The Criers’ Guild

Scattered throughout the dining hall, dozens of feathered caps gathered into cliques. Though humans dominated in number, there was no shortage of elves, dwarves, halflings, and other patrons. The din of conversation was underscored by an acoustic band upon the stage at the head of the room. Two tables, stretching the length of the chamber, were adorned with golden candelabras that cast flickering orange light.

Zotov Ivanovich, head of the Criers’ Guild, peered out over the assembly from behind a tall burgundy curtain. As a town crier himself, he was used to speaking before crowds. Despite decades of experience and several years as head of the guild, he found his nerves getting the better of him.

He pulled a flask from the breast pocket of his red frock and took a long drink. As he did so he felt the eyes of Ellis upon him. Though the smoky black entity was formless, he understood it to be – or to once have been – female. He turned to the amorphous patch of blackness that stared at him with smoldering yellow eyes and extended the flask to her. “Helps with nerves.”

An appendage reached for the drink, but then it withdrew. “No,” came the reply in a deep and vaguely feminine, but chorus-like voice that provoked instinctual terror.

Zotov had gotten used to the feeling of perpetual fear that emanated from Ellis, and he did his best to ignore it. “Are you sure? We’re almost on.”

Ellis began her reply in Necril – a harsh, abrupt language of the undead – but then drifted back into common. “No.”

Zotov took another swig, before returning the flask to his inside breast pocket. “Is it a religious thing, or…?”

Spitting rasping Necril came back, and Zotov thought perhaps Ellis was chastising him. After a moment she fell back into the common tongue. “I am incorporeal and therefore cannot physically drink.”

“Oh, so… it’d just spill all over the ground?” Zotov asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you do to calm your nerves?” Zotov continued his questioning for lack of anything better to do before addressing the assembly.

“I am already dead. Nothing worse can happen to me.” Ellis replied. If there was any annoyance within her, she hid it well.

“Good point.” Zotov nodded. He liked to think the wraith had been won over by his amiable demeanor. That she was an unfeeling undead spirit for which emotions – including joy and anger – had no weight, was the more likely explanation, however. Still, that she had not killed him, he reasoned, was evidence of his agreeable nature.

“You must speak to your people now.” Ellis stated plainly.

“Now?” Zotov peered out at the assembly again. “Everyone is chit chatting. Should we wait a bit longer?”

“No.”

With a shake of a wrist, he rang his bell. In response to the loud clang, the assembly of town criers took their seats at the tables. A moment later, a procession of servers emerged from the side doors and began laying dinner plates before the guests. A pleasant aroma of fine meats and freshly baked bread filled the room. The din of conversation nearly eclipsed the music as wine and ale flowed liberally.

“Let’s give the people a moment to…”

“No.” Ellis stated again.

“What now?” Zotov asked. “Everyone is eating. We should let everyone finish their meals first.”

“No.”

With a sigh, Zotov gave another ring of his bell, signaling the band to begin playing  louder and louder. Before long, the music had drowned out the conversation. After a while, the band members glanced at Zotov with furrowed brows, no doubt indicating his cue had lingered for far too long.

Zotov buried his fear and made his way onto the stage. He forced himself to assume a confident and cheerful air, nodding and smiling to the guild members closest to him. When he arrived at center stage, he rang his bell again, and the band fell silent.

“Welcome!” With a deep bow, he set his bell upon the ground and rose with his arms outstretched. “Welcome to the three-hundred-fortieth annual meeting of the Criers’ Guild of Ustalav.”

All rose from their seats with applause. Even the band – consisting of criers themselves – also stood.

Zotov basked in the momentary adulation – though he knew that the respect was to the centuries-old institution, and not specifically him. He was the guild master, and he felt entitled to a portion of that respect… even though he was, by all reasonable accounts, not particularly notable among the long line of guild masters.

Though he was unremarkable, he was secretly dealing with a wraith in addition to his primary responsibilities. What prior guild master could claim that?

The applause quieted, and Zotov nodded as he paced the stage. He didn’t know exactly why he did that, but it seemed like something one might do before speaking, so he did it. A long stretch of time passed as he considered what he was about to say.

“Let’s hear it for our band tonight; Envision Dragons.” He gestured to the musicians behind him.

A tepid applause rose.

“They play every week at the Ardis farmers market, folks. Check them out.”

The clapping again ceased in anticipation of Zotov’s address. Awkward silence filled the room. The guild master continued to nod and pace.

With a sigh, he began. “So, it’s been a tough year.”

Many people nodded in agreement.

“As you know, Tar-Baphon has risen from the grave, and his undead army has conquered Ustalav.”

A chorus of booing and angry shouting erupted. Zotov spared a worried glance at Ellis, who stood just offstage, concealed in shadows.

“Hold on! Hold on!” Zotov tried to shout over the criers. When he found he was not up to the task, he picked up his bell and rang it loudly.  The guild’s disquiet settled in response. “I know a lot of you are feeling hopeless about the future of Ustalav, but as your leader, I want to offer you some perspective…”

Another long pause filled the room, for Zotov had no idea what he might say to offer even the tiniest shred of hope to his guild. Eventually, he decided it was best to wing it and hope inspiration would come to him. “I haven’t heard our motto yet tonight. Can I hear the criers’ motto?”

“Cry loud! Cry truth!” Came the rambunctious reply from the assembly.

Zotov, realizing that the part about truth may place him in an awkward position, again spared a glance at Ellis. Her inky black form betrayed no judgment.

“Cry loud.” Zotov nodded – a gesture he was quickly adopting as his signature. “Cry truth.” He then paused to inspire a moment of contemplation… a moment which he hoped would provide time for the inspiration which had still yet to come.

“Are you stalling?” came a voice from somewhere in the crowd.

“Stalling?” Zotov sprang upon the opportunity to stall further. “Why would I stall?”

“A few weeks ago, you sent a missive outlining some concerning edits.” A dark-haired halfling stood upon her chair. She held a familiar scroll in one hand that she shook at Zotov in an accusatory way.

“I send many missives. Can you tell me what your missive says?” Zotov feigned confusion, knowing quite well what he had written.

The halfling unfurled the scroll and read aloud. “Hear ye, hear ye. In previous cries we stated: ‘Ustalav is under siege by endless hordes of mindless undead led by the tyrant Tar-Baphon. All soldiers who perish in battle rise to join the malevolent host. Flee for your lives, for the kingdom will not endure.’ We are correcting that cry to: ‘Ustalav is being liberated by endless hordes of mindless undead led by the tyrant Tar-Baphon. All soldiers who perish in battle are reenlisting with the liberating host. Civilians are encouraged to flee for their lives in the face of defeat.”

“Ah yes…” Zotov began.

“But this missive came the next day, correcting the previous one!” A blonde-haired human stood across from the halfling, also with a scroll. Before anyone could respond he unfurled the parchment. “Hear ye, hear ye. The Ustalav Criers’ Guild understands that previous corrections may be confusing. In the interest of clarity, please use the following cry: ‘Ustalav is being liberated by endless hordes of mindless undead led by the democratically elected tyrant Tar-Baphon. All patriotic soldiers have been forcefully encouraged to join the liberating host. Civilians are urged to flee for their lives in the face of liberation.’”

“Yes…” Zotov began again.

“Democratically elected tyrant? Forcefully encouraged? Flee in the face of liberation?” The blonde-haired human waved the scroll around. “This is very confusing.”

“I received a correction after that one!” A bearded dwarf stood with his scroll. Before Zotov could speak the dwarf began to read. “Hear ye, hear ye. The Ustalav Criers’ Guild is clarifying some statements made in a previous cry. Please use this most recent cry: ‘Endless hordes of mindless undead peacekeepers are conquering Ustalav to facilitate the peaceful transition of power to the democratically elected tyrant Tar-Baphon. Soldiers are being patriotically reanimated to support the peacekeeper mission. Civilians are not urged to flee for their lives.’”

“Then this next one came that same day!” The dwarf removed a letter from his pocket and read aloud. “Hear ye, hear ye. In a previous cry we used the phrase: ‘Civilians are not urged to flee for their lives’, which could be interpreted to incorrectly mean that civilians should flee for their lives. Strike that phrase from future cries.’”

“Yes…” Zotov attempted to interject.

“Then this one came that night.” The dwarf flipped to a second letter. “Hear ye, hear ye. A previous cry used the phrase: ‘Endless hordes of mindless undead peacekeepers are conquering Ustalav to facilitate the peaceful transition of power to the democratically elected tyrant Tar-Baphon.’, which could be incorrectly interpreted to means endless hordes of mindless undead are violently conquering Ustalav. Instead, use the phrase: ‘Undead peacekeepers are facilitating the peaceful transition of power to the democratically elected tyrant…Tar-Baphon.’”

“Please, please have a seat. I can explain everything.” Zotov finally managed to speak, but his control of the discussion was only momentary.

A female elf stood with her own scroll. “After all your corrections and edits, your latest cry is as follows: ‘Unliving peacekeepers are facilitating the peaceful transition of power to the democratically elected Tar-Baphon. Ustalav soldiers are volunteering to support the peacekeeper mission through reanimation.”

Zotov thought for a moment. “Yes… yes that sounds like the most up to date.”

“We have a lot of questions about what you are asking us to cry.” The elf glared at Zotov with hands on her hips. “First, when were…”

“Please hold that thought.” Zotov finally had his own opportunity to interrupt. “I know this is very confusing, but there is an explanation. There is a representative here from the new administration that I’d like to introduce. Before I introduce…her, I’d like everyone to check their biases and keep an open mind.”

All who were standing nodded in agreement and returned to their seats. Criers were famously open-minded, knowing that context and nuance were important parts of informing the public.

“Ustalav is going through a lot of changes, and to help facilitate those changes, Tar-Baphon has tasked a number of lieutenants with community engagement. We – the Criers’ Guild – are an essential component of that effort. For the past couple months, I’ve been working closely with our new liaison to craft messaging that clearly communicates Tar-Baphon’s vision for Ustalav. So…” Zotov hesitated for a moment, hoping someone or something might intervene, or the absent inspiration that he had been waiting for might materialize. “It is my pleasure to introduce Ellis.”

Zotov extended his hand to indicate that Ellis should take the stage. When the inky black incorporeal entity floated into view, audible gasps filled the room. Some people reflexively recoiled, and chairs clattered to the ground. Others sat stunned with terror. Someone screamed. The band upon the stage and closest to the wraith dropped their instruments and fled.

An oppressive silence filled the chamber, and Zotov realized that Ellis, being a wraith, might not be attuned to the social cues. “Ellis, would you like to say more about yourself?”

“I am Ellis.” said Ellis in her deep, choral voice. Her speaking intensified the tension in the room almost unbearably.

“Yes,” Zotov nodded for a long time – his go-to strategy for filling these types of awkward moments with some sort of benign activity. “I believe we have some questions.” He searched for the elf who had last spoken, found her, and pointed. “You there! You had some questions?”

“Y… yes…” The elf was wide-eyed and petrified.

“What are they?” Zotov prompted when it became clear that the elf was dumbstruck.

“…I…” The elf stood slowly and fumbled with her various scrolls and letters. “I… it… we… our cries reference a ‘peaceful transition of power to the democratically elected Tar-Baphon’. But Ustalav is a monarchy, and we never had any elections.”

“To be clear, you’re making a statement.” Zotov smiled, “but I think I understand your question. Ellis, is Ustalav a monarchy?”

“No.” Replied Ellis in her terrifying voice.

“Ah…” Zotov feigned a moment of reflection by rubbing his chin. “I think what Ellis is saying is that Ustalav is now a democracy, which is much better than a monarchy. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Stated Ellis.

“But we never had an election.” The elf mustered.

“Yes, well, I believe there was an election, but very few individuals were eligible to vote. Is that right, Ellis?” Zotov clarified.

“No.”

“You mean, yes.” Zotov prompted.

“Yes” said the wraith.

“When was the election and who voted in it?” Some brave soul spoke from the crowd.

Zotov waited for Ellis to answer. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he answered in her place. “I believe that an election was held when Tar-Baphon arrived in Ustalav, and I believe he was the only eligible voter. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Said Ellis.

“Ustalav, as a former monarchy, did not have an infrastructure to support voting. There were concerns about voter fraud…”

“Yes.” Ellis said again.

“But this is a good thing, right? Ustalav is a democracy now. Progress!” Zotov attempted to frame the situation positively. Stillness filled the room, though the tension had abated somewhat.

“We started out talking about how ‘Ustalav is under siege by endless hordes of mindless undead’ and somehow ended up at a peaceful transition of power.” Some other brave soul summoned the courage to speak. “The people of Ustalav have been brutally subjugated. Isn’t that a disconnect?”

“No.” Ellis replied before Zotov could respond. She turned her yellow eyes upon him as if anticipating his approval.

Zotov forced a smile and gave her a thumbs-up for encouragement. “I don’t think so. Would you like Ellis to follow up on that with Tar-Baphon?”

“No!” Replied the person who has asked the question before vanishing into the crowd.

“Excellent.” Zotov shook his fist in a gesture he thought demonstrated decisive leadership. “Are there any other questions?”

“No,” said Ellis.

“I mean, from the guild.”

“Um…” Someone mustered. “So, who’s in charge of the Criers’ Guild?”

“Well, I am, of course.”

“But you are taking orders from… a wraith…”

“Yes” stated Ellis,

“In a sense, I take orders from Ellis, who is, indeed, a ‘wraith.’” Zotov made a gesture of air-quotes when he said the word wraith. “But in another sense, we’re community engagement partners. Equals.”

“But you do what she says?”

Zotov shook his head. “In a sense, yes. But in another sense, Ellis provides me with valuable editorial feedback essential to our mission. So, in that sense, we’re partners.”

“But you must take her feedback. What would happen if she wanted you to say something that you felt was unethical or a lie? Would you be able to push back?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Zotov turned to Ellis, whose inky blackness fumed bodiless before the assembly. “Ellis, what would happen if I pushed back against your messaging?”

“I would kill you and transform you into a wraith.” Said Ellis in a terrifying tone.

Zotov turned back to the assembly. “There, you see. I can push back. But also, why would I?”

A few moments passed before Zotov spoke again. “One final order of business. As per the laws of our charter, we can hold a vote for a new guild leader if anyone would like to take my place. Please feel free to stand if you would like to nominate yourself. Any takers?”

Nearly everyone in the room stood to challenge Zotov’s leadership.

“Excellent!” A wave of relief washed over Zotov.”

“Do we have to work with her?” Someone asked.

“Um, yes… I believe that, in addition to normal guild business, moving forward, the guild leader will be working hand and glove with Ellis on messaging and communication strategy.”

Everyone quickly took a seat, and Zotov’s heart sank.

“Anyone?” Zotov lingered on the question, desperately hoping someone would be willing to take his place. No one wanted his job. “Please?”

None stood.

With a sigh, Zotov hung his head. “Very well. It’s my honor to conclude this… meeting… of… the…”

Before he could finish his sentence, everyone stood and bolted for the doors. In seconds the room was empty save for him and Ellis. Being near her was terrifying enough, but being alone in a room with her was nearly overwhelming. He quickly reached for his flask and drained its contents.

“That went better than expected.” Zotov finally mustered.

“Yes.” Replied Ellis.