Nobody knew how to drive the broom.
Or, rather, they all claimed to know how, right up until they took off.
“Why is mine doing barrel rolls?” Jeff shouted, clinging to the broomstick with both hands as it corkscrewed wildly above the rooftops of the Guild quarter.
“Because you’re steering like you’re milking a goat!” Tessa bellowed, trying to keep her own broom level while simultaneously juggling a fluttering map and three dungeon requisition forms that had escaped her satchel mid-takeoff.
Elion, ever the graceful one, sat atop his broom like he was born on it, robes fluttering dramatically in the wind. “It’s all in the core strength, posture, and unshakeable dignity,” he called back. “Also, I cast a mild levitation ward so mine won’t do anything unless I ask it very, very politely.”
Bjorn’s broom simply wouldn’t stop doing loops.
“Wheeeee!” he yelled, for the sixth time. Nobody was sure if it was out of joy or panic. Possibly both.
Chortlebane the teapot (currently strapped into a makeshift broom-sidecar made of enchanted tax folders) rattled indignantly. “This is not what I meant when I said we needed elevated thinking!”
“Hold tight, Chort!” Tessa snapped, dodging a weather vane. “The rogue map says we’re headed for the Floating Filing Depot.”
Jeff spun past upside-down. “I feel like I’m being audited by gravity!”
By the time they reached their destination—a platform of ancient stone floating mid-air, covered in filing cabinets and half-collapsed cubicles. They arrived bruised, wind-blown, and slightly more humble.
“Okay,” Tessa said, unpeeling a Form 44-W: Wind-Induced Delay Report from her forehead, “We’re here. Map says the core of the anomaly is in the central archive.”
As they dismounted, the brooms obediently hovered beside them like loyal dogs. Jeff’s shivered slightly and coughed up a paperclip.
“Is this place… singing?” Bjorn asked, squinting toward the filing structure.
“Not singing,” Elion said, voice suddenly tense. “Harmonizing. Something’s trying to resonate with latent spellwork. That’s a sound trap.”
Sure enough, a low, thrumming hum began to rise from the stones beneath them. The walls vibrated. Papers flew. A swarm of enchanted memos zoomed toward them like bureaucratic wasps.
“Defense formation!” Tessa yelled. “Incoming documentation!”
One of the memos slapped Jeff in the face. He screamed. “IT’S A FORM 101-Q! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS!”
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Tessa slapped away another with her clipboard. “It’s for extradimensional intern disputes! Do not engage!”
Suddenly, the humming turned into a crescendo, a disharmonious wail that rattled their bones.
“It’s a sonic lockdown!” Elion declared. “If this escalates, our brain matter will file itself into the nearest drawer!”
“Then fix it!” Jeff shouted, being pelted by increasingly angry memos. One stapled his sleeve to a floating cubicle.
Elion took a deep breath. “Stand back.”
He planted his feet. His eyes glowed faintly. And then—
“OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–BSSSSOOOOOOOOLEEEEEEETUUUUUUSSSSS!”
The aria blasted out like a sonic beam. Glitter erupted from nowhere. The swarm of memos froze midair, quivered, and exploded in a puff of surrendering ink. Filing cabinets trembled, then gently slammed themselves shut in musical rhythm.
Silence followed, broken only by Chortlebane’s delicate clap. “Lovely vibrato.”
Tessa blinked. “Did… did you just operatically terminate the administrative resonance?”
Elion wiped a tear from his eye. “I have range.”
After that, the depot welcomed them like honored guests—or at least like recurring minor inconveniences.
At the heart of the archive, they discovered a sealed vault marked FORM 1-A: Name Registration. The rogue map flared in excitement.
“If this entire aerial death-cruise was just to register a team name, I swear I’m filing a grievance with the Department of Unnecessary Quests,” Tessa muttered, brushing pigeon feathers out of her hair.
“C"mon, we need to come up with a name," Tessa said, suddenly sitting upright as though a light bulb had gone off. She raised a finger. "A proper team name. We can’t go on like this forever—being known as 'The Disorganized Dungeon Raiders' isn't going to get us any respect.”
“Who’s been calling us that?” Jeff asked, eyes narrowed.
“Excel-Axe,” Tessa muttered, her hands forming tight fists. “The paperwork brigade.”
Bjorn looked around the room, surveying the half-eaten snacks, wandering brooms, and increasingly chaotic piles of paperwork. "I mean... we are a bit of a mess."
“No. We’re an organized mess,” Elion corrected, setting down a plate of biscuits. “And if we're being real, there are definitely worse things we could be called."
“We could always be ‘The Broom Brigade,’” Jeff said with a smirk, tossing a glance at the brooms lined up against the wall. “They are part of the team now.”
“They aren’t part of the team,” Tessa shot back. “They’re... strategic... maintenance aides.”
“The ones who keep judging my snack choices,” Bjorn grumbled.
“Okay, okay,” Elion interjected, “let’s put a pin in that one.” He stood up and tapped the side of his head. “What about something that reflects our journey? You know, like something profound. We’ve battled undead paperwork. We’ve fought enchanted filing cabinets. And let’s not forget the demon coffee machine.”
Jeff nodded sagely. “We have all the credentials for 'The Over-Qualified Dungeon Dwellers.' Or—hear me out—'The Paperclip Crusaders.’”
“Absolutely not,” Tessa groaned, throwing her hands up. “We are not the Paperclip Crusaders! We’re an adventuring team with a legacy to uphold. A legacy of accuracy, proper documentation, and having all the forms filed before 5 p.m.!"
“Sounds real heroic,” Bjorn deadpanned. “Real ‘we’ve saved the world, but have you seen our TPS reports?’”
“And yet,” Jeff mused, “that might actually be our best selling point.”
Tessa paused and glanced at the team, finally acknowledging their chaotic synergy. “Alright, fine. Maybe we are a bit ridiculous. But if we’re going to have a name, we need something that’s got gravitas.”
“Gravitas?” Elion asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’re literally just here for the side quests, Tessa. And snacks.”
“And yet,” Tessa said dramatically, “in the end, it is the snacks that define us.”
The door to their office creaked open, and Chortlebane, their resident ancient wizard in a teapot, floated in, grumbling. “You lot still haven’t decided on a name?”
“Not yet,” Tessa sighed, rubbing her forehead.
Chortlebane hummed thoughtfully. “You need something that encapsulates who you are,” he said cryptically. “A name that resonates with both your purpose... and your failures.”
The team looked at each other, considering the truth of those words.
“I think we’ve got it,” Bjorn said slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "How about... 'The Paperjam Task Force?"
Tessa’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes! It’s perfect!”
“Elion, what do you think?” Jeff asked.
Elion smiled, “It’s got punch and paperwork. I’m in.”
Bjorn clapped his hands together. “That’s it then. We’ve got a name, people. We are officially...”
Tessa paused dramatically, savoring the moment. “The Paperjam Task Force!”
There was a collective cheer from the team.
The pigeon above them squawked, as if approving their decision. Or perhaps offering unsolicited feedback.
Field Report Addendum –
Filed by: Tessa Fairwind
Recovered Items:
1 Enchanted broom (slightly charred)
1 Guild nameplate (Team Paperjam Task Force)
Several confused pigeons (unwilling participants)
Incident Summary:
Flight to finalize guild name
Several mid-air collisions with miscellaneous objects (resulting in minor damage)
Elion’s opera voice used to resolve hostile situations (and possibly rupture an ancient artifact.
Casualties:
1 Paperclip chain (broken under extreme stress)
2 Pigeons (recovered, not seriously harmed)
1 (One) Spellcaster’s dignity (irreparably shattered after an unexpected voice duel)
Personal Note:
If I ever have to fly to finalize a guild name again, I’m considering turning in my resignation. This quest was not worth the paper cuts or the pigeon-related drama.
