Almost an hour later, Garrick, Ember, Dashiell, and a hooded-and-cloaked Surith pushed through the creaky doors of The Lurking Codpiece, a tavern wrapped in as much whimsical mystery as its name suggested. The place was renowned for its peculiar décor and even more peculiar clientele, a magnet for those seeking a pint or perhaps an ill-advised adventure.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted nuts and an assortment of spiced ales that defied identification. As they navigated the dimly lit interior—illuminated primarily by flickering candles that seemed to perform a wobbly, drunken dance—Garrick felt his focus tugged in multiple directions. There were matters to discuss, pressing and numerous, yet other issues loomed larger, demanding immediate attention like a gang of unruly hedgehogs in a balloon factory.

His mind drifted back to Surgemaster's parting words: "I don't want the hobgoblin anywhere in or near my camp. If I see him, I will be forced to kill him."

Garrick found the declaration a tad melodramatic but acknowledged the necessity of maintaining peace. As he glanced at Surith, who seemed mildly perplexed by the human furnishings, Garrick pondered the gravity of the situation. The Surgemaster's warning was not to be dismissed, even if it was delivered with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

We must balance our feelings with our end goal, he considered, thinking of his son's family. He'd need to keep his nose clean if he wanted to stick around and not suffer further reprimand. Attaching himself to this project was the most straightforward method to get to Utsuro City in time to see them.

He also had to admit there'd been a hard knot of truth in Surgemaster's words about the previous generation of Beacons. They'd mucked everything up especially badly—most predominately near the end of Rasterion's campaign. Garrick had always been at odds with many of his…well, his colleagues, he supposed would be a workable term. But honestly, by the end, he was likely part of the problem as well.

And contributed to my decision to create Respite, he thought.

Though, it was not the primary reason.

Garrick's eyes flicked to Ember, who had, interestingly, taken up her post on Garrick's shoulder once more, though she was still carefully overseeing the hobgoblin. Her earlier display of protective fury gave way to a calm that he found slightly unnerving. He knew the vulpid's reactions were not to be underestimated; her instincts were sharp, and if she sensed a threat, her response could escalate quickly. But he couldn't help but feel a bit flummoxed by the intensity she'd shown—especially as she'd never done anything like that before.

Dashiell Montrose walked with a subdued air, the events in the tent undoubtedly weighing on him. Garrick glanced at the young man, wondering about the layers of conflict Surgemaster had revealed.

The old man thought about the complexity of the issues at hand. Six immediate problems jostled for his attention:

* The scroll.

* The Fiend embryo.

* What to do with Surith the hobgoblin.

* Ember's…situation.

* Whatever was happening with the Necromancer of the Bleak.

* And perhaps most concerning: Dashiell's Marked Sigil.

It felt unnervingly like the 'good ol' days,' when quests and conflicts piled atop one another, each clamoring for priority. Garrick sighed internally, a part of him nostalgic, another part exasperated by the reminder of such chaotic times.

As they approached the ruckus in what Garrick was learning was a typical spot for the group, all the usual suspects of the Golden Lion were immersed in their preferred tavern activities.

To the right, Kerd was locked in an intense competition with Georgina. Together, they were engaged in a raucous game of Bone and Coin, an ancient tavern pastime involving non-currency metallic discs and ivory-colored dice.

Bone and Coin traced back to the seafaring vagabonds of the southern isles, where it was believed to settle disputes and debts before they reached the point of bloodshed. The game's objective was deceptively simple: roll the bones (which had evolved to bone-hewn eight-sided dice) to claim the coins, with each side of the bone dictating a move or countermove, bluff or truth. However, its strategic depth was immense, involving not just luck but a keen sense of one's opponent. Garrick, who had spent more than a few evenings pondering his losses after a round, watched with amusement as Kerd and Georgina shouted and gesticulated, each accusing the other of nefarious tactics.

Meanwhile, Tad was holding court at the bar with some of what were presumably Bellwater locals. However, whatever he'd been explaining to the dwarf and gnome pair he spoke with was met with expressions ranging from bemusement to a more obvious 'get a load of this guy.' His hands waved enthusiastically as he described something Garrick could only just barely catch (but sounded like 'Instant Ham,') his bright grin seemingly unfazed by the strange looks he received.

At the same table as Kerd and Georgina's, Kufko sat aloof and detached from the boisterous interactions, engrossed in his puzzle stick. His drink sat untouched, a testament to his disinterest in anything that wasn't a challenging enigma.

On the fringes of this lively group, Fran had stationed herself at the next table, the area commandeered as a makeshift workspace. She'd spread out papers, scrolls, and maps, her eyes, sharp and calculating, darted up every time Kerd's booming laugh or Georgina's victorious shout threatened to send ripples through her precious documents.

"Right," Garrick started, clearing his throat at he, Dashiell, Surith, and Ember's approach.

"Oi!" Georgina called. "Done already?"

"Got Surgemaster off our backs for a bit, then?" Kerd asked.

Garrick turned to Dashiell to allow him to explain the other half of the message.

The young Montrose, gathering himself amid the cacophony of tavern sounds and the curious gazes of his comrades, cleared his throat with an air of formality that seemed a bit ridiculous.

"Lady and gentlemen of the Golden Lion, if I may have your attention," he began, his voice carrying the distinct, crisp diction of a well-bred noble, albeit with the unmistakable undertones of trepidation that often accompanied his more official pronouncements. Everyone looked up from what they were doing, save for Tad, who simply left his conversation at the bar mid-sentence to trundle over to the others, his grin undiminished.

"Thank you," he nodded as the table gradually fell silent. "As per the latest directives from the camp leadership—Surgemaster included—the entire project is to mobilize at dawn. They'll be tasked with building the stretch of road from the north exit of Bellwater—by way of the Wood Gate—to the ruins we explored yesterday. This serves as a reminder from Lord Montrose that this is the primary leg of the building project commencing after the holiday break, with an ambitious plan to reach Harrowdale by the first of Rudensi."

"What is…Rudensi?" Tad asked.

"Roughly equates to early fall," Garrick answered quickly—suspecting that was precisely the sort of question the offworlder was like to ask.

Dashiell allowed the information to sink in, then added, "The Golden Lion, however, have been granted today and tomorrow to themselves and will set out in two days to scout farther toward the Verend Plains."

Kerd raised his mug.

"Two days of freedom, eh? Sounds like just 'nough time to tuck into a ripe bit o' trouble," he joked, earning a round of chuckles and agreeing nods.

Georgina, flicking a coin with a practiced thumb, chimed in, "Oi, an' pro'bly just enough time for you to lose a few more rounds of Bone and Coin, Kerd."

"Aye, I'll have you know I'm letting you win, Georgie," Kerd retorted, his broad grin undermining his feigned indignance.

Fran, however, looked up from her maps, her sharp eyes catching something in Dashiell's wording. She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing.

"Curious," she began. "You said 'Golden Lion will be going on ahead,' not 'we.' That's a first."

Dashiell smiled uneasily. Garrick could have nearly applauded such Holmesian deductive reasoning.

"You're not going with us?" she wondered.

Dashiell hesitated, his gaze darting to Garrick for support.

"Sir Callifery has requested that Garrick and I…sit out for a few days," he admitted, a touch of reluctance in his voice. "He was unhappy with our conduct during the last mission and has asked us to find something to do with Surith. If Surgemaster sees him again, he claims he will kill him."

The table fell silent, the jovial atmosphere replaced by a tense unease. Fran's eyes narrowed, her mind clearly racing through the implications. Kerd's usually amiable expression turned serious as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, if Dashiell's out, we're out—no point in us—"

"No," Dashiell interrupted sharply. "You will still be required to complete your duties, despite any previous understandings of your roles in the Project." He emphasized the words, his gaze challenging anyone to argue.

Fran and Kerd exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. From his place at the head of the table, Garrick noted the unspoken loyalty between the Wardens and Dashiell. It was something he hadn't quite untangled yet, but he resolved to do so. He especially considered whether it had anything to do with the Necromancer of the Bleak.

"Fran, you will lead Golden Lion in my absence," Dashiell continued. "I am confident it will be in fantastic hands."

"Oi, why her?" Georgina asked, pausing midway through her mug of ale.

The entirety of the Golden Lion looked from her to Fran, with her collections of maps and documents gathered around, and then back to Georgina who had dribbled drink on the tabletop.

Georgina rolled her eyes.

"Right. Fair enough."

"Unfortunately, due to an overabundance of caution," Dashiell said with a wince. "I am also pulling Tad from this next leg to ensure there aren't any…unintentional or unforeseen issues with…well, what happened with his portals."

"What?" Georgina exclaimed, dropping her mug this time. It clattered to the table, spilling ale everywhere. "That's nearly half our force!"

She was suddenly in front of Dashiell as though she'd simply phased through the table between them, sticking her finger in his face.

"You sending us out to be killed? That it, Montrose? Savin' y'favorites from a certain demise?"

Kerd snorted.

"Aye, if'n he was doin' that, Georgie, Fran would be stayin' behind, too."

Garrick noticed a blush creep up the young Montrose's cheeks at that comment.

"Oi, but the 'incredible, ravishing idiot,' too?" Georgina continued her protest. "Gods! It was just a portal."

"It is sound reasoning," Fran said, her facial piercings jingling as she stood. "We do not know what manner of effect—if any—opening of a portal over the ritual space will have on the one who Chanted it. Best to have him under watch in a more neutral environment rather than an issue arising during the course of our mission."

Tad, who had been looking rather pleased with himself throughout the conversation, suddenly piped up.

"Wait, so someone else messed up with the portals, too, and now we have to be extra careful? Man…what are the odds? I mean, my portals are usually—" He paused, realization dawning slowly. "Oh, wait. Is this about me?"

The table fell silent momentarily as everyone processed Tad's delayed comprehension. Fran blinked, then nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, Tad. This is about you."

Tad nodded.

"Sorry, I was daydreaming," he said, as if that was a perfectly acceptable excuse. "So…when are we leaving on the mission? I've got a few ideas on how we can avoid some dangers."

Georgina sighed.

"So, no loss there, then, eh?" she said. "Probably a brainy move to leave 'im out."

Kerd chuckled, slapping Tad on the back.

"Don't let 'em give you stick, Tad," he said comfortingly. "I've got your back."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Thank you, Kerd," Tad said genuinely before pausing. "…have my back about what?"

Kerd boomed out a laugh.

"Ah, friend-o! Us dimmer types gotta stick together. We might not be the quickest stallions, but we slower ponies outlive everyone else."

"We're getting horses?" Tad brightened, missing the point entirely.

"So, are we to go out with our number so depleted?" Fran interjected swiftly, glancing critically at the papers on the table. "It will require substantial reworking of our plans, but…"

Dashiell shook his head.

"No—in fact, we had just spoken with—"

Just as Dashiell was about to explain, a voice called out from across the tavern, "There you are, Golden Lion!"

Garrick turned toward the voice, observing as a figure approached their merry band. The human woman was tall and lean, with a lustrous mane of strawberry blonde hair and thick eyebrows. The old man noted she dressed in lithe adventuring gear, though it was clear to him that the outfit was designed more to allure than for any practical purpose. Her armor, if it could be called that, seemed more likely to turn heads than deflect blows, as some of the most essential bits seemed to be missing. With a bit of private amusement, Garrick couldn't help but think that if she ever faced an actual sword, she'd be in trouble.

Though perhaps not, he considered again. Her opponent might end up too distracted to strike accurately.

The newcomer sauntered over with a cocky swagger, her eyes flicking over the group.

Garrick took a moment to sense her mantle, discovering it was High Foundation—the same as Dashiell's. He didn't know her from a hole in the ground, but it was obvious from the reactions around the table that Dashiell, Kerd, and Fran did. Kerd and Fran wore expressions of bafflement, while Dashiell's face displayed mere recognition, which was unsurprising given that he probably knew most people involved in the project by name, astrological sign, and preferred breakfast. Kufko didn't bother to look up, and Tad did the opposite, his attention thoroughly captivated by her outfit, like a magpie spotting something shiny. Georgina, who clearly had no idea who the woman was, gave her the stink eye for the interruption.

"Well, well, well," the woman said, stopping before them. "If it isn't the mighty Golden Lion, taking a breather in the Codpiece. Shouldn't be surprised, really."

Have we built up a reputation already? Garrick wondered. That seems odd. Maybe she's just being hyperbolic for some reason.

Garrick noted that the others seemed comfortable letting the mysterious woman speak her piece. Georgina, however, was less restrained.

"Oi, ya skinny tart," she said, leaning forward with a fierce glint in her eye. "Just who in the eight hells of Berzama do you think you are?"

Dashiell straightened, his demeanor becoming formal.

"Everyone, meet... Arabella."

Garrick leaned back, observing with relaxed curiosity. He recalled Dashiell had stopped to speak with another Guardian unit leader on their way to the tavern. Now it made sense; Arabella must've been from that twitchy man's unit.

Well, she showed up thematically, then, he thought to himself. Right as someone asked the question.

"Arabella, huh?" Georgina muttered under her breath, still glaring.

"Indeed," Arabella said dismissively. "Arabella Orra—Eighth Rank Ranger, Society of Wardens."

Garrick noticed everyone turning to look at Kerd and Fran, who still seemed nonplussed as to her presence.

"She's from Emerald Serpent," Dashiell continued as if that was the interesting bit. "Here because I asked Winston Shippley to send us someone from his unit to help, considering our current handicap."

"'Lo, Arabella," Kerd greeted politely. "Been a while, eh?"

"Kerd…Fran," Arabella returned somewhat stiffly, and Garrick sensed some underlying tension there. He could also see a touch of it affecting her mantle, though he noticed that Kerd and Fran's auras seemed unbothered despite their confusion.

Clearly, whatever bothers Ms. Orra is one-sided.

"Emerald Serpent?" Tad mused aloud, his grin wide, "Where're the Blue Barracudas and Purple Parrots?"

He looked around as if expecting the rest of the group to understand his quite obviously previous-world reference. Silence met him.

Garrick sighed.

"Oh, right," Tad said, nodding. "No T.V. here."

Then he turned to Arabella.

"What do Emerald Serpent do?"

"Likely a bad job…" Georgina muttered.

Garrick watched as Arabella turned, seeming a little annoyed, to address Tad, but then her demeanor melted away as she saw his face. She smiled wide at him.

Apparently, she hadn't noticed him until now, Garrick chuckled.

The interaction reminded him of witnessing women interacting with Jasper Blackwood. They often fell all over themselves to offer an introduction (and the bolder ones their contact details.)

Ah, to be young and undeniably handsome… he thought, then caught Tad digging a finger in his ear without shame. …And oblivious.

"We're, erm, well…" Arabella started, twirling a strand of strawberry blonde hair around her finger as she spoke with the otherworlder. "Just a unit that specializes in eradicating—erm, I mean to say, gently dissuading vermin and minor monsters away from the camp."

"Like pest control!" Tad exclaimed, nodding. "Nice! You guys are exterminators? My uncle did that for a while before he went to jail. Ooh! Have you found any neat rats lately?"

Garrick could see the exact moment where Arabella realized precisely the caliber of individual she was dealing with as her face fell and she turned back to Kerd and Fran.

"In any case," Dashiell said. "We appreciate your joining the team—however momentarily, Arabella."

"Woah, woah, woah, Dash," Georgina wondered, finally putting down her knitting needles. "Her? Joining Golden Lion? Oi, Montrose, you ravin,' mate? Doin' a wind-up? What're her credentials, even?"

"Ah, pipe down, Georgie," Kerd said with a chuckle. "She's good folk. Promise. Asides, it's only temporary, innit?"

"Good folk?" the delver echoed questioningly, her eyebrow raised. "What capacity you basin' that on, Kerd? Square footage of exposed skin?"

She scoffed.

"Guess we don't vet anybody nowadays, do we?"

"Didn't take you for the prudish sort, Georgina," Fran said evenly.

"I'm not!" Georgina protested. "Only…just…oh, never mind!"

She hastily gathered up her immense wealth of yarn and stood, knocking over another stein of ale.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be back at the yurt," she announced and promptly fled the scene.

"Bye, Georgina!" Tad called innocently to her as she exited.

That was an odd reaction, Garrick thought. Wonder what's got her so riled?

More curiously, though, was that Arabella hadn't even taken note of Georgina at all.

I'd have a hard time not making a comment if someone was upset with how I dress.

Garrick looked down at his plain shirt and pants.

Should I go shopping?

"Yes, well, ahem," Dashiell said. "As I said before, Arabella, we are excited to work with you. While I wish we could sort out the details together, Fran will be the one to apprise you of the matters concerning our next movements—the Wa—erm, Garrick, and I have something else to attend to. I apologize for taking our leave."

"Not a problem," Arabella said with a shrug. "Happy to be doing something…" she paused, apparently trying to find a word that didn't sound offensive to her role. "…else. Something else. Just point me in the direction of what you want me to do and it'll be sorted."

Garrick had the unmistakable impression that Arabella was the sort of woman who considered her talents utterly wasted in a unit like Emerald Serpent. However, she also had the uncommon wisdom not to make a fuss about it, likely aware (as he was) that the Society of Wardens reacted to insubordination with the same enthusiasm as a cat to a bath. He stole a glance at Kerd and Fran—two individuals as different as a hotdog and a hand grenade but clearly good at their jobs. At least they must've been if they were—as he suspected—contracted to protect Dashiell.

Fran's focus shifted back to her maps, her analytical mind already processing the new directives.

"We must ensure our route through the Verend Plains is clear of any major threats. I've identified a few potential problem areas we should scout beforehand."

Kerd nodded, though his displeasure was still evident.

"Aye, the plains can be tricky. We'll need to watch for ambush spots and the like."

Tad gasped.

"I just remembered my idea," he said. "Fran, if you find any ambush spots, can you like, mark them with big X's? That way, the bandits will think it's treasure and ambush themselves!"

Everyone paused. Even Surith blinked at the man's suggestion. Tad, however, just grinned—clearly very pleased with himself.

"We'll…take it under advisement," Fran finally said.

"Nice!" Tad exclaimed with a celebratory fist pump.

"We'll leave you to it," Dashiell said, turning toward the exit. "Let us know—"

"Wait a tick," Kerd said. "That's it?"

"What do you mean, Kerd?" Dashiell asked.

Kerd shook his head, gesturing to the new woman.

"Nothin' 'gainst ol' Arabella, here, but she's only one added to the pool. I'm no mathemagenius or nothin,' but that still leaves us down two."

I have a feeling… Garrick thought.

He suspected that this was going to happen. Of course, it would happen. As Kerd had asked the question, just like before, he had a strong sense that the solution would make itself known.

At that moment, the tavern doors swung open, and in walked two of the most hapless-yet-endearing guards Garrick had ever encountered—Gylus and Bentle. Their conversation, loud and animated, immediately drew the attention of everyone present.

"I'm telling you, Bentle, it can't be a dragon if it breathes ice!" Gylus argued, his tone exasperated.

Bentle, younger and shamelesser, shook his head stubbornly.

"But it has wings and scales, Gylus! Definitely an ice dragon!"

Gylus sighed heavily.

"There's no such thing as an ice dragon, you daft fool. Rock? Yes. Fire—absolutely. Even heard about 'mind' dragons. But no ice."

"Then explain the frost everywhere, Gylus," Bentle retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

"It's as simple as I keep telling you. It was just a lizard Percy enchanted with a potion," Gylus said, rubbing his temples as if he could ward off the impending headache.

Bentle gasped, scandalized.

"Who in their right mind would enchant a lizard to breathe ice? That's dangerous, that is! A bit rude, too."

Gylus rolled his eyes.

"Percy would—you know him better than I do, even. Surprised you're surprised."

"Makes no sense," Bentle continued. "Why go through all the trouble? Enchanting is expensive—and I know Percy ain't got the coin for that. Still owes me a couple bronzies from when I spotted him during dinner last month."

Bentle seemed to sincerely draw issues with...whatever they were discussing.

"Said it was a carnival trick," Gylus explained. "To make some extra trices. You know, like those shows where they claim to have a mermaid, but it's just a monkey sewn onto a fish."

Bentle's eyes widened.

"They do that? That's horrible! How could anyone be so heartless?"

"People do a lot of crazy things for money, Bentle," Gylus said, shaking his head. "Remember the time we got…convinced into guarding that 'phoenix egg' that turned out to be a painted chicken egg?"

Bentle shuddered at the memory.

"Oh, don't you remind me! That farmer was so cross he chased us halfway across Lork Village!"

"Well, you probably shouldn't have sold the egg to that little ruffian—that's technically theft."

"To be fair," Bentle said. "I thought it were the previously established phoenix egg. Had no idea it was the farmer's prize chicken what laid it."

Gylus smirked.

"And you tripped over that bucket and landed face-first in the pig trough."

"Well, those pigs were surprisingly friendly," Bentle said defensively. "And anyway, you're the one who got stuck in the chicken coop for an hour."

"Only because you locked the door behind me," Gylus shot back.

"By accident!" Bentle protested. "I thought it would keep the pigs out."

Gylus threw up his hands.

"I thought you said they were friendly?!" He demanded. "Now suddenly you're painting a different portrait."

"Ah, well, Gylus, I was mistaken—I'm only human, after all," Bentle said, pausing momentarily. "Well…half human, at least. Either way, the point is—looks can be deceiving at first."

Gylus let out a frustrated groan.

"That was my point, you simple fool! You just won my argument for me."

"What was your argument, again?" Bentle asked.

"That just because you see a lizard breathing ice doesn't mean it's an ice dragon."

"Oh," Bentle said thoughtfully. "Yeah—I wouldn't argue that. We agree."

Gylus slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Bentle, if you weren't Rufus' younger brother, I'd drown you."

"Strange," Bentle said. "That sounds exactly like something Rufus would say."

They approached the table, entirely oblivious to the silence that had fallen over the group. Garrick could hardly suppress a smile. These two were the only members of the very special 'Beige Slug' Guardian unit, though…as to what purpose they served, Garrick wasn't quite able to discern. Gylus, older and slightly more surly, often seemed to have at least a shred of common sense, while Bentle, enthusiastic and utterly clueless, was a perpetual source of bewilderment.

Gylus seemed about to make another point when he finally noticed the attention they had garnered. He paused mid-sentence, his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh. Uh, hullo, Golden Lion."

Bentle, unfazed, grinned broadly at the group.

"Wotcher, everyone! Fancy seeing you here!"

Dashiell cleared his throat.

"Gylus, Bentle, glad you could join us. We were just discussing the next leg of our mission."

The two guards exchanged confused glances before Bentle's eyes widened with realization.

"Oh! We're supposed to be here, aren't we?"

"Yes," Dashiell said, nodding. "And Lord Montrose had graciously offered to allow Beige Slug to be the last two members of the mission."

The silence was palpable as everyone processed this revelation. Arabella looked from Gylus to Bentle, clearly trying to hide her skepticism. Fran's eyes narrowed as she assessed the situation while Kerd gave a low chuckle. Kufko was back to playing with his puzzle stick and Tad was grinning almost as widely as Bentle was. Surith had shrunk back behind Garrick as if expecting the new arrivals to beat him about the head.

"Well, looks like we've got ourselves a full team now," Kerd said, his tone dripping with irony.

Strange, Garrick thought, eyeing Dashiell clandestinely. I was with Dashiell for the entire walk here, and I only saw him speak with Emerald Serpent's captain. How did he relay the message to his father about needing two more members?

He rubbed his chin.

Just what abilities are you hiding, Mr. Montrose?