Monthly Short Story for February: The Emerald Staff 1 (Patreon)

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices once again, with a majority voting for Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 14.

Things are a bit different this time, because I was hoping for this month’s side story to coincide with the arrival of Articord the Academy’s history professor! :D 

Yes! This is the first time we’re doing a character-focused origin story of sorts about a professor! 

Ever since I planned out the story and its characters, Articord has remained one of the characters I’ve been consistently interested in when it comes to their backstory and their motivation and drive. Their development from where they started to where they are now is something that I’m very excited to explore, and we get to see a major glimpse of that in this story! 

However, the story went on a little bit longer than I thought, and I realized that I probably need to split this up into two parts to do it justice. I’d rather it be a complete two-parter, rather than a rushed one-parter, so I hope you guys are alright with that! 

So to clarify, this is going to be the first of a two-part story! :D

This chapter was incredibly fun to write, as we get to see an even greater insight into a part of Articord we probably won’t get to see a lot of in the main story just yet! 

Let's jump right into it then! :D I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's fourteenth side story! :D

The Emerald Staff 

The Kingdom of Xyloph.

I was born under typical circumstances within an atypical time. 

A time in which fate itself hung in the balance, yet was hidden from the view of most.

They say that my birth was one of great rejoicing, or at least, a great rejoicing after the fact - and after the great battle hidden from view was over.

Indeed, I was born under the night of a thousand thunderless bolts of lightning, deep within the capital under siege by an invisible force.

A siege led by a single soul, with an army consisting of the strength of a single man.

A siege hidden from the eyes and ears of all, a siege that went by without a single drawbridge being raised.

A siege… that ended as abruptly as it had begun, without even the time needed to raise the alarm across the capital district, let alone the outlying dams and walls.

Not that Her Majesty would’ve allowed for the raising of a single alarm anyways, if the stories behind that night were to be believed.

For this battle was fought between her righteous hand and this mysterious invader alone. 

And with her gracious courteousness and immeasurable will, she determined that this danger of all dangers need not even necessitate the raising of a single alarm, merely the assistance of her own inner circle and whatever groups of mages and adventurers that were close by to this chance encounter.

Indeed, the further one went into the details of this encounter, the more fact was difficult to discern from fiction.

As royal mythos became increasingly intertwined with historical fact, much to the chagrin of my later years, but much to the utter awe and fascination of my earlier year’s easily-transfixed mind; eager for embellishments to stories more than the facts that lay behind the story itself. This latter point was made even more true owing to the day of my birth coinciding with this near mythical battle.

Whatever the case may be, one thing was certain: this battle must have taken place… if only for the sheer prosperity that followed and the near-impossible wonders that came as a result of its spoils.

For Her Majesty the Queen was presented with spoils the likes of which no other kingdom or nation had ever come across. A magical artifact which, to the naked eye, looked to be merely a fanciful adornment to a royal outfit.

But to those with the magical sight, would bear witness to a power the likes of which are otherwise impossible.

A magic so powerful, that even the greatest of mages amongst the most powerful of mage guild households would find to be an outright fabrication at best, or a fanciful dive into madness at worst. 

And yet here we stand.

At the precipice of a greatness so grand that we now rivaled even the tales of the giants themselves.

Indeed, that climactic fight brought about more than we could’ve ever dreamed of.

Yet at the same time, it brought about nightmares beyond that which we could’ve ever imagined in our wildest of dreams. 

For the old adage still rings true even today.

That for every boon, there is a consequence. And the greater the boon, the more distressing the consequence. 

For whilst the greatest of locks and the largest of dams are capable of protecting entire cities or nations, providing them with the power of mechanical energy through which so many industries are born, so too do they hold back and accumulate an unfathomable disaster waiting to happen at the slightest hint of frailty.

But you never really think of that until it is too late.

Because without a keen eye, and without knowing what to look for, the boons were capable of blinding you to the cracks forming beneath the surface.

This was something my uncle had warned me of, had consistently preached without fail from the very inception of my earliest memories.

He was the sole dissenting voice amidst a chorus of constant jeers and cheers from within my household. A household of scholars, bookkeepers and archivists. A family which prided itself in its ageless mission of keeping the flames of the voices of the past alive through written tradition. A family that had been born out of the ancient traditions of scribehood, before evolving into what it was today - a trade family whose trade was in the recordkeeping of knowledge. A veritable bank where memories of various households, families, clans, and even entire institutions were kept behind lock and key.

Because apparently, even amongst the timberborn, the fireborn’s temperament still very much applied: that hell is your own family. At least in the sense that loose lips often sent entire families and businesses into feud and ruin.

For us timberborn were communal in nature, meaning discretion was often a difficult thing to maintain, which in turn meant that the fidelity of stories… important ones at that, waxed and waned depending on the conversation you were engaged in. 

As a result, somebody had to be the mediator, the marshal of unassailable truth.

Which meant a certain level of social ostracization from the general populace had to be observed, not because of any social stigma, but because of simple practicality for the sake of risk reduction. 

We were timberborn, like anyone else in our nation.

And thus, we were prone to the same compulsions.

So it was better to keep ourselves separate, to maintain a certain level of distance to ensure we wouldn’t inadvertently fall into the same trappings we promised our clientele to protect.

Moreover, even if it really wasn’t necessary, it was good business and expected tradition to simply maintain that veneer of aloofness, if only for the sake of maintaining that professional stereotype to maintain that public trust.  

In any case, I was fully immersed in my family ‘operations’ from a very young age. 

Which gave me not only insight into the goings ons of my city, or its history, but a love and appreciation for all things stories.

I saw the beauty in all things within our records, be it as mundane as a tax record or as colorful yet basic as a family chart. Because despite how dull it was on the surface, there was always this sense of… wonder that you could extract from it by simply reading between the lines. The numbers on a tax chart, for example, could tell the hidden truths behind the apparent unassailable stability of a keystone trading house. Whilst the different lines on a family tree, hidden in tempered ink, told stories of familial intrigue that more than likely was even more complicated than the most complicated of soapy novellas. 

I was raised into a life I thought and knew I would enjoy, during an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity that made everything feel easy.

That was, until, things changed.

It happened gradually, in fact, nobody could really point out a distinct moment that things truly took a turn for the worse.

But unlike most collapses, this wasn’t a destruction of our livelihoods or civilization as we knew it. The world didn’t end overnight, nor did the volcanoes erupt nor did the dams break. No.

It was instead a political issue.

An issue that started with a feud with a neighboring kingdom that quickly escalated into a war, which we eventually won, at seemingly little cost to our armies thanks to the Queen’s scepter.

But things didn’t stop there. 

In fact, the changes just kept happening. 

Because the longer our Queen sat on her throne, the more she issued decrees which started chipping away at the powers she was supposed to share with the rest of her peers. She strayed closer and closer towards an absolutism never before seen, all but turning the representative conclaves and councils into vestigial remnants of what they once were.

This coincided with a radical change in our once vibrant and prosperous nation, as we grew increasingly distant, and began a relentless march inwards. 

The flow of trade decreased as a result, and the annual summit of sovereigns eventually moved out of our great capital.

Soon, the Queen chose to turn our backs on the Grand Summit entirely, choosing to go our own way whilst the rest of the continent marched on without us.

We eventually found ourselves an isolated Kingdom, cut off from the rest of the continent, and seemingly doomed to destitution if things continued the way they were.

Moreover, rumors of the Queen’s disappearance deep into the depths of the summer palace fueled even greater speculation into her motives.

For the scepter of power was never seen beyond a claw’s reach from her hands.

And it was easy to decipher exactly what was going on.

That scepter that had brought so much into our Kingdom, that had been the catalyst for our greatness over these past 30 years, was now starting to show its consequences.

We’d allowed the cracks to form beneath the surface.

And now, the dam was going to collapse all at once.

But despite knowing that… nobody wished to be the one to undertake the difficult task that everyone knew needed to be done.

Nobody wished to be the one to face down the Queen herself. Especially with her scepter in hand.

It was said that she felled ten legions in the battle with the waterborn. And it was said that she had done so in a way that was so ruthless and efficient, none of them even had a chance to react before the killing blow was done.

So if an entire kingdom couldn’t take her down… then who could?

That question hung over my head over the past five years of my life, a life that I was content with at first, but that grew increasingly less engaging with each passing day. 

Because the more my responsibilities grew within the family business, and the more I was tasked with facing clients from various walks of life, the more I became enthralled with one very specific category of client - the adventurers.

For I was entranced with story after story of their bravery and fortitude, their tales sounding more like distant legends and myths coming from bards rather than genuine records that required documentation. The types of monsters they fought, the sheer number of adventures they undertook, and even the detail of the long lulls of nothingness between each adventure that they called ‘boring’, were all exceptionally fantastical to me.

It was after years of exposure with these stories, of being the final checkpoint at the end of their adventures, that I quietly understood that recordkeeping wasn’t a life for me.

Or at least, this sort of record keeping just wasn’t the life I was meant to lead.

There were more adventures out there, more stories to be recorded in all their vibrancy.

I couldn’t allow life to slip me by without a fight.

Not especially when the greatest adventure of them all was coming up.

An adventure that would redefine the fate of this Kingdom. 

=====

The Kingdom of Xyloph, Homeland of the Timerborn. Cordina Archives’ Secondary Lounge. Private Booth 2. 

Alcruin Cordina

“So… this isn’t going in the record then?” I asked with a confused breath, and a scrunched up look of disbelief.

“No. Or well… maybe. Honestly, it’s up to you.” The red-furred adventurer spoke, his short muzzle and triangular ears somber and restrained, at least when compared to how these conversations usually went. “I know your family values discretion above all else, heck, it’s the only reason why you guys are even still kicking after all this time after all. So I trust you to keep this a secret. But that wasn’t my intent for our little conversation today, Alcruin.” 

“Well, what is it then? You don’t just walk into a private archive to reveal a grand conspiracy without a purpose.” I reasoned, more or less laying it out so bluntly that my lack of nuance elicited a sharp exhale from the rest of the adventurer’s companions.

All of them of the timberborn variety, meaning only red fur and white pelts were present. 

“I’m talking to you today, here of all places, because you’re the last piece of the puzzle we need to take the Queen down, Alcruin.” The man spoke with a severity that immediately set the tone for the rest of the conversation. 

A tone which at first sent a wave of nausea and dizziness throughout my form.

Causing me to stutter for the first time in a long time, as I attempted to find the words to properly respond to that.

“Me? Talorin… I’m just a simple bookkeeper. What am I supposed to do against the Queen, her army, let alone her scepter?!” 

“Against her army and her scepter? Not so much, or rather, nothing at all really.” The man responded with little in the way of sarcastic inflexion, prompting me to level my eyes in annoyance and frustration towards him. “Your role is far more important than that. You noticed how our plans were quite detailed up until the Queen’s chambers, correct?”

“Yeah. An oversight I wanted to point out but not until we got to the meat and potatoes of why you were telling me this in the first place.” I responded earnestly.

“Right, well, here’s the thing. We know for a fact we can’t take her down. But we know that others can, provided of course, that they have something to work with.”

“Just get to the point, Talorin.”

“The point I’m trying to make is this. There are many, many more who support our cause from within and without Xyloph. And they’re willing to help us in rising up against the Queen and her tyranny if we give them something to work with; and that something? It’s the scepter itself.” The man paused, leveling his eyes towards me. “I know for a fact you have the original and modified floor plans for the summer palace within your archives, Alcruin. And trust me, I wouldn’t be coming to you if I didn’t have any other choice. The original architect and those who worked on the summer palace are either all dead or have fled the country now. You’re the last person who can lead us into the place to find the Queen’s scepter. From there, we make our escape, and then alert the people and our allies.”

“Talorin… you know I can’t in good faith give you anything from my archives. It’s against my family’s code-”

“Oh I know. That’s why I said you’d be leading us when we get there. Or weren’t you listening?” 

I took a moment to parse that, as that line had clearly just flown over my head. 

The idea, the very concept that I would be leaving the confines of my home, my town, to lead the most daring of adventures, was just so alien to me that it didn’t even register at first when Talorin blatantly suggested it.

The thought alone made my stomach churn with anxiety.

But… it also inexplicably brought a smile to my face, as I realized that this technically wouldn’t be against family policy.

I was still keeping the knowledge to myself after all…

Moreover, and perhaps more selfishly, this call to action was an answer to my deep seated desires that were all but being handed to me on a silver platter.

Fate was practically knocking on my door to answer.

And I would be a fool to refuse.

“Well? What’ll it be, bookkeeper?” The adventurer egged me on.

But it wasn’t like he needed to.

Because my answer was settled the moment that offer was made.

“What did you call me?” I shot back with a sly grin.

“Bookkeeper.” The man responded with a straight face, before melting into the same sly grin I currently held. “Or… will it be adventurer now, hmm?” 

“I think the latter has a nice ring to it.” I responded cheekily, before standing up, and sealing the deal with a firm bow, meeting both of our foreheads together as was tradition.

“Now, onto the matter of your new name.” He continued, prompting my eyes to grow wide with excitement. “Every adventurer needs their adventurer’s name, after all. So, what’ll yours be, adventurer?”

My breath hitched up several notches, as I turned towards everyone staring at me expectantly.

I thought back to the books I read, the novels I devoured across the years.

But none of them felt right.

Save for one. A name that had almost become my own if my uncle had more say in my naming scheme at birth. 

“Articord. My adventuring name will be Articord.”

“Well then Articord the Adventurer, welcome aboard! The Wayfarers of the Just Cause welcome you to our ranks!”

=====

The Kingdom of Xyloph, The Royal Town of Timberton, Her Majesty the Queen’s Summer Palace. 

Five Days Later.

Articord the Adventurer

The trek to the palace was, surprisingly, peaceful.

And throughout it all, I’d never felt so alive.

From the summer leaves turning into the vibrant autumn along the Long Road, and the vast fields of crops being cycled through their quarterly harvests, the nature of this world was mighty and beautiful.

Indeed, as we approached the summer palace at the break of night, I too saw beauty in the artificial constructs born from some of the greatest architects of our time.

The sprawling complex however, should’ve been called a castle rather than a palace, what with its walls and emplacements resembling the large stone walls of old, and less of the modern trends of stately estates eschewing their walls for gardens and ponds. 

War was a distant memory after all.

And after nearly two centuries without it prior to Her Majesty’s reign, our culture had started shifting to reflect that.

Which was all the more reason to stop her before these changes back into barbarism cemented its grip on society.

We had to defend our peace.

We had to defend our constitution.

The Queen had to be brought in line.

We entered the castle walls through several storm drains, the resident mage of our group having managed to clear out the excess water in such a way that it would seem as if nothing was amiss in the vast artificial pond networks above. 

However, the muck and grime of the drains would be the last instances of peace we observed.

For the rest of the journey through this veritable castle, was carved with blood, each agonizing step of the way.

The first body I saw, of one of our own people, a guard adorned in dull gray armor, his fur red, and his undercoat white, made me pause mid sprint. 

It took our resident paladin to haul me away as I stared back at those lifeless eyes with a state of unbridled shock.

I was warned about this sort of thing, about my first encounter with death.

But no matter how much I tried steadying myself for it, I just couldn’t come to terms with it once I actually saw it.

“Articord, Articord snap out of it!” Talorin managed to bring me back to reality at the far end of the tunnel system, in a small alcove hidden away from the growing presence of the palace guards. “We need you. Where do we go from here?” 

That reminder, that this wasn’t just about me, but the entire group, brought me back to reality quicker than I would’ve imagined was possible.

“Up, there should be a service ladder right there.” I pointed, marching towards what seemed to be a solid stone wall. 

A quick glance from the group’s rogue, followed by a series of highly-charged spells caused the whole wall to shift and turn in place, revealing a ladder hidden behind a seemingly impenetrable and unassuming wall.

“Good job, let’s keep going.” 

=====

The Kingdom of Xyloph, The Royal Town of Timberton, Her Majesty the Queen’s Summer Palace. Inner Sanctum.

Fifty Minutes Later.

Articord the Adventurer

I tried to avert my gaze from each and every one of the inevitable deaths that resulted from our encounters, trying my best to focus on my responsibility for the mission at hand - navigating us to the scepter’s chamber.

The stealth kills we were managing thus far didn’t raise any alarms just yet. We knew this, because the palace still remained unlit and completely bereft of a full-scale defensive operation.

But that wouldn’t be that way for long, so we had to keep moving.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the end of a long hallway, in front of a set of large oak doors encrusted with gold. “Here, the scepter should be in here.” I managed out quietly, the silence ensured through the use of a privacy screen. 

“Right, Articord, you stay in the middle of the group. We don’t know what to expect in there, so we’re just going to-”

The whole world suddenly blipped out of existence.

One moment I was in a hallway in the presence of Talorin.

And the next, I was transported into a grand hall, lit up with oil lanterns and mana-lamps every which way Iooked.

However, I soon realized I wasn’t alone.

As my eyes eventually landed on a figure that stood in the middle of it all, standing halfway up towards a throne positioned as the room’s centerpiece.

“I admire your handiwork, bookkeeper.” The figure spoke, her words carrying with it such a weight and authority that I couldn’t help but to shudder in place. “But it’s time we ended these charades, and allowed ourselves some time to finally catch up, hmm?” She continued, as if she knew me.

“I… I’ve never even met you before-”

“Shush now.” She ordered, somehow instilling within me a sense of dread so great I couldn’t help but to comply. “So you are after my scepter, hmm? A task so many have sought to do but had little hope in doing, so much so that this is truly the first genuine attempt at accomplishing it. Do you know what this scepter represents, young bookkeeper? Do you know of its power? Its capabilities?”

“Who wouldn’t?” I spat back, finally regaining my courage all of a sudden. “You of all people have made that clear.” I stated in no uncertain terms, dropping any pretenses at adhering to the noble titles which the monarch held so dear. Something that was incredibly satisfying to the timberborn within me. “Tyrant.”

The response I got, however, was not at all what I expected.

And it all started with a smirk.

“This will make things easier then.” She responded, taking slow, methodical steps towards me from that tainted throne. 

I took a few steps back, readying my spellbound weapons, pointing it directly at her head. 

“Oh just lower those silly little things. I’m not going to kill you.” The woman spoke in an almost too-casual tone of voice, before shifting dramatically into something more… distressingly venomous. “Because if I’d wanted to, you’d already be dead.” She paused, allowing those words to linger in the air as I realized, much to my own frustrations, that she was right. I felt the whole room staring at me through my aura, my manafield practically prickling with nervous apprehension. That was, until it all went away, as if the despot had chosen to purposefully hide them from the senses, only revealing it to prove a point. 

The fellow timerborn moved so close that I had no choice but to finally lower my weapons, out of fear that just accidentally touching her would trigger some sort of a defensive response. 

“Since you know so much about the scepter’s power, perhaps we should move on to another question. Do you know who this scepter belonged to then, bookkeeper?” She continued.  

“Some mythical, mystical being you and your inner circle somehow managed to defeat three decades ago.” I offered, still defiant despite the power disparity between us. 

“Indeed, and do you know exactly who or what they were?”

“We’d be walking into the realm of your own constructed mythos then and you know it, tyrant.” I countered. “Which version of the story do you want? The town guard? In that case, this being was a furless, hairless, light-skinned biped with two horns and eyes that could kill the average mortal with a single gaze. If you wanted the more elaborate stories then I need only point to the mid-town marketstalls, their stories involve some sort of an otherworldly abomination consisting of a thousand tentacles each wielding a powerful magical artifact. I can go on and on, tyrant, but I know you weren’t expecting me to answer that question in any meaningful capacity. I know what you want is just to gloat before my demise.” I surmised with a seething fury, something that brought an even greater smile to form on the edges of the tyrant’s cheeks.

“You are very well informed, bookkeeper. Something quite lacking in today’s society.” The timberborn spoke with little in the way of any overt venom, but instead, with this overwhelming sense of personal satisfaction. “But not informed enough, not of your own fault of course. I did have a role to play in diminishing the truth behind the nature of this artifact.” She continued, as if she was somehow regretful of that fact. 

I doubted she was capable of any regret though. 

“Just make your point and be done with it, tyrant.” I practically snared out. 

“Patience, bookkeeper. Patience. For all good things come to those who wait.” She chastised, before continuing on. “The stories and rumors are partially correct, and they certainly do not embellish the truth when they claim that this… artifact is not of our world. For you see, the scepter… once belonged to a Grand Library, the agent of whom defected into something it refers to as The Nexus of All Things. It is a powerful tool used to concentrate mana, capable of breaking the barrier between dimensions in more ways than simple travel.”

To say my eyes lit up in disbelief at that would’ve been an understatement. As I stared at the tyrant with a look of complete incredulousness. 

“Are you saying this… scepter truly did belong to a being not of this existence?”

“Yes. That is what I just said is it not? Indeed, most stories seem to reflect that notion, no?”

I paused, gritting my teeth as I let out an exhale. “I guess so.” I acknowledged, before taking a leap of faith and allowing my inner bookkeeper to take hold once more. “How did you come across this knowledge?”

“Oh, it told me. The creature from beyond the veil that is.” 

“How? I thought you immediately dispatched of it-”

The tyrant stopped me there with a single glance. “It wasn’t immediately hostile.” She admitted through a tone that was irrefutably regretful. “In fact, it was able to communicate with us not through not the word of speech, but the speech of the mind.”

“Psychic communication?” I offered. 

“Correct.”

“The only way a true outlander could communicate to us given the language difference.” I reasoned, prompting the tyrant to once more nod in acknowledgement.

“Right again, bookkeeper.” 

“So what else did it say?” I finally decided to take the bait, willing to at least hear the tyrant out. I did this partially because I was out of options to really do anything about it, partially because I was hoping the rest of the team would manage to claw me out of this situation, and partially because of my curiosity. For this would be the first time anyone would’ve heard the story of the Queen and the outlander from the Queen herself. 

There was a brief pause, the Queen’s features shifting, into what I could describe as a genuine look of frankness. 

“After it declared that it meant no harm? It begged for asylum, and then its life.”