“You got that right,” said Burt, leaning against the stone by Gorm’s feet. One paw held a tiny mug of coffee, the other clutched the smoldering remnants of a damp cigarette.
“We did a lot of good,” Kaitha insisted. “We exposed the corrupt aldermen’s smuggling ring, tracked down their connections in the evil cult of Nuryot Sabbat, apprehended their High Circle, and killed their patron hag. That’s good work.”
“Aye, ye did all that.” Gorm wasn’t about to let recent triumphs foil a good sour mood.
“Look, I’m sorry about the robe,” said Kaitha. “But it turned out all right. We just learn from our mistakes and move on.”
“Oh? And what did ye learn?” asked Gorm.
His acerbic sarcasm eroded Kaitha’s resolute smile a bit. “I meant, maybe next time you could just fight in the disguise.”
“Next time I ain’t doin’ the burnin’ henchmen uniform ruse.”
“You got the right side of that wand, buddy,” said Burt. “At least nobody asked you to be the bait.”
“I still don’t understand your problem with the henchmen uniform ruse,” said Kaitha. “It’s a classic.”
“It ain’t just the ruse… it’s all of it.” Gorm grimaced. “It’s different than it used to be. Decipherin’ coded letters. Investigatin’ who’s shippin’ what where. Gettin’ all political and caught up in power struggles. And then a game of mummer’s masks.”
“It’s an intrigue quest,” said Kaitha. “Most of them are these days. A little more research, some extra running around, maybe brush up on dialogue and persuasion skills, but it’s not that different.”
The Dwarf swigged his coffee and watched a trio of guild carters carefully excavate the swamp hag’s purse. “Used to be ye just did your paperwork and then went down some hole swingin’ your axe. Maybe that’s what I’m good at.”
“Now you’re just moping,” Kaitha told him.
“Look at this quest, running around chasin’ them cultists. I barely helped at all. I was the most useless member of the party.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. They turned to find the sandy-haired bard, smiling and cleaning his glasses.
“Second most useless,” Gorm whispered to Burt.
Kaitha hushed him before addressing the hero. “Leaving already, Ghunny?”
“Aye.” Ghunny Craftson’s Scorian accent was almost as thick as Gorm’s. “There’s rumors of owlverines or Dire Badgers hittin’ the farmlands north of Fenrose Heath. Somethin’ big and hairy and in need of killing. MacLeod and I are hopin’ to beat the rush.”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Mirnen. The dark-haired cleric of Musana led two saddled and packed horses up behind the bard. “The solamancer said you wouldn’t be interested, but we wanted to give you the chance to make some easy coin and rank.”
“We’ll pass,” said Gorm. “We’ve business on the way back to Andarun.”
“Fair enough,” said the bard. “Well, wherever ye go, be sure to tell them our deeds. We’ll sing yer praises as well. Social proof an’ all. Key to buildin’ a brand!”
“Ye’re under no obligation,” Gorm called after the retreating pair, earning him an elbow in the ribs.
“All right, what was all that about?” Kaitha demanded once the other heroes were out of earshot.
“Most overrated bard I’ve met, which is a feat,” Gorm said. “I’d rather not have such singin’ anything about me good name.”
“Not that. What is all this moping about how your skills aren’t up for this?” said the Elf. “I’ve seen you chase a hint of intrigue halfway across a continent. We took down a thrice-cursed liche last year, and that quest was about as straightforward as a landshark’s burrow. You can say you were rusty on your first time hitting the quest board in years, or say you were off your game, but don’t pretend it’s a lack of guile or cunning,” Kaitha told him. “That’s ridiculous.”
“And I hope you ain’t really longing for the old days of runnin’ blindly down a burrow, axe swingin’,” added Burt. “Speaking as a friend whose family comes from down said burrow.”
Gorm took a deep breath, another sip of coffee, and a moment to weigh their words. “Fair enough. I just… I just thought last year would go different.”
His mind trod familiar paths through recent history. The berserker known as Pyrebeard had enjoyed wealth and renown over the course of his career, but he’d thought the course of that career ended decades ago. Much more recently, he was promised a return to his former glory in exchange for running a quest with the Al’Matrans. It turned out the job was a sham perpetuated by Johan the Mighty, Champion of Tandos. After he watched the guild slaughter an innocent tribe of Orcs and murder his friends, Gorm and his companions fled into the wilderness. They uncovered a liche’s plot, allied with the scattered Shadowkin tribes, and redeemed themselves by saving the Freedlands from an undead army. Riding high on the wings of such success, Gorm swore to bring down King Johan and the guild’s corrupt regime.
And then the world had politely coughed and turned back to the way things were.
“We were supposed to fight Johan,” he said. “We were supposed to all be in this together.”
Kaitha sighed. “We are in this together.”
“Then how are we questin’ again?” Gorm asked. “How are we back to bein’ worried about a career, and findin’ loot, and slaughterin’ monsters?”
“We proved that hag was guilty,” Kaitha interjected.
“Aye, we did the quest.” The Dwarf waved away the point like an irritating gnat. “But we’re trackin’ hags, not takin’ on the king. How is it we’re workin’ for the guild again?”
“People still need protecting,” Kaitha said, “regardless of who runs the Freedlands.”
“Aye, I know… I just…” Gorm sighed, unwilling or unable to have the same argument again.
He’d expected a big confrontation with the king. He’d spent the first month after the liche’s defeat preparing for a climactic showdown. For half a year, he was wound tighter than a coiled spring, waiting for Johan to make a critical misstep. He’d plotted with Asherzu, the new chieftain of the Guz’Varda Tribe, to find or plan the maneuver that would expose the king’s evil scheme. Through it all, Gorm was certain that no adversity could crush their resolve.
Instead, a steady stream of peaceful, mundane days had slowly eroded it.
“Johan is popular.” Kaitha sighed. “He’s rebuilding the city. The economy is coming back. You can’t ‘save’ a kingdom from a monarch that it wants.”
Gorm shook his head. “This ain’t about popularity and money.”
