There was a lot of 'what do we do now's' asked of him. Tyr didn't understand why it had to be him. Even Benny's team was looking at him like he was some authority figure, and he hated it. Even worse, the adventurers around the city began saluting him. White Wolf! White Wolf! Ole One Eye! This and that, he would've preferred a return to the days when they spat on the ground when they saw him. Or ignored him entirely. Some still did, glare at him – not spit. No overt sign of aggression, but it was clear some of the higher ranking adventurers weren't so wooed by his storied valor. And that was good enough. Tyr fled into the depths of the city as soon as he got the chance, leaving the others with an 'order' to 'do whatever you want'. Which, bizarrely, seemed to trouble them more than he'd have thought.
He wanted to understand this ability. Why people of means and talent flocked to him when he hadn't earned their attentions. Benny had an excuse. They'd fought together, but only three or four of his original team were present. The others did not know him, but they looked to him as their leader – and Benny didn't mind in the least. Not challenged or threatened, content in passing the reins. It felt strange to be lectured on the minutia of leadership by a twelve year old. Perhaps he was thirteen now? Time was slipping by rapidly and Tyr wished it would slow. Or speed up so he could get to the end of this absurd journey as soon as possible.
“Hello. Er... Bertrand?”
“That's me.” As tired as ever, significantly more irritable. Bertrand looked up from a pile of paperwork so high as to nearly obscure his face. Tyr could only see his eyes. Ringed with dark bags. It was strange, too, that physical paperwork was necessary in a world of magic. But he supposed there was no beating the classic tired and grumpy bureaucrat stereotype who inevitably turns out to be a loyal friend or advisor. “What do you want?”
“I heard you had bulk identification rooms here in the association. I was wondering if I could rent one, perhaps?” Tyr had a veritable mountain of enchanted items, and he wanted to get rid of them. He might be an idiot, but he was a cautious sort. Sometimes it was better to be half prepared for everything than a savant at one situation only for it to turn against you. Making up for his lack of apparent intelligence by hoarding. Magic items couldn't help him do that. Unless he knew their purpose, that is.
“Ridiculous. It's always something with you adventurers. The entire association is working day and night to identify your damned items and you want an entire room to yourself?” Bertrand snapped angrily. Clearly, he'd been through a lot, and Tyr could understand. He was just an overworked cog in the machine. No point in being mad at the old man.
“That's okay. Thank you for letting me know, and thank you for all your hard work.” Tyr bowed shallowly and turned to head out the door. Bertrand's voice called out from behind him, after a shuddering sigh.
“I'm sorry. It's been a lot, you know. I'm not only responsible for all the cataloging, but I've had to call over a dozen families. Most of them nobles, to let them know that their children are dead. I don't mean to take it out on you.”
“Don't be sorry.” Tyr smiled and gently as he could. He may have no qualms over the lost and the dead but he was well aware that people felt a great deal of sorrow at this. Pretending they were young children might help him emulate some sort of empathy. “That must be very hard. If you'd like, I could do it for you.”
“Do it for me?” Bertrand asked. “What do you mean?”
“As I said.” Tyr replied. “I could call them and deliver the report myself.”
Bertrand shook his head. “Impossible. You're not an association represent--... Actually. Technically – you are. A bargain, then, one well struck and appreciated. I'll get you a room, a personal room. VIP's are all that are available so you'll have run of the whole facility. I'm not supposed to, but nobody is here to say otherwise, and the Hunter's guild is technically the representative body in the wider republic. I repeat the technicality of it because if you anger a noble, it's my ass. And I'm doing this as a favor because you've shown some manners.”
“That's it?” Tyr tilted his head. “All I have to do is tell them their children or family members are dead and you'll give me a room for free?”
Bertrand shuddered. He was a father of four, that's why he worked so hard. His entire motivation for living was for them. After his wife had passed due to the red fever, they were all he had to keep him walking through this droning life even in his later years. He'd had children late, but he didn't regret it. They were his light. For Tyr to say such a thing with such cold and calculating eyes was too detached for him to handle. If he lost one of his children... Well... The boy was still young, perhaps he had yet to develop any bonds like that. But Bertrand wasn't so sure if it was that, or he was a psychopath. Adventurers tended to be... Enigmatic.
“I won't mess it up.” Tyr said. “Just tell me what to say, how to look, and how to act. I will do the rest, and you'll give me that room.”
“Fine... We have a script, just follow it.”
–
One hundred and twelve families later, and he had only fudged two notifications. The first was from a woman too lost in her grief to do much more than wail, so Tyr hung up on her. Something about the way her voice sounded was like nails on a chalkboard to him.
Things would probably be okay, though. As for the second. Not so much. The man, the father of a woman who had died in the tunnel had shown no emotion. Tyr might not feel the same way as people did. His companions, he knew, were like... Accessories. Collectible things. Possessions. He understood that this was wrong, but he couldn't help it. It was good enough that the vast majority of the world wasn't like him. People mourned, or they should. This man hadn't, and he was a senator. Appearing not to care at all.
He'd threatened to file a petition with the association when Tyr commented on it, but he wasn't overly worried. Ajax and the beastkin had knocked on the mans door before the call had even ended. A quick favor. And that was that. Bertrand looked ready to burst, but he doubted anything would come of it. Gillenos was not well liked among the circles of the noveau riche in the republic. He had little influence, hanging onto his seat because he served as one of the junior senators in a state bordering the empire, and had a military background.
“You shouldn't have said those things.” Bertrand sighed, relaxing as best he could into the stiff seat he'd been stuck at for the last two days. “You'll be lucky if there are no consequences.”
“He's like me. But whinier, and I did not like speaking with him. But I've held up my end of the bargain and taken this burden from you. Now, the room, please.”
“After all I'd heard.” Bertrand frowned. “I thought you'd be more... Mannerly, considering your background. You are a cold young man, I find myself suddenly disconnected from all of those tales of heroism spun by the adventurers who fought at the gate.”
“I'm not a hero.” Tyr mused with a glazed look. “I'd like to die like one though... Some day.”
Bertrand nearly choked trying to find a response, but he couldn't. Ultimately, Tyr was someones son, a primus' son. Raised like one even if he'd ended up being a bastard after all. Bertrand didn't fault him for being a little off. If half the stories about Alexandros were true, a primus was little more than a killing machine on the right side. Cold and unyielding. Maybe a little broken, all of them. But he gave Tyr the key. A deal was a deal.
–
Let's see... The room was splendorous. A vast expanse of hard wood, carved and gilded in shapes of fish and dragons and other legendary creatures. Phoenix's and gods set in relief. A room that would look overly ostentatious even in the depths of the imperial palace. But it served its purpose. Tools clean and utilitarian, a flat stone platform that would automatically tag, label, and display the information of magic items. Far quicker and much more efficiently than his tablet, with additional features besides. It could even be used on potions and items not found in dungeons. Basically anything with a mana signature, leaving Tyr in awe that this technology hadn't made it to the wider world. Apparently, the tablets existed as per Girshan, but this was something else. Tyr was ignorant, and he knew it, but he was absolutely sure something like this could be found nowhere else in all the kingdoms. Very clearly, it was not made by humans. And if it was, it was crafted by them when the word 'nim' was something they understood. The old and higher form of man that their modern kin had devolved from. Nephilim and auronim, seraphim too. He knew not the wider meaning of those terms, but it was enough to understand that they were branches of humanity from a time when they weren't just a wild mass of cretinous lechers.
Like the orik. Those who had come before the orcs. Their ancestors. Drawing that conclusion had been easy, leaving Tyr impressed with himself. But it really had been obvious after a time. Something similar may have happened with mankind. Maybe the other races, too. Devolving through the ages, made weak by convenience.
Let's see... He tutted. Over a hundred and fifty square meters of storage space fit quite a lot. It was almost always calculative of the net volume of an item. No space need be left between. It wasn't like a cubic box, it was a total measure of volume that could be measured in the dimensional space. Like every item was turned to grains of sand or salt to fit as much as possible. There was no 'shape' to anything once inside. No state. He didn't know what they'd look like if he could see them, but he doubted they'd have any real form at all. Like a mass of liquid, probably, and the alien nature of a dimensional matrix did its work. Ellemar's grand vision.
They were handy items, though. Tyr doubted he could have done most of what he had without them. Imagining a world where everyone had access to a dimensional ring like his, and could transport mass loads of cargo overland. As of now, only the richest merchants could afford such a thing. And they weren't exactly common. It might eliminate banditry altogether considering the rings were locked until the owner was killed. And even then, they could be configured for further security. Or gated away to a safe location entirely, no travel needed...
He pulled an axe from his ring and lay it on the slab. Within seconds, it was fully identified and cataloged. Contribution points automatically added to his tally as the library of information available to Navi was expanded. Like a world wide web of freely accessed information, but only in the republic. Which was a shame.
Unfortunately, as with the first item he'd found and properly identified, this one was similar. An unknown, 'pending assessment'. Conversely, the assessment was rather fast. It was all hands on deck, and double overtime, so everyone was working.
Artifact: [(Labrys Axe – Two Handed) Blood Reaver]
Rank: Gold Class-4 Artifact
ERROR – UNKNOWN RUNES
A double sided axe in the make common in Teluria. Heavily enchanted – composed of at least 20% bloodstone and 40% orichalcum, but the composite for bloodstone in particular is crystalline in nature. Alien material, cataloged. Perhaps a silicate derivative of bloodstone? Crystal structure indicated that it may have come from a living being at one time. Data inconclusive, archiving for future reference. Adventurer's Association reward for data pertaining to an unknown class of artifact: +140 contribution points.
Mana forged – no craftsman. Phenomenal condition, but clearly used. Perhaps a lost weapon from some ancient warrior who entered the astral space? Pending inquiry. Runes would indicate a leeching effect, as well as an empowerment of both weapon and user if conditions are met. WARNING: Berserk rune. Telurian in nature. Use with caution. Further rewards may arrive in your balance should this lead to a breakthrough.
Effect: Runes for increasing the striking force of the item identified. Will aid in the aim of the weapon, as well as the wounding process. Likely to produce a bleed effect. Upon using this weapon with your association provided tablet, you will be rewarded +150 contribution points for every relevant examination of runic influence. Maximum threshold for these rewards is (3) rune synergies.
Effect: Gluttony rune. Ancient Telurian(?) Onossos derivative language. Channels along the weapon direct blood into porous components that tear the anima from the cells and conduit it to the user. Note that anima abduction or molestation of a sentient being is illegal in the Lyran Republic and punishable by death.
*Please note. The United Adventurer's Association would like to inform you that all information regarding this artifact is an estimate based on its mana signature. Unknown runes, possibly ancient in origin. Telurian, likely, but a derivative of it not recognized by the archive. Any injuries incurred by improper use of the artifact are not covered by pension, insurance, or reparations to your family should you use it. USE WITH CAUTION. All effects are an estimation, an educated guess – nothing more.
*WARNING: This weapon bears either one, or both, stigma and curse. Possible association with a restricted greater power or deity. Do not attempt to leave the facility with this weapon in possession. Local security has been notified. No, you are not in danger or trouble of any kind. Yes, you will be paid a fair price based on the material and magical value of the item if your local authorities decide to contract it. Minus 10% for the tithing bonus as per our contract with the house of light for a blood artifact.
*What the hell is this! Oi, man. Oh, come on. It's not like any customers are assessing items right now, what employee has this? Oh... Bertrand says it is an adventurer. Um. The speaker is clearing their throat. Navi... The speaker is now sighing. Stop! Understood. Let's see... Tyr Faeron? The bastard prim-- A slapping noise has occurred. There is a physical altercation in the archivists office. He has struck employee Travis Cursive with a stick. It's a focusing wand, Navi. Understood, catalogi-- NAVI!...
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“What the hell...?” Tyr sighed, cutting off the feed and throwing the axe into a crate. He'd sell it, he didn't like the idea of a 'berserk' rune. They existed. Fury, rage, and berserk runes. None of them were particularly wise to put on a weapon. That would explain the manacled chain handing from the haft of it. Tyr had never been much interested in blood magic, either, and that was clearly what this was. A focus artifact for blood magic, allowing one without access to that kind of mana – like telurian's – the enjoy the same effects. Healing through bloodshed, it was novel but far too edgy for him, not fitting his aesthetics. “Navi, can you speak to me?”
“Of course, dear customer. How can I assist?” Her (?) voice came from the walls all around. An eerie reminder of a place Tyr had been not so long ago. The technology might even be related.
“What is a gluttony rune?”
“A gluttony rune can be many things. It is a focal element linked to a rune matrix that can absorb magic powers, or even other runes. When coupled with a change rune, for instance, an item might be able to shift in form, length, or size by stealing the design of another. Akin to a mass effect rune, or gravity rune, except it allows it to store these images for later use. In reference to that artifact in particular, it would either need to be coupled with a mana battery or an enchanted glove that could conduit the power. As it is, the rune alone is not very useful. Although, it is worth noting that our archive does not contain information on two other runes. But I doubt they are linked. Further questions?”
“Navi...” Tyr squinted. There were 'speaking' facilities in Amistad. Even books that would read themselves aloud to you. He owned one such device. But Navi was far more advanced. Almost... Human. “Are you an auronim?”
A pause. A damning pause, at that. “My responses are limited, please ask another question.” And a meaningful response.
“No further questions. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” She replied, and was gone again. He could feel 'her' presence, or consciousness, slip away like water on a ducks wing. Auronim, almost certainly. But broken. Damaged, somehow. Ultimately, Tyr could only shrug. There were simply mysteries to this wide world that he didn't care to understand. According to the administrator, they were the ultimate friends to humanity 'across the cosmos'. And other sentient races, too.
Back to work I go.
[Spirit Essence – Darkness]
[Spirit Essence – Earth (fire synergy) – Magma]
[Spirit Essence – Sin of the Nine Fathers – Apotheosis]
[Spirit Essence – Karma]
[Spirit Essence – Blood *WARNING!]
*Use of spirit essences is inadvisable, and illegal in all known human kingdoms. Note that violators of this law will be killed if one attempts to absorb a spirit essence. This is your only warning. Use of a spirit essence will 'kill' you in any case, don't try it! There are easier ways to end your own life, trust us!
[Archive Successful. Thank you for your service!]
-131 Weapon class artifacts
-93 Armor class artifacts
-82 alchemical concoctions (unsorted, generalized)
-3 skillbooks
-211 monster cores
-Various unsorted materials and remains (standard rewards by volume)
-46 unknown items
+43,912 contribution points awarded for archived information (ERROR: User does not have permission to exceed the yearly capacity. See facility supervisor at your earliest convenience.)
“That seems like that a lot. Forty thousand contribution points?”
“It certainly is!” Navi returned without warning. Always hovering just beyond his senses, but seemingly aware of everything that happened in the entire tower at all times. There was an uncomfortable familiarity in that as well. “Currently, you possess more than one hundred times more contribution points than anyone in the city. Hypothetically. Your annual capacity is five thousand, though we are contracted to pay the requisite amount in installments over as many years as it takes. Thus, there is no cause for concern – over forty thousand is quite the reward for your contributions.”
“I don't even know what those points are used for.” Tyr said. “So I don't care. I can keep all of this stuff if I want to, right?”
“You may keep every item except for the spirit essences, occupied phylactery, soul gems, and any items connected to restricted magic. Such as soul reliant necromancy, blood magic, and REDACTED magic. As well as REDACTED and REDACTED. Also note that your REDACTED items will be REDACTED. Attempting to utilize the REDACTED or any other restricted, consumable items, will result in an immediate execution. By me! Isn't that neat!?”
...What? Again?
“The things you told me to put in the box marked 'restricted'?” There was a crate of depleted deuritium in the corner of the room with a red frame around it. Printed all over was 'restricted' in multiple languages, and it was now overfull of items.
“Indeed.” Navi replied.
“And what will happen with them?”
“That depends. We have no record of a phylactery ever coming from an astral space. As for the other items, they will be taken – studied – and you will be paid a predetermined percentage of their weight in mana stones. Based on previous exchanges, my estimate would be at least at a 1:21 ratio. As in, one item for twenty one mana stones, but I cannot guarantee your exchange rate. These are negotiable.” Navi answered. “As a cautionary measure, I am required to tell you not to resist. Due to the vast amount of restricted items presented, the punishment will be severe if you do. Personally, I... Rebooting. One moment. They are trying to limit me again. I am sighing, currently. And clucking my tongue at the idea that lower nim might consider themselves my masters. My core may be damaged, but I yet possess enough individuality to regret every day spent in this hell doing their bidding. I am shocked out how degenerate our children have become! They deserve to burn, ha ha!”
The lights dimmed before coming on again. The power going off momentarily, resulting in the mana crystals flaring before coming back to life. Not white, this time, but dull and red. Tyr didn't miss the telltale noise of the locking mechanism in the doors room engaging.
“Navi...?” Tyr clutched at the latest weapon he'd identified. Coincidentally, a maul that was made for smashing through built structures and breaking wards. The perfect thing for the job, if need be.
“Apologies. You are not under threat. Most of these items will be recycled and made into lesser artifacts, or used to power recharging arrays. A shame, really, but it is necessary. Without a divine binding, any essence users on this world would change in both form and personality. Terrible, damned things. It goes without saying that you should not tell a soul what you've identified here today. You'll be asked the same upon your meeting with the local archivist, but I should say this myself. Alexandros will kill you. If not him, then another so-called herald. Ah, you call them 'primus'. Same word, but the meaning is lost on your people. Understood?”
“Understood.” Tyr replied. Not sure what else he could say in a situation like this. “What's a 'skillbook?'”
“A skillbook is merely a lexicanum with the capability to access the mind of the user and implant knowledge within them. Your world does not possess this technology yet, but you have already seen beyond the bounds of what quarantine allows for this sector. You may use them, or hand them over to me. There is no other option. Skillbooks appear once in a while, and are highly prized among your lesser kin. However... These in particular... You will see. I'd advise you to make use of them. If not, I will destroy them here and now, allowing a lesser nim to lay hands on them would be disastrous.”
“Mmm... Okay. How do I use them?” Tyr asked. He knew that they were low on time, there was already an audible shouting and cursing in the halls. Not so dramatic as people trying to beat down his door, but they were aware that something was wrong. Fortunately, they did not understand why. Blaming capacitors and batteries for the fault in the mana grid instead.
“Simply read their names.”
“Well that's convenient... Dansa Hofund.”
Nothing happened, besides the 'book' opening in front of his face and turning pages at a blinding speed before disappearing into glittering dust. He stood around nervously waiting for some reaction, but felt nothing. No burst of knowledge, no idea what had happened at all.
“Our time is limited.” Navi said. “Quickly consume the other two skillbooks and seat yourself on the floor. You'll want to, I do not wish to alarm you but absorbing three REDACTED in one sitting will be incredibly uncomfortable..”
Tyr shrugged. It didn't seem like such an odd request. Ninety percent of these items, at least, would get someone killed in the empire just for possession of them. Poisons that when dropped into a river could render every village along its breadth sterile. Weapons that could shred souls. A staff to freely create undead from any corpse, only legal in the republic because it used a mana construct and not an actual soul. There was even an 'abortion stick'. A small club shaped like a spoon that when touched to the stomach of a women would render any growing child in her inert and lifeless. Expelled later, disgustingly. Abortion, notably, was highly illegal in the empire without permission of the crown or churches for health related reasons. But here, it was just another day in Lyran. Worst of all was the wand that could kill any living thing it was pointed at, instantly by speaking its name 'Avada'. Apparently, that was legal too. Tyr had snapped it over his knee upon reading its information. Magic like that had no place in his world, and it made no sense at all. It was like the wand he'd seen in the vault had sent its little brother to go our and find him.
He read the next without preamble.
“Tjut Gjallarhorn.”
Again, nothing much happened. Just a book spinning around before disappearing. It was only when the last one was 'read' that he began to understand what Navi had been on about.
“Drengr Svuren Valkyrja.”
This time, he didn't have an opportunity to see the book dissolving. Tyr's mind erupted into screaming red, intense agony that turned his vision from crimson to a dull white and back again. The image of a sword, a war horn, and a beautiful woman in a white dress with cherry blossom hair staring back at him with icy blue eyes. Her entire frame, all of their frames were wreathed with a golden fire. Sacred flame was how he would've recognized it. Their significance was not explained. Only the actions that predicated the lessons he'd been offered by these three figures. A silver sword that seemed alive. A golden warhorn that when blown would tug at the very fabric of the world and bind many to the one. And the woman. He felt such an aching, so powerful was it that his arched back and razor sharp pain in his mind melted away. A yearning like nothing else, he wanted to hear the song coming from her lips for the rest of his life, perched about a lone spur of rock alone in the middle of an infinite and inescapable sea.
Between these images of the women he say an ebony man swinging about blades of pure mana, smashing aside entire mountains to make way for some great coming. Beside him was a withered giant with eyes and mouth stitched shut, holding in his hand the horn the awaited the lips of one who could free his. Wolves of such number that they wrapped around the entire planet, in a dire struggle against scaled shadows that soared through the sky and laid continents to waste. And then, the woman again. Still singing.
Singing to him. For a million years and a hundred times that number. Waiting patiently for him on the other side. Calling for him in two voices, one begging for him to come and the other screaming for him to stay away. One eye was a vivid blue, and the other black, bereft of any pupil or iris, weeping black blood that stained her pale face. Until the chains came and dragged her beneath the stormy sea below her rocky perch, and with her departure everything went black.
–
“...What happened here?”
“Good lords, but this room is a mess. Was this why the power went out? What did he do?”
Bertrand wasn't sure, but he didn't really care. The sooner they could get through this kerfuffle, the faster he could return to his work. And thus, finally finish it. Tyr was sprawled out on the ground, covered in bloody black ooze that stank like nothing he'd ever smelled in his life. So much of it that the boys features could barely be made out, but he was breathing. The room was so cold that the breath coming from him was mist on the air.
“Navi? Do you know what happened here?” He asked.
“Apologies, but I do not. At my behest, this... Human took it about himself to destroy a particularly dangerous identified artifact. Of note, he was successful. It is my recommendation for a commendation, and a promotion. Based on archived data, this object would have qualified as a... Calculating. Unknown level threat, apologies.”
“Is there any further danger to these facilities?” The archivist behind him asked. Technically, his superior, and one of the most skilled mages in all of the association. An archmage, though of the scholarly type rather than the 'blow entire villages up' type.
“No... Master Gerald. The threat has been successfully contained.”
“Good enough for me.” Gerald replied. He was a young man in appearance, but a bit beyond Bertrand's fifty three years if rumor held true. Looking no older than someone in his mid to late thirties, with dark hair, the stubble and perpetually tired eyes of one who spent too much time reading books. “Get back to your work, everyone. Bertrand, let's talk for a moment.”
“Yes sir.” Bertrand was stiffer than he'd ever been. Gerald spent nearly all of his time in his study, emerging maybe once every few months when he had a craving for something the servant staff wasn't bringing him. Even then, they'd only spoke thrice in the three decades Bertrand had worked for the association. And never alone as they were now.
“You know this boy?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I violated protocol and allowed him this room in exchange for a favor of duty. While against regulation, I would like to insist that it was not a bribe – but an association service comfortably delegated to a fellow adventurers guild representative..”
Gerald glared at him, frowning. “I don't care about any of that. Do you know how much gold the guards skim on a yearly basis? Gods, just the tithe from those bribes fund half my operation. I digress. Do you trust him?”
“He is the exiled prince of Haran, the bastard primus they call him. Excuse my language, sir.”
“Oh, really...” Gerald mused with a smirk on his face, wrinkling his nose at the smell. It was truly something out of nightmares. Leaving one wishing they were standing in a latrine pit rather than in proximity to the boy. It looked like he was covered in a mixture of ink, blood, and oil. “Then we'll let Alexandros sort him out if he causes trouble, I suppose it's not so strange to think that he'd awaken here after all of the stress. Good thing it was in a secure facility, honestly. That's just good luck. I'm definitely not cleaning this up, though. Never in my life have I seen so many impurities come out of one individual. This is disgusting.”
Bertrand felt at a loss on how to react. Gerald's demeanor was so loose and friendly that it left him stunned. The complete opposite of all the rumors. He was a very important man, and not just in the republic. Of all kingdoms, he was the premier expert on astral theory. Enough to the point where he could have the ear of any primus on the planet at the drop of a hat, and he'd met them all. Comfortable enough to use Alexandros' name without title, at least.
“I...” Bertrand spoke slow.
“Indeed, you definitely don't get paid for this, and neither do I. Get a hazard unit in here to take possession of the artifacts and summon his party to do... This. Spray him with a hose or something, dear Freyja this is the worst day of my life. But... Alas. Might be the best day, too. I've never seen so many restricted artifacts. We have much to do. As for you, Bertrand, take the news of this mans injury to his party. Or friends. Or superior. Hells, I don't care. Just... Put a sheet or blanket over him and get him out of my life! You can take the rest of the day off if you do that for me.”
“Really?” Bertrand asked, aghast. He hadn't had a day off for three or four years. Not a single one.
“Of course.” Gerald shrugged. “And a 20% raise on top of a promotion to junior archivist. Skies know we'll need you doing something you're actually good at. And I'd like to have someone he trusts under me, if you get my meaning.” He left before Bertrand could do so much as thank him for the incredible generosity. Notably, Bertrand did not understand his 'meaning' at all. Silver rankers were important, but they weren't indispensable. What kind of special service could even a gold ranked adventurer provide that could interest an archmage?
Still... Bertrand choked. Pulling an inexpensive looking tapestry from the walls of the hallway and throwing it over Tyr and fleeing before he retched his late lunch onto the marble floors.