Interlude 3: At the AION Post

Name Jacob Class Journalist Marks 3 Guild AION Post SD 980

Jacob Prestorly was up to his neck in work. Since the day he was hired there had barely been a moments rest. Up at 5, work by 6, dealing with incorrigible coworkers and snooty bosses who had dreamed of being renowned poets but had resigned themselves to bullying the lowly talent. The hours were long, and no sooner had he finished one assignment but another was on his desk in messily scribbled instructions demanding more work without a trace of thanks. It was a demeaning, exhausting, time consuming job, but he loved every minute of it.

Working at the AION Post had always been his dream.

“Jacob!” A middle aged man with no hair stuck his head into the office he shared with Hagden.

“Yes sir?” Jacob looked up from the story he had been writing, fingers hovering above his typewriter keyboard. Willz, his direct boss and the guy who had hired Jacob rubbed his face tiredly.

“Stop whatever you are doing, we got some breaking news coming in.”

“What breaking news?” Asked Jacob, leaning back in his chair. No doubt this would be some guild news, or, worse, some tabloid style gossip. Perhaps Samantha Blood has taken a new lover, thought Jacob, cringing internally.

“We’re getting reports of a new event going around Esem,” said Willz. He stepped into the office and tossed a folder on the desk. “We just interviewed a few people who have some experience with it, and I need you to write it up for the evening edition, got it?”

Jacob opened the folder. It was half a dozen pages that had been hastily written and delivered by the Grypon Express.

“I can barely read this,” said Jacob. “Why don’t you have Hagden write it? He loves all these weird and wild Esem occurrences and knows far more about them than I do.”

“Hagden is still in the field,” said Willz, jabbing a thumb at the empty desk. “Look, Jacob, when did you spawn?”

“Um,” Jacob pushed his glasses up his nose and thought. “August 17th, SD980–about five years ago, why?”

Willz sighed.

“Five years and you don’t have much experience venturing around, Esem, right?”

“I went straight to journalist as soon as my advisor allowed me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” said Willz. “Look, just read the information and type up whatever you can. It’s really simple even for a relative noob like yourself. This is a developing story and I may come back with some more info, got it? Good man.”

Jacob allowed the comments to slide, and as soon as Willz was out he throughly read the documents. There wasn’t much there, truth be told, and he had to puzzle at a couple of the words as the writer had been going at break neck speed. Finally, when he thought he understood the gist of the interviews, he removed the story he had been working on from the typewriter—an interesting piece about Avalon’s sudden rash of Goblin sightings—and threaded a new page. He flexed his fingers once and then set to work.

Missing Players Found

It is with great pleasure that the AION Post can announce that the sudden spat of missing players has come to and end. Yesterday afternoon, there was a rescue operation done by a mysterious guild which happened across these prisoners and freed them to a man. For the past half year players had been going missing around Avalon, and as there had been no information gathered about their whereabouts it was assumed by all that they had lost their lives fighting monsters. Fortunately, we can now say that they were being held prisoner by—

Jacob squinted at the document.

An ant mister? he thought. That sounded strange.

“Hey, Willz!” He called out the door. The bald head returned. “What’s this word, here? The thing that captured the players.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Willz. He threw another folder onto the desk. “We just got some more information. I think the hand writing is better, too.”

“Ah, great.”

“Don’t sound so happy,” said Willz, eyeing the what he had been writing on the typewriter. “This is terrible. Write it again with the new stuff, I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Jacob waited for his boss to leave before sighing deeply and then opening the new folder. This information was clearly much better written, and he could make out the words better.

“Hmm,” said Jacob to himself. “Interesting.”

After getting yet another new sheet of paper, he set to work.

Found Players Herald New World Event

A new event is underway in Esem, according to recently rescued players in Avalon. Having been prisoners to an NPC for months, they were rescued yesterday by a guild named

“I hope I am getting this right,” muttered Jacob.

The Seven Stains. This guild happened across the dozen players who were captured, and managed to rescue them after defeating the NPC in a drinking contest. It is unknown wether the new world wide event will entail a drinking aspect...

“Jacob!”

“Yes, boss?”

Another folder slapped on his desk. Willz was standing over him.

“More info. How’s it going?”

Jacob shrugged and opened the new folder.

“Are we sure this heroic guild was called ‘The Seven Stains’?” Said Jacob, scanning the new document.

“Looks like it to me,” said Willz, peering at the second document. “Guilds these days have the strangest names. They are probably some old timers. Hey,” he pointed at what he had been writing. “Don’t use the world ‘Herald’. The leader of Great Nexia goes by that, and we don’t want a bunch of people canceling their subscriptions because we used their leader’s title. They are a testy bunch, you know.”

“Sure,” said Jacob. “I will change it to ‘Found players signal new world event’. Good?”

“It will have to do,” sighed Willz, glancing at Hagden’s desk. “I wish he was back for this. I really shouldn’t have sent him to the field.”

“I can do it,” bristled Jacob.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, Steve.”

“Steve?” Said Jacob. “My name is Jacob.”

“Whatever, new guy, just get it done.”

Jacob glared at Willz’ back as he left again. After reading the new document some more he took a pen out of his pen holder and scratched off the drinking contest line.

edit: in a contest of wits. It is unknown whether the new world event will entail a thinking component, but what is sure is the name and the appearance of this new threat. The rescued players report that their captor was a woman named Xemnara, and that she looks like a middle aged woman with dark hair. She does not present herself as a typical NPC, and can easily pass for a human player. During their imprisonment, she managed to turn all of these players into animals. After besting them in her game of wits, they were each turned into an animal and made to stay in her dungeon which resembled an inn.

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Just as Jacob was getting on a role another person came to his office. Instead of his boss, it was Mike, the resident cartoonist for the AION Post. He plopped himself down in a spare seat Hagden had dragged in for interviews.

“Hey, Jacob, are you working on the story about the Antagonista?”

“Antagonista? Oh!” Jacob took his pen and scratched himself a note. “I thought that looked weird. I wrote ‘ant mister’.”

“Yeah, Bentley doesn’t have the neatest handwriting,” said Mike. He was a portly man with a thick head of red hair and spectacles that were thicker than a bottle of beer. “Willz want’s me to make a cartoon about this situation, but I really don’t know where to begin. Can you give me a run down?”

Jacob leaned back and motioned towards what he had written. Mike quickly read it under his breath.

“A new event, eh? Wonderful, we are going to have people dropping left and right soon.”

“What was the last event?” Asked Jacob, curiously. “I only spawned five years ago.”

“Something to do with bugs,” said Mike, scratching some notes in his journal. “So, this, Xemnara, is it? She turned some players into animals?”

“Seems that way.”

“Strange thing to do. Do you know what kind of animals?”

Jacob picked up the last document and pointed towards the section about the enchantment. He had just been about to write about that part.

“Looks like some pigs, a chimpanzee, a couple gerbils and also a swallow.”

“Very odd,” muttered Mike to himself. He scratched some more words in his journal. “What should I draw, do you think? Maybe and old woman transforming some dashing warrior into an ape? Could caption it ‘Vintage Animal Avalon Ale’ or something.”

“I really don’t know,” said Jacob, shaking his head. “Jokes aren’t my thing. I think I am the least funny person in Avalon. In all of Esem. I just report the facts.”

Mike ignored him and instead pointed at the story.

“The Seven Stains? That’s the name of this guild that saved them?”

Just then Willz returned, this time with a stack of folders.

“Stop everything!” Said Willz, puffing with exertion. He dropped the new folders onto the old ones. “Oh, good, Mike, you’re here. We just got some updates from our field reporters. One of the players is a Jester with a big mouth and gave Harold the full run down. Apparently he wouldn’t stop talking but we got the lot now.”

“Perfect,” said Jacob, eyeing the new folders. There were at least six new folders, each one stuffed with paper.

“A lot of those are sketches done by Harold—guess we finally found a use for his drawing ability. We got pictures of the guild that saved them, the Ant-thinga-ma-gig, and also what their dungeon looked like. Also,” Willz opened up the first of the folders and pointed triumphantly at a sketch of an old woman. “Lady Bellamine was one of the prisoners. Can you believe it? A Deadly Solo captured for months on end!”

“Incredible!” Said Mike, nearly coming to his feet. “Bellamine herself was captured? This NPC must be very powerful to have done that. Bellamine is one of the few players who gave Solomon a run for his money.”

“That was years ago, Mike,” said Willz, chuckling. “She ain’t no spring chicken fresh off the island anymore. Jacob, put as much of this as you can into a full spread, we are going for the front cover with this one. Mike, I want a cartoon—no!—half a dozen cartoons on my desk before the evening post goes out. We are selling out today, boys!”

Both journalist and cartoonist watched Willz leave the little office, humming happily to himself all the way. Mike shook his head in frustration while Jacob felt a pit open in his stomach.

“The front page?” Whispered Jacob. “I always wanted to write the leading article but...”

“Cheer up, Jacob,” said Mike, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re name is gonna be the first thing people read tonight. That’s a big honor! Much more than a lonely cartoonist can ever expect.”

“I know that,” said Jacob. Then, seeing Mike’s face fall, corrected himself. “Sorry, not that cartoonists are lowly. I just mean—.”

“I know wha you mean,” said Mike with a laugh. He ruffled through the drawings and then got to his feet. “Alright, I think I have a couple ideas. I’ll bring them around to show you before I give them to Willz. Maybe we can deliver our work to him together, okay?”

“Okay, sure.”

And with that Jacob was soon alone again. Only him, his thoughts, and the new folders. He carefully examined each and every document, making sure that he took extra time examining the faces of the guild which had saved the players. He raised an eyebrow at the sketch of the jester who was missing his two front teeth whilst standing like a statue of legendary hero. He got a new sheet of paper and wrote:

Missing Players Located Amid Beginning of World Wide Event

A new world wide event has been confirmed to be underway after a guild named The Seven Stains rescued a dozen players from the clutches of an NPC named Xemnara, a malicious and dastardly woman who resembles a human player.

Jacob wrote for an hour and half before he was satisfied. Just as he was reading it for the seventh time Mike returned with a stack of papers under his arm.

“How’s it going?”

“All done,” said Jacob with satisfaction. “He removed the final page from his typewriter and placed it with the others. “Finish the cartoons?”

“Yup,” nodded Mike, patting the pages affectionately. “I made one about this Jester juggling knives for this Xemnara NPC in that so called ‘dungeon.’ If I am ever captured by the Nexia rebels I hope my confinement is at a bar with unlimited drinks.”

Jacob laughed and gathered his story together. He felt as light as air, but the worry of Willz hating what he had written clung to his bones.

“Let’s show the big man what we got,” said Jacob.

They exited his office and stepped into the main office area where all the human machine parts of the AION post worked. At least two dozen players wrote and yelled at one another as they assembled their stories, shouting over one another to get the details they needed. Not a single desk was tidy and typewriters clanged as the young journalists wrote and joked with one another. Jacob had been in this room for over a year before getting a promotion which included the shared office with Hagden. The only NPC was a secretary which ran around whenever his name was called, usually to answer questions or pour coffee for the high energy bunch.

Willz’ office was at the far end of the room, and bore a large window which overlooked the office floor. Jacob and Mike made a beeline for him whilst dodging crumbled pages tossed by fed up writers and fanning away the constant pipe smoke which hung in the air like ocean fog.

“That was fast,” muttered Willz as they stepped inside his office. He was smoking a cigar and smoke wafted about his head like a sleepy volcano. Behind Willz was another window, but this one overlooked the busy streets of Hard Knock, the so named downtown district of the hub. Jacob was always taken by the view of the buildings and the palaces in the distance which housed famous players, no least some of the Old Guard themselves.

“I did my best,” said Jacob, handing Willz his story. The editor in chief read it, his face in an intelligent frown as he mumbled the words to himself.

“We are sure about this guilds name?” Said Willz after a moment. “Would by mighty embarrassing for the AION Post to get such a simple fact wrong.”

“According to the reports, that’s their name,” said Jacob uneasily. “One report, at least.”

“Alright,” chuckled Willz. “I guess it’s not my name under the headline. Good story, Jacob. I’ll have it sent to the presses.”

“Sir?” Said Mike tentatively. “Here are the cartoons. I had a burst of creative inspiration after seeing the sketches and drew a dozen.”

Willz snatched the cartoons out of his hand.

“Trash,” said Willz. He crumpled the first one he saw and tossed it on the floor. “Trash,” he said again, adding another to the floor. “This one is tasteless, Mike. Bellamine is a friend to the post.” Another on the floor. “Not funny.” Floor. “Dumb.” Floor. “Derivative.” Floor. “Inane.” Floor. “We don’t even know if the Jester can juggle.” Floor. “Not funny at all, our readers don’t like such lewd puns.”

Mike looked as though each pronouncement was an arrow being shot into his chest, and Jacob saw his face turn several sheets of white before Willz finally got to the last drawing. The editor in chief hummed and ashed his cigar on the floor where the discarded cartoons laid.

“An orangutan, eh? I like the expression...” he stifled a laugh and then barked with genuine humor. “Ok, ok, Mike. This is the one! I’ll send it to the press.”

“Thank AION,” said Mike with obvious relief. “I was hoping you liked that one. When I came up with the caption I was in the—.”

“Would either of you like a drink?” Interrupted Willz. He looked at them both expectantly.

Jacob glanced at Mike.

“Um, sure, boss,” said Jacob warily.

“Why?” Said Willz, a devious smile on his face. “There’s work to be done. Why are you still here, hm?”

They nearly bolted for the door. When they were back in Jacob’s office they both fell into their seats, breathing as though they had just ran a marathon.

“He could have said ‘thanks’ at least,” said Mike dejectedly.

“I don’t care,” responded Jacob, stretching his arms and placing his hands behind his head. “I’m gonna be on the front page! He could have said anything he wanted and I wouldn’t care!”

“Good for you,” said Mike. He laughed then.

“What’s so funny?”

“That cartoon I drew,” said Mike with a mischievous look. “I hope this Xemnara thing doesn’t have a subscription to the post. Otherwise I’ll be dead meat.”

Jacob shook with laugher, and though he felt elated about his story, he could not help an unsettling feeling he had which was growing within him. He looked out his own window which was behind Hagden’s empty desk. The view was only of some buildings that had been hastily constructed after the fall of the Dark Lord.

“I hope we are all ready for this new event, Mike,” said Jacob just as the cartoonist was beginning to leave.

“Don’t worry, Jacob,” said Mike. He gave him a thumbs up. “Us newspaper guys always make out okay during things like this. Just ask Hagden when he get’s back. We’re gonna sell a load of papers and hopefully all get raises.”

“Right,” said Jacob, staring at Hagden’s empty chair. He wished the older journalist was here to assuage some of his worry.

“What’s getting you down?”

“I just have a feeling,” said Jacob. He adjusted his glasses and looked back at Mike. “I think everything is going to change.”

Mike only shrugged in response as if to say “what are we gonna do?” And then left Jacob alone to his own thoughts.

Jacob retrieved the story he had been writing about and placed it back in the typewriter.

“Back to work,” he muttered to himself.

It stands to reason that the goblins are rallying about their rarely seen Goblin King.

The sound of a clacking typewriter soon filled the little office, and with it Jacob the journalist lost himself in his story.