Oceans were overrated. The smell of a hundred different mosses, decaying undergrowth, and fresh, exotic plants filled Tomb’s nose. In the dim undercanopy, he could see scores of places to hide. Shadows lurked around every corner, screaming ambush. But the forest didn’t feel dangerous. Tomb could hear the song of ancient woods. Untouched by time and civilization. The animals were unafraid, the luminescent mosses glowed in the evening’s prime. Tomb stood straighter. Against carefully instilled habits, he closed his eyes, letting the forest speak.

“... You good, princess?” Pulled from his reverie, Tomb looked down to find an amused Yuri.

“Of course.”

“You’ll get used to the smell. It ain't called rotworld for nothing. These aren’t even the worst of the molds. Sometimes, zombified animals can be seen walking at night, covered in the stuff. Right scary I tell you.” Tomb decided to let the misunderstanding lie. It had been a while since he felt so at home. He raised his chin and gazed out over the beautiful flora.

“What do others think of the wilderness?”

“Others? Well, some avoid it like the plague. Strange things happen out here. It is best to keep a healthy respect for these woods. I know someone who lives out there, all on their own. Sounds crazy, but they are an odd one.” Hmm. Wouldn’t that be nice.

“Don’t worry. Do as you’re told, and you'll rarely meet something you can’t handle. And for the times when life throws a rock at you, hopefully, you’ll be with the crew. Speaking of, once we reach the guild hall I’d like to introduce you to a few of our members. They can be a strange bunch, but old wo-purs are only trouble when you flip them over.” Yuri turned and looked straight into Tombs' eyes then. “You get me? Nobody smart is willing to know what the underside of a wo-pur looks like.” Message received, loud and clear.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, guildmaster.” Yuri’s constant smirk morphed into something alluding to satisfaction. Despite that, Tomb could feel her watching him all the while they traveled.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tomb didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this. A little off from the barely worn path, burrowed into the face of a lopsided hill was an amalgamation of metal, ceramic, and a dozen other things. Old survival tents, wood scaffolding, and what looked to be the repurposed parts of some armored vehicle created a chaotic yet well-put-together tumor of a facade growing out of the hill. Painted on one of the dark armored plates were the words “-GH CINDER CRA-”. Cinder Crawler? Weren’t those officially retired by the holy army decades ago? By the time Tomb finished reading Yuri was already at the Airlock - err - front door.

Tomb followed her in and, yet again, his newly adjusted expectations were overturned. The inside appeared well-lit, with white ship lights running across the ceiling. Not a shadow in sight. Sterile synthetic walls encompassed the room. A waist-high counter with a bundle of clothes lying at the edge was positioned directly across from the entrance, with rows and columns of secured draws lining the wall behind them.

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Strangely enough, a lush fur sofa sat to the right, completely alone and out of place. Or it would have been, if its partner, a freaking cast metal fireplace, wasn’t positioned symmetrically across on the opposite wall.

Back on the sofa sat a lone man. He had large, purple-tinted utility goggles pushed too high up his forehead and drank from a suspiciously shaped opaque bottle. Dark smudges marred his leathery, ash-colored skin. Tomb observed black bags under the man’s eyes and his face contained a barely kept fade of rough stubble. He was eyeing an assortment of disassembled machine parts on a small table next to the sofa. Tomb hadn’t seen him move since Tomb and Yuris’ arrival. It was as if he didn’t even know they were there.

“Greg. Why aren’t you at the front desk?” Yuri looked down at the man who didn’t even acknowledge hearing the question. After a few moments he casually looked up, and without change in expression, barely flickered his eyes to the pile of clothes on the counter. Yuri grinned then. “She doesn’t bite, you know... (Or hasn't, at least).” The man named Greg snorted and mumbled under his breath, “She doesn’t need to bite”. Curious, Tomb re-evaluated the bundle of clothes. They didn’t show signs of movement, though maybe he could make out some form of a utility jacket.

Greg put his hands on his knees, leaned back, and swung his body forward, using the momentum to stand. After a small, coarse grunt he unceremoniously turned to Tomb and gave a half-hearted universal greeting gesture with his flask side; though by that point, the flask had mysteriously vanished.

“Greg, nice to meet you. You must be the new hire.” His voice was rough and gravelly, like shifting stones on the bottom of a river. Tomb dexterously returned the greeting.

“Tomb, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Greg grumbled under his breath, “...Noble kid”.

“Greg here is the guild’s unofficial secretary, medic, mechanic, engineer, and… anything else. He’s like a vice guild master just without the authority. His choice, not mine.” Greg snorted again. “If you have questions about anything and I’m not around, just ask Greg. This bundle of flowers will be happy to help.”

“Please don’t. And if you do, don’t expect me to answer”. Greg delivered the statement with a completely straight face.

“But beyond that, seriously, if there’s a medical emergency or some other manner of issue, rely on Greg.” Yuri suddenly switched to a cheery, playful demeanor. “Now for the tour. This is our welcoming room, and as you can see, it's very lively, very busy.” Tomb could almost hear the silence.

“If anyone from the village has a request or wants to formalize a request, they come through this room and Greg puts it in writing. So we don’t, you know, off someone’s pet due to a misunderstanding, or something.” Greg gave a half snort/half laugh from behind. But when Tomb looked back he had returned to inspecting the gizmos on the table while scratching his rough stubble, Tomb and Yuri seemingly forgotten.

“Ahrm. Anyways, Greg would typically be at the counter on secretary duty. As you can see, behind that counter lies our storage space. There we keep anything besides personal belongings.” The room seemed well organized, and every drawer was labeled and locked, probably Greg’s doing. As Tomb scanned the room his eyes fell on the pile of clothes sitting at the right edge of the counter. Upon closer inspection, he could make out what might be a hood leaning sideways. A lock of stark white hair flowed out, riding back into the hood.

“Ah yes, that is Ky, our main employer. It appears she is asleep. On the counter. Again.” Tomb tried to mark any defining feature of the pile. Other than that the jacket Tomb initially assumed was laundry was several sizes too large for the current wearer, Tomb couldn’t make anything out. Are they a child? They must be, or they’re at least child-sized. “Number two rule of this guild. Don’t piss her off. Don’t mess with her, and mind her antics, within reason. I’m the only one who’s allowed to anger her.” After that declaration, Yuri gently shook the pile. An annoyed grumbling could be heard from it, deep in the depths of some half-asleep state.

“Lylo didn’t even tell me she had come inside. She was already on the counter when I got up.” Greg grumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear. Yuri slowly turned to Tomb with a wide smile.

“But don’t worry about her. I’m sure she’s got a great personality somewhere in that thick skull.”

I’m sure… what? Just then Yuri lifted her boot and kicked/shoved the pile off the counter. Flailing arms and legs mixed in a tangled heap, down into the storage room.