It’s snowing when I wake up because of course it is. Bells ring in the distance— I count seven, so at least I didn’t oversleep— but they’re muted by the light dusting of white.

It’s freezing in my room and my stiff body groans as I make myself move and go about some version of a morning routine, ending up downstairs at the same bar stool as yesterday. A woman with light purple skin, bright turquoise eyes, ram’s horns among her dark curls, and a tail sits a couple stools down and smiles at me, bearing pronounced canine teeth. Nyssa introduces her as a local bard, and she and I exchange pleasantries before she departs out into the cold, nearly running into Flynt on his way in.

“I thought I was meeting you at the Emporium,” I say, frowning at him as he pauses at the door to kick snow off his boots and brush it off his shoulders and out of his hair. He looks up at me as he approaches.

“Good morning to you too.” He hands me the small bundle he’s carrying before sitting down, pulling a scarf from his shoulders. “You couldn’t walk in this weather without a cloak.”

“I mean, I could. I just wouldn’t be particularly happy about it.” Frowning down at the package I carefully untie the twine before unfolding it to reveal a heavy, deep forest green cloak with fur-lined shoulders and hood, plus a long gray wool scarf.

“Before you say something about how I didn’t have to or why am I being nice, know that I just didn’t want to have the guilt of you freezing to death on my conscience and you can definitely pay me the three silvers.”

“Thank you,” I reply, running my fingers through the soft fur. The part of me that lives in the twenty-first century feels bad about the fur, but either a) none of this real anyway, or b) it’s from within a culture where every part of the animal was likely used, and c) it’s the only option I readily have. “It’s perfect. And a nice thought.” He eyes me suspiciously at this, clearly expecting more grousing. “Hey, I hate being cold! If you’re going to prevent me from it, I’m going to be thankful. I wasn’t looking forward to walking in that. I probably would have gotten terribly lost, too.”

“Also part of my thinking, I just didn’t want to say.”

“Do you think we’re still going to investigate the docks district in this weather?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really see why not. If anything, it’ll make it easier. Fewer people about to interrupt or get in the way.”

“Good point. Before we go meet the others, though, and I am thankful for you saving me a trip— but do you think we could still do a little quick shopping first? Assuming anything’s even open.”

He blinks and cocks his head a little. “What kind of shopping?”

“I need more than a single pair of clothes for one thing.”

“You only have one pair of clothes?”

“Yeah, I told you, not especially well prepared.”

“You’re really not.”

“And I’d love to find something to clean my teeth with.”

“You don’t have a toothbrush either?” He makes a face at that. “Keira.”

“I know! Trust me.”

“Were you running from something? Is that what happened? Are you a criminal?”

“I’m not a criminal. But I guess you could say I was forced to leave abruptly.”

“Okay. Well. The Emporium should have most of the things you need. We’ll have to stop by an apothecary for the toothbrush and mouthsoap, which there’s one on the way to the square. Clothes shopping may take a little bit longer than I’m willing to force Meg to wait for us, though.”

“Ooh. Good point.”

“I thought so.”

I finish the eggs Nyssa had the kitchen prepare for me— they’re big and fluffy and orange and probably not from chickens (at least not chickens as I know them), though I try not to think of that— and then down the rest of the water in the mug. I fill up my waterskin with the remains in the pitcher. I then leave a silver on the bar for her, stand, and shrug off my bow, balancing it against the bar, before I drape the cloak over my shoulders.

Immediately, it conforms to me, settling down as if it were made for me. It fits so closely that I don’t even need to use the clasp to keep it from slipping backward from its own weight. It comes down to about my knees and immediately warms me up without feeling like a shapeless, immovable blanket. I twist my hair together to tuck it under the hood, then pull it up. It creates a slight muffle to everything, but it is easily the coziest thing I’ve ever owned, including that down pea coat and classic Uggs combo I wore throughout college.

“Thank you,” I say again to Flynt. “It’s perfect.”

“Elven cloaks, no one does them better.”

“How do I look?”

He inspects me, but then nods. “Like a proper elf visiting the south.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s… not a bad thing?” He looks very confused.

“Do I look bad?”

“I don’t understand this conversation. You look like you, just wearing a very nice cloak that will keep you warm.”

“But I mean, does it look good? Or do I look like I’m pretending to be an adventurer?”

“An adventurer probably wouldn’t wear that cloak.”

“No? Why not?”

He cringes slightly. “It’s a bit fancy, but it’s the best I could do. The others were too light-weight, or they didn’t fit your aesthetic.”

“How can you recognize my aesthetic and yet be confused when I ask how I look?”

“One makes sense while the other doesn’t.”

“Are you never concerned with how you appear? Do you never wonder if your aesthetic is right for you?”

He self-consciously looks down at himself: the Han Solo-style cream colored shirt, the heavy but perfectly fitted leather pants, the dark colored leather vest that’s a complimentary shade of brown. The big boots. The green sash that slightly obscures the pouches on his belt. His duster style jacket and scarf slung over the stool beside him. I realize, in that instance, that we vaguely match in our creams, greens and browns— and I wonder if he did that on purpose. I don’t have other clothing options, but he must.

“Are you saying it isn’t?” he asks.

“Not at all. You look like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“See, the vagueness is irritating, isn’t it?”

It’s his turn to chuckle and shake his head. “It is far too early in the morning for this.”

“Could not agree more.”

I pick up my bow and settle it over my shoulders. It already feels natural to have it there. I pull the archery gauntlets out of my bag, tug them on over my sleeves, and tighten the cord that laces them up. It has a little bit of stretch to it to make getting them in place easier. They go up nearly to my elbows and are fingerless except for the thumb and index finger on my left where I hold my bow and the middle three fingers on my right, which I use to pull the string. They’re definitely more for utility than warmth, but that’s okay.

“Ready?” I ask, and out of habit tuck my hands down into the fabric and lo and behold, “Wait— it has pockets?!”

My new favorite piece of clothing ever.

###

Even with our brief side quest to the apothecary— where I get a toothbrush, mouthsoap, and a medicine kit— we’re the first to get to the notice board.

“I don’t think we should do it,” Flynt says. “Meg will probably want to be the one to go in. Or she’ll at least want to be present.”

“Either that or she’s going to be annoyed we waited around when we easily could have sped up the process so we can get to the next thing quicker.”

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

“Maybe. I think we all have to be there to get the writ to pursue the sewer quest though.”

“Hm. I’m not sure.” I move to the board and find the notice. It had a slight yellow glow to it yesterday, but now that hue looks more green. Maybe it’s the level system? I take the notice off. The moment I touch it, up pops the invitation:

> [You have selected Quest: Without a Trace. Investigate disappearances in the eastern docks ward. Accept quest? Yes/No]

Yes. It turns green and then disappears. I pull up the quest tracker menu.

> [Without a Trace. Item Needed: Writ of Mission. Take this notice to the notice board manager in the main municipal building to obtain.]

It doesn’t say anything about needing everyone present, though I’m not sure it would. Is it oriented around single player or team effort? It must be the latter, right? I can’t imagine getting through those goblins on my own, and that one was green-hued from the start. Would it have been higher rated if I were on my own?

“Let’s try it,” I suggest. “We know their names. We can just say we have other members of our party who aren’t here yet.”

Flynt looks doubtful but nods. We enter the building, weaving our way through the entrance and into the large community space with the various booths that have signs above them reading things like ‘Licenses’ and ‘Summons.’ It’s not especially busy at the moment— a combination of the early hour and the snow likely keeping some people home. At the booth labeled ‘Notices,’ the same dwarven woman as yesterday looks bored as she reads a book in a language I can’t decipher. She looks up at us and smiles, her face lighting up. She’s about Tyrus’s height and has a lighter complexion. Her beard is on the shorter side, though not much shorter than Tyrus’s, and it is tastefully decorated with braids and a little bit of jewelry.

“I remember you two from yesterday,” she says. “Back already?”

“We completed the task,” Flynt says, his voice shifting into that formal tone like he uses with Nyssa or when he’s explaining something. He nods at me, and I carefully pull the sack of ears out of my bag, not wanting to get the seeping goo anywhere. “Do you want the ears, or should we take them somewhere else…?”

“My, that’s more than I was expecting,” the woman replies, standing and reaching forward to take it. She draws a deep breath and holds it as she opens the sack and peers in, her head bobbing as she counts. She ties it back up and releases the held breath, still cringing at the smell. “I counted twenty?”

“That’s right,” he says.

> [ACHIEVEMENT: FIRST QUEST COMPLETED]

“Quite a large goblin nest,” she mutters. “But, it’s not unheard of for those things to merge with other groups. Lucky it was river goblins. Mountain goblins would have given you much more difficulty.”

“We were thinking the same thing,” Flynt agrees, flashing a smile and nodding.

It’s hard to tell under her short beard, but the woman seems to blush and smiles a little broader. It’s weird to see Flynt rolling high on the charisma checks— though I suppose he always kind of does.

“The rest of the party isn’t here yet,” he continues. “Can we pick up the bounty and accept another posting on everyone’s behalf, or does everyone need to be here?”

She considers this a moment. “You’re Lin Stoutbrooke’s son, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I’ve seen you working at the Emporium. Give me your papers, I’ll take them and hand out the bounty. For the others, I really shouldn’t, but your father being who he is in this community, I’ll trust your word on it. I’ll just need their names, and I can give you each a writ of mission.”

“Thank you very much. That’s kind of you. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

“Layrus.”

“Layrus, it’s very nice to meet you.”

She smiles again at that and nods, picking up the sack of ears and collecting the goblin writs from the both of us, then she disappears through a doorway behind her.

“Geez, Flynt, flirt much?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says in a tone that leaves no doubt he knows exactly what I mean. He sighs and glances toward where the woman disappeared. He lowers his voice a little, leaning in toward me a little more. “Sometimes you just need to treat people with some kindness. Especially people working somewhere like this. Layrus might have it a little bit better than some of her colleagues… she probably gets to see people excited to come in and accept a posting off the board— the way we were yesterday. But not always. Think of what she must deal with: farmers who have lost livelihoods thanks to monsters and other beasts, people whose loved ones have disappeared with no idea as to why, someone high-up in the municipality looking for who knows what. And on the other side, for every group that comes in successful, there must be adventurers dealing with failed missions, or who are mourning fallen party members, or who— for whatever reason— want to argue over the bounty. I imagine Tyrus probably would have tried to get another few silver pieces out of her, and she doesn’t have that type of power. The bounty is what is it, that’s one thing my mother always said. An adventurer shows their experience and professionalism by how they interact with the quest granter.”

“I have a similar philosophy back home,” I agree. “You can tell a lot about a person by how they interact with customer service.”

“Exactly.”

“Working in retail in particular, you see all types.”

“Retail?”

“At a shop.”

“Ah. Yes. Definitely. The worst are those adventurers who are always trying to haggle.” He shakes his head. “We’re an honest shop. We price as low as we can. You think you can get a better price down the road, then go down the road. But here’s the thing. Once you develop a relationship, you come back a few times, you treat me or my father or Arda with a little respect, maybe we’ll help you out. Or we’ll set aside special items that come in if we think they might be helpful for one of our favorite customers. Layrus, I bet she does the same thing. We make a good impression as kind people who do the job quickly and well, who don’t ask more than she can give, then a nice mission comes through she might set it aside for us. It’s not the wealthy benefactor that Meg dreams about, but it’s still someone nice to have in your corner.”

I’m about to ask who Arda is when Layrus returns, carrying a different pouch, which she sets on the desk in front of her with a clink.

“Now, would you like that in silver or in gold pieces?”

“There’s five of us with an even split,” Flynt says. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

“Say no more, silver it is.” She dumps out the pouch and begins to count.

We collect the hundred silver pieces from Layrus along with a new writ for each of us; I’m glad for having looked at the Squad Status page yesterday so that I have everyone’s surnames— something typically required for getting a writ. I’m not sure if I have an appropriately elf-seeming surname myself, so I use the same excuse I did yesterday of not knowing my family. Layrus nods, says she remembers that, and fills out the paperwork without much fuss. My hunch is (given the brief look of pity she offers me) that this is an embarrassing enough confession that it’s not something many would lie about. I also have a feeling that associating with Flynt is helping me out.

We’re out by the notice board before it hits ninth bell. I take the moment to pull up the information on the [FIRST QUEST] achievement.

> [First Quest. Huzzah! You did it. Your actions aided in the completion of a quest. One down! Many dozens to go on the path to 15.]

[15]. That must be the highest [Level]. Now, at least, I have a goal. Maybe if I get to [15], the game ends and I wake up? I wonder how long that will take.

We don’t wait long before Meg and Jonas approach from the northern side of town, both looking more or less like they did yesterday, though the clothes Meg wears under her armor are black today and Jonas’s a shade of blue. Both wear cloaks similar to mine rather than the duster style jacket that Flynt sports. Jonas eats an apple and grins at us. Meg looks a little tired, or maybe a bit hung over— not that I’d ever actually tell her that.

“You’re here early!” Jonas says with a laugh, holding his arms out as if he’s a Shakespearian swashbuckler greeting his best friends in the world. “Even with the snow. Nice cloak, Keira. You going to a ball?”

“Maybe,” I reply, wishing I had a better comeback than, “and it has pockets.”

“She’s an elf,” Meg says. “She can pull off casual elegance.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t look nice,” Jonas says, “it just doesn’t necessarily look like you’re ready to go tromping through a sewer. Have you ever been in a sewer, Keira? You’re going to need more than Flynt’s magic touch to clean the stench off that nice new cloak.”

“Jonas. Are you drunk?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I… may still be a little drunk. It’s possible.” I laugh as Meg and Flynt both scowl at him. “Hey,” he protests. “She’s hungover. It happens when you drink until third bell.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Meg muttered. “I kept having man-eating giant dreams.”

“Fe fi fo fum,” I deadpan. “Are you two going to be okay with this?”

Jonas scoffs. “Oh, yeah. I figure the smell of the sewers will make us both vomit and then we’ll feel about a hundred times better.”

“That is one way to look at it,” Flynt says.

Meg sighs. “Maybe not the best way, but it is a way, that is true.”

I frown. “Aren’t you a healer? Couldn’t you just heal yourself?”

“It’s not so much a state you get healed from as it is one that you are restored from. They take a lot of Essence to use, and I have to get more experience channeling it in order to really do it effectively, does that make sense? Otherwise, it’s just not very economical.”

“You cured me of poison yesterday,” I point out.

“I did?”

“You did.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I can tell when I’ve been poisoned. I felt shitty and then I felt better after your spell. It wasn’t just healing the bite on my arm. Alcohol is just another form of poison.”

“Is that true?” he asks, looking at Flynt.

“You drink enough of it, you do die,” Flynt says with a shrug. “If that’s the definition of a poison we’re working with, then yes, I suppose it is.”

“Hm. I’ll have to investigate this. I still think my vomit idea is the best bet though. We don’t know what we’re going to find down there. And the fact that Flynt insists it’s going to be nothing just confirms we’re going to run into some big nasties.”

“I’ve apologized for that,” Flynt says, then lifts a hand in greeting as Tyrus comes toward us.

Jonas whirls around as he takes a bite of his apple and grins even broader. “My friend!”

“Is he still drunk?” Tyrus gestures toward Jonas, who has clapped a hand onto the dwarf’s shoulder and pulled him into an awkward hug that puts Tyrus up against his hip— though Tyrus bears the event well.

Meg rubs at her forehead. “And loud.”

Tyrus angles his gaze up at Jonas. “I left you five bells ago. Did you go back downstairs?”

“Maybe.”

“Idiot.”

“Thank you.”

“Alright, are we going to quest today, or should we go sleep it off?” Meg asks.

“That’s up to the two of you,” Flynt replies. “We turned in the ears already and got the writ for the sewer notice, so we’re all set if we want to journey out. If you’re not going to be at your best, though, we’re also happy to wait until tomorrow…”

He lets his voice trail off, and I’m not sure how happy he really would be. There’s annoyance behind his eyes similar to when your always late friend shows up even later than usual.

“You went through the trouble,” Jonas says, still hugging Tyrus to him. “We’ll be fine. If anything, it gives Meg anger-fuel to hit things even harder.”

“I travel with you,” she says. “I have plenty of anger-fuel already.”

“Me?” he asks. “People love me. Tell her.”

“He is a bit of a cinnamon roll,” I agree. “Though showing up drunk on the second day, Jonas? Not a good look.”

He pouts at that, and Tyrus reaches up to pat him on the upper back. “There, there. She also said you’re a cinnamon roll.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Jonas complains.

“Something very sweet and gooey, in a good way,” I reply. “Okay. Well, if you two think you can handle it, let’s give it a try. We can always back track if we need to.”

“Perfect,” Tyrus says, extracting himself from Jonas’s hold and shaking his head. “You really should know better. A human should never try to drink as much as a dwarf.”