6:42 P.M.
February 10
Frostmonth 12
Estate of Lord Roland Wevre, Limeroom, Veotera
Gary found himself standing at the gate of Lord Wevre’s estate in the noble quarter of Limeroom. He was dressed in a finer outfit of clothing he’d purchased with some of his flood of funds for situations similar to this one. The poet shirt on his torso was a sparkling white linen, with the ascot-like ruffles at the neck hiding the laces at the neck holding it closed while the floofy-cuffed sleeves covered his wrists but left his hands free. A sleeveless vest in a smooth black satin with a scrawling patterned along it’s hem lines was fastened with shiny brass buttons to tie the top together in a casual elegance that he liked the look of. The pants were a near-black with a stripe down the outer part of each leg with that same black satin and pattern work to tie the outfit together. He’d polished his frankly only set of boots to a dull gloss, and he’d acquired a new crimson cloak courtesy of Remmy who had decided at some point to give in and supply him with another.
He honestly would have worn the cassock, but he wasn’t here on Church business. As he strode up to the gate with a calm and measured gait, the guards visibly perked up at his approach. Gary couldn’t help but smile, but he forced a bit of warmth into it. The last time he’d been here he’d stormed the gates right over the guard’s heads on the way to a newly-formed dungeon. He clearly came to a stop before them and announced himself properly.
“Gary Zavon, here upon invitation of Lord Wevre. My invitation,” the teenager said as he presented the letter he’d been sent at the church. One of the guards took the letter, inspected it, and handed it back after a few moments. He didn’t doubt he’d been expected by them and knew this was simply a formality. He spoke again as the guard turned to open the gate and allow Gary entry without having to jump over it with a Skill this time. “A question for you. I know I’m to be disarmed for this invitation, but do I leave my weapons with you, or inside?”
The guards looked at each other before the one opening the gate and holding it wide for entry nodded his head towards the manor itself. “The servants inside will see to it, visitor. Bit crass to disarm you in the street.” Gary nodded and began walking into the estate proper, only to hear a murmured sentence trailing behind him. “Thanks for the dungeon thing…”
Gary gave the men at the gate a little wave of acknowledgement as he strode up the path and up the stairs to the manor’s front door. A single sharp knock on the door and Gary only had to wait a few seconds before the opening was moved to allow him entry. Gary bowed his head a little in thanks to the older footman that had opened the ornate slab of wood before stepping into the manor’s foyer.
As opposed to the old abandoned manor he’d met the ghost lady in, this one was full of normal candlelight and various objects along the walls that indicated the people living here were actually in attendance. Every so often on the wall was a tasteful painting of a landscape or some person he didn’t know, between them or under them on low tables were sculptures of varying sizes and from clearly different artists. The presentation was very rich - practically screaming absurd wealth for any time period - but at least it wasn’t gaudy rich. This man had at least an inkling of restraint.
The door closed behind him and the footman stepped to Gary’s side as he’d stopped to survey the scene before him. Without a word between them Gary unfastened his belt-harness and handed the leather straps with all three of his currently-owned weapons to the man with a nod before he reached up to the clasp of his cloak and added it to the waiting footman’s arms. At that moment another footman materialized out of his peripheral vision to lead Gary towards the deeper parts of the manor. The tall young man followed without complaint and was shortly led to a dining room.
The room was vacant of the lord, instead flanked at the corners by another far better dressed footman and a maid in a sweeping but clean black dress with a white apron covering the front of the skirt. Gary noted to himself that the pair of women that were in the room were also of hefty bust under their fully-covering garments. Gary was more and more convinced there was some System-related buffoonery involved in the genetics around this planet. The four servants were also practically statue-still; following the olden times motto of being furniture until they were needed to do their jobs so as to not distract their betters.
A door on the far side of the room opened and in strode the handlebar-mustache adorned Rooland Wevre. He was dressed in a far finer doublet in rich burgundy with a crisp black velvet sash wrapped around his waist to tie together his trousers of a matching burgundy. The man’s shoes were more towards what Gary would call slip-ons, but they were probably still more expensive than Gary’s entire wardrobe at the minimum. Without missing a beat, Gary decided to follow protocol when meeting a noble properly and bowed deeply at the waist towards his host. He heard an approving noise come from Roland’s direction and he straightened back up to his full height, but his gray eyes flicked to the side of Lord Wevre.
「Danger Sense」 had triggered just before the door closed, and Gary instantly focused his 「Perception」 on the spot the feeling of danger had come from. Working in tandem he could see the faint outline of a person-shaped figure striding towards his side of the room. It was a subtle shifting of the textures behind the figure that really gave it away; like optical camouflage from movies and video games always seemed to have that distortion at the edge of a creature’s outline to indicate where they were for the audience. Gary clearly ignored the observing Lord Wevre as he locked eyes with where the figure was moving.
Said figure froze when it was clear he was tracking their movement. Gray eyes bored into roughly where the head was, and the figure took two silent steps back. His eyes never wavered. Three steps forward and still a solid target lock. Gary took a step forward, poked the outline in the chest, and found there was warm flesh and clothing underneath his finger as it stopped against a man’s leather-armored breastplate. With a grim nod Gary stepped over to the seat on his side of the table and stood beside it to wait for the lord to sit first.
Roland had been clearly watching him the whole time and was obviously intrigued by the display that would have been very odd if he hadn’t had whatever information he’d had. The presumably 「Stealth」-clad figure finally shook off their shock and finally assumed a position close to Gary’s left side and behind him out of sight. A grim smile came across the man’s lips as he took his seat, followed by Gary.
“I greet you, Gary Zavon. Welcome to my home.. Invited this time.” Gary offered a deep shrug as he lifted his palms skywards for a moment.
“I would ask the lord’s forgiveness for my unscheduled entrance earlier. Emergency situation.” And thus the dance of words had begun. Gary was under no illusions he would be able to bullshit a professional bullshitter, but hopefully he could at least secure his objectives without this going loud. Roland leaned back in his seat and visibly considered his response before nodding once.
“Your intentions were pure, and your work.. Enlightening. I accept your apology. It is not every day one gets to witness history being made.” He was clearly talking about Gary destroying the dungeon, prompting Gary to give a deep nod in response to the compliment. “It gladdens my heart to see someone amongst the commoners who has at least an inkling of how to behave among nobility. Would you join me for a light dinner before we get to business?”
“I would accept graciously if the lord is offering. There is a question I would have to ask, though.” The lord gave him a nod of permission and Gary spoke the thought that was on his mind since he’d seen the servants in the room. “Is it alright to talk of such business around so many ‘witnesses’?” Roland’s eyes didn’t even flick to the servants or the presumed assassin lurking behind Gary as he gave a casual dismissal of the question with an imperios hand wave.
“We have no concerns, my dear Plunderer. Every servant of mine is a loyal adherent of the Velvet Court. We may speak openly.” As Gary had thought from that lack of reaction, it seemed everyone in the house was in on the whole thing. That made it easier since he could both speak freely and if he had to fight his way out he knew everyone here was a hostile combatant. Gary nodded his understanding of the situation, and turned in his seat to stare directly at the lurking figure behind him.
“You can drop your Skill, buddy. I know you’re there and you’re just uselessly burning mana. ..That and the fact you’re pouring out bloodlust like a sieve. I don’t even need Skills to feel you out.” Gary glared at the hazy outline before a deep sigh preceded a man clad in dark leathers looking like your typical fantasy assassin complete with cloth half-mask covering their mouth fading into full visibility. Gary looked them over, noted the worrying amount of sharp pieces of metal they had, and nodded once before turning back to Roland. “Apologies, my lord. Your servant’s lurking was disrupting the flow of the conversation.”
Roland’s face twitched slightly as he sent a glare at the man behind Gary before recovering his composure to gesture grandly to the maid on his side of the room. A flawless curtsey happened then she turned and disappeared into another door out of the room and momentarily returned with a procession of food brought by more servants of both genders. The parade split in two unevenly, perhaps a sixty-forty split between Roland and Gary favoring the lord. An assortment of food found itself before Gary; a steak that smelt divinely cooked, some vegetables seasoned and prepared in various ways, and a plate of oysters that judging from the way they smelled were literally hot off the fire.
Gary remembered the lessons and descriptions on high-society table manners he’d studied furiously over the last few days and the previous few hours in particular. He was confident he was going to be able to do things correctly, and he knew that it was customary for the host to take the first bite before he touched his own utensils. The footman on his side approached the table with a bottle of wine in hand, pouring a bit into Roland’s waiting goblet. As the footman made his way towards Gary he felt he needed to speak up. He didn’t want this ruined by alcohol.
“My lord, I know this may be crass but might I request some water instead of wine? Alcohol would ruin my sense of taste for this wonderful spread.” The footman paused and looked back to his lord. Roland considered it for a moment before nodding once to the man. The bottle was placed back in its spot behind Gary as the man scooped up the goblet and made off somewhere to fill it with water. As the man reappeared with a now-filled cup Roland spoke up.
“Wine usually enhances the taste of food, young man. It’s a good vintage.” Gary shrugged helplessly and replied.
“Honestly all alcohol just tastes like stale water to me. Ruins my palette for hours afterwards.” In emphasis, he took a sip of the water in his own goblet and nodded in satisfaction. It was nice and cold. And as far he could tell, not laced with anything. Gary honestly doubted Roland would be so stupid as the drug the food either since this was supposed to be a recruitment effort; and drugging your recruitee was the worst of poor form.
Roland twirled one of the ends of his mustache in contemplation as Gary set the goblet back down. “Well, it is said that different people have different tastes. I cannot find fault in your desire to enjoy my offerings without disruption. But our food is growing cold. Let us fill our bellies before we discuss the topics at hand.” With that, the two began eating. Gary was careful to select which eating tool to use for which food before he picked it up, and he felt he’d done a pretty good job as he worked through the majority of the meal in a surprisingly companionable silence. The meal was well-seasoned but Gary noted a lack of certain spices his Earth palette had been expecting and found wanting. He couldn’t really fault the chef who made the dishes, however. What his tongue was missing probably either didn’t exist here or had been deemed too valuable to waste on someone of his dubious allegiance. He would forgive them in his heart for that reasonable precaution.
As the meal wound down the two men moved finally to the oysters. Gary was concerned about the fact that multiple people had told him Limeroom was very much an inland city, and they were about to eat seafood. Roland spotted his hesitation and misunderstood it for not understanding what the food was.
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“The oysters are wonderful. My chef knows how to prepare them to perfection.”
Gary looked up at the man. “I like oysters, my lord. My hesitation comes from the fact that Limeroom is such an in-land city and we have seafood here. I’m worried about it being spoiled from the journey. Were they transported on ice?” Roland blinked in surprise at the assessment before nodding to confirm.
“A keen observation. It was found out quite a while ago that the cold helps extend food’s time before it goes rotten and unusable. It is generally only the houses of nobility that know about this method.. Do you perhaps hail from one?” Gary smiled at the fishing for information. He decided to indulge the man after he consumed an oyster.
“Sadly, no. Things like this are simply common knowledge where I’m from. The reason the cold helps preserve food is that once something like a plant or animal dies it begins to decompose almost immediately. The cold slows the reaction of the lingering remnants of the object’s humors. The slow application of heat will speed the process conversely resulting in more rapid putrefaction. The sudden application of heat cooks food while the sudden application of cold causes damage. It’s a whole give-and-take relationship.”
Roland leaned forward onto the table setting his elbows against the edge of the furniture as he listened to the explanation. Gary could see the gears in the man’s head turning so fast. He’d obviously not been expecting some commoner who got lucky with the System to be able to articulate something only noble houses should know about at this point, and all while stating it was common knowledge where he was from.
“Clearly, you possess a strong education. Your appearance hasn’t been noted by my brethren anywhere near here, and I honestly cannot place your accent.”
“Deep south, my lord. And my educators would be pleased to hear you compliment their efforts. As for why your network can’t find a trace of me anywhere? I must state that I have been largely careful to not reveal my Class to those outside my home community. Events at home forced my hand into going on a journey, and I didn’t have anything that would allow me easier passage into Limeroom.”
Roland nodded at the mostly-true reasoning. “And so you had to reveal yourself at the city gate, starting this chain of events which has you sitting before me. That solves a minor mystery, then.” The man took his time eating a couple of oysters himself as he pondered the next topic to go with. Gary was feeding him information that was ultimately worthless or of common convenience at the moment, and so he felt confident so far. Roland’s mind was whirling still as he spoke up again. “I find myself at a curious thought, however. With the clear power you possess, why do you humble yourself to be the servant of a priest? To be clear, serving a house of God is an honor for anyone but I cannot wrap my hand around the reasoning for it when you could just steal the city blind. No one in Limeroom could have stopped you.”
“Ah. I was expecting this question, Lord Wevre. The reason I didn’t steal and Plunder my heart out once I got inside is pretty simple, and involves two parts. The first part is a practical concern. If I steal everything from everyone, would the local establishments not call for help in dealing with me?” Gary leans in his chair and pointedly looked towards the assassin for a moment before turning back around to continue. “I’m not suicidal, my lord. If I am an Origin, it stands to reason there are others of my power lurking about. And I have no clue currently how many of lesser strength it would also take to overwhelm me… And it’ll only take one good hit in the end.”
The assassin finally made a noise as he grunted once in agreement with the sentiment. Roland shot him a dirty look which he clocked that Gary clocked before continuing. “The second reason is more of a moral one. Why should I steal and rob everyone blind? I was raised to value hard work and earning one’s path. It’s taken me a while to get over my inhibitions about being Classed as a Plunderer. It implies that somewhere deep inside me there’s a desire for evil actions… But then I remembered that a lot of philosophers from back home had long pondered that very question. The consensus has been reached that evil is a choice. All people have the potential for evil, just as they have the potential for good. I came to the revelation that Plunderer is really just another tool in my arsenal, and I don’t have to use it to attain happiness.”
Roland was clearly digesting the second reason far more strongly, trying to fit it into the puzzle of ‘how do I recruit this kid?’. Gary was content to let him ponder that as he worked on the oysters before him. Finally finishing his food off, Gary was happy to lean back in the chair he occupied with his goblet of water, taking a long sip as he watched the Velvet Court’s operative come to grips with the information Gary had given him about his morality. Gary had always considered himself somewhere in the Neutral Good part of the Dungeons and Dragons alignment chart, but he wasn’t above getting his hands dirty as needed. Whether that held up to long-term scrutiny was yet to be seen.
“It is heartening to see someone of your young age having such a strong grasp of the nature of the world, however this presents me with a great problem.”
“The recruitment pitch is kinda falling flat at this point, right?” Roland nodded and sighed heavily.
“To be frank, from what I’ve seen and had reported about you I highly doubted I could get you into our ranks to begin with. You have a very clear morality even from a distance, and it does not play well with how the Velvet Court operates.”
Gary set the goblet down solemnly. This was the opportunity he’d actually been waiting for. “I will be honest, Lord Wevre. I fully came to this meeting with the willingness to kill my way out, but I think that won’t be needed. The concept of your organization is something that I have little taste for. I can see you as assassins, manipulators, dealers of illicit things that shatter innocent lives; criminal scum through and through. Yet I also understand that there’s no way to truly root out such things without killing everything with a pulse as humans are in the end greedy little things. We want things for comfort, for power.”
He took in a breath and continued. “In the end, trying to root you out is beyond the scope of my own goals and more grim work than I can stomach. So I will choose to abide, and would offer something you value in exchange for ensuring me and mine are left away from the Court’s machinations to the best of its abilities. There is something I can offer in exchange given what I know of your goals. But to do so I must start with a question.”
Somewhat defeated as Gary spoke, Roland Wevre actually somewhat perked up at the mention of an exchange of some sort. Hopefully it could get him something that would at least let him keep his head. “What would that question be?”
“You are after relqa of the Pearl kind as far as I can tell, owing to their healing potential. Is this because of a shortage of the relqas themselves, or a shortage of pearls?”
Roland was more invested in this now. He smelled something useful. “We have craftsmen aplenty. As you’ve deduced, the problem is a shortage of pearls. They are woefully rare, and the See of Quinloz hoards what the fishermen pull out of the sea. The Court has tried for generations to get the secret of how to find the damn things, but the fishermen have refused to tell us where to find them. All we know is that they come from the sea.”
Gary chuckled at the revelation. “Well today’s your lucky day. I will reveal the mystery of pearls to you and thus your brethren.” Gary turned to the servants in the room and spoke loudly. “Could one of you get me a cleaning cloth of some variety? Some simple rag or such will do fine.” At a nod from Roland, the maid behind Gary scurried off in a hip-swinging swish of skirts and returned shortly with a piece of cloth she presented to Gary. He took it with a nod of thanks and reached towards the empty oyster shells on the plate by him.
“The process for creating a pearl is a comparatively simple one, my dear lord. It comes from shellfish.” Gary tapped the remaining moisture out of one shell before setting to polishing the inside vigorously with the cloth in his hand. “Specifically the creatures known as mussels.. And oysters.” Roland’s eyes widened just a touch as his gaze flicked to the shell Gary was polishing. “You see, these simple creatures are effectively one giant muscle without the benefit of skin like fish, birds, or people like us. This lack of a protective covering over delicate flesh leaves them in a quandary which Nature has graciously provided them. They produce a secretion known by my knowledge as ‘nacre’.”
Gary raised the now highly-polished shell to Roland’s inspection. The inside of the oyster shell glittered with the rainbow iridescence of the gem in question. “They create a home out of this substance, giving them their distinctive hinged shells. When some irritant gets lodged into their wiggly little folds, they begin to coat the invasive thing with the same nacre. Given enough time of rolling it about to ensure it stays coated and thus doesn’t irritate their flesh any more..”
“..And it forms a pearl,” Roland said as he leaned back in a bit of stunned understanding. He picked up one of his own oyster shells, shook the moisture out of it, and Gary helpfully tossed him the cloth. Gary saw that Roland caught it very easily and without hesitation, noting that down so he didn’t underestimate the man as he set to work polishing the shell he himself held. Inspecting a few moment’s work as he held the shell to some nearby light, he clearly watched the light dance across the surface quietly before looking up at Gary.
“Now, it should be noted that not all oysters will produce anything of the sort big enough to be called a pearl. It’s sadly kind of hit-or-miss, so it’s not a guaranteed ‘insert sand get pearl’ deal. I am also unsure if using the shells coated with nacre will count for spellwork, or if the magics require a certain volume of material or shape or such. You’ll have to get that tested yourself, but it’s an option worth at least exploring.”
“This.. This is valuable information. The Court should be pleased with this. It has been a long sticking point amongst our ranks, you know.”
“Skulduggery’s dangerous work, right? So anything else you want to know, since I’m pretty sure that just bought the priest protection?” Gary’s tone made it evident that each piece of information he gave out of this caliber was one with a price tag. Roland nodded gently to himself as his gaze rolled over the shell he’d polished himself.
“..I hesitate to speak about this knowing your cooperative attitude, but I will be punished for not gathering the information.” Gary took a long drink of his water, noting the goblet was about empty. His gray eyes looked at the lord and waited for the question. “Just how strong are you?” At the question, Gary slid his chair back. The assassin stiffened and a sound of what he could only assume was hands gripping weapon handles echoed in the quiet of the dining room. The teenager waved the armored man down as he walked around the table and close enough to the seated lord to ensure he could look at him properly.
“Understand that this is my current strength, Lord Wevre. I will be getting stronger in short order…” With that ominous statement, Gary flicked on his status screen so that the seated man could be the only one to read its contents.
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Lord Roland Wevre had watched the young man approach him after waving off the Whispering Blade like he was a noble himself, then heard the words that had been spoken. A child of his age had no place being that intimidating, but it was painfully clear this was no ordinary boy.
The status screen flicked into being for Roland’s perusal; those haunting gray eyes watching his expression like a hawk. He had to take this opportunity. He had to learn the boy’s secrets. The older man’s eyes browsed the screen in silence.
Master, Grandmaster, Prodigy. The boy’s only seeming weakness was his Mana Control, and the earlier statement was the tone of someone confident that would change soon enough to be a problem for his opponents. He then started looking at the Skills, and that was where the sweat started crawling down his back. He was familiar with the cost of certain Skills from discussing it with various members of the Velvet Court and resources he had as a nobleman of Ridiana, but the cheapness of the abilities that let him be a thief-like Class was shocking. The boy could easily go for sustained combat and still come out with resources to spare.
The sweat really began to pour when he reached 「Quintessence Vivisection」 and 「Rift Maker」. Those.. Those were Skills mortals shouldn’t be allowed to have. The ability to steal a thing’s very being?! It clicked in his head what the boy had done to destroy the dungeon in his lawn, and it was the source of the second Impossible Skill. He’d also only heard rumors of upgradable ones, but here was one staring him in the face.
Without thinking Roland scooped up his goblet and took a very heavy swig. This clearly amused the boy, his lips curling into a smile and his eyelids crinkling in sadistic mirth. The lord forced himself to continue reading, finding his Passive Skills were just as impressive. 「Leap」 was how he cleared the gate so easily the other day, and 「Gentle In Death」 had to have been from his clearing of the old Terrim manor and the minor uproar of the discovery of a curse weapon at the scene. The list rounded out with some martial arts he was unfamiliar with, basic combat proficiencies with some weapons, and a dizzying array of subjects under the heading ‘Knowledge’.
Having had enough and his mind whirling in his head Roland waved Gary back and the screen mercifully vanished. The lord quickly snatched the goblet back up and chugged the rest of the contents in a vain attempt to steady his nerves.
“And with that, I believe I’ve bought myself a lack of molestation?” The simple, honest-toned question now carried a hint of menace in Roland’s ears as he understood that the young man was holding back. The Court had to be warned. If they upset this monster the fight would drag whatever remained into the light to be crushed by the rest of the continent.
“Oh, I would say yes. Very yes.” The tone was surprisingly weak as Roland held out his goblet for a refill. The footman came forward quickly, sensing his master’s need for alcohol and not wanting to catch wrath later for being slow. “God in Heaven, boy. What did you do to earn that kind of power?”
“My road has been thus far short but eventful, Lord Roland Wevre. I have been blessed to grow up around people who have taught me strength and wisdom.. To borrow a turn of phrase, I stand on the shoulders of giants.”