Crypters

The oppressive silence of Baron Almer's audience chamber lay like a leaden weight on Tenvic's chest, his own shaky breathing filling his ears as he shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other. The solitary, high-backed throne, marked with the stark white crown and blood red field of Hellar's royal crest, smelled of scroll-ink and weapon oil; the only other source of color in the chamber was a long, red rug which ran from the double doors where Tenvic had entered to the foot of the throne-steps where he now stood. The rug showed no signs of wear-- was it new, or were so few petitioners granted audience that it had never faded from use? Tenvic noticed the matted patches left by his nervous shifting. He felt like a clot in some enormous, stony vein.

Inside a black-dyed leather pouch slung across his shoulder, a tightly-bound parchment scroll held Tenvic's most fervent hope; his last hope, really. It was a Writ of Endorsement for the Obren Crypter's Guild, a group which did not yet exist. The purpose of this meeting with the Baron was for Tenvic to propose the creation of such a group, and an appointment for himself as Guildmaster. The document was thorough, having been drafted jointly by Tenvic and a high-ranking scribe from the Baron's own Scholar's Guild, an imperious man for whose services Tenvic had spent his last handful of silver.

At the end of this meeting, if the Baron thought Tenvic capable and prepared for the role, he would add his Signet, the seal of his House and the symbol of his authority, to the waiting space left conspicuously blank at the top of the document, and Tenvic's life as the Master of a Crypter's Guild would finally begin. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted the freedom to explore the ancient, enigmatic structures whose enchanted seals left them frozen in time. The Crypts were the greatest mystery of the Modern Era, the last remnants of the long-bygone Age of Fire. Within the kingdom of Hellar, the only way to attain that freedom was by royal decree.

With a deep breath and closed eyes, Tenvic summoned up the last three nights of candlelit study and deliberation. He banished his anxious memories of rejection in Crossfen and Dunnick March. This time, he would not fail. He couldn't. Obren was the last of the three fiefs in the kingdom with no official Crypter's Guild; if he left this meeting without a sealed Writ, the only choice left to him would be whether to give up on his dreams, or begin exploring Crypts illegally, a crime against the crown punishable by execution.

He couldn't help but jump when the small door at the room's far corner unlocked with a heavy metallic sound and swung open. Three figures strode through the door and onto the platform which overlooked the cavernous chamber, walking to take their places at the throne and its smaller, attendant seats at a pace that implied a lack of either time or patience.

Walking in front was a man whose black hair and beard were cropped and combed in a clean, angular style popular with the Southern nobility; Baron Almer was the spitting image of his cousin, the King. His advisors would hear Tenvic's proposal and offer counsel, but ultimately, the Baron was the man who Tenvic needed to convince.

The taller man, a looming figure in well-kept plate armor, was broad-shouldered, with an angular, clean-shaven face and the rigid posture of a lifelong soldier. Tenvic's research told him that this was Lieutenant Nightus, who some still called the Common Knight. The man had been granted holdings two decades ago, but to those in Obren who remembered a time before the Pasture War, he was still, and always would be, common. He was likely here to provide the military perspective on Tenvic's proposal; he would want to hear that Tenvic knew what he was doing on the battlefield, and wouldn't get any bystanders killed.

Finally, a thin woman in fine, off-white robes took her place at the Baron's left hand, peering down at Tenvic through octagonal spectacles. She made Tenvic nervous. The Baron's reputation as a cautious, skeptical man with a passion for scholarly pursuits made him an easy factor to prepare for; the necessity of a military presence to sign off on an armed and armored guild like the one Tenvic was here to propose meant that he knew to plan for Nightus, or some other officer, as well. But this stranger was an unknown factor-- was she a ranking noblewoman, here to provide political insight? A reeve, ensuring that Tenvic's exploits would take place within the laws of Obren? She was dressed like a scholar, but she bore no guild insignia. Why was she here?

"Tenvic," the Baron began, his booming voice a good match for the enormous, unadorned chamber.

"Your grace," Tenvic responded, dropping to one knee and crossing both arms in front of his bowed head in a sign of deference appropriate for the Baron's station and peerage. "Thank you for meeting with me today."

Baron Almer nodded shallowly in acknowledgement of the formalities, his face unreadable. Leaning slightly forwards from his slate throne, he gestured for Tenvic to rise. "My advisors and I are here to determine if your Guild would represent a net good for the Barony of Obren." He bridged his hands together in a contemplative gesture. "It's as simple, and as complicated, as that. We are each going to ask you a handful of questions. There are no right answers, we just need to know how you think and what your intentions are with the formation of this Guild." Tenvic nodded once, eager and attentive.

"Good. First question, then: what is the goal of a Crypter's Guild?"

Tenvic's research and preparation leapt to his aid so readily, it was like reading off a script. "To reclaim the history and technology preserved within the Crypts," he responded. "And to secure resources that could be of use to the Barony." Almer's scholarly reputation included a well-known obsession with the forging of true steel, a technology lost to the Fire Age. Most steel items intact within the three Continents were either weapons retrieved from Crypts, or unused, well-maintained heirlooms of some of the Northern houses.

The Baron's face flickered from one unreadable expression to another, but he nodded once in confirmation. "And what is the best use of those resources?"

It was a heavy question, and not one for which Tenvic had prepared. He had expected more interrogation about his qualifications than his motives or personal philosophy. After a long moment, he responded hesitantly: "The Guild wouldn't decide on that, your grace. Whatever you think would be best-" Tenvic was cut off by a dismissive gesture from the Baron.

"I know it would be my choice," the Baron interrupted impatiently, his brow tightening as his expression bent downwards into a distinct frown. "And I will make it based upon my own priorities. I'm asking what you would do with the items you find there, if it were up to you. What would be the best use of those resources?"

Despite being a question for which Tenvic had not prepared, it was a pretty good one. He knew what likely would happen to the items he found in the Crypts-- any magic weapons or armor would likely go to ranking members of the militia, any scrolls or documents to the Scholar's Guild; potions to the Alchemists, spirits to the Brewers, and the rest to Curio traders, all in exchange for ducats to fill the baronial coffers. But what should be done with them?

Or, more pressingly, Tenvic realized as the Baron's question hung unanswered in the air of the vast chamber, what would the Baron think was right? What answer was he looking for? Tenvic quickly reviewed what he knew of the Baron. He was cautious-- would he want the items stored in case they might help mitigate an emergency? He was scholarly-- would he want the items disassembled, their vast but finite usefulness sacrificed in the name of research? Pressed for time and operating more on instinct than analysis, Tenvic responded with what he genuinely believed to be true, and hoped the Baron felt the same.

"The best use for any resource is to do the most good, for the most people." After only a brief moment's hesitation, he added with a sheepish smile, "It's as simple, and as complicated, as that."

Baron Almer's frown disappeared then, and for the first time, his thick brows seemed to unknit. He didn't quite smile, not really, but his eyes tightened at their edges as if he might. Then, slowly, he grew contemplative once again, his brow re-knitting as he leaned back in his slate throne. His third question did not fill the room as the other two had; this time, Tenvic had to be the one to lean in as the Baron asked, his eyes not quite focused on Tenvic:

"Are you a good person?"

Heavy silence settled in the chamber once again. Unsurprisingly, this was another question for which Tenvic did not have any talking points prepared. The rug gained more of those matted footprints as Tenvic pondered the request.

"I think..." he began, then faltered. He started again.

"I think most people think they are good people," he hedged. "But the people who are really certain they are good people... are some of the worst people. But also, of the few people who think they're bad people, I think, probably, more than half of them are right, because there's not a lot of other reasons to think that."

Tenvic became unsure whether his rambling answer was better than the tense silence that preceded it; he took a deep breath, and tried one more time.

"I try to be better every day than I was the day before. And, if you agree to this proposal, I think I'll be a much better person tomorrow." A pause. "More able to do good, that is. And more like who I'm supposed to be, I think."

Despite the rambling answer to his ponderous question, the Baron was not distant or distracted; he nodded at every word of Tenvic's answer, clearly attentive and thoughtful. His face changed yet again, displaying a third unreadable expression. If he had been carved into the slate throne, he wouldn't have given away any less of how he felt.

Sensing that the Baron was done with his questions, Lieutenant Nightus stepped forward, hesitantly taking the reigns of the interview. In a deep, resonant voice, he introduced himself and explained that he needed to know whether Tenvic could think strategically, and make sound tactical decisions.

"How will you select your companions?" The armored man began. Glad to return to questions for which he had prepared, Tenvic recited the answer he knew to be correct, based on his readings from The Iron Science and Walking the Walls, two military manuals his research taught him were the foundational training texts for officers of the Obren Militia.

"To ensure a secure formation and sufficient maneuverability in the field," he began confidently, "I will select disciplined infantry fighters, preferably veterans who know how to follow orders and hold a line. I intend to utilize a phalanx formation in most combat situations, so skilled spearmen or other polearm users will be my first priority during recruitment, to be flanked by myself and other archers or crossbowmen."

In contrast with Baron Almer, Lieutenant Nightus' unhelmed face held no secrets. To Tenvic's surprise, the man seemed unimpressed with the answer, the lines of age deepening on his face as he frowned.

"I see," Nightus responded curtly, giving no indication of what he disliked about Tenvic's answer before asking his next question: "When training your guild members, what is more important: enhancing your strengths or shoring up weaknesses?"

Still thrown from the Lieutenant's muted response, Tenvic searched his memory once again, and found that this question, too, had an answer in the texts he had spent the last three nights researching. "Training what you already excel at can earn you faster victories, but not more," he practically recited; "the key to bringing more men home from each battle is ensuring that you train hardest on the things that are hardest to train." Thinking about it for a moment, he added, in his own words: "There's a reason you'll never hear a strength described as 'fatal.' Flaws are what get you killed."

Tenvic felt pretty satisfied with his answer; it was well-researched, and to his own ear, fairly well-spoken besides. The Baron looked convinced, as did the bespectacled woman to his left. But Lieutenant Nightus' look of disapproval deepened, his frown twisting further downwards as his brow dropped and crinkled in the middle. Stress lines creased his tanned forehead as he worked wordlessly to formulate his next question.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" the Baron asked, his stone-carved expression showing a hint of confusion and impatience. "The boy's answers sound like what I might hear from one of your fellow officers. His tactics sound disciplined and professional. What's the problem?"

Nightus let out a frustrated breath before responding. "That's just it, your grace. His answers match my own thinking, my own training, exactly. He gave the same answers I would have."

The Baron leaned further towards the officer, wordlessly raising one eyebrow to imply he didn't understand the problem. Nightus took one deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as he gathered his thoughts. Turning back to Tenvic, he explained:

"It is my understanding that you apprenticed under a master Crypter up in Gildfen," he began. Tenvic nodded, stiffly, once. He tried not to fidget any more or less than he had been before the question.

"Well," Nightus continued, "I was hoping that these questions would shine some light on how your experience has made you more qualified in the field than the average soldier. But your answers have been so in line with the ones I might have given, I am starting to wonder if it's the best idea to bring in a new Guild to do what we do, but with less direct responsibility to the throne." There was a tense pause. "What I'm getting at is, the Baron could just as easily give Crypting rights to a specialized military squadron-- we already have the training and resources to do everything you've described in combat. What makes a specialized Guild more qualified than my men?"

Only now that it was spelled out for him did Tenvic realize what a mistake it was to draw so heavily on those military texts. He could see the Baron processing the possibility of a military Crypter's Guild, running some mental calculus on how much cheaper and faster it would be to empower his already-trusted officers or guardsmen to do the job that Tenvic wanted so badly. Acting quickly, Tenvic once again relied on his research; not the focused, candlelit nights of preparation for this meeting, but the dozens of guides, manuals, and histories on the subject of Crypting to which he had dedicated all his free time for the last five years.

"How many of your men are hunters, Lieutenant?"

Nightus paused, clearly unsure where the question was going. "Probably half of them have hunting experience," he responded slowly. "More than most standing armies, since the militia isn't full time for more than a few of us."

Tenvic nodded. "How many of them can treat a wound?"

"Field dressing?" Nightus began; "all of them, we've made sure of that. But surgery, or herblore, or anything like that, probably less than a tenth."

"How many are alchemists?"

Nightus laughed, shrugging off the question. "None, likely. Are you saying all of these skillsets are necessary for the job?"

His tone was amused, but Tenvic nodded seriously. "In her manual on Crypting, Past the Stone Iris, Master Crypter Gaite Smythe wrote that a Crypter is a dozen things: a Historian, who explores the past in person; a Burglar, who only steals from the dead; a Hunter, whose quarry is guardians carved from stone and monsters awakened from slumber. The list goes on; Warrior is on there, but it comes in dead last.

"I have no doubt that your men would make better soldiers than myself or anyone I manage to recruit," Tenvic admitted. "But they would be lacking in a dozen other skillsets, so you would be risking their lives on a dozen perils that they haven't trained for. Unless you have a few strong, disciplined soldiers who happen to dabble in Trapfinding, Alchemy, Cryptography, Survivalism, and Big Game Hunting, I am still your best option."

Nightus nodded slowly, taking a long moment to think about the response.

"You have all of those skillsets?" The Baron cut in, surprising Tenvic.

"I have experience in all of them," Tenvic hedged, "but Trapfinding and Alchemy are my specialties." Again, he struggled to neither fidget nor stand suspiciously still.

Nightus nodded, apparently satisfied with Tenvic's answers, and signaled for the final seated figure to proceed with her questions. The robed woman, who had not yet spoken a word, stood from her seat and descended one throne-step before introducing herself.

"My name is Sira," she said formally. "I am the Guildmaster, and current sole member, of the Obren Enchanter's Guild. I am here to ensure that you understand the dangers and rewards presented by the magical nature of the Crypts."

Tenvic's eyes widened; he knew that scholars throughout Hellar had worked towards re-discovering the process of item Enchantment for years, but the existence of a Guild dedicated to the practice implied either great progress or great optimism on the subject. His curiosity and his nerves rose in roughly equal amounts as he bowed graciously.

Nodding, the Guildmaster presented her first question: "Let's start with my area of expertise. What do you know about Intentional Infusion?"

A book question. Good. Tenvic took a moment to gather his knowledge on the subject; then, remembering his fumble with Nightus' questions, he took a second moment to consider the intention of the question; was it meant to reveal his knowledge, his thought process, or his character? Cautiously, he began with the basics:

"Intentional Infusion is the process of teaching an item how to carry out a task through repeated demonstration and reinforcement. Essentially, infusing it with your intent. Hence the name." He spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to gauge the enchantress's reaction as he revealed his knowledge. "It requires some complex set of materials and ritual actions, but what those are, I couldn't begin to guess. It was a process known to many before the Fire Age, but by the Age of Lords, the process was only known to a few organizations, whose secrecy on the subject eventually caused the knowledge to be lost to the world."

She nodded. "Have you ever used an Infused item?" It was a harder question than she realized.

"Yes," Tenvic responded, even more hesitant with this answer than the one before. "But it was a weapon with which I had very little training, so I wasn't completely sure how much difference the Infusion made."

If she found the answer vague or suspicious, the woman gave no sign of it. "Were you to find an Infused item in the Crypts, what would you do with it?"

It was another question which presented Tenvic with a bigger dilemma than Lady Sira knew; when drafting the Writ, Tenvic had laid out extremely generous terms, by which the Baron would keep the lion's share of resources found in the Crypts, with very little guaranteed re-investment of materials to the Guild itself. Faced with the open-ended question, Tenvic had the opportunity to present a rationale for better terms; the only question was, would he risk over-extending his position by asking for more than the bare minimum?

"I would bring the item to the Baron or his Treasurer, to be used however he deems fit," Tenvic responded. "Unless, like the Baron's earlier question, you don't mean what will I do with it, but what would I do with it were I given the decision. If that's what you mean, then I have another text to quote: in Routner's On the Practice of Crypting, he observes that, of the eight Guilds recorded in his study, the ones with the highest survival rates were the ones that prioritized re-investment of Infused items back to Guild members. His explanation of this trend is that the Crypts are built with supernatural defenses, and the best way to ensure survival was to make sure that Crypters had supernatural items to match."

It was a simple, reasonable response to the question, and he had backed it with a trustworthy, scholarly source; still, Tenvic's heart raced at the audacity of asking to keep the very resource he was promising to acquire for the Baron, whose stone-carved face remained characteristically indecipherable.

Lady Sira asked a handful more questions about Alchemy and Linguistics, which Tenvic answered with ease. Her questions seemed to be more aimed at determining his competence than his motives; fortunately, her areas of expertise were all subjects which Tenvic could discuss for hours. When her questions were all asked, she returned to her seat, gesturing to the Baron to reclaim the conversation.

After several deep breaths, during which the room's heavy silence seemed to stretch each moment to an era, the Baron finally spoke again, remaining seated for his questions, unlike his advisors.

"Do you know why the Crypts were made?" His voice was softer now than before.

Tenvic shook his head. "It's still a mystery," he responded. "There has been a lot of speculation, but none of the explanations make sense of their construction. If they were for storing artifacts and documents, it explains why they are so well-protected, but not why those protections often include monsters and traps that have the potential to destroy the stored items. If they were used to test monster hunters, as Hopser claims, it's not clear why they are locked to a different flow of time until they are opened. And who would bury collections of magical items instead of just using them? They don't have symbolic value, like coins or gems-- their value is in their usefulness. Why keep them locked away?"

The silence returned after his response as the Baron seemed to consider the implications of the explanation. Another deep breath, another question:

"Do you know what soldiers become without a war to fight?"

Tenvic couldn't guess at the intention of the question. He thought for a long moment, too long a moment really, before the silence pressured an answer out of him.

"...Quartermasters?" Tenvic asked with little confidence.

"Mercenaries," the somber Baron corrected, his eyes downcast to the red rug and the steps leading away from his throne. "Teach a man to fight, equip him for a war, then put the banners away when peace is won, and the man doesn't stop fighting. He just finds a new direction to point his spear. It's all he knows."

Nightus, an open book in plate armor, cast his eyes downward and shifted nervously at the Baron's tone and implications.

"I worry about this proposal of yours," the Baron admitted, watching Tenvic with skeptical intensity. "I worry that, by sealing your writ with the sigil of my house, I would be agreeing to a dangerous thing: the use of my resources and, more importantly, my name and authority as Baron, to train a group of strangers in advanced methods of combat and burglary. I understand that those skills are necessary for the work, and I don't question their importance in pursuit of what lies hidden behind those stone gates. What concerns me is how else those skills might be put to use. A soldier with no war becomes a mercenary... what does a Crypter become once the Crypting is done?"

Tenvic shifted uncomfortably at the weight of truth behind the question. The Baron was onto something-- also mentioned in On the Practice of Crypting, Routner had noted that some of the greatest Crypters in history were pirates, smugglers, or con artists before, during, or after their Crypting careers. Tenvic suspected this had less to do with some moral calculus and more to do with overlapping skills needed for each job, but the connection was there. He breathed in to reply, but the Baron continued:

"It's a poorly-kept secret that the Obren Militia already has its hands full with one Thieves' Guild," he admitted bitterly. Lieutenant Nightus' shifting made way for an unnatural stillness, as if he was trying very hard not to shift at all. "I want to agree to your petition, I really do. But how can I be sure that in doing so, I don't create a new guild of dangerous men who consider themselves above the law?"

Carefully, Tenvic gathered his thoughts on the matter. He would need to bring all his planning, charm, and acumen to bear in order to convince this grim man of his good intentions. But, when he breathed in to respond, the Baron gestured tersely for his silence.

"It's not a question for you, not really. Nothing you say could quite convince me, I'm afraid-- not because you aren't convincing, or because you have said something wrong in this short meeting. It's just not something that words can help with." One end of his mouth turned up in a wry expression, equal parts apology and insistence. "The question was more for my own consideration, I'm afraid. I can't know if you are trustworthy from a conversation, only from your actions. Which means I can't know if your Guild will become something dangerous until it's just a bit too late.

"I suppose it felt necessary to say out loud, not so that you could respond, but so that you could know your standing as we begin this process." Tenvic's ears perked up-- begin the process? Did that mean he would approve the proposal?

"I am going out on a limb by trusting you to start this Guild, but I will be keeping a watchful eye on your progress. And you had better choose the very best Obren has to offer as your companions, because if I start to think that your Guild represents more potential for harm then good, I will not hesitate to have you replaced. Know that I can only afford a very short leash for this kind of operation. Do you understand?"

Tenvic nodded eagerly, mouth still shut. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing-- some part of him expected something to go suddenly wrong, now that he was so close to his goal.

"Good," the Baron responded. "Then congratulations, Tenvic. You're the new Master of the Obren Crypter's Guild. Sira will write up a new writ based on a plan of reinvestment of Infused items, and Nightus will check in on you periodically to ensure you're making progress." The brusque nobleman and his two advisors stood from their seats and walked briskly out the same door through which they had entered.

It was only after their footsteps had faded far away down an unseen hallway that Tenvic allowed himself to feel everything he had held in through the meeting. He felt the joy first: his dream was finally coming true. Somewhere along the way, though he hadn't realized it consciously, he had stopped believing that it would happen. He had been running on momentum and denial for so long, it almost hurt to feel the unexpected joy of becoming who he had told himself he was. He laughed, audibly, a surprising sound that leapt unbidden from his chest.

Then came the fear. The fear that had been his traveling companion on the long road from Dunnick March; the fear that had accompanied him through those candlelit nights of study; the fear that he had barely managed to suppress during the meeting. His laugh turned sour, making way for a sudden, choking sob as he felt crushing pressure fill the room.

The familiar, leaden weight of unwieldy truth settled onto Tenvic's chest once again as he wondered whether the skeptical Baron, or his studious advisors, had seen through his lies. Could they know that he was bluffing? That, despite years of passion and study, he had never set foot inside of a Crypt? Might they have seen his anxious shuffling for what it was, the sign of a guilt-riddled man who wished, more than anything, to live the history he had fabricated for himself?

It wasn't like him to lie. But after a long string of rejections from every Crypter's Guild in Hellar, he had had no choice but to found a new Guild. Surely, they wouldn't know that his Journeyman papers were forged; surely, they wouldn't know that the man he claimed as his Master had never met him. He had read every book or scroll on Crypting ever made public in Hellar. How different could the practice be from the study?

It took several minutes for Tenvic to wrestle his fear back underneath a careful façade. When at last his breath came easy and quiet, he straightened back up, wiped his eyes, and strode across the blood-red rug to leave the stone chamber behind.