《Archivist》 First Day on the Job Grem¡¯s lungs protested against the brisk morning air as he hurried along the smooth stone streets of Remria. The night before yielded little sleep; the excitement and anxiousness that precedes the first day at a new job was almost his undoing. He focused on the rhythmic slapping of his shoes rather than dwell on first impressions. The normally bustling roads were sparsely populated, adorned with cloaks of morning mist. At least I beat the morning rush, Grem thought to himself. Moments later, Grem stood breathless in front of the massive Remrian Hall of Records. He gazed up the wide stone staircase, beset on either side by massive marble pillars. The great metal doors stood permanently ajar, welcoming him in. Why even have doors if you aren¡¯t going to close them, the young man silently asked himself. Grem smoothed his ruffled hair down and adjusted his cloak. Then he ascended the stairs nervously. The entrance hall was cool and quiet. Running the length of the room there was a red rug with gold filigree gilding its edges. Grem strode past the myriad paintings on either side into the reception area at the end of the hallway. At a high desk sat a plain-looking woman with brown hair wearing a rather bored expression. She was reading a document of sorts and did not seem to notice Grem. He cleared his throat to get her attention. The woman lifted her eyes to meet his gaze and sighed. ¡°How can I help you,¡± she asked, clearly irritated. ¡°Um, yes,¡± Grem said nervously. ¡°I¡¯m Grem Briarbridge, and it¡¯s my first day as an Archivist. I wa-¡± ¡°Right,¡± she cut him off. ¡°Mr. Brommus will be right with you.¡± ¡°Oh right, thank you, Miss¨Cerm may I have your name?¡± The receptionist kept her sight focused on the parchment in front of her and pointedly ignored answering him. Grem decided not to press the issue and meandered around the reception area. The architecture was lavish and ornate. The floors were set with polished wooden planks and the walls were adorned with elegant red banners. On either side behind the desk was a staircase leading upward. The eager young man studied a painting on the wall across from him. It was a portrait of a scowling man with a high hairline. He wore a neat gray doublet and the icy blue eyes seemed to stare right into Grem¡¯s soul, inspiring him to move his gaze elsewhere. He looked to the other side of the room and spied a row of booths adjacent to a sitting area composed of two uncomfortable-looking benches. Grem shuffled over to the first booth giddy with excitement. Inside was a spirit scanner. The mechanism was a frame of copper with a large crystal set in the center. It was light blue in hue, and in the center, surrounded by runes was an orifice large enough for a finger. Grem had scanned himself just the day prior, but he was ever the connoisseur of all things raw data, which prompted him to insert his index finger into the scanner. After a moment, the runes around his finger lit up in an undulating pattern and a whirring noise resounded from somewhere behind the crystal. Then a readout was projected from the crystal in front of the young man¡¯s face: Name: Grem Briarbridge Age: 19 Tier: F-1 Physical Condition: Healthy Mental Condition: Healthy Mana: 67/63 Strength: 2 Agility: 2 Constitution: 3 Perception: 5 Mana Density: 10 Mana Regeneration: 11 Then he heard slight grinding as a small card was spit from a slot below the crystal. Grem¡¯s brow furrowed as he studied the card. His mana read in at fifty four yesterday, and the current value was above his maximum value. A change that drastic was not plausible in the least. To be an archivist required abnormally high mana values for F-tier individuals. Twenty or higher would be above average. Most people who had applicable mana values became adventurers and learned some sort of spell that their soul resonated with. Grem would have dearly loved learning a spell of any sort. Unfortunately, much to his mother''s chagrin it was not in the cards for him. No amount of studying or tutoring would yield any fruit. The talentless young man had a large mana pool that he could not properly utilize. Grem¡¯s situation made him perfect to become an archivist, because mana and an open schedule was exactly what they needed. Excitement at the prospect of being useful fueled the fire of his heart and soul. He needed something¨C anything. Footfalls caught the would-be archivist¡¯s attention. Descending the stairs was a graceful albeit skeletal man. The only thing more jarring than the man¡¯s pale skin and slicked back dark hair was the ¡°smile¡± he wore. Upon the visage staring back at Grem was an unsettling grin. The man¡¯s thin lips were spread wide, with the corners lifted as if they were stitched permanently in place, revealing pearly teeth. ¡°Mr. Briarbridge,¡± said the man in an unexpectedly deep tone. ¡°It is always an honor to welcome an aspiring archivist to our ranks.¡± Grem fought back the instinctual urge to flee and approached the ghoul of a man. ¡°Yes sir, it is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Brommus,¡± he said excitedly. Grem offered his hand to shake and Brommus delicately wrapped his cadaverous digits around Grem¡¯s hand, the horrific grin never leaving his face.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Please, Mr. Briarbridge. The pleasure is all mine. We look forward to you being a part our. . . family.¡± The slight pause and the sickly sweet way Brommus had spoken the word ¡®family¡¯ set Grem¡¯s teeth on edge, but he ignored any further flight or flight responses welling up from within. ¡°Now let us get situated right away,¡± Brommus continued, approaching the stairs and beckoning toward Grem. ¡°For our archivists there is always too much work, and not enough bodies.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me twice,¡± Grem piped in as he eagerly caught up. ¡°I appreciate your enthusiasm,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s not a common trait in archivists these days. Tell me, Mr. Briarbridge. What exactly is it that you think or know you will be doing during your stay here at the ministry?¡± ¡°As an archivist, I will be reviewing memory stones,¡± Grem said automatically. ¡°Very good, and what are memory stones?¡± ¡°Memory stones are essentially droppings coded with data. Massive, sentient landmarks known as Dungeons often leave memory stones when they are aware of something fantastic.¡± ¡°Such as,¡± Brommus prodded. ¡°Such as the emergence of a never-before-seen spell, a new species of monster, or the battle between the dungeon¡¯s final monster and the adventurers,¡± Grem blurted out excitedly - the final battles were always his favorite bits. ¡°Ah yes, all very exciting things to witness, Mr. Briarbridge,¡± Brommus said with a hint of disdain in his voice. ¡°But there are many other things one can glean from the memory stones. Some of them mundane, yes, but others potentially life-saving.¡± Grem¡¯s shoulders slumped as his answer was refuted. He chided himself for allowing his emotions to get in the way of his first impression with his new boss. ¡°Consider this, Mr. Briarbridge.¡± Brommus had stopped ascending the stairs, and had turned to harangue the young man with a full show of the skin crawling grin. ¡°There is beauty in the dreadful. Never-before-seen spells, yes, that is interesting information, but what about a newly-discovered disease? A fatal and contagious one that could wipe out hundreds if not thousands. That is the sort of thing we¡¯re looking for.¡± ¡°I¨C,¡± Grem started attempting to assure Brommus he understood, but he was cut off. ¡°Or an experienced adventurer becoming hopelessly lost in a newly-discovered dungeon. A dungeon so vast that creatures begin spilling from it, leading to an invasion-level threat,¡± Brommus¡¯ face had inched ever closer to Grem¡¯s while speaking, ¡°or the most important of all. . . an adventurer¡¯s last moments.¡± The would-be Archivist winced at the dour reprimand, but the thin man merely turned to walk back up the stairs to wave it off. Grem was sure the eerie smile was still stapled across his lips even then. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, Mr. Briarbridge. All Archivists are excited by the same things at first: glory, adventure, and of course loot. While those things hold their significance, we perform a vital service to our community and fellow man. Reporting dangers and death can save lives. Families of adventurers deserve to know the fate of their loved ones. We know little enough about dungeons that it is of the utmost importance that we maintain as much knowledge as possible of potentially harmful things spilling from them, purposefully or not.¡± Brommus turned at the apex of the stairs to point Grem down another hall. The smile was still there, and he wasn¡¯t sure, but the young man felt as if it had intensified from the subject of the last sentence. He wondered at what may have caused the condition. Had Brommus been an adventurer prior? Surely Grem would have known if he had. There wasn¡¯t a famous adventurer he wasn¡¯t familiar with. Perhaps Brommus had suffered some unfortunate accident in a dungeon that caused his face to be frozen in a permanent death¡¯s smile. Grem shuddered. They walked in silence for some time and, curiously, after climbing a flight of stairs, they took several more flights, except in a downward trajectory. Each set of stairs appeared more drab and tiring than the last. Grem had not seen a single soul since their descent. Curious, he thought to himself. Why climb a flight of stairs just to take several more stairs down? We must be in the basement at this point. Brommus stopped at a heavy wooden door at the bottom of the final stair. The wood was chipped and devoid of paint. The stone walls smelled musty and Grem could detect the onset of algae on them. ¡°This will be your office,¡± Brommus announced as he pushed open the stout door. ¡°Inside you will find a hefty backlog of memory stones as well as a reading chair. We need you to review the stones of the deceased. You¡¯ll know them by their hue, which will be primarily purple. Are you familiar with how to use a reading char, Mr. Briarbridge?¡± ¡°I took the time to read the literature, sir,¡± he said. ¡°I am quite familiar with the process.¡± ¡°Very good, Mr. Briarbridge,¡± he beamed at Grem. ¡°I will send an associate down later to check on you, do not forget to take breaks. The process can be quite - - draining.¡± Grem shuddered once more as Brommus began ascending the stairs, leaving him to an open door and yet another staircase downward. This one spiraled around a circular stone room. It was dimly lit and smelled strongly of dust that had not been disturbed in years. He wrinkled his nose as he gingerly descended. In the center of the room was a large chair. It was cushioned and covered with hide - likely for comfort due to the lengthy nature of stone-reading. On the right arm was an indentation large enough for a cup and on the left was a smooth crystal the size of his hand. From the headrest a strange helmet like device covered in runes dangled. This was the first reading chair the young archivist had seen up close. He regarded it in reverence and his fingers tingled with excitement at the prospect of testing it out. This was an older model than all the ones Grem had typically seen in his reading. Any more, reading chairs were stone or wood with no regard to the comfort of the reader. He found himself glad at the ministry¡¯s neglect for infrastructure in this case. The only thing left to do was find a memory stone and get started. Grem turned to a massive pile of stones against the curved wall. Every stone in sight was purple. He felt a pang of guilt seeing the disheveled mess of death in front of him. These stones were the final memories of people that had lived and breathed, and here they lay, forgotten and left to rot in the lowest room in the ministry. These were all lives that thrived and had abilities far beyond Grem¡¯s, and here they were, reduced to dungeon shit. There was nothing that could be done and the young archivist was eager to prove himself. He plucked a stone from the top, and blew the dust off it. It was lavender with a deep purple core - sunbursts of green flecked the outer edges. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ll be my first memory,¡± Grem said breathlessly. He took the gem over to the chair and placed it in the indentation on the right arm. After climbing into the chair and settling himself, Grem pulled the uncomfortable helmet on, placed one hand on the smooth gem on the left arm and the other on the memory stone in the right arm. For a moment nothing happened, but the young man expected this. He had read the manual after all. Grem took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Concentrating deeply, he focused first on his left palm, and then the left, and immediately felt a steady drain of his mana.. A rhythmic clicking sound began to emanate from the chair behind him and then the symbols on the helmet sprang to life. His vision was obscured by blinding light and then he was falling through a tunnel of blue swirling stars. A letter display flickered into view denoting the dungeon tier, the adventurer¡¯s class, and other pertinent information. Then there was nothing but blackness, and then Grem could hear sounds. Not the expected ones, but sounds of nature: Insects buzzing, and voices. Striking it Rich Name(s): Elmore Rem; Oakford Rem; Marden Garsh Class: N/A Tier: F Dungeon Name: Hidden Dungeon Swamp-4 Location: [Classified] Dungeon Tier: Adolescent Time of Death: Fifth sun of The Warming. Four green as grass adventurers stepped forward through the entrance portal of the dungeon. The portal stood in the middle of a swamp. Spread out in all directions was nothing but boggy terrain, sickly-looking plants, and the sound of bloodthirsty insects. The smell of the moist air assaulted their senses. Putrid decomposition was abundant in this land. The swamp had a distinct lack of trees, which was strange, but dungeons weren¡¯t known for normalcy. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be here. We¡¯re supposed to have a guide!¡± Elmore hissed in a quiet tone. Multiple shoes, boots, and even a pair of unlucky sandals slapped into the wet mud of the swampy land. The young man¡¯s brown eyes nervously scanned the surroundings. His blonde hair kept falling into his eyes, which made him reflexively lift his left arm, the one with the shield, up to swipe it away. One bonk from his small round shield caused him to howl in pain and ignore his traitorous bangs. Elmore furiously slapped his iron mace into the muck with his white-knuckled right hand.. ¡°Oh come on Elm, it¡¯s a typical swamp setup, we¡¯ve read loads of info on all sorts of newborn dungeons.¡± a slightly larger and stouter man attempted to console the nervous young man. ¡°I am your favorite big brother, would I steer you wrong?¡± Oakford asked with a wide grin set upon his handsome face. The older brother swaggered through the mucky terrain, not letting it slow him down. His hand-axes hung from his belt, ready to be grabbed if anything showed itself to be a problem. ¡°You¡¯re his only brother, Oak, but I agree, we¡¯re ready to test our skills in an actual dungeon. We will be able to handle a newborn dungeon.¡± Keena stated as if it were a matter of fact. Her green skin contrasted heavily with the light skin of the two human brothers. Being a Grenian meant she would prefer this humid climate, and would see an increase in her physical abilities minimally. She would also be able to perform without oxygen longer than humans could. Her sharp pointed teeth were obvious when she spoke, so she typically kept her mouth closed ,showing off her well-known resting frown. ¡°At least you guys didn¡¯t wear sandals.¡± The fourth companion voiced grumpily. His frustration showed as he kept trying to hop from dry patch to dry patch, without much success. His bunny hopping compared to everyone else trudging along was a pitiful sight. Marden was usually a jovial sort, but swampy feet is enough to upset most souls. His crossbow bounced against his back every time he jumped, the sling was not the most secure way to hold the weapon, but it made it easier to grab in case an aggressive target presented itself. ¡°That¡¯s gonna bruise.¡± He said, wincing as his crossbow impacted after a particularly long hop, which still ended with a foot in murky liquid. ¡°Everyone stand still for a moment.¡± Keena said once they all stood on a dry patch of land. ¡°You humans don¡¯t do so well with small insects and the diseases they carry.¡± She lifted her hands in the air and began to sing. The song was mixed with noises that shouldn¡¯t be possible with voice alone, but mixing magic into the art of song could produce strange results. Keena¡¯s voice rose to an especially high pitch as a soft pinging sound complimented her. Once she finished the final note, the three humans had an oily sheen to their skin. Grenian skin secreted a toxin lethal to small nuisances like insects, so she had no need for the enchantment. ¡°Thank you and all, but I will always hate this spell.¡± Oak said with distaste apparent on his face. ¡°Thanks Kee.¡± Elm said with a shaky voice. "I look like a fuckin¡¯ swamp monster.¡± Marden muttered while looking at his oily skin and dirty feet. ¡°Your lead better be right. If there¡¯s no loot for all this, then I¡¯m going to be very cross.¡± ¡°Even newborn dungeons harbor treasure,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°There will be enough for all of us, and minimal danger.¡± ¡°If there is any danger, I¡¯ll be sure to take care of it,¡± said Oakford, his wide face cracking into a grin. ¡°My axes are thirsty for blood.¡± ¡°They must be near death,¡± interrupted Elmore, ¡°considering the only thing they¡¯ve ever tasted is that wooden dummy back home.¡± Everyone but Oakford chuckled. ¡°Right,¡± he said blushing. ¡°Anyway. We¡¯re here for treasure. Keena, do you have the map?¡± The Grenian reached into her satchel and produced a cloth map. It was crudely adorned with directions to what was hopeful to be treasure. ¡°Got it right here,¡± she said. ¡°Cost me 10 marks, but it was from a reliable source,¡± she said. ¡°10 marks is a drop in the bucket compared to what we may find here,¡± said Elmore excitedly, forgetting his former anxiety. ¡°We¡¯ll split it evenly between all of us,¡± said Marden whilst rubbing his hands together. ¡°Drinks on me when we get back to the Drunken Woodsman,¡± said Oakford. ¡°Let¡¯s not count our chickens before they¡¯re hatched,¡± said Keena. ¡°First we must find this treasure. She pointed at a large jagged rock in the distance. ¡°That¡¯s our goal. Let¡¯s get moving before nightfall. We don¡¯t want to be out here after dark.¡± After some time, and much swearing from the bedraggled Marden, they reached the rock. It was easily a hundred men high and fifty wide. It stabbed into the gradually-darkening sky. Elmore¡¯s head was on a swivel, looking to and fro expecting danger at any time. ¡°Odd, he said,¡± lowering his guard. ¡°You said this was a newborn dungeon, Keena. Shouldn¡¯t there be monsters at every twist and turn?¡±Stolen story; please report. ¡°There should be,¡± she said, with bountiful ignorance. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ve been lucky so far. Better to expect danger and not find it than find it and not expect it though.¡± ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± the brother said, scratching the back of his head, trying to parse out the expression the Grenian just made. ¡°All right,¡± said Keena. ¡°There should be an alcove with the stash around here. Let¡¯s get a move on, we took a lot longer than we should have. Look for loose dirt, crevices, anything that looks conspicuous.¡± ¡°This rock was much farther than I expected it to be,¡± said Oakford, slightly out of breath.. ¡°No rest for the wicked, eh Elm? Let¡¯s get to looking.¡± With no further prompting, the brothers started making their way around the massive rock. Marden watched them intently until they were out of sight and out of earshot before speaking. ¡°All right, we¡¯re alone,¡± hissed Marden. ¡°This isn¡¯t an infant dungeon is it?¡± ¡°No,¡± she chortled. ¡°It¡¯s much more advanced than that. The monsters are fewer in number, but much more dangerous. Namely, the layer of these swamp drake eggs we are after.¡± ¡°When are we going to make our move on stupid and dumber,¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never cared for either of them. The Grenian had begun digging furiously at a patch of dirt at the base of the rock. ¡°Soon,¡± she said. ¡°Once we get these eggs, mama is going to be furious. We¡¯ll need those two in order to give us the opportunity to get some distance.¡± ¡°Well, how much longer until we have the eggs,¡± said Marden. ¡°About twice as fast if you get down here and help,¡± she growled, baring her sharp teeth. The young man obeyed and got on his hands and knees and began tearing at the dirt and loam. On the other side of the rock, Elmore crouched at the base looking for any sign of a treasure cache. ¡°What do you think we¡¯ll find, Oak,¡± he asked. ¡°Rubies? An enchanted weapon? ¡°Not sure, but whatever it is will get us set up to be true adventurers,¡± said Oakford, his eyes lighting up. ¡°You and me, daring brothers adventuring and taking on the deepest and darkest of dungeons. It¡¯s everything we¡¯ve ever wanted.¡± Elmore stood and held out a hand, ¡°We¡¯ll be the terror of every dungeon alive.¡± Oakford took his brother¡¯s hand in their secret handshake ending in the touching of elbows. The brotherly gesture was interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek. The blood drained from both their faces. ¡°Keena,¡± they said in unison. The two tore off back in the direction of the scream. Within moments they were greeted by a horrific display. Keena and Marden cowered beneath the shadow of a large creature. It stood tall on two muscular legs, and its scales glinted a dull green in the dim light. ¡°Swamp drake,¡± shouted Keena. ¡°Help!¡± Oakford acted in an instant, snatching one of his axes and lobbing it at the serpentine neck of the creature. The handaxe looped expertly and lodged slightly between the scales. The drake hissed and snaked its head to stare down its narrow snout at the two brothers. Its yellow-hewn eyes zeroed in on Elmore. Oakford shook with fear, but shouted a battle cry as he charged toward the creature with his dingy axe lifted over his head. The drake opened its fanged maw and out shot a narrow jet of green acid. It splashed hotly across the would-be adventurer from his right shoulder to his left hip. Oakford stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at the fizzling line. He turned his head to look at Elmore with lifeless eyes and his upper half slid sickly downward along the line of the caustic substance. Elmore yelped in horror and ran to his brother¡¯s two halves, holding one of his lifeless hands. ¡°Keena! We need a healing song, Please! We can still save him,¡± he shouted half-crazed as the creature predatorily padded toward him. Elmore looked to find assistance from Keena and Marden, only to see the two shrinking in the distance at a breakneck speed. ¡°You fucking cowards¡±, he shouted, as he held his brother¡¯s corpse close to his chest. With tears in his eyes, the younger brother drew his mace and turned to face the drake. He would not allow Oakford to die unavenged. He dashed toward the beast, weapon in both hands, shield forgotten, and prepared to bring it down on whatever part of the drake in any manner possible. The brutish snout grew closer and the fangs were more visible. Elmore stopped, frozen in fear, as the jaws snapped down on him, perforating his abdomen. It shook him violently, separating the torso from the legs, viscera flying everywhere. When the great reptile was satisfied its prey was dead, it began to feed. Keena and Marden kept a mad pace. Each adventure clutched a dark brown egg roughly the size of their own heads. ¡°Did you see what it did to Oakford,¡± panted Marden. ¡°If that idiot hadn¡¯t stepped in, that could have been me or you.¡± ¡°Well, it was him and not us, and we¡¯re going to be filthy rich,¡± she spat. ¡°Not much longer till we reach the portal.¡± The two partners kept their pace in moderate silence apart from the breathless gasps for air and the slapping of Marden¡¯s only remaining sandal in the muck. He didn¡¯t care too much for the loss. He reckoned he would buy a proper pair of boots once he and Keena sold their drake eggs. A wealthy lord would pay handsomely for such an exotic and illegal pet. He smiled to himself. He had hated Elmore and Oakford, and knew they¡¯d be easy marks for betrayal. Marden had a knack for manipulating the less intelligent. It was almost too easy. ¡°Wait,¡± shouted Keena. Marden stopped so suddenly that he fell into the muck, ensuring that there was not a single inch of his clothing that wasn¡¯t soiled. ¡°Look,¡± she said breathlessly, pointing a green finger at a large, beautiful flower in a brambled copse. ¡°It¡¯s a queen¡¯s ruby,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s one of the rarest flowers in all of creation. If we can get a single petal, we will double our profits.¡± Marden grinned to himself. Today was shaping up to be the best day of his life. He handed his egg to Keena and sauntered over to the flower. He began climbing through the thick, thorny boughs, scraping his arms severely as he pushed through, heavy greed pushing him forward. ¡°Anything I should worry about¡± he called, as he carefully waded through the brambles. ¡°Mind the tentacles,¡± she called in a singsong manner. ¡°The what,¡± Marden shouted, turning to see the Grenian running toward the portal. The young rogue made to run after her, but something grabbed his ankle, lifting him high into the air. Marden shrieked as he looked downward to see several tentacles protruding from the Queen¡¯s Ruby. The great pink flower split apart and a thick, sharp beak protruded from the bulb. The tentacle lowered the sobbing Marden closer and closer to the eagerly clacking mouth. He barely got ahold of his senses to take his crossbow from his shoulder. He took steady aim at the creature, but the bolt bounced harmlessly off its thick bulb. ¡°You bitch,¡± were the last words Marden managed before he was decapitated. Coworker Chit-Chat Shakily he lifted and the machine shut down, Grem realized he was breathing erratically and his chest was thumping like a drum. He slid out of the chair onto his hands and knees, sputtering. What he had just witnessed, no one could have prepared for. ¡°First time¡¯s always the roughest,¡± drawled an unknown voice. Grem looked up from the ground to see a bored-looking man wearing the same robes as him. Grem could only see his mouth, as the other individual had a hood covering most of his face. ¡°We need to report this,¡± Grem gasped. ¡°She betrayed them, we can¡¯t let her get away with this!¡± Grem couldn¡¯t say for sure because of the hooded visage, but it seemed as if the other man regarded Grem with pity and a hint of disdain. Only so much can be read from a slight cock of the head. ¡°Right. . . dungeon betrayals happen all the time. Not much we can do about the betrayal this long after the fact. The ministry doesn¡¯t really care about that so much as getting the facts logged. Now that it¡¯s fresh in your mind, you need to get those files written up before you forget and have to re-watch it,¡± he said. Grem shuddered at the idea of having to watch any of those gruesome displays once more. ¡°R-r-right,¡± he stammered, not wanting to seem incompetent. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m Grem by the way.¡± He stood and held out a hand to the man, who removed his hood and accepted his handshake. Despite the frown the man wore, the unhooded fellow had kind eyes and wavy blond hair. ¡°Darbus,¡± said the man. ¡°I was sent to check on our newest archivist on his first day. It appears you¡¯ve taken well to the memory reader, but there¡¯s one more aspect of the job before we check another memory stone.¡± He pointed to a table on the opposite side of the room from the pile of memory stones, and took the stone from its indention in the chair. Darbus strode across to the table and placed the stone in a marble basin on one side of the table. He then opened a drawer and removed a thick sheet of parchment as well as an ink and quill, which was placed on a large metal slab in the center of the desk. ¡°Right. So, you set the stone here, and the parchment here. You¡¯ll need to recount every detail of the stone that you can remember, and once you are finished you press this rune and it will be sent to the archives for storage and further review.¡± Grem¡¯s coworker pointed to a small glass sphere etched with a noticeable red rune on the right side of the desk. ¡°And that¡¯s that. Just make sure you fill out the form properly and record the most important aspects of the dungeon. Please try to avoid using any shorthand. The ministry frowns upon unprofessional writing. Do you know how to tell the type of dungeon,¡± Darbus asked? ¡°Yes. That one looked like an adolescent dungeon. It didn¡¯t have the trappings of a mature rank, but nothing below adolescent could house something as fearsome as a Swamp Drake.¡± Darbus let out a low whistle. ¡°No wonder you were so rattled. Was it the acid breath?¡± ¡°And the teeth,¡± shuddered Grem. Moving things along Darbus crossed his arms, "With the information at hand, what would you classify that dungeon as?" Grem looked up in thoughtfulness for a second, and looked back to his associate with a smile. ¡°Easy, that would be a rogue dungeon, meaning this dungeon wasn¡¯t adolescent. An adolescent wouldn¡¯t be able to throw in a drake until at least floor ten, and they were only on the first floor. I took great care to study the pamphlets, so I know most of the in¡¯s and out¡¯s¡± ¡°That you did. Rogue dungeons are not common knowledge,¡± said Darbus, beaming. ¡°You definitely know your stuff.¡± He clapped his hands together, ¡°Now I imagine that you¡¯re incredibly drained from your first memory stone. Another reason I was sent here was to take over and allow you to take the rest of the day off once you¡¯ve finished logging the memory. There is no shame in easing into the job, trust me.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°To be honest, I¡¯m fine,¡± Grem said. ¡°Uh, apart from being a bit disturbed- - I¡¯ve never seen a person die before, and I didn¡¯t expect it to be so real, but I can definitely do more.¡± Darbus appeared slightly taken aback. ¡°Are you sure? I was told directly from Mr. Grin¨C erm. Brommus that you could go home if need be.¡± ¡°I can manage. I¡¯m not the least bit tired. I¡¯ll just log this and jump right into the next one.,¡± said Grem. ¡°Very well,¡± said Darbus smiling. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not impressed. You must have quite the mana reserve. At least twenty.¡± ¡°Actually, it¡¯s a bit more than that,¡± said Grem, handing Darbus the card. ¡°I got this from the reader in the waiting room before coming down here.¡± Darbus frowned as he inspected the card. ¡°Sixty-seven out of sixty-three? That can¡¯t be right. The right side should always be equal or higher,¡± he said. ¡°I thought the same thing,¡± said Grem. ¡°I¡¯ve only been measured twice, but yesterday, it was fifty-four. Perhaps the machine is broken down?¡± His coworker¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Could be they were both broken. There¡¯s no way a greenhorn like you would be that advanced. Most Archivists start out around twenty or so. I¡¯ve been here for seven years, and I¡¯ve just barely reached Forty. Might want to try and measure yourself on the way out tonight to be certain. Just be careful not to do too many dives. Remember, it takes anywhere from one to ten mana per memory stone depending on how long the memory is. I¡¯d rather not come down here to find you passed out from exhaustion. Either way¨C if you are certain you can continue, I¡¯ll get back to my work, and I¡¯ll check in on you later,¡± said Darbus. ¡°Right,¡± Grem said. ¡°I¡¯ll absolutely re-measure it. I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re right and the machine is busted. I¡¯ll get back to work, but I wanted to ask¨C¡± ¡°Yes,¡± interrupted Darbus. ¡°I¡¯ll happily answer any questions.¡± ¡°I thought Archivists chronicled the exploits and triumphs of adventurers. There wasn¡¯t anything happy about what I just saw. In fact, it¡¯d make me not want to see more. Are all of the stones going to be so horrible?¡± Darbus regarded Grem with absolute pity. ¡°It¡¯s not the most pleasant of things, but as I¡¯m sure Mr. Brommus told you, chronicling the deaths of adventures in dungeons is very important work. It may feel tough at first, but you¡¯ll get used to it. Your work will become integral to the ministry of dungeoneering.¡± ¡°Right¨C¡± Grem Trailed off. ¡°I¡¯ll get back to work and I¡¯ll make sure to chronicle this before I forget any.¡± Darbus smiled and bowed to his shorter coworker. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it, Master Archivist,¡± he chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll come and check back in on you.¡± With that, Darbus ascended the stairs. Grem watched him disappear from view and then turned to the archiving table, and sat down. He dipped his quil in the ink and began chronicling, starting with the dungeons stats. *** After he was sure he recorded every detail, Grem shook the ache out of his writing hand, and dutifully read over the account. The young archivist took great care not to let his personal feelings of the encounter bleed into the writing. With the ink now dry, he was satisfied that the account was informative and devoid of any emotion. He nodded at his work and pressed the sphere''s rune as Darbus advised. A loud whirring sound assaulted Grem¡¯s ears and the metal slab upon which the parchment rested sank into the table. A satisfying click and the tray reappeared without the parchment. The memory stone had similarly vanished from its resting place. Despite the amounting dread of the next memory, he steeled himself and stood up, scraping the chair noisily along the wooden floor. Surely the next death would make the uncomfortable nausea go away. Grem strode over to the wilted pile of stones against the curved wall and ran his eyes across the dusty mass of memories. The last one was colored more intricately, so he deduced that a stone with fewer hues may be milder. The archivist selected a purple stone with a dull gray center. ¡°Darbus is right. I should get some rest, but one more stone couldn¡¯t hurt,¡± Grem said to himself, preparing for the impending dive.