Jack spent the next three days locked in the workshop. Working continuously. With only few hours break each day. His human body was mainly fueled by strong coffee-like drink. And an almost manic energy.
The workshop had become a controlled chaos of gears, wires, and scattered tools. The air was filled with the scent of heated metal. And a faint, unsettling aroma he could only attribute to the nightmare dust he used as one of the main materials.
The result of his sleepless dedication was a marvel of clockwork engineering. A small lamp fashioned in the shape of a... Jack O'Lantern.
It wasn't particularly large. Fitting comfortably in one hand. Its glass-like pumpkin exterior, coated with thin orange paint, gleamed softly. And intricate gearwork was visible through small openings. Hinting at the complexity within.
Normally, the lamp emitted a warm, yellow glow. From its transparent pumpkin face. But the magic, or rather the engineering miracle, was in its sensitivity.
When exposed to genuine kindness nearby, the yellow light would shift. It would morph into a pure, radiant white. The carved features of the pumpkin would soften. Becoming almost gentle. Reflecting the purity it sensed.
Conversely, when confronted with hostility. Or malice. Or evil intent... The lamp would react violently. The yellow light would darken. Turning into a menacing crimson red. The pumpkin's face would contort into a fierce, almost demonic grin. Teeth bared in a silent snarl.
Jack had deliberately avoided adding any offensive capabilities. It wouldn't shoot steam. Emit paralyzing rays. Or any other typical steamrune weapon trick.
His focus was purely on the tale-weaving aspect. The lamp was an emotional barometer. A reflection of the stories infused within its core.
And oh, the stories he had woven.
He'd poured his memories. His experiences. His judgements. Into the Tale Focusing Core he'd carefully installed at the heart of the lamp.
Each tale was slightly, or massively, modified. For several reasons. To protect his identity. To be more dramatic. And to be fitting for his theme: Karma.
The tales might not be reaching the highest degree in quality. Yet, they resonated quite well within the device. Waiting to be awakened.
He imbued the core with the tale of the evil warlock in Lotogear City. This evil one was willing to destroy innocent life for profit. He summoned a demon to do his bidding. Yet, somehow, the demon lost control.
The warlock couldn't control it. The irony had been obvious. The fiend devoured the sorcerer. Turning him into a screaming echo in the spirit realm. Justice was served cold and brutal.
Then there was the story of the deranged doctor. The one who experimented on his patients in the secret rooms in a hospital. It was convenient and unexpected. He managed to pull the wool on every other people's eyes.
But then, he picked the wrong patient for a brutal experiment. The patient died. But the doctor experienced a descent into madness. Haunted by the spectral forms of that particular victim.
And then she, the victim ghost, brought the soul of other victims. Their silent screams drove the doctor to the depth of insanity.
Not all the tales were pure grim stories though.
He had included the story of Linna. The young girl and her mother was sacrificed by a fanatic cult in Highcliff Town.
Linna, as a ghost, had risen to avenge her death. She was aided by a powerful undead draugr. An unlikely friend she had accidentally summoned from the Kingdom of Death.
And after the cult members were vanquished, her soul ascended. She was together again with her mother. Finally finding peace in the afterlife.
And then, there was Johnny, the kind-hearted miner from Ironpile Town. He was a victim accidentally killed by cursed werewolves.
As a newly formed ghost, Johnny had bravely defended his town. Against the threat of the werewolves. He was guided by a mysterious, faceless spectral entity.
He managed to save his town. To save people close to him. He too, had earned his rest. Accepting the call of the glowing bright afterlife with unrestrained courage.
There was also a tale of three foolish nobles. Doing treasure hunts with reckless attitude. They fell into a great danger. Hunted by a cursed mechanical being. But they were rescued by an ugly creature.
One of the nobles learned the lesson and returned home. But two wanted to hunt the creature that saved them. They fell into another great danger. And this time, no one came to help them. They died in deep regret.
These stories, and others like them, were the essence of the Jack O'Lantern lamp. They were the fuel for its transformational response. Jack hoped it was enough.
The day of the Tale Artwork Competition dawned.
It was a crisp and clear early morning. Jack, accompanied by Danny and Big Bill, boarded a chartered ship bound for Little Saga Island.
The island, shrouded in mist and legend, only materialized once every five years. It was the land where the Tale Mansion lay.
As they approached, the island grew larger. Revealing a landscape of jagged cliffs, ancient forests, and winding cobblestone paths.
It was already swarming with transcendent individuals. All kinds of people with various transcendent classes.
The ship docks were packed. And the paths leading to the Tale Mansion were clogged with a diverse crowd. Steamrune engineers, mystic scholars, faith acolytes, supernatural sorcerers, eldritch mage, and even people with unidentifiable classes.
All were here. Eager to participate. Or witness the spectacle.
"Damn, this is crowded." Danny muttered. His mechanical arm whirring softly as he adjusted his bag. "Didn't realize so many people were into this 'tale' thing."
Big Bill chuckled. His massive frame easily navigating the throng. "Taleweaving Fruit, Danny. Many would want to have it. Or see it. It was a fruit that could make even a rock have talent, after all."
They disembarked. And joined the flow of people heading towards the imposing structure of the Tale Mansion.
The mansion itself was a gothic masterpiece. Built from dark stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Gargoyles leered from the rooftops. And stained-glass windows depicted scenes from forgotten myths.
Before the entrance, the crowd thickened. Two large wooden doors stood side-by-side. Each marked with a symbolic emblem.
The door on the left bore the image of a watchful eye. Representing the path for viewers. Those who simply wished to observe artworks and watch the competition.
The door on the right displayed a blazing fruit. Signifying the entrance for participants. Those who dared to submit their artwork.
"Alright Big Bro, Jack. This is where we split," Danny said. "I'm gonna go gawk at the fancy art. Good luck, you two."
With a grin, he peeled off towards the left door. Joining the throng of spectators.
Jack turned to Big Bill. "Ready?"
Big Bill nodded. His expression was surprisingly serious for once. "Let's do this."
They joined the queue for the right door. Slowly shuffling forward towards the entrance.
Jack observed the other participants. Trying to glean any hints about the competition. He saw elaborate paintings being carried. Intricate sculptures wheeled on carts. And even a full-sized automaton being maneuvered with difficulty.
When it was Big Bill's turn. He stepped forward. And presented a large, ornately carved wooden box to the stern-looking butler standing guard. The butler examined it briefly, then handed Big Bill a metallic card with a number stamped on it.
Jack stepped up next. His smaller box felt almost insignificant in comparison. He offered it to the butler. Who gave it the same cursory glance. Before handing Jack his own card: number 48.
"Good luck!" The butler intoned. His voice was devoid of any warmth.
Stepping out of the room, Jack rejoined Big Bill. The huge man was already gazing around at the various artworks displayed in the open courtyard.
"So, number 48, huh? Think that's a lucky number?" Big Bill asked.
Jack shrugged. "Numbers are just numbers. It's the tale that matters."
Danny had already made his way through the viewer's entrance. He immediately caught up with them.
"Holy crap, you guys got to see some of this stuff!" He said. "There's a painting that literally changes every time you blink. And a clockwork dragon that breathes actual fire!"
Jack ignored Danny's enthusiasm for a moment. Instead, he focused on the artworks around them. Many were enclosed in glass cases. Radiating an almost palpable aura of magic.
He saw a miniature diorama of a pirate ship sailing through a storm. Lightning flashing across its sails. And he could almost hear the crashing waves.
There was a tapestry depicting a battle between knights and demons. The figures in that thing seemed to move and clash as he watched.
As he got closer to each artwork, he could feel the weight of the tales they contained. Some were light and whimsical. Filled with joy and wonder. Others were dark and tragic. Heavy with sorrow and despair.
The air crackled with the raw emotion of countless stories. Waiting to be experienced.