To address a couple of messages, I'm aware I've been behind recently.
Real life and some other issues have been cutting my writing time, but I've been slowly trying to claw back more time. Hopefully we'll be back to a more stable, regular schedule here some time soon.
That said, I appreciate all of you who've stuck with the story up to this point. I know I've said it before, I want to reiterate, I literally couldn't do this without all of your support! Thanks again!♛———♛—————————♛———♛
Strom sat on the edge of a low metal bench, elbows braced on his knees, staring out across the station without really seeing it.
The space stretched farther than the ‘station’ they had departed from near Halirosa. Compared to what stood before him now, that place felt like a pale, half-finished imitation. Which, Strom suspected, wasn’t far from the truth.
Movement filled every corner. Wide, paved lanes cut through the chamber in straight, orderly lines, marked with clean bands that guided both foot traffic and cargo. Tracks branched in several directions, each leading toward massive tunnel mouths sealed behind thick, reinforced doors. Some stood open, revealing long corridors that vanished into the distance. Others remained closed, only parting to admit another of the strange rail-guided carriages — “trains,” Bert had called them — sliding smoothly into or out of the station.
Unlike the previous station, which had been crowded with captured bandits, goblins dominated this space. Far more than the hundred or so he’d been told to expect from the “small village” deeper in the cavern. Some walked alone, others in pairs, and more than a few escorted long lines of ants hauling stacked crates. Every so often, Strom caught sight of a familiar face — a Guild adventurer — moving along the same paths with barely a glance around, as though this had already become routine. Most of them would be leaving today, replaced by the group Bert had placed under his command only a few hours ago.
That had been his first real surprise.
What should have taken a week across rough terrain had been reduced to a handful of hours. Strom knew exactly how far the Dueling Peaks lay from Halirosa; he’d made that trip more than once, and that had been the first sign that this descent into the Deep would be nothing like the others.
His gaze drifted toward the large entrance to the cavern proper in the distance, part of him fearing what he’d find on the other side.
Something cold brushed the back of his neck.
Strom flinched.
His hand snapped to the haft of his axe as he twisted on the bench, shoulders tensing.
Only to find himself staring into a pair of bright green eyes and a wide, familiar grin.
A red-haired woman stood over him, holding out a long-necked bottle.
“Hey, boss,” she said. “Not like you to zone out like that. Especially down here.”
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded and took the bottle.
She dropped onto the bench beside him.
Short-cropped hair framed a sun-kissed, freckled face that made her look younger than she was. The light leather armor she wore looked new — and likely was, given she’d only broken into Golden Spirit a week or two ago, just in time for this expedition. The massive bow leaning against the bench was familiar, though. Taller than she was, it looked like something no one her size should be able to draw.
He knew better.
From the few missions they’d shared over the years, Strom had learned just how terrifyingly effective she was with it.
“Ya… sorry, Cindy,” he muttered. “Just thinkin’, is all.”
He turned the bottle over in his hands, studying it.
“What’s this? A potion?”
The glass was thick, several times larger than any potion bottle he’d used before, with a narrow neck capped in metal instead of the usual wood and wax. The glass was unusually clear — more like crystal than the murky brown most cheap potions came in.
Cindy shrugged and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Think it’s a drink. Got it from that thing.”
Strom glanced back.
A short distance away stood a squat metal contraption set against the wall. One side was entirely glass, revealing rows of identical bottles stacked in neat lines, each filled with liquids of different colors. A small line had formed in front of it — goblins and a few adventurers waiting their turn.
As Strom watched, a goblin stepped forward and leaned in, peering through the glass. After a moment, he dug into a pouch and produced a light clay token. He slid it into a narrow slot, then pressed his finger against a smooth panel.
Inside the machine, one of the bottles slid forward before dropping into a compartment below. The goblin crouched, pulled it free, and twisted the cap open.
He took a long drink, then grinned and walked off.
Strom frowned faintly.
“…Huh.”
He glanced down at the bottle in his hands, then twisted the cap the same way he’d seen the goblin do.
A faint hiss escaped as the seal broke, followed by a thin curl of mist that drifted upward.
Strom raised a brow.
He glanced sideways.
Cindy gave him an encouraging nod.
He didn’t miss that her own bottle remained unopened.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
He lifted the bottle and took a cautious sip.
Strom’s eyes widened.
A sharp burst of sweetness hit first, followed by something deeper, more earthy. Sassafras, if he remembered right. Then came a strange prickling sensation that danced across his tongue and slid down his throat.
He lowered the bottle, tilting his head slightly as he considered it.
“Any good?” Cindy asked.
Strom paused, then took a longer pull before shrugging.
“Not the worst thing I’ve had,” he said. “Kinda reminds me of a dwarfish brew I tried once. Just… sweeter.”
Cindy eyed him, then twisted her own cap and took a drink.
A second later, she jerked back, coughing hard.
“—ghk! What—why does it sting?!” she demanded, lowering the bottle to glare at it.
Strom barked out a laugh.
“Never had elvish wine before?” he asked.
Cindy shot him a look. “I thought you said it was dwarfish beer.”
“I said it reminded me of it,” Strom replied, grinning. “The western clans make something similar from mountain roots. It’s strong stuff.”
He lifted the bottle slightly.
“But the tingle? That’s closer to what you get with elves and their wine. They trap air in the liquid somehow. Makes it ‘sparkle,’ dance on your tongue.” He shrugged. “Not something you see often outside Elven lands, but you don’t forget it.”
Cindy narrowed her eyes at him. “Didn’t know you were a scholar of alcohol.”
Strom snorted. “I’m not. But I’ve been around.” He rolled his shoulder. “Travel far enough outside the Crimson Mountains, and you get to try things you wouldn’t otherwise.”
He glanced down at the bottle again.
“I don’t think this is alcohol, though,” he added. “Not enough kick. Might be some kind of tea.”
He doubted it was a proper potion, at least.
There was spirit energy in it, sure, but not enough to push his cultivation in any meaningful way — just enough to give a small jolt. Then again, that could simply be the nature of the ingredients. One of the Deep’s biggest advantages was that everything here was steeped in spirit energy, even the food.
Cindy took another, more cautious sip, her face tightening into a slight grimace.
“This place just keeps getting weirder,” she muttered.
Strom let out a low chuckle.
“Tell me about it.”
He tipped the bottle back for another drink, then lowered it again.
“Speakin’ of which,” he said, “did you need something?”
Cindy blinked.
Then her eyes widened.
“Oh! Right!”
She slapped a hand against her forehead, cheeks coloring faintly.
“Everyone’s settled into the dorms they assigned us,” she said quickly. “And our ‘tour guide’ told me to round up anyone who wandered off.”
Strom nodded and pushed himself to his feet.
“I see,” he said. “Then we should get movin’.”
Cindy nodded and sprang up as well, grabbing her massive bow.
Together, they turned toward the large building they’d been told would house them for the next day or two while they settled in.
“Let’s see what this place has to offer,” Strom muttered, more to himself than to her.
Something in his gut told him they were only scratching the surface.
——————————————————
“Okay, everyone! Gather up!”
The cheerful goblin woman in the bright blue vest and crisp pleated skirt planted herself in front of the assembled adventurers, both hands raised high. She smiled as if she were welcoming guests to a festival rather than organizing two dozen armed cultivators in the middle of a cavern station.
Alpha watched through a nearby drone and had to admit she looked entirely in her element.
The adventurers drifted closer in loose clusters, boots scraping against the station floor. They came in all shapes and sizes: broad-shouldered body cultivators, lean weapon users, a few robed casters, and more than one wary veteran with a hand never straying far from a weapon.
“Alright, folks!” the goblin woman called, beaming as the last few stragglers shuffled into place. “Let’s start with introductions! My name is Storyteller. I’ve been asked by Mr. Alpha to show you around our home.” She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked lightly on her heels. “I do hope you enjoy it. We’ve got lots to show you.”
“Why do we—” one of the adventurers began.
Storyteller raised one hand, cutting him off without losing her smile.
“Before we begin with the questions,” she said brightly, “I’ll ask that if you have one, you raise your hand in the air, like this—” She demonstrated with an exaggerated wave. “That way, I know who to address without getting overwhelmed or losing track. After all, I’m just one woman.”
She giggled.
A few of the adventurers exchanged glances. One or two looked annoyed, but none of them objected.
Alpha smirked to himself.
When he had first noticed Storyteller among the villagers, she had been wrangling a pack of children with the same mix of patience, confidence, and relentless enthusiasm. Combined with her reputation as the village’s most determined collector and distributor of gossip, it made her a natural fit for the role. She had a gift for explaining things clearly and holding people’s attention once she had it. Most importantly, she refused to be intimidated by people who thought themselves important.
The man who had first interrupted her frowned, then slowly raised his hand.
Storyteller’s grin widened. “Yes, you. What was your question?”
The man lowered his hand and folded his arms. “Why do we need a… tour guide, you said?” His tone made clear exactly what he thought of the title. “Most of us have been to the Deep already. We don’t need to be led around like children.”
Storyteller nodded as if the question were perfectly reasonable.
“Good question, dear — and one we should address right away.” She turned slightly, angling herself to include the whole crowd. “One thing you’ll quickly learn here is that while many of the cultural norms you’re familiar with still apply, our home follows different civil and structural rules than much of the Deep. My job is to guide you around, help you understand how things work here, and answer any questions you might have.”
Her expression brightened. “Speaking of which, could I get a couple of volunteers?”
There was a brief pause. Then three adventurers stepped forward.
Storyteller clapped her hands. “Perfect!”
She bent to the large bag at her feet and began pulling out small black pouches, handing them to the volunteers one after another. “If you would, make sure each of your fellows receives one, please.”
The three shrugged and got to work.
Murmurs spread through the group as the pouches changed hands. The adventurers turned them over, weighed them, and loosened their ties. One woman, apparently too impatient to wait for an explanation, opened hers immediately and reached inside.
Her eyes widened.
“Are these array tokens?!” she blurted, pulling out one of the small MUDs.
Storyteller turned toward her with a pleased smile. “Indeed, they are, dear. One of the differences I mentioned is that we primarily use array tokens for goods exchange these days.”
That got their attention.
A man farther back frowned. “You expect us to pay for things with array tokens?” he demanded. “Are you trying to rip us off?”
Alpha almost laughed out loud at that one. It was a reasonable suspicion. MUDs still sold for a premium in Halirosa, but if the city’s adventurers ever learned how little effort it took to produce the lower grades, they would likely start looking at the market very differently.
Storyteller only chuckled and shook her head. “Not at all. Allow me to explain.”
She lifted one hand, and five tokens of different shades of brown appeared between her fingers.
“The first” — she plucked the lightest, almost tan one free and held it up — “are called Clays. These are valued at a few copper pieces each and can be used in any of the shops in town. I would advise you not to attempt to use these tokens for array work, however. As I understand it, they’re considered failures and aren’t suited for working arrays.”
She set it aside and lifted a darker token. “Next are Loams. These can be used for arrays, and many of the devices you’ll be learning about today can be activated by inserting a Loam to complete the circuit. That said, they’re still relatively weak and better suited for domestic arrays than combat ones. They’re worth roughly a silver here.”
She lifted the third, a rich, earthy brown. “The third are the ones you’re likely most familiar with, since they’re the only ones currently in circulation outside this cavern. We call them Peats.”
That caused a visible stir.
Alpha noted the shift at once — sharp looks and quick calculations passing across older faces in the crowd. They understood the implications immediately. If the tokens they knew were only the middle tier, what could the stronger ones do?
Before anyone could interrupt, Storyteller raised the fourth token, darker still. “This is an Umber, and is roughly equal in value to a mid-grade spirit stone.”
A few of the adventurers inhaled sharply. Even those trying to maintain a practiced indifference couldn’t quite hide their shock. While most of the people here were successful, well-established veterans, even a mid-grade spirit stone represented a substantial amount of money. A Silver-ranked quest, which could take weeks or months to complete, typically rewarded only a few dozen.
Finally, she held up the last token — dark enough to be almost black. “And these are Core tokens. Not many stores will currently accept them; however, you can exchange them for lesser tokens at the town hall if you come across any in the dungeon.”
She gave a small wink. “That said, they’re exceptionally useful for array work. A single Core can function as a stable power source for dozens of activations before it runs dry — which is how they got their name.”
She paused just long enough to make sure every eye was on her.
Many of the adventurers stared at the near-black token in her hand with open greed.
“Thanks to the generosity of Mr. Alpha, all of you have been provided a grant of one hundred Loams, twenty Peats, five Umbers, and a Core, as thanks for participating in this expedition.”
That was all it took.
Whatever discipline the group had been holding onto fractured.
Hands dove into pouches. Tokens were counted. Eyes widened. A few of the adventurers looked openly stunned, while others tried — and failed — to appear casual.
A few cast less-than-subtle glances toward their neighbors, naked greed clear to anyone watching.
Alpha marked the worst offenders and quietly passed the list to Antchaser’s hunters, who were quickly becoming a kind of pseudo-law enforcement for the budding community.
Not that Alpha had suspected such a thing might occur, nor that he had arranged this very scenario to give those hunters some live training opportunities.
Of course not.
That would be entrapment.
And that was the story Alpha intended to stick to when Yon inevitably complained.
Another hand rose.
Storyteller pointed toward its owner. “Yes, dear?”
The man lowered his hand. “I don’t understand. Why not just use normal coinage? The other Deep Tribes accept it just fine.”
“Another good question.” Storyteller smiled, though a faint blush touched her cheeks. “We do accept Guild-minted coins as well. However, until recently, our cavern didn’t have much coinage to its name. The use of array tokens was implemented by Mr. Alpha to facilitate trade and encourage more coin to flow into the local economy.”
She brightened again. “With that in mind, I’m happy to tell you that any surface coins can be exchanged for tokens at a very reasonable rate at most of the shops.”
Then she winked again.
“Peats in particular can be exchanged at the rate of one gold coin per Peat.”
The gasp that followed was louder than the first.
That was understandable. Many of these people had seen Peats sold at the Nexus Hub in Halirosa for ten times that amount. Shock rippled through the group, followed quickly by hungry interest.
By any reasonable standard, it was an outrageous discount.
Hands shot into the air.
Storyteller laughed softly and pointed toward the man Alpha knew Bert had placed in command of the relief team.
Strom lowered his hand and raised a brow. “Who’s this ‘Mr. Alpha’ you keep mentioning?”
Storyteller’s grin stretched even wider.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll get to know Mr. Alpha very well quite soon.”