by Lars M.
Not a soul was looking at me askance. A few people glanced at me and then dismissed me. Seemed that people playing here was a common enough occurrence that even a new face didn't attract any attention. Ah well, I was used to that. Inspecting the size of the amphitheater, I appreciated the Apprentice musician feat that allowed me to play twice as loud. Even with that, it would be a challenge to have the sound carry. I checked the time - only a few minutes remaining. I might as well start.
As so often before, I started without rhyme or reason. My current mood was set to careful curiosity, and the sounds that spilled from me reflected just that. Tiny, cautious notes jumped from my instrument, bumbling to and fro, as if testing the waters. As though satisfied with what they found, the notes solidified, and I doubled down, elaborating on the rhythm, only this time with a bit more self-assurance and confidence. Even with closed eyes, I could feel the smile spreading on my face as the song came into being. It barely registered in my mind, but it was oh, so fitting that my subconscious should drag up a counterpoint to the vibrant, happy tune. For a while, the curious, life-affirming music was almost overwhelmed by a louder, placid, negative melody. Every time the living tune tried to elope onto a new, exciting foray, the counterpoint returned, keeping the melody in check and within bounds. Little by little, however, the balance shifted, and I let the tiny spark grow stronger, while the dominant tune played on, unchanged. On they danced, as the small embers built into a fire, burning to be free, to live. In the end, the counter-point was completely drowned out, as the once so tiny spark of happiness swelled into a loud, triumphant crescendo of pure, unadulterated desire for freedom. As the song ended with a long, joyous, drawn-out note, I smiled. Take that, Copenhagen Business School. Happiness will be free!
When my attention returned to the crowd before me, their reactions showed... nothing. A few people were looking my way, but nobody seemed to pay my performance any attention. Now, I don't look at myself as a vain person. Still, these last few months had built my self-confidence to the point where I expected at least a grain of recognition when I played to the fullest. Indifference - that was a tough pill to swallow. Discounting the idea that I was a worse player than I believed, I ended with the theory that the crowd was so used to bards playing for them, that they'd started seeing it as nothing more than background noise. That thought disturbed me more than it had any right to. Like people who don't care what kind of music they put on because 'they just don't like silence,' this was wrong. I needed to do something to rekindle an enthusiasm for music. I needed to... hmm. Cheat, probably.
Well, what could it hurt? I moved to the edge of the stage, leaving me as close as possible to the crowd and started playing. Nothing too intricate this time - I ended up with one of the first classical pieces my teacher taught me - the William Tell Overture. It's jolly, catchy and you can make it sound impressive without too much effort. That last part was crucial, as I started using my Affect Emotions spell while playing. Not all the time. On and off for half a minute, a minute at the time at most. In part, because I didn't want to run out of mana again, but also to ensure that I caught as many as possible, spreading my influence over the entire break. The desired effect? Joy. I simply nudged a bit to try to shine a little light into peoples' days, make them walk away with a little spring in their step. I felt sure it was working, too. This time, as I focused more on the spell and less on the music itself, I kept an eye on people, and I did believe that I was able to influence a lot of them. People still came and left as they started and finished their break, but when they left, it did seem like there was a little extra. A flushed smile on a face here, or a spring in the step there. Before I knew it, the break was over and everybody left. A single male half-orc was still there, laying on his back on a bench, drumming his fingers to the music. When I stopped playing, he gathered his things with rushed motions and ran for one of the wings.
Chapter 23 – Them’s The Rules
It was time to meet the resident Chroniclers. I gave my violin a loving pat as I packed it away and made for the second story of the main building. The wide set of stairs ended at a heavy set of doors, and a touch of my key gem opened them onto the resident Repository. Or the library, rather. I reminded myself that this was merely the part that was open to all Academy students.
I must admit, even with my knowledge of modern libraries, I was impressed. The library itself was a place of endless shelves, silence, and order. Not the antiquary kind of library, either. No, below the silence lay a hushed buzz of activity as students and Chroniclers moved about at their tasks and studies, reading, organizing, and cleaning. The library must have taken at least half of the second story. I could only imagine the look on Lyle's face when he realized the wealth of books that were at his beck and call.
A whispered query pointed me to a set of doors at the back of the room. I walked past rows of large tables, half-filled with students burying their heads in books. Nobody was goofing off, however. It would seem that the librarians - or Chroniclers - maintained strict discipline. Holding my key gem to the entrance plaque, I silently slid the door open and entered. The first impression I got of the Chronicler's area in the Academy was different. Less discipline, more relaxation and controlled chaos. I had expected the serious mood to extend into their official space, but instead, I was met with an open area filled with comfy chairs and low tables - a medieval lounge, pretty much. The lounge was ringed by doors on the sides - offices, most likely. At the end, a single door with a plaque next to it led further into the edifice. Every single spot of free space was filled with shelving, holding... disorganized junk. A pair of harpies were having a loud discussion near the entrance, while a catfolk lounged on two chairs, apparently asleep.
I addressed the single remaining person - a dwarf who was busy devouring a massive pile of ribs. "Hi. I'm supposed to meet with a Mr. Jorantyr?" Mouth full, he simply pointed at a door to the side. I could've sworn the sides of his mouth quirked up, but when I looked again, there was nothing. I nodded my thanks and went to knock on the door.
"Enter." The word was delivered with impatience, and I stepped in as fast as I could. The office was sparse. Filing cabinets lined all sides, and the single large mahogany desk in the middle held no chairs - on either side. On the desk, a handful of books, scrolls, and various writing paraphernalia were arranged at right angles, nothing out of order. Behind the desk was a gnome. Not your regular Gillem-look-alike either. His looks complimented the room perfectly. The neat grey suit was immaculate and favored his neatly combed grey mane of hair. A set of horn-rimmed glasses finished the look as he glared up at me. "You are interrupting my day."
Wow. What a welcome. I was struggling for a response, but he rolled right over me.
"Mr. Arcangelo." My name was laced with distaste. "I was informed that you finished your tour of the place an hour ago. I was ready to welcome you at that point, but you saw fit to spend your time elsewhere."
"But I was outside, playing-"
"Irrelevant. You may find other Chroniclers who are willing to waste their time on frivolous undertakings. Not I. You will be quiet and listen." He waited for a second to see that I complied and continued, each word leaving him with military precision. "Knowledge. It is what makes this place work, what allows us to thrive. It is the only thing worth pursuing. Should you wish to join our ranks properly, you will provide me with a piece or pieces of knowledge that balance the added costs we will obtain in your training. Do not see me before you are done."
With that last comment, he returned his attention to the book before him on the table, and I fled the place. As the door clicked behind me, a suppressed fit of laughter met me and I turned to see the dwarf guffawing. I’d barely glanced at him the first time, but now I looked him over. The dwarf looked nothing like I'd expected of Chroniclers. He was muscled, scarred, and heavily tattooed. His bare arms, neck, even his fingers were tattooed, and I could see more than one nasty scar. He was busy devouring a huge rib; Fat dripped from his hands dow
n onto his plate, and his grin was a mess. He nodded at the chair in front of him and, still chewing, said "Have a seat, son."
I took his advice, flopping into the comfy chair. "Wow. Let me guess. That's a rite of admission and he's actually pretty nice deep down."
A rib plonked down to the table and he started in on the next one. "Hah. If only. No. In fact, it sounded like you caught him on a good day. You just need to learn to work around him. First day?"
"Yeah. I'm Arcangelo."
"Good to meet you. Aron Arngrimsson, stack hunter extraordinaire. You want the introduction with a little more info and less vitriol?"
"Please."
The relief must've been evident on my face, because he smiled before launching into his explanation. "Old Loreheart in there is a cold old fart, but he's honest. He gave you the old 'knowledge is key' talk, right? Well, that is all he cares about. At least, Mister Alexander Jorantyr," he enunciated every word very carefully, "is a true follower of Serune, because he's fair about it. He will assess your findings honestly and reward you or punish you accordingly. Again, thanks be to Serune, you only ever need to deal with him when you wish to advance in rank - apart from that, he stays in his lair and only leaves to sleep, eat, and request more books. The other senior Chronicler, Ria, is much better to talk to, but she's always out and about, looking for pertinent knowledge to add to our collection."
I nodded in appreciation. ”Thanks, Aron.” Then it hit me. "Wait - let me get this straight. The senior Chroniclers who rule the library are Alexander and Ria?"
"Yup. Why?"
"Oh - nothing." Inwardly, I groaned, though. The library of Alex and Ria? Really, Exogenics? I checked out the updated quest:
Quest updated:
A Pool of Knowledge (Chronicler Quest)
Gain access to one of the Chronicler Repositories in order to take advantage of the gathered lore and knowledge.
Required: Chronicler skill level 10
Updated: You will need to present a worthy piece of knowledge to Alexander Jorantyr in order to obtain access.
Reward:
+1 to Chronicler skill.
New quest: "A Lake of Knowledge"
"So, Aron, what will do the trick? Any requirements for what I need to unearth to satisfy His Knowledgeness?"
"No. Any piece of knowledge that's important enough that it's worth adding to the Repository will do." His eyes glinted with glee. "The trick lies in finding out what that means. You know a ton about magic? Well, you'll need to figure out where our library's lacking in content. Well-versed in the structures of power or social finesse? Well, it might do, but first you'll have to figure out what we have already - and then you damn well better learn how to present your thoughts in a coherent, easy-read manner."
My face fell. "Wow. That's-"
"Oh. And take copies before you present anything. He likes to tear up whatever he finds lacking."
"... Pits. I have my work cut out for me, it seems. How long did it take you to come up with something?"
"I got lucky. Three months. Turns out there was plenty of info on the dwarven clan structure - but nobody dealing with the reasons why they've constructed it like they have. Heh. Most of the time, I spent rewriting the damn presentation to suit his demands."
"Huh. Well, I'm damn glad I met you, that's for sure." Thinking fast, I decided to take a chance, "hmm - Aron, you're pretty well-versed in the contents of the library, right?"
"Yup."
"So if I told you what I was good at, you could probably point me at where the library is not fully stocked - am I right?” I smiled innocently at him.
He laughed. "Really? Already trying to skip the work? You really think you're going to make me give away secrets to somebody who's just entered the city?"
I returned his grin and winked. "Hopefully, yes. Look, I'll level with you. I'm probably only staying in town for a limited time. I have no doubt I could spend ages poring over the contents of the library and enjoying myself while doing so, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave soon and miss the chance. Once I'm back in Grant's Crossing, there's no telling when I can find a place with a real Repository again."
"Hum. Well, your logic isn't completely off. I always was a sucker for the sob stories too - it's going to cost you, however.” He extracted a tooth pick from his belt and pointed it at me. ”I want something interesting."
"Interesting. How?"
He grinned at me in all his greasy glory and rolled his eyes. "Treatises on gnomish architecture. What do you think? Meat, of course. Bring me something I haven't tried before. Good meat too - not like this dry mess. If you skimp on the quality, I'll skimp on the details, get it?"
You have been offered a quest:
Meat’s Back On The Menu
The Chronicler Aron Arngrimsson has promised to reward you with information on the contents of the Library of High Hold in exchange for a meal of exotic meat.
Reward:
200 experience points.
Information depending on the quality of the meat.
Accept/Decline?
"I've got you covered, Aron. Actually… I believe we can solve this right this very moment.”
He leaned back, looking at me expectantly. ”Well, by all means, enlighten me.”
I grinned and slammed two hefty slabs of [Maggot Meat] onto the table before his plate. ”How do you like this? These come from animals infused with demonic magic from a wayward portal. It doesn’t get much more exotic than that.”
He leaned forward, taking in the sight and aroma. ”Looks like decent quality. And if you look carefully, you can actually see where the dark magic has entered the veins. Intriguing. What animal was it?”
I coughed. ”Erm. Maggot.”
”Maggot.” The distaste was obvious in his words.
”Yeah. I mean, like you said, the quality-”
He pushed the slabs away, leaving a trail of blood on the table. ”Forget it. I’m not eating maggot meat.”
”But… aw, damn. I wouldn’t want to myself.” I sighed. ”Now, before I run off in search of something else, can you spare an extra couple of minutes?"
He shrugged, indicating the remains on his plate. "From what I can tell, there's about five minutes left on the plate. Make 'em count."
I glanced at the towering pile of meat. Five minutes? Wow. "Thank you. The thing is, I'd like to know how everything works here in the Repository. Or is that a secret for now?"
He shook his head. "Quite simple, really - the only secrets lie in the actual snippets of information. We have everybody in the city, pretty much, bringing us knowledge. Spell recipes, maps, old stories and lore, rumors - we take it all. People like bringing us the stuff, because they know that we reward the really good stuff and we don't cheat. We take everything back there," he pointed at the closed door, "and sort it. Most of it is junk. Unsubstantiated rumors or outdated info. You'd be amazed to see what some people consider relevant. Some info, however, can be used right here in the city and is delivered to the people or organizations who need it. The best of all, we ship on along the Hub, so it can be assessed by the central Chronicler network. If they find it good, it will be divided right back to every single Repository out there. Take a moment to think about that, Arcangelo." His blissful smile was infectious. "Every single Repository out there on Aeion holds two pieces of paper that explain the reasoning and history behind the foundation of our clans. My reasoning. Thoughts like that help alleviate the tedium of the slow days, don't you think?"
I made agreeing sounds, while I considered the implications. The idea of an entire country gathering information, distilling it for usefulness and distributing it right back into libraries was pretty impressive. I couldn't help having the same persistent thought I'd had the first time Greck told me about their system. "Couldn't a system like this be abused, though?"
Alarmed, Aron sat up, dropping a rib to the floor. "Shush. Don't go repeating that out loud. Especially among true believers like Mr. Jorantyr." He continue
d in a lower tone of voice, "Of course, you're not the only person to have said as much. Still, think about what you're implying. You're basically saying that the entire Chronicler network and the government may be corrupt." He shook his head. "Think very hard about that before you go out saying something like that out loud."
"I'm sorry. It's just-"
"I know, son. I know. Let it lie. If we really need to have a chat over this, let’s do it in private some day."
I did just that, checking my surroundings as I changed the subject. "So everything on these shelves...?"
"Is junk. Has been looked through and found to be worth nothing, impossible to confirm, or both. Yup. Feel free to check it over and take what you like. They clear everything out every once in a while" He winked. "One of the perks of being a Chronicler, even an apprentice Chronicler - endless supplies of paper and parchment."
Curious, I thanked him and got up, browsing through the shelves. It was a weird mixture of materials, types of handwriting, and languages. I picked up the first piece of paper.
We have reasons to believe that Wisdom Morvane has illicit dealings with foreign nationals. On top of that, women of ill repute have been seen to enter his abode at night. He makes a mockery of our proud traditions and should be punished. Signed by A concerned Citizen
I shuddered. Really? Somebody had to sort through these things every single day? I grabbed another one at random.
My latest Goldbloom harvest has been the best one to date. The soil remains unchanged, as does my seeding and harvesting techniques. The only thing I have introduced is a weekly blessing cast over the fields by a priest of Tarral, the god of War. I still have the priestess of Harrah bless my crops as always, but I believe the new blessing adds a wildness to the growth that accounts for the changes. Signed by Farmer M. Godine.
This one carried an almost illegible scribble on top. Ask him to replicate next season.
