Chapter Three-Hundred Forty-Five

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Earl Paulte Heindarl Bulifinor Magnamtir if'Gofnar

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In the luxurious Guildmaster’s Quarters of the Calm Seas Guild, the Earl scowls, gripping his glass of brandy tightly.  A lesser elf would be pacing, tugging at his ears like he means to pull them off!  But he is no lesser elf, letting setbacks make him so distraught.

Jondar Helmsplitter may technically be whom the room is meant for, but he’s wise enough to be in his office right now instead of arguing with the elf who is bankrolling this venture about who gets to brood and drink fine spirits in the luxurious chamber.  Still, Paulte can’t let himself get too dejected.  He’s navigated harsher storms than this.  He will see the new sunrise, as he always does.

He takes a calming breath and eases his grip on the glass before it can shatter, forcing himself to go over the setbacks with a critical eye, instead of an invested one.  He’s played the emotions of enough people to know they can make fools of even the shrewdest negotiators.  If he’s going to plot a course through this dangerous reef, he needs a clear head.

It’s the same kind of thinking that got him to agree to miss Toja’s proposal.  If she had suggested putting his son in harm’s way before he arrived, he would have happily reported her to the Crown and seen her carapace cracked and the life slowly drain from her body.  But after seeing how his son has grown, and how he has the nerve to throw procedure in his face to slow him down… the lad has chosen a poor time to start playing politics.

It’s still regrettable, and he may still turn her in after all is said and done.  He’ll need a scapegoat for the incident, and he doesn’t doubt she’s trying to secure some bit of evidence to ensure he can’t.  He smirks as he imagines her secreting away the agreement with the wax seal on it.  As if he would use his actual signet ring.  Her ‘proof’ will only be proof of her forgery, when the time is right.

He takes a sip of his brandy, his spirits lifted by the image of her shocked face when he serves a warrant for her arrest and execution.  That, and the mounds of gold to be gained are potent incentives for him to see this stormy weather through.

If only his other problems were so simple to imagine besting.  The garrison will make it trickier for him to move directly, but he already has his pawns in place.  They will either do their work subtly, or be cast aside if they are discovered.  As far as anyone should be able to tell, he is putting his head down and working to get his guild up and running.  He’s securing supply contracts, negotiating for exclusive escort deals, and otherwise working to establish a foothold here.

The other guild is putting up a moderate fight, but there is only so much they can do when an Earl is backing a guild.  The Calm Seas must take care not to make too many waves, but barring a disaster, there is little the Slim Chance can do to outright keep him from getting established.

The dungeon is proving to be its own barricade to progress as well.  He’s spent no small amount of time here researching it, as well as dungeons in general.  He’s hardly an inspector, but he has some small understanding of how a young dungeon should behave, now.  While he is surprised to hear none of the guild members have died yet, it would seem there are other ways to discourage a party than the threat of death.  Or at least the overt threat thereof.  The adventurers have been complaining about the constant stares from the ravens, of being unsettled at how they are always watching, oddly silent.  With the addition of the dire ravens, even without any hostile movements, the adventurers are rushing through whatever delves they have planned, skipping opportunities for other gains and withering under the gaze of the large birds.

They’re not failing any of their quests, but when adventurers from one guild will go above and beyond, while the other will do exactly what the contract stipulates and nothing more, buyers will of course flock to the one that offers more.  It also doesn’t help that, while gathering and escort quests are the lifeblood of most guilds, the gatherers here seem able to handle themselves in some parts of the blasted dungeon!  Quests into the lava labyrinth are still numerous and lucrative, but the low effort quests that usually abound simply don’t exist with Thedeim!

If he had known, he would have ensured he brought more crafters to establish his own crafting offshoot guild, but he’s well behind in something like that.  He could try to force his way in, but fighting on that many financial fronts would be a fool’s errand.  The window for an easy profit is long past.  He can’t go throwing coin overboard, thinking he can chum the waters now.

He already has a shark he needs to deal with anyway.

His scowl begins to reassert itself as he considers the elf that appears to be his true foe in all this: Miller.  He can think of no other reason why little Rezlar is suddenly able to swim the harsh tides of politics, filling his sails with loopholes and technicalities to avoid capsizing in the rough seas of the Earl’s displeasure.  He’d feel pride in his son if he wasn’t certain there was someone else actually at the helm of his ship.  That deft hand at the wheel can belong to none other than Miller.

He’s surely guiding the dungeon, too.  It’s too simple minded, too young to be subtle in its observations, but the adventurers prove how effectively one can be unbalanced simply by knowing someone is watching.  He needs to undermine Miller’s meddling… but how?  It’s not like he can just ask the dungeon to stop staring.

Hmm… or can he?  If Miller can manipulate it, why can’t he?  It’s even classified as Cooperative and has a Voice.  If he can have elves, dwarves, beastkin, and more dancing to his tune, why not a dungeon?

He smirks and finishes his drink, feeling motivated as he strides to his travel trunk.  The enchantments to make it able to hold so much more than it should cost him a pretty coin, but it’s worth it in times like this.  He may not be a proper adventurer, but he does have a fine set of chainmail for the occasions he needs to project physical power.  His best rapier easily slips into its place on his belt, and his best hat soon finds itself upon his head.  The color and bright plume make it seem only a fashion accessory, and he supposes it technically is.  The metal band hidden inside has all the protection of a fine enchanted circlet, with the cloth and feather providing excellent camouflage.  He laces up his best boots and checks himself in the mirror before making his way to Jondar’s office.

The stout elf looks surprised, but doesn’t voice his questions as he stands and bows.  “Ah, Earl if’Gofnar.  You look ready for adventure.”

“I suppose I am, at that.  Have you visited the dungeon itself yet?”

Jondar quirks an eyebrow and slowly shakes his head.  “No, Earl.  I’ve been busy with paperwork.”

“By now, I hope you’re down to things that can be delayed for a few hours.  It occurs to me that the dungeon has a Voice.  Perhaps the staring the adventurers are reporting is because the dungeon simply doesn’t know us yet.  If we introduce ourselves, things will go much more smoothly.”

Jondar doesn’t look especially convinced, but he doesn’t argue.  “Let me get my armor and axe then.  It should only take me a few minutes, unless you wanted a larger escort?”

The Earl shakes his head.  “No, it would be wasted on a dungeon.  I don’t expect to delve, but one must dress appropriately for negotiations.”  Jondar clearly doesn’t have a head for deals, but he still has enough wits to not talk back.  True to his word, it only takes him a few minutes to get into his heavy plate armor and carry his large single-head battle axe.

The Earl’s carriage has ample room for the two of them, even with the armor and axe of the stout elf, and as the sun sits at its peak, the two exit in front of the gates to the manor of Thedeim.  The Earl strides confidently as Jondar follows, his gaze always moving and looking for threats.  It’s plain to the Earl there are no threats here, but for an experienced adventurer like Jondar, old habits are the ones that let him grow old.

Paulte pays him no mind as he speaks plainly, as the reports say one should if they wish to speak with the dungeon.  “Dungeon Thedeim!  I am the Earl Paulte Heindarl Bulifinor Magnamtir if'Gofnar.  We need to talk.”  His declaration earns a few glances from the other delvers around, but they quickly return to their own business.  It seems speaking to the dungeon directly really isn’t that unusual here.

When a rat crawls out from a clump of grass, the Earl fights his disgust and resists the urge to draw his rapier and dispatch the vermin.  Such creatures should consider themselves lucky to drown in the bilges of his merchant ships, but he needs to talk to this one, at least for now.

“What’s up?” it asks, its vocabulary simple and crude.  Now the Earl has to fight the predatory grin looking to establish itself on his face.  This will be easy.

Paulte motions for Jondar to explain, which he does without even sighing.  “The Earl here has been generous and kind enough to finance me setting up a guild here, but my adventurers are… unnerved by all the staring.”

The rat tilts its head in confusion for a few moments.  “Why?”

Paule deftly steps in.  “Because staring is rude, young dungeon.  You’re trying to learn about all these new people, aren’t you?” he questions, probing and aiming to guide it to give more answer than it realizes.

The rodent still looks a bit confused, but slowly nods his head.  “Yeah.  We were worried they wouldn’t make any mana.”

Paulte smiles wide.  “Of course they make mana for you!  They’re adventurers!  That’s what they do!  Who would put a silly idea like that in your head, that they wouldn’t make mana?”

The rat looks nervous, taking a few long seconds before replying.  “He said I shouldn’t say.  He just said the new people might be invaders, not delvers.”

“Oh?  He who?  Perhaps an older elf with ashen skin?”

The rat’s eyes widen and the Earl knows he’s got him.  “Ah, I see.  Well, don’t listen to everything he says, hmm?  If you stop staring at the new adventurers, they’ll make you even more mana, you’ll see.”

“I… guess I’ll try to explain that to the Boss.  Are you gonna delve?” asks the rat, trying to change the subject to something it clearly understands better.

“Unfortunately, I’m a busy elf.  But if the other adventurers are able to more easily delve, maybe I’ll have some free time to try my own hand at it,” he smoothly deflects, hammering into the stupid rat that the best way to get more mana will be to let his adventurers delve without such harsh scrutiny!  The rodent looks unhappy about that and simply turns to vanish into the clump of grass it exited from.

Earl if’Gofnar smiles before turning to leave, Jondar at his heel.  Neither can see the rat sitting in its shortcut, grinning wide as it watches them go.