Challenge #04895-M146: Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

It has been three summers since the new head of a scribal house in Arbordeep settled into the hereditary role, and all is not well. Many of the students have wandered off, no new recruits to the printing operation have arrived, and even worse, rumors are flitting about of a conspiracy amongst the remaining senior scribes. Something must be done… but what? -- Deathshead419

The Empire was falling. Barbarian invaders, polities breaking off and causing trouble with the Empire that once sheltered them from the Barbarians. It was so bad that the regiments of Legionarii were calling for Adventurers to fill their ranks.

Tullia scribed down as much as she could into sheets of bronze. It was less likely to be traded for the metal, and less likely to corrode. There was a chance that someone would know how to read if she perished.

With that thought in mind, she made one sheet with pictographic instructions. Hoping for the best.

Writing was important. The news sheets were important, even if they went to the rich and powerful. Not that there were many present in Altusportium[1] any more. Tullia's chief business was selling her sheets to the Criers, who could read, so that the news could reach the common populace.

Business was still falling. Failing. There would come a day when she would not be able to afford food. There was less of it in the city and the prices were going up for even the simplest fare.

Time to finally admit. Being the Head Scribe of Altusportium was not as prestigious as it had been when the Master first ran the presses. Tullia checked for messages from the other scribes, and found the reception box empty. She's seen the runners in the city. Taking messages or packages to whichever people were getting them.

Something there was, that didn't like a Scribe. So it made sense to no longer look like a Scribe.

Tullia scrubbed the ink off her hands and removed the sleeves that protected her arms. She packed the sheets in a sack with a collection of lead type and anything else a thief might loot from her workshop. She made certain to ransack it, and joined the other wild politae looking to take anything they could grab.

It was just pure bad luck that she wound up in the hands of the Barbarians from the North.

This one was twice her size, and had a scarred socket where one eye had been. He spoke Ormani, but roughly. "You. You read lithine word."

She read the grave marker he pointed her at. When he wasn't satisfied, he spoke to the raven on his shoulder. "Where treasure?" he demanded. "Where gold?"

"Follow," said Tullia, and let him to the mansion-villa of the very Prelate who publicly declared that the Guild of Scribes were no longer necessary in the world. She may be watching in chains as the Barbarians tore the place -and the Prelate- apart, but it was the most beautiful sight she'd seen in a long time.

Next. The negotiation for her continued life. "I can help you put your words in far places," she told him. "I can show you how to make your story reach people who have never seen you. I can help you gain the knowledge in the scrolls you think are useless."

"Yes," said the Barbarian. "You teach. I teach. We learn."

[1] Arbordeep before it became Arbordeep.

[Photo by Diego Romeo on Unsplash]

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