For all the Chronicon’s faults, the excessive aggrandizement of charismatic megalomaniacs, the self-perpetuating and unrealistic notions concerning the nature of statecraft, theocratic organisation and interventionist approach to geo-politics, or the totalitarian atmosphere that is concurrently bogged down by massive bureaucratic lumbering; the food was good. At least, that’s what our little friend Zez thought.
The mess hall adjacent to the Department of Spelunking and Adventuring was filled to the brim with fresh, distinct and memorable faces. Shiny armours, seemingly impractical great weapons, colourful magical auras and a whole slew of fantastical beasts; they all belonged to the arsenal of capable individuals from all over the world. Human frontiersmen, itinerant demi-elves, questing dwarves, devilkin out for mischief and reptimen of the swamps… The entire floor stirred with newcomers and veterans and rising stars: adventurers.
Now, as I begin our next chapter, I feel it is a suitable moment for me to talk a bit about adventurers and the nature of adventuring. Particularly as it relates to the activities and aspirations of our favourite snake-pit; the Chronicon. You might be asking, you astute reader you, what does a nigh decamillennial ‘secret’ society comprised of anxious control-freaks, who happen to possess complete knowledge and command over all that happens in the world, want anything to do with people as unpredictable and unreliable as adventurers?
To answer your question, my cynical fantasy reader, I must first take you through a general outlook towards the system of adventuring and its place in wider society. Let us take a look at the more common types of states and their mechanics of organisation as it relates to adventuring. Be they centralised monarchies, feudal assemblies, oligarchical city-states or even elven enclaves, these polities utilise adventurers to access, retrieve and put back into circulation wealth that is hoarded or used by anti-social or asymmetrical elements. Subterranean goblin villages, marauding orc tribes, demon-worshipping cults, racketeering corporations, pirate fleets and great draconic retreats. These can all be categorised as constituents of a hostile and parallel community that siphons the assets and disrupts the means of production of legitimate governments and societies (and in layman’s terms they can be called ‘monsters’ and ‘villains’). Ergo, these lawful states either incentivise, condone or directly legitimise and commission activities by skilled individuals who are able and willing to take part in operations and expeditions which the state’s military arm would think more than twice about undertaking. These men, women and all other kinds of denizens, risk life and limb in search of unregistered wealth, whilst also growing their power and influence parabolically. These individuals are colloquially called ‘adventurers’, as their activities boldly lack any guarantee of health, safety or even a return of investment. That being the case, adventurers are overwhelmingly composed of deeply hopeless and desperate entrepreneurs who are often possessed by grotesquely obtuse ideals of romantic heroism and righteousness. Some among these true believers are also part of a religion or system of thought further incentivising their reckless lifestyle and there are even some who somehow believe without a shadow of a doubt that they’re ‘in it for themselves’. They can characterise themselves as villains or anti-heroes who do all this just so they can exploit others and move up on the social ladder. Which, if you ask me, requires such a sublime oversight regarding the already existing functionality of traditional methods, such as political careers or financial ventures.
Regardless of their motivations and backstories, these orphans and warriors of fortune also entirely lack any financial responsibility. Adventuring bands will enter a dungeon (which is adventuring slang for any overtly hostile and usually subterranean territory), fight for their lives, acquire a great treasure (which would literally save the life of any lower or middle class family), haul it back to town and spend every single penny like there is no tomorrow. This frivolous spending and carousing, other than putting a wide smile on the face of any business owner they come across, is also essential in revitalising a stagnant economy. Adventurers will also sometimes uncover lost magical artifacts or tools, as well as forgotten lore, which sometimes works to the benefit of society and other times might bring it to the brink of its destruction. Alas, for all its benefits, adventuring is a massive gamble.
And Gideon Grimvalor is certainly no prude when it comes to gambling.
The man himself, being the Master of Campaigns in the Chronicon Cabal, can be said to have accurately assessed the role of adventuring in wider society and consequently devised his unique system of perpetual exploitation to serve himself and the wider interests of the cabal. Well, mostly himself.
On paper, the Master of Campaigns’ primary function was posting adventuring commissions to be accepted by a party of adventurers or individuals. Master Grimvalor’s job was to organise, prepare, debrief and send out existing or newly organised adventuring parties to locations of interests, where the cabal has assessed prior that differing values of items and goods are likely to be found in. These dungeon-delving expeditions range in difficulty from suitable to glorified thieves and thugs or academy dropouts, to potentially word-shattering, extra-planar threats handled by cream of the crop heroes.
Newcomers, who have not been initiated into the system and therefore are of unknown value, are required to pay a certain sum to accept these missions. After this transaction between the lackey adventurer and Master of Campaigns has been completed, the mission is reserved for the party and are no longer accessible to other aspiring spelunkers. Of course, that is if they should succeed in completing the mission, otherwise the commission is once more opened for access. Failed adventuring parties, provided that they are still alive, can re-attempt these missions as much as they want, which Master Grimvalor openly encourages. He is also privileged to roughly twenty percent of all earnings during the expedition, be they from within the dungeon or not. These earnings are measured in value by the Department of Spelunking and Adventuring, which Master Grimvalor is always involved in personally. The adventurers are informed of their loot’s value and are left with the rest of their earnings after the Master of Campaigns has taken his fair share. All good, no foul.
That is, if we ignore the fact that Grimvalor is very skilled in the art of exploitation. These new faces are used as fodder to feed the adventuring machine with no regard for their deteriorating physical or mental health (even in instances where they succeed) and are placed in an atmosphere of ruthless competition, where only the very skilled and very fortunate are allowed to live long enough to rise to the top. These happy few are often recruited into the cabal as permanent commissioners, as they have proven more than once their worth in all matters adventurous. Such commissioners are usually kept rather safe and in good shape, as they might be instrumental in crucial missions in which the Chronicon Cabal takes private interest in. To put it in simpler words, most adventurers are only viewed as coin-cows while the distinguished few serves as agents of a higher cause.
You might liken this to a king or queen who personally recruits veteran adventurers for grand quests. While for the most part they simply ‘allow’ adventurers to exist, there are times when they must ‘beg’ the adventurers for help. If you ask me, if any of those flying, casting, swinging, smashing freaks of nature actually understood the implications of that situation, they would realise the true extent of the power they wield. Alas, it seems that a reoccurring theme in adventurers, be they successful or not, is the acute blindness to the machinations of real world politics and social systems. Simply put, they are blind to reality. Which makes total sense, as for someone to begin and advance in an adventuring career, common sense must be totally absent.
Anyhow, before I hop on another aeons-long tangent about anything else, let’s continue on with our story.
Our little friend Zez, who was sitting on the mess hall’s easternmost side, with hundreds of tables and thousands of adventurers before him, had just finished his fourteenth mug of ale. He was feeling rather merry. To his right, was sat the acclaimed individual, none other than Gideon Grimvalor. With eyes gleaming in muted satisfaction and amazement, he watched the short wizard enjoy his lunch. Word of his arrival had reached Master Grimvalor through his specially crafted spy-network, consisting of shape-changers, invisibles, mind-readers and diviners. This web of treacherous rogues came and went all about the cabal compound, gathering information and gossip that might have any use for the Department of Spelunking and Adventuring. Still, for all their efforts, theirs was no match for the incredible intelligence-gathering system of the Department of Caretaking and Housekeeping, who could access potentially life altering knowledge even accidentally. Watch out for those nosy fellows.
Upon learning of Zez’s existence (and conforming that he in fact was real and not an effect of mass hallucinogenic poisoning), our shrewd Master Grimvalor instantly thought to use him in an upcoming campaign that held critical importance in the cabal’s quarter-millennial scheming phase. If you did not get what that is, think of it in terms of a fiscal year.
By relieving the cabal of this loud nuisance through utilising his potential capabilities; Master Grimvalor was sure to gain great recognition and diplomatic good-will.
Let’s see how that plays out.
As Grimvalor ordered more and more food and drink to be supplied to Zez (for he had figured out it was much easier to hold a dual-sided conversation whilst he could only speak between bites) he was also engaged in gathering information from the wizard. So far, he had learned some useful things. He could effectively paint a mental image of what Zez could be capable of, though so far, I have noticed that Grimvalor seemed to overlook what Zez would want to do. Our good Master of Campaigns seemed to have a propensity for conflating ability with desire. Say, if someone could blast a hole in the side of a dungeon room, pouring within and slaughtering anyone inside, Grimvalor would instantly think that that someone would also like to do that.
After all, Grimvalor was a man of action. And men of action are prone to viewing the world as a sequence of interacting and coinciding actions. To him, Zez possessed a capability to bend the world to his will. To Zez, however, his wills and wants were no basis to bend anything out of shape. Grimvalor himself was self-assured in the assumption that anyone with remarkable power must, of course, be itching to put it to good use. This is, as it turns out, a common affliction among people whose favourite pastime is rearranging the world. If he had been paying a little more attention to anything else other than his pragmatic plots, he might’ve noticed that Zez’s greatest ambition, at this very moment, was merely to secure his fifteenth mug of ale.
Whilst the mismatched duo was engaged still in light conversation, Zez’s eyes was soaking in the scenery. Between the moments when his vision was blocked by the rising metallic mug, his gaze would dart to and fro, digesting each new piece of information. Among all these grandiose or destitute or keen figures, there were two that instantly grabbed the attention of any onlooker. These were the demi-elven twins, Flinar and Elmar. Being of separate body and singular mind, these identical twin brothers of great fame walked and talked with millimetric similarity. They would never be seen separately and anyone observing them for the first time might’ve experienced a brief loss of confidence in their eyesight. Watching them was like seeing double. However, one would soon figure out that there were no problems with their perception. As the twins, who dressed almost the same, had this single betraying feature. While Flinar wore a white piece of cloth stretched across his chest, Elmar chose to wrap a sash of the same colour around his waist.
Now would be a good time to talk briefly about the nature of demi-elves, before I continue to introduce our mimetic duo.
Demi-elves, being the product of an (often consensual, unlike in the case of demi-orcs) relationship between different species, elves and humans, were often a sub-optimal mix of the two parents. Within them they carried the noble demeanour and supercilious outlook of elves, which pulled them towards believing they were better than, while also exhibiting the proclivity of humans towards developing an inferiority complex when comparing themselves with other races. So, demi-elves knew that they were supposed to better than their human cousins, while also feeling the resentment towards their elven ones due to their perceived superiority over themselves. Such a mix of the two might very well hinder the healthy development of an individual, as my clever companion has already figured out. Such a personality was often seen incompatible with elven cultures and only some demi-elves found a stable place among human societies, owing in large parts to the human ability and desire to capitalise on the capabilities of those they saw as superior. Most demi-elves however, existed at a liminal realm parallel to both their parent’s domains. They would often be seen travelling, with the most fortunate serving as guides, cultural representatives and a lucky few even as diplomats. Most of these wayfaring demi-elves, however, were more likely to lead a life of crime, performing in circuses, donating their bodies for research, or, when all else failed, take up adventuring.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Our twins in question, Flinar and Elmar, had just about dabbled in all these fields of work.
Presently, however, they were employed as the commissioners of the Department of Spelunking and Adventuring, which I have mentioned earlier. These versatile rogues brought so much to the table, and had done so reliably, that Master Grimvalor could simply not pass them up. They were masters of disguise, having led the lives of actors and entertainers. They were quick and silent with a blade, since their early years prowling the stone clad alleyways of bustling cities. Astonishing feats of acrobatics and quick thinking displayed by the twins had saved the day on more than twenty occasions. They could be relied on by everyone else in the party and the adventuring community in general. Whether or not they could be trusted, is another matter altogether.
Not to worry, however, for Grimvalor’s current designs did not involve trust at all. Conversely, in fact, it was built on a complete lack of it.
Soon, whilst his assessment of the miniature arcanist came to a close, our cunning Master of Campaigns would assemble a team. Consisting of four commissioner adventurers, and one Zez, the party would launch into a grand quest, one that was specially designed by the very heads of the Chronicon Cabal. The higher-ups. The wielders of true administerial power. The mind behind the machine. They (who notably asked me not to reveal their names or natures) have come up with a plan that would shake the earth to its very core.
Do you feel the suspense yet?
Well, sadly, I know it’s sort of irritating, believe me, I share your frustrations, I have been, how should I say, persuaded, yes, motivated not to disclose to my loyal reader, the entirety of the Chronicon Cabal’s grand scheme, or how it reflects upon the other big players in the world. It’s kind of, uh, limiting for my capacities as a narrator, I know that, but rest assured, for I have been instructed—no, not instructed, informed of, a reality… uh… which I can share with you. That being; that we shouldn’t worry at all. Yes. No cause for worry. None at all. Whatever the great minds at the Chronicon Cabal are up to, that is, quite literally, none of our business. Nothing will change! For us, I mean… I’m sure their designs are perfectly earth-shattering as they are advertised... but, and that is a crucial but, the everyday man, such as you and me, has no cause to worry. Bread will cost the same. Taverns will remain open. Transportation will run smoothly and on time. No one is getting drafted, or levied, and certainly no dragons are taking to the skies any time soon. It’s just—It’s uh… A game between the big wheels, the top dogs, the girlbosses and boybosses. Just a… a chess match. Doesn’t involve us… Why should it bother us? Yes! Don’t you worry. Attabuddy!
With that out of the way, there is one thing that I can and feel the need to exposit to you. That being, the central goal of Grimvalor’s grand quest. As it would not reveal too much about their wider plot, I have been… yes, allowed to explain it to you. Ahem. Our quest concerns the retrieval of a long-lost and long-sought-after artifact. Namely, the original idol of the long dead prophet Tathor Vexis, The Harbinger of Truth and The Whisperer of the Abyss. The life, death, influence and wider importance of this prophet is the concern of history books and archivists. We shall not delve too deeply into this academic matter. However, one piece of information that I will impart with you, is that Tathor Vexis was a celebrated player of Ur and a benign participant in light-hearted gossip.
This idol, who has maintained its importance in the wider community of occultists and cults, is said to possess untold potential in… a bunch of stuff. So much so, that it has been consistently moved around, from underground temple to interplanar shrine, causing upheaval after upheaval. Still, nothing succeeded in deterring yet another group from ‘uncovering’ it simply a millennium or two later. Not even the promise of curses, blights and catastrophic involvement of grasshoppers could sway the curious excavator from retrieving and transporting it, causing (if I must use polite language) tons of trouble. Great disorder. Unsavoury happenings. It was all in bad taste, really. Though… uh… rest assured! The Chronicon Cabal knows what they’re doing. It will be certainly, definitely different this time. Oh dear!
Master Grimvalor, being the wily player that he is, crafted a cunning plan to not only retrieve this idol, but to make sure it reaches his hands safely. Because, as we can mostly agree on, sending these professional thrill-seekers who are known for their greed and recklessness after a priceless, and I must stress this adjective; priceless artifact, without any proper oversight or contingency in place, would be the blunder of the ages. And as much as some of us would like to see that, Grimvalor possessed a calculated mind. He had devised a fool-proof plan to see the idol retrieved.
Now, this plan is quite simple. You might have seen its likeness otherwheres. It simply involves the effective utilisation of a fatal human flaw: Doubt. By sowing doubt into the mind of his commissioners, nurturing it, seeing it rise and spread roots, and finally cultivating it to its maturity, he has guaranteed the mission’s success. Simply put, he has resolved to debrief each adventurer individually. These adventurers would also be from different groups, those who have never worked with each other or even seen each other before. During this debriefing, the adventurer in question would be informed, beyond doubt, that upon reaching the idol, he or she would be betrayed by the others. After each individual adventurer was similarly assured of the same expectation, it wasn’t even a question that they would conspire against one another to betray their party members before they did the same. That would ensure that the party did not get any weird ideas, such as holding on to their ‘loot’ (which, remember, is a world-changingly significant artifact) to sell it to the highest bidder. The Chronicon Cabal would succeed in getting their hands on the idol of Tathor Vexis, and Grimvalor would only have to sacrifice a few of his most outstanding employees. Tit for tat. After all, that’s how the world works.
Now, you might be wondering, as I have, how Zez fits into all this. Fortunately for the less patient among you, the answer to that question is simple. Zez is the wildcard. This means that of among all the party members to be manipulated, Zez was mostly left untouched. All he was told about the mission was thusly: They go in. They solve problems. They fight down enemies. They find the idol. They bring it back.
Simple. Effective.
Though… what is Grimvalor’s plan? I hear you ask. Well, if you think enough about it, you could figure it out. You might have even also came up with a similar plan, in fact. I’m not saying you are as ruthless and amoral as our Master of Campaigns, of course, just that sometimes even pleasant folks can think like the baddies. Anyway, Grimvalor’s plan concerning Zez is also simple. After each and every adventurer is betrayed, Zez would be the last remaining. How could he not? Look at him! He is a little old man dressed like he lost his way while herding sheep. Unassuming to the very last degree! No one would even think of taking him out first! The risk vs reward is just not viable. Simply not viable. Zez remains until the end and after all others successfully betray one another, he and the other last remaining adventurer either battle it out, or more likely, given the fact that the remaining commissioner would likely sustain lethal injuries during the quest or the act of betrayal, they die and Zez remains as the very last one standing. Then, the simple mind of the simple man prompts him to bring the idol back all willy-nilly. That is a good plan.
With Zez being the contingency part of Grimvalor’s plan, let’s now meet our other heroes. Focus, now, for you will hear about them for the entirety of the remaining chapter.
A striking iron-clad presence of a lithely muscular, gracefully sturdy, tall woman belonged to the stalwart, steely, sharp-eyed Vessa, the commissioner-at-arms chosen for the expedition. Though from afar it was not quite so easy to see how imposingly athletic and solid her body was, she still caught the attention of any onlooker with her height. Beneath her shining steel helmet was hidden, her glowing green eyes reflecting a certain wry allure, a piercing, condescending gaze who repeatedly reminded you that you were not good enough for her. Her suit of armour concealed a life’s worth of scars, scars she carried proudly on her olive skin, which only the luckiest of bastards could get to count. Black of hair and heart, she was the beauty and the beast.
Oh… I apologise to my reader. It seems even narrators get excited from time to time.
Our next contender for Who Gets to Betray Everyone Else Before They Are Betrayed Themselves! was called Helnen. She was a young-adult human with brilliant blonde hair cut short and distant blue eyes, who seemed rather friendly in contrast to all the other commissioners. She was of medium height and carried a remarkably humble visage amongst all these regulars marked by their irregularity. If acquainted with her further, one would also notice how innocuous she actually is. Remarkably so, in fact. Upon further consideration, this might be due to an underlying factor: Helnen, this timid display of youthful in-offensiveness, was in truth, a warlock with a fiendish pact. But I’ve seen warlocks and they’re unabashed freaks! I hear you exclaim. Let me tell you, that Helnen is quite different when it comes to warlockry, as her infernal contract is centred around the core theme of the seventh deadly sin: Sloth. If you haven’t got what that implicates: Helnen is an avid procrastinator. Yes. Consistently laggard in all matters. Just a vegetable when it comes to doing anything. Give her any directive and she will display such tenacity and such mettle in never getting it done on time. You might think this is a shameless hyperbole, but I tell you truly. Truly, she is inertia personified. A bi-pedal form of lethargy. A stunning display of bravery against the inviolable fact that we all die. She just simply doesn’t seem to care about her inevitable end, as demonstrated by her complete lack of desire or drive when it comes to action. Whew.
Moving on to our other, hopefully more uplifting entrant, we are faced with one Jeffrey Tall. He is a flamboyant composition of auditory intensity, an exploration into the combative spirit and paramilitary application of unadulterated artistic merit. A flamingly fervent flautist, his musique de guerre is instrumental in transforming every fight into a grand performance! The intense blowing and exact embouchure with which he brings to life his instrument of battle strikes despair into the hearts of his foes while inspiring courage to his comrades! Not a moment passes with Mr. Tall on stage that doesn’t have your heart pulsating with hysterical passion! His on-stage presence carries this unmistakable frontman energy as he twirls his flute and body around under the spotlight of mortal struggle! Without doubt, he is the backbone of this party’s fighting spirit! The magic of his music turns the tide of any losing fight!
Now, here I must clarify, as I have used the words ‘magic’ and ‘music’ in close sequence, that Mr. Jeffrey Tall does not, in actuality, possess any arcane power. He is simply a musician, a good musician, true, that is prone to viewing any fatal contest as a performative art. A vehicle for expressing the drama and lucidity of the mind’s facilities disclosed in the brief moments where its host body faces total destruction. He is a studier of the humanoid condition within the direst of conditions. All that, has evidently served in favour of his adventuring party, as they have not lost a single member and more than adequately performed in every single mission. This makes Master Grimvalor appreciative of Mr. Tall’s supposed abilities, which prompted him to choose him as the supporting role in the party. With all that said, our exceptional virtuoso, does not expressly bring anything tangible to the table regarding combat prowess. On more than one occasions where he was relying on his musical performance, when an enemy came dangerously close to harming him, he simply resorted to dropping his flute and shooting it with a crossbow.
With our swashbuckling rhapsodist out of the way, let us now take a look at the fourth member of our party. Fortunately, this is one that you have already met. The demi-elf rogue Flinar, the equivalent half of his brother Elmar, will be providing much needed expertise and sharp decisiveness to the expedition. His flowing, muted blonde hair, venomous eyes and bony, razor-sharp face certainly paint him as a demi-elf to watch out for. Belonging to the category of the strong, silent type, our blackguard of ill-fame and catlike poise is himself a comrade you would simultaneously pray for and lament that he was watching your back. From poisoned blade to snapping trap, he is the perfect silent killer. The asbestos of the adventuring world!
These were the four, selected to find the fabled idol of Tathor Vexis. Heading out bravely into untold danger, sacrificing their very lives without a second thought from their superior; all for the noble cause of advancing the Chronicon Cabal’s… non-descript plans. These heroes of rumbling fame will journey through the unknown, the deadly, the catastrophic horrors beyond the border of humanoid civilisation and comprehension. With all their skills combined they will rampage through hordes of malignant miscreations, bringing back to light what was once succumbed to darkness. They, the gritty Vessa, the deceitful Helnen, the zealous Mr. Tall and the crafty Flinar… They are the heroes of fate.
Oh—and… uh… there was Zez. He—uh… was also there.
Let’s see how they all fit together in our next chapter. Ready yourselves for adventure as I lay back and leave the centre-stage for our brave adventurers… and Zez.