Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

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“Let’s move to the table,” Peake suggested, pushing himself off the armchair. It wasn’t until he was on his feet that he realized how that old, torn armchair had accommodated his rather fat ass quite nicely. Glynt followed suit. Even if Glynt was older, he had no trouble standing, doing so with that grace that reminded Peake of Andaris’ courts.

They moved towards the bar section of the hall, away from the heat of the fireplace and away from the smell of burnt wood. Peake noticed how this half-tavern half mess hall was in far worse condition in terms of cleanliness. For once, the dark wood of the floors was tainted with both wet marks and ash. It seemed ashtrays were yet to be licensed for import inside the Mountain Pride Reserves’ hall. Furthermore, the fact Peake and Glynt had lit up their tobacco meant everyone else did too. As they sat in a table, one beside the other, Peake facing the counter, the man in the top hat slouching over his tankard procured a bent-to-hell cigarette and placed it in his maws. The poor cigarette seemed to have traveled around Idalos thrice before ending in his lips. When the Hatter lit up, Peake saw his features and distinguished their disfigurement; burnt and twisted out of shape in a tragic and monstrous manner. The Charmer, having finished scrubbing his boots, sat comfortably and casually on the banister separating the living section with the tavern smoked a thin, cigarette-sized cigar. A brief look to the left and back made Peake see the young rogue smoking a cigarette of his own, blankets twisted around him as he still indulged in his reading.

Barb the Barbarian came back with his hands full of books, parchments and loose sheets of an aged and malnourished paper. It resembled a pile of laundry instead of wealth records. His eyes were, of course, focused on staring at Peake with that crazed intensity – one he had yet to get used to. It was growing tiresome, really. After dumping the pile in the round, nicked table, he moved behind the counter, lit up a culebra cigar – basically three long, thin cigars twisted into one – then poured a glass of milk, a glass of red wine, a tankard of ale for the Hatter and what Peake imagined was a long, neat whiskey for himself. He brought over the order for Glynt and Peake, gave Peake a stink eye, then moved back. Soon enough, the hall seemed to have become a den of smoke and a fire hazard no matter how cold and snowy Cylus was.

Peake refrained from making any comments on the pile of garbage piled before him, instead indulging himself in a moment of puffing followed by a sip of his milk. He looked over at Glynt, who seemed to be fighting his shame and confusion over the books with that stoic grace Peake had learned to recognize him from.
“Peruse at will,” Glynt said, leaning back on the chair at last, his features settling into amused indifference.
“You know what I want to say,” Peake replied, leaving his glass to the side, and starting to, at the very least, setting the papers in order.
“I do, yes. Is there a point to saying it?”
“There is.” Peake had never run the books before, but he had gotten a minor in Economics back when he was a squire. He learned little from it, but one thing had stuck with him and was prepared to be shared. “The point of having books is that anyone could come and read and understand them. Even if you code them, you must know what you’re reading and what you’re seeing.”
“You’re right,” Glynt indulged him, patronizing. He puffed some strongly aromatic smoke from his pipe.

Peake began, firstly, with one of the three thick books. Everything in it was clearly read. There were squares and lines, with overtitles and subtitles meant, clearly, for accounting of goods, wealth, expenses and income. A blank accounting book by default now filled with its intended use. Of course, they were partially coded and, unless he asked, he wouldn’t be able to understand their semantics clearly. Each accountant had their own, and, by the neatness of the writing and clarity of the pages, it seemed Glynt had done those many arcs ago. It sure didn’t look like Mean-Eyes Barb had mastered the cursive. Peake read some lines.






It seemed there was a pattern to be made from this. This operation, which was a clear deduction, repeated itself over time. The first part Peake assumed was the date, dated in trials, then number of the season, and finally the arc. The second case seemed a sort of reserve, one of which remained stable whilst the other suffered the deduction. The first could be anything, be it Glynt’s personal wealth, a reserve depending on the second number, or a wealth pool of something he wouldn’t figure out unless he asked. He wasn’t about to start throwing questions. The third row seemed destined for the operation, in this case a deduction. After it, came the change in the reserve. Then there was a code he wouldn’t understand unless put into context by the book-maker. The final row Peake assumed was an estimate for the next expense of the same kind, which Peake, with a simple mathematical operation, understood it went in increase of seven. There was, however, a deduction calculated incorrectly. This was discovered by luck. The second line moved the balance to a 956 G, but in the next line the reserve is shown without this subtraction and appears as 595 as if the – 3 had not been operated. Peake tried to assume it was no mistake, that it was intentional, but he dubbed it a clerical error at last. He scanned the next pages. The second to last column had plenty of letters of different kind of operations, but A seemed to be the most operated, the less costly, and always a deduction.

Peake flicked some ash on the wooden ground, puffed some smoke, drank some milk, and moved over to the next book. Reading all this would take him forever, of course, but he hoped some investigation and deduction could help him decipher the code – which he’d use to prove his knowledge and dominance over the mathematical. This, coupled with theory, could get him the job he had come seeking. Everyone else seemed focused on him, at least at first. After his lack of words, they slowly began drifting their attention to something else, but didn’t speak either to the nobleman nor among themselves.

The next book followed a very similar pattern as the first one. It too was written in cursive, the book was made for accounting, but the format had changed. Peake, again, assumed Glynt was the author. He perused some lines, looking for a pattern with which to match the findings of the first book.







The first column Peake assumed was a date, which was the logical conclusion. However, it seemed it was now measured in stretches of twenty trials rather than by singles. Peake flipped some pages forward and measured the arc stated, 913 in this case, eventually changed into 914 after the last stretch, which was a bizarre and uneven 480 – 492 / 913, time in which the clock was reset to a 0 – 20 / 914. The second column seemed to be a balance, the third an expense ledger for each of the two categories, which Peake had no way to figure out once again. However, the second part of the second column seemed to be the part in which most of the A expenses were withdrawn from. Curious, and similar to the first book. Peake looked back into the previous book and found the same stamp, that single A which was always, always an expense. The nobleman puffed some smoke, took a sip of milk, then looked over at Glynt.
“Have you always paid for the booze?” Peake asked.
Glynt drew a large smile. “The Reserves pay for it,” he confirmed.

And so that was that. The A was alcohol, and thus the second account tracked, the second part of the second column, seemed to be a sort of expense ledger for the Reserves which was distinctly separate from the first ledger, which could be either net worth, personal value, liquid or even estimated assets. There was no point in trying to decipher the books, in truth. Peake was in his right to ask about the meaning of the symbols, for every accountant had their code and their way of recording expenses. It was as personal as the shape and size of one’s cock. Then again, he abstained from this, still bent on doing things his own way. After a second revision of the second book, Peake noticed yet another clerical error. Subtracting 33 G, which he assumed was gold, from 1.59 GG, which he assumed was a way of writing 1.59 thousand gold, should have amounted to 1.26 rather than the 1.24 noted in the book. Peake double checked this just in case and confirmed his suspicion. Having worked as a tax collector, a part of him grew annoyed at this lack of mathematical precision.

At last, Peake closed the book and got onto the newer type of writing, the loose papers, scrolls and even rags over which things were scribbled without any sense or regard for clarity. Things like ‘BOOZ 5 GOL’, ‘ARMR 19 GOL’, ‘BG FNCY CUNT YOB 460 GOL’ only implied this was no longer Glynt’s doing. Peake’s eyes rose and drifted towards Barb, nonchalantly. The Barbarian was smoking his twister cigar, sipping whiskey, but upon sensing Peake’s eyes, he slammed the glass back on the counter, left the cigar in his maws, and began his crazy staring towards Peake as if it had never ended. Getting real tiresome, Peake thought. Back on the work, these loose, non-sensical annotation lacked any sort of date, any sort of balance tracking, any sort of code but the bad spelling of Barb’s gigantic, uneven, surely unpracticed letter. Most of the newer entries – judged by the age and state of the paper and scroll – were written in this bizarre spasmodic style, and so Peake finally looked up at Glynt.
“Your books are void.”