An otter has lifted itself out of my inaugural chest and is sitting on the floor looking dazed.

Pom is freaking out.

“Beware!” he says dramatically, gesturing for me to stand behind him. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an otter.”

“Naive xeni! Remember your knowledge score? It’s non-existent! A zero! You don’t know how our world works. This creature could be any number of things.”

He holds his thy and mutters something. I think he’s trying to assess what manner of animal we’re currently both staring at.

“Most perplexing,” says Pom. “It can’t be identified. This is highly unusual. Highly unusual.”

Because Pom is so agitated, I’m reminded of a scene from Monty Python’s Holy Grail movie. King Arthur and his knights are brought to the lair of the Legendary Black Beast of Arrghh. Even more fearsome is its guardian, which has claimed the lives of many brave soldiers who ventured forth to slay the beast it protects. The Knights of the Round Table are rightly wary. They head to a cave littered with bones, but when they come face to face with the monster guarding it, they discover that it’s just a rabbit. With sighs of relief, they march off to put it down and are horrified when the rabbit launches itself at the nearest knight, biting the warrior’s head clean off. It then flies with vicious fury from knight to knight, biting and goring, until King Arthur and his men are forced to flee for their lives.

Which is to say, perhaps Pom is right. Maybe this thing is the Black Beast’s guardian's cousin? Perhaps I should be cautious.

“I could try shouting flare at it?” I suggest.

Pom looks at me like I’m an idiot. “If it’s dangerous, we should not provoke it to battle.”

The otter looks quizzically at Pom, and then at me. Then he looks at his front paws.

“Fuck,” he says. “Has either of you seen my pipe?”

We’re both stunned in to silence. The voice does not fit the creature. It’s low and gravelly. A good voice for narrating movie trailers. Perhaps he’s been smoking a long time.

“Um. There’s a sort of satchel on your back,” I point out. “Maybe it’s in there?”

He pats his back and seems surprised to touch the satchel that’s strapped to it.

“Nice one!” he says. He unbuckles a chest strap, slips off the satchel and roots around inside it.

“Got it!” says the otther, pulling out a small bone tobacco pipe. He taps the bowl with a finger. “Still got a bit of leaf in it. Lovely. Either of you got a light?”

I think about the flint in my own pack, and how long it might take me to struggle to make fire with it. Thankfully, Pom steps forward. There’s a flame dancing above his thumb, which he uses to light the pipe.

The otter takes a couple of puffs and smiles. The smoke smells sweet, like vanilla or maple.

“Ah. Better.” The otter closes his eyes for a couple of seconds before looking at us both again. “Which one of you is Doon?”

“I am Pom Rust. Of the Varodan Tower Rusts. I am the guide here, and I bid you welcome to this land.”

“I’m Doon,” I say stepping forward. “Doon the er…” I think about saying ‘Slayer’ and decide it would sound fraudulent, seeing as I’ve only been able to lay claim to that title for five minutes.

“Doon of Tooting.”

The otter chuckles. “Tooting. I like the sound of that place. I don’t know it. But I like the sound of it. Well, Doon, time for the formalities.” He takes a couple more puffs on his pipe, before putting it down carefully and performing a sweeping bow.

“Doon of Tooting, I am Veppi your anhreg companion. From this day forth I am born anew with sole purpose. I am bound to you as your guardian and your aide, and sworn to assist you in your quest in any way that I can.”

He stands up from his bow and smiles, all pleased with himself. He’s waiting for me to respond, like an otter in a zoo standing up on its back legs waiting for a fishy treat. I’m not sure what to say.

“Great,” is all I can think of. “That’s just great. Thanks, er, Veppi. Great to have you along. What quest is that then?”

“Your personal quest. The one to find Ella.”

----------------------------------------

Ten minutes later I’m in a tavern. An actual trope soaked fantasy inn, dripping in established convention and cliche.

It’s fucking amazing.

It’s rowdy, it’s lively and it’s jam packed with the fantastical.

Every face is a weird face, every patron a character. There are pointy ears, rounded ears, furry ears and no ears. There’s danger and the crackle of magic in the air. It’s like a Lord of the Rings version of the Mos Eisley cantina.

Just over there, is a group of halflings pissed out of their heads. They’ve gone full Michael Flatley on the table, jigging about and smashing their clay tankards together, singing songs of home and hearth. I watch as a greenskinned gentleman tries surreptitiously to sweep one of them in to a sack, but he’s caught and there’s a short lived brawl and now there’s more drinks to compensate and laughing and slapping of backs and everyone seems like they’re friends again.

There’s a bard on a low stage mesmerising a crowd hopelessly lost in her voice and her eyes, as she plucks out a tune on a tiny harp, telling a tale of an adventurer with no god, who dives into a volcano and is reborn a phoenix.

Nearby, there’s a young woman with messy black hair arguing with an impossibly handsome older man in an expensive looking suit. He has a row of gleaming medals pinned to his chest which he keeps pointing to in angry fashion while she rolls her eyes.

By an open back door, there’s a man made out of rocks with a red painted smile on his boulder head. He’s sitting with what must be a druid, a man in green robes with a great branch of a staff that seems to be talking to him.

There’s a huge roaring fire, of course, and there’s a bald stoic looking child in a robe sitting cross legged in front of it. I watch as the child practices spells, pulling little stick men made of fire from the flames. They dance around him until they burn out, leaving wisps of smoke rising to the ceiling like souls ascending.

And then there’s me in the door way. A Slayer from London with a magic sword and a talking otter.

Fucking get in.

“Hey! Tooting!” It’s Bray, waving me over to join him. He’s with a mixed group of humanoids, all decked out in impressive looking gear that telegraphs their role. A proper party of adventurers. “Come and meet my friends.”

I push my way through the crowded tavern, otter in tow, doing my best to stride with an air of confidence. I arrive at Bray’s table and give everyone a nod.

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“Alright” I say by way of greeting, doing my best not be intimidated. “I’m Doon. How’s it going?”

“Look at you!” Says Bray with arms open. “A neum no longer. Let me guess. You went with fighter, maybe a redeemer? A solid choice. I’m right, yes?”

“I went for Slayer.”

Bray and his crowd of friends let out a collective ‘ooooh’. It sounds sarcastic, but they’re all smiles so I try not to worry at their reaction to my choice of calling.

There’s an elf in flowing robes with jet black skin and luminous blue eyes who holds out her hand to me. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to kiss it or shake it. I could almost high five it, if I approached it from below, but I think that would go wrong. I opt for what I think is a debonair and light kiss, and I’m rewarded with a smile and a twinkle of her incredible eyes.

“How charming,” she says, her voice like honey. “A newly minted slayer. All set to slay monsters and beguile the unwary. I am Arina, a priestess of Buné and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

I give her an upturned nod and say “Hi Arina. What’s going on?” And it sounds totally out of place and awkward and I feel like a right twat.

“Duggan,” says a swarthy looking human, just as my cheeks begin to redden. He’s clad in supple green armour with a hooded cloak the colour of ivy and a quiver of arrows on his back. He holds out his hand for an obvious shake, and I grab it and pump it, relieved that I know what I’m supposed to do with it. “I’m a guardian of the forests” he says, somewhat unnecessarily. “A ranger of the woods.”

“You don’t say?”

“I’m Agri,” says a dwarf in chainmail, “and this is my wife Freja.” He gestures to what must be a half-elf standing to his side. She’s wearing similar gear and she’s short and pale skinned, with a scar on her left cheek. She looks pissed off. Maybe that’s just her resting face. “We’re scourers,” she says. “Demonspawn are our blood enemy.”

“Nice,” I reply with another nod. “Cool.”

There’s a tug at the bottom of my Tommy Lee trousers. I look down and it’s the otter of course, who I’d totally forgotten about.

“Introduce me,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “Pick me up and put me on the table. I’ve no shame.”

“Ah, right.” I pick the otter up, holding him in the same way that a magician holds a rabbit they’ve just pulled out of their hat. I place him on the table and say, “this is my companion Veppi. He looks like an otter but he can talk. How about that?”

“Greetings friends,” he says, taking a bow. “I am Veppi and I am an anghren companion to Doon. Which is everything I know about myself. I can see you all twisting your thys trying to figure me out. I can assure you that, sadly, they won’t enlighten you.”

“So you are anghren,” Says Arina. “Which means gift or gifted, yes? If you’re a gift, then who is the one that gave you?”

“That’s a good question darling,” says Veppi, “that I don’t know how to answer. Just half an hour ago, I emerged from a chest as if it were a womb. I have a vague recollection of a life before, but it’s distant and unclear. All I know is my name, my love of feyleaf smoke, and that I’m anghren to Doon here, to help him with a personal quest of utmost importance.”

“Intriguing,” says Freja. “Is that personal quest a blood vendetta? An oath to obliterate a sworn foe?”

“No, not quite,” I say. “It’s to find my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend really.”

“How romantic,” says Arina. “To look for a love lost and gain glory in the process. What level is the quest? What does your thy say about it?”

“Nothing, yet. We checked on our way over and the journal is blank.”

“That’s to be expected,” says Bray. “Personal quests are not usually active until one reaches level five. Questing is the key. You must occupy yourself with busy work and appropriate tasks Slayer Doon, gain experience and glory until you reach the required level.”

“Right. To be honest, I’m not surprised things work that way.”

Bray claps his hands. “But enough talk! Otter, you said you were born from a chest but half an hour ago?”

Veppi nods. “That’s correct.”

“Then that must make today a birthday of sorts. Which calls for another round of drinks!”

----------------------------------------

A couple of hours pass, and I am having a fantastic time with my new friends. They’re such great people. I feel like we’re really bonding. This is exactly what I imagined being in an adventuring party would feel like. There are characters and banter. Everyone is different but we all complement each other in the most perfect way.

What’s more, the beer here is incredible. It’s light and delicious and it goes down a treat. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had. My coin purse feels a lot lighter then when I walked in, that’s for sure.

I’m about to suggest another round, when Duggan drains his glass and slams it on the table with a dramatic flourish.

“Time to drink up,” he announces. “We must leave shortly, if we’re to make it through Millwood by nightfall.”

“You’re dull, but you’re right,” says Bray. “Drink up friends. Gold and glory awaits!”

“Righto captain,” I say and everyone stares at me. I pick up my nearly full glass and skull it, then slam it on the table copying Duggan. “So where is it we’re going then?”

Everyone has gone silent, and they’re all looking at me.

“Um,” says Duggan. He looks over at Bray.

“Ah,” says Bray. “I think perhaps you misunderstand us Doon of Tooting. We are all on an important quest, which we have only three days to complete.”

“Sounds great. What is it?”

“No, no. We are all on the quest. That is to say, our adventuring party.”

“I don’t follow.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I mean all those gathered here. Except you and the otter.”

Fuck. I feel like such a tit. Here I was thinking I’d landed a lucky spot on an awesome team. But all I was doing was buying them drinks.

I am, however, boozed enough to plead a little.

“Are you sure there’s not room for one more?”

“Two more,” says Veppi with some annoyance.

Arina shakes her head. “We could use more help for sure. But not from the likes of you.”

“You seem like a good fellow,” says Agri. “But Bray here says you’re useless as shit.”

I look at Bray with obvious hurt.

He holds up his hands. “Now Agri. I never said that. All I said was that he’s a neum and a xeni. Which is true. You can’t deny you’re out of place here Doon, a fish out of water.”

“But that was then. I’ve been initiated since. I’m a Slayer now!” I realise I’m sounding desperate, but I very much want to quest with these guys.

“You are,” says Arina. “A level one Slayer. A fledgling fresh fallen from the nest. The quest we’re on is a level five heroic quest. We have the skills and experience to tackle it. But sadly Doon, you do not.”

“What about Bray?” I say. “Didn’t he lose all his levels?”

“Aye, that I did,” he nods. “And I need the help of my friends here to regain them. That is the whole purpose of our quest. We’re to go back to Brynhold and slay the fucker that leeched me. It would be way too perilous for you to join us.”

“You should stay here,” says Duggan. “Talk to people. Speak to the inn keeper. See if he’s heard any rumours of bandit camps outside the village, or starving wolves taking sheep.”

“Or look at the job board outside,” says Agri. “Get work fetching something for someone, or clearing out cellars of vermin.”

Arina places her hand on my back and smiles. “You must begin small. And slowly progress. If you take on anything too dangerous or challenging, it will surely defeat you. Take your time. Climb to level five at a steady pace, that you may begin your personal quest in one piece.”

“Please,” I say quietly, but they all shake their heads and gather their things. One by one they bid me farewell, leaving me stunned by their unexpected and sudden departure.

“It was good to meet you, Doon of Tooting,” says Bray, the last to leave. “And I thank you for distracting those Sorrow Spreaders in the woods. I am sorry you can not party with us. Truly I am.”

“Not as sorry as me.”

“Well, that’s probably right. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

----------------------------------------

There’s only one thing for it - more alcohol. I’m going to need several more drinks to stave off a welling sadness. I may as well empty my coin purse completely. I head to the bar and give the innkeeper a nod.

He looks the part of course. Middle aged and obese, ruddy of cheek and nose. He finishes serving some kind of goblin person before taking his time to walk over to me with an empty tankard, rubbing it with a dirty looking cloth.

“What can I get you squire?” he asks. “Same again?”

“Yes please. Plus a small glass of vodka for the otter.”

“Aren't you going to ask me if I’ve heard any rumours?” he says, as he’s fetching my drinks.

“Yeah. I was just about to.”

“Well. As a matter of fact, I heard a rumour that there was a neum in here earlier who made a right fool of himself. Thought he was capable of tagging along with a level five party on a heroic quest. Can you believe it? What an idiot!”

“Ha, yeah. Very funny.”

Even more disheartened than before, I take the drinks and head back to the table.

There’s a woman talking to Veppi. I think it’s the one who was arguing with the posh decorated solider when we walked in. She’s chatting and smiling, and Veppi is nodding along. He points at me as I approach the table.

“Here he is,” says Veppi. “Doon, this is Andrea. She’s a priestess.”

“More of a choir girl really.”

She’s a little shorter than me, with brown eyes and freckles and an endearing lopsided smile. Her dark hair is so all over the place I reckon she must cut it herself. There are striking black and purple markings around her eyes. I can’t tell whether its make up, tattoos or war paint.

“I overheard your misunderstanding with that party just now,” she continues. “What a bunch of snobs, eh? Elitist pricks.”

“They’re alright. It was my mistake.”

“Maybe. But they didn’t need to make you feel bad about getting the wrong end of the stick. Starting out as an adventurer, it can take a while to get the hang of things.”

“That’s for sure. I tried getting a quest out of the barman, but I think I fucked that up too.”

She leans in. “As it happens, I have a decent quest that I’d be happy share.”

“With me?”

“Yes of course. The otter too.”

“A quest that’s at our level?”

“Yes. Well, level two. Same as me. But I think you’ll both manage.”

“Is it collecting ten of something?”

She flashes me a crooked smile, and I notice that one of her teeth is made of gold.

“It’s much more exciting than that. Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”