The Accidental Zenith
By @john1208
Jory Finch, a glorified inventory clerk for the lowest rung of the Artificer's Guild, had one simple aspiration: earn enough Guild-credits to buy a decent workshop. His dream was modest: a small, quiet shop selling slightly-less-than-reputable charmed trinkets, perhaps a niche aether-stream demonstrating "The Art of the Almost-Broken Amulet" for a modest online following. The grand pronouncements of the Arcane Council, the whispers of ancient prophecies, the looming threats from the Eldritch Wastes – these were for other, more foolish people. Jory’s ambitions extended no further than a steady income and perhaps a more comfortable chair.
Yet, somehow, the universe had other, far grander plans for him. One botched repair, one inadvertently activated relic, and suddenly he wasn’t just tuning minor wards; he was accidentally unlocking forgotten ley lines beneath the city, deciphering forbidden grimoires that hinted at world-altering power, and, much to his profound irritation, accumulating a cadre of fervent, if misguided, followers. From a forgotten attic workshop to the very pinnacle of Aethelgard's arcane hierarchy, Jory's ascent was nothing short of breathtaking – and utterly, magnificently unwelcome. All he ever wanted was to fix a few broken things and turn a profit, not become the reluctant Archon of a burgeoning, accidental revolution.
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