Lord's Suite, 3F, Truthseekers' Main Headquarters
I wake up. And it really feels like a true awakening.
Experimentally, I clench and unclench my fingers, noting the responsiveness and tactile sensation. A wide, giddy smile breaks out across my face that is certainly at odds with my typical demeanour, granted, but the feeling of oneness and vindication is positively rapturous, it has to be said. Of course, it's still not perfect. Running a quick test where I throw and catch a coin shows that my imbalanced attributes are still hobbling the overall reflexive control and spatial awareness at my disposal, but the difference is starker than night and day.
It feels as though I've sloughed off an enormous weight from my bones and unshackled my limbs. I can live with this fairly comfortably until an opportunity to redress the imbalance arises. I feel an immense itch to rush down to the Training Hall and spend the next several hours running through sword drills and other assorted exercises. Acrobatics, stamina, reflexes, and a few of my Skills....they can be properly honed now without needing to worry about ingraining bad habits into my muscle memory.
Turning my attention outward, as dingy as my room still is, it is nonetheless far more vibrant from a sensory perspective. Hobbling my way over to the window and looking out across the town, I find myself enormously hard-pressed to draw any significant difference between the vista in front of me and any I've seen on Earth. It just feels...larger, more significant, somehow.
Before I leave, I make a point to dump out what remains of my inventory, as per the rather insistent system notification that's pulsing in the air in front of me in order to satisfy it and avoid any absent-minded destruction of my things. Just about everything of value we own has already been put into the Warehouse and Bank, or else is stored away at Stone Arsenal in the case of the mountain of ores we've been accumulating, all in anticipation of the loss of our inventory privileges and the ensuing scarcity of resources.
We're definitely, absolutely behind on naturalistic goods - herbs, carcasses, etcetera - unfortunately. The riot, congestion and lacking manpower have made sure of it. Not to mention, when I was brokering deals along the river northwards, my focus was on non-perishable materials, in expectation of having free rein over the bounty of Ujax Forest in co-operation with Wolf Hunt.
As it is, we don't really need to share the spoils with them as Mr Fathom has joined his cause to ours in the interim, but a little late to take full advantage.
It's not that big of an issue, on the upside, at least for now.
The actual value of those goods is fairly low comparatively, and not as stable as potions and ores. Speaking of which, the first wave of deliveries should be here by now, or not far off. I know Henna has been complaining about a shortage of fuel, metal and leather. However, what we need the most is to expand the facilities available and move the workshop indoors, which will require me somehow getting my hands on a decent Blueprint with the relevant bells and whistles. A prospect that promises to be both highly expensive and equally difficult to catch wind of without directly commissioning a Master Architect specialised in the construction of Ateliers.
Ludicrous as it sounds, 10 Stone Platinum - including the remainder still owed, that is - is not going to be enough to cover it if I go that route. It'd be far more reasonable to pick one up from a Legacy Trial or something along those lines, which is a separate problem given that I don't have the faintest idea where to start looking. It will require a bit of research I think.
My ecstatic mood sours as the ever-present burden of everything I need to do reminds me of its existence. Truly, having a sense of responsibility is a curse, is it not?
I grumble complaints under my breath as I head out into the corridor with a mind to get back to chipping away at the inexhaustible list of things in need of tackling, enjoying the feeling of smooth, responsive movement.
1-Star Employment Bureau, Ground Floor, Truthseekers' Main Headquarters
The first order of business happens to be getting this place up and running, which means I need to hire the requisite staff to do so. The work involved in managing the Employment Bureau requires, at present, a minimum of seven people. That accounts for four people manning the desks and handling visitors, two people in the area behind sorting through all the administrative work, and a manager to keep things on track, chipping in where necessary.
With her previous experience, Morn would be a prime candidate to take over operations here if it weren't for the fact that neither of us are really eager to tie her down here day in and day out. For the time being, she will serve Truthseekers' interests better in the field for the short term, and her own self-confessed expertise lies more in finance than HR. As such, I asked Olrica to put up an application notice at Town Hall last night before bed calling for the local Merrowan populace to answer our needs. Relying on them is simply more stable and sustainable than players, after all.
Morn is still going to be present for the interviews, however. As stated, she has previous experience in this sphere and knows better than I what to look for in an employee should a decision be hard to reach for whatever reason. Being honest, I don't expect much out of whoever I end up hiring, only really needing a basic level of sociability, literacy and money-handling. So long as those criteria are met and no problems arise, they can accrue any lacking experience over time while gaining a sense of loyalty to their workplace.
"That's the idea, anyway," I mutter to myself.
"What is?" Angelus queries, sitting at one of the vacant desks with his feet up and reading a thick book borrowed from his Scholar mentor's abode. As expected, that xenophobe survived the riot with his health and his collection intact.
"Just reminding myself of what I need to keep in mind for the interview process," I explain casually, "That aside, I was somewhat expecting you to take a day or two off. You've been playing about as much or more than I have, haven't you?"
The Beacon considers it, "Probably. I'm doing fine though, had to at least drop in today of all days, you know?"
"I suppose so," I concede the point, "Look after your health, though, I know you have a better set-up than most of us save Windy, but that doesn't mean you're immune to the consequences of overuse."
"Thanks, but really, it's not that bad," he stretches out his back with a grunt, scratching at his knee with a talon, "Now that I'm not diving and emerging at odd hours, my sleep schedule's gone back to normal, just about. With how immaculate the controls feel now, the desync that was building up should be gone in a few days as well. Fingers crossed."
"Mm, I still need to do some work in that area," I frown, relaying the attribute imbalance problem briefly.
"Suffering from success, huh?" he smirks, then turns thoughtful, "If it's extra stats you need, what about that rock me and Windy found in the sewer?"
I grimace, "Definitely not. At least, not as it is now. I don't know how much Corruption I'd incur, and I don't want to find out."
"As it is now?"
"Maybe a sufficiently skilled craftsman could do something with it to make it less toxic, or we could find some other way of purifying it, but I expect it'll just gather dust in the warehouse for a long time to come," I lament, acknowledging that it would definitely be a good help for the current me, or anyone really.
"Worth pointing out," he shrugs, "Oh? Just gained 500 Experience for finishing the book."
"You're done already?" surprising on it's own, but I also hear the front doors opening behind me, "And it looks like we have company."
"I read fast," he puts his feet down and sits up, "Required secondary skill of a writer next to touch-typing. Who is it?"
"Hm," I scrutinise the newcomer, not somebody from the guild and not anyone I recognise from outside it. On the contrary, from the way they appear to carry themselves they ought to be an elderly Merrowan instead of a player. The old man stops once inside as if only just now realising the scale of the empty hall, slowly scanning his eyes across it's entirety until startled to lay them upon me as I stare back at him, our eyes meeting.
Rather short for a Firm - likely a product of age - his clothing isn't quite typical of the average citizen, instead a more appropriate 'uniform' for middling, somewhat successful 2-Star Merchants and the sort of irrelevant, semi-retired minor nobility that calls the West Residential District of Meteo Town their home. I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of our neighbours decided to pay us a courtesy call.
Angelus shares an expectant look with me, and I shake my head in denial, walking around the long counter through the open waist-high gate, intending to meet our unexpected guest part-way. It's a little odd, I conclude as I take long strides towards him, that he'd just...open the door and walk in uninvited. I realise that we don't exactly have a doorbell or alert system, but common courtesy dictates at least a knock.
"...So, can I ask who you are and what you're doing in here, serte?" I ask calmly in a tone that makes clear that he's intruding. The old man bows his head smoothly in response, a clarity of motion that can only be well-practiced.
"Apologies, but in lieu of a more appropriate means of gaining the attention of the residents, I could only test the handle," he stays bowed, the man's voice gruff and throaty, "I am Rastkam Lonsz, a former merchant. Might this be the Headquarters of the guild 'Truthseekers'? If not, pray forgive my mistake in navigation."
"You've got the right place," I inform him slowly, "I'm Silver Nosster, the leader of Truthseekers, and Anh-Elret of House Fander."
The last bit is of more significance to the man from the way his shoulders twitch. To be precise, it was my admitting to being of House Fander that surprised him. I daresay most of the locals would be familiar with the name, and even elsewhere in the Empire you'd likely find people reflexively turning their noses up at the mention of the 'traitor' Councillor's House, which as far as anyone knows is an empty, dead thing and has been for centuries.
"I...I'm sorry to doubt you, but House Fander was destroyed a very long time ago," he stands up straight with an apologetic smile that reveals a few shattered front teeth. Long since healed, but distracting to behold.
"It was," I agree, "Although I've no interest in recounting the tale to a stranger, if you have any doubts you can feel free to ask at Town Hall. In the meantime, you still have yet to justify barging in here, so if you'd oblige me with an explanation..."
The implied threat hangs between us like a ripe corpse on a dead tree, and the old man grimaces under the pressure. Faking a cough into his hand he tries to puff himself up to look a little more dignified, his facial muscles forced to relax into expressionlessness.
"As I mentioned I am a...former...merchant," Mr Lonsz starts illustrating a tale I don't really care to hear, "Only a modest business enterprise, ferrying local produce between Meteo, Lekhavel, and Rospli. I've been minding the counter and spiting the Merchant Prince for near on sixty years now, though it was never spectacularly profitable and especially so in the past decade.
...Is there a point to this story?
"Unfortunately," he continues unabated, "It has completely collapsed with the recent troubles, leaving me near enough to destitute. Combining the remainder of my assets and the recompense offered by the Empire was only enough to forestall my more pernicious creditors. Even with those assets, it would not amount to much, which brings me to you, serte. I am to understand you are looking to hire clerks for this Employment Bureau?"
Not where I thought that story was going. I was expecting a sorrowful plea or a desperate business proposition. Desiring to become a clerk, though? That's certainly...fortuitous. Either he really is desperate, or there's something more to the story here, because veteran merchants are invariably cut from the same cloth, and loathe the prospect of an honest day's work as subordinate to someone else.
By nature, they are always seeking an edge over the competition and will sell out their employers for a chance to promote their prospects to a new playing field at the first opportunity. It goes beyond simple cut-throat business practices, is the thing. The reliability and prestige of a Merchant is clearly quantified by Star Rating, after all, and it's no less serious to a Merchant than a Level is to a combatant or a Rank to a craftswoman. Each can be a Path to Truth, and thereby Ascension.
The Merchant Prince is living proof of that, supposedly, as a legendary scam artist, manipulator and all-around scoundrel. Hard to nail down an exact mythos for him as it happens, but the revulsion he engenders in Merchants is if nothing else universal. In my opinion, due to rank envy, but the last time I was so crass as to mention it out loud I was hounded for weeks by the offended lardball's lackeys until a rival, ironically, took advantage of his pet bodyguards being absent to...well, you get the idea by now.
But let's do this seriously, shall we? I have yet to regret hiring Morn, after all, and her temperament could be considered similar.
"Well, can I ask what exactly attracted you to work here?" I start with a simple if important question. Even without assets, any merchant who's lasted this long would still have contacts and contingencies. It might be understandable if they all fell through, but I doubt we were his first choice in any event.
"According to rumour," he explains calmly, "Truthseekers' notoriety is only second to the blinding radiance of The Unstained Reginlei. I shan't bore you with details you are familiar with already, but it is said that your guild accomplished a Historic Deed. When I saw the posting at Town Hall, I was suddenly reminded of it, and thought to pay a visit to judge for myself."
"I'd be interested to know how you came by that information," my brow furrows at the lack of discretion from the Pioneers' Alliance, "But there's no sense in denying it at this stage."
"Even if I knew the source of the rumour," Mr Lonsz's posture regains a bit of dignity, "I did not get to my former position through disloyalty. Please understand."
As the saying goes, everyone has a bottom line, "It is of no moment. What is your impression, then?"
The former merchant sweeps his experienced gaze across me, the Employment Bureau and shuts his eyes tight, weighing their worth and calculating to some unseen criteria, "I'd say that Truthseekers is akin to a lump of stone. Fairly solid, yet unrefined and lacking identity. In truth, I find it hard to believe you capable of such a profound feat, but I hear no lies from you."
A harsh evaluation, but fair to an extent. Matters of aesthetic and branding are ancillary to our ongoing business development plans. So, not to be ignored even if they are as yet undecided. Consultation with the others is still necessary, and I only have so much time in a day for everything. I can be forgiven for letting some things go unresolved up 'till now.
"Then is your mind changed about working for us?"
Still serene, Mr Lonsz gives a slight shake of his head, "If anything, it's better for me. Seeing how this place is seemingly a blank canvas, I can leave a distinctive mark should the guild's potential be realised. Like that, it would be the same as starting business anew. I am not getting any younger, after all, and with my legacy reduced to nil, perhaps being partly responsible for Truthseekers' future successes will be a fitting epitaph."
Despite the morbidity of the admission, neither his tone nor his expression waver an inch. As old as Mr Lonsz likely is, perhaps it isn't surprising that he's already been forced to come to terms with his mortality. A curious way of spending your last days, in my mind. Quite reasonable by Merrowan standards, however.
"Very well," I inhale deeply, "Allow me a moment to consider. Unless you have ought else to convince me of your suitability?"
"Little worth mentioning," Mr Lonsz sighs, forlorn, "My memory and experience is all I have left to my name. My only request is for a managerial position if one remains available; Though I would be quite capable of the day to day busy work, my expertise lies in overseeing others and so on."
"Understood. Please wait here for a moment while I speak to my colleague."
"As you wish."
"Not sure why you're asking me about this instead of Morn," Angelus eventually replies, "If you want to hire him, I say go ahead."
I give him a funny look, "After the past few days, you're 'not sure why'?"
"Well, yeah, there's that," Angelus rolls his eyes, "But this isn't my department, remember? If it was about hiring another Raid Lead or assigning me a lieutenant, I'd have more to say. As is, this is something to talk to Morn and Windy about."
"If they were here, I'd be asking them as well," I sigh, wanting a little more investment out of him than that, "Look, under other circumstances I'd ask Mr Lonsz to leave so we can have a proper discussion and give him an answer tomorrow or later. But we don't have a lot of time to waste, and the Employment Bureau needs to be operable ASAP - so even if it's risking their ire for ignoring them and rushing through the decision, I at least want to ask the one person in reach whose opinion I value."
"So I'm your alibi, huh?" he quirks a brow, amused, "Alright, alright, just because you asked so earnestly."
"Spare me the sarcasm."
Chuckling, Angelus takes his legs off the desk and leans forward seriously, "If you want to hire him, hire him."
"...That's exactly what you said before," I complain, exasperated.
"I'm serious, though," Angelus waves for me to calm down, "I trust your judgment, for what it's worth. Ehh, most of the time, anyway. See: Me still being here despite you having the social grace of a tap-dancing rhino. Without grilling them myself, I don't see anything wrong with his story from what you've relayed to me, so if you think it's a good hire, just do it."
"I'm touched," I reply with half-hearted irony.
Angelus spreads his arms out in a grand show of innocence, "What are friends for? Go tell him he's got a job; I'll be here if you need someone to puncture your ego and dole out half-baked advice cribbed from other peoples' novels. Believe me, I've got years of material for both."
"Don't push it."
Returning to the expectant Mr Lonsz, having taken my ease walking back so that the decision has ample time to form and settle in my head, I stop two paces before him and offer a handshake, "On behalf of Truthseekers, I am willing to offer you a job as the Chief of the Meteo Town Headquarters' Employment Bureau. Payment will be 12 Stone Silvers and 40 Stone Coppers weekly, and you will be required to start from a bell after dawn until the evening. Any further concessions can be negotiated as required, but we will defend you while you're on the premises should your creditors look for trouble here, and a room can be made available upstairs should you need it at no further cost, though your food and amenities are your responsibility for the time-being."
Pleasantly surprised, a crack in the man's composure appears fleetingly, "You'd take me into your home, just like that, on top of the rest?"
"To hear you talk of lost assets, I'd be surprised to hear you still have a house," I reason, nonplussed, "Even were it not the case, boarding here would be far more convenient and efficient for you as well as the guild. Mind, this is not a right I grant lightly, and you are still to be considered on probation in any case. Should you prove incompetent or a poor neighbour, you will be removed forthwith."
With no further hesitation, he clasps my outstretched hand with his bonier appendage, and I note with internalised curiosity that in addition to the wholly expected leatheriness of an elderly man's palms, are rough patches that can only be described as calluses. To still have them after all this time...
"I accept your terms, serte," he declares proudly.
A former merchant...hm?
