Valkyrie's Shadow

Birthright: Act 4, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A dim hubbub of activity rose over the streets as evening fell on E-Rantel. Labourers left their places of work for the day, seeing to errands on their way home, or gathering with acquaintances and coworkers in and around various venues around the city. Several days since meeting the other agent had passed but, ever since Itzal had arrived on his own, he had been tracking the slow increase in activity from day to day. Compared to a week previous, the number of people moving about had increased four-fold. Well, this depended on the area of the city, of course.

Taverns, inns and warehouses normally frequented by traders barely saw any activity, as the merchant traffic coming from beyond the duchy’s borders had effectively ceased at the same time that E-Rantel had fallen. The areas with shops that produced the goods that the rural regions needed for their spring work were faring better: despite the drop in the outlying populations, it was still one of the busiest times of the year for them, after all. By all accounts, they were working to catch up with the disruptions that the new rule had created. The overall result was that it felt like E-Rantel was still in a slump: nowhere near its regular level of activity for the season, but things were slowly, but surely picking up again.

A long line of wagons led by terrifying skeletal horses, billowing with sickly yellow energy, rolled by and Itzal stopped in his tracks, cringing away on the side of the street. Forcing himself to examine them as they passed, he noted that their beds were empty and the seats where one should find drivers were unoccupied. As with the Undead patrols which frequented the streets, the people paid little attention to the macabre procession beyond ensuring that they were not directly in the way. Feeling the rough wall against his own shoulder, he wanted to curse himself for a coward.

How was their composure even possible?

The remarkable mental fortitude of the citizenry was something that he had fruitlessly pondered for some time now. There were a variety of spells that could fortify the mind against fear, but even with the Sorcerer King reputed to be a magic caster of incredible power, Itzal could not imagine the entire city having such spells maintained upon them indefinitely. Neither were there enough magic casters amongst the population to accomplish this. He kept crossing out the possibilities until he reached the end of his list: those with skills in leadership had the ability to reinforce the minds of those around them…but they were limited to charismatic figures, military commanders, nobles and others of similar vocations.

The Adamantite Adventurer, Momon, acted in a manner that was vaguely something like this in recent times, reinforcing his position of trust amongst the general population…but surely that couldn’t be enough? Then again, he was lauded as the greatest Hero of Humanity by the locals, so perhaps it was simply proof that he was an individual of great power and influence. Powers like those were notoriously hard to qualify, however: unlike the direct effects of reinforcing magic, inspiration and command, the broader, more subtle ones required varying degrees of subordination and trust to receive their benefits. That being said, the way he saw people gather around Momon certainly made him seem like this was the case.

An array of appetizing aromas wafted through the air before he reached his destination: the main plaza. There was one more industry that thrived as the city had slowly stirred itself awake again: the food stalls and common eateries which dotted the city. It was not hard to imagine why. After a week of the same, plain food that was distributed as charity by the Sorcerous Kingdom – reportedly it consisted of the cheap, low quality provisions that had been meant to feed the levies of Re-Estize’s Royal Army – he had already developed cravings for something more substantial.

Opportunistic business owners had, by this point, appeared in greater numbers: setting up additional stalls which displayed their wares in order to take advantage of the traffic created by the food vendors. The combined effect was magnetic, drawing more and more residents to the city plazas by the day until it now seemed that a semblance of the city’s nightlife had returned. Itzal still held to his belief that the huge drop in population experienced by the duchy as a whole would eventually catch up with the city but, for the time being, he would take advantage of the free-flowing information that drifted out from the small groups of people gathering about the plaza. He strolled around casually, taking a bite out of a juicy venison skewer that had been marinated, grilled and slathered in savoury sauce.

To those who knew how to listen and draw the connections between various conversations that occurred around one’s self, it was a simple thing to paint a picture of the overall state of the city. It wasn’t even a matter of finding sensitive information or using intrusive measures, as people openly shared information as they socialized with one another for no purpose beyond making conversation.

Most of what he heard fell in line with what he already knew: the planting season had started in earnest, trade beyond the borders was still at a standstill and, due to a lack in the latter, the industries of the city could only function to service the demands of its immediate region with the various shortfalls from the absence of trade looming before them. In particular, the city was quickly running down its inventories of ores and alchemical supplies.

His wandering around the plaza eventually brought him near the fountain in front of the cathedral, where he took a seat to finish the additional bits of his meal, purchased as he meandered about. The main plaza was home to several of the largest organizations in the city: all appeared to be open to their clients and saw regular visitors. The Temple was no exception, and its brightly lit interior could be seen through the stained glass windows and the open doors. A few priests were standing outside, reaching out to passers-by. Occasionally, someone would stop to listen and a few out of those would enter.

Itzal smirked lightly at what would have been considered the rare sight in times past. While the Temples were silent on matters regarding governance – this was the norm in E-Rantel anyways, as Re-Estize did not officially confer with the temples on political affairs either – they had not been silent in their interactions with the population. The Temples of the Four Great Gods, whose doctrines set themselves as implacable enemies of the Undead, had been in turn placed in a bind. They lacked the strength to oppose the Sorcerer King and his Undead minions, and so their words rang hollow in the new reality that the citizens faced.

Though they, too, were often involved in fighting the Undead, the few places of worship for the Six Great Gods in the city, who included Alah Alaf and Surshana – the gods of life and death – in their pantheon, had far fewer difficulties connecting with the population. The Bishop must have surely recognized this advantage, and was now busily reclaiming E-Rantel’s Human population for the faith.

It was laughable that, after over a century of apostasy, what might ultimately turn these people back to worshipping The Six was the advent of the very thing which the heretics claimed to hate the most. In a way, he supposed it made sense – most people would only truly come to the gods in their time of need. Regardless, it was a welcome change overall and he silently lauded the Bishop for his shrewd direction in taking advantage of the times.

Wiping his stained hands on one of the empty wrappers of his meal, Itzal rose from his seat at the fountain. In doing so, his line of sight rose above the tables of the merchant stalls, bringing his attention to new activity stirring in front of the Adventurer Guild nearby. At some point, while he had been eating and pondering the state of the Temples, groups of men and women with varied outfits and equipment had started to filter in to the Guild. As he understood it, the branch had never closed but there was very little in the way of work: it was only really occasionally frequented by its few remaining regulars in the past weeks. The trickle of people entering the building with no one coming out indicated that something was going on in the Guild – perhaps a meeting of some sort.

It was potentially a new development that he could not afford to miss in his ongoing efforts to gather information. After wiping his hands clean, he fished around in a pouch at this belt until he felt what he was looking for, drawing it out. The Mercenary would become an Adventurer, and he fastened the Silver tag that indicated his rank in the Guild around his neck. The work between the two professions overlapped at many points, as did the skill sets useful to them, so it wasn’t entirely unheard of for an individual to take work as one or the other. Being a local of the region, he was already registered at the branch in E-Rantel, so there should be few questions about his presence. Slipping in behind a trio of Iron-ranks, he entered the building.

A wave of stuffy heat rolled over him and out into the cool evening air. The transient nature of Adventurers often made the real membership of the Guild appear deceptively small: very few actually loitered around the guild in normal times. Most would be out working to fill requests that they had taken or enjoying the pleasures of the city after the successful collection of their rewards. Even though most of the members of the E-Rantel branch had relocated their bases to cities in other nations – making it seem like there were only a handful left during the day – the few who remained gathered all at once still loosely filled the main floor of the building. There were dozens of Adventurers clustered about, mostly ranking Silver and below, but he spotted a handful of Gold and Mithril tags as well.

The door opened and closed as more Adventurers filtered in, so Itzal figured he still had time before whatever was going on started. He made his way around the floor, soaking up the atmosphere. In a word, it was gloomy. While he could hear animated greetings between friends and rivals every few minutes, this sort of interaction was scarce. More common were those discussions made in halfhearted tones: no bounties to be made, no new requests – be they for investigations, escorts or exterminations – and the underlying sentiment that after over a month of this continued inactivity, their guildmaster had called the gathering of both active and inactive members to formally announce the dissolution of the branch.

Looking over the board which he remembered once being filled with fresh job postings, he scanned over the few lonely sheets of paper still pinned to it. They were all related to the constantly ongoing work subsidized by the various nobles and administrators of the region: bounties for proof of monster extermination to maintain the overall security of the realm. It was work that had long since been made unnecessary due to the might of the Sorcerer King’s armies. Running his eyes over each sheet pinned on the board, he silently mouthed the targets listed on each.

The long lists of Undead and their rates were crossed out entirely – what was the point of leaving it up? He supposed it might be to show the new government that they were not collecting bounties against their kind. Other omissions did not make any sense at all; why would Goblins, Hobgoblins, Ogres and Trolls be crossed off? They were savage, evil beasts and Itzal could not even begin to imagine why there was specifically no longer a bounty for them.

He had no time to continue his pondering as purposeful steps sounded from the hallway behind the reception counter. Upon hearing the footfalls, the assembled Adventurers started to quiet down. Itzal returned to the main waiting area, sidestepping past several groups in order to get a better view of the proceedings. By the time he found a place amidst the crowd, the man who appeared from the hall had nearly reached the top of the stairs. All eyes followed him as he turned to follow the second floor railing until he stopped to look over the men and women below. He was a middle-aged man with a powerful build and well-groomed appearance. With an upright and vigorous posture, he rested his hands on the wooden rail and seemed to take in the sight before him.

Though it seemed he was about to speak at any moment, the continued trickle of Adventurers still entering the guildhall delayed his address. When it finally appeared that no new members would arrive, Pluton Ainzach – Master of the Adventurer Guild of E-Rantel – spoke, emanating a voice carrying the years of authority and leadership that came with his long service.

“First of all, I’d–”

He abruptly stopped as the door opened one more time and he peered at whoever had entered for a moment before starting again.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming to my call. I’m truly gratified and humbled that–”

“Ah, skip it, Ainzach.” A voice called up from below, “We’re not a gaggle of officials expecting some speech from a noble. You’re too scruffy to be one, anyways.”

The guildmaster’s eyes flickered across the group for a split second as sporadic laughter rose from the Adventurers below. He seemed to relax a bit and relaxed into a broad grin.

“Fair enough, Moknach,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ll give it to you straight, then. It’s the least that I can do, after all we’ve been through together as a Guild.”

Ainzach cleared his throat and visibly steeled himself.

“Just last week, His Majesty came to me with a proposal,” he held out his hands to hold back the murmur that rose in the wake of his words. “A New Adventurer Guild, under the direction and support of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Itzal’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t the only one. Following the shocked silence, first one voice; then another rose from the crowd.

“Have ya gone daft, Ainzach?” A man’s furious voice shouted up at the guildmaster.

“‘His Majesty?’” A woman scoffed, “Did he get charmed or something? Someone get up there and ring his head a coupla times!”

More voices filled the hall. Many were incredulous, some raised their hands to cast angry gestures in the direction of the second floor. Expressions of betrayal, confusion, ire and scorn marked the faces of those around Itzal. It wasn’t long before a dull roar filled the hall, and the guildmaster switched from delivering his message to attempting to calm the Adventurers down. The sound rose to a raucous clamour before a second figure appeared behind Ainzach and it all at once ceased. Once again, the guildmaster spoke into the sudden silence.

“I have discussed the matter with Momon here,” Ainzach said in a calm voice, “as well as Theo Raksheer of the Magician Guild. I have also had the opportunity to speak at length with His Majesty the Sorcerer King and we are all in agreement that this is the best course going forward for our Guild. I will say now that it is everything that I could have ever dared to dream of, and more – only an absolute fool would cast this chance aside. This offer has already been personally extended to the people in the Empire by His Majesty, so if you do plan on getting ahead before they start to arrive, I highly recommend that you get on board sooner rather than later.”

As he spoke, two more figures joined him: the second member of Darkness, Nabe, and Theo Raksheer, the Master of the Mage Guild. The presence of the realm’s most powerful and respected Adventurer team along with two guildmasters of the city pressed down on the men and women assembled below.

After a moment of subdued silence, a woman’s coarse voice from the crowd spoke.

“But what will this ‘New Adventurer Guild’ want from us?” She asked.

“Why, to become what we are,” Pluton Ainzach replied with a gleam in his eye – it definitely did not match the dull look of one under magical compulsion. “To become Adventurers.”