by Alston Sleet
I am an official maker of standards.
At least, whatever or whoever is controlling the ‘Voice of the World’ has decided that my standard challenges are a decent baseline and so has outsourced to me these standard achievements. It was a bit creepy knowing that some thinking thing had to be viewing everything like that and assigning achievements or other awards. And, yes, I recognize that is a bit hypocritical coming from someone who even now is bouncing his external viewpoint around town. I wondered though if being a standard could be used to my advantage. I know that in my old world if you were legislated to be the official standard measuring for something, that was a great way to get a lot of money. I wasn’t convinced something like that would work here, but I would keep my eye peeled for it. I wasn’t holding my breath though. Well, I was, but only because I was a gem and didn’t breath anyways.
Usually, my visit to this delightful eatery had nothing to do with tea. Frequently I was here because it was the favored delicatessen of the Lord Mayor and the forced eatery of Lord Vertan. I wasn’t sure if the Lord Mayor, whose name and his title was actually ‘The Right Honorable Lord Mayor, Lord Mayhen’ but everyone seemed to shorten it, was actually that enraptured with this eatery, or that enraptured with tweaking his subordinates sensibilities. The little cloth doilies would suggest the later, the selection of food and tea, and his waistline would suggest the former.
I had been following around the Lord Mayor because he was an education in following every rule while breaking every inch of it. He wasn’t a nice man, and because of his position, he could basically walk into almost any place and take what he wanted, and so he did. From what I could understand, the only restriction on the Lord Mayor is that he correctly pay the taxes for the town to the crown. That was about it, besides the number of soldiers he could have, that he wasn’t allowed to sell weapons to other kingdoms, mainly ‘collect taxes, don’t draw the kings gaze’ could sum it up best.
This left him to do, just about anything he pleased. I chuckled when I first thought of it, but it fit, he was ‘Neutral Evil.’
Lord Vertan on the other hand, he was Lawful Neutral. He didn’t care about the results of the law, he was following the law to the end. I think it was the military career which instilled in him such a rigid view of the rules. This apparently made him a good right-hand man to the Lord Mayor, after all, the rules said that the Lord Mayor was in charge, not Lord Vertan who was just in charge of the military here. I had thought that there would be some kind of police force and the soldiers would be there to guard the city against invasion or monsters. No, the soldiers did both jobs, and since the soldiers were often little better than well-trained thugs, this caused some issues. I had watched at least one soldier stab another patron for spilling beer on him. This had been met with downturned eyes and helping their friend to a healer.
Mister Saltfelt was Chaotic Neutral. The law was just those set of rules he had to follow to make sure things worked out for him publicly, a noticeably smaller set had to be observed in private. He ran most of the smuggling for the city along with owning more of the town directly than anyone else. The Lord Mayor took advantage of those smuggling services himself, so he wasn’t willing to directly fight with him, moreover, if Saltfelt decided to move his businesses elsewhere, the city would take a huge economic hit. It wouldn’t be nice for Saltfelt either, but he would survive it, the Lord Mayor, in that case, would not survive the next visit of the tax man.
That left me considering my position. I sure didn’t follow the law, but I wasn’t chaotic either. I had rules and strictures. Some of these rules were built into my very being. I also wasn’t good or evil. I helped some, hurt others, but only when they came to challenge my rules. I wouldn’t call myself True Neutral either though, it’s hard to argue that you are True Neutral after you eat a few humans. I mean you could, but I don’t think anyone would agree with you, at least at a dinner party.
I think that part of my philosophical bent had been brought about after my freak out from the dimensional wizard. I wasn’t really in any direct danger, the man spent half an hour opening one door after he had spent another long period trying to find it. He then practically hobbled his way back to my entrance. But my instincts had almost screamed at me to do something. I was used to the sheer terror, the pulse pumping adrenaline rush of the human body. My dungeon core instincts were more cold and calculating, but no less hectic. They drove me to protect, protect, protect! Like a silent chant of my subconscious. Once the noise in my own mind calmed down, I would look back and think on the danger and realize it just wasn’t that severe.
The other exciting change was that my gem had grown, I hadn’t really noticed it, but as the deaths have started to roll in, the effect was marked. I was now almost palm sized. I was a bit concerned that the trend would continue and I would grow to be so large as to be awkward, but the growth had already slowed. I’m guessing something to do with surface area or something. I fiddled a bit with my core room, shortened it, reinforced my walls more, and then titled my core up so that I looked like a giant gem displayed on a pedestal instead of just a rock laying on it. Pride in appearance, pride in self, or so my mother used to say. I hadn’t taken her advice in the past, but I could try now.
“Ooh, I like this setup a lot better.”
Cue mental screaming and freaking out until my instincts noticed that it was, again, Denda.
Denda smiled her creepy grin as she gently tapped my gem again, “Hey cutie, how did you like the homecoming basket of gifts I had Saltfelt get you?”
With my now calmed instincts silent I gathered myself, “I liked it a lot, those samples have grown my options. I assume this was payment for Saltfelt blocking off my entrance and taking advantage of it?”
With a skipping motion, the little bundle of goddess peered closely at my gem and continued, “Yup, I like him, and he doesn’t kick up too much of a fuss when I ask him to do something, so I figured I would help him out when I could. He prayed about Coldona and wanted to know if he could do anything about the dungeons. It was the first thing he asked even. He also asked if he could profit off of it, but hey, most of my worshipers like to take things for fun so I can’t really complain too much. He did ask first, and that means something.”
“Not that I don’t enjoy your heart attack inducing visits, but was there something you wanted from me?”
Denda smiled then patted my gem again, “oh, no I don’t want anything. I just wanted to suggest you move your gateway to the capital. The king is planning to burn the city to the ground since you are in it. That might not harm you, but if you aren’t here he won’t, and my followers will survive. Toodles!”
With that bombshell, she faded away, though I did notice a large stone bowl filled with glowing stones had been left where she had been standing.
“Those are Skill and Class stones. Coldona really liked what you did with the kobolds, giving that one Common, so she wanted me to pass these to you to learn.”
I frantically called out for the little goddess, but I received no response. I was still wary of using [Directed Prayer] given the warning that Denda had given on Coldona’s erratic behavior.
So should I change my location or stay here, and if I change places, should I really go to the capital? Wouldn’t that just make the king nuttier than he already was? Why would he want to burn the city down, just because I was here and giving out achievements? Did he think I was a threat to his rule? Was he angry because people besides his soldiers were getting achievements? Was he really that petty?
First, though I decided to absorb the Skill and Class stones. Before making a plan always assess what resources are available. More motherly advice I had ignored in the past. When I started to consume one of the skill stones, the bound up memories and concepts inside them similarly flowed into my mind like the memories when someone died. These were just more focused, more refined, directed in a single direction. After the first stone taught me all the different ways to perform a kick, the st
ance, the different types, how to kick to gain space, how to kick to break someone's stance or rhythm, the list went on. I then frantically absorbed the other memory containing stones.
Ding!
New pattern, Skill Kick.
Ding!
New pattern, Skill Punch.
Ding!
New pattern, Class [Warrior].
Ding!
New pattern, Class [Illusionist].
Ding!
New pattern, Language Dwarvish.
Ding!
New pattern, Language Frentish.
Ding!
New pattern, Class [Blacksmith].
Ding!
New pattern, Class [Carpenter].
…
The patterns rolled in, and I tried my best not to groan in satisfaction. This was a bribe, a direct, full force, no-nonsense, bribe. And it was working. I couldn’t really pretend anymore, I was addicted to the memories. Every part of what I was now lived for these concentrated bursts of life and memory.
I still had a man working his way through my perception puzzle at the moment, he seemed to be utterly clueless on the last step of the bronze puzzle so it might take a while, but I was using [Far Seeing] to see if I could find the capital. I was expecting it to be to the south and to have a large castle. Given this king’s ego about his people not gaining achievements while others were, I was guessing it to be a large castle to compensate for something.
As soon as I was able, I was going to move my gateway. I would block off doors and refuse to let people in, and then transport the backup gateway that I had left for just such a need. Hopefully, the people inside would take the hint and leave.
To the capital!
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
...Am I a Monster?
Trying not to disturb his king, Josedus used one of his subtler divinations to understand the king's agitation. To most, the king would appear to be regal and composed, but for a man who had been friends with the king for decades, the white-knuckled clench of his fists on his otherwise calm posture was a silent holler. While his divination provided no information, the timing of his sudden silence clued Josedus into the issue.
The king’s skill was again not acting as it should.
During the reign of the [Tyrant King], Josedus had joined forces with the soon to be [Rebel King], Clodus. His sole reason for participating in Clodus’ rebellion had been for the good of the kingdom and the suffering of its people. When the [Tyrant King] had gained a skill which gave him power as he tortured others in ever more horrific ways, the king’s hunger for power and his skill had sealed the fate of the kingdom unless he could be dethroned. Josedus had broken his oath to the previous king, a pledge of duty, to protect the nation and its people. The [Rebel King] had so far made his oathbreaking a worthy sacrifice.
The final two hours of the ride to Vermild was strained, but the king's order to march into the city’s town square relaxed the tense shoulders of some of the soldiers. Those soldiers must have heard the rumors of the mission and only now did they relax knowing they would not be setting the city to the torch.
Cheering and waving met the soldiers as they marched into Vermild, the [Rebel King] was generally liked by the common people, his overthrowing of the [Tyrant King] had protected them from worse depravities. This was hardly the sign of a city in rebellion, but the king's hands were still clenched in his relaxed repose.
In the center of the town square, an area typically covered in large paving stones and used for announcements and harvest markets was an odd hut offset from any other building. The front of the building had two disgruntled soldiers standing near while two large thugs armed with cudgels stood guard at the open door. In addition to the set of guards, a strange group of people waited in different groups in front of the hut. Some appeared to be adventurers, others guttersnipes, the smallest group was two older men in enchanted clothing. The arrival of the marching soldiers and the king’s carriage, king imperiously glaring at all through the open window, caused the two thugs to hunch while the soldiers straightened. The rest of the groups made room, the guttersnipes quickly dispersing while the adventurers and mages watched on.
Josedus cast another of his quick divination spells which came up clear, the short future did not pose a threat to him, and by extension, the king, as long as Josedus stuck close. Standing hunched over in the gilded carriage Josedus exited, the hop down slow because of his advancing years, but he covered his hesitation by reaching back for the door and opening it with a flourish for the king.
As the [Rebel King] exited his carriage in a slow and regal manner, the [Royal Diviner] leaned toward his liege and whispered, “This hut houses the gateway, but my divinations did not see this hut nor the men who guard it, things have changed, I would counsel caution here my king.”
With a slight nod, the king marched towards the hut, his guard detail forming up around him and eyeing up the two thugs standing guard.
“You there,” the king barked at the two soldiers, “explain this.”
The two young men glanced at each other before one decided he had to be in charge of the talking even though both clearly wanted to flee.
“Um…Your Highness, this is the dungeon that was here just a few days ago. Mister Saltfelt owned the land, so he owned the dungeon. The Lord Mayor was mad about that, so Lord Vertan ordered us to watch for any legal stuff and report on it.”
The confusing accent and lousy grammar made following the story complicated, the soldier apparently had been raised to be a [Farmer] but had shown some martial skills and was accepted into Lord Vertan’s retinue. Josedus spent much of the time while the king grilled the young man casting silent divinations to detect falsehoods. [Silent Casting] and [Gestureless Mnemonic] where rare casting skills requiring thousands of hours of practice on top of thousands of casts of any spell one wanted to use with the skills, but the ability to detect lies silently was a well-honed skill.
Amazingly the soldier had told no lies in his fanciful tale of an appearing dungeon, how this Mister Saltfelt had opened a shop charging only half the winnings and right of first refusal of any delver, even on to that any who complete a challenge earn an achievement commensurable with the challenge. The entire story was a tale of the fey on top of a whimsical farce, but he believed every word.
When Josedus had cast the silent signal used to indicate the truth to the king, the focus the king placed on this soldier had intensified. Finally, the king ordered the hut to be emptied. The cabin had only two occupants, a young man who was to run to inform mister Saltfelt as to the recovery of magical items, and an older man who collected the reasonable fee. When the king entered the hut, he was presented with a large granite archway sealed with stones.
With a quick command, the king ordered one of his soldiers to get a hammer and break down the stone. Before the soldier could leave to find a local blacksmith or woodcutter for a maul the older man spoke up.
“Your Majesty? That’s dungeon stone. You can’t really break through it, and if you start swinging at it, you’ll just hit Merlit when he comes out.”
The king quickly turned to the now slightly flinching older man, “What do you mean by that? If it opens for this Merlit, then we will enter, otherwise how will he get out?”
Now looking as if he regretted his interruption the man answered, “Merlit is stationed in the Hall of the Fallen, he checks to see if the last contestant died. Well, that is, the last contestant we sent in before this wall went up, he walked out of the wall, he sort of…unskrunched? Then popped out of the stone. He said it was just like walking out of a doorway, nothing weird for him. We have just been waiting for Merlit to come out so far.”
Shortly after the shop clerk was done explaining why they had been waiting, a young boy twisted and warped then stepped away from the gateway, a look of surprise coming to his face as he found himself standing before the king and his soldiers.
The gateway, stone and all, then warped and folded, the rock seemed to bend
and twist like baker’s dough before it shrunk as if traveling down a long tunnel. The king shifted until he faced south, then turned around and pointed at a squad of his soldiers.
“Take these people. Josedus, I want you to question them.”
The soldiers grabbed the three men and walked them out of the hut and behind the waiting carriage.
The king’s guard once again formed upon the king as he approached his conveyance, the king then gave his instruction, “To the Lord Mayor’s mansion.”
After the short ride at a walking pace along with the fanfare of the king's arrival, the king directed Josedus to handle the interrogations while he interviewed the Lord Mayor in his office.
Large marble slabs decorated the spacious office of the Lord Mayor. Opposite the door was a large window of clear glass with a thick oak desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the room, sitting on the thick rug for warmth, was a heavily cushioned chair and sofa in front of a roaring fireplace. The fire had been set and stoked upon the king's arrival in anticipation of a private audience. Part of the wait was for Lord Vertan to arrive. The king had found that starting pleasant and then turning sour was far more effective when trying to garner information. Sometimes the sweet worked, and nothing more was needed, the reverse order of action was far more difficult to achieve.
After the usual pleasantries, the king sat up straighter bringing the other two men to attention. While the king was being pleasant in his approach, they both knew that ultimately their heads rested upon their necks at his sufferance. With only a bit of flowery language, the two men confirmed the sudden appearance of the gateway and the dungeon contained within.
“Very well, have this mister Saltfelt gathered and then…”
The king's instructions were interrupted by the sweet voice of a young woman that none the less echoed with a deep thrum of power.
“Your fate hangs upon a thread kingling, perhaps you should heed my council before you snip your supports.”
While the door never opened, and the fire burned as hot as ever, the cold chill which ran through the three men settled into their bones. Turning towards the fireplace, the three men noticed a young halfling, yellow-eyed with dark hair, her body encased in a leather assassin’s garb. While it had been years since she had last been seen, they all knew the stories and who she was.