When Sammy checked another curiosity she had from her absence’s developments — the 13th Fanatic — she found it was the Crusader Brynn. Good ole Brynn! He had been the knight with Dax, Dart, and Bob when they went after the fleeing Merril to Caneboro. Agatha sent him far south as cover for a fairly unconfirmed presence in the fight that had eventually seen the inn burn down. Presumably, the Dominion had plenty of other things to deal with and never did investigate him, by all appearances. No heat was on him.

  He ended up ‘loaned’ to Fort Coalsbury in the March of Dallins, the territory south of Canesboro that checked the Wildlands in the region. The March was exceptionally martial and famous for its multiple knightly orders, including the Ranging Endless, a popular questing, adventuring order with a kind of ranger-knight shtick. Sir Beikiar had been a member, perhaps still technically was though he didn’t appear to truly serve them.

  Brynn got recruited into it apparently by random happenstance of hitting it off with a prominent knight joined up with in the middle of a market brawl. Aramis quickly advised Brynn to go for it and arranged for approval, as well as forwarding a fat gold donation that endeared the young knight all the quicker to the group. He attained experience in counter-raid excursions against beastmen and became a semi-clandestine [Crusader], amplifying his capabilities.

  It got noticed, being an order with a few self-made crusader types already. Eventually, Brynn secured other Followers and created a budding micro-community for Samantha in Coalsbury. It became this officially once they moved a full cleric over and appointed them as an official community head.

  Briefly, Samantha made personal contact to congratulate and thank Brynn for his accomplishments and dedication. He was rather tongue-tied to be directly communicated with, and otherwise was left in gleeful awe for the attention.

  Probably feels a bit forgotten about down there. But we’ll need every contact in every region. It’s good work. If we secure some knightly orders for our side, that could make all the difference. Too bad they’re needed for that border. I really need to solve the Wildlands, too. The ongoing pipedream for a world alliance, I know.

  Sammy turned her attention back to the realm. In truth, there were a hundred little things to do. Unfortunately, she could maybe do a dozen quickly. Two big glaring things had to take her immediate focus: the ‘information heist’ of sorts with Ash and the other thing she ached to do.

  As if opening a map, Sammy cast her vision out to Calrenazzod and zoomed to the little island off the coast of Geirkos. Seemingly dead, and certainly full of ruins full of ghosts. One way or another, she was going to take it. It was hers. It cried out for her. As sure as Rallindin conquered nations like the ruthless hammer she was, this was Samantha’s little slice to take.

  “The new center of the world,” Samantha declared. No one to invoke, no personality to emulate. Her words, her decree, such as she was transformed in alchemy. “As a million times before; as maybe more. This time, we won’t fail. Victory here at the end. This is the final flagstaff, which will present a banner to whip that will not fall. It will stand forever reaching up to Heaven…”

  My tower shall rise again. Finally.

  ??············???···········??

  In a cozy, ancient treehouse sequestered in a deep, thick forest, an elven maiden with blonde hair almost white sat at a desk and doodled inside of a book of canvas. Open shutters around the room filtered in the light of day through swaying leaves. The inside of the room was messy, saturated with books, notes, vials, bottles, herbal ingredients, paints, implements, trinkets, and seemingly endless other like little doodads. Many generations of elven wizards lived in that humble, fragile-seeming, yet deceptively rock-solid magical fortress.

  The tree and the contoured living frame that made the living space were nigh invulnerable by the work of spells lost to the tragedies of time. It had almost been toppled once by some crude and evil artifice, and the lean was persistent and visible, cocked to an angle, the curve back straight rather sharp to keep the living space level. Perhaps it was not as tall as it once was. Elves preferred to bend to circumstance rather than break and remake, or reset. Adapt, absorb, remember, become. Cultured imperfection was the true perfection, and life was a continuous effort of art.

  The old adage went ‘A painting remains a painting even buried in the mud.’ The elves had been paintings before the fires that so easily consumed them, too. Most of them were gone, yet the art still lived on, scorched. Bent.

  On the table of so many things, a small area had been cleared to make for a golden cushion that had sat seven centuries of feline familiars. Someone very feline and somewhat familiar sat it at that moment, her gleaming eyes amidst black fur slowly opening as she awoke from her nap. One she’d taken very cat-like right in the middle of conversation no less!

  “Shit,” Pythia muttered, as she stretched and then stood up to stretch some more. “How long was I out? This place is… way too comfortable. You little witch.”

  Ananaeth — always Ana in her head, as her father called her — giggled as she looked up and smiled. “Hardly my fault! I didn’t design the place, after all. Nor did I fashion the feathery soft pillow expressly made to be pleasant to familiars of your tenderly-furred persuasion, es saeah sho’qua!” ‘Friend from far ago.’ Elves to any feline. Ana winked. “Fifty-four minutes, Pythia.”

  “Hmmph. So exact?”

  “Ye-eees…” Ana answered sing-song as she went back to her drawing. Fires. A statue- no, the statue. Oh yes!

  “I was going to ask ‘where were we,’ but I recall you somehow pivoted into some description of jungle-leaf basket weaving and the cultural implications of the perforation patterns… I believe that’s when I dozed off.”

  “Ah yes! The leather-winged richgreen as the humans call the tough little tree and its tough little leaves! A bush, really — the perforations have to be performed much prior to even extracting them, and the western folk do so to only one-fifth of a given plant, so as to-”

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  “Ana!” Pythia exclaimed loudly, apparently in admonishment. “I’m not trying to doze, damn it! I don’t care about baskets. I was asking after your premonitions. I assumed you were getting around to some arcane omen or sign situation literally beating around the bush, but you were entrapping me the whole time. No more!”

  “Hmm. I see. I do apologize! I do get onto tangents. Neferwyn chastised me about making her doze off when getting into details about more potent stimulants than the nozareet tea she’s used to. I think the irony of the situation made her particularly more incensed!”

  “That’s completely-” Pythia suddenly cut off, her hair bristling in shock. “Oh. It seems the goddess has finally returned. Good. Very good. Wow. How did I miss that? The headspace, it’s…” she trailed off.

  Ana paused in her drawing to grin cheerily. “Mom’s home! How very delightful!”

  Pythia whipped her head at Ana, eyes squinted. “Mom? Has she even spoken to you since your first bloody meeting?!”

  “Nope! Not exactly.” The pen made more scratching noises on the canvas.

  Pythia left an endless pause as if expecting more, staring unblinkingly.

  Ana gave the feline an amused but level look, up over her glasses. “If you have some understanding of my role, do give me a little credit. Fate would not leave a daughter behind, silly!”

  “How comforting to hear. But my job is to factor in all equations to make a recognizable pattern. It might only be recognizable in full to me, but I try very hard to explain it to others as best I can. You’re doing the opposite, Ana, and we can’t factor in a formula with nothing but strange algebra letters.”

  “Everyone has a little something to contribute, Pythia. Don’t you think? You might call it… tinder! And-and… um- yes! Something or someone comes along like a spark!” She looked down to finish her doodling with the color-changing pen. Amidst mountains, a flexing statue, gleaming proud, while below fires raged — blue, pure, cleansing. A fortress and many charging knights within a raging storm. Two women on a chariot hold up gauntleted hands together in defiance of a black tower; two tattered men — enemies — shake hands under heavens gleaming gold. A snake with legs licks a woman’s calf from behind. “That’s when their life truly begins.”

  Ana smiled at what she saw. We take so much beauty for granted, don’t we? It’s still missing something. It’ll come! “It’s all just a question of timing.”

  The little witch studiously suppressed a cackle.

  Nyahahahaha! Oh... no explosive ending. Yeah. Can't have 'em every time, you know. But we'll jump (almost) right into the action next time! Which is... on the normal schedule. Ain't web novels grand?

  Next Chapter...

  Checking in with Crow. Shift to Sam Sam mission-in-progress...

  Backers go here! Huzzah! Thank you! is a link to the claim thread for those who want a spot.

  Elias Blade, holding eternally the tarot of The Fool!

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  Zimmy, holding eternally the tarot of the Nine of Cups!

  Sarai, holding eternally the tarot of the Seven of Pentacles!