Deep in the middle of a [Focused Work] session, Tyrion Vales frowned as he lifted the next supplier invoice in his stack and gave it a careful perusal. Journey Shipping was an old and well-trusted partner though, so Tyrion didn’t expect it to take long.
He traced his finger over all the words on each line, checking the figures and adding them in order to make sure that the sum of each individual section was the same as the total listed at the end. Once he’d completed that task, he read through all of the descriptions of the services billed, and compared those to previous invoices from the same supplier to make sure that no new charges, fees, taxes, or other funny words for taking fleurs away from him had appeared. Such granular assessment would have been daunting for even the most detail-oriented person, but Tyrion had two advantages that few others did. The first was his Diligence, which enabled him to remain focused for extremely long periods of time and keep track of all the little details that had a habit of trying to slip away with rote, monotonous work.
The second was [Immaculate Recordkeeping], a skill that summoned a folder filled with nothing but the papers in question from the pocket dimension Tyrion kept for such things. Setting up the pocket dimension had cost a fortune even a dragon would have been proud of, but the efficiencies having it allowed him to unlock had already paid for the thing a half dozen times over and only kept adding value with each passing year.
Tyrion activated [Speed Read] and flipped through a hundred invoices in less than a minute to compare them against the current one. Satisfied that nothing new had been added, he touched the signet ring on his right index finger and used it to stamp the invoice so that it would be paid when Edukaiser delivered the invoices down to his [Accountants].
Dismissing the stack of Journey invoices, Tyrion set the paper aside and grabbed the next one, which was from the Wollatavha Spice Company. He didn’t immediately recognize the name, so he went ahead and closed his eyes while bringing his fingers to his temples.
“[Note From Self]: Who is Wollatvha Spice Company?”
When he opened his eyes, he was looking at a projection of himself as he’d been a decade ago when he’d become a level 54 [Tycoon] and first got the skill that let him store and sort through his memories through conversation.
His doppelganger was faded, vaguely transparent, and lacked the wrinkles and gray hairs that had both become increasingly noticeable when Tyrion studied himself in the mirror. Tyrion felt a twinge of jealousy at “his” sharp features, but he dismissed it immediately. Such an emotion was naught but nonsense.
The skill’s projection remained silent, and the [Tycoon] twirled his finger impatiently.
“Get on with it. I don’t have all day.”
“Wollatavha Spice Company is a three adventurer firm that operates out of Gloomstar,” the other Tyrion said in a convincing, albeit monotone recreation of his own voice. “They specialize in collecting herbs and spices from S.A.M. 8 and 9 beasts and locations. They are the only firm on the entire continent who can consistently harvest Settaseed, Yirikam, and Moon Turmeric. You have been working with them for three months, six days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes, though you also maintain suspicions that they are affiliated with the Cinderheart Cartel.”
That was enough to jog Tyrion’s memory for the rest of the details, so he deactivated the skill and watched “himself” fade away to nothing.
With his refreshed knowledge, Wollatavha’s invoice went through a similar process that Journey’s had, though the [Tycoon] went about his duties with renewed caution and gusto.
Good thing too: he noticed a new item had been tacked onto the end of the long list of purchases.
A dozen platinum fleurs for ‘Convenient Delivery’.
Tyrion growled and immediately stopped his read-through. Convenient Delivery?! This was Wollatavha! The ones who only delivered their wares to a singular port in Gloomstar that was completely run by the Cinderhearts, in a city so filled with crime that Tyrion had to send a small army of armored carriages, high-level [Caravan Guards] and a dozen [Trade Guarantor Judges] to make sure that there weren’t any ‘mishaps’ that caused him to receive a fraction of his order if any at all.
As if he’d pay such a thing! While a dozen platinums might be a miniscule amount of money in terms of his business, those who took little nibbles would soon try to find ways of taking big bites if they weren’t thoroughly put in their place. Taking his pen, Tyrion drew a thick line through the ‘Convenient Delivery’ charge, wrote ‘DENIED’ next to it in large letters, and then wrote in a new total at the bottom as well as directions for Anthony – his [Chief Accountant] – to write a letter and investigate the matter.
“[Note To Self],” he said. “In thirty days, follow up with Anthony regarding Wollotavha.”
A clunk in his mind told him that the skill had done its job, and Tyrion looked at the stack of remaining invoices. Many of his peers had told him that he was crazy to spend so much time on such minutiae. They insisted that his efforts would be better spent on things like ‘strategy’, and ‘high level plans’.
Tyrion thought they were fools. Like rot in wood or illness in people, business problems that started small could spiral out of control if left unchecked. He couldn’t imagine leaving such important work to his employees, or doing anything else with his time. This was how he’d always run businesses – about six inches away from all the action, as he’d learned from his father – and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
If there was one thing Tyrion truly believed, it was that a man at the top needed to pay close attention to what was at the bottom, lest he end up there himself; details were key to success.
Well, that and an incredible amount of Diligence.
Wrapping his fury and frustration into a small, cold ball that he kept tight in his chest like a lucky charm, Tyrion picked up the next invoice. However, before he could even start to read it, a knock he recognized came through his door, tap-tap-tap-rap.
“Love? Do you have a moment?”
Before he could answer, his wife Emma walked in with a big smile on her face and a magazine in her hands. She was pale and slender, with green eyes and freckles on her cheeks. Like Tyrion, she was getting older too, but she was still the most beautiful woman Tyrion had ever seen and looking at her eased some of the [Tycoon]’s fury.
“You should really have a mirror in here so you can see how serious you look,” Emma said as she walked over and gave Tyrion a quick kiss. “Who tried to cheat you this time?”
“Some upstart spice merchants from Gloomstar. They tried to get twelve plats for ‘convenient delivery.’”
“Gloomstar? Oh, those are the ones you think are laundering fleurs for the Cinderhearts, right? I still don’t know why you agreed to work with them in the first place. Surely someone else can help you get whatever they sell without the hassle.”
Tyrion sighed. “I wish. The fields of Moon Turmeric we used to collect from have been taken over by a bunch of nasty astral beasts. The company we used to work with lost four [Expert Gatherers] before they abandoned it completely and the branch of the guild that’s out there is so incompetent I doubt they could find their…knees with both hands if they tried.”
Emma raised an eyebrow before shaking her head. “That sounds complicated.”
“It’s really not that bad,” Tyrion said. “Besides, these are the types of problems that I like to solve, love. It’ll be fine. Eventually. Anyways, what brings you here?”
Emma beamed and handed over the magazine. “One of the ladies I volunteer with at the food shelter gave this to me this morning. Look at it! It’s got an interview with Vee in it!”
At the sound of his youngest son’s name, Tyrion’s stomach tightened, though he did his best to ignore it. He’d done his best to avoid thinking about Vee ever since the boy had…left.
With a much quieter voice than normal, Tyrion said, “Is he…alright?”
“He seems to be,” Emma said softly, and when Tyrion saw the sad shine in his wife’s eyes the [Tycoon] felt every ounce of the invisible weight that his wife carried for the both of them. Most days it was easy enough to ignore it or pretend it wasn’t there; he simply had to throw himself into his work the way he always had.
That wasn’t an option right now though.
“Emma, you know, I think about that night a lot and I –”
Emma placed her index finger on Tyrion’s lips gently and shook her head. “I didn’t come looking for a fight, or to blame you, or to make you feel guilty, Tyrion. That night aside, I knew as well as you did that Vee was stagnating and going nowhere in Bardis. There was nothing here that made him wake up in the morning and say ‘Alright, let’s tackle the day.’ He was moody and melancholy, he barely got through school, and he didn’t have any friends besides Alforde.”
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She smiled again and withdrew her hand. Tyrion shifted uncomfortably.
“You two were bound to have it out sooner or later,” she said slowly. “Vee’s not loud and outgoing like Emory. He doesn’t care about shiny things or enjoy social sparring the way I do, and Gawain knows he’s not obsessed with details like you are.”
Despite himself, Tyrion snorted back a laugh. Emma’s lips curled upwards too.
“But despite that, I still think he’s more like you than you realize,” Emma said, leaning forward to give Tyrion another quick kiss. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”
Emma got up and headed back toward the door, but paused before she grabbed the handle and turned back to look at Tyrion.
“There’s one other thing but we can talk about it later,” she said. “You’ll understand what I mean when you read the article.”
And with that, Emma left, and Tyrion looked down at the magazine on his desk. He reached toward it but flinched back like it was on fire, then chided himself for being silly and grabbed the damn thing. A flicker of irritation bubbled up in his stomach, shoving his remorse out of its way as Tyrion flipped through the pages. Vee had given an interview? Hadn’t that boy ever listened to him? Interviews were bad news! [Reporters] did nothing but twist a man’s words into the worst shape possible just to sell a few extra papers. Or, in this case, magazines.
Thoughtful as ever, Emma had marked the page where the interview started, and Tyrion did a double take when he read the title.
DUNGEONS OF THE FUTURE: UPCOMING DUNGEON DEVELOPMENT COMMITTEE STARTING IN OAR’S CREST BEGINS SOON!
----------------------------------------
Emma Vales hurried down the hallway toward her and Tyrion’s bedroom. There wasn’t much time before her upcoming trip to Oar’s Crest, and she had so much to pack and prepare before leaving. Not only were there her own clothes, snacks, and miscellaneous goods, but she needed to bring Vee some of his favorite things from home too.
Her emotions regarding her youngest son were mixed; on the one hand she was thrilled beyond belief at the thought of seeing him after so long, but on the other she was furious that he hadn’t even so much as written a letter letting her know that he was safe! Had she made some grave mistake raising him?
After all, she’d been sick with worry for the first weeks after he left, her mind a constant frenzy of panicked thoughts: was Vee okay? Was he eating? Was he sick? Was he hurt? Had he been robbed? Where was he sleeping? How was he cleaning his clothes?
She’d lost weight and had trouble sleeping, and only a visit to a high level [Fortune Teller] to confirm that Vee was still alive and well had started to ease her stress. Then she’d thought to check on Alforde, and had asked Yulanna – the armorsoul who kept her studio clean – if Alforde’s flame still burned in the Forge, the strange metallic sanctuary hidden somewhere inside the mansion that no humans were allowed to step foot inside. Yulanna had confirmed that Alforde still lived, and that had given her some relief too.
Alforde wouldn’t have let anything happen to Vee, because the two of them were best friends, a relationship that served as a sharp refutation of almost everything Tyrion had ever told Emma about the contract between the Vales family and the armorsouls who now served them.
Speaking of armorsouls, Edukaiser, the oldest and presumably most powerful of their number, fell into step beside Emma as she passed the stairwell leading down to the dining room. Her old-fashioned plates were freshly polished, her violet eyes gleamed from the swirling darkness inside her helmet, and her voice was smooth and bright as she addressed Emma.
“Milady, I’ve done as you requested. The carriage is being loaded with supplies and will be ready to depart as early as you wish tomorrow with a team of griffons to fly it. We will of course be making some landings to let the creatures rest, but I have it on good authority that the roads are as safe as can be expected for this time of year so I don’t expect the master to complain. However, it’s possible that my own martial skills might prove insufficient for your protection, so I’ve also gone ahead and requested a trio of [Expert Bodyguards] to accompany us as well.”
Laughing, Emma looked over at the armorsoul and raised an eyebrow. “Your own skills might prove insufficient? I find that hard to believe, Miss ‘Fought a dragon for half an hour while her master prepared a banishing spell’. I pity the [Bandits] that try to bother me while you’re around.”
Edukaiser lowered her helmet and tucked her gauntlets behind her back in a consummate display of humility. “That was a long time ago, madam. My plates don’t move as easily as they once did.”
“In that case, you could always consider exchanging them for new ones. We would be happy to hire any number of [Master Armorsmiths] to handle such a job, Edukaiser. You have but to ask.”
“Your generosity is noted and appreciated, milady, but I must decline.”
A proc of [Read The Room] – which felt like a gentle tap on Emma’s left shoulder – encouraged Lady Vales to let the matter drop so as to not give offense. She did so, though she didn’t fully understand why it was such an issue. Many of the family’s other armorsoul servants changed their plates every year. Only Edukaiser refused, her elaborately decorated plates growing slightly dimmer with every passing summer.
Emma shook her head. Thirty years of near constant companionship hadn’t been enough to shine light on the inner workings of the armorsoul’s mind; further pondering today wasn’t going to bridge the gap. Her attention and energy was better spent elsewhere.
“I have another task for you,” Emma said. “Would you gather up some of Vee’s clothes for me too and pack them in a suitcase to bring along as well? Knowing that boy, he’s probably rotating through a maximum of five outfits every week. I’m sure he could use a few more things.”
“Of course, milady.”
With a shallow bow, Edukaiser left Emma’s side as the latter opened her bedroom door and stepped inside. It was a warm, inviting, and exquisitely decorated space that changed with Emma’s artistic interests and pursuits. For many years, while she’d been an [Artist] who specialized in oil painting, she’d loved the bold colors and clean lines associated with the ancient masters. However, in recent times she found her eyes – and paintbrush – drawn to soft pastel tones and watercolors of Zalumnian artists. They better represented the soft edges of real life, she thought.
Opening her closet, Emma selected her hardiest clothes for traveling and set about getting them packed. It was slow and tedious work. Emma carefully folded one article of clothing after another, somewhat nostalgic for the days when she’d been a [Wandering Artist] and had traveled so much that she had earned a [Rapid Packing] skill.
She’d stopped traveling after Emory was born, and had accepted the class change to [Artist] after Vee, when she’d realized that she no longer missed the road or the endless string of galleries, buyers, and her peers. It was a change she didn’t regret, but during times like these she wished she could have kept some of the skills from her old class.
That was life though. People changed and moved on, letting new things take the place of old ones. Being a mother was a joy beyond compare, and she was still improving at her craft with every passing year. Her most recent pieces were leaps and bounds beyond anything she’d even dreamed of creating during those long years on the road.
After she finished packing her clothes, she filled a suitcase with notebooks, pens, inks, and other art supplies. There was bound to be all manner of incredible inspiration out on the way to Oar’s Crest, and she looked forward to capturing it all.
When that was done, Emma went down to the kitchens and directed one of the [Maids] to go and get some of Vee’s favorite candy and snacks from the nearest market while she packed a few of her own favorite confections to enjoy during her trip. A few bites of sweets here and there always made travel far more bearable.
Humming a happy tune, Emma Vales finished the rest of her preparations.
----------------------------------------
As soon as he finished up his morning’s inspection of the warehouses to ensure that they were all clean and running properly, Tyrion headed home so that he’d be there when Emma left. The carriage was ready and the griffons who’d carry it through the air were finishing the last scraps of their pre-flight snack. They looked strong and competent, and Tyrion saw no cause for concern when he [Inspected] the [Carriage Driver].
Emma stood with her bag clasped in her hands next to the carriage door, her face set in the expression she always wore when she was excited and nervous at the same time. Edukaiser relaxed next to her, her arms folded across her body.
Tyrion brought his hand up to the top packet of his jacket, but then returned it to his side. Inside it was a letter he’d written for Vee, but even with each passing step toward his wife he wasn’t sure that he wanted to give it to her for delivery.
He wished that this type of thing came as easily to him as invoices, warehouse arrangements, supplier negotiations, and all the other little things he did on a daily basis did.
Leaning forward to give his wife a kiss, Tyrion said, “Enjoy your trip, love."
Turning to the armorsoul, Tyrion added, "Edukaiser, make sure that nothing happens to her.”
“Of course, milord, though I’m sure that if something happens to me the dozen additional [Bodyguards], [Guardians], and [Protectors] you discretely hired will be more than sufficient for your wife’s safety. It’s not like we’re heading into the Devolving Wastes.”
Emma took a small step forward. “Ty, you could come with me, you know. I’m sure Vee would be happy to see you and maybe we could air this all out.”
Tyrion shook his head. “There are meetings I can’t miss.”
He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to say next. Finally, he added, “And Vee has his own things to figure out. It seems like he’s done okay for himself so far.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Fine. But is there anything you want me to tell him for you?”
Tyrion shook his head again.
[Tolerance For Discomfort - 1]
"You're always so difficult with stuff like this, Ty."
Rolling her eyes, Emma reached up with one smooth motion and pulled back Tyrion’s jacket so that she could grab the letter the [Tycoon] had most certainly not mentioned.
Tyrion’s mouth tightened. Sometimes he hated how Perceptive his wife was.
She gave him a hug and they stood there for a few seconds, until Emma gave Tyrion a kiss on the cheek and said, “Guess it’s time for me to be going. Be back soon.”
Tyrion Vales, level 57 [Tycoon], nodded. When he next spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Thank you, my love. Safe travels.”
Tyrion and Emma's character sheets:
Tyrion Vales:
Primary Class: Tycoon (Self), Level 57
Secondary Class: Accountant (Kingsword’s Academy), Level 52
Tertiary Class: Loving Husband (Emma Vales), Level 26
Additional Class: Investor (Self), Level 22
Additional Class: Philanthropist (Self), Level 10
Additional Class: Socialite (Self), Level 6
Might: 54
Wit: 188
Faith: 126
Diligence: 170
Charisma: 44
Competitiveness: 135
Ambition: 130
Greed: 116
Intimidating Presence: 84
Leadership: 91
Vision For The Future: 72
Tolerance For Discomfort: 52 (-1)
Emma Vales:
Primary Class: Loving Mother (Emory and Vee Vales), Level 42
Secondary Class: Artist (Claude Renwalgogh), Level 40
Tertiary Class: Loving Wife (Tyrion Vales), Level 26
Additional Class: Socialite (Self), Level 25
Additional Class: Philanthropist (Self), Level 24
Additional Class: Teacher (Halleghast University), Level 13
Might: 31
Wit: 125
Faith: 131
Charisma: 75
Eye For Color: 72
Perceptiveness: 88
Driven: 60
Organized: 39
Ambition: 37
Nurturing: 55
Judge Of Character: 70
Silliness: 13
Silent Strength: 100 (+1)