An aging man in a white overcoat with wavy, upturned hair and a graying mustache pores over a collection of missing-in-action reports through a dimly glowing metal visor. Seated at his fairly ornate wooden desk in his moderately spacious office, Christopher Nakeem, Warden of the Depleted Lands, scowls deeply at the conclusions he is drawn to given this new data.
A single Stave going missing is not unheard of - accidents and desertions happen. But three weeks after Charles Stokell disappeared into the wasteland, a pair of Staves on a maintenance run failed to return. It’s been three days, and there’s a deep unease eating at Christopher’s thoughts, and he can’t imagine he’s the only one.
He looks up at the only other person in his office: the armored, white-haired woman with silver eyes leaning boredly on the wall next to his potted plant.
“Three disappearances in a month is unprecedented, especially given that two of them were on patrol together. Doesn’t this bother you?”
“Maybe they all got tired of this place. Gods know I am. Maybe the pair were lovers, or maybe they were spies,” the woman speculates.
“Wishful thinking,” he retorts. “Who would want to spy on us? The spirits of the damned? The numbers don’t lie, Mercuria. Something is afoot - something sinister. The Vimscape alterations and disturbances, and the acidity in our soil samples…” As he speaks, Mercuria looks more engaged as he hints at the possibility of some kind of trouble to be found in the Depleted Lands, but she sags again as he trails off and looks back at his papers.
Could a second party have entered the Depleted Lands? That might justify the existence of spies, but what could they possibly want?
The humans of the Kingdom of Reillynd, whom he counts himself amongst and whom his Staves represent, have a near-total territorial monopoly on the region. It is almost entirely contained within the country’s borders, but it is possible that foreign agents slipped in regardless. Perhaps the Gnomes have come to study it, forgoing permission as usual.
Skeeving little bastards, he thinks racistly. They were a nuisance on one of his prior assignments, and he’s never quite forgiven them - though he assumes the enmity is mutual.
He is silent and still for a while, and then the decision is made. He pushes his chair away from his desk and gets up. Mercuria looks alive once more.
“We’re leaving,” he announces.
“The office? Really? Woo!” she replies, full of sardonic enthusiasm.
“The Tree. The Staves will embark on an Expedition, post-haste.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. Maybe in another region, these figures would be insignificant, or the mere rumblings of greater trouble years down the line, but the Depleted Lands have always been different. We’ll get to the bottom of this, as quickly as possible, moving with strength of numbers and arms.”
“Yes! What do you think the problem is?”
“I can’t say. I’m partial to the idea of some sort of foreign infiltrators, but I can’t fathom what they’d want here.”
“I don’t even know what we want here,” Mercuria jokes.
“It’s a productive assignment, Mercuria,” Christopher replies.
In truth, Mercuria’s official rank of Warden’s Assistant was horribly unsuited for her, and they both knew it. The tall, athletic woman had always been mostly uninterested in Christopher’s more intellectual interests, and certainly would never make appointments or keep books or do any of the other tasks a Warden’s Assistant would commonly be expected to do. Instead, since Christopher was more than able to handle these duties himself, her position was merely an excuse for her to remain in his direct entourage.
The pair have been comrades for a long time, and part of her being here is sentimental. But the more pragmatic reason is her unmatched killing potential. Mercuria’s presence is marked by an oozing passion for conflict and energy, an animalistic bloodlust barely restrained by discipline and decorum. Christopher has fought alongside her long enough to know that this presence is no trick - so long as she is his Warden’s Assistant, no rival or detractor within the Staves could possibly argue that the Warden of the Depleted Lands lacks the resources to viscerally kill monsters.
In the Depleted Lands, Mercuria Deonid III has been perpetually bored. Christopher is glad to see his friend brighten and pay attention for once as he talks aloud while the two descend a spiral staircase outside of his office.
“In the 150 years since the Vacuum Cascade, every metric we track here has been extraordinarily stable. The Vimscape doesn’t change like this, the soil acidity has never deviated like this. Even geological or meteorological events are rarer here than in other regions, rarer now compared to pre-Cascade records. I don’t see it being very likely that it’s something mundane.”
“Yeah, it definitely shouldn’t be anything mundane. Don’t even say that. It’s definitely got to be scary and dangerous… Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for anything interesting to happen?” Mercuria rushes, making the Deonid culture’s gesture for warding off bad manifestation with her right arm. Christopher chuckles. There would be a time where he would chastise his friend for anticipating something that has taken the lives of good men and will likely take more, but he has grown to better understand the both of them with time. The truth is, he’s anticipating something interesting too.
“There are a lot of possible bad actors. Gnomes, Kobolds, Dwarves, Drow, or Green-skins could have tunneled here. Beastmen could have slipped over their side of the border, or it could even be other humans from the Aclon Union. The fluctuations in Vimscape point to a relatively low number of infiltrators, but if they’re sophisticated enough - and we should assume they could be - those fluctuations could be from whatever process they use to supply their forces with Vim, while their actual operatives are insulated against leaking Vim with their equivalents of our excursion gear.”
“Yeah. I bet there’s a lot of them. There'll be a lot of them, and we’ll definitely have to kill them all,” manifests Mercuria. Christopher laughs again.
“Keep those kinds of jokes to yourself, at the meeting.”
“Jokes? Heh-heh. Sure, I know.”
The pair finally finishes their descent. The Stave’s base in the region is built around a Magentu Tree, a towering plant that spits absurd quantities of Vim into the air around it. Thanks to the plant and the enormous insulated fortress built around it, they have a near-limitless supply of Vim safe from the Vim vacuum that is the Depleted Lands. It does mean that ascending and descending long flights of stairs is a regular feature of the Staves’ assignment here.
Christopher and Mercuria walk along a hallway that was carved into one of the mighty Magentu Tree’s enormous branches and reinforced with metal bracing. A door ahead is labeled ‘Situation Room’, and the doorknob is an elaborate metal and crystal apparatus that Christopher places his hand against for several seconds to unlock.
The door swings open, and the two step inside. The lights, crystalline Vimitech constructs that feed on the ambient Magentu Vim, are perpetually on. Mercuria takes a seat at a long table surrounded by wooden chairs that are rarely used, while Christopher leans over another gizmo at the head of it.
Like the doorknob mechanism, the perpetual lights, and the glowing metal visor that obscures his eyes, this elaborate construct receives Vim that is administered in a particular way to perform a particular function. The doorknob mechanism takes Vim from anyone who attempts to open the door, verifies that it is one of several authorized Signatures, and uses it to unlock the door if that is the case. The perpetual lights intake Vim from the saturated air around the Magentu Tree to stay on forever, emitting a constant yellow glow. Christopher’s visor is far more sophisticated than all of them, but at a base level, it accepts Vim to fuel its functions.
The table mechanism only accepts Christopher’s Vim, and it performs a more wide-ranging and sophisticated task. Across the Stave’s base, connected devices in the quarters and workplaces of Christopher’s direct underlings activate, alerting them to his summons with a blue glow and an interactive analog prompt. This sort of Vimitechnology, though performing a relatively trivial task, is unheard of at any other Stave deployment - those Wardens would have to use messengers or bells to summon their entourage.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
The abundance of this kind of sophisticated Vimitechnology performing mundane tasks more efficiently than possible elsewhere is one of the perks of deployment here. The Staves of the Depleted Land are uniquely situated to innovate and deploy Vimitechnology with great energy yields and effect outputs, at least within the confines of their Fortress.
Still, when fifteen minutes have passed and his last direct subordinate is still yet to arrive, Christopher wishes he had just sent messengers, instead. They would have been harder to ignore. The Warden quirks an eyebrow as the dial on his summoning machine correlating to his Liaison's office ticks to ‘Declined’.
“Before we get started, does anyone know why Watanabe is absent?” he asks the room.
Alexander Geist, his Chief Vimitechnician, is the one to answer: “I passed his office on the way up, he said he was taking a message. He looked hurried.” The young Stave is tall and lanky, with unkempt hair that goes past his eyes when he isn’t brushing it out of them. He’s one of Christopher’s more promising underlings, and he seems excited to be here. Christopher judges that he might have an inkling what this must be about.
Christopher nods. “Noted.” It’s annoying, but taking messages from the outside world is one of his tardy Liaison, Elric Watanabe’s chief duties. A portion of his mind is tasked to speculating on the nature of this hurried message, while the rest of him focuses on proceeding, observing each audience member.
“So what’s the situation?” asks Oliver Rednav, Christopher’s Quartermaster. The scarred veteran Stave is a little older and more bitter than him, but he’s never failed to be attentive and disciplined, unlike some of Christopher’s other staff.
“Indeed; we are so infrequently called to come here to the Situation Room…” interjects Mason Kuridin, the Leader of the Guard. He is an overweight, sloppy excuse for a Stave, and Christopher smolders internally upon every interaction with the cretin, but he is well connected, and Christopher yet lacks the strength to force him out of his position.
Christopher cocks his head at him, and the slovenly layabout at least has the dignity to look quiet and sheepish at his useless comment.
“I know this might come as a surprise to some of you, but something is amiss here in the Depleted Lands. Deeply amiss.”
Christopher notes that Alexander smiles a bit wider at that. The Vimitechnician called it, and Christopher would be disappointed if he hadn't - they had access to a lot of the same information, and he had high hopes for the younger man’s intellectual development.
“Something like what?” asks Oliver Rednav. “Those missing rangers have something to do with it?”
“Indeed. Three missing Staves in three weeks is an unprecedented statistical anomaly, but it isn’t the only one we’ve detected this month. The Vimscape is fluctuating more frequently than anytime since the Vacuum Cascade, and soil samples are showing a small but consistent uptick in acidity. In a region where nothing changes, even minute differences have great meaning.”
Christopher reaches within his white overcoat and withdraws a stack of papers, the assembled reports on the various anomalies. He slides them towards his team.
“The numbers don’t lie, and they’re telling us all that something is afoot.”
Oliver gives the reports a look, Alexander skims them, and Mason gives a half-hearted performance pretending to read before pushing them away, picking at something in his teeth. Christopher imagines how it might feel to rip the fat man’s head off. Mercuria gets a pass, of course.
“For sure,” begins Mason Kuridin, though Christopher is fully aware that he doesn’t actually know anything, “but what’s all this really mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” answers Alexander Geist before Christopher can. In principle, he disapproves of that kind of banter at official meetings, but Mason has already exasperated him twice, and he doesn’t consider him an official member of his team, despite his formal position. Instead of frowning at Alexander, he stares neutrally ahead and tries not to smile as the younger Stave continues: “Something new is alive out there, emitting Vim into the Vimscape - but not dying of spiritual depletion - altering the composition of the soil, and disappearing ranging Staves.”
“What about some sort of technical problem with the Magentu Tree’s containment system, leaking Vim into the region?” speculates Oliver Rednav.
“I don’t think so, because I’d notice. That also doesn’t explain the disappearances,” Alexander replies.
“What about, ah, Edo Worm mating season? Some sort of grander reproductive cycle we haven’t charted yet,” offers Mason Kuridin. Christopher rolls his eyes under his metal Vimitech visor.
“The disappearances,” reminds Alexander, slightly more openly exasperated. Mason raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Theoretically, it doesn’t have to be a living thing or living things, it could be some sort of artificial Vimitech construct emitting a harmful effect or bewitching ranging Staves, but you’re right; the most obvious answer is that animate creatures of some nature have infiltrated the region - whatever it is, it doesn’t change what we must do - the Staves of Man must Expedition into the wasteland to root out the truth.”
The room is silent for a moment - Christopher has invoked a rare and powerful protocol that is oft-used in more dangerous regions, and has never before been used in the Depleted Lands.
“I approve. The disappearances have started to rattle the rank and file,” says Oliver.
“An Expedition? Over a difference of…” Mason grabs the reports again, actually reading them this time, “0.008 Vimscape magnitude? A soil acidity of 3? A few missing rangers?”
Christopher looms over the table, one hand propped against it, the other clenched in a fist behind his back. “The explicit purpose of the Staves of Man is to delve into the depths of uncertainty and purge them of threats to humanity - this is our uncertainty, and this is how we’re responding. Until it’s resolved, we’re on a war footing, and I’ll hear no more objections.”
He lets that statement hang over the room for a breath. He doesn’t usually exert his authority so strongly, but the time for silly politics and speculation has passed, and his mind must be strongly apportioned towards the challenges and mysteries ahead.
“You’re the Warden,” says Oliver.
True.
“I, for one, am very excited for even the barest possibility that something interesting is out there. Who’s with me?” asks Mercuria, speaking up for the first time.
“Hear hear,” says Kuridin, suddenly agreeable, wobbling his big jowls.
“Be optimistic. Something is definitely out there, and I place high odds on it being interesting. Make sure the men are refreshed on their anti-humanoid, anti-sentient doctrine, and I want vanguard patrols running within the week - groups of 5 or more,” Christopher addresses Mason, who is in charge of scheduling training and patrols as Leader of the Guard.
“Understood,” the fat man agrees. “Though, why anti-humanoid, anti-sentient doctrine?”
“Whatever is out there has the ability to survive in zero-Vim conditions. The easiest way to acquire such an adaptation is wearing protective gear, like we do, and everyone intelligent enough to produce that on this continent is humanoid, and sentient. It’s possible that our hidden foe doesn’t fall into those categories, but we have to prepare for the most likely option. We have to act swiftly, before the enemy scurries away or hides.”
If Christopher were to have his way, they would be beginning the whole Expedition in earnest within the week. Despite his great authority in these situations, however, the Staves of Man still have centuries of procedure, tradition, and superstition to adhere to, things that he cannot blow past on a whim without destabilizing his position. It rankles - an organization should be like a machine, made and operated as efficiently as possible, but with the flexibility only sentient, adaptable minds can provide - yet these qualities are effervescent in the face of man’s many follies.
There’s a knock at the Situation Room door, rousing Christopher from his brooding. A moment later, the locking mechanism clears, and the door swings open. The smiling face of Elric Watanabe, his tardy Liaison, peers inside before stepping in.
“My Lord Warden and esteemed comrades, I bring wonderful news. Prince Frank Mizser will be visiting our great facility here at the Depleted Lands!”
The room goes silent, the Stave officers doubtlessly collectively wondering: What could a Royal possibly be here to see? Christopher sighs inwardly, simply hoping that this interruption won’t postpone the Expedition too much.
“Why?” asks Alexander. Maybe, Christopher thinks optimistically, the Prince is a man of science. That could be a gamechanger for him.
Elric stands aside to allow a stranger to step past. A lanky young man wrapped in an expensive looking cloak and tunic sweeps into the room, regarding Alexander with an enthusiastic smile.
“Why, for glory and death, of course!”
Oh, thinks Christopher. He’s already here. He can feel himself say “Your Highness,” and bow, but inwardly, it is as if he is spectating himself, watching his body go through the motions on its own while his higher self is elsewhere, grappling with this news.
Within Christopher's manifold mind, the gears shudder to life and begin to churn.