Topher Bailey awoke.

He'd done it a handful of times now since getting married, but he still wasn't used to it. For most of his life, bestirring himself from slumber had been a reluctant chore at best and an unwelcome attack upon his consciousness more often than not; but now, draped in sweat-lathered sheets with his arms full of green-skinned goddess (at least, to his way of thinking), it was a thrill without compare.

He kissed her neck gently, breathing in her scent, and exhaled with satisfaction as she stirred slightly and murmured; for longer than he could remember, he'd never been able to believe that anything like this could be possible. Now that it had, against all probability, happened, he found it even more intoxicating than he could have ever dreamed; he kept expecting to wake up, to be told that it had all been a fantasy. But out of the corner of his eye, he could dimly see the glow where he'd left Quint's letter tacked up on the wall; summoning his glasses to him with Attract Object, he reluctantly fumbled them on and squinted to discover that he had less than half an hour until the runes at the bottom ticked down to zero. Because, of course, it had always been a countdown.

Extricating himself with the greatest of care from Zanasha's sleepy, grasping embrace, he dressed as quietly as he could; he didn't want to wake her, for so very many reasons. But when he was fully attired and ready, he couldn't resist spending two of his last three minutes seated on the bed besides her, stroking her hair and her back; he couldn't see his own expression, but he knew it probably looked pretty stupid. Don't care. I love you.

Finally, he watched with a sigh as the countdown hit one minute; he got up, pocketed the note, and quietly let himself out the door to the suite to wait for whoever was going to try to fetch him. He wasn't planning on going quietly.

The problem, as he saw it, was very simple; Quint and the others expected him to come roaring out of nowhere and pull some kind of magic bullshit out of his ass to identify, find, and stop the True Demon Lord or some other equally ridiculous deus ex machina. But he knew, as he'd always known, that that wasn't going to happen.

Topher Bailey might, in this world, be some kind of wizard (which was more than he'd ever been back home) but even with all his lucky breaks and Otherworlder shenanigans, he was still an incredibly shitty excuse for a wizard whose most impressive skill was the ability to take a fireball to the face without dying. Noteworthy, sure, but not exactly a fulcrum upon which a real lever for change could be balanced -- something he'd been willing to accept forty-eight hours ago, before he'd gotten his first real taste of happiness. But the last two days had redefined his concept of what life could be quite radically, and he was no longer quite as eager to march into the meat grinder for the sake of anyone else's nebulous objectives.

And so, here he stood, watching and waiting for the last few seconds of his honeymoon to tick away, whereupon Quint or Kelfir or some other asshole was going to come around the corner and ask him to set everything he'd just gotten on fire for other people who didn't give a shit about him or Nasha. When they did, he was going to tell them to fuck off; then they'd see where everything went from there. But when someone rounded the corner just when the countdown ticked to zero, it took him by surprise for a number of reasons.

The first was that it was three people, all of them unfamiliar; the woman in the lead was a honey-blonde half-elf wearing a bright green scarf that he'd never seen before, and two figures in robes trailed behind her. The one in the rear, who wore a travel-stained robe of plain brown fabric, had his hood up, but the other was a blue-robed mage that Topher found vaguely familiar but couldn't place.

As they approached, the two mages fell back as the woman stepped up to Topher; she glanced at him in slight confusion, then bowed deeply and clasped her hands together. "Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me where I can find Zanasha Jones?"

Instantly, Topher's brows shot up; this wasn't in the script. Reflexively, he examined the woman's status.

Receptionist: Jilfine Norseris

Receptionist? What the hell? Shaking himself, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him. "She's asleep," he muttered, trying to keep his voice down. "I'm her... uh... husband. What's this about?"

The woman bowed again, a distressed expression on her face. "Ah, I'm sorry, Mister Jones, but it's confidential. Guild business, sir."

Mister Jones? Topher felt a grin tickle his face, but fought it down. Well, I do wish I was a little more funky... "It's Bailey, actually -- Christopher Bailey. And I'm a guild member too -- registered in Frostford."

The half-elf's face crinkled slightly in confusion, then cleared. She bowed a third time. "Again, sir, I'm very sorry, but it's something I need to discuss with Miss... er, Mrs. Jones. I'm sure your registration is in order, but..."

Abruptly, the door behind Topher opened; he jumped slightly, having heard not so much as a whisper from within the room, and half-turned to see Zanasha gloriously resplendent in a bathrobe with exceedingly obvious sex hair. "One of the benefits of the Fighter Class," she murmured, "is that the Alertness Skill makes one a very light sleeper." She slipped up behind Topher, wrapping her arms around his waist, and nestled her chin on his shoulder as she beheld the newcomers. "Miss Norseris. It is a pleasure to see you again."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Ah, you too!" The half-elf straightened up, then bowed to Zanasha, before fumbling in her bodice for a large white envelope. "Congratulations on your wedding, by the way. I'm so sorry to, um, interrupt" -- here she shot an embarrassed look at Topher -- "but the Guildmaster asked me to deliver this to you."

Topher could practically feel his wife's eyebrows go up in surprise. "Guildmaster Ferrin?" She reached out and took the envelope, slipping one of her prim tusks into the crease and opening it with a zipping motion; pulling out a cream-colored sheet of folded paper within, she held it up for Topher to read along with her, which filled his heart to overflowing with a cascading tumult of emotions. She's including me. And also telling them to suck it for trying to keep me in the dark. God damn, did I hit the fucking jackpot or what?

Despite all the fanfare, the letter was brief and to the point; it stated that Zanasha Jones, Iron-rank Adventurer, had been requested by the Guildmaster for a special Quest which would raise her rank to Bronze if completed. Outbound and returning transport was to be provided by a Guild Mage, with an engagement limit of three days and a reward of one thousand gold pieces; there was even a handwritten note at the bottom informing her, very professionally, that the Guildmaster was terribly sorry to bother her but the Quest was just so important and he would consider it a personal favor if she would do him the very great honor of...

Topher stopped reading; his brain was already heating up in a slow boil of rage. This had the fingerprints of Quint's devious little ratlike mind all over it; at a stroke, he'd put Topher in a position where refusing would look like he wasn't supporting his new wife, while neatly undercutting his own incipient tantrum by pointing out that the crisis affected more than just Topher Bailey's happiness. Worst of all, he knew it would work; he wanted to support her ambitions, knew that she'd probably been working for literal years towards an increased rank, and knew that her involvement would likely be the difference between life and death for everyone else involved. That motherfucker, he swore without much feeling to himself; I get that he's trying to save the world, but does he have to be such a showoff about it?

Annoyed, he forced himself to pay attention to what was happening; Zanasha was still holding the note up for him, apparently waiting for him to finish reading it. He reached out and covered her hand with his own, squeezing it gently to let her know he was ready, and she lowered it and folded it back up before replacing it in the envelope. "May I have a moment to confer with my husband?" she asked the receptionist.

"Of course! Of course, please, take your time..." The elf woman twisted her scarf in her hands nervously. Zanasha nodded, then gently began to pull Topher back into the suite; he fell back with her as she gently pushed the door shut with a click.

She turned, facing him; he was stunned yet again by her beauty, and wished he could just pull her back into the bed and forget all this. "The timing," she said, somewhat wryly, "is inconvenient. But I would like to accept. How do you feel?"

Topher blinked. "Me? Babe, you don't have to ask my permission. I'll always back you up, whatever you choose."

"You are my husband." Her half-shy smile, nestled beneath cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of rose at his words, peeked out at him like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I may not need your permission, but I do value your counsel. Is this wise? The Archmages may have other need for us."

Topher groaned. "Nasha, this is coming from the Archmages; I'm sure of it. The only real reason you might have not to do this is because I'm selfish, and want you all to myself." He grinned at himself, unable to resist the irony of the situation. "If it was up to me, I'd tell these guys to get lost and permanently lock that door. But even I know that's not a real solution."

She kept smiling, eyes downcast. "Thank you, husband. I will accept the Quest." Then, abruptly, she was pressed up against him; her arms wrapped around his neck as her lips met his, questing tongue darting boldly into his mouth for a swift but passionate kiss before she nestled her cheek against his. "And I will return very soon," she whispered into his ear.

Desire thundered through Topher like a herd of runaway Clydesdales; it was only through iron self-control that he managed to resist tearing open her robe and dragging her to the floor in response. "You'd better," he managed, panting for breath; frustrated with his feeble rejoinder, he settled for grabbing her about the waist and squeezing her to him. "I have a lot more 'counsel' to give you."

She gasped in his ear, her body melting against his; then, agonizingly, she was gone, leaving a Zanasha-shaped pool of coldness on his skin where she had been before. Dizzily, he heard her go back into the hall and inform the others; then, everything was a whirlwind of activity. Before he knew it, she had changed and dressed once more; attired in her sleek scout's armor and bearing her swords, she beckoned him forward. "Come, husband," she purred, pulling him back through the door. "Will you not see me off?"

"Oh, sure," sighed Topher, not unhappily. "Have a great day at work, dear." Grinning, he kissed her again; he knew all three of the others were staring, and could not have cared less. The kiss was so long that it became uncomfortable and embarrassing for everyone else, but Topher didn't give a fuck. Deal with it, suckers.

Finally, cruelly, it ended; she stepped back, murmuring endearments, and moved to stand next to the half-elf. Jilfine, that's right. The half-elf, in turn, looked to the blue-robed mage; he gestured for everyone to approach. "If you'll both hold hands..." he began.

At the sound of his voice, Topher recognized him -- holy shit, it's that Alkran guy, who taught the mage classes -- but it was too late to say anything; in a flare of pale blue light, the three of them were gone. Topher sighed, then noticed that the other mage in the brown robe had been left behind; he frowned. "Hey, weren't you supposed to go too?"

"I am not here for them; I am here for you." The mage pulled back the hood of his robe; Topher's jaw dropped open in surprise and confusion. "Is it perhaps too much to hope," said Varissian Leafwind, very gravely, "that you have some idea where my father has gone?"