Shakily he lifted and the machine shut down, Grem realized he was breathing erratically and his chest was thumping like a drum. He slid out of the chair onto his hands and knees, sputtering. What he had just witnessed, no one could have prepared for.
“First time’s always the roughest,” drawled an unknown voice. Grem looked up from the ground to see a bored-looking man wearing the same robes as him. Grem could only see his mouth, as the other individual had a hood covering most of his face.
“We need to report this,” Grem gasped. “She betrayed them, we can’t let her get away with this!” Grem couldn’t say for sure because of the hooded visage, but it seemed as if the other man regarded Grem with pity and a hint of disdain. Only so much can be read from a slight cock of the head.
“Right. . . dungeon betrayals happen all the time. Not much we can do about the betrayal this long after the fact. The ministry doesn’t really care about that so much as getting the facts logged. Now that it’s fresh in your mind, you need to get those files written up before you forget and have to re-watch it,” he said. Grem shuddered at the idea of having to watch any of those gruesome displays once more.
“R-r-right,” he stammered, not wanting to seem incompetent. “Oh, I’m Grem by the way.” He stood and held out a hand to the man, who removed his hood and accepted his handshake. Despite the frown the man wore, the unhooded fellow had kind eyes and wavy blond hair.
“Darbus,” said the man. “I was sent to check on our newest archivist on his first day. It appears you’ve taken well to the memory reader, but there’s one more aspect of the job before we check another memory stone.” He pointed to a table on the opposite side of the room from the pile of memory stones, and took the stone from its indention in the chair. Darbus strode across to the table and placed the stone in a marble basin on one side of the table. He then opened a drawer and removed a thick sheet of parchment as well as an ink and quill, which was placed on a large metal slab in the center of the desk. “Right. So, you set the stone here, and the parchment here. You’ll need to recount every detail of the stone that you can remember, and once you are finished you press this rune and it will be sent to the archives for storage and further review.” Grem’s coworker pointed to a small glass sphere etched with a noticeable red rune on the right side of the desk. “And that’s that. Just make sure you fill out the form properly and record the most important aspects of the dungeon. Please try to avoid using any shorthand. The ministry frowns upon unprofessional writing. Do you know how to tell the type of dungeon,” Darbus asked?
“Yes. That one looked like an adolescent dungeon. It didn’t have the trappings of a mature rank, but nothing below adolescent could house something as fearsome as a Swamp Drake.”
Darbus let out a low whistle. “No wonder you were so rattled. Was it the acid breath?”
“And the teeth,” shuddered Grem.
Moving things along Darbus crossed his arms, "With the information at hand, what would you classify that dungeon as?"
Grem looked up in thoughtfulness for a second, and looked back to his associate with a smile. “Easy, that would be a rogue dungeon, meaning this dungeon wasn’t adolescent. An adolescent wouldn’t be able to throw in a drake until at least floor ten, and they were only on the first floor. I took great care to study the pamphlets, so I know most of the in’s and out’s”
“That you did. Rogue dungeons are not common knowledge,” said Darbus, beaming. “You definitely know your stuff.” He clapped his hands together, “Now I imagine that you’re incredibly drained from your first memory stone. Another reason I was sent here was to take over and allow you to take the rest of the day off once you’ve finished logging the memory. There is no shame in easing into the job, trust me.”
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“To be honest, I’m fine,” Grem said. “Uh, apart from being a bit disturbed- - I’ve never seen a person die before, and I didn’t expect it to be so real, but I can definitely do more.”
Darbus appeared slightly taken aback. “Are you sure? I was told directly from Mr. Grin– erm. Brommus that you could go home if need be.”
“I can manage. I’m not the least bit tired. I’ll just log this and jump right into the next one.,” said Grem.
“Very well,” said Darbus smiling. “I can’t say I’m not impressed. You must have quite the mana reserve. At least twenty.”
“Actually, it’s a bit more than that,” said Grem, handing Darbus the card. “I got this from the reader in the waiting room before coming down here.”
Darbus frowned as he inspected the card.
“Sixty-seven out of sixty-three? That can’t be right. The right side should always be equal or higher,” he said.
“I thought the same thing,” said Grem. “I’ve only been measured twice, but yesterday, it was fifty-four. Perhaps the machine is broken down?” His coworker’s frown deepened.
“Could be they were both broken. There’s no way a greenhorn like you would be that advanced. Most Archivists start out around twenty or so. I’ve been here for seven years, and I’ve just barely reached Forty. Might want to try and measure yourself on the way out tonight to be certain. Just be careful not to do too many dives. Remember, it takes anywhere from one to ten mana per memory stone depending on how long the memory is. I’d rather not come down here to find you passed out from exhaustion. Either way– if you are certain you can continue, I’ll get back to my work, and I’ll check in on you later,” said Darbus.
“Right,” Grem said. “I’ll absolutely re-measure it. I’ll bet you’re right and the machine is busted. I’ll get back to work, but I wanted to ask–”
“Yes,” interrupted Darbus. “I’ll happily answer any questions.”
“I thought Archivists chronicled the exploits and triumphs of adventurers. There wasn’t anything happy about what I just saw. In fact, it’d make me not want to see more. Are all of the stones going to be so horrible?”
Darbus regarded Grem with absolute pity.
“It’s not the most pleasant of things, but as I’m sure Mr. Brommus told you, chronicling the deaths of adventures in dungeons is very important work. It may feel tough at first, but you’ll get used to it. Your work will become integral to the ministry of dungeoneering.”
“Right–” Grem Trailed off. “I’ll get back to work and I’ll make sure to chronicle this before I forget any.”
Darbus smiled and bowed to his shorter coworker. “I’ll leave you to it, Master Archivist,” he chuckled. “I’ll come and check back in on you.”
With that, Darbus ascended the stairs. Grem watched him disappear from view and then turned to the archiving table, and sat down. He dipped his quil in the ink and began chronicling, starting with the dungeons stats.
***
After he was sure he recorded every detail, Grem shook the ache out of his writing hand, and dutifully read over the account. The young archivist took great care not to let his personal feelings of the encounter bleed into the writing. With the ink now dry, he was satisfied that the account was informative and devoid of any emotion. He nodded at his work and pressed the sphere's rune as Darbus advised. A loud whirring sound assaulted Grem’s ears and the metal slab upon which the parchment rested sank into the table. A satisfying click and the tray reappeared without the parchment. The memory stone had similarly vanished from its resting place. Despite the amounting dread of the next memory, he steeled himself and stood up, scraping the chair noisily along the wooden floor. Surely the next death would make the uncomfortable nausea go away.
Grem strode over to the wilted pile of stones against the curved wall and ran his eyes across the dusty mass of memories. The last one was colored more intricately, so he deduced that a stone with fewer hues may be milder. The archivist selected a purple stone with a dull gray center.
“Darbus is right. I should get some rest, but one more stone couldn’t hurt,” Grem said to himself, preparing for the impending dive.