something—Nora's reassurances to calm down were ineffectual.

[Venera]; the Clan chief says the answer you seek is closer than you think it is. When has his skill ever been wrong? Tell the human we're about to make that trade. Provide him with everything he wants, supplies, women, alcohol. Give him some of our sand wurm armor even. I had something more effective in the wing but now is not the time—do not fail the Clan Livierre. Remember our watch word—

Before the sygnum's crystal lost its lustre, the Arthur of heard Livierre's words was some kind of slogan or so Arthur thought.

Arthur couldn't read or understand any of what the Djy'veli had spoken about. He did however, suddenly feel that something was about to happen and that he was supposed to be at the centre of it. Arthur did not like that foreboding feeling.