Fergus held the sword, his sword, the one and only Wed Block, aloft. It came with a rush of energy. He finally had his stuff, his armor, his weapon. He had everyone’s stuff! Finally!

An artillery shell slammed through the ceiling, but Fergus focused and split the thing in two with a single stroke of Wed Block, Roger’s knife chasing after Fergus’ bastard sword and splitting the shell again. The artillery shell hit the ground with a dull thud, as more bombs blasted Fergus and Roger off their feat. Walls collapsed around them, shelves clattered to the ground, and the ceiling caved in. The distant thump of more artillery fire sounded in the distance.

Fergus had to move fast, if he didn’t do something then enemy artillery would pin him under the rubble. If that happened, they’d probably just keep firing until he died, which wasn’t time Fergus had. So, he told Roger to load up the loot and readied his shovel. Fergus was no stranger to digging holes quickly, and his spade cut through cement, then gravel, then dirt. Plumbing, power, and septic lines were sundered by Fergus’ shovel, and after Fergus had dug deep enough he turned a quick corner to tunnel away. A bomb landed above Fergus, blasting the walls of his hole and leaving him and Roger stuck in a small pocket.

"What do we do now?" Roger asked.

"We keep tunneling out of here," Fergus said, "It's going to take awhile. We'll need to fill in behind us as we dig forward."

"We're not going to die down here, are we?" Roger asked, pulling his own shovel from the big pack of adventuring gear.

"What? No," Fergus said, calculating something in his head, "How long can you hold your breath?"

“A really long time?” Roger answered. He had never tested the true limit of how long he could hold his breath.

“We’ll probably be fine,” Fergus said.

To Fergus’ surprise, they were fine. Roger and Fergus dug out the side of a cliff and breathed fresh air. The base they left behind them had been reduced to a smoldering crater by bombardment, and now infantry was combing every inch of it for surviving Interlopers. Fergus flexed in his armor and tightened his grip on Wed Block. He had been shot a lot recently, and while Fergus knew it was something his armor could handle, something his body could handle, he knew this wasn’t a fight he wanted to take. There were a lot of them, and they had the firepower to annihilate their own base.

“We should leave,” Fergus decided.

“Take a few of them out while we go?” Roger suggested.

“No.” Fergus shook his head. “We have a mission to do, and we can’t do it by ourselves. We need to regroup.”

“Do we have any idea where the others are?” Roger asked.

“Do we ever?” Fergus replied, “We’ve been separated before. Finding each other isn’t that hard.”

“Fergus,” Roger said, “This place is big. It’s big and we don’t know where anything is. Finding each other might not be that easy.”

“Look, this is simple,’ Fergus said, “We go to that city, King’s Head, and start the search there. That’s where we were when we first came here, so that's where everyone will go. If we find the bard, the wizard, or the cleric, we can use them to find the rest of the team."

"Don't you mean Blake, Winston, and Claire?" Roger asked.

A grimace caught of Fergus' face.

"I don't know," Fergus answered, "We're not being haunted, so they're not dead, but other than that who knows what happened to them. I hope it's the same thing that happened to us, but I don't know. Now-" What Fergus was about to say was that he was going to change into his armor, and he hungered to feel the weight and assurance of heavy plate again. However, Fergus realized that whoever had been attacking him would keep attacking him if he wore his armor. He stood out among other costumed heroes in his shiny metal. It was frustrating, but this adventure had been full of frustrations.

The trip back to King’s Head was mercifully short, a single overnight bus ride and they were back. Back to where, Fergus and Roger didn’t know. They just knew they were back. Their return and lead to a truly legendary round of bar hopping. Beers were sipped in dark corners of back alley tap rooms, bars and grills, bars, restaurants, clubs, . Wines were sampled, and Fergus and Roger nodded along as people explained the idea of microbrews. Apparently, they weren’t tiny cups. The pair didn’t stay in any one place for very long, and each place they visited was another twinge of heartache as they didn’t find anyone on their team.

A bell jingled as Fergus and Roger pushed into a dark, dingy, rundown excuse for a bar. Roger ordered two house specials and was handed to watery mugs of beer. He passed one to Fergus, and finally looked at what Fergus was looking at, the man hadn’t moved since he stepped inside.

The cleric was looking at them, wide eyed with shock. Fergus was looking at her. The cleric chugged her drink before stepping towards Fergus and-

And wrapped her friends in a tight hug.

“Claire?” Ferguss guessed, ignoring the looks being shot at him from across the bar.

“Fergus, Roger,” Clair said, squeezing at their shoulders.

“How’ve you been?” Roger asked.

“Awful!” Claire whined, “I was feeling introspective-”

“That’s horrible,” Roger said with a gasp.

“I know, but I think I’m doing better,” Claire finished, “What’s the plan now?”

“We’re still questing,” Fergus said, “But we need to get the rest of the time. We need you to scry the rest of the team and warp us there.”

“We all hate being scryed,” Claire whined, “I don’t want to scry them.”

“Just do it, alright,” Fergus demanded, “They’ll get over it.”

“Probably,” Roger added.

Barnabus stood atop the tallest mountain on the island, Jack standing next to him, looking over the ocean.

It was more of a hill, really. Yes, it was tall and the top was stone, but compared to the mountains Barnabus had climbed before this was definitely a hill.

“I told you,” Jack said, “There’s nothing there. A storm capsized my boat, carried me here, and I ain’t seen hide or hair of anyone since. ‘Cept you I ‘spose. We need to replace the fish traps, it’ll be dark soon.”

“No ships?” Barnabus asked.

“No ships, no nothin’,” Jack said, “Tried rowing out, didn’t see any land. There’s nothing here fer miles and miles. No planes neither.”

It was a conundrum, and not at all how Barnabus pictured the adventure to find his friends. There were more explosions and epic showdowns in that, feats of legendary athletic fortitude, blood soaked battlefields. No part of it was sitting around on a deserted island. Not that Jack was bad company, after the shock of seeing Barnabus surface from the ocean, and getting over years of isolation, that man was nice to be around.

Barnabus could swim out into the ocean in search of land and civilization, but the question was always where? For all he knew, he could be swimming away from land instead of towards it, or worse towards an unknown continent. Actually, Barnabus didn’t know about any continents on this world so weren’t all of them unknown continents? Either way, there was only one continent that Barnabus wanted to swim to.

“Couldn’t I navigate by the stars?” Barnabus asked.

“If you knew what the sky looked like where you were going,” Jack said, “Or if I did. Was never an astrologer and home is far away. Was fishing halfway around the world when I was caught by that storm.”

“Why were you fishing that far away from home?” Barnabus asked.

“‘S where the fish are,” Jack answered.

“Right, of course,” Barnabus grumbled, “What if we just rowed out into the ocean until we found land. I could probably last a few weeks without food, and there’s water to drink.”

“Ya can’t drink ocean water,” Jack said, “Stuffs too salty.”

“You can’t drink ocean water,” Barnabus said, scooping up a cup of ocean water from the beach and downing it in one swig. It was salty, with an aftertaste of seaweed and a bit of sand. Still, nothing beat the taste of pride.

"I'm probably going to have to swim off into the ocean soon," Barnabus said, "It was nice talking to you."

"Wait!" Jack backed, "Wait. You're the first bit 'o company I've had in years. Yer not gonna leave, are yeh?"

"People are waiting for me," Barnabus said.

"Then I 'spose it's high time I got meself off the island," Jack said, "Mind helping me build a raft? You can row, I can fish."

"A canoe," Barnard said.

"We could fit a lot more onna raft," Jack argued.

"Building a raft would take too long," Barnabus said, "I don't know how long I have left. The quicker we leave, the-" Barnabus spun around, eyes darting over the beach. "I'm being scryed. Jack! Find cover!"

Barnabus picked up the biggest piece of driftwood he could find. It wasn't the best club and the balance was awful, but he could make do. A portal appeared before Barnabus, and the mighty barbarian-

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"We're not here for a fight," Claire said.

"We've got a quest to finish," Fergus said, "Are you in or out?"

"Oh, in," Barnabus said, stepping for the portal.

"Wait!" Jack called, "Where’s that lead?"

"Some city," Roger said.

"I think it's called King's Head," Claire said.

"Is it in the United States?" Jack asked.

"Don't know, maybe?" Fergus guessed, "It leads off this deserted island.

"That'll have to do," Jack said, "If you don't mind me hitching a ride."

"Come aboard," Claire called.

Blake ran a perfect finger through perfect hair to get a perfect lock out of her perfect face. She left out a perfect sigh and fell into a perfect slumping slouch across her mahogany desk. Her perfect eyes were perfectly dry of perfect tears.

She was perfect.

And she could never be imperfect ever again.

Juliette stood in awe of her boss. It was like she had met the living embodiment of female empowerment. The boss commanded her shareholders with absolute authority, she inspired employees to unquestioning resolve, she did not demand perfection, but it was the only thing she would accept. To bring anything less than perfect would be to insult not just the boss, but to insult one's self. Juliette had even started dying her hair blonde like the boss, dressing like the boss, sitting like the boss, some people even mistook her for the boss.

She was perfect. She could not be imperfect.

The boss let out a yawn, and Juliette couldn’t believe how stupid she was being. She had been reporting a fifteen percent increase of market share and record increase of productivity as though it was some sort of success. These were just numbers, little more than slices of a pie! Juliette couldn't bring these to the boss, the boss was perfect and couldn't be imperfect!

Blake had done it. She had denied herself a sorrowful, pitiful whimper. It had been no effort really, she was perfect. She couldn't be imperfect. And really, what was there to be sad about anyway? She started adventuring to be the best ever, and now she was perfect. Dream achieved.

No, Juliette realized, this was all wrong. As the boss' personal secretary she should have realized that. The boss didn't pursue increased sales, or marketing breakthroughs, development milestones, anything like that. What she deserved was- was-

"World domination," Juliette breathed. Of course!

Blake was so perfect, that she decided to test her limits because of how perfect she was. She was perfect, and she would never experience the joy of self improvement, of imperfection, ever again. To test her perfection, Blake decides to see how long she could go without food or water. Blake was well on her way to breaking her previous record from back when she was imperfect, and knew she was still perfect. She could starve herself forever, it didn't matter. She was perfect. Blake perfectly didn't cry because there was nothing to be sad about. She was perfect. The person across the desk talked endlessly about something that Blake was far too perfect to understand or care about. Her thoughts perfectly drifted back to her days as an adventurer, to days talking with people she was far too perfect to be with now. She was perfect, and it was impossible to become imperfect.

Fergus stepped into Blake’s office, Juliette sputtering objections as the portal appeared. His orders fell on deaf ears, and Juliette realized this was natural, fingers pressing a silent alarm. No mere man could command such a perfect pinnacle of womanhood. Juliette's reverie ended when Fergus punched Blake in the face.

All at once, Blake’s perfection vanished. She had been hurt, and if she could be hurt it meant she was not perfect. As Blake considered this, she realized she was really hungry.

"Hey," Fergus said, tossing Blake’s equipment on the table, "Get dressed, we have a quest to finish."

Juliette balked in horror. Not only was her boss, that perfect pinnacle of womanhood, happily taking orders from a man, she was also stripping in front of him! The indecency! Her perfect body was-

Was visible for such a short moment Juliette barely had time to register Blake undressing, a truly blink and you'll miss it moment. That was- Juliette had to admit that was really impressive.

Blake strutted for the portal, pausing when Juliette blurted out a "Boss!"

"What?" Blake barked, gun, guitar and knife resting comfortably on her hips. The familiar weight felt amazing.

"What- what about the company?" Juliette pleaded, "What about-"

"Listen," Blake said, shutting Juliette up with a raised finger, "Since I took this job, I have been unbelievably bored. I don't care about the job, or the company, or you, or all the things your said were important. I want to go adventure, I’m going to go adventure."

Blake stepped through the portal, and out of Juliette's life. Now, what was a secretary to do with no one to secretarify? Juliette sat down in Blake’s chair, drinking in the plush leather. Blake had left her computer unlocked. There were emails that Blake had never looked at, meetings that Juliette had told her about but she didn’t go to, reports that Blake never bothered with, now that Blake was gone Juliette realized she really hadn’t done much, even though her salary was-

Juliette’s jaw hit the floor. That was- Juliette ran a quick tally in her head, one month of that and Juliette would have paid off her mortgage. Now, Blake had been able to take advantage of her position as CEO despite not really doing anything. As Blake’s secretary and foremost acolyte, it would be wrong of Juliette to not follow Blake’s example. And Blake had left her account open, and seeing how reclusive the boss was, how long would it take for anyone to notice that her routing number had changed? Would anyone notice?

This wasn’t really stealing, Juliette figured, she was just giving herself the same pay as Blake while providing the same service. A service that she could go to jail for if anyone found out, but a service all the same.

Lights blared and sirens wailed, while the programmer worked at a frantic pace to keep the interloper trapped. This wasn’t supposed to happen! The base was disconnected from every public system, how did the rest of the rest of the interlopers find it? Worse, how did all of them break out of prison? And how did they reassemble so fast?

“Execute the prisoner now!” the chief screamed over the intercom, his desperation emphasized by the sounds of battle and screams of pain.

“I can’t!” the programmer wailed.

“Can’t?” the chief demanded.

“He’s taking over the systems!” the programmer grunted, “It’s like he knows the rest of the interlopers are here!”

“Take your weapon and execute the prisoner!” the chief ordered.

“The simulation is-” the programmer said.

“Take your weapon!” the chief bellowed, “I’m contacting HeadQuarters, we need to execute the plan now!”

“Copy that,” the programmer said, scrambling for his gun. As the programmer took aim at Winston, Barnabus slammed through the door, Claire right behind him. By the time the programmer looked at Barnabus, the half-ork had reached the programmer and struck him with a backhanded swing of his fist that splattered the programmer against the wall. Claire cloaked her hands in divine power, and wrenched Winston’s soul out of the computers before hurling it back into his body, a spell that was normally used for exorcizing spirits but it worked.

Winston awoke with a dry, hacking cough. The base he was being held in was in shambles, fires spreading, sirens blaring, lights shattered, walls smashed in, and the rest of the adventurers stood before him.

“You mind warping us out of here?” Claire asked, hair matted with sweat, “I’ve been busy.”

“Of course,” Winston said. In a snap of his fingers, they were somewhere else. It was a run down building, but one door led to a nice, carpeted room with heavy curtains.

“Isn’t this where we killed those guys?” Roger asked.

“Maybe? We kill a lot of guys,” Barnabus said.

“No, it is,” Blake said, “This is where I got shot in the head.”

“Why here?” Fergus asked.

“Well, we said we were going to use this place as a base,” Winston said.

“Winston, we really didn’t use it,” Claire said.

“Winston?” Winston said, “Since when do we call each other by name?”

“You’re not- sorry I-” Claire said.

“What happened to you?” Blake asked Winston.

“I was trapped in a sub-dimension,” Winston explained, “While I was there, and since I didn’t have much else to do, I decided to study mundane subjects. Economics, biology, science, math. It was all very interesting. It also made me realize how little I actually understood. For all I have mastered magic, I haven’t done much with it beyond adventuring with you all.”

“We do important things,” Roger grumbled.

“Are you comfortable with being called Winston?” Fergus asked.

“Of course,” Winston said.

“I think since we were convicted, we all became more, I suppose, self aware,” Fergus said, “Am I right?”

There was a chorus of confirmations.

“Right,” Fergus said, “If we’re all still adventuring together, and I think we are, we should all hear about what happened to us. Blake, you go first.”

“Okay,” Blake said, “After I broke out of prison, I started working at a company. We still needed to earn our gold back, and I was told there were incredibly high paying positions. There was also competition, and a lot of it. At least, there was supposed to be. Part of why I took the job was to keep my skills sharp, and I wanted something to challenge myself with. It was easy. Too easy. So easy that I thought I was perfect. It was awful. I thought I couldn’t improve anymore. Listen, I don’t ever want to retire. If you’re going to retire, fight me to the death first. Please. I don’t want to rest on my laurels.”

“We will,” Fergus said, “And while I was away, I joined as many hero teams as could find me and fought villains day and night.”

“Seriously?” Blake asked.

“Yep, fought to the point of exhaustion,” Fergus said.

“I should have thought of that,” Blake grumbled.

“My teammates didn’t trust me,” Fergus continued, “And I didn’t have good gear. I wandered without direction or purpose until I found Roger.”

“I hung around in bars and waited in my hotel room,” Roger said, “Worrying I’d never see any of you again. It was a stroke of luck that I found Fergus.”

“I talked with the mailman while I was in prison,” Barnabus said, “He told me my father is dead, that he and his team have not just saved the realm twice, but brought peace to the land. He also told me, and you’ll want to brace yourself, that nobody in our home plane uses gold as currency anymore.”

“What?” Fergus asked.

“Why?” Blake demanded.

“We have most if not all of the gold,” Barnabus said, “Enough that nobody has gold left to spend.”

“I-” Claire shuddered, “I was right. While I was away, I was picked up by other heroes here. After slaying some villain, a minor divinity told me that Her chosen warriors were supposed to be awarded power after defeating who I killed. Those warriors, along with two others and Gamer Man-”

“The paladin?” Blake asked.

“The paladin,” Claire confirmed, “He’s doing good and doing well. Anyway, they didn’t trust me with any of their plans, kept someone around me to shepherd me around, talked to me like I was a child, and they were right. We don’t- I don’t do enough. I don’t take responsibility with my power, I don’t listen to people, people died because of my own recklessness. And know, I learn that we never brought peace, the treasures we sought are worthless, and we don’t belong there. Or here. Or anywhere.”

“We belong together,” Fergus said, “Do you know what people call us here? The Interlopers. It’s a good name, and I think it fits. We may not belong anywhere, but I know we belong together.”

“And what are we going to do once this quest is over?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know,” Fergus said, “But whatever we do, we’ll do it together. Think about it. When we’re separated, we become idle, complacent, directionless and unmotivated. Together, we are the most effective champions the realms have ever seen. And if this place needed our help, I’m sure there are other planes that also need us.”

“As painful as this was, I think it was good for us,” Blake said, “At least now we know what personal flaws we still need to overcome, how we can improve. Before, we would never given a thought to any of that.”

“And that mailman really thinks that there’s peace?” Roger said, “It’ll never last.”

“It’s lasted long enough to be talked about,” Barnabus said.