After returning to Elease, the city closest to Sarolious' latest dungeon, I had time for a quick nap and meal. The next wagon heading towards Thatcher would be leaving at dawn.

I needed the time to cool down, anyway. Brackenhorst sticking me on rookie watch certainly ruined my whole day. More and more people trying to become dungeon inspectors have been retired adventurers. Some had been gems, of course - I came from adventurer stock myself before sliding into this role - but not all.

The problem was that more than a few fell into the category ready to handle everything with force even though it was rarely the correct approach. It sullied people's trust in the Department of Dungeons, which was something we couldn't afford. I had been assured this rookie was not like that at all.

Of course, that's exactly what you would say to placate a disgruntled employee.

I almost told him I was too old for this, but I stopped myself. Complaining to the chief wouldn't get me anywhere on this. Leaving the small inn I had slept in, I headed towards the stables to meet my transport.

The driver wasn't much of a talker, which was fine. I spent the time watching people traveling the roads and, when civilization started tapering off, reading. We were making good progress, too. All efficiency, barely any gab. Five stars.

We arrived at Thatcher a few hours before sundown. It was a quaint village, and didn’t seem like a terrible place to settle down. The rest of the buildings in the area all had thatch roofing. It was easy to tell where they got the name from.

I was dropped between a trio of solid wooden structures in the center of the village. These were the only buildings that had shingled roofs, and were much nicer than the rest. I spared a few extra coins to the driver who grunted in appreciation before riding off.

Taking a look around, the first thing to catch my eye was the church. It was a well made building that obviously had a lot of care put into its construction, and seemed to be the home of worship to three deities. I could see signs of respect to Cheroske, the Goddess of Community, and Kartup, God of the Hunt.

Based on the myriad gourds placed in front of the entrance, Thatcher was observing Takalaphor, which was a week-long holiday giving thanks to Takala, the Goddess of Harvest. Seeing these deities being worshiped told me a lot about the village and what values they held. It was obvious that the community was fairly tight knit.

Beside the church was a two story manor. It was not large, but far more opulent than any surrounding buildings. I guessed this was the town hall. Finally, across from both of those, was the new dungeon. A hanging sign designated it as "Tavern - We Have Alcohol."

"Charming," I muttered, and took a deep breath. Most of my frustration had seeped out over the long ride, but I was still irritated. Before hitting the tavern and finding the Rat King, I had to see the mayor to get the paperwork in order. As I started heading that way, a blonde mop leaned out of one of town hall’s second story windows.

"Are you Dungeon Inspector Badger?" the mop asked, the voice feminine and melodic with a slight drawl. I stopped and stared. She pulled back her hair to get a better look at me. Not a mop, an Elf. She looked young.

This was the rookie.

"Yes, I am Dungeon Inspector Badger,” I answered.

"Exactly as described! Hold on, I'll be down in a second!"

The Elf pulled her head back in, said something to whoever was inside, and then jumped out of the window. I allowed an eyebrow to raise, but I made no effort to catch her. It turned out that she didn't need it; she floated down to the ground only to land with a graceless stumble.

She had long blonde hair, dark green eyes, and her pointed ears had a slight lift to them. Based on her tan skin and light dusting of freckles, I could tell that she was a Forest Elf. From her melodic, slightly drawling accent, it seemed likely that she was from Athir near the center of the continent.

A dark purple mage's robe, trimmed in yellow that matched her hair, flowed around her with a loose, comfortable fit. Yellow stars were tossed haphazardly onto the garment. At her waist was a simple wand made of rich red wood that dangled from a stitched-in holster. It seemed like it would be easy to snatch, but looks were always deceiving with mages.

After my first look over, I met her eyes. They were definitely bright and, if she had a tail, it would have certainly been bushy. "Wizard?" I asked, my thoughts lingering on the wand. Certainly rude as we were just meeting, but I was still irritated.

"Nosirree!" She said enthusiastically. "Star Sorceress."

I swallowed, but only to keep myself from sighing. If she were a wizard, then I could have at least distracted her with a shiny new book for a while. You never knew what you were going to get with their spontaneous counterparts, the sorcerer.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"And you are?"

The Elf stopped in front of me and took on a serious expression. She stood up straight and studied me. "Junior Dungeon Inspector Ferrisdae Anne Runelara, reporting for duty," she said before quickly adding, "Sir." Her unruly hair fell in front of her face again, but she ignored it.

"Ferrisdae Anne Runelara," I said slowly, rolling it around. "And what do you go by?"

"Oh, my friends call me Ferry," she responded, starting to relax.

"And what do people who know you but aren't friends call you?" I asked dryly.

That caused her to stiffen, but she grinned down at me anyways. "Ferrisdae, if you've gotta," she answered. Chipper, that's how I'd describe her. It wasn't making my irritation go away. "Brack told me about you, you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "Brack? That's no way to address your boss."

"No, it's cool. I asked and he said it's fine," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear to get it out of her face now that she was looking down at me. She was short, for an Elf. Barely breaching 5 feet if I had to wager a guess.

“I see,” I replied with a frown.

"He said you were a cantankerous old coot, but if I managed to put up with you then I'll become one of the best inspectors he's got." I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. "He also said, and I quote, it doesn't do any good to butter up a molding bread roll."

I stared at her. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, so I switched gears. "I assume you already spoke with the mayor?"

"Yes! Mayor Gerald Underson," Ferrisdae responded. She didn't skip a beat. "According to him, there hasn't been a dungeon in or near Thatcher for seven generations. It's all very exciting. The blacksmith is getting ready to make armor and weapons for all the coming of age quests. Standard issue stuff."

"As they should," I said. A dungeon here would, without a doubt, be a financial boon.

"I've got all of the required signatures and forms filled out by the mayor. I was just waiting on you so that we could talk to the Rat King together. I did let the bartender, Frescan, know that we'll be coming." She smiled down at me and offered her hand. "I'm very excited to be working with you, Mr. Badger."

I eyed her hand and sighed. "You're going to be an annoying ball of sunshine the whole time, aren't you?" I asked. Regardless of my feelings, I was still a professional; I took her hand and shook it.

"Obnoxiously so, sir," she said with a wink.

"Pah," I exhaled, dropping my hand out of hers. "We should get in there. In my experience, kings don't tend to like waiting whether they're actual royalty or self proclaimed. I'll let you do the talking, and I'll chime in if I feel it's necessary."

"Yes sir!" She was still smiling. How could she stand it? "Oh, I'm so excited! My first time out, I can barely stand it!"

"Wait, first time out?" I asked. A cold dread crept into my mind. "I know you're a rookie, but you're right out of training?"

"That's right!" Ferrisdae exclaimed as she stood up a little straighter. "I am the youngest junior inspector ever hired by the department at a Human equivalent age of 18." She leaned in a little bit, freeing her hair from her face, and brought her voice down to a stage whisper. "I'm only 124, isn't that just insane?"

"Teenager," I grunted sullenly. Over twice my age and still just a kid. "Insane is certainly one word for it."

"I know!" Ferrisdae said, straightening up. Trying to curb her enthusiasm, she raised her hand to her mouth and gave a small cough. "We should go in right now, right? We should, I think. Let's go in."

Waving my arm in the direction of the tavern, I indicated that we should, in fact, go. She squealed. Squealed! But she ran to the tavern door and stopped to compose herself.

I looked around. Plenty of the locals were staring at us. The mayor was looking down from the second floor, a balding old Half-Elf by the looks of him, and I gave him a small wave. He waved back, grinning. I suppose this would have been an interesting event to the people so far removed from civilization.

We entered the aptly named Tavern together. Like the town, the inside was rather rustic. The bar looked like it was made of a single piece of wood, which was impressive as it had to be at least 25 feet long. The alcohol selection on the wall seemed varied, but upon closer inspection it turned out that there were several repeats spread out to make it look more impressive than it was. A stove could be seen through the door between the stairs and the bar, and a balcony let those upstairs see the main room.

The tables and chairs were well made. By hand if the little imperfections in each one would be believed. Sometimes magic woodsmiths would do that and claim they did it manually for higher labor costs, though. Opposite the stairs was an unlit fireplace and a small stage in the corner. Hanging on the wall was the head of a rather large, though not direly so, moose. No doubt a wonderful trophy in this neck of the woods.

Finally, my eyes settled on the table in front of the stuffed moose head. Ferrisdae was already halfway there, of course. At the table sat a middle aged Human man with leathery, sun-kissed skin and slashes of gray in his dark hair. He stood up to greet Ferrisdae as I approached the table.

"This is Dungeon Inspector Badger. Mr. Badger, this is Frescan," Ferrisdae introduced. We shook hands and the three of us sat at the table. There were a few empty cups and a large loaf of bread on a plate.

"It's very nice to meet you, Inspector Badger," Frescan said. "As requested, I brought up the Rat King for you." He reached for the loaf of bread and picked it up, revealing a hollowed out interior and a crowned rat.

I investigated the "Rat King" before us. It appeared to be a regular rat. Well fed, based on its round belly, but that didn't make it special. Its crown, though… I realized it wasn't a crown. Instead, it looked like the rim of a mug that had been broken, with glass jutting out randomly.

Frescan looked at the rat to us. "Sorry, Krad always gets sleepy after a big meal," he explained. Then he started poking it. "C'mon, Krad, those guests for your dungeon are here."

I mouthed the name, Rat King Krad. That was something new. The rat did start stirring as his belly was prodded.

"Who dares awaken the Rat King?" he said with a high-pitched squeal. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes.