Tessa Fairwind had been on the job for exactly forty-seven minutes and had already vaporized a pudding monster, destroyed half the town square, and attracted the attention of every local pigeon, toddler, and minor deity within shouting distance.

  Now she was about to meet the team that the Guild, in its infinite cosmic incompetence, had assembled for her.

  The lute guy got there first.

  He hopped over a toppled mailbox, struck a pose like he was waiting for someone to paint him, and grinned. “Elion Faerwind. Bard. Philosopher. Former goat consultant.”

  Tessa stared. “Goat... consultant?”

  “Let’s not dwell on my past,” Elion said, tuning his lute mid-sentence. “I saw that pudding takedown. Very administrative. Almost poetic. May I write a ballad about it?”

  “No.”

  “Too late. Already rhyming audit with saw it in my head.”

  Next came the barbarian. He looked like a bear that had been given a sentient beard and a minor cooking addiction. His axe was strapped across his back. His apron read “MEAT FIRST, QUESTIONS LATER.”

  “Bjorn Stonemane,” he rumbled. “Used to be a tavern chef. Took the job for the benefits.”

  “What benefits?” Tessa asked.

  “Free axe.”

  Jeff muttered, “Fair.”

  The rogue arrived last, crawling out of a barrel that he insisted had been for recon purposes, not cowardice. He sneezed, waved half-heartedly, and introduced himself as “Nobody Important.”

  “You don’t have a name?” Tessa asked.

  “I had one,” the rogue said, rubbing his temples. “Then a teleportation scroll misfired and scrambled my long-term memory. Now I mostly operate on caffeine and fear.”

  “You sound extremely qualified.”

  “Guild says I meet the bare minimum.”

  Tessa looked around at her so-called adventuring party: a smug bard, a cooking-themed barbarian, a rogue with mystery trauma, and a talking backpack with anxiety.

  She flipped open her clipboard and made a note:

  > Team Status:

  Unbalanced.

  Probably cursed.

  No insurance.

  “Right,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “You’ve all been assigned to me by some arcane mishap, so let’s get this over with. What are your skills?”

  Bjorn cracked his knuckles. “I kill things. Also, I bake bread.”

  Elion strummed a minor chord. “I inspire greatness, narrate emotionally charged scenes, and once distracted a banshee with interpretive dance.”

  Nobody Important shrugged. “I sneak. I stab. Occasionally I scream.”

  Jeff added, “She files. Aggressively.”

  “Not helping, Jeff.”

  Across the square, a messenger pigeon dive-bombed Tessa, dropped a scroll, and vanished into the sky with the kind of speed only trauma-trained birds possess.

  She unrolled it and sighed.

  > Guild Notice: Quest Update

  Objective: Escort a magical artifact from the ruins of Bogsnot Keep.

  Complications: Artifact may be sentient. Also mildly evil.

  Hazard Level: Please don’t ask.

  Reward: 42 silver, three muffins, and a voucher for discounted dry cleaning.

  Tessa blinked. “We’re being sent to Bogsnot Keep. With this team.”

  Elion clapped. “Adventure!”

  Bjorn grinned. “Been years since I fought anything haunted.”

  Nobody just groaned. “That place has puddles. I hate puddles.”

  Tessa stared skyward. “Why me?”

  Jeff snorted. “Because you got promoted.”

  “Right. Remind me to find the idiot who signed that form.”

  Jeff coughed and looked away.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Jeff.”

  “I panicked! The form was on top of a cursed coupon and I didn’t read the fine print!”

  Tessa took a deep breath, adjusted her satchel, and pointed toward the road.

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  “Fine. Let’s go. But I swear, if this artifact tries to possess me, someone else is doing the exorcism.”

  “Dibs! Not me,” said Elion.

  “Already haunted,” said Nobody.

  Bjorn shrugged. “I can cook it.”

  They set off down the road toward Bogsnot Keep, one bard humming a victory tune, one barbarian sharpening his ladle, one rogue nervously scanning every bush, and one civil servant praying to every god in the index.

  Behind them, the ruined town square was still sticky.

  ×××

  Bogsnot Keep was everything the name promised and worse.

  It loomed on a hill like a drunk gargoyle—one tower sagging, another swallowed by vines, and a third replaced entirely by a very large, very confused tree. Mist clung to the ground in lazy coils, and somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed in a way that sounded suspiciously like it was mocking them.

  “Well,” said Tessa, staring up at the gates. “Looks cozy.”

  Elion pointed to a carved plaque by the entrance, partially obscured by mildew.

  > BOGSNOT KEEP — “Where Evil Slumbers and Plumbing Screams”

  Historical landmark. Guided tours canceled due to haunting.

  “I’m getting a strong ‘do not enter’ vibe,” muttered Nobody.

  Jeff piped up from her bag. “Technically, we’re supposed to retrieve the artifact, not get emotionally attached to our limbs. So in we go.”

  Bjorn strode forward and shoved the massive doors open with one meaty hand. They creaked, groaned, and then immediately fell off the hinges.

  Inside, the air smelled like mold, regret, and centuries-old dungeon deodorant.

  “Watch your step,” said Tessa, scanning the hall with a glowing rune from her clipboard. “These old places are usually rigged with traps.”

  As if summoned by narrative, a tile clicked under Elion’s foot.

  “Trap?” he asked.

  “Trap,” she confirmed.

  A flurry of darts shot from the wall. Elion dodged two and got smacked in the lute by the third.

  “My music!” he wailed, clutching the instrument. “My soul!”

  Nobody sidled past him. “I’m just glad it wasn’t poison. This time.”

  They ventured deeper, weaving through cobwebs, statues with judgmental eyes, and one extremely suspicious rug that hissed when Bjorn poked it with a spoon.

  “So,” Tessa said, making notes, “we’re looking for a magical artifact. Possibly sentient. Possibly evil. Definitely fragile enough that if we breathe wrong, it’ll curse us into frogs.”

  Bjorn grunted. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest Tuesday.”

  “I like frogs,” added Elion. “Good conversationalists.”

  They reached a large chamber lit by eerie green torches. In the center stood a pedestal. On it sat a teapot.

  A very smug-looking teapot.

  It turned to face them.

  “Well, it’s about bloody time,” it said.

  Everyone froze.

  Tessa stared at it. “Please tell me that’s not the artifact.”

  “Define ‘artifact,’” it sniffed. “I’m the soul vessel of Archmage Chortlebane the Ever-Steeped. I’ve seen twenty-seven adventurers, three cultists, and one raccoon. None of them had the gumption to pass the trials. Do you?”

  Bjorn raised his axe. “Want me to hit it?”

  “Please don’t,” said Tessa and the teapot in unison.

  Chortlebane huffed steam. “You lot are clearly unqualified, underprepared, and smell of weak tea. But tradition is tradition. To claim me, you must answer my riddle.”

  “Here we go,” muttered Jeff.

  The torches flared.

  The teapot cleared its spout and intoned:

  > “I am not alive, yet I grow.

  I have no lungs, yet I need air.

  I have no mouth, and yet I scream.”

  There was a long pause.

  Elion raised a hand. “It’s fire.”

  “...Oh. Blast. That was supposed to be difficult.”

  The pedestal groaned, then hissed as the floor below it folded inward, revealing a staircase.

  Bjorn peered down. “That looks cursed.”

  Nobody peered in. “That smells cursed.”

  Tessa took a long sip from her emergency tea thermos. “I can’t believe I’m about to carry a magical teapot into an ancient trap dungeon with a bard, a bear-man, and a rogue with trust issues.”

  Chortlebane preened. “I like you. You have a sort of ‘desperately holding it together with sarcasm’ energy I respect.”

  Jeff grumbled. “There’s only room for one talking object in this party, kettle-boy.”

  “Oh, you’re a backpack. How quaint.”

  “Wanna be a stuffed kettle?”

  Tessa groaned. “Great. Now the sentient accessories are fighting.”

  They descended the stairs, bickering echoing behind them. The air grew colder. The green light faded to violet. Symbols pulsed along the walls.

  Somewhere below, something clicked.

  Tessa stopped. “Why did that sound like a mechanism arming?”

  Chortlebane whistled innocently. “Ah. Right. I may have forgotten to mention the containment vault is guarded by a cursed custodian golem named ‘Fluffums.’”

  The floor began to shake.

  Bjorn readied his axe. “...We fighting or fleeing?”

  Nobody already had a grappling hook out. “Can we do both?”

  Tessa looked at the teapot, her clipboard, the stairs below, and her deeply, deeply questionable team.

  Then she sighed.

  “Alright. Let’s fight a giant cursed janitor.”