Caertonn winced as he came to in a dark room. There were no windows and no light sources, nothing to help him distinguish where he was laying. What had happened? He tried to remember the events of yesterday as he touched the sore and bloody wound on the back of his head. While his memory was foggy, he did realize it meant he hadn't been out for long. Accelerated and consistent healing was a boon to being an adventurer, so much so that Cookie had told him during their beer tasting that some people who were gravely injured would become adventurers just so they wouldn't die. He'd asked the eight-armed man why everyone didn't become adventurers, then. He'd chuckled and given a list of reasons, mainly that you'd have to level up or have mobs sniff you out and kill you frequently.
Cookie...yeah, he'd spoken to Cookie briefly before...stairs...then his room. And then, nothing. There were no other clues, nothing to tip him off about where he was, who had put him there, or why.
He felt his clothes. He was in his drabs again and his viewer and weapons were gone, but, hey, at least he wasn't naked. The floor was wooden and damp, the smell...horrendous. He sniffed his armpits, then shrugged. No, it wasn't him. The reek of waste and rotting meat was overpowering and it permeated everywhere around him.
The room lurched slightly and he heard a creak, followed by the sway in the other direction and another creak. Was he in a box? He reached up and around him. No, it was too large to be a box. He could cross off the ever-present mild concern of being buried alive, at least this time.
He crawled around 'til he found a wall and drew his hand over every inch. When he could feel nothing but more wooden planks, he slowly crawled to the other side with his hand out in front of him. The back of his hand slid across a metal bar and he brushed his fingers over a rusted line.
A jail cell?
“Hello?' he called out.
There was no answer. He found the seem of a door with the panel that had the lock, but it did him no good, since he hadn't leveled lock-picking. No, that wasn't true; he had once tried a dozen times to open a chest he'd found on his property, but gave up in frustration. He hadn't taken it as one of his four skills, so, no luck here.
He pushed against the barred door. It was shut. He began rattling the bars to see if any were loose.
“Oi!” he heard. There was the clomping of boots on the wooden floor above him, growing louder as they came down a ladder. Even though it was weak light from a sputtering hand-held lantern, the light filled the area and Caertonn was able to see he was in a jail in a surprisingly small wooden room that also had no windows. He would come to learn there was a good reason for that.
“Hello!” Caertonn said brightly once the man was standing on the same floor as him. “I seem to be in a cell.”
“With good reason!” the man said. He was dressed in clothing similar to the gear Caertonn had been wearing in Roquefort, though this man had a perhaps-brown vest over his shirt. It was hard to tell in the faint light.
“What reason?” he asked, still remaining friendly.
“I don't be knowin' that, they don't be tellin' me things like that. Look, ye need to be quiet. We be sleepin' and we don't be needin' that racket.”
“I promise if you let me out of here I'll be quiet.”
“Fine,” he said, pulling a keychain off of a peg nearby and heading to the cell.
“You mean it? You'll let me out?”
“Sure. Where are ye gonna go?” The man cackled as he popped the key in and turned. The door swung open and he started to head back to the staircase.
“Where am I?” Caertonn asked.
“Ye be on the Sand Bar, a fluyt out of Sidlag on the western coast.”
“Fluyt?” he asked, but the man was already above him and he was gaining a sneaking suspicion as to his whereabouts.
He followed the man up into another floor, then another, seeing cannons, and hammocks set between them with men sleeping. Some men were even stretched out on top of a few pushed together crates, snoring with their mouths wide open.
After several more floors, he arrived at the top and took in a deep inhalation of salty air. The swaying made sense, now; he was on a ship. He immediately found a rail and held on to it for dear life, his knuckles going white.
“Oi! Who be ye now?” a sailor asked from the big basket on top of the tall stick with the blankets in the middle of the ship.
“Caertonn Jimson, reporting for duty,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Caertonn, like the things you hang in windows?”
“Yeah, ha ha,” he said, taking a few deep breaths.
“I don't be rememberin' ye now.”
“I just got on in...port.”
“Ah, we must've missed each other. What ye be doin' up here in the middle o' the night?”
“Small leak. Captain wanted me to take a look at it.”
“Ye be needin' help with the dinghy?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I think we bein' safe from any attack here. I'll help ye, laddie.”
The man shimmied down the post at a nauseating pace and stomped onto the deck. Caertonn followed him across the deck and put the end of the boat onto his shoulder. “So, how be Detraz?” the sailor asked.
“Oh, you know, rainy some days, sunny on others.”
“Yeah, that be soundin' like good old Detraz to me. Gosh, I be missin' that place.” They lowered the boat down. “Good luck to ye, laddie.”
“Thanks,” Caertonn said, swinging his leg over the rail. His hands didn't stop trembling violently the entire way down the metal ladder on the side of the ship. He couldn't feel his feet save for the pressure of the rungs. Once he reached the end, he whimpered before holding his breath and falling into the dinghy.
He released his breath. He cracked an eye open. He was alive, and only slightly wet.
There was a loud thud and something landed into the boat. Caertonn screamed. “Sorry, laddie, but ye forgot the tar!” the sailor said.
“Oh. Yeah. Thank you!”
Caertonn grabbed the oars and fiddled around with them until he started moving forwards. Unfortunately, this was in the direction of the ship and he slammed into the hull a few times. “Ye all right down there, laddie?”
“I'm good, thank you!”
He continued to row, now away from the ship and also aimlessly. Now that he was free of his jail cell and the ship, he didn't know where to go. He kept rowing, since stopping would make him think of the deep, dark depths that went on below him forever and the creatures that inhabited them. Cookie had found his lack of sea knowledge amusing and told him all about sharks, man-eating whales, giant squid, and a whole slew of fish with sharp, pointy teeth waiting to take chunks of his thighs for breakfast. Rowing was much better than thinking of those things.
Suddenly, there was a clunk and a hiss as something hit the boat. He screamed, then realized the boat was not moving. He whimpered, realizing a big fish must have the bottom in its mouth. Slowly, he turned and his night sensitive eyes saw that the boat had hit a beach. All of his breath exited his mouth in one giant whoosh and he felt lightheaded.
He stood and carefully jumped out of the boat on to the beach. He could hear nothing but the chirping of insects and the crash of the waves on shore. He scanned the area and saw a pinprick of light off in the distance.
It took him a while to walk from the soft sand to a more gravelly area. The ground softened once more, this time to grass, as the light grew larger and larger, until he realized it was from a candle in a hut.
“Hello?” he called out.
After a moment, the light moved and an old man stuck his head out with the candle in a holder. “Eh? What are you doing here?”
“I just came from...uh...there,” Caertonn said, pointing back to the sea.
“Funny, you don't look like a mermaid!” he said, cackling at his joke.
“No, sir, just an unlucky sailor.”
“Keep the peace and you can come in, if you like.”
Caertonn had nothing but the clothes on his back and said as much as he entered the hut. “I have a bucket of tar back in the boat, if you need it.”
“No thanks, boy, unless you plan on giving me a new roof. Sit, please,” he said, gesturing to the table, the only piece of furniture other than the two chairs. “Let me take a look at you.”
“I'm not much to look at.”
The old man held the candle out, taking in his face from different angles. “You're a rather good looking fellow, though not an impressive Chosen One, if you ask me.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. Now, you have a dilemma on your hands,” he said, scratching his beard. “You need to get back to Metraft, but you're here, not there. It just so happens that I can get you there.”
“You can?”
“Absolutely. But, you must answer three riddles. Answer any incorrectly and you'll find yourself back on the ship.”
Caertonn doubted the old man's ability to do so, but felt that politely going along with the charade couldn't hurt things. “All right, sir. I'm ready.”
“Good.” He reached up and plucked a strand from his head and held it in front of him. “When is a hair not a hair?”
Caertonn leaned back in his chair and thought about this for a few minutes. He thought of the possibilities of making the hair into something else, like how Rumpelstiltskin had woven straw into gold. He thought of magic, perhaps something an elementalist could do to make it something different. Then, we had all but given up, he thought of something he'd wondered about in a quiet moment on his farm.
"Now, you might wish to start by taking this map and following-"
“When it is a rabbit,” he said.
The old man opened his mouth, then closed it in thought. “That's not the answer I was looking for, but it's not incorrect. Second question,” he said, tapping his nose. “When is a nose not a nose?”
Since the question was phrased the same way, Caertonn didn't have to think too long upon the answer. “When it is learned.”
“Confound it! That's not...!” he said, pounding his fists on the table. “Fine! When is an eye not an eye?”
“When it is me.”
The old man covered his face with his hands and growled. He took a deep breath and removed them. “A bargain is a bargain. There were other answers, you know, good answers. And you needed to find...well, it's not important.” He waved his hand. “Go through the door and you'll be where you need to be.”
“The door I came in through?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“The same,” he said, sounding very old in that moment.
Caertonn thanked him and stepped through the door. He was expecting to find himself at the gate to Metraft or at least in the walls of the city. When he took in his surroundings, he almost turned around and accused the man of going back on his word, since he appeared to be in the ship again.
“Oi! He be out!” said a man sitting in a chair across the hallway from him.
Caertonn looked down the corridor and saw three figures come out of a room a few moments later, all looking like they had just woken from a nap. He recognized Captain Fancypants immediately, since he doubted there were many monkey pirates hanging about these parts. The woman he didn't know, but the man who was clapping him on the back was Jack Clarke. “Well done, laddie!”
“Well done what?”
“On the scenario! Ye just came from what we be callin' 'The Key Cay' and ye did it in good time! Two hours and forty-one minutes.”
“Ee ee ooh,” Yancy said, eyeing Caertonn.
“Well, he be a novice, Captain. None o' us expected the lad to get a top score, but it still be a good time! And it also be includin' the time he be out cold, too.”
“Wait,” Caertonn said. “You three...knocked me out, put me in a scenario, and expected me to finish it? Why?”
“Ee ee ooh ah ooh ooh ee,” Yancy said.
The other two looked at Caertonn, expecting a response. “I don't...”
“He said we be suspectin' ye of bein' a spy,” the lady said. “Young chap comes in, excellin' at things with a lot o' money, it be lookin' mighty suspicious.”
“Or he be a natural corsair, like I be sayin',” Jack said. “Some people just be one in their hearts. How did ye get through the riddles in record time?”
“I guessed! Look, you guys could have asked me anything and I would have answered!” he said. “I'm an honest person.”
The three looked at him and blinked a few times, then Jack said, “Oh, he hasn't taken 'Introduction to Stretching the Truth' yet.”
“Ahh,” the other two said.
“So, ye not be a spy?”
“No! My name is Caertonn Jimson. I grew up in Fallamari, about a dozen miles west of here. I arrived in Metraft with my group a few days ago.”
“What be yer party name?”
“What?”
“Yer party name. Yer group needs to be registered with a name.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Who be yer party leader?”
“I am, but...” He sighed. “I don't know what I'm doing. I've never had to lead people before. I have an elf who smokes halfling leaf all the time and fights with everyone, I have a minotaur healer who I have to protect and lead through everything, and my brute is obviously sandbagged by us being so low level. I think Breithart doesn't mind-”
“Whoa, wait, laddie. Did ye say 'Breithart'?”
“Yes, my brute's name is Breithart.”
“The Breithart?”
“I guess? He's level twenty-eight and always wears his armor. The guard at the gate said he was well-known, but I don't know, because I've never been out of Fallamari before. Well, there was one time I came to Metraft to sell a necklace for my-”
Jack put out his hand and turned to give a look to the other two. Yancy shoved him aside and pulled Caertonn down so they were standing nose-to-nose. “Ooh ee ooh ah ah ooh ee.”
“Is it a Communications thing? Like, I need to level up more?”
“He said that if you were with Breithart, then that would make you the Chosen One,” the woman said.
“Well, that's what Gilghest said.”
“Gilghest? You've met the Gilghest?” Jack said, pulling his hat off in disbelief.
“He came to my house two years ago and said I had to go on an epic quest...”
“Ah ooh ooh ee ah!” Yancy said.
“Yeah, we should check, just to be sure. When were you born?”
“I'll be eighteen on November First.”
The lady went back into the room and retrieved a book, flipping it as she walked back. “Says here...that there was a comet in the sky. And there was an eclipse. And the Aurora Borealis was especially bright. And Mount Kotawer erupted. I be wonderin' why no one paid attention to that afore.”
“So, ye must be havin' a mark somewhere then, laddie.”
As honest as Caertonn was, the thought strongly crossed his mind about lying in that moment. “Uh, it's nothing,” he said, his face like a brand.
The lady tittered. “Hmm, balls or ass?”
“Ass!” he said. “I mean, my behind. Please don't-”
Jack grabbed his midsection and bent him over, yanking his trousers down. It was bad enough that he felt the smooth fingers of the lady pirate on his cheek, but much worse when he felt Yancy's hairy digits poking him. “Ooh ee,” he said.
“Yes, why a cow, though?” the woman asked.
“I don't know, it's always been there,” Caertonn said, wriggling from Jack's embrace and pulling up his pants. “Now, can I please go to bed and get some rest? My group is running Sahrazad in the morning.”
“Yes, o' course, laddie,” Jack said.
He was still tired when he awoke a few hours later, but habits were habits. His clothing had been washed, folded, and left outside his door. Each item had been enhanced with a note stating that, if he preferred other enhancements, the guild would be more than happy to replace them with another. Did they feel guilty for putting him through the scenario, or was there something more to the kindness?
Bleary-eyed, he ate his shrimp omelet and eel sausage in peace, declining Cookie's lemon shandy, and left quietly. With nothing to do for a few hours, he walked the paths of the lots in the center of the square. He found himself stopping to enjoy the ranger's park and wound up sitting in between the trees, his pack to his left.
Not for the first time, he quandered his situation. He was feeling more miserable each day as a corsair. He knew it wasn't the right fit for him, but dropping the class for another would set his group's progress back too much. And he'd still have to pick from a list of classes he wasn't interested in.
There wasn't much he could do about it, so he promised himself that he would try to be more positive about it. Perhaps it was as Breithart had said, that he was more of a musketeer or a dandy style of corsair, and less a pirate one. He could focus on those aspects and hope that the hall in the next city was more akin to one of those branches.
He nodded off and awoke to someone toeing his leg with their boot. “Your position hasn't moved in hours,” Kinenhael said. “Lyd was worried that you were dead.”
“I'm not, I just had a rough night,” he said, yawning and stretching. “Are we ready?”
“The other two are in the road, waiting.”
Lyd ran up to Caertonn as he left the park. “I bought a new wand with the money we made last night!”
“Oh, let me see.” He flipped down his viewer and held it up in front of him. He used the fingers of his other hand to trace an outline and the stats of the wand lit up the side of his vision. “Plus one to spirit and plus two to intelligence. This is a great purchase, Lyd.”
“Thanks!” he said, smiling brightly. “The other sages said I need all the intelligence I could get!”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose that's true,” he said, sighing internally. Why did they have to be so mean to the poor guy?
“Sir, I hope you had a good night,” Breithart said, wearing his ornate armor with the vibrant red plume.
“Debatable,” Caertonn said, not wanting to get into it. “I was told we need to register our group. Is that true?”
“Well, that's totally up to you, m'lord,” he said as he began leading them out of the square. “If we register our group, our progress will be tallied for whatever we do. We'll get points for quest, dungeon, and battleground participation and completion. Every season there's a small festival and the top groups are awarded prizes and laurels.”
“It couldn't hurt to register. Maybe we'll even win!”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
By this point Caertonn was starting to pick up Breithart's tone in conversation. “You don't think we have a chance?”
“I think we most certainly have a chance of placing somewhere, m'lord, but top spots are reserved for some very intense adventurers. Simetti's winner for the last five seasons, Mayhem, runs top dungeons and raids every day, all day, as well as new quests. The higher the level, the more likely you are to get points, so we're far from the competitive tier.”
“Is there a reason to register, then?”
“Oh, yes. So long as you get one point, they'll give you a copper.”
Caertonn shrugged. “I suppose it's better than nothing. Could you lead us to the registration, Breithart?”
“It's actually just back a street, sir.”
Lyd didn't understand that stopping and turning around against the flow of foot traffic was considered rude and was impeding, partly because he'd never been to a city and mostly because, as a minotaur, he never had to feel the repercussions from that action. Several people swore as he plowed into them, until Caertonn ran over and led him to the other side of the busy street.
The office was one of several businesses in a large building. It was on the second floor and had a waiting room with a cooler, several chairs, and an aquarium. Lyd occupied his time watching the fish.
“Next!” a man called and Caertonn approached the teller. “Paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” Caertonn said.
The man sighed. “You need to fill out this,” he said, handing him a stack of papers, “before you can register.”
“Okay,” he said and began filling out at the window.
“It's recommended that you take your seat so that you don't hold up anyone else.” As it was the morning, the place was empty, but Caertonn took his seat and spent a solid fifteen minutes filling out the paperwork. It was filled with boxes requesting information he didn't know.
“Uh, Lyd, what is your maternal grandmother's name?” he asked.
“Oh, uh, Elsie. Yes, she lived until she was ninety-three. She was-”
“Thank you,” he said, having heard fifteen or sixteen stories from his bovine friend during his process. “I think that's it. Let me turn this in.”
The bored-looking man looked up from his counter. “Take a number, please.”
“But, we're the only ones in here and-”
“Number, please.”
Caertonn sighed and ripped a number from the ribbon. The man wrote a few notes, sipped on his tea, cleaned the lenses of his glasses, stretched, then finally looked up. “Next.”
Caertonn put his number on top of the papers and placed them on the counter.
“Hmm, yes,” the man said. “Well, you're missing form 13-B.”
“But, you handed me all the papers...”
“Sir, you're just going to have to fill out form 13-B before we can register your party.”
Caertonn took the form and walked back to his friends. “Is this worth a copper a season? I have the strangest compulsion to bang my head against the wall.”
“It's okay, m'lord, many people feel like that in the Registry of Mobile Adventurers,” Breithart said, patting him gently with his gauntlet.
“Says here we need a name. What do we want to call ourselves?”
“Okay, so that stuff I smoked the other day took me deep into this transcendental state,” Kinenhael said. “And I dreamed about these cow overlords that watched over us. And they were sipping tea and playing cards. So, how about, like, the Cow Dealers?”
“Uh...” Caertonn said, pretending to consider it.
“Tile,” Lyd said. “Wall. Fish.”
“Are you just naming things you see, Lyd?”
“Sir, sometimes parties like picking a name that combines everyone's name or their initials.”
“BLaCK? No, we can't be BLaCK.”
“That's racist,” Kine said.
“No, I mean you can't be a...a...” he said, snapping his fingers.
“An adjective, sir?” Breithart offered.
“Yes, thank you. Well, I guess you can be, if it's something like 'Powerful' or 'Mighty'.”
“Mighty,” Lyd said, nodding.
“You guys want to be called 'Mighty'?”
“Eh...” both Kine and Breithart said, wobbling their outstretched hands.
“Yeah, me neither.”
“We could look at our classes, m'lord. There is an all-warrior party called The Cavalry and an all-ninja party called John Cena.”
“What...? Okay, so something to do with engineering, ships, healing, and knights. How about 'Bomb, Calm, Sail, and Mail'.”
“Chair,” Lyd offered.
“I like it, sir,” Breithart said. When Kine didn't object, Caertonn registered their name and they left that hellish place as quickly as possible.
“Our next place will be quite hellish,” Breithart said and Caertonn's shoulders slumped.
“Where are we going?”
“We'll be going to Sahrazad, but it's the area around the raid that's difficult.”
“What's around the raid?”
“I think they call it 'Maple Street', sir.” Caertonn gave him a flat look. “Oh, my apologies. They call it the Crumb Slum, or sometimes the Strum Slum or Pathetic Pit. While most classes allow an adventurer to function on their own, there are some that can't. Healers, for example, have only one weak spell to harm mobs. However, they find places in a group quickly and have no problems leveling up in a party. The Auxiliary classes don't. They wind up begging outside raids, hoping to be taken in a by a group.”
“That's kind of sad,” Caertonn said.
“It is, m'lord, but might I remind you that we can only take one. We should also be on the lookout for a caster, too. That way no one will have to share Eod tokens.”
“Okay,” he said, and they turned the corner onto Maple Street. There were a few dozen people sitting outside a small stucco pavilion, playing on their pipes or lyres. One of them spotted their party and pointed in their direction. Several people stood and ran up to them.
“Hey! I'm a level eleven bard! I know all the best tunes, including 'She Weeds the Vines Every Day' and 'The Very Layered Sugar Stick'!”
“Level twelve bard, here! I've run Sahrazad five times!”
“I'm a pipe and drum bard with enhancements to intellect and strength!”
“This is very sad,” Caertonn said, plucking a woman's hands from his shirt.
“It is an unfortunate side effect of picking an Auxiliary class, m'lord. While the spells they possess are valuable to a group, they are dead in the water when it comes to solo leveling. Witches and clerics have it a little easier, since they do have at least one attack spell, but bards have none.”
“Maybe they shouldn't have chosen to be bards,” Kinenhael said, eating a can of tai beans from a can. Lyd was staring at the simple opener he had used, fascinated.
“And then who would enhance parties?”
“Parties don't have to be enhanced. It makes things easier, but we could easily do the raid without them.”
Breithart sighed. “They bring a lot of value to life. They are the only class that can cast spells that affect people passively and they can do so in a positive way. They play at festivals and-”
“Breithart?” they heard, and turned to see a bearded man in green minstrel clothing standing from his spot on the side of the road. Though the garb was tattered and dirty, it was clearly of a higher quality than most of the other bards.
“Givgy?” Breithart asked.
“It is you! I couldn't tell, since you had different armor, but...well, hey! How are you?”
“Doing well, Givgy.”
“Wow, it is so nice to see you! Are you running Sahrazad?”
“We were planning on it,” he said quietly.
“Oh, wonderful! Were you looking for a bard?”
“We were looking for an Auxiliary class, yes.”
“Ah, so, since we've worked together before and we have so much history together, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I joined.”
Breithart looked ahead for a few moments, then turned towards Caertonn. “Sir, would you mind if Givgy joined us for Sahrazad?”
“No, not at all,” he said.
Givgy enthusiastically shook his hand. “Thank you so much!” he said, while the crowd outside groaned in disappointment.
They walked inside the pavilion and looked around. There was some care given this place, since the marble tiles were clean and uncracked and the plants in pots thrived. “Aren't we missing one more?” Caertonn asked.
“Yes, m'lord. We need someone from the casting class, and I didn't see anyone waiting. Over yonder is a registry office where resident adventurers can find groups and fill out contracts. We can see if there are any casters looking to join a group.”
“I don't think I can handle another registry,” he admitted.
“It will be easy, sir, not like the other place.”
“Aren't you coming?”
“If you don't mind, I'd like to have a little talk with Givgy, to make sure we're on the same page. I'll send him your way for his contract once we're finished.”
“All right,” Caertonn said and took off towards the registry.
The lady at the desk was cheerful and got his request in quickly. “Do you help with setting up pool accounts for parties?”
“Oh, absolutely!” she said, pulling out paperwork. “You'll need to figure out the terms and have everyone sign before we can open it.”
Caertonn was seated on a nearby couch when a man sat next to him. He didn't think anything of it until he spoke to him. “Word has it you're looking for a caster for Sahrazad.”
He looked up and saw the man was cloaked, his hood drawn down over his face. The man clung on to a staff with an attached banner of gray and blue brick print with several beads below. “Yes. We've collected five out of the six and we need the last one.”
“Will an elementalist be fine? I'm level eighteen.”
“Oh, that's great! If you don't mind, the healer and I are level ten and our bombardier is eleven. Our brute is twenty-eight.”
“Breithart, yes?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
The man side-stepped this question. “If we are in agreement, I'll fill out a contract and we can start whenever we're ready.”
Givgy took the man's seat once he left. “Who was that?”
“I found us an elementalist. Or he found us. Either way, we have a full raid and we can go in!”
“What's his name?”
“I...don't know. He said he was level eighteen.” He flipped down his viewer and saw the cloaked man filling out paperwork at the desk. “It says his name is Reginald.”
“Hmm. You don't seem to mind people who keep you in the dark about their identities, do you?”
“You're speaking of Breithart. It's fine. Everyone has a secret they're keeping and I know his intentions are for the good.”
“Not all of us are keeping secrets, or are keeping them well. I know yours, for instance.”
“You do?” Caertonn asked, swallowing.
“Yes. Well, if Breithart is proudly bruting for you and calling you 'sir', then you must be the Chosen One.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, laughing lightly. “I forget about it often.”
“I'm glad he's finally found you. He's been waiting a long time for this, pouring in countless hours of his time and resources so that he could be the best brute possible for when you were ready.”
“I feel undeserving of the position, to be honest.”
“I'm sure you are deserving, you just don't know it yet.” He smiled, smoothing out his mustache and beard. “So, to business, lad. I would like one-sixth of the total profit, first pass for jewelry, and all trash loot.”
“Oh, that sounds fair,” Caertonn said.
“Sounds like he's taking advantage of a novice,” Reginald said, his staff clacking still in front of the bard.
“I beg your pardon?” Givgy turned to look at up Reginald.
“If I may, the contract I've drawn up is very fair.” He handed it to Caertonn, who scanned the provisions quickly.
[X] Any Eod tokens for the [caster] class will go to the adventurer.
[X] The adventurer will participate in a [round robin] selection for any and all jewelry.
[ ] The adventurer accepts inferior grade materials, weapons, and armor.
[ ] The adventurer receives a part of any quest's immediate monetary gain.
[X] The fee for the adventurer's time is [0 to 1/6th] of [profit received off mobs and bosses]
[X] The adventurer [forfeits]/accepts any money, loot, and/or quest completion if they fail to participate in the raid.
[X] Raid cannot reject the adventurer due to any unalterable conditions.
There was some fine print at the bottom about not speaking to anyone about what went on during the raid.
“So, everyone gets a chance to get jewelry and you don't want any extra money?” Caertonn asked, looked up at the elementalist.
“Correct. I feel that I will be making enough money as is. No need to nickel and dime you for more.”
“I am not 'nickel and diming' them!" Givgy exclaimed. "I've run many raids where the terms I presented were considered fair and equitable.”
“But, perhaps not here. What say you, group leader?”
“I...think we should go with Reginald's contract.”
“Fine,” Givgy said bitterly, and walked up to the desk to fill out his contract.
“You'll need to be careful," Reginald said. "People will try to take advantage of you, if you'll let them.”
Once all the paperwork was finished, the six of them accepted their quests outside the portal, then stepped in one-by-one into a palace. It floor was white and pristine. Gold-painted lattices held plants that tangled their winding branches in between the openings. The walls were a bright blue with white edging and scrollwork.
“Who has been in Sahrazad before?” Reginald asked.
He, Givgy, and Breithart raised their hands.
“Okay, we should prepare here before we begin. Once we cross that line,” he said, pointing his staff at the thin doorway with a inverted heart-shaped top, “we are timed as we make our way to Sahrazad.”
Givgy began singing tunes and Caertonn saw his stats increase. Breithart tapped on his forearm and his armor began shifting to something thicker and stronger. Kinenhael started chowing down on his tai beans.
“Hi!” said a voice from behind one of the screens and the group startled.
“Hello?” Caertonn asked.
A young man, darker in skin and hair, stepped out. He wore disheveled clothing and had a scimitar strapped to his hip with a red cloth belt. “I was wondering if you could help me out. I need to speak with the queen, Sahrazad.”
“That's where we're heading next,” Reginald said.
“Wait, what's your name?” Caertonn asked.
“Sindbad,” he answered.
“Oh, he's all right, guys. This was part of the quest I took.”
Reginald spoke up. “I've never seen this before.”
“I get extra quests because...well...”
Reginald turned his head to Breithart, then back at Caertonn. “You're the Chosen One? I though that was Richard Inciter.”
“Hardly,” Breithart said drily.
Reginald moved his cowl off his head. Givgy strummed his lyre off-key. “Eep!” he squeaked as Reginald scratched his goat head.
“Your Highness?” Breithart asked.
“Hello, Breithart, it's good to see you again.”
“I didn't realize you were an elementalist, sire.”
“No one does, or at least they don't until we step in here. I make my contracts out the way I do so they won't speak about it afterward.”
“W-w-w-we can't r-r-raid with the Prince of Metraft!” Givgy blubbered.
“Oh, you'll find you have to, now,” he said. “I'll be fine. I have my own Resurrection Bracelet and I've run this over a dozen times.”
“I'm confused,” Kine said.
“Reginald, Prince Reginald, is one of the King of Metraft's sons! He's part of the noble goatsi clan!” Givgy hissed.
“Are you going to finish that?” Reginald asked Kinenhael.
“Well, no, but there aren't many beans left in-”
Reginald took the can from Kinenhael's hand and began to chew it whole. “Thank you,” he said.
“Oh. Kay.” Kine said. “This is going to be weird.”