“So, bard,” the fighter said, he and his team stomping through the forest, “I can’t help but notice that you didn’t help at all in our last combat.”

“That’s not true,” the bard said, “I did a lot.”

“When?” the barbarian asked.

“When I didn’t get in the way,” the bard explained with a smug grin, "Staying out of the way is incredibly important when I don't have weapons or armor! Fighter, remind me, how much do you like it when you have to defend some unarmed peasant while fighting hordes of evil?"

"Ugh, that's the worst!" the fighter groaned, "We always tell them "stay back in camp, we'll handle it" and they always shout "they killed my father!" Or mother, or brother, or sister, or son, or daughter!"

"Remember that one time when they were adopted?" the barbarian said.

"That was the worst," the wizard said, "Why can't they just leave it to the professionals?"

"That's why all my family is dead," the wizard said, "And I killed the mad wizard who wiped them all out. It really let me focus on adventuring."

"And why I'm glad I'm an orphan," the cleric said, "I can't imagine suicidal charges like that."

"We've been in hundreds of suicidal charges," the bard said.

"Sure," the fighter said, "But when we do it, the entire realm is at stake. Old gods awakening, deep fae being drawn to reality, stuff like that. Not just because "oh no, that one person I like died!""

"You know," the rogue said, "If they'd just swear vengeance, those people would be much easier to deal with. I'd gladly help them for coin."

"Oaths of vengeance would be so much nicer," the cleric said, "They wouldn't even need to try! Just pay us, honestly."

"So, we're in agreement then," the bard concluded, "I helped in our last fight by not being a problem."

"I suppose you did," the wizard said.

"Good," the bard said, "Now, our next order of business should be gearing me up."

…

Daisy's Roadside Eatery had been host to all sorts of strange folk, and she served the best waffles and chicken most people had ever tasted. Her biscuits and gravy were also some of the best.

An old radio quietly played music throughout the diner, and by the door there were faded, if not meticulously cleaned, pictures of famous people who had visited her diner. Why, Aurumight had been ever so polite, and the one night that Battle Crow had driven in still gave her shivers.

The smell of frying eggs, sizzling sausage, and frying waffles wafted through the crisp, early morning air of the diner, and Daisy hummed along to the music on the radio. The doorbell jingled as a gaggle of complete strangers wandered in.

"We have plenty of supplies," one of them said, "Why are we here?"

"Because I'm tired of venison," another one said, muscles rippling.

"Oh please," the middle one said, was that a teenager? "It's a tavern."

"With barmaids who've never heard of us," a woman who was oh so pretty despite clothes that were rather plain. Maybe they were going to some sort of convention, and she was driving?

"So,” Daisy said with a smile, "Who are y'all dressed up as?"

"What?" the other woman in the group said.

"Age of the Apocalypse?" Daisy guessed, "Ancient Age of the Apocalypse? Return of the Realm?"

"Which realm?" the scrawny man asked.

"Well, I'd love to hear who you're dressed up as," Daisy said, "Really, I think it's exciting to hear about hobbies. What are y'all up to?"

"There's some evil down that way," the other woman said, pointing far into the distance, "We're going to go kill it."

"Ahaha. Hah. Why don't I get you some menus?" Daisy said.

“You think we ask her about local rumors?” the cleric asked.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Well-” life around here is quite slow, Daisy was going to say, not many rumors that’d interest you. Not unless you want to hear about new knitting patterns.

“Since when are we rumor hunters,” the barbarian demanded.

“She could know something useful,” the cleric said.

“She could also rat us out,” the fighter said, “The fewer chances we take, the better.”

“Rat us out to who?” the wizard asked, "What have we done wrong?"

“I don’t know,” the bard said, “And I’d rather not find out.”

"We don't need to do something wrong to get people angry at us," the fighter said, "You all know that. "

"Uhm, menus for y'all," Daisy said, "I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order."

"You want me to try a few castings of detect poison?” the wizard asked.

“Excuse me?” Daisy demanded, “Y’all listen here. I don’t know who or what you are-”

“A half-ork,” the barbarian said with a shrug

“But I will not let you insult my cooking,” Daisy said, “I serve food, and I don’t want to hear any squawking about poison. Unless you have a food allergy. I take allergies very seriously.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it anyway,” the fighter said, “Wizard, you’re really the only one of us who worries about poison.”

“Hey!” the rogue shouted.

“Worrying about ingesting poison, and worrying about applying poison are two very different things,” the cleric said.

“I’m still worried about being poisoned,” the rogue said, “I’ve seen what my poisons do to people, it’s ugly.”

“I’ll take the chicken and waffles, an order of fried eggs, and an order of cannoli,” the bard said.

“Don’t you want to watch your waist?” Daisy asked.

“No,” the bard said, “I want to watch my bust, hips and backside. They’re not built on nothing.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Daisy said, she couldn’t argue with results.

“I’ll take two orders of sausage and gravy, and a chicken fried steak,” the barbarian said, passing his menu over.

“I’ll take an order of that as well,” the fighter said.

“So will I,” the rogue said.

“I’ll take an order of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a steak,” the cleric said.

“I’d like an order of waffles and chicken,” the wizard said, “Along with an order of bacon and cannoli.”

It took Daisy a good while to finish cooking everything, and her guests continued to bicker amongst themselves until she brought the food over. The moment plates were in front of the adventurers, they ate with wild and reckless abandon. Some of the locals had come in for morning coffee, and whenever they gave an odd look to the adventurers Daisy would look them in the eye and nervously shake her head.

The adventurers ate fast. Too fast. So fast Daisy wondered if they could even taste the food with the speed they shoveled it into their mouths. After an hour’s worth of cooking, the food was gone in minutes. After breakfast, the adventurers sauntered up to bar Daisy cooked behind, and dropped a stack of coins, colored gold and silver, on the counter.

“That should be all of it,” the fighter said, “Now come on team, we’re burning daylight.”

“Wait one minute mister!” Daisy shouted, running up to the counter to sweep the junk onto the floor, “You better-” what Daisy was going to say was “You better pay with real money, or I’ll have to call the sheriff about a dine and dash!” but stopped when she tried to brush the coins off the counter with her hand.

They were heavy. Really heavy.

Daisy grabbed a gold coin off the stack and pressed it onto the counter. Ever so slightly, the coin bent.

“Oh, she wants us to barter with her,” the bard said.

“But the menu had clearly marked prices,” the wizard said.

“Clearly marked so people don’t think to barter,” the bard said, turning to face one of the regulars, “Hey, you. Do you barter for better prices?”

“Uh, no ma’am.”

“Then you’re missing out,” the bard said.

“Can’t we just leave?” the fighter asked, “We have multiple bottomless bags just for money. Why does this matter?”

“Because we’re adventurers!” the bard demanded, “It’s a matter of principle. Now, ma’am. I think it’s only fair that renowned heroes like us get better prices. I say we pay sixty percent.”

“What?” Daisy asked, staring dumbfounded at the pile of coins.

“Perhaps I was being too harsh,” the bard said, “Seventy percent.”

“Uh- um, your friend there wasn’t wearing a shirt,” Daisy stammered, “Store policy. Um- Eighty five.”

“Shirts were not made for the likes of me!” the barbarian bellowed, “It would be evil to cover such masculine perfection! Eighty!”

“Best not to anger him,” the bard said, “Seventy five.”

“Shirts weren’t made for you either,” the barbarian said, pointing to the bard.

“Would you not embarrass me in front of the shopkeeper?” the bard demanded.

“It is the truth,” the barbarian said sagely, “Ancient and primordial.”

“I agree,” the wizard said.

“I’ll take seventy five,” Daisy blurted.

“Excellent,” the bard said, smiling as she pulled a small handful of coins from the pile, “You see fighter, bartering was how we got mountains of money, and bartering is how we’ll keep it.”

“Sure,” the fighter said, rolling his eyes.

Daisy watched the strangers leave, wandering down Main Street and turning on 5th.

“Henry,” Daisy whispered, “I think I’ll need to close up shop for a few hours.”

“Pawn shop isn’t going to have cash on hand for all of that,” Henry said, “Maybe you could try calling a museum?”

“Good idea,” Daisy said, staring down at the stack of coins.

“Eh, can I have one?” Henry asked.