His name was Grayson. You could probably count the number of people who knew that on two hands.
He had a little bit of funding now. Gained through no small amount of risk.
Every day, he felt more and more assured in his actions. No family had he, and in his search for a place in the world, this soldier had started to develop something of a stance on the issue of these outsiders.
They had been training all night, not a desirable shift to have– but it wasn’t really up to him, the senior guards decided the timetables. He rubbed his shoulders before heading to the market.
He believed himself to be in the right. After talking to that rude old lady for long enough, he’d begun to realise not only the cruelty of her circumstance, but also the potential she posed for advancement in… everything. He had forgotten the tragedy he had witnessed, but if the old woman was to be believed, that was no fault of hers.
If only the high government had set out on a campaign to befriend these people, or even been indifferent, rather than behead them, the empire could have prospered.
It made no sense to this young soldier; it was senseless. Devoid of reason.
He passed through the market, bought some essentials, some clothes, and let fly a couple discreet flyers for good measure, before heading for the city gates.
More and more, replacing his admiration for the guards with annoyance at the rigid security.
If he was able to win over some of those he’d spoken to, perhaps that would become less of an issue.
He was working on it.
Regardless, he began to trek to the village. He couldn’t afford a horse and didn’t want to take a transport for various reasons. Cost was one, since he came and went every few days.
The old lady couldn’t very well have continued to live in the forest. He was antsy about her staying in that village, even if everyone seemed happy to have her– though that was probably due to her fabricated cover story.
She was relatively safe there for now.
He was familiar with the Ministry of Defence and their practices to an extent, and so he was cautious about their routine visits to the surrounding settlements. He himself had been on a couple of those assignments, though they hadn’t found anybody at the time.
As far as he knew, those operations had scaled back due to the… manpower shortages. If they were vigilant, it'd be fine.
Young, inexperienced, hesitant though he may be. When a man with nothing to lose finds something to fight for, he becomes capable of exponential action.
He was at the same time haunted and emboldened by his recent experiences.
—
Stephen believed in some things very strongly.
The free exchange of information, the cooperative advancement of human knowledge, among other things.
Etiquette… only when unobstructive.
As Stephen returned to the Scholarium, he was stopped by a very stressed looking man. “Scholar! I need you!”
“You need me for… what?”
The middle aged magic practitioner pressed, “Scholar Millard, the advancements you’ve made in mathematics suggest you have a penchant for logical deduction. Considering your substantial breakthroughs… Frankly, you’re one of the more outstanding members of our institution!”
He had submitted those ‘discoveries’ for funding and in the interest of sharing knowledge, but being credited so highly was a bit uncomfortable. “What are you getting at?”
The man rubbed his hands together anxiously, “well, I’m trying to put a team together–”
Stephen made a sour face. He had other things he needed to do.
The man hurriedly continued before he could be turned away outright. “You’ll be very well compensated depending on your contribution!”
“Contribution to what?”
The man grinned anxiously, but with something of a manic fire behind his eyes, “a repair job for a high grade magical device. We don’t usually get a chance to study pieces of this magnitude, and so I snatched up the opportunity. I just– need a team.”
Who was this guy? “And you are?”
The man paused his excitement, “ah. I’m the Grand Wizard of Willowhaven, John. Nice to meet you.”
Stephens brows knit together for half a second as he reconciled that, then unknit in unbidden interest, “fascinating… a– tell me more.”
Perhaps he had ulterior motives.
—
Emilia, having administered Edward’s attempt to enter the Ministry, knew that his results had been, overall, pretty average. Nothing in particular had stood out to her about his responses at the time, at least in content.
His handwriting, though, had been exceptionally neat and orderly.
In contrast, Oliver was– good at paperwork, but not out of a focus or dedication to the art. There was a kind of force of will behind Oliver, the quality of a soldier. He wasn’t intimidated by social status– and while it caused issues, she expected it would make him a valuable asset as they moved up in the world.
Emilia herself could manage her emotions, and in a sense it could her manage her behaviours, but it was a skill more useful in social situations than bureaucratic. That was fine, Emilia aspired to be a statesman.
Edward, was a born bureaucrat.
Rather than emotional control, it was as if his emotions and his actions were entirely separate. You only needed to tell him to do something once. If he had questions, they were short, and he was easy to deal with.
It was Emilia’s hope that those attributes would be applicable to an intermediate leadership role.
Her plans for her Office of Accountability were most easily realised when she had to do less of the involved paperwork. It was somewhat unheard of for a Middle Official to leave that many of her responsibilities to her subordinates. But again, statesman.
Which is why she had tasked Edward with raising a team to manage that side of things. That way, and with Oliver being an agent she could mobilise, she could start attending to her own agenda.
She was already a step outside her father’s grasp as a political implement.
It was not enough. More sway was not complete control of a situation.
With that in mind, she sat across from executives of the craftsman’s guild.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Official, you had something you wanted to discuss with us?”
She smiled. “My position is a new one in the ministry. As the Official of Accountability, it’s my responsibility to ensure fairness and efficiency in the organisation. Let’s just say– I’ve heard some concerning things.”
She didn’t even need to press them, and they began to sweat. “We have an agreement with the Finance Ministry. There shouldn’t be anything out of order.”
Emilia unlaced her fingers, “call it an agreement– a deal even,” she continued, unblinking, “I don’t care. It’s negligent, exploitative, inefficient, and most importantly–”
She slid forward a document of her own making, not a contract or record. A bill.
“It’s not in writing.”
The executives looked down at the number on the paper and paled. “How d– ahem, these numbers mean nothing at all. We’ve been properly paying our share, and we did not collect this much revenue in any of these…” he gulped, “these last t-twenty four tax periods.”
Emilia peered casually into their souls.
After receiving the tip from Oliver, she’d roughly guessed the amount of guild fees they had collected based on their investments, membership rates, and general expenditure. The amount they had reported was not consistent in the slightest, but at the end of the day, all she really had was speculation.
The useful thing was, they couldn’t prove her wrong. Any effort in doing so would expose them regardless. Having used the stick, it was time for the carrot, “I’m willing to be lenient this time, as it was partly the fault of internal malpractice.”
They brightened.
“If you present me your records, I’ll cut this number in half, and give you the opportunity to pay it in installments over the course of the year.” She pulled her document back, replacing it with a (still quite large) bill with a lenient payment plan. “A hit to city revenue for sure, but we all own our mistakes, yes?”
The executives were pensive now, but still not eager. “Look, you don’t have any proof. If we can sweep this under the rug, I’m sure we can come to a more informal solution…”
. Unfortunately for them, Emilia didn’t care for money– and not because she was too honorable or righteous. She stood. “This is already long overdue. Accept this or forget about leniency if we’re made to look into it further. I expect diligence into the future.”
As Emilia’s pressure reached it’s zenith, they broke, and signed the document.
After Emilia saw them off in dignified fashion, she sat, grinning at the document. Maybe even giggled a bit.
“Mmmmmm.”
Emilia valued power.
—
River was stressing out about the village situation, Oliver had said he would handle it.
She would have to trust that he would.
But she couldn’t stop being anxious, and so she wandered the streets in her usual fashion, getting up to some antics.
Though, just as she was being chased away by a furious landowner for trying to climb his building, a familiar face appeared at the edge of her vision.
Not a pleasant one, but one she was obliged not to ignore, and so she approached the ruffian who so often worked with the man in the cream tailcoat, saying nothing, of course.
The ruffian wasn’t one for many words himself, but he grunted as he pulled out a slip of paper. “Big job, it’ll take a fat chunk off your debt.”
‘Paige’ snatched the paper from him and read it through her mask. She looked up, but she couldn’t– wouldn’t say anything. This job was going to be a problem.
She shook her head and tried to hand the note back, but the ruffian growled at her, “not a choice. Go,” he shoved her into the street.
She stood there, half fallen over for a moment, before taking a few tentative steps in the direction of the Ministry of Finance, then stopped.
—
Oliver paced around awkwardly at the waiting point near the Eastern gate, evidently too early. He had seen an adventurer escort before, on his ride with Olaric to this city– perhaps he could be working with one of them, he thought. Perhaps they could teach him something about sword wielding.
While it was definitely kind of cool to have one, he was mindful of the wrapped sword at his hip. He’d had to apologise for clipping people with it multiple times by this point.
What was the likelihood he pulled a muscle using it without proper technique? Were there sword training schools? Come to think of it, what even was the medical situation in Willowhaven? He hadn’t needed any major medical attention until this stage, though maybe he should have seen a doctor at some point for his few injuries regardless.
It was while pondering questions of such ramifications that the senior adventurer he was working with showed up. Oliver was not facing that direction at the time, but– unfortunately– he only needed a nose to sense this presence.
Now, Oliver was an Australian bloke. If one was frank, a people praised more for kindness than decorum. In all, Oliver wasn’t a stickler for presentation and all that.
It came to a point though, that even Oliver recoiled at a sight. This wasn’t the kind of dishevelled one became due to impoverishment, this was pure negligence.
His eyes tracked thinning brown hair slick with oil, a shirt stained so much he suspected it was supposed to be an entirely different colour, and yet equipped with armour much the same as Oliver himself wore.
More even, a full complement of leather protection– which Oliver knew wasn’t cheap. He couldn’t tell what the weapon at the adventurer’s side was, but it was too short and bulky to be a sword.
The fellow stuck out a greasy hand with a lopsided smile. “George, a pleasure.”
… Oliver ignored the hand, not particularly keen to be infected as such. “Oliver, likewise.”
The unclean man grinned and retracted his hand to tap his temple, “I’m in charge of watching you today.”
Oliver’s reciprocal smile didn’t reach his eyes.
He was saved by the wagon, which rolled up to them already having collected its customer– just one today, it seemed.
The driver didn’t even leave the wagon, just called from her seat at them, “escort!”
George jumped on the left side of the wagon, standing on a lip, hanging off the side– so Oliver did the same on the right, before they started rattling through the gate. Once he had a grip, it wasn’t so hard.
It was kind of unsettling, leaving the walls again. This was the first time he was doing so this month. Nothing good ever really seemed to happen outside of civilisation, or that was the association he seemed to be building.
This time though, they were headed east. The opposite direction from the Lamenting Forest, every metre across the strange swirly blue/green grass being the furthest he’d travelled from his origin point.
He knew they would be travelling for a couple hours, and that was fine by him. He did question, though, what kind of dangers a transport such as this needed to hire adventurers for? Bandits, perhaps, but what was the merit in attacking just a driver and villager and risking getting caught by the authorities. He chuckled, “I don’t have a mind for crime I s’pose.”
The passenger looked at Oliver askance, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
His fellow adventurer threw Oliver a grin over the top of the transport, “too much trouble, aint it! Adventuring’s not so bad, lot of the same really.”
Oliver blinked a few times, then narrowed his eyes, “how’s that?”
George just kept smiling, but deigned not to respond.
And in that concerning silence, they kept rolling.
—
About an hour into the journey, not a tree in sight, George made a sound. “Ooooh, dibs!”
He jumped off the wagon and started running a bit clumsily off to the side. Oliver peered into the distance and spotted the thing George was heading toward– somewhat hard to see at first, but as he comprehended what he was looking at, the distinct features of something stood out against the vibrant grass.
As it got closer, its speed became more evident. A violently rolling blob, ooze flying off it like spittle as it rushed over the terrain, in the centre of its almost transparent body, a dull blue/green organ steady like some kind of gyroscope.
Oliver was gawking, “what in th– what in the fucked up slime is that supposed to be!?”
He jumped off the wagon, went to grab his sword, and realised it was still wrapped. He looked up just in time to see George meet the slime-thing.
George, unsteady on his feet, had unwrapped his weapon a good time ago apparently. He had the one-handed mace hefted up in the air, baiting the slime toward him until the right moment, then took a step to the side and swung it downwards like a golf club– and Oliver imagined that would be a decisive strike if he’d managed to hit, but his mace only managed to glance the side.
Oliver made to run over, but the decrepit senior adventurer’s head whipped around in fury– “MINE!”
Oliver halted. Then decided to stand by the wagon, which had stopped. Protecting it in case the slime-thing made for it. It was his job, after all.
The driver had a chagrined look on her face, and she addressed Oliver. “Never left the city have you? If this is enough to spook you, don’t bother adventuring. That’s my advice.”
Oliver’s head turned slowly toward her until he was looking at her with the most ‘what’ face he could muster. “I was literally about to run over and help, if you didn’t notice.”
The driver looked at him like ‘sure buddy’, and if anything irked Oliver, it was that.
George seemed to have attempted to hurt the thing enough times that it was visibly slower. Finally, he managed to slam his mace into it dead-on, and the holes he had pierced in its hide started gushing liquid like a burst balloon until it was deflated and not moving.
He leaned on his knees for a second, catching his breath, then got up and strutted back to the wagon, taking his spot again. Oliver did the same, but questioned– “don’t you want to take that back to sell or something?”
George sneered at him, “sell for what? The only people that want them are alchemists, and they’re too haggly. Plus, the slimes are disgusting, don’t want to deal with the mess for a couple copper coins.”
Oliver gave George a flat look, but they continued.
—
River followed the man who’d given her the assignment for only five minutes before she was caught.
The tap on her shoulder made her shiver, she spun around to find a cold faced older lady.
On the surface, what seemed to be your average saleswoman, but while they might have eminanted at least a level of warmth and kindness– there was none of that in this person.
River could tell. Cold professionalism.
“No good, little one. This is your first warning.”
They were in a place out of sight of the busy street– a residential area in a poorer segment of the city, devoid of people because they were either inside or at work. Not the kind of place people wanted to hang out.
The woman lifted an open palm, then whipped at River’s face such that she could barely step back in time to dodge it.
River had gotten pretty swift, but the saleswoman just shook her head, “that’s no good, you need to accept your warnings properly. If you try that again, I’ll take the issue to the boss, and he’ll be less kind. Now– stay still.”
River tackled the lady’s midriff, taking her off her feet.
SUNDAY
(again??), I'm not doing it on purpose I promise.
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