Rezlar

Today has not been a good day. Miller woke him up just after dawn, warning him the town was under attack! How could it be under attack?! The orcs have shown no intentions of crossing the Gofnar, there’s no bandit groups large enough for something like that, and there’s nothing else around that could have the numbers to lay siege to the city!

Yet Miller opens the curtains and the window behind them, and Rezlar can hear the tolling of a bell, and see an unnatural storm blowing in off the ocean. Before the young noble can even ask for details, Miller’s attention snaps to the cloud, and Rezlar isn’t sure he’s ever seen his butler look more focused.

“Interesting… Young Master, the situation has been resolved, but now we have a different problem to deal with,” he says with an apologetic bow.

“Wh… what do you mean, Miller?” asks the still-sleepy young noble, getting the feeling he’d rather deal with a surprise siege than whatever this new problem is.

“You will need to address the people and guildmasters, and make a show of truly taking the reigns of Fourdock, Young Master.”

Rezlar’s eyes widen at that. He’d definitely rather deal with a siege! At least attackers already hate him! The idea of saying or doing something to get the people upset, or even worse, trying to inspire them…

He shudders at the very thought of so many eyes on him, weighing and judging his every word and action. Just the guildmasters are bad enough, and he’s only had to meet with them in person a handful of times!

“Young Master,” comes Miller’s voice, slicing through the growing panic, and getting Rezlar to focus on him. “I would humbly suggest breakfast. Change is often easier on a full stomach.”

He sighs at that and gets out of bed, glad Miller is there to help. The simple wisdom definitely helps him get through the day, too, as he finds himself too busy to have time for lunch, and only has dinner at Miller’s insistence. There’s so many letters of complaint to try to get through, and so many hurried reports of what happened.

While he had been vaguely aware of a new dungeon, and even of it somehow subsuming Neverrest, he simply never gave it much thought. It’s not even a year old, how much trouble can it cause? From the reports, it seems like it’s actually trying to find out! So now he’s scrambling to try to read the various updates from the guilds about it, while also dealing with the growing number of unhappy letters and messages. He’d love to simply toss them in the fire and hide in his room, but Miller insists that’s both rude and wasteful.

Many noble houses have found themselves in ruin, financially or otherwise, from ignoring the will of the citizenry. He might feel less helpless about it if he actually had any idea of what to do.

And then Guildmaster Karn appeared. He hadn’t even known he was one of the guildmasters until Miller addressed him with his title. Thankfully, the thin orc made his exit fairly quickly, after finishing his tea. His entire proposal was on the papers in the scollcase anyway.

“What do you think, Miller? Will it work?” He pauses for a moment as his butler simply looks at him like he hasn’t finished his sentence. What else… oh! “...can I trust him?”

Miller gives a slight smile. “He’s of no threat to you, Young Master. I believe his stated goal is true; that he wants a stable city and stable dungeons for a stable guild. He may want more at some later point, but for now, I believe he is trustworthy in at least this.”

“And the plan?”

“It is remarkably detailed and thought out, Young Master. They had to guess on the specific budget, but I believe it is a workable plan, at the least. The dungeon has significantly increased our tax revenue, and so too our defense stipend. A few of the other guilds will need to be pressured to discount or donate time and supplies, but public sentiment is that something needs to be done, so I don’t see much problem.”

He gives another small smile. “And the dungeon apologizing will help Young Master’s legitimacy in the eyes of the people and the nobility. The townsfolk will recognize that the dungeon is helping you, Young Master, but they generally like the dungeon, so will be more willing to let you fix this and guide the defensive response. A hold, or similar, in the mountains to the north could work, especially if you can negotiate with the dungeon to help.”

“And the speech?” asks Rezlar, knowing the answer, but still wishing to be wrong. Miller’s smile dashes those hopes.

“An excellent idea, Young Master. The people have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance yet. Might I also suggest something to help you with your further negotiations with the dungeon?”

Rezlar sighs and slumps, but motions for Miller to continue. He might not like all of his butler’s advice, but he’s not going to pretend he’s ever lead him wrong.

“Delve the dungeon. Young Master’s fencing form is getting quite good, to the point where you will need practical experience, rather than just my small tutelage.”

Rezlar snorts at that. “Sure, Miller. At least I’ll be safe with you at my side.”

Miller’s smile drips ice into the young elf noble’s veins. “Not with me, Young Master. But there is an entire guild that specializes in helping a young adventurer find a party.”

“But… but they’ll know who I am, especially after I give the speech!” he tries in desperation.

“Identities are simple to fabricate, Young Master… especially if a favor is offered to the master of the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“...do I have to?” mutters Rezlar in defeat.

“Of course not, Young Master. It’s simply a suggestion from your humble butler,” Miller says without missing a beat and bowing, not even giving Rezlar the dignity of taking the decision out of his hands.

He’d dearly love to ignore this particular bit of advice, but he is forced to admit he can’t afford to. Getting some real levels can only help him, and from the reports on the dungeon, he’s probably safer there than in his own manor… Miller aside. What galls him and almost makes him decide against it just in spite is he knows what else Miller is trying to do.

He’s never been welcome among his peers, seen as too quiet and reserved, too shy, too worried about what they might think. He wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s the real reason Miller wants him to delve. He could use more friends than just his butler.

He sighs, knowing he’s going to accept the advice, and yawns as the late hour catches up with him. “When should I give the speech, Miller?”

“Tomorrow after breakfast, Young Master. The people must believe swift action is being taken on their behalf.”

Rezlar groans, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to bathe and get to bed, then. Good night, Miller, and thank you.”

Miller gives a small, genuine smile. “Young Master is too kind. Sleep well, Young Master Rezlar.”

Surprisingly enough, he does, though he awakens with a sense of dread. He briefly wars with himself to decide what he fears more for the coming day, but the answer is clear: the speech. He eats breakfast without tasting it, too distracted by the impending presentation to the town to appreciate the skill that went into preparing his morning meal, but as Miller said: change is better on a full stomach. He just hopes he doesn’t manage to puke it back up from his nerves.

By the time he arrives at the town hall, he’s more worried about fainting than vomiting, taking some small comfort in how well breakfast is actually sitting. Miller directs him into his Mayoral office, where a strange sight is awaiting him, strange enough to derail his nervousness.

On his desk is a rat, wearing a small hat, and a bowtie. Even stranger, as it sees him, it stands and takes the hat off in a theatrical bow. “Ah, you’re the Mayor, yeah?”

Rezlar just nods dumbly, and the rat puts his hat back on and takes a seat on the desk. He gives Miller a look, before continuing. “I’m Teemo, Voice of Thedeim, the dungeon that’s been making waves. The Boss wanted to get a look at you before we do this whole speech thing.”

Rezlar just moves up and takes a seat in one of the chairs usually meant for people wanting to talk to him, still trying to understand what he’s seeing. “But… the dungeon’s scions are big and threatening. A giant spider in a treacherous maze, a huge raven that commands enough birds to blacken the skies, a beautiful and terrifying winged serpent, a simple yet imposing skeleton in a robe, an intimidating zombie elementalist…” he starts listing the scions that stuck in his mind, only for the rat’s laughter to interrupt him.

“And me, the Voice of Thedeim. Tiny, Poe, and the others are for when negotiations break down. If someone can’t deal with talking with just a rat, that’s their problem. They can talk with me, or they can try to deal with them.”

Miller hmms at that, and Rezlar does his best to push down his confusion. The reports said the dungeon was strange, and he’d certainly classify having a simple rat as his Voice as strange. He falls back on what he can remember of etiquette and holds forward his hand for a few awkward moments, before instead offering his pointer finger.

“Um… pleased to meet you, Voice Teemo. I’m Re- er, Lord Mayor Rezlar Herjan Kalsorthoth Niyeroul if’Gofnar the Eighth,” he manages without stumbling. The rat gives him a humoring smile and shakes the offered digit.

“I hope you don’t mind me just calling you Rezlar. That’s a mouthful.”

Something about the tone makes the young noble fight to not laugh. “It… is, yes. May I simply call you Teemo?”

The rat nods. “Fair’s fair. You read the whole thing and are on board, then?” he asks, getting straight to business.

Rezlar nods. “Yes, it’s a good proposal.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I… thank you for this. I never thought something would show up to threaten the town, so never tried to have something planned.”

Teemo shrugs and waves it off. “The Boss didn’t think it’d happen, either, so he can’t blame you. Heh, he says he screwed up by underestimating Hullbreak, so he acted quick to screw it back down. While it’s your job to get the people prepared for something like that happening again, it doesn’t mean he can’t give you a hand.”

Rezlar doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t remember the last time someone talked so candidly to him. A rat, talking to a noble like… like two commoners! Even his family doesn’t speak to him so informally!

“Young Master, the hall is gathered and ready for you,” speaks up Miller, once again slicing through Rezlar’s thoughts and bringing him back to reality.

“Let’s go knock ‘em dead, heh. Mind if I ride your shoulder, Rezlar?” asks Teemo, and the elf just nods, uncertain how to respond to something like that. Permission granted, Teemo hops onto his shoulder.

Rezlar follows Miller out to the packed main hall, trying not to think too hard about how much has changed in just over a day’s time. He actually finds his nerves more under control than he expected, as he starts to read the speech. Maybe because his mind is more focused on his planned delve, later. Maybe his new party won’t be the only potential friends he could make today.