Circling Vultures

Truth be told, Archmund wasn’t entirely on board with the plan.

He thought “My spoiled son is making excessive demands, so please agree to my slightly-less-excessive demands” was a stupid excuse.

Maybe it was smart on a level Archmund wasn’t considering. Maybe the Lord Granavale’s actual plan was to seem like a sentimental fool and so get slightly better terms from his desired benefactors. Or maybe it was just stupid.

But that was on paper. For the first time, Archmund got to watch his father work.

“When I was twenty, a Dungeon opened in Mistvalley County. When I was twenty-five, one opened in Greenwater. And when I was thirty, one opened in Stonepeak. And do you know how all of those places are doing today?” he asked, sweeping his hand grandly across their sitting room at the gathered audience. There was Mother Cera from the local Church, somehow representing the entirety of the clergy, a slick, slimy, and impeccably dressed merchant from the Venato family, a roughshod adventurer representing the adventurers’ guilds, and a young boy slightly older than Archmund, who wore all black, his blond hair just barely visible under his hood, who represented House Omnio.

“I made my name in Mistvalley,” said the adventurer. Archmund actually hadn’t caught his name, which bothered him. In a book from his past life, How to Win Friends and Influence People, one of the first and foremost tips for getting power over people was to remember and know their names. “And Greenwater was bustling, lively, doing great when I left.”

“And how long ago was that?” asked Lord Granavale. “Ten years? Twenty?”

The adventurer scoffed. “Look, I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“Perhaps your travels don’t bring you to the same place twice, but mine do,” the Lord Granavale said. “I was there too in Mistvalley, seeking to make my fortune. I helped the push to the Lowest Tier, over the course of two years, but I saw Mistvalley transform from a quiet farming village to yes, a bustling, lively town. And with that came drunkenness, debauchery, increased appetites for lust, and with all of that, crime. All to support hundreds of adventurers, most of whom were far more concerned with adventure, stretched out over the course of decades, when a skilled team of ten heroes or nobles could have conquered Mistvalley Dungeon in a year.”

“Surely that is an inevitable result of any economic boom,” said the Venato merchant. “Please, milord, consider the opportunities you’re turning down in the long-term—”

“Do you know what Mistvalley is like today?” said the Lord Granavale.

The question hung in the air.

“It’s dying,” said the Omnio representative quietly. He was gazing rather intently at his fingernails.

“What? No. No, of course not!” said the adventurer.

“The Mistvalley Dungeon was fruitful for the better part of ten to twenty years, as I recall,” said the Lord Granavale. “Enough for a generation of young men and women to view dungeon delving as the only career worth doing. An entire generation gave up plowshares for swords in order to chase the glory of the Mistvalley Dungeon. Except that Dungeon is now dwindling, and it’s only a matter of time before it is sealed forever.”

“A job well done,” said the adventurer.

“The Goldwood Dungeon was sealed in a matter of months,” said the Lord Granavale, “with no hint of adventurer involvement.”

“I see your concern,” said the Venato merchant, smoothly, nary a change in his voice. Archmund wondered whether his unflappable confidence was genuine or if it was an attempt to salvage the situation. “Without the Dungeon, the young lack local opportunity or the skill to cultivate their lands. The previous economic core of Mistvalley, the orchards, is a dying industry, and I must confirm, as you already surely know, that trade with Mistvalley has been steadily dwindling as the Dungeon’s spoils lessen.”

“What kind of lord are you?” scoffed the adventurer. His breath smelled of hangover. “Thinking about ten, twenty years in the future when you’ve got a gaping hole in the ground today that monsters are pouring out of. Your people need us. You need us. Let us at them!”

“I’ll let the Dungeon ravage my lands before letting a single adventurer claim that Granavale Lands are ripe for the picking!”

“Father, no—”

“Lord Granavale, that is beyond the realm of possibility—”

Mercy spoke at the same time as Archmund. Both fell silent.

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Mercy recomposed himself. “You’ve made your point clear, I think, Lord Granavale. The Houses Mistvalley and Greenwater are already in talks for deeper alliance with Omnio given their decline in fortunes over the past decades. You walk a narrow line indeed.”

“My son is all I have left of my family. The least I can do is assure that he has the future I’ve prepared for him.”

“Oh, come on! You’re telling me you’re going to listen to these brats—”

“I am Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio, and I speak with the full authority of the Imperial Family,” said the boy in black. “And, given how this discussion has gone south so quickly, I hereby revoke the Imperial Charter of the Adventurer’s Guild to operate in Granavale County.”

“You’ll lose on appeal!”

“After which point, the easy pickings of the upper levels will have been conquered, and the potential for Granavale to become a Dungeon Town shall be lost. House Omnio will be lending aid to House Granavale to clear the upper levels of the Granavale Dungeon, with further negotiations to come,” said Mercy.

Mercy’s full name tickled Archmund’s brain. It was clearly Latinate in a way that seemed far too intentional to be coincidence — he could excuse the name “Omnio” as a matter of linguistic convergence, but this was very obviously a Latin construction. And yet he had no idea what it meant.

“I’m afraid, good adventurer,” said Archmund, “that you have overstayed your welcome at this negotiation. We’d love it if you stayed for dinner, though!”

And he gave his most innocent smile.

The adventurer gave him a condescending look. “You’ll regret this,” he said. “All of you.”

And he stormed out, servants directing him.

“The Church,” said Mother Cera, who had been silently watching the proceedings, “can provide as much aid as needed for ongoing defensive measures.”

“Cera, that is most generous of you,” said the Lord Granavale.

“It is no matter,” said Mother Cera. “We love Granavale as much as you do and would hate to see it suffer.”

“I do wish to stress,” said Mercy, “that the support of House Omnio is, at this current point in time, unconditional. You will have our aid without being obligated to our House in any way.”

“What are you getting out of this?” Archmund said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why would you just help us?” Archmund said. He decided to play up the innocent child act. “Ever since mother died, lots of people have offered to help, but they wanted her jewelry or our second house or our cows. If the Monsters got free and started killing us all, the Church would get killed too, but why are you helping us?”

“A stable Empire helps us all,” said Mercy, though his voice was a bit uneven. “And, well, I assume you know of the First Salvage Rights. Dungeon loot belongs to those who take it.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” said the Lord Granavale, stepping in gently, “Could I get that promise of the aid being unconditional in writing?”

Mercy swallowed. “Okay. But if you think this is a trick you know it doesn’t matter, right? If we really wanted to hurt you we could just declare it void to the courts.”

“Which would be plenty of time for us to strengthen our position one way or another,” said the Lord Granavale. “House Omnio understands how the game is played, and I would be stupid not to play it as well. You understand.”

“I share your trepidations, my lord,” said Mother Cera. “What good is staving off an eventual union with Omnio decades from now if it’s achieved by submitting to them today?”

“Need I remind you that we are all loyal subjects of the Empire,” said Mercy crossly. “And don’t think your blatant attempts to curry favor for the Church are going unseen.”

“Allow an old crone her jests,” said Mother Cera. “But don’t you worry about the Church. The High Priestesses and the Hierophants won’t want to dedicate any forces if they can help it, and they’ll bitch and moan until we’re all dead and Monsters are at the Holy City. But while I may be no spring chicken, I can bring plenty to bear when it comes to warding against a Dungeon.”

Negotiations went smoothly after that. The Venato merchant had few complaints: “There’s always money to be made. For, ah, sophisticated customers, we can connect you with Gem appraisers and purchasers of high-value goods.”

The Lord Granavale wheedled a promise out of him to work through local merchants to keep the economy flowing, and unsurprisingly he agreed, no doubt seeking to make as many connections as possible.

It seemed everyone, sans the adventurers errant, would leave the negotiation satisfied.

“And one more thing, if you may,” said the Lord Granavale to Mercy.

“What?”

“My son has had awfully few opportunities to speak with children his age. Would you be so kind as to spend some time with him before you depart?”

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Archmund’s Journal:

Year 0, Day 95 (part 2)

Push-ups: see previous entry

Magic: it’s still lit

Writing this in the 5 minutes before I meet with Mercy Stirpsdecim de Omnio.

“Mercy” about captures the gist of his(?) name, but the local word isn’t something that’s commonly used as a name. A codename?

Not translating the last name (a la Tolkein). It’s honest to god Latinate structure. “Stirps” means something. Tredecim — thirteen? “De Omnio” — “of Omnio”, but more of a Spanish or Italian construction than a Latin one (i.e. Leonardo da Vinci).

Did Alexander the Conqueror use Latin for secret notes and messages in the same way I use English?

Either way, not sure what to expect.

But if anyone can answer my questions, it’ll be an Omnio agent.