Berik’s first sensation after regaining consciousness was pain. Fearsome, relentless pain shot through his head and made his eyeballs throb like they were trying to escape his skull. He clenched his eyelids shut, but it only intensified the agony.
Enough time passed to allow Berik to get used to the horrible headache. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying on sheets that were much too soft and clean to be his. He couldn’t tell what the thread count was, but it felt like it was in the thousands. Carefully, cautiously, he sat up. The splendor of the room threatened to bring him back down and make him curl up in a little ball. Where was he? He didn’t know this place.
The door slammed open and a man strode through. He was dressed in the latest fashions, with a velour waistjacket and coat, gleaming belt buckles, tall riding boots, and an offensively garish hat. “Good morning!”
Berik’s only response was to clutch his head and groan at the overloud voice.
The man took no offense. “I am curious. How much do you remember from last night?”
Berik slid his legs off the bed and tried to stand. He was obviously in the presence of some kind of lord and it was only right and proper for him to stand and show respect. The colorful man did seem familiar. Lord Mono-something.
“I remember I lost my job as a town guard. And I went to the Crowning Glory to see the adventure that everyone was talking about,” Berik said. “And then…I kinda remember you.”
The nobleman only smiled in encouragement.
“Yeah! You said something about wanting to make your own party!” It was all coming back to him. “And I said I wanted to be your [Fighter].”
“Excellent. Most excellent.” The man gave a curt bow. “But it seems introductions need to be made again. I take no offense, of course. You were in quite a way. I am Lord Douglas Monrovedere. Welcome to my home.”
Berik could only stare at the finery that threatened to overtake his senses. Had he done anything wrong? Had he dirtied up the sheets? Or worse yet, had he said something stupid while in his drunken stupor?
As the young man was trying not to panic, Lord Monrovedere turned to call over his shoulder into the room behind him. “He’s awake.”
The blonde, mustached dwarf from the night before came in, covering his eyes with his hands. “Is he decent?”
Monrovedere laughed. “Of course, of course.”
“Whew! I didn’t want to be peepin on your sausage and taters during our first official meeting!” The dwarf stood in front of Berik and gave him a grin. “Had a little too much last night, huh? Don’t even worry about it. We’ve all been there. And thankfully, we’ve all made it back!”
“This is Goldath Beardenbeard, and he is the coach of the Dawnport Dragons,” Monrovedere said. “And, no, he does not come with an inside voice.”
Berik attempted a smile.
“My commander-ly voice is what makes me such a good coach! That and my mustache. The rest is just the adventurers’ doing,” Beardenbeard said.
Berik stood and tried to straighten the bed behind him. “I’m really embarrassed. That wasn’t a good first impression. I swear, I usually don’t drink like that. It was just…” He struggled to find his words.
Monrovedere gave an understanding smile. “You had just lost your job and rent is due next week.”
Berik nodded. “Yeah. So I said that much, huh?”
“Yes. But you also said you wanted to be a [Fighter] in my party,” Monrovedere said.
A fierce red blush spread across his face. “That’s when it starts to get murky.”
Monrovedere looked hurt. “You are no longer interested in the position?”
Berik held out his hands. “No, that’s not what I mean at all! I’m just surprised you still want me for the job.”
Beardenbeard chuckled. “I watched you down six pints of Icewind Ale, three shots of Delayed Fireball, and something called a Flameskull. I dunno what was in it, but it sure smelled like the grease Mama used to fry everything. Until, you know, the barkeep set it on fire.”
“My dear coach’s point being, you must have a very high constitution if you could handle all that and not poison yourself,” Monrovedere said.
Berik’s chest puffed out unconsciously. “I could outdrink anyone in my squad. Except for Corporal Ironrivet.”
“Let me guess. He’s a dwarf,” Beardenbeard said.
Berik nodded. “Not trying to be disrespectful by making generalizations about an entire group of people. But that guy could drink the pepper spray we used to drive out the gutterjellies from the guardhouse latrine. Guy was a legend.”
The coach gave an uproarious laugh. “Aw, don’t you worry about that! Dwarves are naturally resistant against all sorts of poisons.”
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The nobleman coughed to get their attention. “Shall we take this interview elsewhere? Someplace more accommodating for a proper tryout?”
“You got it, Boss,” Beardenbeard said. “Come on, kid.”
Berik followed them out of the room, still woozy from the crazy night. “Wait, I’m going to try out? Right now?”
“Ain’t no time like the present,” the dwarf said.
“That and I want to see how well you interact with the other members of the Dragons,” Monrovedere said.
They walked through lavish hallways, lined with candelabras and plush red rugs, until they came upon a set of double doors. The room was huge, grand, and completely empty. Furniture had been pushed up to one side, stacked high with various bits of armor and weapons. One table in the middle of the chamber. Three people sat behind it. A sour-faced gnome woman, a bespectacled elf woman, and a ruddy-bearded dwarf in full plate armor looked at him.
“Go on, kid,” Beardenbeard whispered and ushered him forward.
“Hi. Uh, I’m Berik. Berik Bauer,” the young man said. He stood as confidently as he did when he was working at a town event. It was said that a solid enough stance could warn off even the meanest troublemaker. It hadn’t, in his experience, but he still wanted to look competent. And strong. “Are we really having a tryout in a ballroom?”
The gnome woman with pink curls blinked at him like he was the stupidest person in the world. She pushed back her tall pointy hat to get a better look at him. Her violet eyes saw everything he was and could ever hope to be, and she found him lacking.
“Yeah. We are. Is there a problem?” she asked.
Before Berik could reply, the elf spoke up. “Don’t mind her!” She wore simple drab clothing and leather boots. She pushed her glasses further up her nose. “Rosie is always in a mood this early in the morning.”
The gnome frowned. “One: it’s almost noon. And two: don’t call me Rosie. It’s Rosemary. The same goes to all of you.”
A hearty laugh came from the armored dwarf. “Aye. Ye’d better address her as such. Or else she’ll be at yer throat instead of the monsters.”
“Duly noted,” Berik said.
The dwarf held out his hand. “I’m Thurnal Metalbrew, party [Healer]. Been a cleric of the Table for almost a decade now. I keep these little idiots alive, I do.”
“The Table? Is that a dwarf god?” Berik asked, shaking his hand.
Thurnal laughed again. “No, the Table is a god of everyone. For everyone. Because everyone is welcome at the Table, provided they’re hungry and vow to look after their fellows.”
“Can you spare the proselytizing, Thurnal? It’s too early for that,” Rosemary asked. Thurnal just smirked and shook his head.
“Didn’t you just say it was almost noon?” Thurnal laughed.
“Oh, so you’re the [Healer]. Good to meet you, Mr. Thurnal.” Berik gestured at the elf. “Then I guess you’re the [Mage]!”
The elf giggled. “Nope!”
“Are you the second [Fighter] of the party?” Berik exclaimed.
The elf woman shook her head, never losing her smile. “Nope, nope, nope. I’d be a miserable [Fighter]. My name is Key! Because I’m practically a key that opens any lock!”
“You’re a [Rogue]?” Berik asked, startled. He turned back to Rosemary who was glaring daggers at him. “Then would that make you the [Mage]?”
“Well done, genius. You’re so keen. Try not to cut yourself,” Rosemary said.
Berik scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. I just never imagined…”
Rosemary slammed her hands on the countertop. “What, you never imagined a gnome could be a [Mage]? That we all have to be [Rogues]? Or bakers? Is that it?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” Berik said.
“Don’t mind her none. She’s just givin you a hard time.” Thurnal said. “Glad yer a [Fighter]. We needed one more of those. Otherwise, we can’t qualify to be in the Minor Division.”
“The Minor Division?” Berik asked.
“Aye, lad. Let me guess. You saw the adventure at yer local tavern last night, right?” Thurnal asked.
Berik nodded, trying to ignore the remnants of his headache.
“Aye, that was something, all right. But what you saw there was one of the biggest events ever in the Dungeon League. And that’s because the party you saw was in the Master Division. They’re the strongest, most high-level adventurers you’ll ever see. Top of the top of the top. But they all started out at the bottom like everyone else. The Minor Division. And if you can’t hack it in the Minor Division, there ain’t no way you’re fit to be in the Master Division.” Thurnal watched Berik with a friendly, yet flinty gaze.
“So it goes Minor Division and then Master Division?” Berik asked, taking the other seat.
Thurnal ran a hand through his beard. “No, no. You gotta start in the Minor Division. Then, with enough experience, you level up and make it to the Middle Division. Then you gotta keep working hard to get to the Hero Division. And only then do you have any hope of making it to the Master Division.”
“That’s where you earn the big money and big fame!” Key said.
Rosemary nodded her agreement.
Berik looked at the three seated in front of him. “You all seem like you’ve been doing this for a while.”
Key twirled a length of her hair between her fingers. “We were in a different Minor Division party. The Leonshire Razorsharks. Ever heard of them?”
Berik shook his head. “No, sorry.”
The elf looked sad for a moment but brightened immediately after. “That’s okay! This will be our forever party.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes.
Berik suddenly felt awkward. “Um…so, why did you leave your old party?”
All three answered at the same time.
“Lord Monrovedere pays more,” Rosemary said.
“Dawnport is a nicer place to live than Leonshire,” Thurnal said.
“Everyone else got eaten by manticores,” Key said.
Berik felt all the blood in his face rush to his stomach. “M…manticores?”
“It had no business being in that dungeon. It was an unfortunate accident but these things happen in a dangerous sport like the Dungeon League,” Coach Beardenbeard said quickly. Then he narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not going to be scared off by something like that, right?”
Berik fought back the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him and set his jaw. “I’m not scared. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be this party’s [Fighter].”
“Good to hear, good to hear.” Beardenbeard stood behind Thurnal and whispered something to him.
Thurnal pulled his heavy hammer from his belt and set it in his lap. “D’ye got any combat experience?”
“Yes sir! I was a town guard for years. While I wasn’t in any wars, I helped protect the town day and night. Chasing down pickpockets, breaking up fights.” He couldn’t help but puff out his chest as he got lost in old memories. “Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of action.”
“Have ye now?”
And faster than Berik could see, Thurnal leaped at him, his hammer held high to bash in his skull.