Book 7: Chapter 15 - Finding a Group (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 15 - Finding a Group

“A person is not born complete, but gathered from the people around them.”

- Unknown.

The smith’s meaty hands trembled, his big frame barely able to carry the weapon, as he passed it to me. His apprentice stood behind him, somber as a funeral mourner. Passing it to me, the halberd came down into my grip with the weight of a closing portcullis.

It was not beautiful. Not in the way that courtly weapons were beautiful. It was a brutal, practical thing, built for a man who understood that elegance and beauty were what remained after everything useless had been cut away.

The shaft was black ironwood, dark enough, and beneath the surface, I was told, was an Adamantine core. It would break other things before it even considered breaking itself. Running down either side were long Mithril langets, the God-Metal pale and cold against the darker wood, and they guarded the haft almost to the midpoint. The head was dark Adamantium shaped into a hooked axe blade swept out on one side, broad enough to bite into a shield and drag at the man behind it. Opposite it sat a cruel beak, narrow and slightly downward-curved, made for punching through plate, mail, and skulls. At the crown rose a spear point, thick at the base, tapered to a murderous thrusting tip. Finally, at the end of its shaft was a knobbed heavy counterweight that could double as a brutal mace. It was a weapon for the battlefields and monsters.  It would be my key to open the closed doors of this world.

I raised it by its end, lifting it one-handed to look down to confirm the straightness of the haft, turned it once in my hand, and looked at the mark stamped into the shaft. “Gaston Vries?” I asked.

The smith flinched at the sound of his name. His apprentice took half a step back before remembering there was nowhere to go.

“Good work, this will do. Go to the Lehman’s Bank and seek reimbursement there. Say that you had a commission for Gilgamesh of Uruk; they have already been informed that you will be coming,” I stated simply, already becoming disinterested. 

“Oh, and if I have future work for you, be sure not to change address. It will be odious to hunt you down,” I decided to add lightly.

The big man almost folded in half, bowing to me. Pulling his apprentice with him without turning his back toward me, he beat a hasty retreat out of the room. 

My new weapon had weight. Real weight. In weaker, lesser hands, it would have been a burden. In mine, it felt like an argument the world had not yet learned it was going to lose.

***

A few days later, Lehman’s Bank proved that money truly made life easier. A representative from the bank arrived at the Bowl of Plenty shortly after breakfast, dressed in sober, expensive clothes. He introduced himself as Gascoigne, one of Lothario de la Rey’s assistants.

“Senior Factor de la Rey sends his compliments, Lord Gilgamesh,” he said, bowing. “The matter of your residence has been arranged. If it pleases you, I have been instructed to show you the property.”

“It had better please me,” I replied.

The man swallowed once. “Naturally, my lord.”

We passed away from the noise of the docks and the crowded arteries of trade, moving into a quieter district where Meridian. The streets widened, and the houses drew back behind walls and iron gates. Vines climbed pale stone, and balconies leaned over picturesque canals. At last, the bankman stopped before a walled manse near one of the smaller canals.

The outer wall was high, old, and covered in thick green vines, their leaves glossy and dark against the pale stone. White flowers hung among them like little lanterns. The gate was wrought iron, black and well-maintained, set between two square pillars capped with weather-worn lions. Beyond it lay a broad courtyard paved in pale flagstones, with a fountain at its center.

The house itself rose three stories, built in warm stone and cream plaster, with green shutters, arched windows, and balconies overlooking both the courtyard and the canal. It was tasteful, in the way only very expensive restraint could be.

“This property belonged to a minor noble family,” the bankman explained as he unlocked the gate. “They preferred the matter of sale to remain discreet.”

The courtyard was spacious enough for Theodore to turn without immediately demolishing the architecture. To one side stood the stables, stone-built and slate-roofed, with wide doors, reinforced posts, a tack room, a hayloft, and stalls built for creatures larger than ordinary horses.

Beyond the stables, through an arched passage, lay the garden. It stretched along the rear of the manse toward the canal, enclosed by high walls to provide privacy. Gravel paths across a green lawn edged by hedges and old trees. There was even an ornamental pond fed by a narrow channel from the canal, and a private landing where a Serenelle or similar craft could dock.

Inside, Lehman’s Bank had been equally thorough. The manse had been furnished, cleaned, supplied, and staffed. A steward waited in the entrance hall, along with a severe-looking housekeeper, several maids, footmen, a cook, stable hands, gardeners, and a small guard detail in good mail beneath dark livery coats. All of them were paid through my account, naturally. 

The steward bowed.

“My lord, I am Parmin. Senior Factor de la Rey has placed the house, staff, and guards at your disposal. Wages, provisioning, repairs, and household expenses will be drawn from your account unless you instruct otherwise.”

“Very well,” I replied, I looking him over and decided I liked him well enough.  “This house will be used by myself, my ward, and my retainers—two female dark elves,” I said. “In domestic matters, you will obey Larynda when I am absent. If she gives an instruction, treat it as mine unless it is obviously suicidal.”

The steward bowed again. “Understood, my lord.”

I nodded to him. “There is also the matter of Theodore.”

The stable hands visibly stiffened.

“He is not a horse. He is not tame in the comforting sense of the word. He will require meat, vegetables, space, and the good sense of everyone present to be careful when touching him. He is particularly partial to fresh fruit.”

Parmin took out a small notebook and began writing.

I walked through the house after that, the bankman trailing behind me while explaining rooms, expenses, repairs, and arrangements I only half cared about. There were sitting rooms, bedrooms, servants’ quarters, a proper kitchen, a cellar, a study, and a library respectable enough to serve. From one balcony, I could see the canal and the city beyond glittering over the garden wall.

It was not a home, but it was a base. A place with walls, guards, servants, stables, books, and enough space for a monster to sleep in the garden. I rested my new halberd against my shoulder and looked out over the grounds.

“Yes,” I said at last. “This will do indeed. And my ward’s placement in the Academy?”

“Everything has been arranged,” Gascoigne replied quickly. “Regardless of the test results, suitable measures have been taken, donations made, and understandings reached.”

“Good. That is most pleasing.” I rested the halberd against my shoulder and smiled. “Might I ask one last small favor? Two, rather.”

He looked a little nervous. “By all means, my lord.”

“Could you give my ward a similar tour when she returns from the libraries? And, if you could give me directions to the Adventurer’s Guild, that would be much appreciated.”

Gascoigne bowed at once, relief and dread warring politely across his face.

“Of course, my lord.”

***

The Adventurer’s Guild was less a place of business than a fortress in miniature. It squatted at the edge of a wide plaza, built from heavy gray stone and dark timber, with narrow windows, thick doors, and enough reinforced masonry. A battered sign hung above the entrance, bearing the symbol of crossed blade and torch, though age and weather had made the torch look rather like a burning club.

The doors were open with a constant stream of traffic. Weaving my way through the press, I stepped inside. 

The hall was large and high-ceilinged, its rafters blackened by smoke and age. Long tables filled the center, many of them occupied by adventurers hunched over cups, maps, dice, and plates of food. Some were armored, some wore robes, some had bows across their backs, among a plethora of miscellaneous equipment.

At the far end of the hall stood a massive jobs board, broader than a carriage and covered with pinned notices. Contracts, bounties, escorts, monster sightings, missing persons, collection requests, guard work, and so forth. Adventurers clustered before it, arguing over rewards and danger with the same seriousness merchants applied to grain prices.

At the opposite end were the counters of black stone. Behind them stood the guild clerks. They moved with practiced efficiency, taking coins, stamping papers, answering questions, rejecting complaints, and generally keeping order with their bureaucracy.

My entrance drew eyes, of course. The black-gold Adamantium plate ensured that. The new halberd ensured the rest. It was not a weapon one carried casually, and more than a few gazes lingered on the Mithril langets.

A scarred woman with a shaved head and a broken nose gave the halberd a long, appreciative glance before returning to her drink. A young man in bright new mail stared until his older companion smacked him on the back of the head. Near the jobs board, a trio of bowmen moved aside a fraction without seeming to notice they had done so.

I crossed the hall toward the counters with a certain heaviness. The sound carried, causing one of the clerks to look up as I approached.

She was middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and severe in style. Her hair was pulled back into a practical knot, and a small guild badge hung from a chain around her neck.

“How may the Guild assist you?” she asked perfunctorily.

“I am already registered with the Adventurer’s Guild,” I said. “In another city. I wish to have my standing recognized here.”

She barely looked up. “Name?”

“Gilgamesh of Uruk.”

“Rank?”

“Bronze.”

Her eyes moved in disbelief over my armor, then my halberd, then the swords at my hip, before finally returning to my face.

“Bronze,” she repeated.

I held her gaze. “Yes.”

“Do you have your badge?”

I took it out and placed it on the counter. She examined it with the expression of a woman discovering a wolf wearing a collar meant for a house dog.

“You understand,” she said, “that Bronze rank does not entitle you to higher-tier contracts in Meridian.”

“I was told I could join a group and thereby find something more challenging,” I said with a small shrug.

“That is correct,” she replied, stamping something into a page before sliding my badge back across the counter. “However, I would recommend that you avail yourself of an evaluation.”

“I will let my reputation work for me,” I returned with a smile. “Fulfilling enough higher-ranked deeds will automatically earn me a higher rank.”

Her eyes narrowed only slightly. “Do as you will. Your registration will be updated for Meridian. Bronze rank confirmed. Evaluation available upon request. Until then, you may accept Bronze contracts and, at a clerk’s discretion, certain Iron-adjacent requests. As you said, you may also join a higher-ranked group and fulfill higher-tier requests at their discretion.”

I looked toward the great jobs board, then back at her. “Excellent. And who, might I ask, is the strongest group?”

My smile remained fixed upon my face as I hoped my Charisma attribute was high enough to carry me through this particular social check.

She took a deep breath. “That is a difficult question, and one liable to cause fighting if asked after a few drinks. Still, by my own personal evaluation, one of the strongest groups is the Crimson Blades. They take some of the riskier requests, clear the more dangerous trials, and are generally quite professional. Each and every one of their number is Gold or Mithril rank, however, so whether they accept a Bronze is another matter entirely.”

“Then can you tell me where I might find this famed group?” I asked, slipping a gold coin across the counter.

She looked at me for a moment. Just looked. I answered by slipping another coin across.

The clerk sighed in exasperation. “They’ll be back this evening. Vaska is their leader. You can’t miss him, mostly due to his volume. But good luck convincing them.”

I allowed myself a laugh. “I find, madam, that I can be quite convincing when required. Quite convincing indeed.”