William looked annoyed at the wall of his room which he’d covered with notes, pins and colored connecting threads of wool. Some misdeeds, heists or illegal operation he found were single events by an individual or small group of revenants. But most of the criminal activities had a red string connecting it to the note at the center of the wall. A dossier containing Information about the so called “Brotherhood”.

As he started his inquiries concerning the razed goblin village, he’d of course thought of the criminal enterprise that systematically abused and exploited natives. But instantly assuming any random evil act to be connected to the “Brotherhood” had seemed like shoddy and lazy detective work.

Sometimes the truth just was that obvious. He connected the pin with the name of the only revenant group that had taken a quest concerning the goblin village and not reporting its completion with the Brotherhood pin. They were a noob group with suspiciously good equipment that he had easily traced back to a brotherhood supplier. They had also been seen entering and leaving a known brotherhood compound in the warehouse district.

He was sure, he had identified the culprit. But proving it, would be another matter entirely. That would be where his protagonist status would shine. It was his fate to save this world plagued by the immortal invaders that the locals called revenants. He had not yet found a way to kill or remove them, but he would foil their plots. Unearth their secrets. He would make them pay!

And he would start with this ominous Brotherhood.

It wouldn’t matter if he could prove they destroyed the goblin village. That wasn’t illegal. And he’d have a hard time convincing other revenants to do something about it. Only a few of them even cared about the missing source of starting quests. There was still more than enough to do.

He would hit them where it would hurt them the most. Their money. Or more exactly, the farm compound they used to make their mass-produced travel rations, clothes and adventurer’s gear. He turned and left the room. Determined to find help with his mission.

* * *

The Adventurer’s Guild bustled with its usual chaos: quests pinned haphazardly to bulletin boards, adventurers exchanging tall tales over mugs of ale, and guild clerks hurriedly scribbling notes to keep up with the ever-turning tide of requests. William’s sharp eyes swept the room with practiced precision, lingering on details others might overlook. The torn edge of a poster, the faint smell of ink and steel, the shift in mood when a whisper passed between two adventurers in the corner. Behind the main counter, he spied a new face. Trulda, one of the members usually manning the desk at the main spawnpoint at the market square. Since it was the low plague tide and less demand for the guild’s services, they had closed the desk and pulled everyone into the main building. The barbarian-turned-guild-receptionist had carved out a peculiar niche. She could handle unruly adventurers just as easily as she could decipher a badly written quest scroll.

“You must be William,” Trulda greeted, leaning on the counter with a grin. “I have a whole desk full of reports with your name on it. Or do you want to finally start on your own adventures?”

The investigator smirked. “Proper adventuring rarely pays in coin and answers, Trulda. I’m here because I need help.”

Her grin faded, replaced by curiosity. “I heard you’re investigating the lost goblin village. Shame that. Those poor creatures hardly ever seriously hurt anyone. What do you need?”

William lowered his voice, glancing around the room to ensure no one was listening. “There’s a missing farmer, Luthgar the Blind. You probably heard about him. There’s a Mystery Quest to find him. He vanished weeks ago, and now his farm’s been turned into some kind of fortress. Rumors tell of a sweatshop full of starving refugees, working day and night for their merciless masters. I’ve tracked enough breadcrumbs to know an organization known as the Brotherhood is involved.”

Trulda’s expression darkened. “I’ve heard of them. They represent all that’s wrong with the revenants. What do you need?”

William tapped the counter lightly. “I’ve hit a wall. The farm’s crawling with mercenaries, and I’m just one man. I need a team. People with skills who can handle themselves in tight spots. During the current low plague, all of the teams I know or that have been recommended to me are… logged out, as they say. The Half-Brothers, Bard’s Lament and Vanguard of Innovation are all unavailable.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re in luck. I’ve got just the group for you. They’re unconventional, but they’re good.”

“Unconventional?” William raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Trulda smirked. “Probably. They are known as the Nonstandard Party of Charismatic Specialists.”

He grinned: “NPCS? I already like them. Arrange a meeting in the Icy Moss Tavern. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, but they serve some great coffee.”

* * *

The back room of the Icy Moss Tavern was dimly lit, its low ceiling crisscrossed with rough-hewn beams blackened from years of smoke and candle soot. A battered wooden table stood at its center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, their surfaces scarred by the passage of countless patrons. The faint smell of roasted meat mingled with the sharper tang of spilled ale, while the muffled chatter of the tavern’s main room hummed through the thick oak door.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

William sat at the table, his long coat draped over his chair and his hat resting on the table beside a half-empty mug of ale. His sharp eyes scanned the dim room as he waited, his patience wearing thin.

The door creaked open, and his expected company arrived.

Weylan entered first, his wiry frame cloaked in dark leathers, his confident smirk framed by the flickering light of the lantern overhead. He grinned broadly as he saw William and immediately recognized him. He made a dramatic pose: “And so we meet again… William.”

Behind him strode Skorr, the duskgnome ranger. Compact and intense, Skorr carried his war-pick across his back, his violet eyes flicking around the room, assessing every detail. “You didn’t mention you already knew him.”

“Trulda only told me his name. One of the most common male names in the kingdom. I didn’t think it’s this specific William.”

Ulmenglanz followed, her presence calm as always. The dryad healer, with her bark-textured skin and shimmering green hair, moved gracefully, her simple quarterstaff tapping the wooden floor with each step. She looked from one to the other. “You know each other?”

William nodded. “We’ve briefly met after I arrived in the city.”

A glossy black raven flapped in and landed lightly on Weylan’s shoulder. The bird tilted its head, sharp eyes fixed on William.

William rose to greet them, nodding briefly. “So, you’re team NPCS, I presume. I remember you telling me you don’t do adventures, Weylan, the common shepherd.”

Weylan smirked. “We try to keep a low profile. Trulda said you needed a team. What’s the job?”

William motioned for them to sit. “It’s not a typical quest. It’s… complicated.”

Skorr pulled out a chair and took a seat, his expression steady but curious. “Complicated how?”

William’s voice dropped, his tone serious. “A farmer named Luthgar the Blind was coerced into signing away his land to the Brotherhood. Shortly after, he disappeared. The Brotherhood has since turned his farm into one of their sweatshops where they exploit local citizens and mostly refugees.”

Weylan grimaced. “Everyone and their grandma know the brotherhood killed him. It’s just impossible to prove.”

William looked him into the eyes. “I can do it. I just need to retrieve Luthgar’s body.”

Ulmenglanz’s voice cut through the quiet. “His body? Why?”

“To undo their claim,” William explained, leaning forward. “Under royal contract law, a property sale isn’t finalized until a full day and night have passed. If either party dies before that time, the contract is void. The church of death can perform a ritual to pinpoint Luthgar’s exact time of death. If we can prove he was killed before the contract became binding, the sale is invalid, and we can start dismantling the Brotherhood’s operations.”

Skorr frowned. “They probably buried him somewhere in the woods. Impossible to find.”

William’s jaw tightened. “I doubt it. That would violate the edicts of their patron god Nistrul. They are forbidden to destroy any body that could still be reanimated.”

Weylan tilted his head. “So, we sneak in, grab the body, and get out?”

“That’s the plan,” William confirmed. “The place is crawling with mercenaries. If they catch us, we won’t just face them. The Brotherhood will send reinforcements. They have many barely competent noobs, but they’re also training some elite teams.”

Skorr’s expression remained calm, but his tone was edged with concern. “What’s the fallback if we’re caught?”

“Don’t get caught,” William said bluntly. “This isn’t just about Luthgar. Exposing what the Brotherhood is doing here could ripple out and cripple their other sweatshops.”

Weylan asked: “And if this is a trap? Or if they necromanced him and we can’t take him out?”

William noticed the raven managing to actually roll its eyes at Weylan’s use of the word “necromanced”. He exhaled, frustration flickering across his face. “You mean if they reanimated him as a zombie. We can try to tie him up or cut of his head. That should be enough for the ritual, as far as I understood it. If that’s impossible, then we regroup and find another way. But this is the best lead we’ve got. The Brotherhood stays within the laws enough to make it really hard to hinder them. The revenants in the past have managed to modify most of the laws to suit them.”

Weylan grinned, drawing a blade from his belt and spinning it idly. “Sounds like fun.”

Ulmenglanz tapped her staff on the floor, drawing their attention. “If we’re doing this, we need a solid plan. What do we know about the layout?”

The group leaned over a rough map William had drawn, based on what he’d pieced together from villagers and his own reconnaissance. The farm compound was surrounded by high wooden palisades, with guard towers positioned at each corner. The main house sat in the center, flanked by a barn and several smaller sheds.

“The old root cellar is here,” William said, pointing to a shaded section beneath the main house. “That’s where I believe Luthgar’s body is being kept. It’s the only place unless they use magic or embalming techniques to prevent it from spoiling. Both would be much more complicated.”

“And the guards?” Skorr asked.

“Patrolling the walls and the compound,” William replied. “They’re armed and organized. We’ll need a distraction to pull them away from the house.”

Weylan tilted his head, studying the map. “What about the cattle pens here? If we release the livestock, it might cause enough chaos to thin their defenses.”

Skorr nodded. “A stampede could work. While they’re dealing with that, we slip inside.”

“And if the guards notice us before we reach the cellar?” Ulmenglanz asked.

Weylan shrugged. “Then we improvise.”

William winced. Improvisation wasn’t his favorite strategy, but he could tell this team thrived on it. “Once we have the body, we need to extract fast. The longer we’re there, the more likely reinforcements will show.”

Weylan tapped a spot near the barn on the map. “We’ll need a fallback point. Somewhere to regroup if we’re separated.”

William nodded. “Good idea. Here.” He marked a secluded grove near the edge of the farm. “We rendezvous there if things go sideways.” He stood, pulling on his coat. “We move at first light. Get your gear ready.”

The team nodded and left.

After they were gone, a hidden compartment opened on the wall and a goblin entered. “I thought plan was you proposing Grrg to help with woodcraft. Prepared dramatic entry and all.”

“I think their healer will be more than up to the task of getting them through the woods unseen.”

“Healer? Not the grey skinned scout?”

“You probably could not see properly her through the spy hole. She’s a dryad.” William looked wistfully at the door they’d just left through. “A duskgnome, a dryad and a raven familiar that seemed much too attentive. The shepherd seems to be the most normal of the bunch, but the way he moves… And his shadow… something was off about it.”

The goblin shifted uneasily, his sharp ears twitching. “Off how?”

“I don’t know,” William admitted, his voice quiet. “But I intend to find out. Something tells me this team is more than they seem. And for what’s ahead, I’ll need every edge I can get. The Brotherhood is only the beginning. We need to get rid of all revenants to safe this world.”