Tarl

The Inspector of the Fourdock branch of the Dungeoneer’s Guild grins as he finishes his foe with one final slash. It was a long and arduous battle, but it joins its brethren in the pile of the defeated, and he cleans his weapon, not letting it drip, before putting it away.

He takes a moment to relish in his victory, glad to have the horde beaten back, even if only for another year. He glances over to his companion, glad to see her enjoying victory in her own way. Truth be told, she is the far more experienced combatant in this field, with nary a splatter anywhere on her.

He glances at his own hands, and can only shake his head at how easily they tell the tale of the conflict. Still, they’re victorious. “How do you manage to fill out so many forms without getting any ink on you at all?” he asks as he leans back in his chair, the paperwork and taxes for the end of the year finally complete.

His desk bears many dried blots of ink, but his stack of papers only has the minimum of blemishes. The ones with too many have been destroyed in the fireplace, never to betray Tarl with the truth of his penmanship. His quill and inkpot lay in their spot on the desk, the feathered instrument of bureaucracy and its companion finally finished with their duties… for now.

“Experience,” Telar replies with a smile over her hot cup of tea, and Tarl can’t help but give her an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Fine, keep your secrets. A master of her craft is entitled to some, I suppose,” he says with a laugh as he stands and stretches. “Is there any tea left?”

“Of course. I’m not a barbarian to make you do all this and not let you have at least some kind of reward. We’re running low on honey, though. You might want to go on a more ordinary delve if you want to get us some more.”

He laughs as he pours himself a cup, and adds a bit of milk and honey, too. “It’d probably be a good idea to see how Thedeim’s coming along with Hullbreak, too. He hasn’t sent Teemo here in a panic, so it can’t be going too poorly,” he says with a chuckle, before giving the teapot a shake and listening.

“Should be plenty for at least one more cup,” he says as he nods, and takes his seat at his desk once more. They’ll need to clean up some and magically send the forms, but that won’t take too much longer at all.

Tarl enjoys the warm tea as he turns over in his head his plans for how to delve Thedeim. He’s seen the gauntlet, but never actually tried it…

His thoughts are interrupted as two figures enter the guild, and he’s a little surprised to see it’s Torlon and Staiven. They seem to be in the middle of discussing something, too.

“-impossible!” insists Staiven, and Torlon just smiles.

“Clearly not.” The gnome raises his hands to stall Staiven before he can try to argue more. “Magical theory was never my forte. But now we’re here, you can ask Tarl yourself.”

The aged ratkin sighs, but accepts that he should talk to the one with more expertise. Tarl, for his part, waves the two to have a seat as he enjoys a sip of his tea. After a few moments to collect his thoughts, Staiven speaks.

“How old is Thedeim?”

“He was discovered roughly eight months ago.”

“But how old is he?”

Tarl smiles as his attempt fails. “How old do you think he is?”

Staiven throws his hands up. “I don’t know! But I’ll tie my tail in a bow if he’s only eight months old!”

Tarl raises an eyebrow at the exclamation, and Torlon takes over to let Staiven try to calm down some. “Rhonda and Freddie got their classes from Thedeim, and they’re… unusual.”

“Are they alright?” asks Tarl, worried something could have happened.

“Huh? Oh!” Torlon smiles and shakes his head at himself. “I meant the classes are unusual. As far as I can tell, the children are perfectly fine.”

Tarl relaxes back into his seat, relieved. “What’s unusual about the classes? Did Rhonda become a paladin and Freddie is now a mage?” he asks with a chuckle, recalling how both kids ended up with a spider.

Torlon shakes his head. “Rhonda is an Ice Sage, and Freddie is a Legionnaire Paladin of the Shield.”

Tarl looks interested, but not shocked. “I haven’t heard of those before.”

Staiven speaks up. “That’s because Rhonda and Freddie are the first. Sage and Legionnaire are Thedeim’s words!”

Tarl’s eyes bulge for a moment as his body wars with itself. Instinct demands he clear his airway of the sip of tea, but his battle reflexes refuse to let something like a spit-take ruin the results of the trials of the last several days. He manages to swallow the drink properly before coughing, only vaguely aware of Staiven looking relieved to have his concerns taken seriously.

Torlon looks over to Staiven. “I guess you weren’t wrong about that being significant, after all.”

“No, he’s not…!” manages Tarl as he gets his coughing under control. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’re both sure that’s their classes?”

“Rhonda let me scry her,” states Staiven.

“I can’t scry, but Freddie demonstrated for me. I’ve never even heard of a paladin of the Shield being able to do what he did.”

Tarl sighs and sets his tea aside. “Well, I’m not an expert in classes, but I do know dungeons. And you’re right, Staiven: a dungeon only eight months old should not have the kind of strength of concepts to be able to help someone manifest a new class around them.”

Torlon suddenly looks serious. “Should we be worried?”

Tarl shakes his head. “Not for the kids, at least. Whatever a Sage and a Legionnaire are, they were, in at least some way, always part of them. Thedeim being Fate affinity helps explain it somewhat… but not fully.” He pauses to feel out the geas of secrecy he took for Thedeim, and measures his words carefully.

“The Guild will probably want to classify him as Cloistered, once they get the report.”

The gnome and ratkin both look confused at that, and Tarl smiles, glad to get away from secrets and into the familiarity of dungeon classifications. “It’s a subclassification, like Deep or Submerged. Cloistered means it was stuck for a while in a small area, before expanding. Generally, it means a dungeon will be more mentally mature than its size would indicate, as the dungeon spent some amount of time without outside influence and could work through actually forming ideas. And Cloistered dungeons often have strange concepts, since they didn’t develop with outside ideas to guide them. It’s rare, and even more rare for a Cloistered dungeon to be cooperative. Thankfully, thanks to his Fate affinity, it’s probably not going to raise too many eyebrows. Fate dungeons… are always a bit strange.”

Torlon simply nods at the explanation. Staiven looks a little more relieved at it, but not fully. “What about Rhonda and Freddie’s classes?”

Tarl shrugs. “Teach them? You’re their mentors, not me. Thedeim can’t exactly take the classes back. Just play them off as obscure, instead of something unique from Thedeim, if anyone asks. I don’t have any advice for how to teach them, though,” he says, and soon continues, cutting off Staiven before he can interrupt.

“If it’s some weird magic, go ask Thedeim. You’re probably the magic expert around here, so I can’t think of anyone else for you to ask. If he’s doing it weird, ask him. If he doesn’t tell you… well, do you tell just anyone how to enchant something?”

Staiven doesn’t look happy, but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t stay silent, either. “Do you have a book on the subclassifications that I could borrow?”

Tarl nods. “We’ll need a couple days to get these papers settled, but that shouldn’t be a problem. You could probably talk to the Adventurer’s Guild if you want to research classes a bit more, too.”

The idea of research has Staiven looking much more in his element, and much less worried for his apprentice. Torlon stands in his chair and smiles at them both, before focussing on Staiven.

“Shall we go now? I wouldn’t mind researching a bit of the various paladin variants, too. If Freddie is a paladin of many, I might need to be prepared to teach him a wide variety of things.”

Staiven nods and stands, and offers Tarl his hand to shake. “Thank you for your time, Inspector, and for taking me seriously. It’s been a while since I felt out of my depth about something.”

Tarl smiles and shakes his hand. “No problem at all, Staiven. I’m sure the kids will be fine, just as I’m sure you two have your work cut out for you helping them reach their potential.”

The two mentors laugh at that and soon leave, and Tarl sits back down to finish his cup of tea.

“What would you classify Thedeim as?” asks Telar from her desk.

“Hmm?” he responds, in the middle of a sip.

“You said the Guild would classify him as Cloistered, but not what you would.”

He just stays quiet enjoying his tea, though he does turn and give her a smile over his cup.

After a few moments, she smiles back. “Fine, keep your secrets. I suppose a master of his craft deserves some.”