THE ARBITER'S STYLUS
Now this is a story, a story about the Arbiter in Darkness, inspired by one of the spells It so recently bestowed upon those of us in the Trader's Guild . . . and so let us convene quietly friends, lest It hear us and be displeased . . .
Skoldir was an unremarkable Trader. He made nothing of his own, save for the Son he had raised with his Wife, but rather simply sought to gain his fortunes by buying low and selling high the creations of others. He did this in two ways: by trading commodities on the various exchanges, and also once a week he would take a walk through the local Plaza, looking for items which he thought he could re-sell for more than they were listed.
One day he came home with a trinket found in a local shop - for the first time, something he had been drawn to not with the desire to re-sell for profit, but rather to keep for himself: a simple stylus, a writing instrument, made of iron, with small spots of rust. He told his Wife how he had bought it for only a very few copper coins, as the owner had seemed quite glad to be rid of it.
His Wife, and even his very young Son, noted how distracted Skoldir was that night, his gaze cast downward at the stylus, ever in his hand. And wasn't it odd that despite its tarnished appearance, it caught the starlight so well through the open window? And didn't it seem to shine just a little brighter as the night got deeper?
"Can I write a story, Papa?" his tiny son would ask, his hands stretched out toward the stylus. But Skoldir simply ignored him, wordlessly retreating from the dinner table to his study, locking the door behind him. He barely noticed he had to light three times as many candles to push back the darkness in the room, so eager was he to sit down at his desk, pull out a stack of wax tablets, and ever so delicately make the first impression with the stylus' tip . . . and that was when the candles blew out.
But Skoldir's hand was still writing. He could feel it moving, but it felt far away, like a phantom limb left over from another lifetime. He found himself in a world of blackness - not pure darkness, though, for he could see it swirling around him in mysterious eddies, like floating in a giant inkpot.
A voice in the darkness, distant and echoing, quiet and cold: "WHAT YOU HAVE IS NOT YOURS."
Terror seized Skoldir. In his panicked state, he defaulted to the only recourse he knew as a Trader, the law of contracts and fair trade: "I-I paid fair money for it . . . I would need something in return, to be made whole." A vast clicking sound. Deafening, like a million gears turning to calculate unseen geometries. Then . . . silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, that same cold voice again, whispering an offer: "SUCCESSOR". And as the darkness peeled back Skoldir found himself back at his desk, gasping for breath as though his head had been held underwater. The candles were lit, as though they had never been blown out. All that was different were the piles and piles of wax tablets that surrounded him, filled with etchings in his own hand, as though he had been writing for days.
"Yes . . . yes, yes! I agree, I accept!" Skoldir said aloud in sobbing words, tears of joy rolling down his face, for on the tablets were commodities, prices, and quantities, each entry marked with a date that was in the future, and Skoldir had no doubt as to the treasure he held in his hands. "THE TERMS ARE SET," the voice, whispered, receding now. "Yes, of course, I will succeed you," Skoldir continued to sob, hugging the tablets close to his body.
"Papa, can I write a story?", Skoldir heard a voice ask from over his shoulder, and looked up to see his Son holding the stylus that he had dropped in his excitement . . . "NO!" Skoldir yelled, his eyes empty of love and blackened with greed. He violently ripped the stylus from the young boy's hand and pushed him hard away. His Son fell at the doorway and began to cry.
His Wife burst into the room - she saw her crying Son, the look in Skoldir's eyes, and the way he gripped that terrifying thing he had brought into her home, these all confirming her suspicions. She flew at him, a strong woman, and tried to tear it from his hands. The stylus flew across the room, but they continued to wrestle violently, all this set to the orchestra of their Son's continued wails.
Skoldir eventually gained the advantage, and wrapped his hands around his Wife's throat . . . he continued to cry, his tears falling onto her face as she fought less and less, all the while he sobbed, "He chose me! I was chosen for this! He gave it ME to succeed him!" . . . .
And then, when her struggling stopped, there was silence . . . Then the voice again, closer this time: "IT WASN'T FOR YOU." And Skoldir looked up.
And he saw . . . something. Standing in the doorway of his study. A shadowy being, freckled with points of starlight, as though a Human had wrapped itself in a blanket made of the night sky. And it picked up the stylus. And it handed it to Skoldir's Son.
And in that chilling tone it said, "NOW. MY SON. WRITE ME A STORY."
And in that moment, as he watched his own Son slowly raise the stylus toward him, Skolidr saw the faintest flicker of starlight in the boy's eyes . . .
Neither Skoldir nor his Son were even seen again, although the body of his Wife was found. Traders who cast this spell today, and maybe even some of you who don't cast it yourselves, know that it strikes a foe by lacing their skin with concentrated starlight, etching radiant words and images into their flesh . . .
But what you probably haven't looked close enough to see is that every so often . . . when it's a clear night, with no clouds, and the stars are shining brightest in the sky . . .
The Stylus will scrawl a picture of a face into the flesh of its target . . . a portrait of a bloodied man, screaming in silent, endless horror . . . and the words "LET ME OUT" typically etched not far away, in a trembling script . . .
THE END
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Interested in this story? Join us tonight (May 5th) at 9pm ET for the presentation of a plan to learn more about the Arbiter in Darkness and Its mysterious contract with the Traders' Guild.
Can't make that meeting? No problem -- we'd still love to have you at the actual Experiment event, which is two weeks from now on May 19th at 9pm ET. Both events are on the game calendar.
Although based on Trader lore, I can't stress enough that all Guilds are welcome and encouraged to attend.
