Quentin begged to hear a story about Master Devontes. Hans obliged.

“I was with Devon, I mean Devontes, on his first quest as an Iron. I was Silver at the time.”

With wonder sparkling in his eyes, Quentin listened intently as Hans set the scene.

Devontes had just graduated from Apprentice to Iron, which meant he could take quests without supervision for the first time. The difficulty of Iron-ranked quests is appropriate for that level of adventurer, but appropriate doesn’t mean safe. Dumb mistakes could be deadly in the most benign of scenarios, and the relative inexperience of Iron-rankers made them prone to poor decisions.

At that point in his career, Devontes was an average adventurer. He was a diligent worker, sure, but nobody predicted he would go on to become a legend.

Devontes’ first Iron quest was to eliminate a nest of strangle goblins. Nobody was sure if strangle goblins and generic goblins were related, but they looked similar. Strangle goblins had long, thin limbs, like someone melted and stretched a regular goblin until their arms and legs were as long as Hans was tall. Stranglers were known for ambushing their prey, snatching them by surprise. While the disconcertingly long appendages crushed and choked the victim, the strangle goblin used its jagged teeth to hurry the process along.

Master Devontes was a Paladin. Iron-ranked Devontes was a swordsman who knew a few basic spells.

Normally, a party of Irons would clear a strangle goblin nest on their own with little trouble if they adhered to their training. This particular nest, however, was less than a mile from a natural spring of holy water. Alchemists paid handsomely for natural holy water, claiming that cleric-made holy water contained more impurities and had inconsistent potency.

Water, unfortunately, is heavy. The spring was a dribble of water leaking from a cliffside that was only accessible on foot, via a narrow footpath. As good as the profit-potential of natural holy water looked on paper, most adventurers concluded that the profit wasn’t enough to justify the hassle of lugging the liquid back to civilization.

When Hans saw the strangle goblin quest come across the job board, he had an idea.

He offered Devontes’ party a bonus payment if they let Hans come along. While Devontes and friends took care of the strangle goblins, Hans would fill several waterskins with natural holy water. By the time the strangle goblins were eliminated, Hans would need the Irons’ help to lug the water back to town. Under any other circumstances, a Silver-ranker joining the party for an Iron-ranked quest would be overkill.

The Irons plus Hans made camp between the strangle goblin nest and the holy water spring. The next morning, they split to complete their respective quests.

Hans could carry four waterskins at once if he tied them together and hung them from his neck like he was a pack mule. Determined to get his copper’s worth from the Irons, he made five grueling trips to the spring and back, four skins per lap. On the fifth and final trip, he refreshed the campfire and savored not walking until Devontes returned.

When the sun began to set without the Irons coming back to camp, Hans hiked out to the strangle goblin nest to see if the Irons ran into trouble.

As Hans explained it, strangle goblins favored areas where ravines and cliff faces were plentiful, giving them several options for attacking their victims from above. This was one such nest, and Hans had no problem following the trail. The strangle goblins dragged their arms behind them when they walked, creating a distinctive pair of thin scrapes wherever they traveled. The Irons weren’t light footed hikers either, so the process was less like a hunter assessing a faint game trail and more like a parent following a drizzle of powder sugar left by a toddler.

Any whimsy Hans felt for the situation faded when he stepped into the strangle goblin nest. The cavern had the verticality to be prime real estate for the monsters, but that advantage wasn’t enough for the goblins to survive whatever savaged their nest.

Hans counted 11 strangle goblin corpses. Roughly. Many of the bodies were in too many pieces for him to be certain. Long claws had rent many of the goblins in half, which made him think that the interloper might be a bear. It wouldn’t be the first time goblins moved into a grizzly’s domain by mistake, but the other corpses told a different story. A few of the goblins had their arms and legs ripped from their bodies, like something enjoyed making them suffer.

“And the Irons?” Quentin asked.

“No sign of them at first, but I found their footprints in the blood toward the back of the nest and followed them.”

Quentin leaned in, his concern for the party written on his face as the story continued.

The footprints led deeper into the cave. Based on the tracks, the party was more curious than concerned. At first. Soon, their tracks went from the calm orderly trail of a party moving in formation to the frantic chaos of an unexpected battle. A new set of prints joined the fray, a four-toed foot the length of Hans’ arm, three hooked claws at the front, one claw extending from its heel.

The party hadn’t been prepared for this foe. Hans couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that at least two members of the party were seriously injured. The monster’s claws had sprayed adventurer blood along the walls, and a thick puddle in one corner suggested someone had sat with a serious wound for part of the battle. The blood was still tacky, so the fight was recent.

Still, he saw no sign of the party, so Hans continued deeper.

The light of his torch caught the outline of a monstrous humanoid pressed against the cave wall ahead. Over 8 feet tall with growths–from warts to bulbous tumors–coating its black skin, the beast’s hands matched the ferocity of its feet. It had two six-fingered hands armed with claws like the talons of an eagle. Congealing gore slowly dripped from the claws onto the creature’s bulbous stomach. Hans hoped it was inflated from gorging on strangle goblins and not Irons.

“Troll?” Quentin guessed.

“Close.”

“Wait, don’t tell me.”

“You said black skin, right? And with that height… Underdark troll?”

“Very good,” Hans praised. “Most people don’t figure it out.”

“Because it’s rare to find them near the surface?”

“Precisely.”

Hans resumed the story, describing how he crept down the hall. Carrying a torch made any attempt at stealth futile, but Hans wasn’t trying to be sneaky. He was bracing for the vicious lunge of an underdark troll. A few feet away, Hans stepped in a puddle that seemed to surround the troll, making his last few footfalls a series of gentle splashes.

The underdark troll didn’t move. When Hans prodded it with the tip of his sword, the monster fell to the side, revealing a crude wooden barrier, which was not uncommon for goblin nests. The little hellspawns often built cells for prisoners, saving them for a later meal.

Looking closely by torchlight, Hans found that the troll had several slash wounds and an uncountable number of stab wounds. The troll had bled out and died, which also explained the puddle.

From the other side of the barricade, a soft voice whispered, “Hans?”

“Devon? Are you okay?”

“We could use a healer, but we’ll survive. Can you get us out?”

With great effort, Hans rolled the troll away from the wooden barrier, revealing that it had died holding a door shut. The troll was too heavy and the party was too battered to force the door open.

“They actually killed the troll afterall?” Quentin asked. “How did they end up in a goblin cell?”

“As you’ve probably guessed, the troll was responsible for killing the strangle goblins, so they found the same aftermath that I did. They went deeper into the cave to investigate and walked right by the troll without realizing.”

“What? How? It’s so big.”

“That’s one of the reasons caves are dangerous. Human eyes are rubbish in the dark, and it’s too easy to underestimate a shadow. In torchlight, the black silhouette of a boulder and the black silhouette of a crouching troll aren’t all that different.”

“Don’t underdark trolls have a Silver-ranked requirement?”

“Normally. No one knew this troll was in the area, so a monster well beyond the party’s skill level also had the advantage of surprise.”

“Master Devontes saved them?”

Hans recounted the battle as he had heard it. When the underdark troll launched its sneak attack, it targeted the party’s sorcerer first. Whether that was bad luck or a stroke of tactical genius on the part of the troll, taking the caster out of play meant the party had far fewer offensive options. If not having fire magic against a troll was bad enough, they also relied on the sorcerer to be the party’s healer.

The troll nearly disemboweled the sorcerer with one swipe of its claw. While Devontes and the party’s ranger held the troll’s attention, the party’s rogue dragged the wounded sorcerer to safety. Because of where the troll set its trap, that meant going deeper into the cave. The goblin cell was empty, thankfully, so the rogue hid the sorcerer behind the barrier and worked to stop the bleeding.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Devontes and the ranger fought valiantly, but they were outmatched. For several long minutes, they dodged attack after attack, closing the distance to score quick cuts on the troll before retreating again. That careful but precarious dance went well for Devontes and the ranger, but their timing had to be perfect.

The ranger stumbled for an instant, a misstep on a dark, uneven cavern floor, but the troll was too big and too fast. It hurled itself at the ranger, launching the human down the passage. By this time, the rogue had stabilized the sorcerer and was returning to aid his allies.

The ranger’s body smashed into the unsuspecting rogue. The attack broke most of the ranger’s ribs as well as her arm, and the impact of the ranger crashing into the rogue snapped the rogue’s ankle.

Devontes didn’t back down. He kept himself and his sword between the monster and his allies. While the wounded ranger and rogue crawled to join the sorcerer, Devontes danced between claw strikes. Adding two cuts each time the troll attacked–one when the troll attacked and one when it retreated again.

Little by little, however, the underdark troll closed on Devontes, forcing the warrior to give ground until his back was against the goblin cell. When Devontes positioned himself in the doorway, a last stand effort to keep the troll away from his friends, the troll did something Devontes did not expect: it closed the door.

The troll trapped the party in the cell and leaned against the cell door to wait for the party to succumb to their wounds. Though the troll bled out first, it died against the door. Everyone in the cell was too weak to force it back open. They were stuck.

“Wow,” Quentin half–whispered. “Wait. It was an underdark troll?”

“Correct.”

“I thought trolls regenerated through pretty much anything unless you use acid or fire.”

Hans grinned. “Very good. Most people don’t catch that.”

“So the troll was still a threat?”

“Nah. As soon as I saw it was a troll, I jammed my torch in its mouth to be safe.”

Quentin sat quietly, soaking in the story. “Did you spend a lot of time with Master Devontes?”

“A bit.”

“Do you have more stories?”

“Maybe tomorrow. It’s getting late.”

***

With Quentin on his way home, Hans set aside the last of the guild records. On the one hand, he was grateful to be done reviewing them, but on the other hand, it had taken less than a day. He couldn’t catch up on the chapter’s history because there simply was none.

If Olza had no records of guild alchemy services, he would need to talk to some longtime residents to get a sense of how much of what grew and where. With that foundation, the new records would refine that understanding over time. Maybe they’d have a mostly accurate map of ingredients and their growth cycles in five years or so.

Then there was the Bronze-ranked adventurer he had heard about. The right kind of adventurer would be an asset to the chapter, and the wrong kind of adventurer could undermine anything he attempted to build. Part of him daydreamed that this mysterious Bronze would appear with a stack of immaculately kept ledgers, but that was unlikely.

Also a strange thing to fantasize about, as far as fantasies go.

Adventurers weren’t fond of writing essays everytime they finished a job. Guilds hired full time recordkeepers for just that reason.

New Quest: Meet Gomi’s only active adventurer.

Hans glanced at the clock. He might be able to catch Olza and Charlie before it got dark. His mental quest list grew quickly, and he craved the dose of fulfillment he got from crossing something off of that list.

***

Hans found Olza sitting on the doorstep of her shop with a bucket between her feet. Similar to husking corn, she stripped the exterior leaves and shoots off of a reed-like plant, setting the narrow fleshy interior to the side and dropping the rest into the bucket. When he got close, he saw that they were ghost reeds. That’s what they were commonly known as, at least. They weren’t actually haunted, but wind passing through a field of ghost reeds sounded like the soft moans of cursed souls.

If ground into a paste, ghost reeds made for an effective binding material that formed the base of a variety of salves and ointments.

“Need to restock the first aid kit already?” Olza teased as Hans approached.

“Not yet, fortunately.” Hans chuckled. “I’ve been catching up on paperwork, and I was hoping you might have kept a record of your guild work. I hardly have anything for the last two decades.”

Olza paused husking reeds for a moment, looking at the sky as she thought, then she went back to her work. “I can help you with records for what I’ve done, but I’ve only been here 10 years. I can’t help with anything before that.”

“That’s not a problem. Whatever you have would be helpful.”

“Is it urgent? It might take me a few days to go through my notes and separate the guild work from my own. They’re all logged together right now.”

“That’s also fine. I get the feeling that Gomi had… low expectations for their chapter of the guild.”

Olza nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve had Becky, and that’s it. Been like that since I got here.”

“Becky?”

“Yeah, you know, Becky.”

When Hans could only stare blankly back at Olza, she explained that Becky–not short for Rebecca, just Becky–was Gomi’s Bronze-ranked adventurer. She took care of minor monster nuisances, like giant rats and the occasional gnoll hunting party. Mostly she gathered ingredients and animal pelts, the former she sold to Olza. Anything Olza didn’t want joined the latter to be sold to the next merchant caravan.

“Can you give me directions? I’d like to introduce myself.”

“Directions to…?”

“Becky’s home.”

“Well, that’s not really how Becky operates.”

According to Olza, the location of Becky’s home was unknown, if she even had one. The adventurer visited Gomi every other week or so and then melted back into the wilds surrounding the town. If she was needed urgently, Mayor Charlie could release one of the sparrows she left in his care. When the sparrow found her, she would know she was needed. In the time Olza had lived in Gomi, she could only recall one instance where the Mayor released a sparrow. A snake not commonly found in the region bit a child, and they needed Becky’s help tracking down the ingredients for the antivenom.

“Homing sparrows?” Hans asked, mostly musing to himself. “Is Becky a–”

“Druid.”

Hans did his best to disguise his reaction. He failed.

“Not fond of druids?” Olza asked.

“I don’t dislike druids,” Hans clarified. “They just tend to be… peculiar.”

What Hans didn’t say was that he briefly dated a druid in his younger years. The pair bonded over a shared love of the wilderness, but the relationship grew strained when Hans discovered that the druid and her cat had long discussions about Hans, his habits, and his qualities as a lover. That cat was always around, always watching. Hans couldn’t come to terms with how uncomfortable that made him feel and broke it off.

Druids weren’t bad people by default, and Hans knew that. They were excellent additions to most adventuring parties and tended to be peaceful and soft spoken. Their deep connection to nature made them see the world differently from other classes, and that led to unique approaches to interpersonal communication.

Olza didn’t disagree. “Becky’s due for a delivery sometime this week,” she said. “I can let her know you’d like to talk to her.”

Quest Update: Meet Becky the druid, Gomi’s only active adventurer.

Waiting was probably better than sending an emergency sparrow to find her. Nothing Hans wanted to talk to her about was urgent. “That would be great, thank you.”

“Not a problem. She’s a bit different, but she’s been good to Gomi.”

“You said she was active when you got here?”

“Yep. I moved from Raven’s Hollow, and she was one of the first people to welcome me.”

Hans passed through Raven’s Hollow, a community known for its vineyards and wineries, on his way to Gomi. A single town sat between Gomi and Raven’s Hollow, so it was relatively close. Despite that proximity, Raven’s Hollow was a metropolis compared to Gomi. By any other standard, it was a small, relatively forgettable town.

“What brought you to Gomi?” Hans asked.

“I liked it,” Olza replied simply. Hans waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.

When he could endure the silence no longer, he said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and turned to depart.

“Wait!” Olza popped into her shop and emerged a few minutes later with a bottle of clear liquid, capped with a cork and sealed with wax. “A gift. Welcome to Gomi.”

Hans accepted the bottle and looked closely at the liquid inside.

“It’s a kind of vodka,” Olza said. “There’s a tuber that grows up the mountains a bit that the locals call ‘fool’s root.’ Above the surface, it resembles mandrake. Below the surface, it grows a small potato.”

An alchemist distilling her own alcohol wasn’t unusual. Half of the alchemists Hans met started their careers covertly making alcohol in their bedroom closets–lest their parents discover the operation. Needless to say, aspiring alchemists were popular figures among their teenage peers.

“How much does a bottle of this go for?” Hans asked.

“I don’t sell it. I’d need more fool’s root than the mountains produce in a year to make it a proper business venture. Besides, the tusks brew a good beer. They’ve got the booze covered for Gomi.”

Quest Updated: Protect the citizens of Gomi and address the needs of the tusk-touched farm community. Bonus objective: Sample tusk-touched beer.

“I’ll savor this bottle then,” Hans said. “Thank you for the kindness.”

With his immediate questions about Becky answered by Olza, he decided not to bother the Mayor. The sun was nearly set, and Charlie had already helped him a great deal.

Returning to the solitude of his guild apartment was a welcome reprieve. For as much as his duties as a teacher and Guild Master required him to interact with people, extroversion was an active process for Hans, something that took focus and willpower to maintain.

Like casting a spell, some adventurers had a natural affinity for magic. Where others would strain and concentrate to weave the most basic incantation, these adventurers manipulated magic effortlessly, as if spellcraft was a skill akin to walking or breathing.

Hans was neither a natural spellcaster or a natural extrovert.

He lit the wick on his desk lamp and opened his manuscript to a half-written page. Seeing the emptiness of the page, and knowing that the inch of paper beneath it was also blank, reminded Hans of his mental questlist.

Open Quests (Ordered from Old to New):

Progress from Gold-ranked to Diamond-ranked.

Mend the rift between Hans and Devon.

Complete the manuscript for "The Next Generation: A Teaching Methodology for Training Adventurers."

Clean the guild hall.

Replenish basic adventuring provisions.

Acquire functional training equipment.

Acquire emergency essentials – 6x healing potions, 6x potions of cure poison, 6x potions of cure disease, 3x potions of remove curse, 3x potions of cure petrification.

Reestablish alchemical recordkeeping.

Reestablish job-completion and monster-hunting recordkeeping.

Reestablish community education recordkeeping.

Reestablish membership records, financial records, and inventory records.

Protect the citizens of Gomi and address the needs of the tusk-touched farm community. Bonus objective: Sample tusk-touched beer.

Meet Becky the druid, Gomi’s only active adventurer.

Though no one knew of this list but Hans, and though he had complete control of what he considered a “quest” for his own purposes, he couldn’t bring himself to cancel the first two. He thought on them for several quiet minutes, then shut his manuscript.

He couldn’t muster the willpower to do any more work. He reached for one of his two novels and read until he fell asleep in his desk chair.