Search the Community

Alleycity Bulletin Board: See what is happening in the city!

Deveraux Dufor casually stabbed backwards with his sword, a nice steel long-sword, to kill an eldritch abomination. He had heard it coming towards him for the past ten minutes at least, stalking closer and closer, sniffing him out with, with what he now saw as he turned towards it, an unnatural 37 nostrilled nose. Seriously, it was like an over-sized trunk or shaft of flesh, with 37 holes in it. But enough of that. Deveraux, or Storm, as more people knew him, continued to stride purposely through the shifting Alleyways. He'd spent a lot of time here in the past twenty-odd years, and he was quite used to it's rules by now. Though, that didn't diminish the danger. Even now, his compounded tin hearing let him know that there were a multitude of other creatures all around him. Now, he was sure he'd come far enough, any moment now... abruptly his surroundings changed, and he was standing somewhere outside the walls of Alleycity. Yes, he was where he wanted to be. Rusts he thought, looking up at the walls, This place has changed so much. He’d sworn he wouldn’t come back here. Sworn to never return to this place of Memories. Somewhere in those walls, was where he’d had himself stripped away. Swing had thought he was ready, but.. Harmony, Swing. He fell to his knees. Not Here, damnation it. He was shaking, by Preservation’s wings, he was shaking. This is why I swore to never come back here. But he’d had too. Once he’d heard of the state of TUBA. The memories passed, and he picked himself up. He sheathed his sword, and walked along the walls for a time, until he was approaching the gates. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, and pulled on his hood. As he made his way into Alleycity proper, he looked around at the buildings. Many of them seemed.. alien. He’d seen the beginnings pf skyscrapers in Elendel, sure. But the buildings here were sleeker, and reflective; like towers of glass. So much had changed. Despite the changes, the streets themselves were still familiar enough, even after all this time. Deveraux made his way to the TUBA headquarters, which, while still in the same location, was several stories taller. Offhandedly, he wondered if the old Terminals were still in use. He opened the door, walking up to the reception desk to find an aging man sitting leafing through a magazine. He thought he recognized the man, hadn’t he been involved with the creatin of the Terminals, actually? What was his name though, Gared maybe? Yes, his nametag confirmed. Gared looked up from his reading. “Can I help you?” He asked evenly, in a somewhat gravelly tone. “Yes,” Deveraux replied. “I need to speak with Deteca, immediately.” Gared looked surprised. “Oh, well.. er.. you’ll have to fill out some paperwork before you can--” he cut off. He seemed to finally be taking in the man standing in front of him. Deveraux lowered his hood. “St-Storm!?” Gared stammered. “I’d prefer if you called me Deveraux, but yes. It’s me.” He replied flatly. “I, uh—right. Of course. I’ll get a message to Deteca right away!” Gared pulled a small mobile from his pocket, and tapped the screen in a manner that made Deveraux dizzy. He’d of course heard of and seen mobiles before. They were like complex and advanced spanreeds. They had existed for a good number of years now, but had not been prevalent in Alleycity until the “towers” that powered them had been erected. Regardless, He would probably need to take advantage of them. His plans.. well, he’d get to that when he came to it. Shortly, an assistant came and lead him to an elevator, which shot downwards. They disembarked, and made their way through several winding hallways, to a smaller meeting room. Now he would just have to wait until Deteca arrived.

@ZincAboutIt @I think I am here. @AonEne @kenod @Ookla the Wine Shelf @Rushu42 @Ark1002 ==================== Your pen scratches over the paper, while you write notes, your face drawn in concentration. Blonde, long hair is carefully braided back to keep out of your way and your polished nails gleam in the light of a nearby candle. Around you, travelers sit on the crude tables, drinking beer, wine or whateverelse they ordered, you don't care particularly. Ever since rumors spread that a city will be built in Sanctuary's place, people flock to this place and like everywhere the tavern is loud and crowded. You know that each of them have reasons, but again you don't really care. What you about is that they are here, and that many of them travel alone. Nobody notices when someone goes missing now and then, which suits you just fine. When you rented your room the tavern was a quiet place, but now that the evening progresses, you are growing annoyed. You are trying to work here, not drink yourself into oblivion. When a bard stands up and starts playing music, you finally lift your head and look around. Not everybody is drinking heavily, actually only a few are. Those that have given up, or those that simply like to. Who knows. A serving girl walks over, her blouse carefully close high on her chest to ward off any ideas on your part and with a slight bow places a glas of deep, dark red vine in front of you. Habit has you pick it up and lift the glas, a frown creasing your forehead. "There is a spot." your voice is cool, and soft, when you hand the glass back, not even bothering to look at the girl's face. You sense from her movements that she checks as well, then she hesitates, probably considers to had the glass back to you. Lucky her, she doesn't. Instead she briskly turns around and walks away. You lean back, continue to observe the room and try to decide who is the lucky one today. You need a man, tall, well-built. He should fit nicely to the other parts you have selected and prepared. Your eyes rest on someone and a smile touches your lips. He looks good. A little dirty, but all of them are dirty. Nothing a little water and some soap, can't solve. Accepting the next glas of wine you pay, and then take a careful sip. As usual it's a little too sour, but you take what you get. Sipping your wine you lean back, wait for the man to leave.

12th of Scholus, 19 ATR Bellatrix Deathstrike, The Dark Angel, ex-Bureau member, the former Dark Phoenix, strolled down the street. She wore white robes, cut off at the arms. She shivered, then opened the door to the shop. It was labeled Tanner's. She smirked, putting the crown of fire in her hair. They would remember her anyway, might as well go all out on the drama factor. She stepped up to the counter, and leaned against it, holding a glass of port and sipping it. "I'd like to talk to Beau." Her smirk widened. "I want to buy some jewelry for Little Red." The man standing there nodded at her. "I am he. You got anything for me in return?" She grinned, setting down the port. "I do, in fact." Bellatrix reached down to her pockets, pulling something from each. In one hand was a knife, made of three vinelike strands of metal woven together. "The knife of a prominent gang leader, now dead. Each strand of metal is a soulspike reshaped." In her other hand was a coppermind with some aluminum and nicrosil attached. "This is an unsealed coppermind. The full lifetime of a scholar of the lives of the Alleycity." She grinned. "I hope that is acceptable?" The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then reigned the shock back in. She slid a note across the counter, which had ink written all over it. "Take care of this. I may be back someday." She grinned, waved, and walked out of the shop. @ZincAboutIt

>> Welcome to the A.C.E. Records Database. Please enter qualifications. --------- Deb Stancel closed her laptop and rubbed at her temples, squinting into the bottom of her cup and wrinkling her nose at the light dusting of coffee grinds sitting there. She glanced at her watch - a real watch, none of those absurd fabrial devices some Rosharans swore by - and sighed. Half-past nine. With one final glance at her watch, Deb rose from her desk and tugged at the end of her uniform jacket. It was a deep olive green with orange trim, and it matched her pants. Indeed, it matched nearly everything in her cramped little office, as was fitting. This was Alleycity Excavation, and those were Alleycity Excavation's colors. If she was lucky, she'd find a few more competent souls to pad ACE's ranks today, and a few more orange and green coveralls would get churned out for them. No such thing as luck, she reminded herself, smoothing her hair as she rounded the desk and headed for the door. She needn't have bothered; her hair was already as smooth as a sheet of ice, her bun a perfect ring of blonde. A place for everything, and everything in its place. That was how things got done - that was efficiency. And if Deborah Stancel was one thing, she was efficient. She slid a clipboard and pencil off the end of her desk before turning the knob on her door and walking out into the hallway. People scurried this way and that, accountants, engineers, pencil-pushers. They bobbed their heads to her as she passed them, and she returned each nod with one of her own. Smaller, of course, but still. Decorum was to be rewarded. Everything in its place. As she neared the large meeting room at the end of the hall, she spied Farren, one of her assistants. He gave her a deep nod, then straightened up to look her in the eyes. "Ma'am," he said briskly, awaiting her reply. The corner of her mouth quirked up just a bit. "Good morning Farren. Has anyone arrived yet?" "Not yet, Ma'am," Farren said. "Though, it is only nine thirty. The recruitment ad specified a ten o'clock start time." "Nine thirty-six, to be precise," Deb corrected. "It is always important to be precise, Farren. Still," she said, catching him before he could apologize, "you are right. Arriving too early is inefficient. Let us wait then, and see who has answered our call." Farren looked at her, a question in his eyes, though he did not voice it aloud. Deb sniffed a little. "Speak, then. I can practically hear you thinking." Her assistant blushed a bit, but did as he was told. "Waiting, well, it just seems a bit... dramatic for you, Ma'am." Deb raised an eyebrow at Farren, almost cracking a true smile at the young man. "Contrary to popular opinion, Farren, I am human. Allow me this one failing." Farren blushed deeper and cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should go in and, um, wait for you then, Ma'am. Let the applicants know what to expect. If... if, um, that's alright with you, of course." Deb jerked her chin at the door. "Best not to keep them waiting then," she said, and watched as the young man slipped gratefully into the meeting room. She would have laughed, but then, it was not the time for laughter. Not here, not now. Not with what was at stake. Whatever is down there, we'll need all our wits about us. All the wits we can get. Laughter was for later. For now, she waited.

Nerin looked out the window and down the winding length of street that led past Sethwick’s Soothing Parlor and Lounge. It was late afternoon, but night had already fallen here in the 7th Octant neighborhood of the Hollows, shadowed by tenements. It wasn’t quite a bad part of town, but neither was it good - at least, that’s what old Jeb said. As far as Nerin was concerned, the Hollows were just fine. The people here were rich enough to pay her but miserable enough to come looking. That’s all she needed. She’d once asked Jeb who Sethwick was, to which the old Soother had replied “some fine dandy git.” Nerin took that to mean that Jeb had made him up, and she didn’t blame him really. “Jeb’s Soothing Parlor and Lounge” rolled off the tongue with all the grace of two horse shoes jangling in a sack. It was so much easier to lie about such things. It was expected, really. No one ever really trusted a Soother anyhow, so you might as well spin a pretty fiction. The clock on the wall hit five and Nerin got up from her seat by the window to light the little gaslamp outside the door. She pulled her coat tighter at the autumn chill, cupping her match as she reached inside the blue glass lantern and lit the wick. It caught with a stuttering flare of yellow, then shrunk to its usual steady glow as she closed the little hinged glass door. The lamp cast a calm haze of blue around the poch, a luring kind halo of light. Come forget, it beckoned. For just a moment, all your troubles will melt away. Nerin looked out at the street one more time, then went back inside. Jeb was wiping down glasses at the bar, setting them behind the polished wooden countertop and counting out the money in the till. “It’s a chill evening,” Nerin said, tapping one finger on the bar and nodding toward the wall of liquor bottles. “I imagine it’ll be the hard and dark stuff tonight.” Jeb nodded, not looking up from his counting. He was a good-looking man for his age, somewhere north of forty and south of sixty, with coal-black hair shot through with silver and tied at the nape of his neck. He had keen eyes, flinty and sharp, which matched his proud nose and angled chin. His skin was paler than most, likely from years cooped up inside parlors like this one, though he’d kept up his physique through the years -- Nerin cocked her head. What am I thinking? She cast a withering glance at Jeb, whose mouth had started to quirk up ever-so slightly. “Stop trying to Soothe me into your bed, old man,” she said dryly. “I’ll have a glass of red, and none of that Callingfale dreg you buy cheap. I want the real stuff. It’s going to be a long night, I can feel it.” Jeb reached behind the bar and drew out a bottle, pouring her a generous glass. He slid it across the bartop and winked at her. “I can’t make you feel nothin’ you don’t already have cookin’ up there, love,” he said, smirking. Nerin rolled her eyes. “I’m a Soother, not a grave robber.” Jeb chuckled and she walked towards the back room, wine glass in hand, savoring the last moments of quiet dusky evening before her shift began. It was time to begin the business of forgetting.

The car pulled off the dirt road and onto a freeway and it began picking up speed. Pretty soon it’s pushing 80mph. @ShadowLord_Lith @Sherlock Holmes

Returned stood atop the mountain surveying the camps. The massive tribe of yetis had raided his fortress a few months back, and he had been hunting them ever since. They'd harried them all the way up the northern steppes, through the mountains, and to the Keeper lands. It was time to finish this once and for all. He had lost many men in the mountains from disease, cold, and occasional yeti raids. But they had adapted. They had used their full feruchemists to make heat medallions. They had been able to light smokeless fires, able to provide easy warmth using fabrials. They would continue to adapt and to pursue vengeance. He would protect his people. Standing there, atop that lookout, he had a sudden epiphany. His name. He had always avoided choosing a name as a returned. None of them felt right. After all, nobody really knew what he had returned to do. After he had found his way to the Alleyverse, he thought he had missed his reason. But standing up there, he found that he hadn't missed it. He had only just now found it. His purpose was a protector. He would protect his people, even going so far as to pursue vengeance for them. And, the Diagram willing, he would succeed. His name would be Stormbreaker, parting the storm for his people. Stormbreaker the fierce, god of protection. He held it in, so the scout showing him around wouldn't think him insane, but in private company with his council, he revealed it. —— Stormbreaker was about to receive an ambassador from the Keepers. This probably wouldn't go well. He stood atop the same mountain that. He had had his epiphany, and it seemed symbolic. A symbolic gesture. The same mountain that he had realized his purpose, he would fulfill that purpose. He turned to his faithful second/bodyguard/knight at his right, Edalb, and said, "I need you to keep this man here until he agrees with us. Use force if necessary." Turning to his faithful general/bodyguard at his left, Hasharan, he said, "I will need a report on the army after this. While the meeting is happening, stand in the doorway looking intimidating in your plate." He noted the approaching retinue, and fell into parade rest. Hasharan's elites, only a few of them, mimicked him. He would give this man quite a show of Diagramist efficiency. He greeted the man shaking his hand. He was tall, and his features were long. Very Terris looking. He shook Stormbreaker's hand, and muttered the formalities. He said "Most Holy" instead of his true name. Stormbreaker corrected him with a laugh, "An easy mistake to make, I haven't had my name for a while. But about after a millennium, I finally chose one. Stormbreaker the fierce, god of protection. You may call me Stormbreaker." He turned and walked the man into a small hut set atop the mountain. They had begun to settle in, and make a more permanent dwelling. @Ark1002 @beantheboy12 @rest of guild

On the eastern edges of Alleycity stood a large, stone tower. The tower was crooked, it's walls seemed to spiral around themselves as they grew from the ground and culminated in a metal tip which resembled a satellite dish. The door to the tower stood open, a young man in his early teens waited in a fine suit, holding the door ajar and greeting visitors as they arrived. Invitations had been sent out to a number of individuals, requests had been posted in taverns and missives had been sent to various guilds, all to try to gather people in this tower for an expedition. They'd kept the invitations brief and to the point, a somewhat eccentric scientist had discovered a rift in the cognitive realm, while the cognitive realm was already a convenient means of travel to distant places it still took some time, and this rift in particular seemed special. It was a rift to an entirely unknown section of the universe, or perhaps a different universe altogether. Some early groups had passed through and begun to scout out the area, reporting constellations that didn't match anything that had been previously recorded. But now a larger expedition had been requested, and they needed volunteers. "Good day sir, my name is Gedwyn, may I take your coat?" The young man at the door asked as a man walked briskly up to the door. "Thank you sir, the gathering is just through that door, to the right of the stair case." He gestured towards a set of double doors on the interior that led into a large room, larger than seemed possible given the dimensions of the tower, filled with large comfortable couches, a warm rug and a roaring fireplace. A trio of other men and women, dressed as waiters, circled the room. They offered drinks and food to those waiting in the interior.

It was just past noon, and the mist had long-since burned off the Kur River, its surface a brilliant silver stripe under the bright spring sun. The great capital of Roshek sat on the river's southern bank, its many docks and warehouses trailing into the waters like a merchant's robes. Further inland, Aldred spotted the clean marble facades of the Academy and the domed silhouette of the Council Assembly building looming over the bustle and din of the lower districts like disapproving parents. He'd heard the first sounds of the city over a mile out, but now as he approached the arch of Tradesman's Gate, the noise was almost deafening. People jostled and shouted, tradesmen hawked their wares, and everywhere, Aldred felt magic. It thrummed in his bones like the drone of a low pipe, tugging, urging, pulling. He gripped the strap of his pack tighter and shoved the humming into the back of his mind, watching as a young woman juggled five balls of flame while balancing on the tip of one toe. Her other leg arched back until it nearly met the crown of her head. She caught Aldred's eye and winked. "State yer business!" Aldred was shocked out of his reverie by the voice of an older man sitting just under the Tradesman's Gate. He had a wooden placard in his hands and a quill behind one ear; both his hand and ear were splattered with black ink, which rather spoiled his stern expression. Aldred grinned at the man, whose scowl faded as he looked him up and down. "Oh," the man said, some of the gruffness leaking out of his voice. "Apologies Sayer, I didn' mean nothin' by it." Sayer? Aldred blinked in surprise, then looked down at his robes. They were filthy, hem stained at least six inches up with mud and river water, and he'd patched it in at least a dozen places. It barely looked blue anymore, as though the cloth itself had largely forgotten its original purpose. Rather like Aldred himself. Aldred resisted the urge to smirk, instead putting on his most humble smile. He hoped he wasn't too out of practice. "Think nothing of it," he said, placing a hand on the man's ink-stained right shoulder. "I come from afar, ready to report my travels to my brothers and sisters, and to give thanks to Vania for a blessed season of knowledge and truth." The man's scraggly face split into a yellow grin, and Aldred had to physically stop himself from recoiling. "Welcome to Roshek, Sayer... uh..?" The man trailed off expectantly, slipping his quill out from behind his ear and readying the tip with ink from a little pot. Aldred sighed, taking his hand from the man's shoulder and placing it on his breast. "Think of me only as a servant of truth," he said, and sauntered through the Tradesman's Gate into the city. It spread out before him in a wide swath of chaos and smells and bodies and magic. You'll know my name soon enough, he thought, finally allowing that smirk to spread across his lips. Soon enough.

Birds were singing a merry tune as sunlight filtered down through the bows of a green oak. Returned walked along a path, whistling a quick rhythm, watching the wildlife tumble in the grass about him. Yes, he thought, humanity has done a fine job with this world. This place will do... —— Seven Months Later —— Returned stood proudly atop the battlements of his brand-new fortress. He had inspiringly named it "Fort Fortress". Hmm, he though, If my name is any indication, perhaps I should leave choosing names to my advisors. He shrugged, and went on enjoying the fruits of his labors. Even here, on the Alleyplanet, where the science of returned was well known––even taken for granted––there were still people who worshiped returned. That was, in fact, how he had managed to build this monstrosity anyhow. He had the faint worry that the laborers would stick around after the project was done, and he hadn't the faintest idea what to do with a bunch of fanatics. He shrugged, discarding his worries, and resolved to enjoy this day. The short man, Keleth, walked up. "Hello your majesty. How are you doing on this fine day?" "Thank you Keleth. Yes, I am in fact enjoying this day immensely. You know, the opening of the fortress and all. Sadly, I'll have to leave after this, I have a wedding to attend. By the way, are you good with names?" "Um, maybe. My kid has a good name." "You have a kid?" "Yes, his name is Jonathan." "Good name. Are you good with city, or, maybe, perhaps, fortress names?" "The name is kind of lame, isn't it." "Yes. I fear that I am absolutely hopeless with names." "I think I noticed. My lord Returned. How about 'Fortress Eternal' my lord?" "I like. I like it a lot. In fact, have the scribes change the name to that. Thank you, Keleth." "You're welcome my lord. I assume you caught the reference?" "Mm. Are the people almost settled in?" "Yes my lord. They are setting up temporary residences and shops in the main courtyard." Returned looked over the edge, and indeed, many canvas tents were erected in the courtyard. The Fortress was huge, perhaps a square mile, and the construction had been a huge undertaking. It had taken more than seven months with the assistance of large amounts of investiture, including the sacrifice of two other returned. "It will happen soon Keleth. Soon, we will have a city to rival the capitol. A center of trade and economics. A hub of politics and industry. A truly majestic city shall arise here." "Speaking of a city, we have the projected logistics worked out." He handed a writing pad to Returned, which was perused with a careful eye. "A militia of one-hundred thousand strong? Getting a little optimistic are we?" "It's also to serve as a defending garrison, and possible an invasion force." "Are we to be a sovereign state, or under Alleycity jurisdiction?" "If I may advise to start out under their jurisdiction..." The conversation went on like this, discussing many of the logistics and specifics needed for running a budding city. After the conversation with Keleth was over, Returned sauntered over to his office, in the top tower. "Milton, please summon my officials." The thin secretary jumped over to a desk, where he grabbed spanreed. "And what would you like me to say?" "Say this: @#Voidapple, @Gancho Libre, @MetaTerminal, and @beantheboy12. I summon you to the new Diagramist headquarters. You are to report here, and we shall discuss goals and objectives of our great guild. Thank you." The spindly man wrote this, and then hesitated. "Um, sir, what about the... other one?" "Hmm? Oh, yes, draft another message." The scribe took another spanreed in his hands, and set it to the paper. "Say this: Hello @Furamirionind. You have acted with great loyalty and are to be commended. Although your position within the greater guilds has been very beneficial, it is time to end the charade. I'm calling you to the headquaters of the Diagramists, and you will now serve as the known leader of the Silent Gatherers. Godspeed." Milton finished the message then set down the pen. He looked at Returned gravely, "This will cause quite a ruckus in the Alleyverse. They will not be happy." Returned slowly walked over to his window, and surveyed the budding city below. He finally turned towards Milton, "No, they will not. It is time though. Time to break expectations. It is a new era, after all."

Debbie Willow approached the ornate gates of Art’s Haven with a lively step. The two guards on either side recognized her immediately opening the gates as she approached. She flashed them a smile as she entered the courtyard before her place of work. The courtyard was paved with white tiles that almost seemed to glow with the rising sun. Art’s Haven was beautiful. The tall building (5 floors altogether) was lined with marble pillars that were carved with fanciful beasts. The roof was tiled with a multitude of bright colors, making it look like a rainbow dwelled there. Two fountains bubbled happily, joyously on either side of the walkway leading to the magnificent building. Debbie loved those fountains. They, as was everything here, beautiful. Twin statues stood atop their pedestals one hand upraised as if to summon a shardblade their posters betraying strength and nobility. They were of Knights Radiants one male the other female both dressed in stunning shardplate. A clever use of heating fabrials inside their upraised hands created steam so it seemed that you were actually seeing their shardblades form. Water flowed down the statues backs like capes, filling the wide basins at their feet. Debbie shook herself, hurrying past the fountains up the marble steps and to the main doors. Her coworker, Talam, opened the door for her while shaking his head. She was late again. Rushing in she tried her best to ignore all the beauty in this one room. The high vaulted ceiling with paintings seeming to dance up the walls until they could soar across the ceiling its self. The floor was marble, pristine and crisp. To her left was the lounge where waiting patrons could relax; to her right was her desk. Debbie rushed over to it taking her spot as the receptionist. Along the sides of the wide hallway directly in front of you as you entered were meeting rooms. One of the many master craftsmen or artists would meet with costumers in those rooms. They would talk with them learning exactly what it was the man or woman wanted the finished product to look like. The entrance was only a small part of the large building; the rest was where the actual work took place. The purpose of the entire entrance from the courtyard to the elaborately decorated room was to awe and impress potential customers. Art’s Haven sold more than just statues and paintings however, the store’s main stream of profit came from the owners themselves. Valath and Nakome were masters at their arts. Valath made all the fabrials, while Nakome….. Debbie shuttered as she thought of Nakome, The Forger, she could twist an object’s soul. It wasn’t natural, but who was she to judge?

Dwig stood from his chair in his luxurious office atop Trident Tower and looked out over the Alleycity. The reconstruction had gone well over the past year. New skyscrapers had grown up, Trident Tower among them. Some of the older buildings, which had become derelict in the 18 years since they were damaged in the Seven Day War, had been rebuilt in creative ways. He tore his gaze away from the window and walked to the elevator. He pressed the lobby button and tapped his foot to the groovy elevator music. The elevator doors slid open and Dwig walked out onto the lobby’s shiny floor. He strode to the doors and pushed them open, walking onto the stage that had been set up. “Ahem, hello everyone,” he said to the crowd gathered on the street, which had been closed for the occasion. “I’d like to welcome you all to the dedication of the Alleycity’s newest skyscraper; Trident Tower. The tower itself has been open for some time, but it has gone undedicated for that time. But, the poor tower will have to go undedicated for a bit longer. Before dedicating this tower, I’d like to thank everyone who supported the idea of Trident Manufacturing, those first investors, those who saw something more in the company I proposed. I would also like to thank the Ghostbloods, for supporting this venture, indirectly. Finally, I want to thank the Alleyzon corporation,” Dwig pointed towards the Alleyzon Tower, across the city. “for deciding to accept the contract I proposed. Now, the tower can get dedicated.” Dwig cleared his throat and continued “This tower is dedicated to everyone who works Trident Manufacturing, everyone who, every day, brings ideas to life. This company has grown exponentially in the last year, in no small part due to the workers, the engineers, and the magic users that work here. I cannot thank you enough, but I hope this tower’s dedication will suffice, for now.” Dwig grinned, dropped the mic, and snapped his fingers. Lights burst into life along the tower’s length, transforming into colors and designs.