The Black Tower

Silva would approach the construction, only a few hours after sunrise. He had heard rumours of there being an organisation that payed well for people of certain talents. Silva rolled open a slip of paper he received from a nameless informant.

"Let's see now... Huge, black tower? Check. Covered in runes? Check. The only one of it's kind in the Free Plains?" Silva scouted the area, not finding another colossal pillar that could be accredited to similar features. "I'm gonna check that too. All right."

He would approach the fortress, heading for the large doors. If he was not stopped by the guards or ballista fire, he would knock loudly on the twin doors. "Hello! I'm here for the job! I sent you my resumé! You know, Camomile, Silva?"

"I spoke with a man on the road about work... Said you were looking for people who knew how swords work. I'm your man."

Niklas' eyes wander endlessly, bouncing from one magical sight to the other in obvious reverence.

"Goals, of course. Duties." He is obviously grasping at straws. "Get the bad guys, you mean? I can get the bad guys. That's what you mean?"

"Of course. My name is Niklas, squire of Rorer. Seventeen winters. Is it... common for you folk to use magic? I'm... Rorer would say she was a knight errant. So I'm that. I can use a sword, and a lot of other weapons too. I didn't bring any of those, though. Only this one."

Niklas gestures to the unimpressive bronze short sword strapped to his lower back. 

"I'm good on my feet, though. Handle anything you need me to. Medical skills. Animal care. I cook excellent stews."

The scribe would record the information Niklas gave in a swift, proficient handwriting. He nodded in appreciation at the mention of medical skills.

“Well then, we’re just about done in terms with finishing up the paperwork. Once this is done you’ll be able to meet the Inspector and we can get you outfitted with some better equipment. The scribe motioned to the desk in front of Niklas.

Sitting on the desk are three neat piles of paper. Each one is a stack of the same document, identical with all above and below it, perhaps twenty in each stack. They are legal agreements, intended to be made between two parties; The Black Tower, and the employee-signee. They are all written in the same, wavy script, in black ink on neat, yellowish paper. On each document, the relevant space for the name of the signee has been left blank, to be filled by the scribe.

The first document lays out the terms of the employment. Things like when, and how much the employee is intended to work, how much they are to be paid, (fairly generously, every other Monday) operational procedures and working protocol the employee is to follow, as well as benefits. It includes such gems as,

“The employee will never be asked to undertake a task that is beyond their abilities”

“The employee is expected to undertake each task they are asked to do, and do so to the best of their ability”

“Employees are expected, while working, to follow all directives given to them by The Black Tower or any other officially designated handler, for the safety of all involved.”

The listed benefits include, among other things, a severance or retirement package, should one ever be needed, health and dental care, lodgings at The Black Tower, as well as sustenance, (in whatever form the signee may require it) provided free of charge while the signee is stationed at The Black Tower.

The second contract outlines some additional conditions; such as these, among others,

“The signee agrees to follow the local laws of Isra, as they are at the time of signing, whenever they are within Isranian territory”

“The signee agrees not to work, directly or indirectly, to the detriment or against the interests of The Black Tower, The Black Tower’s employees, or any of The Black Tower’s other associates or partner organizations, as defined by Grandma”

“The Black Tower may choose to take legal responsibility for the signee, in the event of any disagreement with local authorities”

The third pile is a standardized form, intended for the scribe to fill out, detailing information on the employee, such as name, age, and location of birth. One of these forms is already sitting before the scribe, half-filled. At the bottom, there is a line, for the subject of the paper to sign, affirming that all listed information about them is correct to the best of their knowledge.

One looking over the documents with a careful eye would find no hidden or obviously misleading terms working to the detriment of the signee. Some oddly specific or strange terms, perhaps, but nothing disagreeable.

“If you find all this acceptable, please sign on the line at the bottom if you would.”

The scribe slid his jar of ink across the desk and handed Niklas a fresh quill as he said this.

<Enter from The Red Sisterhood Campsite>

Raiko, flanked by two of her mages, makes her way over the brown grass of the plain, the black spire rising ever higher in front of them. After some time, they come to the base of the monolith. A cool voice seeps from under Raiko's hood as she addresses one of the guards.

"Tell your master that Raiko, of the Red Sisterhood, would speak with them."

"Ain't nothing wrong with my equipment," Niklas said defensively, though it was plain to see that his belongings are threadbare. 

He inspected the sheets of paper before him, oblivious to the purpose of the runes that covered them, and took the offered quill from the scribe before carefully tracing a meaningless squiggle which had been practised for situations like this. Niklas signed the three documents before him. 

"How many others have joined the tower? I can't be the first"

Vikar Trannyth sat on a small rock structure that appeared to have once served as a crude wall. He eyed the entrance to the famous Black Tower quizzically, his chin cupped gently by his right hand, stroking a beard that wasn't there. In his left, he gripped a rolled piece of parchment, torn at the edges and stained with the decay of time. Beside him, a small beetle crested the tip of his carrion-bird cane and rested at the top, just as a climber would atop a mountain's peak.

"I am putting all I have into this." He muttered, half to himself, half to the beetle. "My entire life is in this scroll."

It was true. The scroll contained every bit of personal information Vikar had regarding himself up to this point. To be fair, it was only his name, age, some paternal details and his brief work history as a merchant's assistant. He had held that job for thirteen years. "Gods..." he thought to himself. "Has it really been that long?" In addition to his employment history, Vikar had written his skills...or what he believed would pass as skills...down in his sweeping, ornate handwriting. As a merchant, he had learned what made people 'tick'; in a fashion. He was proud of his talent for getting what he wanted, and was how, on this day, he had made the money that afforded the outfit which now adorned him. All save for the cane. The thick black walking tool of oak had been his father's...or what passed for ownership. In truth, his father had won it in a card game from a spry, healthy old leacher named: Sir Blight. Even as a young boy, the irony of the name did not escape him. His father tossed it on the mantle as a decorative item in their Free City home, and never touched it. Vikar had always taken a liking to it, and it seemed to fit his chosen ensemble.

With the shake of his head, Vikar stopped himself. "Look at me, I'm reminiscing." He said with a chortle, again to his insect companion. With a flick, he sent the beetle on it's way, and gripped the haft of his cane with his right hand. In a stride that garnered respect and an expression to match, Vikar started toward the Black Tower; a great structure that had loomed over him since he was a boy among the city.

When he arrived across the long, quite intimidating bridge, he confidently approached one of the guards standing watch below the looming walls. Without being addressed first, as Vikar preferred to have the lead in any conversation in which he wanted something, he stopped at a reasonable distance in front of the sentinel and said in a low, smooth tone: "I do not wish to waste your day sir, so I will save the pleasantries for another time. I wish to be escorted inside, as to make my acquaintance to whomever will entertain my arrival. By the look of your meticulously polished armor, you must be a man who takes his position quite seriously; so you must forgive my brash introduction, but your organization does not exactly post the instructions on the wall."

Vikar followed the beckoning of the guard, and made his way through to the tower. When prompted, he took his seat amongst a veritable forest of desks, each manned by a scribe of some sort, Vikar noted. He would ask permission first, and if granted, take his seat gingerly.

The would-be spy rested his cane on his lap, and folded his hands. He regarded the scribe with a serious, yet inquisitive look, and began his request. He had rehearsed this several times before entering the building, but the complexity of this request; or rather the threat of squandering it on gilded words, weighed heavily on him.

"A bit of both, I suppose." Vikar said, leaning back slightly to convey ease. "I am going to be honest with you, as I'm sure you'd expect. I have very little combat experience, and frankly my skills with a blade are limited. I cannot use magic, nor do I command an army." He stopped for a moment, to let this sink in. "I do not know much of your organization, apart from what has been outwardly advertised, so forgive me as I do not know what to expect. However, I was hoping to enter into a partnership."

At this point, Vikar withdrew the scroll from his coat. "Upon this scroll is my entire life up to this point. I will extend my skills to you, should you require. In payment however, I do not wish to be paid in standard currency." He set the scroll down on the edge of the table. Not to a distance to the scribe that would convey hinderance, but rather, to a point where he would have to reach across the table uncomfortably Vikar guessed, should he decide to pick it up. "I would ask to be paid in information. Access to a store of information that an organization such as yours no doubt contains. This would be to our mutual benefit, as I would be of greater service to you armed with the knowledge of your clandestine organization, and your network would aid me in furthering my own personal gratification. I could not be bought."

Vikar sat back further, and to cement his point, lifted his cane and pointed it's carrion bird head at the scribe. "It would be insane for you to trust a complete stranger with your information, I understand. I have a proposition for a contract, and should I fulfill it, the payment would be to honor my agreement. Interested?" He lowered his cane, and sitting forward conveying interested, he waited for the response.