"Out!" the captain demands, pointing in the direction of the gangplank. We're docked at a sad little fishing village, and lucky for that much. He almost tried to throw us overboard!

  "Okay, okay, keep your pants on." Alice and I are carrying Reka's trunk off the ship. The pier creaks in warning, motivating me to pick up the pace. Yeah, this rotten wood has seen better days.

  Phew, dry land!

  With the way my wife's magic throws uncontrollable fits any time she starts enjoying herself a little too much, we have to be more careful in the future. Let's just say boatsex is ill-advised.

  Reka, dressed as a ranger again, looks back over our shoulder. "Have a care for what we discussed, Captain. Find a good price for my goods, but reveal not where you obtained them. Do this, and our profitable relationship continues. Do it not, and suffer my displeasure."

  Her eyes flash with angry green magic, making the captain and all his sailors cringe back. Having a scary wife has its benefits.

  "So, what do you say, Semuel? How's about joining us?" I ask my new Dwarf friend who followed us ashore.

  He gives me a hard look, and for a moment I fear he might refuse. "Much death and destruction will this party be the author of, methinks. By One Other, I accept!"

  "Oh, how wonderful," Alice says dreamily. She hasn't been quite the same since witnessing Reka and I go at it. "We have a spare mail shirt and steel helmet in my lady's chest. It might not fit, though."

  "Nay!" Reka says strongly, fingering her bow. I thought they were getting along!

  "Come on, honey, having a Dwarf in our party will be great! He can curse things, even!"

  "I didn't say I refused. Follow me, all of you."

  We are four. Alice bears a sword and shield. I've got the same, but my primary weapon is a two-handed battleaxe. Reka, of course, is clad as a ranger, carrying a bow and arrow. We're keeping her magic a secret for now. Semuel, the Dwarf, fights with a hammer, I think. He's a carpenter, after all.

  Our party exits the docks and trudges through a muddy street. Dirt is already caked on my nice boots. Shabbily dressed locals stare at us until we leave the village, making for a wooded area to the east. Once we're alone, Reka looks down imperiously at Semuel.

  "Will you, Master Dwarf, be a shield brother to us: fight our battles, guard our secrets?"

  Semuel nods. "Aye, so I will. Swear it by One Other, I do. Your enemies are my enemies. Your secrets are my secrets."

  "And all the Unholy Names?" Reka presses.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The Dwarf blinks and looks at Reka as if seeing her for the first time. "By the Unholy Names, then, so I swear."

  Evil green energy surrounds the Dwarf as he places a fist in his other hand, much like a Chinese-style bow.

  Seemingly unimpressed by the display of magic in another, Reka casts an easy spell, shrinking down our spare set of armor to Semuel's size. "Get geared up," she orders. "Tar Guldrim has an adventurer's guild, and this place is as good to start as any. It would be well if we looked the part."

  I feel a little ridiculous carrying around this big ass axe, but maybe they'll pay us more if we look like we can fight.

  The guildhall looks sad and rundown, just like the rest of the place. People aren't just staring now, they're following, though at a discreet distance. I try to ignore them and follow Reka inside.

  It's not exactly what I expected. Tired men in boiled leather nurse tankards of sour ale at a dozen tables. The weapons that I can see don't look particularly high-quality either. Notched spears and dented shields are propped up against the wall. Hardly anyone has anything else.

  We track in mud, but nobody particularly cares or says anything.

  "Hey, newbies, there's no work here so mov-"

  The receptionist freezes mid-tirade. She looks at us, blinks, and looks again, rubbing her eyes as if she can't believe it.

  "There's no normal work," she clarifies, examining us with a cunning eye. "High tiers like yourselves might be able to find something, but it would have to be a special job from the Baron himself."

  "We need to register," Reka says in a businesslike tone.

  "What do you mean, register? Veterans like you lot are hard to come by, even in cities run by Elven lords! I mean...look at you! You've got armor, walk like panthers on the hunt! I've got an eye for such, and no mistake. Why aren't you registered? Did you lose your guild medals?"

  By mutual agreement, my wife does the talking.

  "We've been in battles before, but not as adventurers. I'm a merchant's daughter, and this, my husband, is the son of a lord. The other two are sworn to him. We came here by happenstance, and need new, clean guild registrations," she says meaningfully.

  The guild receptionist, a weathered middle-aged woman, probably prematurely aged by hard living, raises an eyebrow. She suspects something shady is happening, which it is, but doesn't ask questions. Adventurer's guilds are nice like that.

  "Fine, fine. The best I can do is register you four as provisional C-ranks, provided you complete a mission at least that high in ninety days. Further promotions are based on performance."

  "Satisfactory," Reka agrees.

  She hands each of us a bronze medal. "A drop of blood will key it to you. You will need to present your medal any time you accept a job or receive payment for completing one," the receptionist explains.

  I pull out the dagger from the sheath at my belt and prick my finger. When I press it to the medal, the number on the face changes. A guild serial number? I guess using numbers and not names is easier.

  "About this special job for the Baron," Reka segues once we've all pocketed our identification.

  "Aye, you four might manage it. Baron Taras Tal Guldrim is in charge here. You can find him at the tower house on the hill. We've got a bit of an Orc problem in the woods hereabouts."

  Reka claps her hands. "Perfect! Just the sort of mission to make a name for ourselves. A fair day to you, madam. Come along, you three."

  When we get outside, I feel a sudden rush of panic. "Reka, your trunk! We just left it outside!"

  Our food is in there! I don't want to eat whatever nasty junk the local tavern serves, that's for sure.

  My wife laughs at my worries. "Fear not, my love. Anyone who so much as lays a finger on what's mine will swiftly drop dead."

  Oh. I hope we don't find a dead kid or something when we get back to where we left it.

  The journey so far