Chapter XII Daily Grinding in the Great Dry Sea

"I'm all in," I declare to the assistant guild master, who greets me with a wide grin.

"Well, if it isn't Lord Rasleigh himself! You're the one my crew was buzzing about. I had no idea you were the recipient of our message. Regardless, I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival. I'm assuming our messenger filled you in on our predicament down in the southwest stretch of the desert? The cursed demonic taint, thanks to Surtr, has turned the Tandaya Trade Caravan route into a big 'ol no-go zone. I'll get your papers sorted pronto. Just hang tight. Now, make your way over to Commander Oaksteel of the Crusaders. You'll find him in the center – buried under heaps of paperwork, no doubt."

"Hold up, no need for all that," I interject, Valentina slithering over with a sack chock-full of Surtr's Incarnations' right ears. Man, I must've butchered like 356 of those nasty things.

"What? You've taken down the Incarnations? How in the blazes did you manage that? And, uh, is that...could it be...? No way! These are the real deal – Surtr's right ears!" She exclaims, popping open the sack like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yep, you got it. I gave 'em a run for their money," I confirm, a smug smile tugging at my lips.

"By the Norns, this is huge! With this, you've seriously just dealt a major blow to the impending doom these Incarnations were bringing. It's like you've slapped a leash on Surtr himself, forcing him to regroup. I mean, it's safe to assume he's licking his wounds in some cosmic hideout. Unless you're secretly a time traveler, and I wouldn't put it past you! Haha! My only regret is we can't chase him across dimensions. But hey, you've knocked out his minions and crippled his grand return. Our researchers are going to dig deep into these ears – there's gotta be some insights to glean from 'em. We need every edge to keep the world from going to pieces."

"Once more, I'm offering up my sincere gratitude on behalf of the Crusaders and the grand Empire of Avalon. I'll fire off a message to His Majesty pronto, detailing your epic feat. As for your reward, I've got a trio of choices here. Take your pick!" Caitlyn suggests, her eyes gleaming with appreciation.

"I'm gonna have to go with that massive water jug, no doubt. Especially since we're traipsing around in this desert heat," I quip, pointing at the impressive vase.

"Sure thing! Just remember, even though we're savoring this victory, our struggle's far from over. We're dealing with one of the big bad demon kings here. My gut tells me Surtr's not one to stay down for long. Keep relishing this win, but don't let your guard down – ever. Count on me to be your ally, your benefactor for your service. Now, you should rest up. Don't sweat the details, we'll manage the rest on this end."

That wise Baronet? None other than Caitlyn Roses, the Lieutenant Commander of the Crusaders. Quite the bookworm too. Funny how we first crossed paths back in our teenage years. I'd done her a solid, managed to score a copy of The Dove of Destiny by Leonard Hilbert. Anyway, with time on my hands, I figure I'll ask for another gig right then and there. She tells me to meet up with Angel deLight, a fellow philosopher and mercenary extraordinaire.

I sauntered down Al-Miraj Avenue, right into the Palm Scimitar tavern where my client awaited. A pair of missions lay before me: tracking down Ryan Moondraught and rescuing abducted children from Sceptre Group's day-care, as well as providing protection to a mysterious client from an enigmatic attacker.

"Well, well, you finally made it. Time's of the essence, so let's cut to the chase. I'm the bigwig in charge of these two gigs the Brethren of Slayers has taken on. Recognizing that Assassins aren't always the right fit for every job, we decided to rope in external help. Now, brace yourself – the first task's for the Sceptre Group. If you're in, you'll be partnering with Bill Kidder to track down and handle a specific target. The other mission's for an academic bloke who goes by the moniker 'J.' All his credentials check out, and he's basically asked for a personal safeguard. Both clients raise an eyebrow or two, I won't lie. But if cozying up with them inches us closer to cracking this missing kids case, we've got to seize the opportunity. Hope that makes sense. So, are you up to play guardian angel for the Sceptre Group, or will you be Mr. J's bodyguard? Take your pick based on your skillset."

"I'm signing up as Mr. J's watchful protector until we nab that unknown assailant," I declared.

"Fair enough," Angel responded, waving Mr. J over from another table to meet me. "Mr. J, Rasleigh here will be the one looking out for you while you're setting up shop in Oasenstadt for your research." Angel introduced us, and Mr. J acknowledged my presence with a nod. Just as he was about to take a seat at our table, something tickled my instincts – a presence hinting at a long-range assault. In the corner of my eye, I spotted a sniper tucked in an alley beside a dye shop, aiming a poison-tipped arrow at my client. Acting on instinct, I snatched the arrow mid-air, dashed towards the assailant, and delivered a solid punch to his face, promptly ending his potential threat.

"Whoa, that was lightning-fast!" Angel exclaimed as I brought the unconscious would-be assailant out of Palm Scimitar, his face sporting some fresh damage.

"Yep, no time to waste," I replied, securing the subdued sniper to a nearby post. "Better summon the Crusaders ASAP."

Within about five minutes, the guards arrived, taking charge of the sniper and hauling him off to the gaol. Mr. J was visibly relieved, no doubt grateful that his day hadn't turned into a deadly encounter. Haha!

"Oh, and before I forget, let me hand you your reward for tackling this mission head-on. The Brethren of Slayers extends their gratitude for your dedication and hard work. Granted, we might've missed our initial objective, but rest assured, I'll let your guild know that you played a pivotal role in averting a global disaster," Angel explained, hopping onto a ride with Mr. J as they left Palm Scimitar. As for me, I headed back to my Grandma's place. The Palace of Sandstorms might have its aura, but nothing beats my gran's cooking. Way better than the castle chef's, that's for sure!

I woke up the next morning with a gnawing feeling that I still hadn't done enough to make a meaningful impact on Alsahra. Despite being the next in line for the throne, I felt a personal responsibility to contribute to the betterment of the people here. So, I decided to roll up my sleeves and headed to the headquarters of the Alsahra Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Program Committee. It seemed like a good way to stay active, if nothing else. My target was the Wood Team, overseen by Mau O'Ledan, the Archbishop in charge of the agency's efforts.

Gather 'round, folks, because it's time for another tale of my epic adventures! So, picture this: I walked into the Supplies Department, and there's Mau, the ever-watchful eye, sizing me up like I'm a misplaced jigsaw puzzle piece. But hey, I came to lend a hand, not blend into the construction crew's fashion statement. She seemed hesitant, like she wasn't expecting a knight in shining armor to show up with a battle-ready sword. But who needs a hammer when you've got a sword, right?

"I heard you're in a bit of a wood-related bind," I chimed, giving her a winning smile that I was sure would help seal the deal.

Her raised eyebrow had more skepticism than a detective staring down a con artist. "You don't exactly look like a construction whiz from the headquarters. But hey, if you're up for it, we're in need of some wood-fetching. Head on out through the southern gate, grab an axe from the Tool Supplier, and gather around 10 pieces of wood. Not too much, champ – let's not be too ambitious on your first go. Also, keep an eye out for rope materials while you're at it. Our rope supply's running dryer than a desert in a drought. Grab the list I gave you for the material details."

"No fancy gear needed, just my good ol' sword," I assured her, flashing my weapon like it was a VIP pass to wood-chopping glory. "And I'm game for these tasks, no sweat."

She nodded, pointing me toward a dude huddled by the window. "Great, talk to Archbishop over there. He'll put you on the roster for the Brick-making gig."

"Hey there, Zedrick Funzione's the name. I'm the head honcho of the ARRPC Supplies Department's Brick Team. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Just here to get my hands dirty, helping with the brick-making."

"Well, well, well, we got a live one here! Ready to roll up those sleeves, huh? So here's the dealio – grab some sand Grit and Fine Sand from around the city. Toss that into the Mimic over yonder, and it'll do a fancy transformation, spitting out a Brick for your troubles. Your goal? Score 10 of those bad boys. Quick heads up – this process isn't foolproof. You might hit a snag, so best of luck!"

About ten minutes of sand-to-brick alchemy later, I swaggered back to Zedrick. "Hey again, what's shakin'?"

"Got the wood you were after."

"And you managed to round up those rope materials?"

"Yep, all squared away."

"Bravo. What'd you bring for the rope?"

"Mandragora Hair."

"Anything else?"

"Goat Hair. Oh, and I whipped up some bricks too."

"Mandragora Hair, Goat Hair, and a side of bricks? You're a dynamo! Here's your reward, my friend. Take it to the Alsahra Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Program Committee Reward Center, and trade it for something sweet. Thanks for being a lifesaver, pal."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," I mumbled, slipping out of the scene. But don't you think for a second that my day's work was done. After a hearty lunch, I was back in the saddle, ready to tackle yet another gig – this time, the delivery task. I tracked down one of the workers and launched into my spiel.

"Hello there! I'm on a mission to collect wood, rope, and bricks, and ship 'em over to the castle construction site. They want them in batches – 100 pieces of wood, 100 lengths of rope, and 100 bricks each time. Need a hand with that?"

"Absolutely, I'm your guy."

"Awesome sauce! Let's see if the wood, rope, and brick orders are in."

"Oh, there we go. Perfect! You're headed to the central castle. Dive into that pile of materials, load up on wood, rope, and bricks, and hustle 'em over to the construction zone. And remember, we're talking 100 pieces of each material. If that's a bit much for your cargo-carrying capabilities, no worries – make multiple trips."

With my adrenaline pumping and the thrill of a challenge, I hustled and delivered like a pro, wrapping up the task in about ten minutes flat. Back at the agency, I cashed in on my well-deserved reward.

"Hey there, back to lend a helping hand with the Oasenstadt restoration project. How can I assist?" The guy looked a bit puzzled, like he'd misplaced his coffee order.

"Actually, I'm here to collect the rewards for my services."

"Oh, you are? That was lightning-fast. So, which tasks did you tackle?"

"I handled the wood, rope, and brick deliveries."

"According to this record, not only did you deliver, but you went above and beyond, delivering more than 100 pieces of each material. I'm all ears if you've got a magical secret for that level of productivity. Scratch that, rhetorical question. Anyway, kudos for your top-notch contribution. Enjoy this token of appreciation. Take it to the Alsahra Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Program Committee Reward Center, and see what tickles your fancy. Thanks for keeping the wheels turning!"

And there you have it, my friends – another chapter in the chronicles of my eventful life. Who knew that wood, rope, and bricks could lead to such riveting escapades?

Alright, gather 'round for the next chapter in my thrilling saga! So, there I was, wandering through the desert city, trying to shake off the doldrums that come with the "helpful citizen" lifestyle. It was time to inject some adventure into the mix, and boy, did I hit the jackpot when I stumbled upon the Mercenary Board Missions. The promise of action and some sweet Alsahra Merit had me feeling like a kid in a candy store, ready to tackle whatever the desert could throw at me.

I strolled up to the board, eying the tasks listed there like a connoisseur of danger. And then, like a shining beacon, I saw it – a mission that practically shouted, "Get your adrenaline pumping here!" It was none other than Brandon, the fearless leader of the Crusaders, Alpha Squadron, who caught my eye.

"Hey there, I'm the one and only Brandon. I've got the exhilarating job of monster removal in these parts. What brings you to my neck of the sand?"

"Got any thrilling gigs for an eager adventurer like me?"

With a nod that screamed "Hold on tight," he grinned and said, "We're rounding up brave souls for a guerrilla subjugation spree against the pesky Sitan Infierno Reincarnations. Up for it?"

"Absolutely, sign me up for that wild ride."

"Great to have you on board. Now, allow me to introduce you to Van – the man in charge of this subjugation squad. We're not your average team, mind you. Each one of us tackles unique tasks. Here's your game plan: Seek out those elusive Sitan Infierno Reincarnations scattered around the city. There are four different breeds of them, and your goal is to bag 10 of each. Once that's done, head straight back to headquarters and find the Reward Coordinator. And with that, consider yourself dismissed!"

Armed with more enthusiasm than a kid on a roller coaster, I embarked on my mission, slicing through each incarnation that dared cross my path. After a solid 30-minute spree of epic battles and victorious roars, I made a beeline for the reward coordinator's spot – a familiar face that had become the gateway to my well-earned bounties.

"Hey there, I'm pretty sure I'm here to assist with the Oasenstadt restoration effort. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to cash in on the rewards for a job well done."

"Ah, yes, that task. What were you up to this time?"

"I've been busy hunting down those pesky Sitan Infierno reincarnations," I announced, proudly showcasing the heads of my fallen foes, neatly bundled up in a sack.

"Ah, yes, your reward for successfully helping us tame those devilish Sitan Infierno incarnations. Much appreciated, my friend. Your dedication is invaluable. Keep up the splendid work."

"By the way, do you always communicate like you're reading from a script?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're referring to, sir."

"Never mind, let's just chalk it up to my wild imagination."

And there you have it, another chapter of my desert escapades, wrapped up in daring battles and a touch of humor. Who knew that subduing incarnations could be so exhilarating? Time to savor my victory and gear up for the next adventure!

Ah, buckle up folks, because here's the scoop on my next adventure in the sandy expanse! As fate would have it, I ended up at Emmanuel Courtess' doorstep, ready to dive into yet another challenging mission. And let me tell you, this one was all about escorting – not the kind that involves fancy parties and ball gowns, mind you, but a worker to the human resource department in Oasenstadt.

Now, picture this: Emmanuel, the man with a task that seemed like a burden even Atlas wouldn't dare shoulder, was practically beaming when he saw me. He greeted me like a savior descended from the heavens to rescue him from a labor-related nightmare.

"Well, well, well, it looks like the heavens have heard my cries for help! My hero has arrived just in time to rescue me from this pit of despair. Gather 'round, let me give you the lowdown. You see, we're in the midst of an epic construction extravaganza aimed at reviving the central castle and the surrounding structures. But, oh boy, getting a workforce together has been a saga in itself. Nowadays, the youngsters flee from manual labor like it's a plague. So, I've managed to wrangle a few potential recruits from nearby towns – a task easier on my sanity than the rest. My role? To play matchmaker between these newbies and the construction zones where they fit best. But let me tell you, it's like trying to herd cats. So, here's where you swoop in. Can you help me out? Your grand mission, should you choose to accept it, is to guide the fresh faces to their designated construction sites based on their skills. Nearly all the workstations are running on a skeleton crew, and let's just say the crew isn't throwing me a parade for being a procrastinator in assigning workers."

Naturally, I was all in for this new escapade. "Absolutely, sign me up for this unconventional matchmaking adventure! Where can I find these potential laborers?" I chimed in.

"Ah, bless your adventurous heart! Let me introduce you to these rookies. Hang on a sec... Got it. Now, your first charge is this worker here. Your task is to lead them to a construction site that's a perfect fit for their skills. And don't forget to sync up with the HR Supervisor on site. These rookies are getting dispatched to four different locations: the central castle construction site, and the wood, rope, and brick supply sites. Each site has its very own supervisor playing boss. So, when you land at a site with your worker in tow, start by checking in with the supervisor, then release the worker from your mercenary roster, and finally, double-check with the supervisor that everything's A-okay. You dig?"

Fast forward about five hours, and I was finally ready to give my tired feet a break. Naturally, it was time for my regular rendezvous with the reward coordinator – a man whose dialogue seemed stuck on repeat.

"Alrighty then, I reckon I'm here to... Umm... Let me think... Oh yes, here to contribute to the Oasenstadt restoration endeavor. How may I be of service?" The reward coordinator's lines were practically engraved in my memory by now.

"I'm back to collect my rewards for the tasks I've tackled."

"Ah, gotcha. So, what were you up to this time around?"

"Worker transport. Emmanuel Courtess was my guiding star for this one."

"Ah, the worker transport duty, huh? Emmanuel Courtess and his ideas... Sometimes I wonder why they haven't given him the boot. Anyway, here's a contribution certificate for your time and effort in the world of worker transportation. Hats off to you!"

"Thanks, Mr. Script-Perfect!" I couldn't resist a playful jab.

So there I was, post-worker transport mission, contemplating my next move while my stomach orchestrated a rather convincing symphony of grumbles. That's when it hit me – a quick stop at Roelle Leonard's joint for some much-needed rations. You know, a bite to keep the engine running, as they say.

I waltzed over to her with a glimmer of hope in my eyes, only to have it deflated faster than a popped balloon.

"I'm sorry, but I'm buried under a mountain of tasks right now. Could you do me a favor and swing by later?" she pleaded, clearly swamped.

"Oh, so I take it you're busier than a squirrel before winter. What's got you tangled up?"

"I'm elbow-deep in whipping up snacks for the hardworking souls over at the Alsahra Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Program Committee. I'm basically their snack fairy, waving my wand and dishing out munchies to an army of laborers day in and day out. Frankly, I could use a knight in shining armor to rescue me from this culinary chaos."

"Ah, the snack fairy in distress, I see. What's on the menu these days?"

"Are you offering a helping hand? Oh, bless your generous soul! I don't want to see you dragging in with an entire buffet, so I'll slide you a list of options. Just pick one, and I'll be eternally grateful."

"Consider it done." Little did I know that this quest for rations would turn into yet another wild adventure. I mean, who would have thought that satisfying a grumbling stomach would lead to more errands? Classic, right? About thirty minutes of culinary treasure hunting later, I returned to Roelle's kitchen with my spoils.

"Frantic much? Oh, you're back. Did you manage to snag the goodies I asked for?"

"What was it that you needed again?" I playfully quipped.

"Did the list I handed you somehow transform into an enigma? Just bring me any of these: Bomber Steak, Herb Marinade Beef, Yulesbergen Lady's Pancake, Shiny Marinade Beef, Tentacle Cheese Gratin, Yulesbergen Cold Noodle, Steamed Bat Wing in Pumpkin, Chili Shrimp Gratin, Honey Herbal Tea, Alsahra Fruit Wine, Mango Fruit Wine, Red Mushroom Wine, Fruit Mix, Cream Sandwich, Green Salad, Peach Cake, Clam Soup, Seasoned Jellyfish, Spice Fried Bao, Awfully Bitter Bracer, Fried Sweet Potato, Steamed Ancient Lips, Fried Scorpion Tails, or Lucky Soup."

"Oh, right, right. Got it."

"Well, congrats on retaining the info this time," she chuckled.

"Your wish is my command," I replied with a mock bow.

"Your generosity knows no bounds. Accept this as a token of my gratitude. It's redeemable at the Alsahra Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Program Committee. Now that the culinary tornado has subsided, I'm ready to take a breather. After all, even snack fairies need their beauty sleep."

And so, laden with surplus rations swiped straight from her kitchen, I headed back to my grandmother's place. The night that followed was as serene as a catnap in a sunbeam, devoid of the usual Valkyrie-invaded dreams that left me questioning reality. As I drifted off into slumber, my thoughts danced toward the vague and undetermined horizons that awaited me.

The next morning, the sun had barely cracked the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the desert landscape. Without a moment to spare, I launched into action, legs pounding the sand with a fervor that could rival a stampede of caffeine-crazed wildebeests. But then, just as suddenly as a plot twist in a telenovela, my attention was hijacked by an odd sight – a pile of ragged, forlorn-looking scraps strewn haphazardly in the sand. I'm talking about a true fashion nightmare here, folks. These rags were like the leftovers from a fancy dress party attended by sandstorms and tumbleweeds. Intrigued, or perhaps just feeling like I'd stumbled upon the world's most pathetic picnic spot, I cautiously pulled the tatters apart.

To my surprise, beneath the layers of desolation and general disarray, there lay a figure. A wounded figure at that – a male Scout Ranger, looking like he'd had one too many close encounters with prickly cacti and cantankerous desert creatures. It was a real-life desert drama playing out right in front of me, and I couldn't resist being drawn into the plot. My heroic instincts kicked in, and I leaned closer.

"Hey, are you alive in there?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

"Ugh..." came the guttural response from beneath the tangle of rags.

"Need some assistance?"

"Ugh... I could eat my own boot at this point... Anything edible... pet food... please..."

He seemed to fade back into the land of nod as rapidly as an action sequence cut to black. This was my cue, the moment that called for my role as the "Rescuer of Rogue Rangers." Rummaging through my supplies, I presented him with a humble fried bao – my version of a culinary lifebuoy. The way he snatched it from my hand, you'd think he hadn't seen food in days. The bao vanished into his ravenous maw quicker than a rabbit down a rabbit hole.

As the flavors of sustenance reignited his life force, he slowly came to, like a sunbeam breaking through storm clouds. He introduced himself as Melleus Bonn – a moniker that sounded like it had just stepped out of a medieval fantasy novel. He wore a look of camaraderie in his eyes, a mix of gentle strength and an unwavering sense of brotherhood. Oh, and lest I forget, he had a sleek black cat tattoo adorning his left arm, which I mentally dubbed his "feline confidante."

I led him toward a nearby oasis, promising cool refreshment and a place to swap tales. Once settled, he began to spill the beans – figuratively, of course. His story unveiled itself like a hidden treasure map unfurling before my eyes.

As we sipped the cool oasis water, Melleus embarked on a storytelling journey that matched the otherworldly nature of his experience. He revealed that he'd been through the kind of adventure that most people only dream about – or have nightmares about, depending on how you looked at it. His tale was like a patchwork quilt of perspectives, constantly shifting from third-person to first-person, with the occasional detour into his own musings. It was like trying to follow a labyrinthine maze, with me occasionally nudging him to stay on track.

He began by explaining how a Dimensional Fissure had yanked him from the cozy embrace of his world and hurled him into a new dimension, a place of chaos and uncertainty. He'd been exploring this brave new realm with his merry band of companions, a squad of fellow adventurers out to conquer the unknown. But then the plot took a twist – a disagreement among them snowballed into pandemonium, and next thing he knew, he was alone, left to fend for himself amidst the unfamiliar terrain.

Now, let me tell you, Melleus had a gift for narrative diversions. He'd start a sentence in third person, morph into first person, throw in a dash of philosophy, and then segue into an existential monologue. It was like trying to follow a rollercoaster without a track. So, I exercised my best "keep it simple, buddy" expression, and heeding the silent plea, he straightened out the convoluted threads of his tale.

He recounted their initial plan – a journey to the New World, a hotspot of adventure and mystery. The dreamy destination turned into a chaotic battleground as differences of opinion clashed. Before he knew it, he was stranded in a realm that felt both alien and oddly familiar. The ground beneath his feet blazed with an otherworldly fire, yet it didn't singe his shoes. The landscape was a hodgepodge of fantastical flora and fauna, like Mother Nature had thrown a costume party.

He described his desperate calls for his buddies, but the only echo was the haunting silence of solitude. Days blurred into a survival saga, with his stomach acting as the dictator and his taste buds becoming surprisingly democratic – if it was remotely edible, it was on the menu. And let's just say, some culinary experiments weren't as successful as others.

Then came the unexpected encounter with a group that could have been taken straight from a fantasy epic, complete with misshapen ears and exotic attire. He mistook them for some peculiar humanoids at first, but it turned out they were as alien as the land itself. Instinct kicked in, and he found himself diving into a Dimensional Fissure – the very one that had been the backdrop to his discord with his companions.

And just like that, he was back in the familiar yet alien place, Alsahra. How? Well, he pulled off some interdimensional teleportation maneuver that would've impressed even the most astute sci-fi geek. But, of course, the process left him drained, and he ended up collapsed in a heap, conveniently right where I stumbled upon him.

As his tale reached its conclusion, a shadow of worry crept into his expressive eyes. His friends were still out there somewhere, lost in the ether of the unknown. But Melleus wasn't one to be daunted by mere interdimensional turmoil. The allure of that fiery realm still danced in his imagination like a siren's call. So, with the determination of someone who knows that life is a grand adventure, he set his sights on a more immediate quest – aiding in the reconstruction of various districts within the city. Part-time jobs were his game plan, a way to contribute to the construction efforts and restock his supplies, all while keeping an eye on the horizon for his next escapade.

As the sun decided to turn up the heat, I finally made it back within the welcoming walls of the city. The whole place was abuzz with activity, as if it had missed my presence. Maybe I was just flattering myself, but there's no denying that the atmosphere seemed a bit more electric when I strutted into view. My destination was Angel DeLight's impromptu office, a sort of headquarters within the bustling mercenary guildhall. The mere presence of this woman had the uncanny ability to sprinkle a pinch of purpose onto the chaos. And she had a little secret to spill, one that promised not just excitement, but a healthy bump in my coin pouch as well.

"Hey there, Rasleigh. Look who's the talk of the town again! Seriously, I think this place secretly craves your energy. So, have you heard the latest buzz? There's this ancient site that's just been dug up – the Hyperion Ruins. Scherweinst Senoirbz Corporation is all hyped up about it and they're sending out a call to arms for adventurers. And guess what? We're hitching a ride on this thrill train. The big boss wants to chat with you about this golden ticket."

"Hold on, there's a captain involved now?"

"Oh, come on, did you think I'm the lone star in this cosmic carnival? We've got a captain leading the charge, and let me tell you, she's like a dynamo of enthusiasm. You've got to meet her. Her office is to the far left on the second floor. Just drop the hint that you're rolling with Borenbroke's crew. We're in the gathering phase at the moment, but the actual adventure won't start for another ten moons or so. There's a whole lot of paperwork and precautionary jazz they want to wrap up before we dive headfirst into the treasure trove."

Following Angel's finger-pointing directions, I ascended the staircase and walked straight into the receptionist's welcoming presence, as per her orders.

"Hey there, good to see you. Welcome to the Phantasmagoria excavation reception desk. You got a ticket or some sort of reference, or are you just waltzing in?"

"I'm rolling with the MuBetz Crew."

"MuBetz Crew, nice. What's your name, friend?"

"Rasleigh... Yup, that's me. I'm in another squad."

"Borenbroke's crew, right?"

"Yep, Borenbroke it is."

"Give me a second to play detective... ah, there you are! Looks like you're barely scraping by the minimum crew size requirement. But hey, we're all about inclusion here. Regardless of whether your team could fill a phone booth or pack a football stadium, you're all part of the family. Feel free to follow your squad's leader's orders while also taking a shot at the tasks lined up at the Central Command Center. And guess what? We'll keep you posted on any wild events that decide to crash the party. In case you get banged up or your energy's in the dumps, don't forget that we've got healers on standby at the Command Center. Scherweinst Senoirbz Corporation's got your back with all the gear you'd need to brave the excavation site. And in return, we're banking on you to unearth the juicy secrets of Phantasmagoria. So, happy treasure hunting out there!"

Stepping out of the office, I found myself at the entrance of the building, the sunlight hitting my face in a welcome burst of warmth. Oh, and before I continue, let's make sure we've got the proper context here. The mercenary guild we've been diving into has an official name – they're known as the MuBetz Crew. It's not your run-of-the-mill guild, though; it's a kind of community with a heart, dedicated to making Avalon a better place. They don't just sit around waiting for things to happen – they curate missions like a fancy wine list and discreetly post them in their hidden headquarters. It's like a hub where all these crew members who are raring to help out others gather up. And it's not just a ragtag group of volunteers – they're equipped with some slick gear to tackle their tasks head-on. Leading this whole operation is none other than Marceline Tigris Borenbroke, although she's pretty chill about being called Marcy. She's got this unbeatable spirit and is actually the brains behind the MuBetz Crew. Now, here's the kicker – her middle name, Tigris, seems like it was ripped right from a page of history, like Joseon Dynasty kind of ancient. A little flair, you know? Haha!

Up on the second floor, there's this room that does double duty as Marcy's bedroom and her office. And trust me, she's not too keen on surprise visitors snooping around in there. But I digress. Let's talk about Marceline's story – it's like a canvas splashed with family mysteries. Picture this: once upon a time, her dad, a dude named Abaddon Borenbroke, just poofed into thin air and left the family hanging. That's a whole lot of frustration simmering, right? Eventually, Marceline had enough and decided to sell the family home – yep, the very inheritance she was supposed to get – and walked away from it all. And that grudge she's got against dear old dad? It's like a tattoo that never fades. Fast forward to the Scherweinst Senoirbz Corporation, who were like, "Hey, MuBetz Crew, we need some adventurous souls to help us dig up the Hyperion Ruins, this ancient site we just found." And guess what? Queenamild – Marcy's right-hand person – floated the idea of joining forces with the Borenbroke Excavation Team for a big ol' collaboration. Here's the kicker, part two – Marcy was in, but with a catch. She wanted to support the excavation team rather than jump into the trenches herself. Quite the twist, huh?

Alright, let's dive deeper into this family drama – buckle up, because it's like a soap opera with a twist! So, here's the deal – we've got Abaddon Borenbroke, and honestly, that name alone sounds like it's straight out of a fantasy epic, right? Well, Abaddon is no ordinary guy – he's actually the big shot leading the Borenbroke Excavation Team, and in a plot twist that could make your head spin, he's also none other than Marceline Borenbroke's dear old dad. Yep, family dynamics are never simple, are they?

Now, Abaddon's story is a bit like one of those mystery novels you can't put down. He had this burning passion for archaeology, and you know what they say about following your dreams – he did just that. But here's where things get a bit tangled. In his quest for archaeological wonders, he left his family in the dust for a while. Yep, he cut all ties like a magician's disappearing act. But hold onto your hat, because fate has a funny way of bringing people back together. After a while, Abaddon found his way back home, like a prodigal adventurer returning to the fold. But here's where the drama ramps up – turns out Marceline had gone ahead and sold off something pretty darn important – their family home. Cue the dramatic music!

Now, you might think a family reunion would be all warm and fuzzy, but nope, not this one. Abaddon's reaction was like a storm brewing on the horizon. The news hit him like a lightning bolt, and let's just say his reaction was far from chill. It's like the calm before the storm, but without the calm part. So, before you could say "reconciliation," Abaddon was off the radar again, disappearing like a ghost in the night. And that, my friend, is the kind of stuff that keeps family dinners interesting.

Step into the scene, Queenamild Coriley, ready to stir the pot of Abaddon's excavation world with a proposition that's juicier than a mystery novel plot twist. She waltzes up to Abaddon and his trusty Borenbroke Excavation Team, sporting an idea that's like a breath of fresh air on a sweltering day. And guess what? It's got the MuBetz Crew's stamp of approval, sponsored by none other than that crew of do-gooders themselves. You'd think Abaddon would jump on this opportunity like a cat chasing a laser pointer, right? Well, hold onto your fedora, because here's where things get a bit more complicated.

At first, Abaddon's all in, wearing a grin that's as wide as a canyon – it's a golden ticket to a collaboration that could make headlines. But wait for it... the plot thickens! Just as the pieces start falling into place, he gets hit with the bombshell that the brain behind the MuBetz Crew, the mastermind who orchestrated this whole shebang, is none other than his estranged daughter, Marceline. Oh boy, cue the record scratch! Talk about a twist that even the best screenwriters wouldn't see coming. Abaddon's emotions go from warm and fuzzy to boiling point in a split second. It's like taking a relaxing bath and then suddenly realizing the water's lava. Ouch.

And here's where the drama takes a Shakespearean turn – Abaddon's old wounds, those emotional scars that you'd think would've healed with time, are still as tender as a bruised peach. In the face of this shocking revelation, Abaddon decides to bring in the peacemaker, the diplomat extraordinaire, Ibrahim Al-Yures. He's like the Switzerland of this family feud, serving as the go-between for the Borenbroke Excavation Team and the MuBetz Crew. Yep, when it comes to family drama, even the best reality TV shows can't compete with this level of intrigue.

But hold on, we're not done yet! Let's flip the script and shift our spotlight to another intriguing character – Queenamild Coriley. First off, can we just appreciate that name? It's like something out of a fantasy novel, and it suits her role to a T. Queenamild is the friendly face of the MuBetz Crew, the one who rolls out the welcome mat for all those fresh-faced Neophytes looking to join the crew's ranks. Picture her sitting at her desk, perched on the second floor of the MuBetz Crew headquarters. It's like her own little kingdom, where she balances the roles of both office queen and the reigning queen of relaxation. But trust me, that's just the appetizer in this whirlwind of a story.

Cue the entrance of the Scherweinst Senoirbz Corporation, stage right, with their grand Phantasmagoria Project – a project so big, it sounds like a rollercoaster ride through a funhouse of mysteries. And in the midst of this swirling vortex of opportunity, who else but Queenamild Coriley steps up to the plate with a plot that's more layered than an onion. Imagine her leaning in, conspiratorial smile on her lips, as she whispers her brilliant idea to none other than Marceline Borenbroke herself. It's like a scene out of a spy thriller, with Queenamild unveiling her plan for a double-agent excavation extravaganza. And guess who's the VIP guest? The one and only Borenbroke Excavation Team, marching in with shovels held high.

But wait for it... Marceline, a character as unique as a unicorn in a sea of horses, is totally on board – with one little twist, of course. She's all about adding her muscle to the team's efforts, not hijacking the whole operation. It's like trying to find the perfect ratio of milk to cereal – a fine balance that's essential for the perfect bowl of adventure.

Yet, Queenamild's genius brain had more gears turning than a clock tower on a windy day. She pondered, she speculated, and she wondered – could this be the time to merge the Borenbroke Excavation Team into the MuBetz Crew? Imagine her, deep in thought, surrounded by swirls of brilliance, considering the prospect of combining forces. After all, Scherweinst Senoirbz Corporation's pockets were deeper than a well, already funding this epic project. But lo and behold, the plot takes an unexpected twist when Queenamild sits across the table from the Borenbroke Excavation Team. Instead of devouring them like a hungry dragon, she puts on her persuasive hat – a hat that's half archaeologist, half salesperson. She launches a full-scale charm offensive, convincing these retired diggers that it's time to dust off their trusty shovels, bid adieu to their metaphorical rocking chairs, and dive headfirst into another excavation adventure. But here's the kicker – this time, they're not alone. They've got the entire MuBetz Crew as their excavation entourage, ready to roll up their sleeves and dig up some history together. It's like a symphony of teamwork, with Queenamild leading the orchestra.

Let me unravel another layer of the Queenamild enigma for you – she's not just a mastermind of projects and excavations, she's got a heart that's bigger than a whale's appetite for krill. Beyond the surface, she's got a humanitarian streak a mile wide. She's like a mix of an archaeologist, a project manager, and a family therapist all rolled into one. While she's orchestrating excavation missions, she's also secretly plotting a bit of a reconciliation plan. You see, there's some major family drama going on between Marceline and her long-lost dad, Abaddon. And Queenamild, well, she's got a glint in her eye, a plan in her pocket, and a hope that maybe, just maybe, this collaboration might be the antidote to their familial tensions. Picture her like a puppeteer, tugging at the strings of history and emotions, trying to weave a tapestry of understanding between two stubborn souls. But as you probably know, family feuds are like that tangled mess of headphones in your bag – no matter how much you try to sort them out, they just keep knotting up.

With all that brewing beneath the surface, I waved goodbye to Lucas Rapier, the MuBetz Crew's guard with a prickly exterior that's probably just a cover for his marshmallow heart. I stepped out through the entrance, ready to embrace the call of the Palace of Sandstorms. It's like a cozy haven, a place where I could unwind and spend a peaceful night with my dear old mom. And as the night draped the city in its velvety darkness, thoughts swirled in my mind like sand caught in a desert breeze. Tomorrow, my compass would point me to the City of Eternal Partying – a place that's been on my to-do list for ages. Funny how the moonlight can make you ponder life's mysteries, huh? So, there I lay, under the stars, wondering just where those broken hearts find their way in the end.