The sky was dark blue and the sun hot and cheerful. White fluffy clouds grazed deeply upon the horizon, looking so much like the snowy mountain caps upon which the giants were reported to dwell. The breeze was light, pleasant, and constant.

The party, though, well contrasted against the happy day around them. The ship’s crew busily avoided them as they worked the lines and wheel, keeping their vessel, Sir Boaty McBoatface, on path and on time.

Seriously? The vague voice of one of the Gamers asked.

A vague and authoritative murmur dismissed the question in the distance. The party refocused on each other and the task at hand.

“There was nothing left of them when we came back to pick them up. Balls!” Bern moaned, looking off a bit into the distance. There better be a hoard of treasure when we get there, he contemplated, dark thoughts stretching out like daggers back to when they got owned.

Carric the bard smiled, though, and strummed his lute.

“It could be bad. It could be horrible! But we’ve done bad and horrible. Remember when we were first level nothings and we saved the world?”

“Yeah!” Yenrab the barbarian piped in. “We saved our world! Ya know, this is gonna be a breeze compared to that. At least it isn’t a god or the king of the fairies or anything like that this time, right?”

Wex coughed, the mask of his god Mask glinting hard in the sunlight of the dark blue sky.

“As far as we know, bro, it’s both,” Wex noted. The group fell silent. About them bustled the boat folk, eager to drop off this party of five onto the monster-infested island keep before them and then be off.”

“Hey!” Yenrab said, rising with his own grin to replace the one that Carric had lost. “I have an idea. Back in the tribe when times were hard and morale was low we’d, well, you know, we’d sing songs.”

“What kind of songs?” Tracy asked with sudden interest. “Back in the Freemeet we’d sing songs too. But not just when we were sad. When we were happy too. And when we were angry. Or hungry. Or, like, when the moon was rising into the sky and it was night and -”

Bern Sandros put a hand to his temples, rubbing them as anger clouded his vision.

“Tracy?!” the man asked.

“Yes Bern?”

“That’s enough about songs, mate. It’s not gonna happen,” the cantankerous assassin grunted, his face dark and distant.

Tracy nodded and took two steps back.

Oh no his mind warned.

“Laaaaaaaaa -” Tracy began.

“Tracy!” Bern shouted.

“Laaaaaaaaa -”

“Don’t you dare -”

“Let’s build a snowman! We can give him lots of arms-”

“Gaaah!” Bern loudly grumped as Tracy sang a merry tune. Wex laughed and Bern gave him an angry look. The cleric, though, simply shrugged. Then he weaved some sort of orangish gold field about himself, divine threads radiating to his fingers from the eye holes of his mask. It flared as it finished and then it finished. Wex put his arms behind his head and relaxed, sighing without sound.

Carric also shrugged and began to play accompaniment to Tracy, whose sorcerer’s robes were at this point swinging and sighing back and forth in rhythm, glimmering and shimmering in chaotic swirls and whorls in the rainbow robes of his craft. Yenrab nodded, an enormous grin occupying his face, and then he moved over and sat down next to the grumpy assassin. Bern gave the man a look over, his face rigid as he wondered what sort of conversation was about to be pushed his way.

“So what’s up, Bern?” the big half-orc asked his friend. “We’ve faced bad odds before and, well, think about how many of those, uhm, experience points that the Gamers use we’ll get a hold of. Maybe we can even level up before the next session! It can’t be that you’re scared, ya know, because I’ve seen you swinging through the air from three stories to try and kill the big baddy. You’ve got what Granny always told me was gumption. She used to drain that from the animals she caught before she ate them.”

“She ate them raw, right? Every time you talk about your grandma it is disgusting,” the human said, the shadow of a smile creeping over him.

“You got that right. Ya know, she said it didn’t taste quite right if it didn’t squeal. But I’m just wondering what is on your mind. We’re friends, hey, we can talk.”

“It’s just that we really got bested by the general back there. And it made me think - when can us little guys be the besters instead of the bestees? Are we just rolling around from mission to mission, adventure to adventure, making ends meet? Are we saving up for a better tomorrow? Mate, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Yenrab sighed. He was younger than them all and yet, often, he had the clearest head. He maybe wasn’t the wisest adventurer, but perhaps he had the best philosophies on life.

“Bern, you know, all we can do now is rise. And we’ve been rising. That party, Some Other Guys, they were the best around. They thought that nobody was gonna keep them down. Think about that. The best, around. Ya know, I bet they fought till the end, staying proud, staring out to the clouds, when the odds in the game finally defied them. And now that’s us. But we aren’t like that. We aren’t like some strange heroic montage that’ll get murdered the moment the Gamers lose interest. We’re going to get somewhere in life. We’ve got skills. We’ve got plans. We’ve got strategy -”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You’ve got Tracy,” the sorceress interrupted, her song finished. The air sparkled with magical cantrips about her as she attempted to emphasize the moment.

“Carric too!” the bard added, smirking in that odd way that showed he knew he was caught in some lame after-school special type moment and he was just making the best that he could of it.

Wex began snoring, his holy spell of silence finally at an end. It was a rough and guttural sound that snapped him back to wakefulness.

“You guys done singing,” he asked, his words groggy and slow.

“Yeah,” Tracy smiled. “It was wonderful and you missed all of it.”

“Good,” Wex yawned.

“I’m going to get somewhere for sure guys,” Carric Smith informed them as a catch of spray blasted over them, smooth and cool. A drop of lake water dripped down from a pointed ear. “Remember that orphanage in Torus Strade? I bought the place. And that’s where I’m going to retire.”

“Yeah. Life in a small village doesn’t sound so bad,” Bern Sandros grinned, nodding at the idea. “But really, if I can, I just want to help all of my mates out back home. You know, some of them deserve to be out there on the streets, but not all of them. Maybe I’ll make a guild and get them some good paying and honest work.”

“Honest?” Tracy asked, one eyebrow arched in inquisition.

“Mostly honest then,” he chuckled. “Alright, yeah, we coulda shoulda woulda asked for more my friends but, hey, one day it’ll be us that some new adventurers are whinging on about, right?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to be grand poombah, chocka full magic and with acolytes running around doing all of my stuff for me,” Wex daydreamed aloud. “But I’m going to take quests in a new direction. Can you imagine all the things you can do with a, as the Gamers say it, first level party under your command? Welcome adventurers to your first quest, I’ll say. You must travel to the market and obtain the lamb of sustenance using naught but your adventuring skills and the coins in your pocket.”

“Haha that is top kek, mate,” Bern threw to him. The elf beamed back.

“I’d make my adventurers give Yenrab a bath,” Carric smirked.

“I will never ever allow myself to smell as I did in Torus Strade,” the half-orc barbarian stated as he failed to suppress a shudder. “I had to roll around in muck for days even after the damnation bound curse was lifted.”

“Well, mates, we’ve got some time before we get there,” Bern Sandros said, standing up to face them. “I for one can use some zeds. Rest up and pick your spells, right Yenrab?”

“Yeah,” Yenrab agreed. “Sounds like a heck of a plan.”

For the rest of the voyage they napped, dreaming pleasant dreams of handing off all of the crap jobs to lower level nobodies, and perhaps not having to hear or deal with the grief of the Gamers any longer. All except Tracy, who dreamed of going bald and shining his head with the wax of the babaturt, its prized excretions found only in the lands of the Freemeet.

***

“‘Ips up and arms out ‘venturemen, we’ll be back dis time in da morrow, ya ken?” one of the sailors, hairy like a bear and missing more than a few teeth, spat at them in a friendly attempt at conversation.

“Ew,” responded Tracy, now a man since his male id had taken over. He wiped the saliva off of his face and tasted it.

“I ain’t kenna da gurl t’ing do,” the sailor continued. His accented Common sounded Frostmountian. If so he was a long way from home.

Dice clattered in the air, unheard by any but the party.

“Ah, it took me a bit to get that,” Carric informed the man, a 17 blazing in his head. “See here, let me explain. Tracy is anointed by his god Coraellon. Not one of the native gods but one of the foreign gods. And this god, well, he can give elves and half-elves his mark. If they have that mark they change genders every now again. And, well, I don’t know if maybe Tracy here is extra-marked or something, but he’s got three of him inside that noggin of his and they just kinda take turns driving.”

“Huh,” answered the sailor, shaking his head in wonder. “‘Da gods and dere miracles.”

“He’s got that right,” Yenrab smirked, stretching out as they piled out of the small craft onto the thin strip of beach at the entrance to the keep.

It certainly was something to see, Cadorna Keep. It wasn’t large but it was tactical. Its outer walls had been built right up to the edge of the shoreline on every side but this one, with its walls slanted in to out in order to make scaling and climbing a very difficult task indeed. Certain magical fields kept the dirt from eroding, making the structure a multi-generational facet to a new and needful republic, and thick stone blocks lay within its shallow depths, driven through with rusted iron rings through which to moor visiting craft.

The only place upon which anyone could land soldiers was this thin strip of beach, also buttressed against erosion, at the front gate of the entire structure. Maybe a few dozen soldiers, tops, had the room to assemble and fight effectively upon this sandy and rocky terrain, upon which a few straggly, leave-less and thin wooden plants also lived. It looked like an assaulters’ nightmare. Or a defenders’ paradise.

The party rechecked their gear, looking about to make sure nothing was missing. Then they bid good-bye to the transport crew, who good-lucked them back as they left, shoving off hard from the sandy embankment.

“Well, bros and brahs, this is it. All on our own. In a place that is haunted. And a cleric that, get this, can finally turn! Buzzow!” Wex exclaimed, taking off his mask and doing a a tight little jig.

“Hey man, congratulations!” Bern said, slapping him on the back. “You mentioned that before, mate. How did that happen?”

“Ah, well, as far as I can tell my Gamer was whining about something and the Chief Gamer gave in and boom, I just felt wiser and more powerful.”

“I wish my Gamer was a whiny whiner,” Carric complained. “I’ve heard whispers from above that when I get to high enough level I can cast fireball!”

“Hold up, hold up,” Yenrab interrupted. “Hi, ya know, Yenrab the half-orc barbarian here, what exactly is this stuff? What is turning and what is fireball?”

Tracy held up his hand. Yenrab tried to ignore him. Tracy waved his hand and began to jump up and down. The rest of the party giggled, staying mum.

“Oh for the sakes of the gods. Yes, Tracy?” Yenrab groaned, though a hint of humor danced about his cheeks.

“Turning is when a cleric or priest of someone with god-bestowed power tries to use the god-bestowed power. What one can do with it and how many times they can do it depends on the god. A good god usually devotes a lot of energy to turning the undead, scaring them off or even destroying their essence. The neutral gods like Mask are kinda hit or miss on what they do and how often. And the evil gods, well they tend to try to use their energy to control or to recruit the undead.”

Yenrab looked at Wex for confirmation. Wex nodded, looking quite impressed.

“Alright, that was pretty good Tracy,” the barbarian complimented him. “So, now, what is this other thing. Fireball? A ball of fire?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like, well, let me show you,” the sorcerer said, turning and chanting. All eyes were upon him as he blasted a group of reedy plants, exploding them into every direction simultaneously. Other plants nearby began to creep away from the blaze.

Bern Sandros whistled. Wex clapped. Carric murmured something about having to choose a different spell.

“That’s incredible!” Yenrab beamed. “I’ll admit, I was a little worried about this challenge, but with that in our weapons rack I’m not worried at all! How many times can you do that Tracy?”

“Once per eight hour rest,” the half-elf sorcerer beamed back. “I can’t do it anymore until I’ve slept a long time,” he explained further, still smiling as Yenrab’s face dropped and paled, green turning to light, almost white green.

“Gods alive,” the half-human half-orc moaned. “We’re all doomed.”