Kayara raised an eyebrow, but looked away before Ayn could catch her eye.

“Fine? Uh…right. Good choice.” Bren brought up a small screen and tapped out something. “There.”

As soon as he closed the screen, a willowy man in a gray Crafting Guild uniform appeared and placed a glowing scroll on the table in front of Bren. Ayn’s hands searched her lap for the familiar that wasn’t there as Bren unrolled and read the scroll. Miit had stayed behind to help her mother with chores, and no doubt, avoid causing more tension among the party. She just hoped he understood how much they still needed him in the Dungeon.

Bren finished reading and signed the scroll, a magical pen appearing in his hand as it did with the party contract. Their agreement would hold no less binding power.

He slid the paper over to Ayn. The silver hammer and anvil emblem of the Crafting Guild shone at the top, contrasting with the gold edging on the scroll. It was pretty much as he said. If they didn’t finish the second floor, she’d work for Bren’s family as a storehouse manager until Bren decided she’d finished paying for the losses he’d incurred. What those “losses” were, the contract left to the imagination. She, and undoubtedly Bren, knew she had little choice. Besides, the contract only stood if she, as Ayn, made it out of the Dungeon alive. Even with the dwindling of admin oversight, no one had figured out how to get a hold of Player Handles. A quick Rebirth, and she’d be as good as dead to Bren.

Ayn signed her name at the bottom of the page, a set of chicken scratches next to Bren’s delicate loops and swirls. Bren’s assistant collected the scroll and vanished. The scroll’s absence didn’t make Ayn any less tense.

“Now we’re on an even playing field,” Bren said.

“What?”

“As Kayara said, I’ll lose a lot if this party falls through. Now, so will you. We both have good reasons to give this our all. Let us hope our healer feels the same.” Bren glared at Sheyric, who continued to not acknowledge any of them, and sighed. “But I’ve made my promise, and you’ve made yours, Leader Ayn. So, what’s next?”

Kayara’s tankard squeaked across the table as she dragged it back and forth. Ayn turned to look just in time to her jerk her head toward the quest board.

Ah, right. She’d forgotten. “We need to turn in our quests,” Ayn paused for a second as the rest of their preparation tasks lined up in her head. “That should give us enough money to restock on potions, maybe even get a new piece of equipment before we start floor two.”

“It would have to be a sizable sum,” Bren said. “But it sounds reasonable.”

With Bren’s agreement, Ayn practically catapulted out of her seat toward the quest board. She’d already had enough of sitting still and uncomfortable conversation, and the day had barely begun.

The quest board sprang to life as she approached.

Quest Board

Dungeon Floor 1

*Collect 12 bones — Complete — Turn in for 400g

*Collect 7 zombie flesh — Complete — Turn in for 200g

*Kill 21 rats — Complete — Turn in for 120g

Dungeon Floor 2

*Unknown Quest 1

*Unknown Quest 2

*Unknown Quest 3

Ayn tapped on each “complete”, a thrill passing through her at the chiming of coins sounding with each tap.

Ching.

ONE-HUNDRED GOLD RECIEVED

Ching.

FIFTY GOLD RECIEVED

Ching.

THIRTY GOLD RECIEVED

The reward for each quest split automatically among the party, a quarter for each. While the actual quests of the first floor were randomized, since the first floor wasn’t, the list it could pull from was small. Anyone who studied the first floor or had run it before knew about the amount of coin they could get. Bren’s words had made it seem as if he didn’t. Ayn frowned. Could it be he hadn’t bothered studying the first floor? Perhaps he was newer Rebirth as well, willing to place the responsibility on others. Ayn shook her head. No. There was no point in dwelling on it. She’d done the same.

Ayn accepted the next set of quests. They were nothing more than placeholders. Unlike the first floor, every part of their next Crawl would be randomized. Until they stepped inside the entrance, not even The System knew what they’d face. With the placeholders waiting patiently in her quest list, Ayn turned back to her suspiciously quiet table.

“It’s not much, is it?” Bren said.

He had a screen pulled up, his face souring at what he saw. Sheyric still hadn’t moved, while Kayara had leaned back with her hands over her head and was currently balancing her chair on its back legs.

“No, but it’s above average for floor one,” Ayn said. “The boss quest doesn’t pop all that often.”

“Ah…. I see,” Bren said. “You said we’d be able to get a piece of equipment with this? I fail to see how. Even the low-level gear from the Crafting Guild would take three times this for a piece.”

“Which is why we’re not getting Guild equipment.” Kayara eased her chair back into position. “Low-level or not, Crafting Guilds hardly have new parties in mind when they set the price. Unless, of course, you plan on getting us a discount.”

Bren scoffed. “I would never use my affiliation with the Crafting Guild in that way. That…that would be tantamount to cheating. Why—”

“Yeah, okay. I get it.” Kayara waved away the torrent of words.

“I…. Fine. Yes. Ayn, could you show us a reasonable equipment merchant?”

Ayn ignored the jab at her status. They both knew she wasn’t high on the social ladder. Plus, since her attempts at helping outsiders, she did know one non-guild merchant who always had honest prices. “Sure.”

Sheyric jerked as the three of them stood up to go, and Ayn wondered, a little more seriously this time, if he’d actually fallen asleep.

“Oh,” Kayara said. “Hey, Sheyric. Drink that before we go, yeah?”

Sheyric grabbed the tankard in front of him with more energy than Ayn had seen in him all morning and tipped it back. The sudden motion caused his hood to slip a tiny bit, just enough for Ayn to catch a flash of milky-white skin go even paler.

A single cough escaped the healer as he finished the drink and dropped the tankard back to the table as if it were hot.

Kayara walked past and slapped him between the shoulders, eliciting another cough. “Showing us newbies how it’s done, eh?”

Sheyric stood without reply, fixed his hood, and followed them out the door.

The cool, damp morning air hit Ayn in a nostalgic way. For the better part of ten years, she’d got up with the sun to help her mother on the farm. The mist was always thickest then, when the sun first clashed with the cold of night. It settled on her skin, seeped into her clothes. Chilly, yet refreshing as she worked, and preferable to the stifling heat of doing sword fighting drills in the afternoon.

In the country where Cristak was built, it remained perpetual spring, which meant not only perpetual misty mornings, but perpetual greenery. Shrubs and small trees lined every cobblestone path in the center of Cristak. The residents had cleared much of the outer ring of Cristak for farming, but its inner ring still held a connection to the thick forest which surrounded the town’s walls.

Ayn took the lead. The market was only a few blocks from the Crawler’s Guild. The merchant she had in mind sat in a secluded corner of it, easily bypassed if you didn’t know where to look. Ayn suspected the merchant’s isolation wasn’t by accident, nor their choice, but all her attempts at getting to the truth had ended the day the market council threatened to ban her and her mother from selling their goods.

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The clang of metal echoed as blacksmiths arranged their wares under wood and cloth stands. The smell of baked bread and pastries, and the astringent scent of newly brewed potions wafted from others. A constant clamor rose as people in working tunics and overalls brought crates to their assigned spots and talked amongst themselves. Still, the market wasn’t yet in full swing. The farmers, like her mother, wouldn’t be around until closer to midday, the care of their crops and animals taking precedence. Any outsiders wouldn’t likely poke their heads from the local inn until later, and Crawlers who lived in Cristak knew better than to expect full service at sunrise.

Ayn traced her way between the workers and stands, ignoring the glances of concern, curiosity, and, occasionally, hostility. The Weapons Crafter Doonan, the grim line of his mouth almost vanishing under the bushiness of his red beard, slipped between her and his wares as she passed. Ayn avoided his glare.

It had been five years since she’d tested one of his swords. Sure, she hadn’t asked first, and she ended up nicking the blade on a tree, but she’d apologized profusely. Besides, it had been five years. Nobody in the town seemed capable of forgiving and forgetting. Then again, now that she thought about it, there was that other time….

Ayn dodged a small boy carrying a stack of bread loafs, resisting the urge to take one as the warm sweet smell hit her nose. No. She’d made poor decisions before, but she’d got much better, hadn’t she?

A few more twists and turns through the hubbub of the opening market, and the stall she was looking for came into view.

Its dull brown awning stood in contrast to its neighbors, the top nearly blending in with the wood of its counter. It stood on the very edge of the marketplace, bordered on the back and one side by broad-leafed trees, their dark trunks further adding camouflage to the stall. A willowy man stood behind the counter with his eyes fastened on his goods. His skin was tanned and weathered to the point where it, too, looked at one with his surroundings.

Where most of the stalls held a specific type of good, his counter held a bit of everything. A potion sat by an unused torch, which lay half hidden under a leather tunic nestled next to a helmet. Ayn even thought she saw a small cake peeking from between a glass bottle and what looked like a firestarter.

Ayn stopped in front of his counter and cleared her throat. The man looked up, the surprise on his face melting away when he saw who it was.

“Ah, Ayn. What do you fancy today?” His voice was just as rough as the rest of him. “I’m afraid I still haven’t got any sabers. Metal has been hard to come by.”

It wouldn’t be if you weren’t outbid by all the other merchants, Ayn thought. She kept it to herself. The merchant had made it clear he wasn’t interested in fighting the status quo anymore. “That’s all right, Tal. My party and I were looking to get some potions and equipment. It doesn’t have to be metal. None of us can wear heavy armors anyway, and two of us can’t use metal weapons.”

Tal’s eyes focused past her, a frown forming for just a second as his gaze flicked by Bren, the expression quickly shifting to a broad grin. “A party? Well, I’ll be. Congratulations. Give me just a second. I’ll show you the best I’ve got.”

The rest of the party lined up in front of the stall as Tal dipped under the counter and rustled around in various sized crates. Soon, the scattered objects on the countertop became a growing pile of random gear.

Bren looked increasingly uncomfortable with the display while Kayara waited just long enough for the pile to get precarious before she grabbed something. Ayn wasn’t far behind.

All the equipment were grays, a quality just above vendor trash, but compared to the party’s mostly worthless array of non-combat clothes, anything affordable and equipable would be useful.

Ayn tossed a leather cap, minimum combat level ten, back into the pile while Kayara pulled out a cloth robe. She looked it over for a second, then tossed it to Sheyric. He gasped and fumbled, barely grabbing the robe before it hit the ground.

“It’s got pluses to Mana and Essence,” Kayara said. “I doubt you’ll find anything better right now.”

Sheyric held the robe up. It looked similar enough to his, with the long, flowing sleeves and off-gray color, but it differed in one detail—it didn’t have a hood. Ayn didn’t need to see his face. She could tell by the stiffening in his stance he wasn’t willing to give up his cover. With a sigh, Ayn turned back to the pile, doing her best to lose herself in the fun of looking, and block out the inevitable argument.

A glint of steel caught her eye. She stuck her hand under a pile of pants and pulled out a metal-toed boot.

Steel-Toed Leather Boots

Minimum Lv. 2

+2 Armor

+2 Str on kick

100g

With the first of the pair in her hand, the second lit up with a small halo on the counter. She dug it out and held the boots up for Tal to see. “I’ll take these,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over Kayara chiding Sheyric. “And a couple of health potions, if you’ve got them.”

“For you, I have these.” Tal’s hands disappeared into the pile and pulled four small health potions like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, each vial individually tucked between his fingers. “Half-off.”

Ayn grinned. “I’ll take them.”

Three heavy gold coins the size of her palm, each etched with a sword and crafter’s hammer, appeared in her hand, with a fourth and much tinier coin perched on top. One hundred and sixty gold worth of coin, leaving her with twenty left over. Quite a steal for a pair of good boots and four health potions, and more than she’d expected.

Tal agreed with a quick nod, the money vanishing into his inventory with a touch.

“I’ll make sure any metal I find goes to you,” Ayn said.

Tal gave another bob of his head. It almost covered up the look of dismay on his face. “It would be greatly appreciated.”

Ayn knew what he was thinking. The other merchants already shunned him for not supporting their shadier practices, and Ayn’s vocal opposition to them, which resulted in leaders of the Crafter’s Guild coming down on their heads, had only driven Tal and Ayn closer to pariah status. After that debacle, Ayn had mostly stayed under the radar for her mother’s sake. But now that she was a Crawler, and soon to have materials to sell, she found her desire to roll over slipping away.

“That reminds me,” she said. “Do you have a pickaxe?”

“I’m afraid not. Like sabers, I haven’t had one of those in ages.”

Ayn nodded in sympathy. The other merchants really were trying to choke Tal out of the market. She’d just have to do something about that.

Sheyric stepped up to the counter and set down the hoodless robe. It seemed he had won the argument. Ayn felt almost upset she’d tuned them out. Now she wanted to know how the quiet healer had bested Kayara’s loud persistence.

“Mana potions?” Sheyric asked.

“I have a few,” Tal said. “Half-off as well, seeing as how you’re helping Ayn.”

“Thanks.”

Tal produced five blue flasks. Sheyric selected three and walked back into the hubbub of the market proper.

“Man’s head is as thick as a boulder,” Kayara said with a huff. “Whatever.” She turned to Tal, the scowl on her face morphing into a smile with impressive speed. “I hope you have something for me, too. Tal, was it?”

*****

Ayn stared at her equipment screen. The silhouette on the blue-backed screen had rectangles hovering over sections of her body—head, torso, arms, hands, fingers, chest, waist, legs, and feet. Two rectangles floated to either side of the silhouette, showing off the two sabers her mother had given her, while a strip along the bottom of the screen showed what she had tied to her belt, which consisted of four health potions.

Most of her equipment slots were blank, her simple farm clothes not registering as combat clothing. The leather gloves she’d picked up, minus the bones, and the metal-toed boots she’d bought from Tal stood out on the silhouette. They glowed slightly in their slots to show they had stat modifiers. On her, they looked as if she was trying on actual Crawler’s gear in-between farm chores. No, she was a Crawler. And with this gear she had…plus three armor and plus two strength when she kicked. It was a start, she supposed.

Ayn closed the screen and focused back onto the Crawler’s Guild table that was quickly becoming her party’s meeting spot. Her party. The thought still sent a tendril of ice through her. The first floor of the Dungeon tested party viability in only the most basic of ways. Floor two would do far more, and since she’d signed Bren’s contract…. She shivered.

A sharp laugh from a different party seated across the room contrasted with the tense silence in her own. Kayara lay draped against her chair, somehow looking elegant in her emerald green jumpsuit and feathered cap as she napped. Bren was looking neither elegant nor peaceful. His arms kept crossing and uncrossing, his eyes glued to the Guild’s entrance. Every once in a while, his hand would drift to the tabletop, fingertips poised over the surface, before he’d draw back again.

Ayn knew the source of his anxiety. Sheyric had yet to reappear since he’d walked off and left them at Tal’s stand. The healer seemed to have a knack for inciting drama, whether he intended to or not.

Bren’s hand drifted back to the table. He drummed a few times, seemed to realize what he was doing, and yanked his hand back.

“He’ll come,” Ayn said. She winced at the lack of confidence in her own voice.

“He’d better,” Bren said. “After all the crap he’s pulled, after that contract you signed, he’d better.”

Ayn cocked her head. She’d thought the contract a failsafe for Bren, but he made it sound as if he worried for her. Regardless, she agreed with him. She wanted to believe Sheyric had simply gone on his own to get something while they shopped, but he hadn’t exactly been reliable even in the short time she’d known him.

The minutes stretched on. Ayn could practically feel the walls of a warehouse, crates stacked to the ceiling, closing in on her. She didn’t understand how Kayara was asleep at a time like this, and she’d just about worked up enough courage to wake the ranger up and ask when the guild door opened. Sheyric strolled over and sat down as if he hadn’t left them waiting for over an hour.

Bren opened his mouth, undoubtedly to complain.

Sheyric cut him off as he stretched a hand toward Ayn. “For you.”

A pickaxe materialized in his grip.

“I…uh…thank you.”

The pickaxe’s info screen popped up as it changed hands.

Iron Pickaxe

Minimum Lv. 1

Enables mining of ore nodes on Dungeon floors 2-20.

No bonus to rarity of ores.

“For metal,” Sheyric said, his head dipping lower.

The frustration and anxiety that had been building in Ayn collapsed, replaced with a hefty dose of guilt. “Were you looking for a pickaxe for me this whole time?”

“…No.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps she didn’t have to feel guilty after all. Still, the fact he’d been thinking of her made her smile. “Well, thanks again. Tal will be happy, and it means he’ll be able to make us some better equipment.”

“He’s a crafter?” Bren asked. He was still staring at Sheyric, brow furrowed, although his question was aimed at Ayn.

“Yes,” Ayn said. “He can’t go above level ten gear right now, but he studied blacksmithing.”

“Ah.”

Ayn could hear the weight behind Bren’s response. Tal wasn’t a Guild Crafter, which meant he’d never be able to specialize, and wouldn’t be able to go past level fifteen gear or items. On the other hand, Ayn was sure he’d supply them with the best he could manage as long as they wanted him to.

In a second, Kayara went from draped across her chair to standing with her hands flat on the table and a broad grin on her face. “Fantastic. The gang’s all here. Why don’t we see what the Dungeon had in store for us before the sun sets, yeah?”

Ayn briefly wondered if Kayara had been faking her nap to avoid conversation, but she welcomed the chance to get moving too much to really care. Too bad the next floor would decide her future. It certainly put a damper on things.