I’m happy to say that our days of collecting ears for proof of our exploits are well behind us, thanks to something called an imaging stone. An imaging stone is, more or less, exactly what it sounds like: a high fantasy version of a digital camera that allows us to take and store a single static image at a time. It’s typically used for portraiture, but using what Flynt promises is an easy cleaning incantation, it works well for our purposes.

The others were a little hesitant about the expense of the object, but I already think it was the best thirty-five gold we’ve spent outside of healing elixirs. Flynt had suggested we commission one a couple weeks ago after a particularly disgusting situation involving a strigis—this sort of slimy frog-ostrich hybrid thing that, we discovered, explodes upon decapitation. That realization surprised everyone, even Meg, who had done exhaustive research on the creature (at least, so she thought).

Back in town, we show the image of the downed troll to Layrus, the dwarven woman who oversees the adventurer’s desk at the Oosal municipal building, and she happily closes out our contract and hands us the five gold pieces for a job well done. The fairly hefty bounty suggests a difficult fight, but in my [System] sight, the troll notice had emitted a faint green aura, indicating a fairly easy difficulty level (which it was).

It’s all the more reason I’m certain that we’re entering our mid-tier adventurer period, and I almost feel a little guilty taking the full payment given how little effort we actually expended on this mission. But, that doesn’t stop us, and, a full five gold richer, we head back toward our home base.

Stoutbrooke’s Emporium of Literature and Curiosities is nestled in the eastern portion of the city’s northern ward, between the art and merchant districts. It’s the center of an upscale shopping arcade that, with its high, arching ceilings and gilded iron gates, seems to have stepped right out of London’s Mayfair.

The Emporium itself is divided into two sections: the front portion, with its entrance in the arcade, is the shop—filled with books, gear, magical items, trinkets, decor, and a hodgepodge of “curiosities” often purchased from adventurers—while the back portion, with its entrance off an alley, is the living quarters. Our living quarters.

Flynt’s elven father, who owns the shop (and the whole arcade, and who hates me), lives off the premises in what I assume is a very lovely and high-end townhome. This leaves the living space available for his son’s use, and Flynt invited the rest of us to move into the extra rooms, rent-free, as part of his party (though we insist on contributing to food and other household needs).

When we make our grand entrance, the human housekeeper, Almira, greets us each with a hug and a cheek kiss, and she sets about preparing supper as we trudge upstairs to deposit our gear, clean up, and change.

Our home is older, but it’s lovely, with an aesthetic that feels like what would happen if Julian Fellowes made a TV series set in the early English Renaissance. It has all the hallmarks of a five- or six-hundred-year-old home in Europe—exposed, polished wood beams, beautiful leaded windows, and a myriad of tapestries and oil paintings spaced between metal-work light sconces on the plaster and stone walls. But, of course, it’s idealized to be spacious, plush, and warm, with (magically supported) conveniences like hot running water and something akin to flushing toilets (it just kind of… disappears—to where, I have no idea, and no desire to).

The sconces blaze to life as we pass them, biting away at shadows with a warm, steady glow. The place isn’t modern by any stretch of the imagination—there’s no electricity or telephones or computers or Internet, there’s no central heating, and there aren’t any showers (just baths)—but it is entirely comfortable. Far more so than I’d ever have expected.

“See you at dinner,” I say to the others before pushing into my room—the first on the right on the top floor.

It’s a little smaller than the bedroom in my Los Angeles condo, but it’s far from tiny, with enough room for a roughly queen-sized bed, two bedside tables—both stacked high with books next to a magical lamp, a short dresser-slash-dressing-table-slash-desk, and a tall wardrobe. There are three windows along the outside wall that let in natural light, and the middle one has an abstract stained glass design that casts a veritable rainbow onto the polished wood floor. They face west and currently offer a nice look over the rooftops at the dying sunset.

I pull the blue velvet curtains for privacy, and the bedside lamps brighten. Moving to the small fireplace, I lift the wand from the mantle, whisper the programmed incantation, and touch the fresh wood that Almira installed sometime after we left. Fire immediately springs into the hearth and the warmth bites through the chill in the room. I sigh in contentedness as I defrost my hands.

Whatever we pay Almira, it is not enough, especially given the state of my room.

My space is, to be very kind about it, a mess. Clothing drapes over everything, and books are stacked on every horizontal surface, including on the floor next to the bed and up against the walls. They often lean next to a scattered array of Zendriel figures I seem to have been sub-consciously collecting as if they’re the high fantasy, Oosalian equivalent of Funko Pops. There are also more than a few empty tea cups and pots that I keep meaning to take downstairs but always forget about. It all reminds me a little of when I was writing my master’s thesis, and I really need to do something about it. It’s well past embarrassing at this point.

I stand at the hearth for awhile, letting the warmth defrost me (I very rarely ever got cold before becoming an elf, and now, I’m pretty certain, it’s my default condition). Then, I settle on the foot of my unmade bed. As has become my habit every time I’m alone, I pull up my [Personal Stats]. I don’t anticipate much of a change, even with the death of the troll and the official completion of the mission, and there’s not.

[Keira, Hunter Elf: Urban Ranger]

[Level: 5]

[Reputation: Noted]

[Defense: 15]

[Hit Points: 88 / 88]

[Experience: 5290 / 6500]

[Stamina: 165 / 165]

[Essence: 112 / 112]

[Spell Book]

Ugh. Still so far to go.

When I made my [Level Five] choices, I applied one of my three [Skill Points] to [Ranger], as I’d been doing every level-up so far, only to discover that the multiplier on [Hit Points] decreased from twenty-five percent to just ten, which was only slightly balanced out by the fact that it increased my [Stamina] by ten percent. I wasn’t sure, at the time, what the [Stamina] bump would do for me—I figured it would be valuable if I was getting it, but I had really been hoping to make that round one hundred [Hit Points] threshold.

The fifth point in [Ranger] did end up unlocking a new skill, though: [Environmental Expert]. I have my guesses what that means, but decided not to level in it yet, instead opting to load up on [Magicked Arrow], putting both remaining points there.

Again, I came away from the choice a little disappointed. The points each increased my [Essence] by what feels like an arbitrary percentage, which I’m sure will be helpful, but I was only given the option to choose one new spell—and none of the options were [Arrow of Area Effect], which further annoyed me.

I opted for [Force Arrow], given that Flynt’s force spells seemed to be pretty effective against undead, and I’m not convinced that storyline is anywhere near over. I first got to try it out when we were fighting some sewer goblins (yes, sewer goblins: there are apparently seven distinct types of goblin across Qeth) a couple weeks ago. It packs a good punch, but [Force Arrow] is not only a massive [Essence] suck, it also bites into my [Stamina]. Which, fine, I guess, except I also discovered that if my [Stamina] gets below a third of the way full, there is a noticeable decrease in not only my walking speed, but my shooting speed as well.

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So, while there always were trade-offs to every decision, they feel bigger now. I’ve clearly moved past the training-wheels era of my adventuring career, which makes me really wish I could figure out how to access some kind of manual or consistent (and actually useful) help function.

I dismiss the menus and flop backward, letting myself sink into the fluffy bed spread and thick mattress. My back relaxes into the softness with a groan-inducing relief that leaves me not at all wanting to get up. Sustenance can wait… I just want to lie here for a while. But, just as I think that, there’s a knock.

“Keira?” Meg’s voice rings through clearly. “You ready?”

I sigh. I must have stared off into space longer than I thought. “Not yet! I’ll be down in a little bit!”

There’s a slight pause. “Okay. But don’t take too long—Almira’s making her stew, and you know how much Tyrus loves it.”

The flooring creaks outside my door, then I listen to her footsteps retreat down the stairs. Groaning, I force myself back up. It takes a little bit to gather up some house clothes that aren’t too badly in need of washing, then I step into my slippers, and head to the washroom where I clean up and change before heading down to the dining room.

“You just sound so surprised,” Meg is saying when I enter. She has her fork stabbed in the air toward Flynt, a small red potato from Almira’s famous stew impaled on the tines. “It was a well-managed and well-calculated encounter. Aside from your whole… hole fiasco.”

Flynt makes a face at that, but passes me a large, covered, shallow bowl from beside him. I grin a thank you as I settle down in my usual seat to his left, and cast a mocking, silent laugh across the table at Tyrus. The dwarf pretends not to notice, focused instead on the conversation.

“It was,” Tyrus says, “but Flynt’s also right. We did get lucky.”

Meg frowns. “How so? The troll may not have cooperated with our ‘A’ plan, but it still followed one of the contingencies when it chased after Keira. Once it did that, we had all viable routes out of the meadow covered.”

“It could always have gone back the way it came,” Jonas points out.

“I suppose, but back the way it came was where it was originally ambushed,” Meg replies. “Survival instincts wouldn’t let it risk going back into that.”

Tyrus shakes his head as he stabs at a potato of his own and takes a bite. “I was thinking more about the magic. We didn’t count on that, and it could’ve had some real nasty consequences.”

“Sure. But there really wasn’t a way to predict that. We did the research and the observation, and saw no signs to point to magic, not even after it was dead. If anything, I’d argue that the way both you and Keira reacted in the face of it using magic just reinforces how prepared we really were: you kept level heads and reacted to the situation exactly as you needed to. You didn’t need luck. You had skills.”

Tyrus’s brow furrows. “Meg. Did you just compliment me?”

She scoffs. “Don’t get too proud.”

“Did you hear that, Elf Girl?” Tyrus grins my way. “We don’t need luck. We have skills.”

I laugh at that as Meg rolls her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Ty. It’s not like I’ve never complimented you before.”

“No? When was the last time?”

“Just the other day, when we were coming back from tracking those ogres.”

“Mocking me for slipping in kyttle shit doesn’t count as a compliment, Meg!”

“I wasn’t mocking! I was honestly praising the absolute pig-headed confidence you employed when you stormed down that hill and then slipped in the kyttle shit.”

Flynt cringes. “Let’s not go back to that, please? That was a long day.”

Meg holds up her hands slightly in surrender, but grins as Tyrus grumbles and focuses on the remains of his meal instead of pressing.

“Thank you. Now that we’re all here, I thought we should return to the idea of what we want to do moving forward. We don’t have to decide anything tonight, of course, but we should probably start the discussion.”

Tyrus chuckles. “Why don’t you just tell us what you’re thinking?”

Flynt hesitates at that. “I’m not trying to dictate anything.”

“We wouldn’t think you were,” our rogue replies. “But you have this habit of starting a conversation and then sitting there waiting for your turn to say what you actually want to say, so let’s just skip to that and we’ll go from there.”

“Fine. On our way back I was trying to take into consideration what might be the most beneficial for all of us, and I would like to put to the group that perhaps we consider a trip north. Keira’s never seen Ruska, much less the northern coast. We could take on some escort work to get us there, and see what we might encounter on the way—Oosal’s not the only place that experiences an uptick in monster activity this time of year.”

Meg considers this as she chews. “I love Ruska, don’t get me wrong, but we should keep in mind that adventuring up north is very different than it is down here. You can’t just show up at the municipal boards and expect a job.”

“True. But we would have the advantage of not approaching it as an independent party. We still have the link to Z—and to Nyssa. I know for a fact that she has contacts in the magical community up there. If we approach it right, she could get us work. The Citadel, for instance. They may not put it out to public call the way it’s done down here, but they’re always looking for reliable adventurers to scout potential delve sites in the Northedge Peaks. If she vouches for us…” Flynt shrugs. “It would be good and varied experience for good pay.”

“What if she doesn’t let us go?” Jonas asks.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“What if Nyssa, or Z, or whoever, tells us not to go? They need us here to keep up with these monster missions or what-have-you. Do we stay or go?”

“That’s a good question,” Tyrus says. “How deep are we with the organization?”

“Let’s not go in expecting a fight,” Flynt replies. “I know Nyssa. I think that if we come to her with some reasonable options—and not just complaints or ultimatums—it should be pretty flexible.”

I scoff. “It’s like what I used to have to do with my mother: position it so that everything seemed like her idea. It was usually pretty effective, if I framed it right.”

“Exactly,” Flynt says. “Meg, you’re shaking your head, what’re you thinking?”

“I’m just worried it might be a little more complicated than that. But we can try.”

Flynt nods. “If it is, we’ll deal with it then. But I think this is a good option. It might also be an opportunity to help Jonas out, too. The Citadel has a lot of resources. Not as many as the Academy at Gerai, but close, and they’re going to be more accessible—especially if we can make a name for ourselves with some of the lead researchers.”

Jonas cringes and shakes his head, shifting uneasily in his seat as he pushes the remains of his stew around. “I don’t know, Flynt. Citadel types can be… averse to those who aren’t properly trained in what they’d consider respectable types of magic.”

“Maybe. But Joe,” Tyrus says in a sigh, reaching forward to clasp Jonas’s forearm as it rests on the table. He gives it a squeeze. “We have to try something, don’t we? You’re a significant part of the party, and we depend on you. But it’s pretty clear at this point that you’re not going to be weapon proficient any time soon, and I think we’re all worried you might fall behind the rest of us, if we’re not careful. That would be extremely dangerous to everyone.”

“It’s not that we don’t hear your hesitations,” Flynt adds. “Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from, and if there are people you don’t want to seek out, none of us will push you to do so. But we need to consider some options.”

Meg nods. “Alright. I’m sold. Checks all the boxes, anyway. Opens up some other possibilities, too.” She finishes the remains of her stew and sighs. “That was good. Almira is a gift.”

“Yes, she is,” Tyrus agrees. He squeezes Jonas’s arm again and our healer offers a small smile in return. “I think we’re going to turn in a little early tonight, if it’s all the same to the rest of you.”

“Please,” Meg says. “Though, I’m still a little wired. I think I’m going to go out for a little bit.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. She’s been doing this a lot, lately, going out on her own: nearly every other night for the last two weeks. “You’re not exhausted?” She just shrugs and I frown down into my stew. I’m the only one still eating—not only did I get a late start, I’m typically just slow. “Well, you all do what you need to. Don’t wait around on my account.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Tyrus says, standing, and gathering everyone else’s empty dish ware. He settles them in the dumbwaiter on his way out. “Have a good night, all. Meg, don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” She scoffs in response.

“Good night,” Jonas repeats, offering a small smile before following our rogue out of the room. The three of us listen in silence to their footsteps on the stairs.

“You think Jonas will be okay?” I ask.

“I do,” Meg says, pushing herself to her feet. “Ty will help.” She looks between me and Flynt, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you two alright?”

We glance at each other, then back to her. “Why… wouldn’t we be?” Flynt asks.

She sighs. “No reason. I’m going to change and then head out. Don’t wait up.”