Splitting Up

The ship lurched violently as it neared the harbor, tilting hard to one side.

"Easy! EASY!" Leila shouted, gripping the railing as Tomas wrestled with the wheel.

"I've got it!" Tomas insisted.

"You absolutely do not!"

With a final, bone-rattling jolt, the ship slammed into the dock, sending crates tumbling and nearly knocking everyone off their feet. A few onlookers winced at the impact. One dockworker facepalmed.

Silence.

Then Beren gave Tomas a slow, disappointed nod. "Flawless."

Tomas groaned, rubbing his face. "Let's just get off the boat."

A Guild official in a polished coat approached, ledger in hand. "Rough docking. That'll be… fifty silver for the harbor fee."

Leila blinked. "Fifty?"

The official shrugged. "New city ordinance. Cliff's Edge is prosperous. You want to dock, you pay."

Mira sighed. "We don't have fifty."

Leila crossed her arms, fixing the official with a sharp smile. "Look, I think you're a reasonable man. And I think a reasonable man can see we aren't exactly rolling in gold. Surely, we can work something out?"

She took one step closer, lowering her voice just enough to be persuasive without being threatening.

The official hesitated. "…Forty."

Leila tilted her head.

"…Thirty?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"…Twenty-five."

Leila grinned. "Pleasure doing business." She flipped him the coins before turning to the group. "We're officially broke. Again."

Tomas groaned. "Then we need a job. Fast."

Splitting Up

"We'll meet back at the boat by dusk," Tomas decided. "Here's the plan—Beren and I will hit the Adventurers' Guild to find us some work"

"Arlan and I will go shopping," Mira said. "We need supplies."

Leila adjusted her quiver. "I'll gather information—see what the Holy Order's up to, and if anyone's heard rumors about the undead"

Tomas clapped his hands together. "Alright. Let's not get arrested. Break!"

Shopping

The bustling market of Cliff's Edge was alive with noise—stall vendors shouted deals, mercenaries haggled over gear, and scholars debated over magical artifacts. Mira led the way, weaving through the crowd with purpose, while Arlan trailed slightly behind.

Mira stopped at a stall selling dried rations. "Alright, let's stretch what little we have left. Dried meat, bread, maybe—"

She turned, finding Arlan staring at a display of rings and trinkets at a nearby stall.

Mira smirked. "Buying something for me?"

Arlan snapped out of it, quickly turning away. "What? No! I was just—never mind."

She let him suffer for a few more seconds before saving him. "Alright, let's find some actual supplies before you spontaneously combust."

Arlan was grateful.

As they walked through the market, Mira glanced at Arlan. "You know, for someone who commands undead monsters, you're weirdly terrified of normal interactions."

Arlan frowned. "That's not— I just… handle things differently."

Mira tilted her head. "Differently? Or poorly?"

Arlan very deliberately focused on inspecting a bag of flour. "Tactically."

Mira laughed, shaking her head. "Sure. We'll call it that."

Arlan cleared his throat. "Right. Uh, how much for the flour?"

The vendor blinked. "Sir, that's sawdust."

Mira burst into laughter.

Arlan wished the ground would swallow him.

The Guild

The Adventurers' Guild was a storm of noise and motion—mercenaries bartering for contracts, spellcasters debating magical theories, and rogue-types slipping past each other in search of work. The quest board, a massive wall plastered with parchment, sat at the center of it all, surrounded by adventurers elbowing for a better look.

Tomas and Beren pushed through the crowd, scanning the available quests.

"Alright," Tomas muttered. "We need something that pays well but isn't a death sentence."

Beren cracked his knuckles. "So no escort jobs?"

Tomas winced at the memory of their last one. "Absolutely not."

They ran their eyes down the listings:

Escort a noble to the next city (20 silver, low risk, unbearable client)

Investigate strange activity near the old ruin (30 silver, risk unknown, rumor of disappearances)

Rat infestation in the merchant district (15 silver, easy but disgusting)

Dungeon scouting mission (50 silver, high risk, high payout)

Beren jabbed a finger at the dungeon scouting quest. "This one."

Tomas gave him a look. "You picked that without even reading it, didn't you?"

Beren grinned. "I read the payment."

Tomas sighed, rubbing his temple. "You just want an excuse to swing your axe, don't you?"

Beren shrugged. "Do you not?"

Tomas stared at the other options—too low-paying, too tedious, too likely to get them stuck with an entitled noble for days. The dungeon was risky, but it was the best payout by far.

He yanked the parchment from the board. "Fine. Let's go get this stamped."

They made their way to the front desk, where a clerk with round spectacles and an exhausted expression barely glanced up.

"Name?" he droned.

"Tomas," he said, slapping the quest slip down. "We're taking the dungeon job."

The clerk raised an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses. "You sure? Scouts went in three days ago. Didn't come back."

Beren's grin widened. "So less competition for the loot?"

The clerk exhaled, clearly too tired to care, and stamped the quest slip. "Guild rules say I gotta warn you. Don't get yourselves killed."

Tomas picked up the stamped slip. "No promises."

Gathering Intel

Leila slipped into The Gilded Mare, a rowdy tavern nestled between a blacksmith's forge and a potion shop. The scent of ale, sweat, and roasted meat filled the air, and the din of voices created a constant hum of conversation. Mercenaries, traders, and adventurers packed the space, laughing, arguing, and making deals over cheap drinks.

She moved effortlessly through the crowd, picking a table near the back, where she could listen without standing out. A barmaid passed by, balancing a tray of drinks, and Leila slipped her a coin.

"Rumor's worth more than ale," Leila said with a smile.

The barmaid pocketed the coin smoothly and leaned in. "What are you looking for?"

Leila swirled the ale in her mug. "Anything new in town?"

The barmaid gave her a sharp look, then glanced over her shoulder before lowering her voice. "Holy Order's been marching East. Some say they're preparing for a final stand against the dead. Others say they're hunting something."

Leila kept her expression neutral. "What kind of something?"

The barmaid hesitated, then leaned in further. "There's talk… strange talk. More and more kids are awakening as Necromancers. Young ones—sixteen, seventeen. Every last one of them is being purged by the Holy Order the second they are found"

Leila's grip tightened on her mug. "They think it's connected to the horde?"

The barmaid shrugged. "No one knows. But people are scared. Some say it's the will of the gods. Others say it's a curse. Whatever it is, the Holy Order isn't letting any of them live long enough to find out."

Leila forced herself to take a sip of ale, her pulse quickening. This was bad. If the Holy Order was growing more aggressive, it meant Arlan was in even more danger than they thought.

She stood, tossing another coin onto the table. "Thanks for the talk."

The barmaid nodded. "Word of advice? Don't ask too many questions."

Leila slipped out of the tavern, heart pounding. She needed to get back to the boat. Fast.

Regrouping at Dusk

The sky bled orange by the time the group returned. Tomas tossed a quest slip onto the crate. "Dungeon scouting. Fifty silver."

Mira placed their supplies down. "Fifty silver?, That will get us going."

Leila crossed her arms, expression grim. "More and more kids are awakening as Necromancers—and the Holy Order isn't wasting any time hunting them down and wiping them out."

Silence.

Arlan said nothing, but Mira saw the way his hands tightened into fists.

Tomas exhaled. "Alright. We'll figure it out. But for now, we rest. We hit the dungeon tomorrow."

The sea was calm. The night quiet.

But none of them would sleep easy.