I can’t believe registering to be a delver took less than fifteen minutes.

Granted, the veteran delvemaster at her side rushing the exhausted-looking clerk and helping her fill out the paperwork probably didn’t hurt, but it still felt…remarkably easy. Before she knew it, the poor beastkin woman was stamping her name on two matte delver emblems and looping them onto a chain for the young mage to wear around her neck.

Talia fingered the crossed sword and pickaxe insignia of the Delver’s Guild, remembering Arrick’s morbid explanation for why there were two on the chain:

“Back in the day, each tab was enchanted so that if you had one of the emblems, you could track the other. But that was before even my time. Now, it’s so that if we can’t bring your body back, we still have proof of death.”

If that doesn’t tell you something about the casualty rate of delvers, I don’t know what does.

The delvemaster had shrugged off her mildly mortified expression, digging around his bag and pulling out another chain with dozens of orphaned medallions on it.

Each represented a delver who had died under his command.

“It’s not safe or even glorious work, but it’s necessary,” he’d said with a crooked smile. “And if you survive, it’s about as rewarding enough to justify the risk, for some at least.”

Arrick, or rather, Delvemaster Torval, as he’d told her to call him when they were on an expedition, let her ponder the sobering though as he led her through the winding maze of the main Guild building. After a final right turn, they came upon a pair of double doors that led into the walled courtyard behind the Guild.

The dark-haired man pushed open the doors and ushered her through into a scene of controlled chaos.

A hive of activity bustled frantically around eight large, fully enclosed, windowless wagons. A burly dwarf holding a clipboard stood on the roof of one of the wagons, directing the milling group of delvers amid raucous banter and laughter. Lumbering, dark-furred beastkin loaded crates onto wagons. Delvers of various races sat sharpening weapons, tightening the straps of armor, and double checking their kits. A pair of human labourers were loading bundles of drearwood and foodstuffs onto the roof of what might be a storage wagon, covering the assembled supplies with dark tarps.

In a corner, what appeared to be a trio of gnomish engineers fiddled with a strange contraption that seemed to be extruding thick, dual rails of stone in a line ahead of it.

Everything and everyone were painted, coated, or clothed in varying shades of black or grey, from the wagons to the delvers themselves, who numbered in at about three dozen, give or take.

Delvemaster Torval dragged her with him as he waded into to the mess, totally at home, greeting individual expedition members by name, clapping others on the shoulder, and lending a quick hand here and there.

He made his way to the wagon with the dwarf on top, waving him over to the edge.

“Switch out with Dhustrun, officer’s meeting by the command wagon,” said the delvemaster. He clambered atop while the dwarf trundled off, presumably in search of Dhustrun. The delvemaster whistled loudly to get the expedition’s attention, calling out in a booming voice.

“We leave in less than three hours people! Kiss your husbands, wives, and mistresses, hug your children and if you haven’t got your affairs in order at this point… Well, I hear the guild clerks are fast—for a fee, that is…” he joked darkly.

A cheer rang out, and laughter bubbled up from the assembled delvers.

“That is all. Officers, hand off to your seconds and meet me by the command wagon in two minutes.”

He paused before getting off, seeming to remember something at the last moment.

“Oh, one last thing. If I find out the kegs have been tapped before we get to first haven, rest assured I’ll find you, and I can promise that you’ll be on shitter duty until we get to Karzurkul. Just ask Slow-Poke if you think I’m joking,” he said, pointing to a hulking brute of a beastkin honing a comically large axe on a nearby grindstone. The brown furred giant nodded seriously, somehow managing to look sheepish, despite likely being strong enough to hold up a cave-in all on his own.

A low chorus of begrudging assent echoed out from the assembled delvers, prompting a satisfied nod from the delvemaster.

“Alright then, get back to it!” he called, sliding down the short ladder.

Torval motioned for Talia to follow, heading off to the side towards the wagon nearest the large metal gate set in the courtyard wall. He popped into it and returned with a stack of seven stools, which he set out in a semi-circle around the door.

Apart from a reassuring smile that he directed at her, he sat impassively on the centermost stool, a haven of quiet contemplation in the midst of the chaos, pulling out his notebook and taking some quick notes while they waited.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The sudden pause after all the activity was getting to the freshly minted delver. A bloom of anxiety fluttered about her stomach like a swarm of luna moths. Her nerves must have been noticeable, as he broke the silent bubble without diverting his attention from his notes.

“Sit,” he said, “they won’t bite, and neither will I. Promise.”

Realizing that she was just standing there fidgeting, Talia did as he asked, choosing the outermost stool to the delvemaster’s left.

“Shouldn’t I be helping out or…?”

He chuckled.

“Would you know how?”

No, but I can learn—

Talia never got a chance to say the words aloud, as they were interrupted by the arrival of part of the expedition’s command group.

The eclectic group of sapients chatted amicably as they approached, relaxed and unhurried. Conversation died down as they took their seats. A youthful, blond elf with kind green eyes—you could never really tell how old they were for the first few centuries— sat down to her right and flashed her a warm smile and a look of curiosity, rearranging his black, leather reinforced robes.

Across from them, from left to right respectively sat an old beastkin, a middle-aged human woman and, to Talia’s surprise, a collared mage. The beastkin was heavily armed, his brown fur greying in places, and sported a clawed scar across his snout. Waxy, melted skin surrounded his left orbit, within which spun a crude artefact that looked like it had seen better days. He looked her over like a butcher with a cut of meat.

The woman to the delvemaster’s direct right had short, midnight hair, cut down to her shoulders and severe blue eyes. Clipped to her waist hung a thick tome inlaid with the emblem of the Chronicler’s Guild.

The mage sat between the two, a dark-skinned, bald human with brown eyes bordering on black and a patchy beard. A series of artefacts Talia recognized as battle wands were hooked to his belt, along with a long dirk in its sheath. He looked surprisingly jovial, for one meant to be essentially enslaved, and if not for the collar and the battle wands, Talia wouldn’t have set him apart from any other thirty-something year old in the street. As she examined him, she saw him lean into the chronicler’s ear and whisper something that pulled her pale lips into an ever so slight quirk.

Talia’s examination was cut short by Torval clearing his throat and looking up.

“Alright, let’s get…”

He frowned as he noticed the empty stool to his left.

“Hanmul!” he roared, “let the boy do his job and get your arse over here!”

A muffled curse rang out somewhere in the yard. Moments later, the dwarf, who the delvemaster had spoken to just a few minutes ago appeared from behind one of the wagons, puffing lightly. He was a stern looking man, thick with fat and muscle, looking at once apologetic and frustrated. His speech was incongruously proper, a shift from the loud patois he’d used when directing the chaotic orchestra that was the expedition’s preparations.

“Apologies, Delvemaster Torval, you know how Dhustrun can be, I was simply making sure—”

Torval cut him off with an eye roll.

“Knowing you, Copperpike, you were hovering around his shoulder, questioning every damn decision he made.”

The mage stifled a guffaw and even the severe looking chronicler had a small smile on her face.

Hanmul went to protest his innocence, but Torval overrode him.

“Just take a seat and let Dhustrun learn. For gods’ sake he’s got twice as many expeditions under his belt as you did at the same age.”

Looking about the assembled officers most of which were in different stages of mirth, the dwarf had the good grace to realize when a battle was lost and sat down heavily next to the delvemaster.

“Good man,” Torval said, passing his notebook to the chronicler and slapping Hanmul on the back.

“Now that we’re all here, I’d like to introduce Arcanist Vestal-Angrim, who’ll be replacing Ikkel since the fool blasted his face off last night. We’ll discuss her share, her duties, and then we can go around and do pre-departure reports. Once we’re done, I’ll need one of you to get her kitted out with anything she’s missing and show her to a bunk in the officer’s wagon.”

As she was introduced, Talia registered the reactions of the other officers. The beastkin and the chronicler were inscrutable, but the mage gave her a smile full of blazing white teeth and the elf sent a wink and a nod her way.

Hanmul looked like he hated her already.

“Arcanist Vestal-Angrim meet, in order, Battlemaster Darkclaw, Mage-Commandrum Zaric. Then my second-in-command, Chronicler Calisto, Quastermaster Copperpike and Healer Lazarus, your fellow officers,” he said, pointing to each in sequence.

Talia grimaced, speaking up.

“Er—just Talia is fine, or Arcanist Talia if you have to.”

Copperpike’s glare intensified.

What’d I ever do to him? I’ve never met the dwarf in my life!

“Who was your master?” asked Calisto, catching Talia off-guard.

“Oh, I worked with Reggie—er I mean Master Arcanist Reginald Deepwell.”

Whether the answer satisfied the chronicler or not was impossible to tell, but either way she nodded and turned back to Torval’s notebook, pencil at the ready.

Silence fell over the group, insomuch as silence could exist in the busy courtyard.

“Right then, if that’s all of the questions for our new officer, I guess we can move on to discussing her shares and duties.”

He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before addressing Talia directly.

“Standard fare is a double share for Arcanists, an extra share for being an officer, with an additional quarter share for feats above and beyond the course of duty, and another tenth for signing on to the watch roster or aiding in the healer’s wagon.”

His statement gathered nods all around the circle of stools.

“Seeing as this is your first outing, I suggest halving the officer share until such a time as you are cleared for command by Calisto or I.”

He glanced meaningfully at his second-in-command.

“We’ll get you trained up, and if you meet our standards by the time we get back, we discuss reinstating it. On the other hand, I’ll transfer command of the triplets over to our good chronicler, so you can shadow her as you learn the ropes. Otherwise, Darkclaw will test your combat skills before we leave, or when we get to first haven in a week if he doesn’t have time. You’ll still be in charge of identifying any traps of arcane nature as well as any artefacts we come across, and Mage-Com. Zaric or his apprentice will assist with any mana related needs you have.”

The collared man waved at her, and Talia graced him with a small grin, still confused as to how he could be so happy.

“That clear enough?” Torval asked.

“Crystal,” Talia replied.

“In that case, any more questions for our new arcanist?”

For a moment Talia thought Hanmul might give some indication as to why he was looking at her like she’d shat in his bedroll, but he kept silent, as did the rest.

“Well then, in that case we can move on to progress reports starting with Darkclaw…”

Talia leaned in, determined to absorb as much as she could from her first officer’s meeting.

I didn’t ask to be one, but I’ll be damned before I let anyone accuse me of not earning my keep.