The Adventurers' Guild

Ellen brought the hammer down on the red-hot metal, mashing it against the anvil. Clanging and hoarse shouts echoed all around her, and a dense smoke hung about her. It would be late afternoon by now, and though it had been a mild spring day when she’d arrived in the morning, the workshop was sweltering. She’d stripped off several layers to just a tank top and a pair of light trousers. With those alone it would have been fine, but she wore heavy boots and gloves and a thick leather apron. Ellen took a few final swings with the hammer, than stepped back to examine her work. Damien, one of the apprentices, stepped away from the bellows massaging his undoubtedly sore arms. She gave him a nod; he’d done well for a new guy.

The gold/bauxite alloy she’d used for the blade had taken on a curious, marbled appearance as it cooled. A bit of lighter work tomorrow and she’d be able to add wind powder. Then it would be a simple matter of collecting her portion of the commission and handing it off to Andar, who would add the hilt and grip. Ellen locked the unfinished piece in her cabinet, along with her personal tools and equipment, and headed home for the night.

Falton was a small mining community at the foot of a large mountain range. As she walked through the streets, the huge peaks towered over her. This late in the day they cast no shadow, much to Ellen’s disappointment. She was still warmer than she would have preferred. Mining and smithing were the only main professions in Falton, and their main exports were weapons and ore to the capital.

Ellen’s home was two blocks away from the smith’s workshop. She lived most of the year in the second story of the small house, renting from an elderly woman who could no longer climb the steps. She shut the door very quietly as she came in, and tried to sneak up the steps. (No easy task for a woman her size) “Hello, dear!” warbled the old lady as she got up from her rocker. Ellen stopped, hand on the banister and one foot on the stairs, and smiled awkwardly. Donna reached up and clasped Ellen’s hands. At only 4’9”, she barely reached her elbow. Ellen gave an exaggeratedly tired nod, but was nevertheless pulled by the hand into Donna’s cramped (for Ellen, at least) kitchen.

The woman kept up an incessant chattering while she prepared a small plate of cookies and a mug of tea. “There you are dear, upstairs with you now! Go on, shoo!” Ellen stood up and took the food, though she didn’t much care for tea. “Thank you.” She replied, and ducked out of the kitchen. As she mounted the steps Ellen could hear Donna, still in the kitchen, talking.

The second floor had a much higher ceiling than the main, and it allowed Ellen to straighten out to her full 6’5” frame. She shut the door to her small bedroom behind her, and pulled a leather pouch out of her pocket. She set it on her desk, and after some rummaging around she laid next to it a ball-pean hammer, a mortar and pestle, a phial of silvery powder, a balance and an empty bowl. Everything arranged carefully on her table, Ellen sat down and opened the pouch. Two claws, two inches long, red and sharply curved fell out when she upended the bag. Two similar beaks followed.

Using the hammer and her pestle, Ellen ground the bird-bones into a fine, rough powder. This she tipped out of the mortar and into the bowl, already set up on the balance. With steady hands, she tapped minute amounts of the silver powder in with the kwak beaks and claws, then added a few cupfulls of water. The mixture quite suddenly took on a deep red tint, and she could feel it warming her face. She set it aside to ferment a while.

Ellen took a look at the calendar on the wall. It was the twenty-fourth of Aperirel. It was about that time of year. She’d finish up this sword then head out to the guild for the summer. She could use the extra cash. Ellen changed out of her sweaty clothes, threw together a quick meal, and then turned in early. Before she shut the curtains, she checked on the mixture. It had turned a reddish brown, with a few bright red specks twinkling merrily. She smiled to herself, then stretched out on her bed.

Ellen was up before the sun the next morning. She gathered up the bowl (which had cooled to a creamy, brown paste) and carefully scooped it into a mason jar. _She picked up a hot pie as she passed a vendor’s stand, andit was gone by the time she’d reached the workshop. She rather wished she’dpicked up a second one, but nothing to be done about that now. Ellen got to work.

Thesword came out of the locker, and the morning flew by as she added smallerdetails at lower temperatures. When Ellen was satisfied with the blade, sheleft it out to air-cool, and began a final tidying-up of her things. An hourlater, she went returned with the mason jar. She covered the entire work in thepaste, and was pleased to find she had plenty of leftover. Enough for a smallerblade, or maybe a couple daggers. The sword was placed gently on the coal, andEllen went to work at the bellows. It was a fire weapon made with fireelements, and fire was needed to power the enchantment. She kept at it untilthe paste had dried completely and began to crack, at which point she grabbedit with tongs and quickly plunged it into the tub of icy water Damien had setout. There was an angry hiss, and a subtle release of energy as the icy water(the perfect opposite of fire) set the enchantment. She left it in the waterfor a long moment, then pulled off her glove and handed the weapon to Damien.The kid looked ecstatic.

“I cansmash the clay?!” Ellen folded her arms and nodded solemnly. The apprenticebrought the blade down on a nearby anvil, shattering the clay in a spectacularexplosion of dust, heat and sparks. He held up the sword admiringly. “Wow,” histone was appropriately appreciative: The blade looked like a solid piece offlame, and shimmered as he angled it to and fro. Damien made to hand it back to Ellen, but sheshook her head. “Andar” she grunted, already most of the way out the door. Theboy nodded, and headed off in the direction of the carpenter’s shop. Ellen madeher way over to Clarek, the foreman.

“I’moff,” she stated. Clarek looked up from the hammer he was mending. “Toth’Guild? Ya finish that Fire Kwakblade?” A nod of assent. “Guess you bewantin’ your commission fees before go, eh?” Ellen waited. “’Course ya do. I,uh… jussasec now.” Clarek returned five minutes later with a heavy purse ofcoins. “Watch out fer yerself, Ellen. See yah in some months, aye?” Ellen tookthe kamas with a smile, and headed home.

Theevening was spent getting her possessions in order. Weapons had to be polished,travel-worn clothes mended. Ellen decided she’d have to pick up some new bootsat the Guild, if she couldn’t find a vendor on the way. Probably a new pack, too. Her kamas weresorted into three piles: What she’d take with her, what she’d hide here beforeshe left, and some coin to go towards rent. The latter she’d deposit with Donnabefore she left in the morning. Ellen turned in for the evening.

Thenext day, Ellen woke up later than usual. She pulled on her pack and tightenedthe staps securing her bedroll. It was a bit of a trek to get to the guild, afew days at best. Her hammer, a somewhat unwieldy weapon was attached carefullyto her back, underneath the pack. She tromped downstairs and set the bag ofcoins on the small kitchen table. Donna looked up from her book.

“Offfor the season, are you dear?”

“Takecare Donna.”

“Youtoo, dear.”

With an sigh of exhaustion, Jarid lifted his head to stare at the target. He'd hit the throwing knife right in the middle of the bullseye, for the 20th time in a row. With a grin on his face, he approached his teacher who'd been passively watching from his lazy chair. "Twenty hits in a row on twenty targets at different distance and angle. Guess that means we're done." He walked towards the target to pick up the remaining knives with a sense of accomplishment he hadn't had in a long time. 20 hits was the deal he'd make with Soruq. He'd continue practicing until he could perfectly land those knives, and after that the training was done. Forever. Jarid would start off his own career as a hunter and Soruq would get back to his own business.

"It sure does, Jid. It sure does." With that, he picked up his chair and started making his way back towards the guild. While it was a place filled to the brim with people who knew how to kill, weapon use was heavily frowned upon inside the guild. They'd had to have their training sessions outside on the field. Jarid had plucked the knives out of the target and picked up the other gear, stuffed it all into a big sack and walked back home. He put the sack in his room and glanced over at the bounty board. There weren't a lot of bounties, mostly mercenary work, but he'd promised to start work immediately. Deciding to go with the strange monk who apparently hated all magic and the gods, not entirely unlike Jarid, he settled his mind and went looking for some dinner.

In the large tavern that made up a good portion of the guild, he quickly found Soruq sitting in a corner with a crowd gathered near him to listen to his stories. The man had a rather strange look on his face, moreso than usually.

With a loud yawn, Soruq put his arms behind his head and stretched himself across the chair. He put his feet close to the fire, enjoying the warmth and comfort while preparing for a good nap, when he noticed some people sitting nearby, expecting a story. He looked at the scars on his legs, how they'd not become even slightly smaller since the day he got them. Telling young adventurers stories about his adventures and showing them the bounty posters of himself and others which he had hanging around his usual spot was one of his favourite pastimes. He would tell them about his legendary escape through the endless marshes, or about the time when he found the invisible cutthroat during a simple walk through the streets. The youngsters would listen and watch full of wonder, and he'd be jealous of the adventures they would one day have. But there was one thing Soruq never talked about, something that had haunted him forever. The day of his last hunt. Every time someone looked at his arms and legs, they saw the massive decoloured pieces of skin, which looked like they had given up life long ago and Soruq had been dragging them along ever since. He never told anyone how he got those scars. He didn't even think about it, or so he tried. He didn't do it out of sentimental reasons, or because he had something to hide. He did it because he was scared of who might be listening. Scared that they were back.
Twenty years before, there had been an infamous nameless assassin moving through the biggest cities of the world. His technique was easy to recognize, but for ten years, there had never been a lead on him. One day, a cunning hunter managed to fake his own death, and this made him the first to walk away having seen the assassin: a massive, six-legged beast with talons of terrifying size, a carapace with poisonous spikes. It moved as fast as the wind, not once letting out a sound. Once the assassin was found, a bounty was put up. One of the largest the world had ever seen. The day after the bounty was put up, every single person who had visited a bounty office, every known guard or ruler who had been involved with putting up those posters, were found dead. In a single night, almost a thousand people had died, all in the same way. Soruq was one of the few remaining bounty hunters willing to take up the job. Three months he searched for clues, day and night, finally coming to a cave near an abandoned mountain, which even the trees seemed to fear.
He entered the cave the only way he would: hidden. Everything seemed normal at first, but soon, the walls began to speak to him. They entered his very thoughts and finally, out of nothing, the beast appeared. Its voice was ringing through Soruq's head while he was trying to find out where he was. Without thinking, he struck the beast from beneath his carapace as it was about to attack him. It fell back, Soruq's dagger still stuck in its bowels dripping with blood, and threw itself onto the bounty hunter, piercing his body everywhere with its sharp carapace. Soruq twisted his dagger in the beast, and his mind suddenly became clear. It was dead, or so he thought. Almost incapable of feeling the excruciating pain, he managed to throw the beast off him. Its voice sounded again in his head, now weaker than before. "Another... will rise in my place..."
He didn't pay further attention to it and abandoned the cave as quickly as he could, searching for help for his wounds. As he stepped outside, the voice returned in his head a final time, even stronger than it had been before. It forced him to his knees, and the words sounded through his head. "With my last thoughts... I curse you!"

Jarid had fixed himself a plate of food and moved towards the old man. While he was talking, there was a strange, almost mortified look on his face that made him look very, very old. He'd never bothered asking how old Soruq was, and figured the man to be around 60, but with the way he was sitting there, he could easily be 200 years old, perched upon his own grave. The scars on his body were a sickening green, and there was almost nothing between his skin and his bones wherever there was a scar. Jarid moved up to keep him company, and pulled up a chair next to him. After a strange minute of silence, Soruq slowly started talking, though without the usual vim.

Horrible, thin pelting rain. It was the type that got into one's socks and boots to make that disgusting squelchy sound with the slightest movement of your feet. Denn scowled up at the overcast sky from the back of a green-and-blue striped dragoturkey. The water pellets arced away as if rolling off a glass dome. He went back to reading.

---

The Bontarian City gates were usually a pain to get through. Fortunately the courier seal from his client made that a non-issue for this trip. Pity it was one-time use only. Denn tugged gently on the reins; the dragoturkey padded past the guards waving them through and into the streets of Bonta. Unlike Astrub, which tended to be flooded with beggars, stall owners and peddlers, or Brakmar which always seemed slightly scary, dank and dodgy to Denn, Bonta's streets were eerily quiet and sparsely populated. The dragoturkey clipclopped through to the Lumberjack district; Denn halted his mount and hopped off, walking up to one of the three-storied houses. He reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out a thin envelope, sliding it under the door.

---

"Well, that'll keep us afloat for a month," he said to the dragoturkey as he hoisted himself into the saddle. "Hopefully we can pick up something else at the Guild."

Loer scowled at the board, empty as it was, rather angrily; it'd been empty for sometime now and Loer was running out of cash. Only one measly job was on the board, and it wasn't an easy job. Loer looked at the wanted poster of the monk and read the name over his picture. "Megabane, huh? Sounds like a tough name but I bet he's nothing but some magicless fool. Shouldn't be too much of a problem..." Loer said, dryly. It was the truth, Magebane (for he had misread it) looked like your average monk.

Loer looked outside quickly, only to be met with the unimpressive look of dull rain pelting hard on the window. Depressing. So, rather than go out and quickly look for Magebane, Loer chose to remain in the Guild's building, sitting at a small table in the corner of the dining hall. He ordered a drink of water and took a little time out of his day to relax; quickly forgetting his worries about trivial matters, such as paying rent, or eating. All the relaxation slowly got to him and he dozed off into the dream realm.

As he lay there, dreaming of sugar plums and gumdrops as any sane person would, a friend of his plopped down on the chair beside his, appruptly interrupting his vagary dream. Awoken with a start, Loer nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Busy day today, eh Loer?" his friend said. Loer looked at him drowsily and then at the dining hall; there were a number of people, maybe four at best. He then looked back at his friend before turning and planting his face back on the table.

"Sure... Whatever you want..." Loer said, "Now let me enjoy my nap?" Loer's friend was used to this kind of attitude from Loer at this point. He got up from his chair, carefully making as much noise and movement as he could, "As you wish, your highness. Would you like some food as well? Or maybe a companion on that Magebane mission?" The Iop said, a smirk on his face. Loer looked up from the table and scowled at him.

"It's raining rocks outside! The mission can wait!" Loer factually stated in a loud tone. The Iop frowned, "Whatever suits you man. I'm not about to miss an opportunity like this, all because you don't want to get a little wet," he said as he walked off, leaving Loer to his nap. The Osamodas put his head down to enjoy his nap, only to soon find out that he could not, he'd already grown too excitable. Giving up on his nap, he sat up on the his chair and put his feet on the table, looking rather irritable.

With a loud slurp of his imported beer, Ginoe let out a sigh as he stared at the Bounty Board, which was a barren wasteland with just two recruitment jobs. Sadly one of them was just a call to arms, a recruitment message for people to aid their friends and family. Ginoe’s attitude had reformed into a glum, melancholy mood. He’d remembered how his parents were slaughtered by a feral beast. He had no family to protect, and therefore had no reason to take the job. He stared at the board, constantly reading the words “The safety of your loved ones can only be ensured by defending it!”. Ginoe punched the wall and solemnly waltzed back to the counter, slamming down his glass. “Another round!”

After getting his glass refilled, he just stared into its golden liquid. Ginoe lifted the container and swished it around, staring deeply into the glass, how the bubbles shift to the top. There was no reason for this nonsense, maybe it had been the beer that’d intoxicated him. Nevertheless, he chugged down the alcohol and stumbled off, heading for home.

Amidst his drunken trip, he had managed to stumble over legs that had been resting on a table. Ginoe landed face first onto the floor and quickly looked up to see what he’d tripped on. The irritated face of the rebel Osa was there as Ginoe rested on the ground. His legs were the ones that made me fall! Ginoe thought. Why I oughta! He walked over to the Iop-like Osamodas and smacked him across the face. He’d been too drunk to know what in the world he was doing. He tipped and turned while waiting for the strange man to reply, hopefully to cower in fear.

Kiomi sat their far from the bounty board but memorized the single request,"I don't like the way the request appears to be," he said to his sword,"A monk who has no magic and is to weak to fight", He said with a burst of intelligence. The intelligent Shushu replied, "Then what are you waiting for, do it!", "Or are you worried that a magical ground beast is going to come out of the ground,or some gang of other monks are going to jump you before you get-". Kiomi slammed his fist at the Shushu and walked over to the bounty board to examine the request closer then showed the Shushu the paper.

"What does that word mean" Kiomi said as the Shushu squinted at the paper."Which one". "That one... right there!" Kiomi threw the Shushu at the board.
"Don't question my author-aurtoriminity" Kiomi Said to the Shushu. "Authority?"Said a stranger, "you know what I mean".As he retrieved the Shushu from the board."Hey, what does the poser of a hunter think he is doing... just sitting their, that isn't what Legendary people do, what happened to slaying dragons with their voice or saving a village with a single twig, if sitting their is legendary than my Grammy is more Legendary then that punk, she is a sword too" The Shushu's witty remark made Kiomi raged."Bye, we are going on this quest now" as he stormed out of the room

(Consider this a filler post.)

Shortly after setting his sights upon the Magebane bounty, Jarid found out about a party being formed for the same purpose. A group of mostly mercenaries was planning to hunt him down. While this sort of thing had happened before, it was highly uncommon for mercenaries to get involved in bounty hunting jobs. There was a clear division of labour within the guild regarding that point, but there was a remarkably small amount of jobs available. It wasn't too uncommon for this time of the year to be quiet, things would pick up over the summer, but this was a bit unusual.

While the idea of competition annoyed Jarid to no end, he liked being able to travel safely and having someone to do the tracking for him. In the end, he'd just split from the group and take the bounty before anyone would be the wiser, so there was nothing to worry about. With an accomplished grin, he went to sign up and joined the party led by a rather tall fellow with an axe, who didn't seem to think twice about accepting him.

He paid very little attention to what others were within the group. They were leaving shortly, and Jarid quietly pulled behind the group on his dragoturkey. They had a few long days of riding ahead of them.

Katarine regarded the board with irritation. Nobody was doing much traveling this this time of year, and she was running low on funds. Her last job had only netted about 600 kamas, and that had been three weeks ago. The one job on the board had a 25,000 kama bounty, but it was just that: a bounty. Katarine was a healer, and there was nothing at all ‘skilled’ about her combat skills. She could swing her walking staff, and sometimes hit the broad-side of a barn when she really concentrated with her bow.

Raucous laughter erupted behind her, and Katarine turned around. A huge group of guild members were sitting and standing around the centre table, seeming excited about something. She trotted over and caught the attention of one of the people standing on the fringes. “What’s happening?”

The large man, who was sporting a heavy pack and a heavier hammer replied excitedy. “There’s a big party going after that huge bounty!”

“The 25,000 kama one? How many are going?” Katarine looked interested. If all these people were going, she could probably sign on as a healer and earn a cut of the reward money without having to fight.

“Round three dozen,” the man replied. “Talk to the tall bloke over there if you’re interested.” And with that, he turned back to the discussion he’d been having with several others.

Katarine elbowed her way through the throng towards the man who’d been pointed out to her. It took her a few minutes to catch his attention, but he readily approved her request to join the party. He informed her that they would be leaving within the hour, and she sped off to her room to collect her supplies.

Forty minutes later Katarine and the rest of the adventurers were gathered outside the main paddock, making final preparations. She strapped a bedroll and her pack (stuffed with food and medical supplies) onto the back of her emerald dragoturkey. Her bow was tied onto her pack, and the staff hung in a holder on the saddle.

Loer watched curiously as a Cra stumbled up onto the table that he had firmly planted his legs. Somehow, the oblivious fool managed to trip over Loer's legs. Loer did not know if the Cra was just an idiot, a drunk, or a little bit of both. Regardless, the man slammed into the ground, flat on his face.

Although it irritated Loer to no end that someone had just somehow managed to trip over something that wasn't even on the same horizontal plane as them, he disregarded the drunkard with a sideways glance. Loer had, over the many years of attending the dining hall, grown sympathetic towards the drunks who regularly accepted jobs in the guild. It was them alone who'd influenced him to never take a drink of the horrid alcoholic beverages.

Interestingly enough, the Cra wasn't satisfied with just tripping on his drunken dance. The fool thought it'd be appropriate to pound Loer across the face, and he did. Loer took exception to this, although he had tolerance for the tomfoolery of the drunk, this act of stupidity was borderline intolerable in his eyes.

Loer quickly gripped the Cra by his overly-long hair, pulling it simply to pain the drunken man into submission. Looking closely into the mans face, he recognized the man as the arrogant, yet overly prideful, Ginoe; another regular member of the Guild, much like himself. Loer had never seen him this drunk before (though he did get drunk from time to time). So, without lightening his grip a bit, he said, "What's your problem? I thought you were a noble man!"

Loer then gently (actually, not nearly as gentle as he thought it'd been) threw Ginoe to the ground. "When you sober up you might want to think of hunting Megabane with me," he said. The slight quarrel had gotten the blood rushing, Loer now sought for action. The mission he had earlier denied now seemed like a good idea. Screw the rain.

As Loer walked outside to begin his solitary hunt, he was surprised to see a group gathering. Apparently, the dead feeling of the guild on the inside was not the same as the busy feeling he got outside. That's where the crowd he was used to seeing daily had gone. His Iop friend wasn't being sarcastic.

Ginoe was staring down at the idiosyncratic fellow, who had ignored his stumble. Before he could come to realization, the Osamodas grasped Ginoe’s long hair, pulling them nearly out of their follicles. Not long after, Ginoe was thrown down to the ground ferociously. The man had spluttered out words that Ginoe had trouble understanding. Of the sentences, he picked up just the name “Magebane”. Shortly after, Ginoe heard the door slam. Loer must’ve left to capture the Mage! His head fell back down to the floor and fell back to sleep, ignoring everything occurring at the time.

The glaring sun shined brightly into the man’s face, not helping with the powerful hangover. Many times as he quickly departed from the guild, in a pursuit of Magebane, his mouth swelled up and the trickle of vomit dashed across the tongue. He sought not glory, nor kamas. What he was seeking was revenge. He had vaguely remembered what had happened last night, and the conversation he’d had with Loer. Ginoe, in pain from the excessive drinking of last night, boarded his navy blue dragoturkey. He grasped the reins, of which had also been dyed blue. Ginoe, though very much in pain, kicked the stomach of the dragoturkey gently and lead him along the trail of the group that had left.