A warning ignored is a world already lost
Orudara, a continent in the southern hemisphere of the World of Thalevir, is home to millions of people living in dozens of cities and thousands of small villages. Orudara has been the location of many wars, some of which have spread across its entirety. Thanks, in part, to the fact that has been locked in a pre-gunpowder technology age some people survive each of these large wars to rebuild.
The Information Guild is the predominant intelligence gathering and news-spreading organization in Orudara. Its operatives are respected and feared for their professional skills by many, thanked by some for the critical information they share, and mocked by many for intruding into affairs that are none of their concern and spreading gossip across the continent.
In the past two centuries, Orudara has developed a society of classes and castes based on opportunity for wealth and education. The amount of actual work being done in Orudara is inversely proportional to where the person stands in the societal systems, with those who do the most work having the least rights and resources.
The Information Guild has been monitoring unrest among the lower classes, warning the governments of Orudara that the class system will cause the destruction of society. Recently, Information Guild operatives have discovered an organized movement of the disaffected. Servants and working-class members of society have been fleeing the cities and villages to rally points across the continent. This movement looks to be one that will lead to historic destruction and loss of life.
Messo had reviewed the reports. He saw the pattern. It was subtle but recognizable. He had learned not to ignore such patterns. A storm of epic proportions was rising in Orudara. Its people weren’t ready. He had to do something, but as a young journeyman in his Guild, he needed his master’s approval.
He sighed. He knew this was a losing battle, but he had to enter the fight anyway.
“Sir, the signs are all there,” Messo said to his Guild master, his eyes glittering with nervous intensity.
The meeting chamber felt colder than usual. The chill came not just from the stone, but from the masters themselves. He stared at the floor, out of respect for his masters, awaiting permission to continue.
“Go on,” the master said.
“You have seen the evidence. Workers and servants are disappearing from the cities, and the dissident army grows,” Messo continued. “At their current rate of growth, in less than five years, they will be able to overwhelm the Orudaran defenses.”
“I know you are often right,” his Guild master responded, “but the council believes you have misread the data. This movement is nothing more than a pimple on Orudara’s arm. We order you to set this aside.”
Let it go? The words struck Messo with the cold weight of a barred door. Previous uprisings had devastated the continent, and those revolts had not grown nearly as fast or large as this one. Why would they want to ignore this threat? A sharper resolve pressed against his ribs, steadying him. If the Guild refused to act, he would move alone, even at the cost of his position.
“As you wish,” he said, bowing before withdrawing.
He left the chamber gracefully. As soon as the door closed behind him, however, the anger he had been suppressing rose.
“Damned fools!” he exclaimed under his breath.
The corridor outside felt tighter than the chamber, as though the building itself disapproved. He had served in the Guild his entire life. He knew defiance might silence him for good. But doing nothing would lead to millions of deaths.
“I’m no one,” Messo said. “I have no influence, no authority, and no resources. How can I get anyone to listen to me?”
It was clear. He needed time and an ally. Only one person in Setreed possessed the courage to defy his Guild. Catenum, master of the pirate Guild, had a history of rebelliousness. Turning to him was a gamble. Messo could walk away from the encounter wearing weights at the bottom of the river.
That evening Messo left the Guild house with his cloak pulled close, walking in street clothes. The air of Setreed felt tight with unrest. Others knew a storm was brewing. Passing conversations carried ordinary remarks, yet some voices dropped to whispers.
He caught fragments containing “rebellion,” “fire,” and “blood.” A name, “Telimicas,” was repeated frequently in awe and in fear. Messo was suspected he now knew the name of the leader of the rising tide. Why had that name not been in his reports? The uprising was closer than he had predicted.
He reached his destination and struck the oak door with the heavy brass skull knocker.
The door opened to a narrow slit.
“Who desires entrance?” a voice asked.
“I, Messo, journeyman of the Information Guild. I have urgent business with Catenum, master of your guild.”
“What is the nature of your business?”
“Life and survival.”
“All business here is about survival,” the man retorted.
“Please. It’s about our survival. All of us.”
The door closed. Time passed slowly. Messo felt lonely and abandoned on the steps of this Guild house. He was about to turn and walk away when, at last, the door opened fully, revealing Catenum.
Catenum was a man of impressive stature, a full head and a half taller than Messo. He stood not as a man summoned, but like a wildcat ready to pounce. His eyes locked onto Messo’s, forcing prolonged contact.
“I have heard rumor of your talents,” Catenum said gruffly. “Come in so we may speak of life and survival.”
Their conversation was brief. Messo shared the information he had been forbidden to reveal, along with the fragments he had overheard on his way there.
“My masters have forbidden me to pursue this topic,” Messo concluded. “But my conscience prevents me from giving up. Therefore, I seek your wisdom and support.”
“Yes,” Catenum said after a long breath, his shoulders sinking. “I understand your dilemma. I too have heard of Telimicas. His silver tongue is drawing many followers. I fear he is the harbinger of our doom. I can’t believe your Guild would turn a blind eye. There’s more to this story than can readily be discerned.”
“I agree,” Messo said, his voice unsteady. “I feel compelled to act. I have no resources but my knowledge and my tongue. Those resources are hardly enough. I need your help.”
“What makes you think I would help?” Catenum’s laugh feigned contempt. “My guild rapes, kills, plunders, and steals for a living.”
“Because you are much more than a pirate. You’re a planner and a survivor. Do you really think you can survive with pirates alone when there are no more towns to plunder? If we can save enough people, perhaps we can rebuild and survive.”
“No, you’re right. I cannot survive with pirates alone. I will help you save those who choose to escape. My Guild obligations will permit me to do no more,” Catenum responded, raising himself to his full stature. “I have a hidden base at a remote bay. I will prepared a way to flee. If you can get the people there, I will keep them safe.”
“Thank you,” he said, his composure finally breaking as the tears of gratitude now spilled freely. “I will begin recruiting people at once. Where must my recruits go to find the safety you offer?”
“They must come here and speak its name, Carimpluni.”
Messo nodded. After extending his hand in thanks, he stepped into the night, chilled but steadied by the knowledge that he had found his ally and that some Orudarans might still survive the coming war.
Which record will you examine next?
