Standing in the sunlight hit differently when you weren’t manacled and being led to your own trial. The air held the smell of freedom.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only scent around.

  “You should head to the baths before you return to work. You have a clean uniform too, don’t you?”

  Marie sighed as she untied Napoleon from where she’d left him outside the court, unable to blame the [Guildmaster]’s bluntness. He had sat through the trial with her.

  “It is the first thing on my list, then a late lunch with Fila.”

  “Good. Take your time over it, but check in before the evening. You should post the quest yourself - mark it with the Guild’s seal too; that way you can hand it in to Quintal as proof when you’re done.”

  “Should I not just add my name to the current quest that the others are on?”

  Thror shook his head, rippling mane causing a brief breeze.

  “Not if you want to gain anything out of the next few days; your new Skill will give you something even if the council doesn’t.”

  “I will take anything I can get. I want to try and help the allagi with their fine too.”

  Thror grunted.

  “They’ve started on that themselves. Taken almost every job going the last two days - not that anyone else has minded a rest after the full moon patrols. Even had some new recruits sign up. If you can post more of the quests they’ll have the chance to benefit from your [Guildsworn Bonus] too.”

  “Do you know what form it will take?”

  The [Guildmaster] shrugged.

  “Could be anything. Manifestation-type Skills can be powerful but they aren’t common, and there’s too many variables to say for sure. Best way to find out is to use it and see.”

  “I will post as many as I can when I come in.”

  “You do that, but you’ll be heading out in the morning to help Evermore’s and the Spellswords. No use delaying, and you’ll want to get that [Echo of Retribution] lifted as soon as possible - definitely before you meet Tilsten again.”

  “Why, what does it do?”

  “It’ll make you feel like you’ve been hit in the head by a mug whenever you anger someone - or possibly just when you annoy them. Skills can be a little loose when it comes to emotions.”

  “...”

  “Yeah, you’ll want to be on best behaviour until that’s gone.”

  —

  Upon first hearing it, Marie had been taken aback by Fila’s suggestion of tavern, but when she’d seen the sign she’d realised her misconception.

  The Gutted Bore was the most upmarket establishment she’d ever been in, even taking into account her life before she’d arrived in this strange world, and she could only be grateful that Fila was paying the bill.

  [Waiters] and [Waitresses] glided past with a grace that wouldn’t have been out of place on an ice rink, and the food and wine were like nothing that could be found on earth.

  A platter of humming figs that quenched the burning of a spicy starter soup that had more of a kick than coffee. Cold fire in a glass that felt like she was drinking in a refreshing breeze. A cut of venison that wasn’t obviously magical - just simply delicious in a way that she’d never experienced before. It tasted of… comfort… and tranquility?

  Even Napoleon had a bone from some rare creature to gnaw on, and a bowl full of a dark swirling substance, the recipe for which the [Master Chef] had dug out of an ancient cookbook and claimed might help seal the cracks in his skeletal frame.

  If she’d come to this place before going to the baths and changing she’d never have gotten through the door, with or without a such notable companion as Miss Entoll to vouch for her.

  Over an hour she ate enough by volume and quality that it almost made up for the deprivation of the past few days.

  Maybe it does make up for it…

  As she wolfed down the last bite of Dacian mousse and felt the bloating of the other courses magically fade away, she let out a moan of pleasure.

  “I get it now.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why people love to eat.”

  “We’ll have to come back here some time then.”

  “I do not think my frame or my finances could take that hit.”

  Fila waved a hand.

  “It’ll be my treat when we do, and don’t worry about getting out of shape - they have the right Skills to avoid that here, and others. We should benefit from [Slow-Release Stamina] and [Light On Their Feet] from what we had today. Perhaps a few more - I don’t keep on top of the current benefits as much as I should.”

  “Mon dieu, the owner must be rich as a king.”

  The noble’s daughter snorted.

  “She does well, but no one’s getting that rich in Wayfarrow.”

  “That does not seem to apply to your father.” Marie muttered into the last of a glass of sparkling green wine.

  “Please. We’re Wayfarrow rich, not rich rich.”

  Fila took her comment in the good nature it was intended, and a spark of genuine curiosity rose inside Marie.

  “What is the difference?”

  The young woman of House Entoll glanced around the room for inspiration, then leant forwards and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she thought. A moment later she snapped her fingers.

  “You remember that scroll father purchased for me from the Vanguard?”

  “Yes?”

  “It cost him almost a thousand gold. It was an early birthday gift. I might get a few other presents and a celebration on the day, but that will be the majority of what I can expect him to spend on me - along with the cost of hiring the Spellswords in the first place - until I turn twenty-two.”

  “Okay, but it is still a lot of money.”

  “That’s true, but bear in mind my birthday is a couple of months away. If we were rich rich, I’d’ve had enough to buy it on the spot myself, topped off my purse in the morning, and thought nothing of it. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even needed to buy it as we’d likely have a stack of scrolls in a cupboard somewhere in case a family member took a fancy to trying their hand at being a [Mage] for a week, or maybe I would have bought it rather than wait for a servant to go back to the manor and fetch my other copy. Do you see?”

  Marie blinked.

  The one percent is a phenomena wherever you are…

  “I understand. How do other people get to be so rich?”

  Fila shrugged.

  “Who knows. Old family money for some. Trade or crafting empires for others. There’s usually a handful of adventurers every generation who find a gold mine on their travels - literally or metaphorically - and retire to live the high life.”

  “I can see why it is a popular guild: travel and find your fortune.”

  “If you survive.”

  That brought an image of a street lit only by the full moon to both their minds, and the memory of the bodies lying there left Marie and Fila sitting in silence, bar Napoleon’s quiet crunching, until the table was cleared.

  It was a sad smile that forced its way onto Marie’s face, but as the chairs and her stomach continued to remind her of the luxuries she was being treated to, the thought of those still in the town’s stone cells galvanised her to rise.

  “Come on then, I have work to get back to - if you still want to hang out for the day...”

  —

  Wayfarrow’s Adventurer Guild was almost as busy as the last time she’d seen it, though it was the lower ranks that milled about the hall this time, and most of them were allagi.

  There were half a hundred things Marie wanted to catch up on. For all she’d rejected the idea of being a [Secretary] at first, she was finding the job engaging, though how much of that was due to the nature of being in a fantastical place she couldn’t say. It was much different to what she’d expected though; she was acting more of a manager than an assistant. Whether that was down to a difference in meaning in this place or how Thror ran the guild she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t going to raise any questions and jeopardise the various undertakings she had begun.

  But her existing projects had to wait as she entered, settling Napoleon down to rest in a space by the unlit fire, to give way to a more urgent task.

  Her first stop, beyond a wave to Rudi and a quick hug with Greeleena - the myconid’s spongy growths oddly comforting after days of a hard stone floor - was to the quest board, causing Fila’s eyebrow to raise and a number of lower-level adventurers to grumble at the number of notices she took down.

  “I don’t think you have time to complete all those, though I’ll give you a hand if you like.”

  “Not for me.” Marie said, scanning the contents of every unclaimed and open quest. “[Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild]. [Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild]. [Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild].”

  She repeated the Skill until the board was repopulated with exactly the same quests she’d just taken down. Fila and the adventurers looked on with even more confusion, until Marie finished and apologised to them.

  “New Skill.”

  Without further explanation they all nodded as though she’d espoused some great wisdom, and went back to perusing the board themselves.

  “Okay,” Fila dragged her eyes away from a quest to find a rare flower growing in the mountains to the east, “what’s next?”

  “That would be Osric.”

  The back corridors of the guild were quieter, even with Napoleon rejecting his fireside seclusion and tapping along after them, and beyond Wilhelmina rooting around in a storage room for a pickaxe she’d misplaced, there was no one to see until Marie opened the door to the [Potion Maker]’s workshop.

  The boar-headed beastkin was hunched over a row of flasks, tentatively sniffing each one in turn.

  At the sound of the two women entering, he looked up and smiled, the action cracking the thin patina of soot that crusted his face.

  “Miss Marie, welcome back. You’ve come to check on the test results?”

  “Just to catch up, but if they are ready…”

  Waving them over to a bench at the back of the room, gently ushering Fila away from a rack of dried herbs and Napoleon from some leather pouches in the process, Osric opened a lockbox and pulled out six vials, barely a third full, pointing to two at a time.

  “Chopped, crushed, ground. I used the same amount of herbs and water for each - distilled, just like you suggested - and I used the distillery to boil it off too. Took a few tries but I don’t burn ‘em now.”

  Each of the flasks had a faint orange tinge, almo-

  “They look like piss.”

  Marie’s surprised face and Osric’s hurt one turned to regard Fila, who shrugged defensively.

  “What? They do.”

  “They do not taste of it!”

  “How do you know that…”

  “I have had to change many nappies, and there are occasionally accidents if the baby decides it hasn’t finished its b-”

  “Okay, that’s more than enough information.”

  “What I meant to say is, they do not taste bad.” Osric’s cheeks were beginning to turn the same shade as the vials. “Not that they taste good but… they’re better than Perdy’s.”

  To get away from the conversation, Marie uncorked the first ‘chopped’ healing potion, and let the aroma drift past her nose, pulling back from fully inhaling the scent.

  “It is… not terrible.” It was like someone had left berries in a dish too long and they’d slightly spoiled. “Which one works the best?”

  Wringing his hands, Osric looked on as the two women proceeded to smell each vial in turn, with minimal enthusiasm.

  “I’m not sure Miss. I haven’t tested them all yet. I was waiting for you…”

  In case I had ideas on how to do it. I understand.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Well, I guess to keep the variables controlled…” Marie turned to the other two. “...is there a limit to the amount of healing potions you can take in a short space of time? Do they stop working?”

  The two Wayfarrow natives glanced at each other. Osric shrugged as Fila replied.

  “Not that I’ve heard of.”

  “In that case…” Marie pulled a dagger from Fila’s belt and stabbed herself through the hand.

  “What th-”

  “Miss Marie!”

  “What?” Marie grimaced as she exchanged bloody dagger for the first vial, gritting her teeth and taking as large a mouthful as she could. “They work, right? Start counting.”

  It took a full minute for any visible trace of the wound to close up, and another six for Marie to be able to clench and open her hand without pain. It was a far cry from Perdy’s potions which would have rendered the hand usable in under twenty seconds, but Osric was just starting. It was also not the most scientific method Marie could have devised, but it improved part way through when Osric had run off to bring a clock from another room.

  To say it was an unpleasant experience would have been an understatement. The pain in her hand and the faint off-taste in her mouth were constant companions for the next hour as they tried all six potions and noted the results, but compared to the discomfort of the past few days, or the foulness of Perdy’s concoctions, it was bearable. And by the end of it, there was a clear winner.

  “Crushed. Two minutes and thirty-nine seconds to full healing.”

  Fila had taken up the position of recorder as Marie was the test subject and Osric had announced he felt faintly queasy at the whole process.

  Napoleon simply sat and watched, head tilted to one side as if in interest.

  Marie eyed the bottles with uncertainty.

  “It definitely acted fastest, but really we should repeat the test a few more times to establish the results as reliable.”

  Osric’s cheeks bulged and he held a hand up to his mouth.

  “Perhaps we could do that another time. I’m not sure I need to be present for it, do I? I’ll make sure to label the vials carefully…”

  “Of course. I will try again another time. There is no rush.” Marie tried to downplay the relief she felt at having an excuse to put off experiencing it all over again. “I have to ask though… is it necessary to drink the potion? Could I not just pour a bit on the wound?”

  Osric didn’t have an answer to that. Nor did Fila. So, leaving Osric to bottle up another batch he’d been working on before they’d arrived, they ventured back into the main hall with Napoleon in tow. Fila picked out the first silver-ranked adventurer she spotted.

  “Ennie - hey, we were wondering if we could ask you a question about healing potions.”

  The woman turned, pinched face tight with suspicion, narrow mouth pursed as she eyed Fila up and down.

  “I’ve only got one left. A hundred gold if you want it.”

  “Oh,” the noblewoman halted her approach, “no I wasn’t…I just wanted to ask a question.”

  “Get on with it then.”

  Marie stood back and watched the exchange, wondering if the woman would have been more polite were she not here. She hadn’t forgotten the woman’s reaction to the new taxes, nor the fact that she’d come crawling back a few days after storming out.

  “Okay, well, is there a reason adventurers drink healing potions, rather than pouring them directly onto the wounds?”

  The middle-aged malcontent regarded the younger, prettier, wealthier women for long moments.

  “What a stupid question.”

  And she walked off.

  Fila was left staring at her back, mouth open, until a nearby allagi wearing a hooded cape leaned over from his group.

  “I can help you there Miss…”

  “Fila.”

  “Miss Fila. You can pour a potion on a wound. It’s actually a good way to save some of it. We use it quite a bit ourselves where we can. They problem is, when you’re out on a mission and you get cut or burned or trampled and the like, there often isn’t much time to take it out, uncork it, check the extent of the injury, tip out just enough to close it up, avoid spilling it all over the place, recork it and put it back. You’ll be lucky enough to get half a second to chug it down in the middle of a fight. Some people just smash the bottle over the wound and hope for the best.”

  “That makes a lot of sense.” Fila nodded. “But if you can wait, you get away from danger and dole it out in portions?”

  “If there’s time, sure. Depends on how bad the wound is and how much armour you gotta take off to find the entry point, or if there’s even one to begin with: you can get kicked in the midriff by an echodeer - break ribs and rupture organs - and have no hole to pour a potion down but yer gob.”

  Marie began to nod along to the allagi’s words.

  Like the [Guard] who got thrown into the wall on the patrol, or my chest, if I had been hit any harder.

  “My thanks, Mister…”

  “Thorne. No problem Miss Fila. Some of us may not be fancy Silver-ranked [Adventurers] but we’ve taken jobs for years and we’ve got plenty of advice should you need it.”

  With that, he tipped the hood of his cape to her and returned to his own conversation, leaving the two women and Napoleon to their own devices.

  “No need to drink it down for testing then?”

  Marie didn’t try to hide her relief.

  “He is right - they do not taste awful, but six times in one hour was a bit much.”

  “And maybe we can ease off the full stabbing next time - go for a scratch or something?”

  At that, Marie had to think, and began to wander over in the direction of the reception desks as she did so. Fila and Napoleon both followed.

  “That is a good question. Perhaps for the remains of these first batches, a scratch would suffice, but we must have a way to test how effective newer ones are, and really we should come up with the same test to do each time so we can compare batches fairly.”

  “Well it doesn’t have to be a catastrophic injury, so long as it’s consistent, right?”

  I am not sure that stabbing in the hand is ‘catastrophic’ when it is fully healed a few minutes later. But it was painful…

  “I will take your point under advisement and seek a less intense approach.”

  She’d just managed to jot down a note in Thorne’s file as to how helpful he’d been, Napoleon fussing around under the counter seeking out all the new things that had been stored there over the past few days, when a change in the atmosphere made her and Fila both look up.

  The small band of allagi striding into the room were instantly familiar.

  Algar and his hunters hadn’t arrived in full force, but the thirteen others were all now kitted out with bows and spears and leather armour, and they all wore the same grim expression.

  As did the person accompanying them.

  What on earth could have happened to make Dusty look that serious?

  Marie came out from behind the counter to stand with Fila.

  Even after the full moon Dusty had looked more tired than anything else, but her friend’s sombre expression, and the silent walk of the allagi, made her fear the worst.

  Leaving the rest of his group, Algar approached the closest receptionist: Rudi.

  “Algar’s Hunters collecting the bounty on the Skitterfang goblin quest.”

  His voice was flat.

  Rudi cast his gaze over the assembled allagi. He could read the room, who were all now watching, but he had a job to do.

  “...I need to ask for proof of completion before I can hand over payment.”

  The [Hunter]’s fists clenched, and the longer she looked the more Marie could see signs of recent battle on the group. Blood that was matted into hair and dried onto weapons. Open cuts and puncture wounds. Wrinkled clothes and off-kilter armour. Sweat streaks in the grime on their faces and traces of gore. The faint tang of iron in the air.

  “We had to return swiftly to try and save some of our number. We didn’t have time to collect ears or tokens. Most of them are dead, and the others are driven off.”

  “...I can ask one of the other [Secretaries] to verify your statement. I’m afraid I don’t have the right Skills myself…”

  Before Marie could step forward to offer, Dusty approached the younger man.

  “I can help.”

  The bodies of other adventurers who’d slowly been gathering blocked Marie’s view of whatever Dusty did, but moments later, Rudi blanched and nodded and stepped towards the back rooms to retrieve their payment, but before he could go, Algar stopped him.

  “Just put it in the Crescent Street Lodge fund.”

  They must have been working round the clock to look like that. They must be exhausted.

  As the [Hunter] and his men turned to leave, a sudden inspiration caught Maire and she called out above the quiet murmurings of the crowd.

  “A quick guild announcement: we are looking for volunteers to test the effectiveness of some new, weaker, healing potions this afternoon.” She did a quick mental calculation on the amount Osric had ready and the dwindling finances she could command. “Ten spaces available - with a two silver payment for your troubles.”

  In the far corner Ennie sat up in her chair, but Marie ignored her as the Hunters did a quick appraisal amongst themselves and split the ten most injured off, and shot a questioning glance Fila’s way, dropping her voice to a murmur.

  “I would like to catch up with Dusty first - would you mind starting? Three drops each, applied directly to the wound?”

  The noble woman nodded, and took a step forward and intercepted the approaching allagi.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the testing room and record the results.”

  Marie was about to seek out her other friend when she saw the tabaxi already heading her way. Her boots scraped the flagstone floor until she reached the end of the counter and leaned heavily on it.

  The moment the allagi were out of earshot, most of the rest in the guild leaving to follow Algar, Marie leaned in to whisper.

  “What happened?”

  The [Resonance Striker]’s eyes drifted over to where the injured Hunters had followed Fila into the back rooms.

  “They took on something that was beyond them. Or near enough.”

  When Marie’s gaze demanded more, the tabaxi sighed.

  “I wouldn’t have even been there if that coward Ulfran hadn’t paid me to keep an eye on them.” She pushed back the complaint Marie was about to raise before she had a chance to. “Don’t look at me like that, Specs. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but that man isn’t cut out for the life of an adventurer - not beyond Bronze rank - but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Came to me saying Algar wanted to take on a Silver-ranked mission. The allagi have been grabbing up all the work they can to help pay off this debt to the city, but there wasn’t anything besides the [Bandit]-hunting quest and the goblin one that paid more than ten gold, and the [Bandit] one was already taken.”

  “They thought if they had enough people they could overwhelm the goblins?”

  “Got it in one, Specs. Algar wanted to get all the Bronze-ranked allagi he could and take the damn greenskins on in even numbers.”

  “And Ulfran disagreed?”

  “Not just him. Thanks to our scouting mission, the quest listed their [Shaman] and the giant insects and at least a few of their fighters being over level 20. That’s a tall order for a group without any real magic or equipment themselves, but Algar insisted they had a chance.”

  “How many agreed?”

  “He got almost thirty on board.”

  Marie turned white and her heart stopped at the realisation that only thirteen had accompanied him to pick up their reward, but Dusty raised a hand, though it did nothing to stop the wave of dread building in the pit of her stomach.

  “There are others being taken care of in the allagi district - he only brought those that could walk unaided - but there were losses. A few of them won’t be adventuring again, barring some miraculous Skill, and at least five are dead…including Sprig.”

  Marie choked back a sob as the image of the smiling young woman, no more than a girl, came into her mind. A [Trapper] that had been so excited to get her new Skills after reaching just level 11 after their scouting mission…

  It took a minute for Marie to realise Dusty had started talking again, voice shaking with suppressed guilt.

  “-im that I’d keep an eye on them as best I could. He could only afford to pay me a gold, but I said I’d stick close and help the younger ones. Then when that lickless centipede burst out of the woods it scurried across all her pit traps and snapped her in half at the waist. It was too fast for me to stop. I really did try…” She pulled a gold coin out of her pocket and set it on the counter, then added another two. “Put that towards their fund.”

  With shaking hands and leaden feet, Marie took the coins, half-blinded by unshed tears, and felt around for the ledger to mark the payment, fumbling out one of her own to add to the pitiful tribute. From under the counter, Napoleon, perhaps picking up the seriousness of the occasion or his mistress’ distress, left the corner of the sack he’d been worrying and came to heel. Marie barely sensed him as she looked back up to Dusty, wanting to ask her what else had happened - who else they’d lost - but unable to form the words.

  But Dusty seemed to want to get it off her chest.

  “It’s always like this when you lose someone, but… I barely even knew them. It’s just… I saw their faces when they crept up on the camp - saw some of them realise they wouldn’t make it back - and every one of them still went in. That’s true adventurer guild material...” The tabaxi paused as the fur of her cheeks grew damp, and wiped at her eyes. “Look at me. Like I'm some sort of innocent kitt.”

  Marie pulled out a bottle the guild kept under the desk for complimentary drinks, and poured the [Resonance Striker] a shot of whisky, which she sipped with a trembling hand.

  “Thanks, Specs.” It took her a moment to regain her composure, but she carried on recounting their fight. “They weren’t that far off the goblins in terms of numbers, although that’s counting all the tribe. It was the [Shaman] that made the difference. Him and one of their warriors, and then the bugs. I had to step in a minute after it started. Couldn’t stand and watch... Stopped the spider riders from mobbing a couple of young archers, which was when… and I couldn’t get to her in time…” she took another swallow of the strong spirit. “It was fast and brutal from the get-go. Barely five minutes start to finish. If I hadn’t seen the allagi change at the full moon I’d have thought that battle was what it looked like. They threw themselves in. Desperate. Too desperate. Should have sat back and picked some off first. Set up more traps…but they wanted to take advantage of the surprise whilst they had it…”

  She finished the drink, and Marie topped it up before putting the bottle away.

  “...I guess it worked. They cut down almost every goblin. Maybe eight or nine survived. The [Shaman] escaped, more’s the pity, but we got his wasps, and half the spiders, and all but two of the warriors and most of the camp were slain.” Bitterness crept into her tone. “That mange-ridden centipede got away though. I was going to go after it, but when they started fleeing they loaded the last of their little ones onto it… and I couldn’t… not their young… and there were so many injured on Algar’s side. At least three will struggle to work again, and the dead… I had to carry one of the [Hunters] back. He lost a leg…”

  She mentioned a couple of the names - ones she’d heard amidst the cries and tears over the past few hours - one that had been injured and one that had died, and the one she’d carried back. Marie closed her eyes, [Improved Recall] bringing up faces and details from files she didn’t know she knew, and as much as she didn’t want it to, she didn’t seem to be able to control it like that. Long minutes later, as they sat in silence, she asked.

  “Was it worth it?”

  Dusty snorted. A macabre sound.

  “Seventy two gold pieces after the guild’s cut. That’s what the lives and livelihoods of eight allagi bought.”

  Marie swallowed hard past the lump in her throat and closed her eyes.

  “All the pain and suffering. The allagi lose seven to the full moon, and another five trying to make up for it. A dozen in the space of a few days. And the outlet for their grief and anger is the slaughter of a goblin tribe who might have just been driven off.” She caught Dusty’s mouth opening and hastened to clarify. “I do not blame them for what they did. They are in a desperate situation, but the sorrow has only been passed on and increased. Hurt people hurt people, Dusty. There must be another way.”

  “Not with what we have here.” A new voice intruded on their conversation. Greeleena was filling in the ledger. Marie didn’t know how long she’d been listening. “Though with what they added today they’re more than a third of the way to their target. They’ll do a round of collections from the community like normal; there’s almost always a fine to pay, though it’s never been this large before. Not in the time I’ve been working here anyway. They’ll take on what they can with the guild but unless there’s a sudden influx of requests there’s not a lot left right now…”

  Marie wiped the corners of her eyes with the palm of her hand and cleared her throat.

  “Right, well, any quests that come in when I am here - give them to me to post and hopefully they will give a little more. I have to leave for my court-ordered service in the morning but before then I will do what I can to help. Starting with the ones with Fila. I will see the two of you later. Come, Napoleon.”

  —

  As the sun began to get low in the sky, surrounded by forms and quest logs and files and plans for future potion tests, Marie finally finished her work for the day and put her Everfill Quill down to massage her hand before folding her last letter into an avian shape.

  “[Paperwing Courier]: [Scholar] Benedict of Wayfarrow.”

  Given a specific-enough target, the origami dove flew out of her work room and out of sight, winging its way to the library, most likely.

  It was the last of a dozen she’d sent - attempts to find more work that the allagi could do.

  Safe work.

  At least, it would hopefully be safe to escort some [Librarians] to other cities now the goblins had been driven off. Her [Improved Recall] helped her remember that opportunity at least.

  Other inquiries as to whether crafters needed more materials or merchants wanted to hire people from the guild to protect their wagons as trade began to resume were longer shots.

  I can count on Braer, and that is about it.

  Besides meat for the high-level [Butcher], gathering the healing herbs for the potions was the only promising lead she could give the allagi. Especially as they’d been found near the goblins’s camp by Ashe.

  I was going to give that to Ulfran and Ashe and Sprig…

  Steeling herself against further tears, and making a mental note to speak to Algar before she left about any memorial gatherings, she clicked her fingers to get Napoleon’s attention and strode out to see to her last task before she could retire to her camp for a much-needed rest.

  Do they perform funerals? What are the customs of the town? Do the races differ in their treatment and remembrance of the departed?

  The analytical part of her mind focused on questions to keep the emotional side at bay, and she was still half-pondering them and considering setting out a new study when she stopped before the quest board and she was forced to focus on her [Mental Ledger].

  Okay.

  Description: Seek out the camps of the [Bandits] south of Wayfarrow.

  Requestor: [Magistrate] Quintal.

  Date: 3rd of Falmune, AoR 1182

  Threat Level: Bronze-rank

  Deadline: Immediate

  Payment: None

  Additional Notes: [Bandits] being hunted by Sirrochon’s Spellswords and Evermore’s Flame. Liaise with them and ensure the [Bandits] are cleared out.

  Adventurers Accepted: Marie Dubois Only.

  Status: Accepted

  Date Completed: TBD

  Outcome: TBD

  Sign-Off: Marie Dubois, [Guild Seal: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild].

  “[Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild].”

  She felt the Skill activate and one of the forms by the quest board filled itself out and attached itself to the cork surface.

  Saves me more writi-

  Something pinged in Marie’s head as she looked at the note, words appearing on it as fast as a person might write.

  It took her a second to realise what was wrong, tore down the paper and amended the ledger in her mind.

  I might be Bronze-rank, but that was not the quest the others were on...

  Threat Level: Silver-rank.

  “[Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild].”

  She watched the updated version post itself, stretching her back as she stood.

  Then an invisible pinging went off again, and Marie felt her heart skip a beat.

  [Threat Assessment] was alerting her that something was off. Skin growing cold, she was frozen in thought for a moment, but made the only adjustment she could think of.

  Threat Level: Gold-rank.

  “[Post Quest: Wayfarrow Adventurer’s Guild].”

  No longer breathing, Marie watched as the third iteration of the quest posted itself onto the board.

  She read the line as it appeared: Threat Level: Gold-ranked…

  And there was only silence…

  She waited a moment longer…

  Then, she began to run.

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