Chapter 152: I Want To Speak To The Manager
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Le Chevalier, Tortue Village

"Un plat blanc, et un croissant aux amandes, merci," I hand the tray with what ought to be the final order I'll need to take before I'm free of my obligations to Mr Jackson, over the top of the counter to the hazy-eyed student who ordered it's contents, then wring off my hands with a tiny bottle of ethanol-jelly hand sanitiser tucked between the till and the display case. It smells sharp, and not at all pleasant amidst the aroma of coffee, mingling to create a cloying, acerbic stench.

It's coming up to the end of February, which means a fresh batch of students is due to enrol, like the tired specimen unaccustomed to waking up this side of noon I just served. My University has quarterly intakes of new students, rather than the traditional annual or even biannual, so new faces were always a common sight around Tortue. I know there was a reason for it, but I've long forgotten what I was told during matriculation. In fairness, even if you asked the Alexandr of the time what it was, he probably would have given you a funny look and gone back to reading catalogues of artwork.

I have close to two dozen of the damn things stacked under my bed. I don't want to think about how much it cost the young me to get his hands on them all.

Digging out my phone from my apron pouch, I check the time and continue to read the file Olrica and Morn compiled for the guild's benefit. Detailing the situation more in-depth and concisely than the mountain of spam I had to delete from my inboxes - mostly from disgruntled DDA players who had their Vessels locked down. As if actions did not have consequences and acting like murderously deranged, self-entitled children were somehow not going to come back around on them negatively.

Waiting for Mr Jackson to come downstairs and take over my shift gives me enough time to apprise myself of the broad strokes of what's happening in the town, as of around midnight. Order has been restored, swiftly and with extreme efficiency.

As is to be expected when you're toting around a thousand or so Level 100+ veteran Elites as your entourage, all of whom are near-fanatically loyal to the Empire and their Commander.

As I remarked before, their appearance here under these circumstances is well and truly bizarre, as they have the military might, equipment, and strategic know-how to topple several small countries by themselves - although, not uncontested or without explicit orders. The Ghoathan nobility has to be collectively shitting itself at the thought of the Unstained Reginlei mustering so close to it's borders, and it takes a lot to pierce through their isolationist narcissism. News of an Archdemon showing itself would have only sparked envy at my expense for the opportunity to add a new Deed to brag to their neighbours about.

On the bright side, if they're to stick around long term I won't need to worry about any more overt clandestine activity within the town and even subtler means will be extremely risky. That in itself is also something of a double-edged sword since it restricts those means and other moves from us as well.

They're keeping inside the walls for the time being while they supervise the newest wave of recovery efforts, resurrecting the locals, reorganising the patrols, the administration and distributing the Empire's charity for it's beloved, hardworking and loyal Citizens. Late, and after the incidents occurred, I feel the need to point out. Coercing one of the larger merchant consortiums into giving up a stockpile of one-time use resurrection scrolls and cheap building materials is, to be honest, poor compensation for grossly negligent governance.

You can't solve everything by throwing money at the problem, and no amount of coin can bury the mistakes of the past to perfection.

"'Rich' as that is, given how badly I'm in need of money myself," I mutter, untying the apron strings and ducking to pull it off my neck as I ascend the narrow staircase, "If nothing else we'll have a large injection of workers if all goes well with Mr Fathom and his faction. With their help and interests we can set about getting Ujax well in hand - Still interested in investigating those overgrown trees in Goldmoss and verifying my guess before the Greentide is set in motion."

Mostly, though, we need to stockpile as much as we can grind out in the next couple of days. Infinitely regenerating nodes are soon to be a thing of fantasy remembered fondly by the most veteran of gathering specialists and cried over into their cups after they botch the retrieval of a rare good for the thousandth time and get chewed out by their client.

I expect I'll be too preoccupied to pitch in myself. I need to oversee the conversion of Voinete Mansion into a Headquarters, the repair of our Training Hall, meet with various people and be on hand for whatever else demands my attention. First order of business: Find out what the hell Count Arnt Hiolh is doing in my town.


 

Boulder Gate, Meteo Town, Fander Field

Late as I am to log in today, getting back to Meteo took a lot less time than I feared it would. With the situation in Meteo being what it was, a large number of caravans were held up, and the arrival of such a prestigious Reginlei attracted many, many more opportunistic merchants than I was expecting for the Southern Provinces, like carrion birds circling a fatally wounded animal. Hitching a ride with one of the more well-to-do vultures was easy enough in light of my status as a combatant from an Official Guild, as opposed to a direct competitor. I even got paid 30 Stone Silvers for the 'escort service' as the cherry on top.

Not that anyone would possibly dare to cause trouble in these parts at the moment, but where there is money and opportunity, there will invariably be someone blinded by greed who thinks himself above the law, so I respect my erstwhile employer's prudence.

After accepting my due payment, I have to navigate the densely packed and extremely smelly crowd of merchants, labourers and random passers-by to get to the portcullis. About a dozen of the Stainless Reginlei's members are present as a stern, extremely vigilant barrier against iniquity. I'm not familiar with what kind of conditions are in place for entry, but a lot of merchants are being turned aside or asked to wait for more urgent goods to be transported through the checkpoint by their fellows.

"Be you a Citizen?" the impassive, monotone voice of the Grandblood Firm in front of me questions, decked in a spotlessly clean, white-ish uniform, a black-speckled blue feather in his linen and leather cap denoting his rank as a Monalk - roughly equivalent to a special forces squad leader. It's a little surprising to see someone like this doing menial work as a customs officer.

"I am," a flash of my pin elicits a barely perceptible nod.

"Name and purpose."

"Lord Silver Nosster, of House Fander," I introduce myself with a little pride, "I'm given to understand that Count Hiolh wishes to speak to me."

The Monalk glances behind him to a Prussian Blue-robed Silva woman, "Does he speak false?"

"Nay," she denies, "He matches the description provided as well."

"That he does," the Monalk turns to regard me with a bit more interest, "Al'uer Iphogi is currently at Town Hall in the previous mayor's office. Do you require an escort, serte?"

"One of my subordinates is awaiting me on the other side," I reject his offer politely, "With respect, the Reginlei's time is better spent assisting those more in need than myself."

The Monalk salutes me formally, "As you say, anh-serte. Please be aware that in future, an entry fee will be charged if you cannot provide a Writ of Residency. As you have not yet had the chance to acquire it yourself, the fee will be waived, and I recommend you have one issued while you are visiting Al'uer Iphogi."

I clear my throat and switch to the Founder's Merrowan that those from the northern provinces are so fond of flaunting while simultaneously executing a bow meant for personnel who outrank you militarily but not socially, "My thanks, honoured sir, may the day be brief and the stars shine long."

A little surprised, I manage to make the stoic soldier crack a small smile, "I see you know your etiquette well. Please pass along my regards."

My knowledge of the customs upheld by the Empire of Stone's nobility is a little on the shaky side since I barely interacted with any of them before they were treated to the most famous of French pastimes, but it seems to be good enough if it meets the Monalk's approval. Northerners can get very particular about this sort of thing, especially those involved in the army in some way, where the Empire's cultural brainwashing is at its peak.

I can just about manage to introduce myself and flatter someone of higher social status, but that's about as far as it goes. I'm far more familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the eastern end of Firmament and Ghoathans are hardly the most interesting or complex so it's not hard to understand them either. The Empire is...harder to nail down, but the further north you go the stronger the pretensions to grandeur and the louder its propaganda.

They're boring people to talk to on the whole...I say, without a hint of irony.

"Might I know your name and rank, in that case?" I enquire politely, aware that he actually does expect me to say hello to the Commander for him. As merits go, receiving me is not worth much, but it's still a merit in the eyes of this soldier. Anything that could possibly endear him to a superior as lofty as Arnt Hiolh is something to latch onto, I guess.

"Brexin, Dol-Monalk," he provides happily. I don't really know much about all the different ranks either but I think the 'Dol' prefix refers to a sub-hierarchy that arises when multiple Monalk are present in a force? In that, there's at least one that's above him on the ladder, though how far beyond I don't know because the Imperial Military's hierarchy is confusing and cult-ish at the best of times.

Pleasantries aside, I receive a small metal token from the man I'll need to hand over to the people at the next checkpoint, which will allow me to pass safely without being corralled toward one of the gathering spots for the merchants and labourers crowding the plaza ahead. Jupiter should be waiting for me somewhere in the vicinity of Boulder Gate's courtyard, from what I was told.

"Farewell," I bow my head in gratitude and walk into a changed Meteo.


 

It's a little hard to move with all the people packed together, Reginlei soldiers vanishing and reappearing as if teleporting in the empty spaces between to direct the traffic where it needs to go. Even just one of those soldiers would probably be capable of flattening the town on their own, and the weird feeling I got from seeing the Dol-Monalk only deepens.

Not that I'll find answers here, but I'm at the mercy of the flow of people as we're winnowed away from the caravan processions and further split apart into merchants, labourers, visitors and citizens, all of us deathly silent. Few of the NPCs here are capable of a conversation, but the scrutiny we're under squashes any desire to speak up. It most aptly reminds me of my SATs in the last few minutes before the time limit ends, avoiding the attention of the bored invigilator.

The smell here is far worse than a desk-lined old theatre hall though, thanks to the numerous beast of burden and their leavings. 'twould appear that not even the Reginlei are too keen to clean up after them. Hard to say how long I have been here, time easily slipping away and losing itself in the bustling crowd of people that are directed towards the main thoroughfare that leads directly to the market district.

Leaning against the walls of the various buildings along the road, residential and otherwise, are a great many people, primarily players from the looks of them, their motive hard to accurately gleam from this side of the checkpoint, but if I had to guess they're waiting for their fellows to make it through from outside the walls, much like how I expect Jupiter will be.

Flashing the token to the soldiers, I'm hurried through with another offer of an escort to their commander's office. As before I decline respectfully, taking long strides, glancing left and right as I scan across the faces of the gathered for a glimpse of one Silva in particular, finding him tucked away around a corner of a branching alleyway, chatting happily to a few people I don't recognise.

"Limono was MVP, hands down," the shortest Firm woman declares, "She enabled so much more than Dan10. He just reaped the benefits."

"And Dan10 bailed her ass out the fire to allow for the 3 man knockdown combo chain to occur in the first place by sacrificing his main phasecannon," the taller of them fires back, "Right?"

Sounds like they're discussing the VA tournament matches from last night. Nothing I care about, so I clear my throat to interrupt them, "Jupiter."

His face brightens, "Oh! Hey-hey, boss-man! Been a while. You bring me any souvenirs? Just so you know, I don't accept novelty mugs, shirts, baseball caps or new age hippy trinkets like bismuth keychains that promote positive aura energy and charge the chakras."

I almost missed his inane rambling.

"No," I shake my head, sparing an apologetic look for his companions, "Regardless, we have to get going now."

"Yuh-huh," Jupiter pushes off the wall and pats his back down awkwardly with the back of his hand, waving casually with his other, "See you around, I guess? I'll probably stop by the Mole and Field later."

"Sure, nice meeting you," the Quirstic man shakes his hand, "I think I'll be logging off soon myself though, once I've gotten the package I'm s'posed to deliver."

"I'll be there, don't know about you, though," the short woman remarks to the taller one.

"We'll see. I'm supposed to be at a meeting with Klare by now, but Calrik is the one with the money and I can't show up with only half what was promised or the contract will eat me alive."

"Sucks to suck. See you there I guess, Jupiter," the short woman shrugs.

"Cool," he shuffles past on the road, swivelling on his heel to snap off a salute, "Later."

Nodding to them, I follow suit, restraining my tongue until out of earshot, "New friends?"

"Sorta. We were just standing around bored so it was either talk to each other or perpetuate the awkward staring into the infinite space contained within each other's foreheads, y'know?" Jupiter stretches his arms behind his head, "Been stood out here for like, two maybe three hours now I think, getting stiff knees waiting for you to arrive. So, about that souvenir-"

"As I said, there are no souvenirs," I roll my eyes, "I'm down to a fistful of Stone Silvers after all the deals I've been setting up and the travel costs. Unless a crate of crafting materiel is a satisfying gift to you?"

Jupiter clicks his tongue, "Was hoping you were just keeping it on the down-low in front of the others. Have to say, you've really let me down boss, you're supposed to be taking care of your peoples' morale, y'know?"

"If I only had the freedom to indulge such fanciful notions," I grumble, understanding that after all they've been through some sort of reward is certainly in order for their efforts on my behalf, "You'll have to make do with my gratitude and appreciation instead."

"Enough to make me an officer?" he smiles slyly.

"Are you eighteen yet?" I counter.

"In my heart, I'm a centuries-old archmage," Jupiter puffs his chest out, "I have quite the battle record by now, too."

"I'm sure that argument will hold up in a court of law," I roll my eyes, "Give me an update on matters in Meteo while we walk, please. Keep the embellishments to a minimum."

Long story short: Two projects with higher priority have been keeping me busy. I'm now at a point where I can spare some time away from working on one of those projects.

So, more chapters to come until they pick back up again.

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