Encountering Grizzal

The journey to Ignis was long, and most carts that made the crossing were built accordingly. Chance’s was no different—a stripped-down four-wheeler that prioritized speed over everything else. By the time he’d arrived, he’d thoroughly exhausted all the supplies he’d had room to pack. Three nights later, this same lack of storage space was again becoming a hindrance.

He’d spent the last two days in the mines south of basecamp pursuing Ignis’s fabled mineral wealth. In exchange for several dozen hours of backbreaking work, his cart was already brimming with riches—a dizzying array of precious stones and metals in a range of colors and patterns like nothing he’d ever seen before. He just hoped it would be enough.

His brief exposure to Ethel’s artifacts had left him with ample motivation to return with something worth trading. Each of her wares still called to him in strange and alluring ways. He’d been unable to stop thinking about them ever since leaving the market. He didn’t want to go back only to leave empty-handed again—but if he added anything else to his cart, there was no way he’d be able to get it back to basecamp in one piece.

This bothered him. While he probably had enough to go back and get his cart’s inventory expanded at one of the other shops at basecamp, the idea of being separated from the artifacts in the marketplace any longer was torture. He needed them—and a part of him felt increasingly convinced they needed him. The power each one offered kept him from giving these thoughts much serious interrogation. He just had to find somewhere to keep his newfound wealth while he got a little more. Just to be sure he had enough. 

Before leaving for the mines, he’d seen signs for a bank on the outskirts of basecamp. Perhaps they’d be willing to store his haul for a few days. Without any alternative, he decided to head back and investigate.

The journey back was strange. It went much faster than two days previously, and the scenery along the way looked new and unfamiliar. It was like the road had contracted or changed. He decided it was best not to dwell on this discrepancy.

He’d overlooked the bank on his first visit to basecamp, though now it seemed unavoidable, looming large over the tents and simple structures surrounding it. It looked, to his eyes, like someone had taken one of the stately shops from the capital of his homeland and placed it squarely into the middle of nowhere—a tall, thin, four-story stone building with elegant glass windows and a gabled roof that were already starting to show signs of elemental wear and tear. It seemed to be sitting at a slight angle relative to the horizon, only reinforcing his initial assessment of its appearance. A sign in brass letters confirmed what he already knew.

F I R S T   B A N K   O   I G N I S 

G R I Z Z A L - M A N A G E R

A faded space between the “O” and the “I” suggested an “F” lost to weather, theft, or some combination of both.

The bank’s first floor was an oasis from the hard, rough life outside. The walls were covered in lavish green and gold wallpaper, and the floor was blanketed in expensive-looking carpets. A colossal door made of polished brass covered in intricate locks framed the wall opposite the entrance. In front of this door, behind a long desk made of polished hardwood, sat a short, elderly man in a bright green suit. Most of his face was obscured behind a long white beard and a pair of gold wireframes with green smoked glass lenses, but he was clearly sleeping. Chance assumed this was Grizzal.

As the front door closed, a golden bell atop the entryway alerted the manager to Chance’s presence. His eyes opened just enough to look upon his guest, but not much further. 

“Whaddaya want?”

His voice was coarse and accusatory, making Chance step back.

“Hello, sir. Is this the bank?”

“Can you read? No handouts.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no handouts.”

Chance took a moment to collect himself. In terms of local company, Ignis really wasn’t much to write home about so far. 

“I’m not looking for a handout. I’ve been mining for the last two days, and I’m looking for a place to store my…” 

He paused, unsure how to describe his newfound cartful of minerals in terms that might suit a banker. 

“Property.”

“Property?”

Hearing the word, the old man sat bolt upright in his chair, his eyes suddenly wide open and his fingers tented. 

“Forgive my rudeness, sir. Many people around here seem to take me for some kind of a fool. I’m sure you, as a man of property, can understand how tiresome that can get.”

Chance shrugged. This was the first time anyone had ever mistaken him for a man of property, and he wasn’t about to correct it. 

“That’s the problem with this place,” continued Grizzal, “well, one of the problems, anyway. If we’re ever going to tame this land, and I mean really tame it, the first thing we need to do is establish a healthy respect for property!” 

Chance nodded along.

“So you have space in your bank for my property? Say, a whole cartload?”

The old man nodded back happily.

“Of course, of course!”

He sprung up from his chair with surprising energy and shuffled over to the huge door behind him. Fumbling through a series of keys on his belt, he clicked through several of the door’s most complicated-looking locks with an almost thoughtless precision. Seeing Chance’s look of wonder, he gave a little chuckle.

“You can never be too careful in these parts, you know. Back west, most banks don’t even have to keep their vaults locked! Because people respect them.”

Chance had never seen a bank in the west that left its vault unlocked, but he saw little point in saying this to the man who was about to store his property. Something in Grizzal’s eyes gave Chance the impression the manager wasn’t really all there. For his purposes, this worked just fine. 

Several locks later, the door swung open. Chance had to keep his eyes from going wide. The vault was ten times larger than he’d imagined—far too big to be entirely accommodated within the building’s lean exterior frame. Once again, he found himself second-guessing the properties of his surroundings but had little time to dwell on it. The vault walls were lined with deposit boxes, though few seemed to be in use. Most of the vault’s contents seemed to be consolidated on the floor in the center of the space, a vast pile of precious stones and minerals just like his. 

“How can you tell whose property is whose?”

The old man turned and smiled, tapping his finger on his nose.

“Oh, when you’ve been at this as long as I have, you just know.”

Chance shrugged. For now, that was going to have to do. 

The old man offered no help in getting everything out of the cart and into the vault. It took Chance the better part of two hours to move it all inside. Then he was back to the mines to do it all again. 

The next three days passed much the same way as the previous two. Long, hard afternoons in the sun bled into frigid nights, pulling more and more “property” out of the ground. When he finally went back to basecamp, he vowed to use whatever of his newfound wealth remained after visiting the market to get himself a good meal, a bath, and a good night’s sleep.

On his sixth full day in Ignis, he returned from the mines. Today, the journey took three times longer than usual. His first trip to the mines had taken four hours, and the return had seemed to take no more than two. This time he left at dawn and reached basecamp just before sunset. He was starting to feel like Ignis was testing him.

He reached the bank just as Grizzal looked to be closing up shop for the day. Seeing him, the elderly manager smiled. 

“Ah, welcome back, sir! Come to check on your property?” 

Chance nodded eagerly.

A moment later, he was back inside, watching Grizzal go through his practiced routine of unlocking the vault. This was it. All he had to do was pick up his property, take it over to Ethel, and her artifacts would be his. He could feel his heart racing as he heard the vault’s final lock disengage. 

Then the door opened. His jaw dropped. The vault was empty.

“…Where is my property?”

He looked to Grizzal for an explanation. The manager looked just as puzzled as him.

“Oh, dear,” said Grizzal, running a hand through his long white hair, “that’s right. A few of my other clients made some withdrawals since the last time you came in… I’m afraid your property may have gotten mixed up with theirs.”

Chance took a deep breath. This was the exact worst-case scenario he’d spent the last three days worrying about.

“But you said-”

“-Honest mistake, sir. My apologies.”

Chance took a deep breath. 

“Alright… so can you reimburse me for that property?”

Grizzal offered an innocent smile.

“My apologies again, sir, but I don’t recall us signing any documentation confirming that I ever actually held your property.”

Chance had to keep himself from groaning. Unfortunately, the old man was right.

“That’s true, but… surely we can come to some kind of informal agreement?” 

Grizzal’s eyes narrowed.

“If I didn’t know better, sir, I’d say it almost sounds like you’re asking me for a handout.” 

Chance was struggling not to scream.

“…This is a joke, right?”

The old man stepped back into the front of the bank and beckoned Chance out of the vault. 

“There’s nothing funny about property, sir.” 

Chance sighed.

“Apparently not.”