The day of my first quest, I arrived at the guild early -- and without a book at Bessie's insistence -- to find the whole team already assembled and conversing with the client... prospective client. I took the opportunity before anybody noticed me to inspect him: mid-forties at least, stern features, big beard, stereotypical staff, and bright yellow-star-on-blue-pattern mage robes (ugh). At least he hadn't picked up the unfortunate fashion trend, started by the Mage Guild (of course), favoring colorful hair to complement the robes.

As I drew nearer Appraising this last, I heard him saying in a nasally, grating voice: "...qualifications for detecting and dismantling wards? Really! I thought I was perfectly clear in my posting..."

While nearby adventurers sent pitying looks, my friends wore polite, patient expressions concealing the bubbling irritation underneath. Blake had shrunk so far back into a column's shadow I could detect him only by his annoyance-tinged boredom. He noticed me first, followed shortly by the others, who broke into relieved smiles.

"Excuse me, sir," Bessie said, the moment he'd stopped speaking to catch his breath, "Our resident magic expert has arrived!"

The stranger turned, his disdainful expression changing instantly when he saw me. Somewhat at odds with his demeanor, he felt angry, aggressive, tired, hopeful, and resolved, but mostly he felt anxious, and upon seeing me the anger and aggression decreased while the hope and anxiety increased.

"Oh," Bessie said in a sugar-sweet voice, looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, "Did I forget to mention our Rena is also a Scholar?"

This was somewhat self-evident, since I hadn't borrowed something from my mentor this time and was wearing the white robes. The maybe-client looked me up and down, his anxiety like a constant buzzing on my nerves, before asking, "What's your rank?"

Taken aback by his bluntness, I thought after a moment the question was fair since I wasn't wearing the rank pin. "Junior," I said, and then somewhat annoyed by the feeling of dismissal even as he guarded his expression, added, "I joined the guild a year ago."

"Truly?" he said interestedly. "I considered joining myself but I heard each person's experience, resources, and advancement can all depend on their mentor."

"I wouldn't know, but I do believe mine, Senior Rubrik, is the best."

"Then you must introduce me -- ah, where are my manners?"

He suddenly launched into a full self-introduction emphasizing his venerable family of multi-generational mages, somewhat to my bewilderment. When he finished and waited, and finding nothing forthcoming from my friends, I offered: "Rowena Loress."

"Loress," he repeated. "Any relation to the Sage?"

My eyes widened, and I stared at him for a too-long moment before answering, throat tight, "My grandmother." I hadn't thought she was still known, especially outside the Scholars.

"Really! No wonder then," he said in the manner of a man solving a puzzle. My annoyance built -- was he suggesting my fortune in the guild was through nepotism? -- and it didn't help when he continued, "What brings you here in the company of uncouth ruffians?"

My friends glared at him where he couldn't see. "I'm saving up to make my own mage robe," I said, circulating my mana for patience. "Speaking of, yours is quite impressive. Passed down through the family, but you tailored it yourself to suit you better? And you're mostly an air specialist?"

His jaw dropped. "You can tell all that at a glance?" I'd been Appraising him since I arrived, but I merely smiled. That seemed enough to decide him, as he said, "Very well, perhaps you may aid me in my grave hour of need. I will brief you in full on the way. Time is of the utmost essence." So saying, he swept out of the room with a flourish.

We followed him to the guild's dock and his personal airboat, a gleaming wooden specimen that looked like it could comfortably seat six, possibly a seventh at the bow. He was clearly expecting to impress, standing by the side with a smugly satisfied expression like he was presenting a trophy, and I might've obliged him if I couldn't tell it was another generationally owned artifact or wasn't annoyed with him, and all right, a little envious.

My friends weren't so restrained, oohing and aahing while they circled the airboat and the client puffed up further. Sure, it was expensive and classy, especially for a private vehicle owned by neither a noble family nor guild high-ranker, but it wasn't like it was anything I hadn't seen before. Speaking personally, anyway.

Suddenly feeling guilty for my more privileged past experiences, I kept my mouth shut and let the showoff ruin my friends' moment, which he did in short order. "All right, all aboard," he said brusquely, and hopping in first, began to power the runes.

Most of the artifact's workings sadly weren't visible, but I nonetheless watched in naked fascination as he directed the airboat to smoothly rise and take off, using his own mana channeled through his staff only to link with the controlling runes. His movements were assured and elegant, but then he had to open his mouth and explain his story, which despite the bombastic language boiled down to his family pet repeatedly slipping through the neighbor's wards, ignoring warnings not to trespass, until its recent disappearance. The Watch was called but refused entry, with said neighbor claiming not to have seen or done anything to the animal.

"And they just believed him?" Bessie said. "Did they use truth Skills, at least?"

"My nemesis is a wily foe, who can twist his words to make the truth not so. Moreover, the craven Watch dares not cross him for he is a Senior Mage in his stuffy guild."

"Hold on." My friends' alarm suddenly spiked. "You didn't say he's in the Mage's Guild! And a Senior Mage?"

"That's less impressive than it sounds," I interjected. "Senior Scholars are rightly respected, just one level below Master Scholars. Senior Artisans" -- I nodded to Hannah, who nodded back at the reference to her parents -- "must achieve five guild ranks, leaving them below only Expert and Master Artisans. Senior Mages, on the other hand, are above Novices, Apprentices, and Adepts, but still below High Mages, Grandmaster Mages, and Archmages. The Mage's Guild just likes giving inflated titles."

"Hear, hear," the client echoed enthusiastically. Perhaps he was not a hopeless case for the Scholars after all.

I heard Bessie snort and mutter something like, "Not rivals my fine patootie," but chose to ignore her. Pointing out the Mage Guild's manifest pretentiousness hardly qualified them as rivals. Though, judging from my friends' unabated consternation, they were less concerned with the mage's rank than with his guild's possible involvement.

"How are you so sure your... family's respectable animal companion... is actually there, trapped in your neighbor's property?" Hannah asked. "Or are you just guessing?"

"I am positively certain." And he felt it. Suspicious, unless... "Though I cannot reveal the source of my mystical knowledge, lest I inadvertently betray my family's long-kept secrets."

"Is it your familiar?" His instant reaction made redundant what would've been my follow-up question: 'Or the familiar of somebody you know?'

"I implore you," he said, seeming to realize he'd given himself away, "Keep this information to yourselves! If that fiend knew he held something so precious... I shudder to imagine what dastardly deeds should follow."

"Surely not!" I gasped, shocked despite myself. Harming anyone's familiar was not only criminal, it was practically taboo, assuming the familiar was harmless or incapacitated.

"He is a villain of the highest order." Despite his solemn tone, the braggadocio seemed to derive pleasure from denouncing his neighbor, rather than any normal reaction of hatred, horror, or revulsion. "I would surely secure my vengeance afterwards, but by then it might be too late... for my poor dear..." We exchanged worried glances at this sudden rise in stakes, especially as he continued, "I must stress again the vital importance to this quest of your discretion. Speed and stealth are our first priorities. Violence should be the final resort, and only when you can be assured of limiting casualties and property damage..."

As he droned on, I wondered uncharitably what kind of familiar he had. Probably a small yapping dog, preening peacock, posturing rooster or the like. When I tried asking as he paused for breath, he sputtered and behaved as though I'd asked him for his complete Skill Set, despite the logical relevance to our retrieval quest.

"Your role is merely to act as escort," he said. "You will see for yourself if more becomes necessary."

Yes, it was something embarrassing all right. I was growing increasingly curious. Familiars were once practically required for every aspiring mage, since they could significantly boost their master's power. However, they fell out of favor hundreds of years ago ever since a Scholar proved they also shortened their master's power-based life expectancy. Powerful mages who might've lived four or five hundred years instead lived only two or three hundred, albeit a good familiar could help a mage grow so powerful in the first place. This revelation was the final straw atop the other well-documented side effects, including loss of mana, mental bleed-through, added vulnerability from certain spells targeting the master through their familiar, occasional cases of friction between master and familiar, and backlash from a bond breaking, which could cause death or a coma. I glanced at our ever-anxious client, a thought tickling my mind.

"Aha!" he crowed in that moment. "Observe the dangerous water nymphs in their native habitat. Fear not, comrades, I shall not suffer beguilement no matter their alluring advances, for my heart is steadfast in the pursuit of our noble goal."

"I don't think those are the beguiling types," Hannah said, peering over the edge. "The guild has a class on this, recognizing and handling different monsters."

He puffed up like an offended cat. "Do not presume to lecture me on my business. Why, I personally know someone who swore he was beguiled and nearly drowned, not so far from here, and only survived because they enjoy playing with their prey."

"You're both sort of right," I said, unable to hold my tongue. "That's a Common Undine, evolved from the Lesser Water Nymph. Some variants are capable of beguiling with their voices, but their magic works best underwater, capable of luring prey for up to a hundred meters. The range above water is only about three meters and so comparatively ineffective they rarely bother. As to drowning, they prefer their victims active, whether dancing under beguilement or flailing in distress, and quickly lose interest if their toy loses consciousness or plays dead. Keeping calm and swimming slowly while others distract from the surface is the recommended method for surviving the experience."

I looked up from watching the undine play and noticed everybody was staring at me. "Speaking from experience?" Tom asked.

"Er... no," I admitted. "I read all that in a book." An illustrated bestiary, actually.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Oh, of course, with a Scholar such as yourself to expand their limited minds, no wonder they aren't the usual dimwitted adventurers," said one of the most obnoxious persons I'd had the misfortune to meet. The rest of us had a shared moment where we collectively resisted the urge to throttle him. "This team is most fortunate to benefit from your erudite guidance... ah, what was their name again?"

After an awkward pause, I realized he was waiting on me and looked to Bessie for help, who answered, "Team Multi-Movers. And Rena, you remember practically everything; how in the name of magic do you keep forgetting our team name?"

"I remember everything I read. But I forget all the time things I only hear."

"Oh, sorry. Remember you telling us that before, but uh..."

"We thought you were joking or exaggerating," Blake said bluntly.

"Everything you read? Did the Sage develop a reliable method of gaining [Perfect Recall]?" For a moment, our moneybags' excitement overtook even his anxiety.

"No," I said. "I was born with my eidetic memory, no Skill necessary."

Seeing his disappointment, I did sympathize. I was well-aware of my luck; I wouldn't trade my memory for any Skill in the world. Instead of lingering on the injustice or his inadequacies, though, he turned thoughtful. "Why do you not write down things you would remember?"

I stared at him, feeling honestly quite stupid. "[Scribe]," I said and then beheld the calligraphed 'Team Multi-Movers.' "Um, by the way... what's your name again?"

Ernest Maximillian Blackwood -- with a name like that, perhaps he would be better suited for the Mage's Guild -- for once did not gloat, saying rather, "The second-tier [Scribe] at your age! I can tell you will definitely go far, perhaps as far as your venerable grandmother?" He coughed. "Er, if it is not too forward of me, would you happen to know when, if ever, she might be publishing her next book...?"

My annoyance with him abruptly vanished. Turning away, I said shortly, "She was murdered by raiders."

"What! Raiders!" He seemed genuinely shocked and dismayed. "And the Scholars did nothing?"

"Maybe they did. I wasn't in the guild back then."

The uncomfortable silence was broken when, for the first time, his ever-present anxiety and aggression settled into something more sombre. "I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly, "And the loss to our world. She was a great person... In truth, something of a personal hero. Her books helped me learn runes, even our family spells..."

He trailed off, and I answered simply, "Thank you."

We maintained a welcome pensive silence until arriving. The airboat deposited us at what presumably had to be his familial estate, carefully sculpted greenery covering sprawling grounds that led to a picture-perfect mansion in the distance. The edifice was draped in trailing vines, bedecked in flowers along the arched windows and blooming off balconies, and shimmering with its own set of wards, separate from those we'd crossed coming onto the property. I half-expected a flock of servants rushing up to greet us to complete the image of fabulous wealth.

Instead, we were treated to the sight of Ernest 'sneaking' -- he was practically waving a sign screaming 'STEALTH' -- to what he claimed was a 'secret entrance' onto his neighbor's land. Misgivings were ringing in my mind, but what could we do, turn back? I did note the abrupt increase in ostentatious decoration in the area, capped by an oversized statue of himself posed sternly facing across the border.

"Did your pet... companion also use this route?" Bessie asked, staring dubiously at the literal hole in the enclosure and wards.

"No, it doesn't provide enough of a challenge. Come, follow my lead... if you dare."

He then led us through what could best be described as a wishy-washily deadly obstacle course. There were polished swinging blades that could be seen coming a mile away; a pit trap that dropped a long, long way terminating in cushioning wards; a statue shooting fire from its eyes (why?) in a straight line even I could dodge... The most serious threat was the rolling boulder, but we all found spots off the pathway to slip into while it rolled on by. Ernest began the expedition making an earnest (ha) attempt at a rousing monologue, but a reminder of our intended stealth fortunately met with success.

Thus we arrived unharmed and only slightly delayed at our destination, which turned out to be a literal snake pit -- or at least around a dozen of the slithering species were curled up in the shadows -- suspended over which within a dense web of wards was a curled ball of miniature fluff. From Ernest's shocked exclamation and the rush of relief mixed with miserable fear from the poor creature, this must be his familiar. Only when it raised its head to look back at us did I recognize it: a ferret. No wonder our client's constant not-so-low level of anxiety. He rushed over, disregarding the various alarms he tripped, and snatched it from the air... which amazingly worked, since the wards seemed targeted toward nonhumans specifically.

As we watched with studiously neutral expressions, he cradled the little familiar and began to intermittently soothe and berate it for worrying him out of his mind. For its part, the critter underwent a miraculous transformation from quivering in mortal terror to putting on airs with unrepentant impudence. Its little features scrunched up in distaste, whiskers twitching in offended indignation. I had to admit, it was adorable.

"Aha!" As the scene was set, another mage entered stage right, trailed by a younger mage. Both presumable members of the Mage's Guild were dressed in atrociously bright orange robes wreathed in decorative flame sigils, and even more horrifyingly, had orange hair that looked literally on fire. Any other possibly distinctive features were overshadowed by these two egregious crimes against sensibility. "I knew you would come crawling back for your meddling pest, and with mercenary muscle no less!"

"Crawl?" our client bellowed, seizing the awaited opportunity to throw off all pretense of stealth. "I crawl for no one! You have gone too far this time, roguish cur!"

They both waved their staffs in the air vigorously, accomplishing nothing of apparent note except making themselves feel more important. Neither felt truly hostile either. Instead they both radiated smug triumph in a distinctly juvenile fashion, as though they were children catching their haughty rival with their pants down. The assumed apprentice to the side was restraining exasperation and embarrassment while outwardly maintaining a serious, deferential demeanor. My increasing suspicions solidified, and I suddenly surmised I knew the real reason Ernest had been so insistent on limiting violence and damages.

"Though I may be backed only by unreliable hired goons, still I need only my own wits and daring to prevail!" he declaimed. As one of the aforementioned hired goons, I was a little offended, but kept my eyes on the promised silver. 'Follow my lead,' he'd said. No wonder his awful attitude throughout when he'd essentially paid us to play the parts of unfortunates. "Behold, my true fearsome power! [Wind Blast]!"

"[Fireball]!" his opponent retorted. "Fool, you cannot defeat me!"

The two mages had both clearly upgraded their spells to the Intermediate level, judging from the power on display surpassing what could be enhanced by their staffs. Unfortunately they hadn't upgraded their common sense, as despite each throwing up elemental and personal shields, the collision of spells had the predictably volatile effect: an explosion of hot air that knocked me off my feet. I looked up to see I was the only one, at least on our side; the younger mage was lying prone, seemingly unconscious but for a protective dome of mana and lingering sense of bother.

"[Mana Shield]," I belatedly cast.

"Fiend!" Ernest again shook his staff dramatically. "To senselessly torment a poor innocent animal, that is low even for you! Wretched scum!"

"Your poor innocent animal has been sneaking through my wards, squirreling away my stuff! It's about time she received her just desserts!"

"So... are we supposed to be doing anything here?" Bessie whisper-asked out of the side of her mouth.

"Better not before he calls for backup," Tom said. "My fellow thug."

"You didn't even feed her! You let her hang and starve, you remorseless monster!"

"So I could say I hadn't seen her. Should I have thrown food around with my eyes closed?"

"No, no, we're hired goons remember. Unreliable, but an evolutionary step above the common brainless thug, maybe."

"Do you think he just wanted us for an audience?" Hannah wondered aloud. "Sort of like paying to watch a play but in reverse?"

"Enough of your excuses! I will have restitution in blood. Come to me, oh greatest of minions. [Summon Air Elemental]!"

"So be it. Let us settle this like true men. [Summon Fire Elemental]!"

"So much for limiting violence or damages," Bessie commented. BOOM. FWAH. "Uh oh, looks like our fellow's losing. Probably the other mage's home advantage." She didn't sound the least concerned. "Should we take out the apprentice if he tries anything?"

"Wait, is that... did you see that?" By contrast, Hannah sounded distinctly nervous, which seemed more appropriate considering salvos and shouting continued in the foreground.

"Do you mean the two lunatics, I mean our esteemed client and his terrible foe?"

"No, it's... I'm not sure..."

"The wards," I said from behind Tom's comforting bulk. "They just broke the wards over the pit."

"Er, so?" Bessie still apparently had not received the memo to be concerned. "The walls are vertical, it's not like anything inside can just--"

"S...snakes!" Ernest's voice rose in pitch and volume, finally achieving authentic theater. "There are mana-cursed snakes loose! THEY CAN TELEPORT!"

A beat of silence, then Tom said: "I think he's calling for backup."

"Right, Tom protect the VIP," Bessie said briskly. "We'll assume the other two are friendlies now too unless they prove otherwise. Blake, can you tell if--"

"Not poisonous."

"I think you mean venomous, and can you check one more? Hannah, do they all look like the same type to you?"

"Not sure, I keep shooting each one I see."

"Good plan. Ah, watch out for-- never mind. Is that all of them?"

"Most are still in the pit," Blake said. "Should I...?"

"Nah, leave them. I'm more curious why there's a snake pit in the first place. And where'd Rena go...? Oh, hello." She peered into my hiding spot tucked into a tree hollow with [Mana Shield] covering the entrance. "It's safe to come out now. Probably."

"Thanks," I said, clambering gingerly out but not before looking both ways. "The shifting vine snakes are there for study. They have a really fascinating way of teleporting that... actually, can you save me some bodies? Not as useful as live specimens, but I don't have a warded pit handy. I bet it wasn't even intended to trap Ernest's familiar, but the wards are specifically designed to stop animals escaping."

"Sure thing. By the way, ducking for cover and avoiding any fighting is absolutely the sensible thing to do. You might need a slight attitude adjustment if you still want to prepare for all situations and dangerous field research, however."

"Is it too late to change my mind?" I muttered. "Maybe the life of a coddled VIP isn't so bad."

"With what coin?" Blake said.

Ouch? Blushing, I looked down. "I'm sorry for fleeing. I knew they weren't that dangerous, though."

"If you knew that, why'd you flee?" Bessie asked, curious rather than judgmental.

"They can still teleport behind my shield and lash out, and unlike the dungeon monsters they're just displaced and scared. Also, um... I haven't ever actually killed, or even fought anything?"

The adventurers all gaped at me. "What, never? I... sorry, I didn't realize," Bessie said, making a clear effort to be tactful. "That's right, [Fireball]'s your first offensive Skill. No wonder when we first met..."

"No offense," Tom quipped. "But seriously, you've never faced even a pest?" I shook my head. "How is that possible?"

"You can seem incredibly experienced one moment, and then even more ridiculously sheltered the next," Blake observed.

Whereas he seemed to shrug off more Overworld oddness, and Hannah was only a little surprised, Bessie and Tom, for whatever reason, felt the most shocked, even appalled, as I might be if they'd just confessed they were illiterate. "Ah, if only we had dungeon access," Bessie said, "We could fix you up right away."

I frowned at the reminder of my stalled attempts to return to my dungeon of interest. Senior Rubrik had been happy to sign off on a research proposal, but only if I promised to follow through. Apparently abandoning my first research initiative with nothing to show for it wouldn't help my future prospects in the guild. "Still no chance?"

"Sorry. Almost any other Starting Dungeon would be easier, but Grimmark is some kind of paranoid," she said. "And Derrick's been busy."

"Adventurers!" Ernest finally wandered over from whispering and gesticulating with his neighbor. "Thank you for your unprompted but well-timed aid. Yes, I do believe my adversary suffered a major setback today as well as a smear upon his... uh, nefarious name. In recognition of your services, I hereby bestow upon you a token of my esteem." He presented a large silver; as I understood it, the other half was waiting at the guild. I thought him uncomfortable from the transaction, until he added, "I propose another token for your sworn word to keep my... to keep today's exact details confidential. My animal companion and I prefer our privacy, you understand."

Personally, I thought having a ferret for a familiar was nothing to be rationally ashamed of and furthermore the notion the familiar somehow represented the master had long since been discredited. On the other hand, I both completely understood and was quick to solemnly agree with the rest for another large silver. After this exchange, he seemed ready to be rid of us, but Bessie asked: "Might we trouble you for a ride back?"

"Hm... I am quite busy, you see..."

"Not only would the walk take us hours," she said seriously, "We would have to dare the deadly undine."

He brightened, awkwardness forgotten. "I will take you personally! And perhaps on the way we can discuss the precise recounting of today's adventures..." A familiar ferret poked her head out from a hidden pocket in the still-garish robes.

Later, I stared at the six silver in my palm and realized I'd never held, let alone owned, so much money before in my life. I hadn't expected to feel anything, same as the coppers I'd slowly accumulated, which had gradually turned into large coppers, before I'd spent them all. But I did feel something now. Was this the next progressive step on my personal path since I'd attained my freedom? I wanted to be free to do things, hence my sudden desire to have power to defend myself or independent wealth to spend. I wanted freedom to enter a certain dungeon. I wanted to freely face my past demons... no, not happening.

In my immediate future, I wanted to wear my own chosen clothes, meant only for me. Now there was a laudable goal. As simple and fanciful, as silly and hopeful, and as ordinary and meaningful as my very first quest.