Rogard sat quietly in the hallway outside of the King's audience hall, focusing on controlling his breathing and expression.

He had portaled back to Harbordeep six days ago, and as expected, his appointment with the King had been pushed back.

Today was the day. He cast Create Earth, covered his palms with chalk, and then dismissed the spell, drying his damp palms.

The door opened, and the seneschal stepped out and called "Lord Wallenstair."

Rogard stood, and approached the seneschal, a tall draconian with lovely blue scales, who gestured for him to proceed her into the audience hall.

Stepping through the door, he entered the hall and stepped forward five paces, placing himself in the center of an ornate topaz rug.

"Your Majesty," he bowed low, "I bring you news of grave import."

"Rise," came the languid, powerful voice, and Rogard lifted his head to see his King.

Kellan Garvades, first of his name and line, was an imposing figure. He stood on dias, his nine-foot-tall frame dwarfing the seven-foot-tall draconian who flanked him. He looked entirely human, with salt and pepper black hair and warm brown eyes that were edged by crow's feet, suggesting that he laughed often.

"I was visiting my daughter in the village of Holmstead, your Majesty, when I came across this," Rogard handed the pamphlet to the seneschal, "I quickly said goodbye to my daughter and hurried back to Harbordeep to bring it to you."

Rogard was very careful to be perfectly truthful. The seneschal was said to be more skilled with her Evaluate/Judge skill than those a full tier above her.

The seneschal waved her hand over the pamphlet, frowned, and then approached the King, offering it at chest level for the king to take without having to lean forward.

The King accepted the pamphlet and quickly read through it before closing it and tapping it against his other hand.

"It would appear that the great secret of our Noble Houses has been exposed," the King began thoughtfully, "although the pamphlet doesn't cast any such aspersions, there are many wills, and this is the sort of evidence best described as 'damning.'"

The King closed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment while Rogard stood perfectly still.

Opening his eyes, the King addressed his seneschal, "Long term repercussions?" he asked.

"The towns outside of Harbordeep will thrive when this knowledge spreads," the seneschal responded immediately, "it will offer them protection from wave and tide, allowing for faster, safer advancement."

"Your thoughts, as always, fly close alongside my own," the King mused before raising his gaze to Rogard.

"What are your thoughts, Lord Wallenstair?" The King asked idly.

"I think that while my family pays its full tax without hesitation or prevarication, there are others who do not," Rogard stated, "which has, over the years, shifted the tax burden onto the common populace, who are going to flee Harbordeep for any place that offers a similar degree of safety, and the opportunity to do more than just survive."

The King nodded along and gestured for him to continue.

"Harbordeep will lose a third of its population and twenty-five percent of its tax revenue," Rogard said calmly, although he was anything but.

"That is my own estimate, of course, but I feel confident that I'm correct and may even be on the conservative side of the scales," Rogard finished.

"Your family," the King said, "has stood for centuries as a shining example of dedication and public service here in Harbordeep."

"Even now, you only proclaim your family's honesty and avoid listing the names of those who scheme to avoid their taxes," he shook his head ruefully as he went on, "would that all of the Noble houses shared your steadfast loyalty."

"What would you have for a reward for bringing this information to us?" The King asked.

"Nothing, your Majesty," Rogard strove to remain calm. This meeting had already gone on too long, and he'd been required to speak more than he was comfortable with.

"You see, Ericka?" The King said to his seneschal, "He brings us this information, as quickly as he may, and asks nothing in return, not even consideration for his daughter, for whom he is clearly worried."

"A man loyal to his family and his Kingdom," Ericka agreed.

"You must see the inevitable path of events, Lord Wallenstair," The King said warmly as he descended the dais and stood a few feet from Rogard, just in front of the topaz rug.

"The villages and towns will grow and prosper, becoming cities eventually, with powerful adventurers racing to advance their levels and tiers, leaving these places awash with profits," The King's eyes gleamed, "profits that they well deserve, but that must also be properly taxed."

Rogard nodded slowly. Taxes were necessary.

"But who can we trust to collect those taxes and return them to us?" The King asked rhetorically, "We must stand in balance with the Adventurers Guild and the Church, and relying on those two worthy organizations to collect our due would unbalance the scales."

"No, we must instead rely on our faithful agents, the Noble houses, to attend to this responsibility for us," The King said with a smile as Rogard failed to restrain a frown.

"You fear that greed will cause our Nobles to hold close the tax that should be ours," The King smiled, "and you aren't wrong. Suffice to say that there will be a Geas for those who are sent to oversee the villages that take advantage of this knowledge."

"Although," he mused, glancing at his seneschal, "perhaps we should have a test case, an example as it were."

Ericka nodded with a chuckle.

'Oh no,' Rogard thought to himself as he fought to keep his composure.

"Lord Wallenstair," The King said formally, "I charge you with the responsibility of attending to the town of Holmstead, of setting and collecting the taxes there in my name," he smiled as he continued, "you may reserve some part of the taxes you collect to see to your own needs there."

The King broke out into a full grin and nodded to him, "You'll be able to watch over your daughter while serving the needs of the crown."

Rogard bowed low and said as firmly as he could manage, "I'm honored to serve your Majesty in whatever capacity he deems fit."

"Rise," The King said as he turned and resumed his position at the top of the dais, "go make your arrangements; I expect you to return with your accounting for the taxes of Holmstead in three months' time."

Rogard stood straight and nodded before turning and walking carefully out the door, which was closed behind him by the Seneschal.

Kellan sighed as the door closed and looked at Ericka.

"The rug never so much as flickered out of hue," she confirmed.

"It's telling that I have difficulty believing that I've actually found an honest man," Kellan groused as he opened the pamphlet again.

"I think it was easier when everyone in that family was a confirmed asshole," Ericka muttered, "Rogard is too nice to be a member of the Nobility."

Kellan chuckled as he reminisced for a moment, "His grandfather is a real piece of work, and even he was a ray of sunshine compared to his mother."

"So," Ericka said, "are the paths real?"

"The only one I've ever heard of is the Path of Endless Swarm, and I've never seen it used," Kellan admitted, "they appear to be unique and completely outside the paths of the Nobility."

"They certainly understand how to obtain and use Affinity Crystals, which in and of itself has the potential to drastically increase the power of our citizens," he finished.

"I should gather the tax rolls," Ericka said with a grin, "I can practically hear the screams of certain Noble Houses when the commoners they've taxed into the dirt disappear, leaving them responsible for actually paying their due."

Bob eyed the clearing ahead warily. The tall grass could hide any number of unpleasant surprises, but he didn't have the time to go around.

He quickly glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't see any signs of pursuit.

The back of his neck tingled, and he knew he hadn't managed to escape.

Bob rushed into the tall grass, counting on speed to see him safely across as he fearfully watched both the grass around him and the sky.

There was a reason he wasn't flying.

Breaking free of the grass, he dashed a few feet forward, seeking the safety of the canopy of the trees, before portaling to a point thirty feet ahead, where he quickly moved around an oak tree, and paused, listening for any hint that of his relentless antagonist.

Seconds passed, and Bob heard nothing.

Allowing himself a moment to relax as he rolled his shoulders, he turned to head deeper into the woods, when he was knocked to the ground by a sudden weight on his back as his pursuer tackled him to the ground.

Bob spit out a mouthful of leaves and cast flight to raise himself off the ground as Monroe scrambled up to his back and onto the Makres.

Reaching up to scratch Monroe's ears, Bob said, "Yes, you're a mighty hunter, you caught me. Again."

Monroe started to purr as he acknowledged both Bob's praise and his attention to his ears.

"You know, we can both fly," Bob grumbled as he dropped through a portal, heading back to murmuring falls for lunch.

Monroe chuffed as Bob sunk his fingers into the huge Maine Coon's ruff and scratched the side of his neck, leaning into Bob's fingers and increasing the purr volume to four.

Bob sighed as he continued to portal their way home.

Monroe could fly, but he needed Bob to cast the spell for him.

The only magic Monroe could accomplish on his own was a portal spell, which seemed to mainly be because it was how he got into Bob's inventory space.

Given the skills Bob had assigned him, it was probably for the best.

"Would you like some ham this afternoon?" Bob asked Monroe as they popped into murmuring falls, "or would the most handsome kitty in the world prefer fish?"

Monroe slid off the Makres with the customary series of clicks and leaped off Bob's arm, landing directly in front of his food bowl, where he sat primly, awaiting his human-servant to attend to his meal.

Bob grinned as he moved into the kitchen. He'd fed Monroe chicken and an omelet for his breakfast, and he'd had ham the night before, so it was probably time to put fish into the rotation.

He wasn't certain what type of fish were in the stream next to his home, but they were fairly large, and the adults were iridescent. And according to Monroe, quite tasty.

He pulled a pair of fish out of the stasis box and set to cleaning them, well aware of the steady stare of his hungry cat.

Playing hunter always gave Monroe a healthy appetite and tired him out, so Bob could expect a peaceful afternoon as his buddy napped in the sunroom.

He was considering taking a nap himself.

He really didn't have much else to do; his house was clean, what little laundry he had was clean, and he'd even planted his little herb garden.

He finished deboning the fish and dropped them into Monroe's bowl, where the majestic feline began to daintily eat them.

Bob pulled out a loaf of freshly baked bread and slathered butter on the heel before biting into it. Being Monroe's 'prey' was also tiring. If he didn't convince himself that he was actually afraid, he didn't smell right, and Monroe didn't have any fun.

Knocking back a glass of water, he sighed.

Bob missed his friends.

He looked down at Monroe, who was nearly done with his meal, and said, "I bet you miss Icing Death and Red Fang, don't you?"

Monroe's tail swished as he continued his campaign of fishy decimation.

Thidwell leaned over his desk, hurriedly eating his lunch. He'd managed to steal away for a few minutes during the change over between groups, and he was trying to power down five pounds of meat in ten minutes.

He'd always made it a point never to eat or drink where anyone could see him. Anything that added to the image of him being more than human was an advantage he was going to take.

The past few days had played exactly as he'd hoped. The Guild Leaders had rushed their freshers to level five and then spent a day watching the grow. They'd pushed their freshers to exhaustion, but the results were undeniable, and six of them had already finished and rushed back to their own towns to start rebuilding their Dungeons, leaving their freshers in Holmstead to continue progressing, although at a more reasonable pace.

He expected to get through six to seven groups every two days, giving him a total of two weeks before he could expect all the Guild Leaders to have left. He imagined their freshers would be gone a few weeks after that, depending on how much work each Dungeon would need.

Bob would be back around the same time the Guild Leaders left, which would allow him to explain what he'd done for Bob quietly, away from listening ears.

Thidwell expected that Bob would likely be grateful, as he didn't enjoy being the center of attention, but sometimes people could surprise you.

He'd never expected Huron to admit that he'd been wrong to stand silent as his father was slandered, and he had been prepared to face significant pushback from the Church regarding the Affinity Crystals, but he'd been shocked when Huron had given his full support.

Now, if only the Noble the King sent was reasonable, Thidwell thought with a snort that turned into a cough as a barely chewed chunk of bear meat tried to go down the wrong pipe.

'What would be the odds of that?' he wondered as he reached for his bucket-sized mug of beer.