“So came we to this grand separation,

All those “good times” we put in quotation,

Good gods, good grief, good riddance goodbye,

But what if we gave it the old College try?”

— The Ballad of Sir Joe, by “Golden-Voiced” Garbeaux.

McGrue was at the banquet table in Joe’s suite, near the front door. “Bloody bollocks bullshit!” McGrue was gathering up his equipment, a pair of short swords and several daggers, laying them out on the giant hardwood surface. He even grabbed his ax, wrapping it with the other steel, which he would be selling at the first possible opportunity. “Not enough gold to pay us for even a month. How many months was it he owed us?”

“Uh, let’s see…” I said as I reviewed the ledger, hoping it would say something different this time. “Nine … nine months.”

“Nine months of work with nothing to show. Fuck!” growled McGrue. “Selling all this shite will buy my way to somewhere nobody cares about this … blowhard idiot. But that’s it. Just need more time. We’re sure nobody else knows?”

Aimee held up her hands, bringing them down in a calming motion. “Nobody. And that amulet of non-detection he wears means that no one is going to figure it out magically until he starts rotting before them,” said Aimee. “Wrap him in blankets and leave him on his bed then you’re looking at a good month before he, well … drips through the floor.”

That description made my gorge rise. “Listen, we can get the pay, okay? We can just do what we’ve been doing, Joe’s been on a bender again, we walk him to the Temple. There’s no way the priest asks Sir Joe the Bold up front for pay. Next thing you know he’s resurrected, pays for his restoration to life and then he can pay us for the last nine months.”

McGrue and Aimee stared at me, flatly, and I knew right away I’d said something wrong. It was Aimee who finally spoke after taking a deep sigh. “And you see nothing wrong with the dead Joe asking the priest to resurrect … himself?”

“I … oh. Wait.” I saw my idiocy, born as it was from desperation.

“Yeah…” said McGrue with an exaggerated smile. “No gold that way either. I’m no Mathemagician but zero gold plus McGrue don’t add up.”

Aimee perked up. “Oh! I love Mathemagicians. That was going to be my major but, y’know, slow advancement and all those numbers. Pay’s great though, I hear.”

“Gods bless your smile, dear.” said McGrue, clearly annoyed.

All went silent for a moment before McGrue’s guts were heard to gurgle. “Mmf.” he grunted, looked across the table where he was laying out his gear, and grabbed the lid off of a previously ignored tray; there was food underneath! Joe had apparently ordered a banquet, a dozen trays, before our quest and not finished it. The half-orc started eating straight away.

Aimee recoiled. “Oh, gods, McGrue! Who knows how long that’s been there?”

“No bugs no foul.” he belched. “Besides, you didn’t complain about my scroungin’ when I found what wealth we do have from Joe’s meat suit.”

Aimee lifted a lid and found what appeared to be crackers, pate’ and a variety of fruits. It was perfectly fresh. “Oh, gods, a day ago I was going out on a mission for the King. Now…” Aimee, too, started eating.

I was losing their attention. “Okay! Uh, well, hold on. The problem is he’s rotting, right?” I asked, my tone, I’m sure, pleading. My own guts twisting up after a day’s fast I wound up grabbing a tray as well, scarcely noticing what it was as I shoveled it down my gullet.

“I mean … it’s a problem, sure.” said Aimee.

“And we could stop him from rotting?” I asked, an idea forming.

McGrue rolled his eyes. “Eh, my Alchemical mixture is … okay, but, y’know, it’s like a potent jerky-making rub. There’s limitations.”

“Well, hold on.” said Aimee, flexing her fingers, “I mean, I’m a Hedge Wizard, right? I know I’ll never be flattening an army from the sky but stopping a body from rotting isn’t very complicated. Gentle Repose, for example. I can cast that a few times a day, easy.”

“Yes!” I wasn’t there yet, the pitch had to be perfect but the setup wasn’t done. I knew if I just kept talking I’d find the right words! “And McGrue, you’re … what? You blow this town then just go out looking for more work? Your personal guild rank is copper, right?” I said, pacing near him. Adventurers were ranked from copper, like McGrue, to platinum like Joe. The difference in pay was immense. McGrue nodded slowly so I turned to Aimee, “And you’re going to go back to visit your sister?”

“I’d have to. She’s a High Archmage and insufferable…” said Aimee sourly. High Archmages were the upgrade to the Archmage class. That meant that her sister was nearing the lofty level 100 in a truly elite class. “I’ve lived my whole life in her immense shadow. Be thankful you humans don’t have to deal with siblings hundreds of years older than yourself. I’ll never compare to her. I joined up with Sir Joe to be a hero but I haven’t tried being a hero yet. Frankly, after an entire year with him, I still haven’t had the chance to try...”

“That. Is. Terrible. So what I’m hearing is that you, McGrue, will be earning only coppers each month, possibly for years.” McGrue stiffened, every tendon, ligament and vein in his body standing up. “And you, Aimee, get to go from being recognized as Ammon, the great Hero’s personal Wizard to, what…? Houseguest to someone who will never see you as anything but a little. Baby. Girl…” Aimee gasped and grasped her face with both hands.

The manipulation was so egregious that I felt bad for them, but only for a moment. He had the might of arms, she had her magic and I had a silver tongue. If they couldn’t match me then that was their fault. “But what if there were an alternative?”

“Alternative?” Aimee asked, incredulous.

“Yes. That is to say; what happens if we just … continue adventuring?” I asked with a grand gesture, causing both other party members to stare at me agape.

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“You can’t be serious,” snorted McGrue with a sneer. “I mean, I’m the only one here with a useful class. And none of us have ranking!” Everyone had a class, but not all classes were useful for adventuring.

For example, a pot maker would have the potter class. Those were great for making pots, but tended to be kind of terrible for anything not related to ceramics. Specializing in the use of ceramic weapons and armor sounds great until you fight someone using steel. Those were some ugly incidents as I recall.

I pressed my advantage. “Okay, sure. You are a level 7 orc thug, literally,” I said. “That’s just an uncommon class. I’m a bard, which is a rare class. Rare means more than uncommon.” Classes had a rarity that determined their base strength level, they varied between common and rare. Common classes were something that just about anyone could do, like fighter or, for example, Hedge Witch/Wizard. Bards were rare classes with more elevated requirements. “Remember, I had to attend four years of bard college. Aimee dropped out of her college and there is no Thug college.”

“Only one of us knows how to fight!” growled McGrue, “That tends to come up during adventuring.” There was bile in his voice. I had to play it careful or he’d win the argument with his fists.

“I know how to fight,” I replied. “I’ve taken a semester in footwork and, I’m sure you know, fencing is the domain of the Bard.” My right hand found the hilt of my poor, neglected rapier. It seemed like a good bluff.

Or not. “You can’t believe that. Sonny, you can lie to others, but don’t lie to yourself,” said Aimee.

“I’m a level 10 bard, that’s a perfectly acceptable class for adventuring!” I replied, the instructors said so. “Like you I’ve been forbidden from shining! We can be past that. We can shine starting now!”

“Uh! No, dammit, no. You’re not listening. You’re first tier just like McGrue! I’m the only one here who’s actually approaching the second tier,” said Aimee, the level 24 Hedge Wizard. She should have been more impressive but common classes required the least experience to level because they were the least powerful classes.

Wizards were the most versatile, and most powerful, starting spell casting class. It was a rare class, with requirements as challenging as being a bard and as such there were a lot of people unable to actually pass their wizarding tests.

Normally a Wizard who failed devolved into a Sorcerer. A wizard was good with all kinds of arcane magic, while a sorcerer was only good at a small subset of the arcane. A fire sorcerer could cause a lot of damage and an illusionist sorcerer could hide a party from danger. The knowledge that gave them power fell away, becoming instinct.

Hedge wizards were literally wizard school dropouts. They would take general knowledge of magic, riff with it like a guitarist playing no tune at all, and try to change the effects. If Wizards cast by the book and Sorcerers cast by the heart then Hedge Wizards cast by the seat of their pants. Between using Arcana to change ingredients and effects and a tendency to dabble in Wild Magic, a Hedge Wizard was less a title than a condition. One you didn’t want to admit you had. They were often ineffective but could be, at worst, explosive.

As a Hedge Wizard Aimee was a special case. Her class combined the versatility of a wizard with the skills of a charlatan which she amplified by being a talented actress. Forced to fight Aimee could act as a wizard, but her actual magical ability was unreliable.

“Why did you take the hedge wizard class anyway?” I asked.

“Because I’m trying to get up to level 25.” said Aimee, examining her nails. “Maybe you’re too low level to know but at level twenty-five you unlock your first racial ability and I’m going to take Elven Longevity.” She was right and, at the same level, you got to choose not just that but also a class upgrade.

As a human, I got the biggest variety while other races got more focused options. My mother told me growing up that her great grandfather was an Elf so I was going to take Elf-Blooded for some nice lowlight vision and a few other little perks but I wasn’t about to tell Aimee that in the middle of an argument.

“All elves take longevity,” said McGrue, which was true. It was generally accepted that an elf lived for about 200 years naturally but as soon as one of them reached level 25 they took Elven Longevity. That doubled their maximum age and, if you made it to level fifty, seventy-five or more you could enhance it further.

“You chose a common class so you could … reach level 25 the fastest.” I said, it started out as a question but even as I asked it I knew that I was right. She intentionally limited herself to stay younger longer. To gain Longevity in the flush of her youth meant that she might look the same for two-hundred years. Again, taking it twice could lengthen that more.

“I did. So what if I did? Were you serious about us continuing as a party?” she asked, perhaps redirecting to save face. One down. I glanced over at McGrue and decided to go all in.

“Deadly serious, think about it. If we can convince the King that Joe is still alive then we are going to get paid four hundred gold pieces,” I said.

“Hoo! Boy’s got base in his voice all of a sudden!” cackled McGrue.

“McGrue, I’m serious. Sargon, look at me.”

He didn’t much like hearing his first name. My theory was that his parents called him Sargon when he was in trouble. He did turn but with an angry sneer. “What?”

“With … puppetry, with magic, with Mimickry and Ventriloquism, we can make him seem alive. He never took his helmet off anyway, man. Think about it.”

McGrue’s sneer faded. “How?” asked the Orc. “It sure didn’t work when I dressed up like him.”

“Simple. We animate Joe’s corpse,” I turned to Aimee. “Unlike his living body his dead body isn’t immune to most magic, that means you can cast the spell on him.”

“I can’t just cast Walking Dead,” said Aimee, who then looked over at the scrolls. “Wait, no, that’s not just a create zombie spell. We have Walking Dead scrolls. Walking Dead’s good for an hour at most and then Joe would be just as dead as before. Plus the, ah, side effects.”

“Side effects?” interjected McGrue.

“Oh, yeah, no big deal. Just an insatiable, contagious lust for living flesh.”

“What are you saying? If you got him moving you wouldn’t be able to control your creation?” I used a condescending tone, the twinge of guilt at my manipulation was getting stronger but I was so close!

“Excuse me!? Yes, I can control him. Just much more directly … with this.” Aimee held up the skull fetish taken off of Ignus, the dead Dark Wizard, processed into mulch by Joe.

“Direct control for an hour? Why, that sounds better than Animate Dead to me. And meetings with the King don’t take an hour!” I said. “You animate him, I mimic his voice. We get paid and we can keep on adventuring at the platinum rank.”

“Wait, you mean… That’s insane!” said Aimee.

“Is it?” I asked. “We’d be in charge for once, we’d pick the quests we take. We could actually go out and properly adventure! You don’t think we could beat that ‘Goblin King’!? He was tough but the main reason it was a platinum quest was that nobody knew what was in the Goblin Stronghold. Yes, it would’ve been tough, but no, we wouldn’t have needed Joe to complete that quest.”

“Think of the gold.” said McGrue. “I worked by myself on some copper quests. They call them copper because that’s what they pay. Even when the payoff was hundreds of copper it just doesn’t add up like you’d think! Aimee, listen to the man. Just being in Joe’s party means we are a platinum ranked party. Hell, maybe we don’t even need to take the corpse with us on most missions.

That was true. Copper quests paid copper pieces. Silver paid out in silver. Gold paid out in gold. Strangely, platinum quests also paid out in gold, just more of it. “Point of order,” I interjected “In all that gear of his Joe would make an incredible meat shield.”

“True!” Fully won over, McGrue, feeling that old gold lust, grabbed Aimee by the shoulders. “That means we get to go on the most lucrative, high profile adventures. Eventually we’d be the heroes of the realm, not nasty Joe Mul-finger! P-thah!” Spitting off to the side, he was emphatic. “Think of the gold!” urged McGrue, greedy McGrue.

“You’re right. And fame … think of the fame!” said Aimee, narcissistic Aimee.

“Think of all the good we could do in the world!” I said, keeping the theme going.

Aimee looked confused and McGrue just shook his head. “Garbeaux, be truthful, do you think we can pull this off?” asked McGrue.

“No one will ever be able to tell anything is wrong,” I replied confidently. “We’ve got this…”