???:
Varn looked like a man who sold opportunity in fractions.
His coat was clean but worn at the cuffs.
His smile arrived too quickly.
And lingered too long.
His eyes calculated.
VARN:
“You look solid for a vagrant.”
Stripe smiled faintly.
“That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me.”
He tilted his head.
“But I am not into guys.”
CROWN:
Statement is factual.
Stripe almost laughed.
Twenty gold is twenty gold, he thought privately.
CROWN:
Statement is correct.
Varn did not react.
VARN:
“Four weeks training.”
“First mission mandatory.”
CROWN:
Probability of exploitation high.
Stripe already knew.
He walked back to Hobb and placed a copper coin in his palm.
“For you.”
Hobb looked at it.
Then at Stripe.
For a moment, his eyes were clear.
HOBB:
“That man will break you and send you on a suicide mission.”
Stripe held his gaze.
HOBB:
“Be safe. We will come visit soon.”
Then Hobb leaned back, muttering.
“Seven smells like smoke.”
“Twelve smells like soap.”
“Numbers always tell you things if you sniff hard enough.”
Stripe stood slowly confused.
Hobb had a habit of going from lucid to crazy at the drop of a dime.
He looked once more toward the guild district.
Then he followed Varn.
Desperation spoke louder than caution.
Stripe listened.
Varn walked Stripe through the guild district like he was delivering a package and hoping nobody asked what was inside.
The streets tightened as they moved away from the market.
Stalls gave way to stone storefronts.
Shuttered windows.
Iron hooks for lanterns.
The noise changed.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Bargaining and laughter faded.
Measured voices replaced them.
Steel.
Gear.
Movement.
People here walked like they had places to be and reasons to get there alive.
Stripe kept glancing at the guild signboards like they might jump him.
He did not trust any building that looked proud of itself.
STRIPE:
I have a question.
VARN:
Now is not the time.
Keep them inside your head.
STRIPE:
My head isn't a good place.
CROWN:
Statement is correct.
Stripe looked sideways at Varn as if the man had spoken.
Varn did not react.
He walked with the calm of someone who never had to sleep on stone.
The guild hall sat at the end of a wide stairway.
You had to look up while climbing.
Dark stone.
The kind that drank sunlight instead of reflecting it.
Above the doors hung a carved emblem.
An abstract crown framed by a circle of runes.
Official in the way courts are official.
Like the building itself had authority whether you believed in it or not.
Two guards in battered mail watched them approach.
Their eyes tracked Stripe first.
Then slid to Varn.
And relaxed by a fraction.
VARN:
Keep your mouth shut unless someone asks you something.
Stripe glanced down at his borrowed tunic and the dagger at his hip.
STRIPE:
You just met me, if I wasn't so broke I would beat your ass.
Stripe however is broke. So no asses will be beat today.
Varn pushed the door open without answering.
The air smelled like oiled leather.
Old sweat.
Ink.
Voices carried through the hall in low arguments and quiet negotiations.
A long counter stretched across the room.
Behind it, a thin clerk moved papers from one stack to another like he was rearranging problems instead of solving them.
People filled the room.
Scarred mercenaries.
Hunters with bows taller than themselves.
Adventurers wearing armor that had clearly been repaired more times than it had been purchased.
Stripe felt out of place immediately.
Which meant he probably belonged.
Varn walked straight to the counter.
The clerk looked up.
His eyes moved to Stripe.
Then back to Varn.
His expression did not improve.
CLERK:
Another one?
VARN:
They keep dying, I mean failing training.
The clerk sighed like he had lost a bet with the universe.
He slid a sheet of paper across the desk.
CLERK:
Name.
Stripe leaned forward.
STRIPE:
Stripe.
The clerk wrote it down without interest.
CLERK:
Signature.
Stripe stared at the page.
Then at the clerk.
STRIPE:
I do not know your alphabet.
The clerk blinked slowly.
Then pushed the ink pot forward.
CLERK:
Make a mark.
Stripe dipped his thumb into the ink.
Pressed it onto the page.
The clerk grabbed it back instantly.
Stamped it.
Hard.
CLERK:
Congratulations.
He shoved another paper across the counter.
CLERK:
You now owe the a small deebt.
Stripe frowned.
STRIPE:
That was fast, I just got here.
Varn smiled beside him.
That same polite smile.
The one that always looked slightly hungry.
VARN:
The training here is valuable. It will make you fortunes.
Stripe skimmed the page.
The numbers were small.
Too small.
Which made them worse.
His stomach dropped.
STRIPE:
What is the total?
VARN: Three thousand if you add all of those numbers up.
Stripe laughed.
The sound came out wrong.
STRIPE:
That is more than a year of pay for a normal person.
VARN:
Correct it is about three years pay with a good job. Not bad right?
It is an investment.
Stripe leaned forward.
STRIPE:
So I was broke, now I am even worse off.
Begging made one silver a day on a good day.
That is not even one gold a week.
Varn’s smile widened.
Like he enjoyed the numbers.
VARN:
Then you understand the opportunity.
Stripe looked back down at the paper.
STRIPE:
I understand the trap.
Varn shrugged.
VARN:
Call it what you want but you signed the contract. Next time read it.
STRIPE:
You are running a debt funnel.
VARN:
I am running a business.
STRIPE:
Other guilds make money from quests like a bad rpg.
VARN:
Other guilds work harder.
I work smarter.
Stripe stared at him.
Flat.
Honest.
STRIPE:
I don't like you.
VARN:
Oh that just makes me sad. I like you. I like all of you. Just make me my money.
He leaned back slightly.
Like Stripe’s anger was background noise.
VARN:
You will work it off when you graduate. Or you'll die and well sell your body to cover some of the debt.
You will take missions we assign.
Stripe folded the paper slowly.
STRIPE:
What if I refuse?
VARN:
Then you pay the debt in full right now.
Stripe laughed again.
Sharper this time.
STRIPE:
And if I can't?
Varn’s voice stayed calm.
Almost cheerful.
VARN:
Then you are property of the guild until the ledger says otherwise.
A pause.
Then he added it like a legal footnote.
VARN:
That is how contracts work.
Slavery is an ugly word.
The law prefers obligation.
Stripe stared at him for a long moment.
CROWN:
Probability of predatory intent high.
Stripe did not look away.
STRIPE: No shit.
Stripe exhaled slowly.
Then looked back at Varn.
STRIPE:
You fucking suck.
Varn shook his head.
Still smiling.
This is profitable.
