“Hello?” I called out softly. “Tang?”

I was standing in front of an immense yellow door in an empty, sunlit hallway on the eighth floor of the Guildhall.

Someone had left the door partially open and I could see inside a little. Piles of books and open sheafs of paper were resting on the seat of a wooden chair as well as on the floor. It looked as though everything was coated in a thick layer of dust.

“Treasurer Tang?” I ventured again, but after waiting thirty seconds I still received no answer.

“Guess I’ll just let myself in.”

I pushed against the door and it hardly budged. Something seemed to be blocking my entry. I pressed my shoulder against it and felt the blockage give way and I was able to slip in.

Dozens more dusty tomes and pieces of parchment met me on the other side. Rows of untidy bookshelves overflowing with volumes and trinkets lined the walls on either side of the cramped hallway I’d entered. An ancient armchair lay in pieces in my path, the arm wedged beneath the bottom of the door.

So this was my difficulty.

There was a room further on, light spilling in from beyond, highlighting the endless piles of books left abandoned to some unknown fate. Some of the stacks were taller than I was, threatening to tip over at the slightest provocation.

I moved carefully through the mess, stepping over an assortment of forgotten objects until I reached the room at the end. I found it was a cramped space filled with much the same mess as the hallway before it-- book piles, upended furniture, mysterious baubles of unknown origin or function. There were more bookshelves here as well, but these were strangely empty save for one feature: a glowing blue orb encased in a metallic holder.

A Home Stone!

I hadn’t seen anyone’s Home Stone left on display like that. Everyone else seemed to keep it on their person at all times.

How odd.

A rare sunny day illuminated the room through a massive eight-pane window. The feature occupied the entire wall and stretched from the ceiling to three feet from the floor. In front of the window was a desk and in front of the desk was…

A garbled snore escaped the form sitting at the desk chair. A wrinkled pile of robes in a vaguely humanoid shape bent over the desk, an equally wrinkled head spilling out from the neck of the fabric and onto the pages of a huge open ledger.

It looks a little like a Fomorian. But it could also be a turtle.

He was the oldest creature I’d so far encountered. His skin was the color of a bruised plum and what little hair he had was greyish-green and clinging desperately to the back of his scalp, the top of his head completely devoid of any follicles. What he did have up there were the signature horns of his species, though they were chipped worse than Grigori’s, and they were stained with black splotches.

An overturned well of ink was not far from the ledger, a quill still clutched in the sleeping Fomorian’s wrinkled hand.

Was this Tang?

I cleared my throat.

The old raisin didn’t stir at all.

“Hello?” I asked, trying to project my voice into his subconscious, but there was still no response.

Jeeze.

I moved to where he slept and gave him a soft nudge. With a scream, the old man shot up from his nap and stared at me, his eyes bulging comically. His irises were a cool blue color though there were many veins of red as I had awakened him from an obviously deep slumber.

“Who--what?!” He exclaimed, jerking back from me and raising his arm protectively.

I didn’t move.

The old man never took his eyes off me, but let his arms wander around urgently, searching for a life preserver or a weapon perhaps. With a flourish he lifted his hands up and that made me wince, expecting the impact of a club or magical attack. Instead, he slapped a pair of golden bifocals onto the bridge of his nose. The frames were bent and one of the lenses was cracked. His eyes appeared huge and I got a much better look at them. They seemed slightly milky.

Cataracts?

“Who are you?” He demanded, leaning forward to better see me. I simply raised my hand.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Vale. Er. Apprentice Vale.”

He blinked back at me uncomprehendingly.

“I was sent here to speak with a Treasurer Tang. That’s you, right?” I’d been rudely awakened by Halec that morning, and prompted, with very little information, to present myself here. Paris certainly had acted quickly. Apparently Matar had no qualms with me reliving my post and moving to this other exchange. I still hadn’t spoken to him since our original conversation.

Having not received an answer, I prompted the shriveled man further.

“Apparently your usual assistant is indisposed?”

The old man blinked at me again and after a moment nodded.

“Yes. I am Treasurer Tang. Vale, did you say?” he crinkled his nose and furrowed his brow, “that’s a terrible name.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said quickly, launching into my next question, “what do you need help with?”

Tang shook his head and closed his eyes. He seemed so ancient, I was surprised a Player would choose such an old avatar to represent themselves.

Unless he’s an NPC?

“I asked for help days ago,” he said, “and I finally get a response and they send some Sidhe to assist me? Pah!”

Just a massive shard of good vibes from this one.

“I can go tell Matar you’d rather have someone else,” I said, “Thorde is probably strangling Halec with her apron strings by now.”

“No, no, no,” Tang said, sitting up straight, “you’ll just have to do. There’s simply too many things to do in such a limited amount of time. Honestly, you’d think Matar didn’t care at all if things get done around here. Where’s my inkwell?”

I tipped the little bottle upright for his benefit and he nodded.

“Very well,” he said, “that’s settled. On to more important matters.”

He set down the quill and slid out of his chair. I found that he was quite short, in fact, he couldn’t have been much taller than I was. His oversized robes pooled on the floor at his feet, giving him the appearance of a wrinkly child. Slowly, he made his way around the back of the chair and pointed at the ledger.

“First things first,” he said, his dehydrated fingertip trembling in midair, “sign in.”

“Like, for my shift?” I asked.

“Yes!” He exclaimed and stamped a slippered foot on the ground.

“Jeeze,” I said, reaching for the quill, “easy there, old man, I’m doing it!” I dabbed the tip of the quill in the remaining ink and found a section marked, “The Help”. There were dozens of columns of dates with signatures next to them. The vast majority of them read Snake. I found the first empty column.

Day 24, Month of Fern 423 HT

My mind went back to the Anvilhead’s description.

Hadn’t that been founded in 423?

“Are you dawdling?” Tang demanded.

I quickly scribbled my name in the margin and set the quill down.

“There,” I said, turning back to the old Fomorian and crossing my arms, “now what?”

“Now,” he said, his lips turning up slightly on one end, “we get to work.”

“What kind of work do they have you doing around here?” I asked.

Carpentry, most likely.

The thought of the stumpy old man shambling around on a roof trying to reshingle it made me chuckle internally.

“They have us doing the plans,” he said.

“The plans?” I asked, “what are those?”

Tang harumphed grumpily and pointed out the window.

“I make all the plans. Building. Inventory. Materials. Accounting. I do it all,” he said smugly.

“So, we’re doing clerical work?” I asked.

That’s disappointing. I was hoping maybe I could learn something useful in aiding a speedy exit from this place.

“Far from it, Apprentice Vale!” Tang said, hobbling over to a pile of books standing precariously in the center of the room.

He selected a volume in the middle and yanked it out, causing the entire stack to collapse. Just before the books hit the floor, Tang moved his hand and the falling tomes froze in midair. Then he moved his wrist in a counterclockwise motion and the whole stack reversed its fall, zooming back into place. He turned and walked away from the pile, carrying the selected volume as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

What kind of ability was that?

“Are you a wizard?” I asked, dumbfounded.

The old Fomorian slapped this new book onto the desk next to the ledger and squinted up at me.

“You’re not very good at this sort of thing, are you?” He asked.

“At what sort of thing?”

“The world,” he clarified, “you don’t seem to have a good grasp of what classes exist, or what certain ones can do. What happened, did you just select the first class you saw and didn’t browse any of the others?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“Impatient,” Tang explained, tutting and shaking his head, “that’s a bad trait to have if you’re going to be doing the plans.” He sat back down in the chair in front of the desk and began flipping through

“I’m a quick study,” I said.

I scanned the messy room for a moment before finding a small, dusty stool in the corner, under a pile of books.

I guess that will have to do!

I crossed the room and lifted the small stack, and set it on the floor after failing to find a better spot. Then I carried the stool back to the desk next to Tang and scooted it as near to the books as I could. Tang had found the page he was looking for and tilted the book up so I could see it better. I had been expecting another handwritten page of sloppy text, but instead, a vibrant display emerged from the page depicting a detailed blueprint of several large buildings, a pond, a few trails and a moat. I realized I was seeing the entirety of the Malicious Intent estate.

“That’s amazing.” I said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tang said and pressed a gnarled finger to the building marked HORN KEEP.

Instantly, the blueprint expanded, a screen emerging, showing the innards of the Guildhall. Tang swiped through several more screens before landing on one that showed a small room with a narrow hallway. Next to the far wall in the room were two dots. One was red and one was black.

“Is that… us?” I asked.

“You are a quick study,” Tang said sarcastically.

“So, this shows not only the entire complex, but the people walking around in it,” I said.

“Precisely,” Tang said, swiping the screen away and we were back at the bird's eye view of the property again. Then he accessed another tab, and a new building that was not on the original screen cropped up.

“This is the next project,” Tang continued, “the Armory. We’ve been allocating our funds lately to pay for it, but it’s still a ways off.”

Down at the bottom of the screen I could see numerical values.

G 12,433 / 21,999

“I’ll say,” I responded, “does the whole Guild direct funds toward this?”

“Yes,” Tang said, “A portion of coin or loot is tributed to the Guild from members as a form of dues. Members are allowed to keep any amount beyond their tribute. Dues are funneled to projects, among other things.” He opened another screen that hovered above the page listing off more values.

[Malicious Intent] Treasury

Members: 61

Properties: 7

[Per Day Cost]

Food: G 150 / 5

Lodging: G 80 / 2

Repair (Gear) G 310 / 10

Repair (Estate) G 240 / 6

Treasury Funds G 2,560

Property Funds G 16,980

Misc Funds G 11,400

“As you can see,” Tang said, pointing to the first column of numbers, “this number is the amount currently held in this category, and the second number is the daily cost. We try to have at least a month’s worth of gold for each. It helps to ensure we never fall short of a goal. For instance--”

The old man selected the Treasury Funds and quickly subtracted twenty gold, transferring it to the Food tab. Now there was one hundred and seventy gold there.

“If the amount falls below a month’s total, it’s a good sign that the person in charge wasn’t paying attention, or was neglecting their duties.” Tang explained with a wink.

Interesting way of keeping track of competence.

I pointed to the last category, labeled Misc Funds.

“What is this used for?”

Tang nodded.

“These are the funds we might use for hiring outside labor, or greasing the palms of a guard, or bribery.”

Seeing my look, Tang sighed.

“You won’t get far in this world if you’re afraid to engage in a bit of slime,” he said.

“No, it’s just that…” I said, trying to find the right way to phrase what I needed to say.

“Out with it,” Tang said, rolling his eyes, “you also won’t get far if you’re too afraid to speak your mind.”

I considered that. My whole life was one of fear, though I had to admit, since arriving here, I’d been dealing with my anxieties with more capability than I had before.

“Did you guys bribe the staff at the Anvilhead to be able to attack the Beatdown Brigade?”

Imagining kindly Seon and the barkeep engaging in such miscreant behavior didn’t sit well with me.

“Oh,” Tang said, pushing himself back from the desk and turning his whole body to face me.

“So, that’s how you got here. You were acquired from the ambush.”

He pointed to the book without looking away from me.

“You see the category labeled Properties? We own several other estates and buildings. Some of those are satellite Guild Halls and the like, but others are buildings in different cities and towns.”

Oh. Shit.

“The Anvilhead is owned by us,” he explained, “well, technically, its an arm of ours that one of our members built.”

Xheap Snake! That must also have been the “Snake” in the ledger.

“But, how did you attack us?” I asked, leaning toward the ledger, “Supposedly only taverns can be Orange Zones. Which doesn’t make sense either since I was killed. Isn’t that a Red Zone quality only?”

Tang sighed and closed the ledger. Then he turned back to me.

“I suppose, considering your current status, it wouldn’t do any harm to explain to you.”

He slid out of the chair and tucked his arms behind his back thoughtfully and began to slowly pace the room.

“Taverns are supposed to be built to specific dimensions,” he began, “and any person with a level of competency in a Craft Skill will do so easily. The framework is in place and the higher your Levels, the more shortcuts you can take. In fact, after the first few Levels, you can only shortcut the basics.

So a wagon, for instance, that is supposed to be ten feet by ten feet will be built with those precise dimensions. But a low-Level Crafter, they can work outside the framework. They could have the blueprints for a wagon and because of their inability to properly construct it, could end up with a fourteen-by-six vehicle.

Bad craftsmanship is a breeding ground for innovation. You’ll either get better at the art, or you’ll find ways to cheat the system. Snake is one such creative. During a Quest, he found himself in a Player-forged village, with one shoddily fabricated tavern. Snake can be… annoying, for lack of a better term, and he was thrown out. Well, having imbibed quite a bit of a few choice spirits-- I recall him mentioning that their dragonsblood ale was particularly tasty, he decided it was due to him to cause a scene, and even got into an altercation with the Innkeeper. He suddenly became aware of the fact that, if he stayed within a few feet of the outside wall of the tavern, he was still within the range of the Orange Zone nature of the tavern itself. So he did what any young, drunk fool does. He fought. He was able to beat the Innkeeper senseless and disappear into the night.”

Tang shook his head.

“He’s not stupid,” the Fomorian explained, “he makes terrible decisions-- especially where alcohol is involved, but he’s not without his intellect. Snake had stumbled onto something that I’m not sure many are aware of. When you build something outside of the normal specifications, the rules in place will still Zone it for the original build.”

“The torches!” I exclaimed.

Tang’s eyebrows shot up.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“The torches at the Anvilhead were burning strangely. The smoke pooled against the ceiling. Kellmen thought they’d shortened the ceiling to save money. But, I’m willing to bet that it was done to be able to attack people sleeping in the rooms above! I’m right, aren’t I?”

I was feeling pretty proud of myself, but also, it raised new questions.

“It doesn’t explain the killing part though,” I said, “how can you kill inside of an Orange Zone?”

Tang smiled.

“I’ll assume you don’t know what a building core is?”

I shook my head.

“Right, so it is the foundation point, a building block of you will that seals the structure to the location, adhering command to the builder. It’s ancient magic.

“An owner of an establishment can change the nature of their crafted structures, for safety. For instance, if you have a tavern, the safest way to play it is to blueprint it as a Green Zone, and then specify to the building’s core that you’d like to modify it. That way you can have a tavern in your Inn that is Orange, most of the time. But if you need to, say, stop a massive and destructive brawl, you can return the blueprint to its origin of Green and it will halt all violence in the vicinity.

But the building core will default to this position for an entire moon cycle if you have to change it, I imagine to keep others from abusing this privilege. This is an absolute rule.”

“Seems like a lot of work,” I said, “and that would mean you could only do it occasionally.”

Tang nodded.

However,” he said, “because it is is ancient magic, it has another quality.

“Witching Hour,” the elderly Fomorian explained, “at midnight, each night, a building core must, for lack of a better term, recharge, and for between forty five minutes to an hour, it reverts the building back to its original blueprint.”

“So, something built as a Red Zone, can be modified to Orange, and changed back at midnight, without consequence?” I asked.

Tang harrumphed in agreement.

“At the risk of this explanation getting longer, I have to ask— how are you able to make a Red blueprint inside of a Green Zone city? It sounded like that was off limits.”

“On the contrary,” Tang observed, “there is one structure that can be built as a Red Zone despite those stipulations.”

My mind raced back to the description of the Anvilhead.

“A Hall?”

Tang chuckled.

“I’m slightly impressed!” He admitted.

“I cheated,” I said, “I read the full description on the place before we entered. So, if I’m understanding correctly, the Anvilhead was built using blueprints of a Red Hall, and designed to look like an Inn and tavern?”

“As I said,” Tang mused, “Snake is not without his talents. It’s a tedious sort who enjoy the amount of drudgery to do something like that. It’s largely pointless unless, like Snake, you have are particularly drawn to things that could be considered by many to be… unseemly.”

However, it still didn’t make sense to me. That was such a far fetched thing to do for such a fantastically small pay off.

“But what purpose would that serve? What would Malicious Intent hope to gain from killing people who will just respawn back where they belong?”

There’s also no way they knew about my Home Stone situation beforehand.

“It’s twofold.” Tang said, nodding, “of course you wouldn’t be aware of this yet, but a Guildmaster losing his life to a rival will bring the Guild ranking down. Few things can ruin the confidence and ability of a leader like a lowered standing. The rest of the guildies might start to wonder if they might be better suited to the mantle.”

So it’s psychological war. That’s incredibly unsettling.

“The other reason is slightly more greedy in nature,” Tang said, clearing his throat, “Guildmaster Kellmen has a unique item in his possession, one that we desire as well.”

Unique item? It must be something special to elicit such an ambush. Maybe it’s his family’s secret casserole recipe?

“Do you know what a Cursed Item is, Vale?”

Of course not...

“That sounds familiar,” I lied, stroking my chin thoughtfully, “they are pretty bad, right?”

Tang furrowed his brow at me in confusion.

“Ah, no. Cursed Items here in this world are not a bad thing, per se, despite what the name might tease. They are valuable objects that cannot be wholly possessed by one person.”

My blank look registered to the old Fomorian and he nodded.

“Your green leaves are showing,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly, “please continue.”

“Many items in this world can be swapped and taken and sold and refit and traded. However, there are other special items, particularly common with weapons and armor, that can be bonded to an individual. They are called Imprinted Items. They cannot be removed under any circumstances by anyone other than the person they are Imprinted to. Cursed Items are the opposite. If Imprinted Items are the most loyal of treasures than you could consider Cursed Items as traitors. They cannot be bonded and can belong to anyone. If someone dies carrying a Cursed Item, it drops and it is up for grabs to be taken by any Player that encounters it.”

“Are these typically powerful objects?” I asked, “it’s hard to imagine it would be worth it to have useless items with that quality.”

“Most are, yes. Or unique in their function while being only marginal in strength. But your friend Kellmen bears more Cursed Items than anyone else in this world.”

Kellmen the Cursed. I had just assumed it had to do with his nature or his luck.

“So you wanted all his goodies?” I asked, leaning back and crossing my arms, “you’re right, that is decidedly greedy.”

“There’s one Item in particular that we require,” Tang said, weaving his fingers together under his chin.

“Let me guess, the Constable?”

Tang blinked at me.

“The what?”

“The Constable--the big ass hammer he whooshes around. That’s what you want, right? Villains always want the hero’s weapon. Pretty cliche though. It is a pretty sweet looking clobberin’ machine though, so I don’t bla-”

“Not the hammer.” Tang interrupted seriously. A vein was sticking out of his temple.

Sorry old man, am I annoying you?

“He has something else in his possession. I was going to tell you, but,” Tang said slamming the book closed in front of him, “I think that would be too much of a villain thing to do. I’m reaching the limit of my patience in explaining this stuff to you. Let’s get to work.”

I moved aside as he made for the door, the large tome tucked under his arm.

I have to figure out a way of getting out of here and get back to the Beatdown Brigade.

“Apprentice?”

Tang was standing next to the entrance of the cramped hallway, his eyebrows set low on his face and his mouth pinched in frustration.

I sighed.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”