The keg grumbled as the tavern owner waddled over with a tired grunt, snatched the jug right off Blorbo’s surface, and—praise the system—refilled it right then and there from the splattering keg strapped to his back like a leatherskin wineskin meant for a long march. It had a gnarled tap fashioned from a broken chair leg, wedged in with what looked suspiciously like chewed bread for sealant. Somehow, it worked. The spout squeaked like a dying rat as the tavern owner twisted it, and ale gushed out in a bubbling stream.

  Marin whooped in approval. “There we go! Now that’s a refill!”

  [Jug of Ale refilled: 1]

  Now that’s more like it. Another job well done by the brilliant Blorbo.

  “Do you just lug that thing around every day?” Ducaz raised his brow.

  The tavern owner stood up straighter and puffed out his chest with pride, or at least as much as a man built like a fermented barrel could. He patted the keg strapped to his back with a thunk-thunk and beamed. “Every day? Hah! I sleep in this beauty!” he declared. “Best decision I ever made, besides marrying a woman who didn’t mind me smelling like hops.”

  He twisted the gnarled tap again for emphasis, letting out another squeal and splatter of ale into a nearby mug. “It’s called the BackBar 3000. Patent pending. It’s got adjustable flow, anti-slosh padding, and a detachable hose if I ever want to pour from across the room.”

  Marin gasped, “That’s genius!”

  “Damn right it is!” the tavern owner barked with a grin, slapping the keg. “And guess what? My daughter built the whole thing. She’s the smartest tool inventor in town, I tell ya that! My little darling could turn a butter churn into a long-range dart if you gave her enough gears and three hours.”

  Okay? Useless, filler information. I don’t care about any of—

  “She specializes in furniture enhancements, too,” the owner added proudly, “especially for table duel tournaments. All the pros in town go to her. She can make a table 300% better after a single night! Balance, strength, durability, even style rating if you believe in that kind of thing. Makes a fortune.”

  300%?

  TABLE DUEL TOURNAMENTS?

  Ask him for more, Rob. Do it. Do it, you idiot. At least ask for the daughter’s name.

  Rob opened his mouth.

  Yes. YES.

  “Hey, so—” Rob began.

  “We’re done talking here,” Anders interrupted, waving a hand like he was swatting a fly. “We’re not buying enchanted plank polish or whatever. We’re in the middle of something important.”

  “It’s not enchanted!” the tavern owner barked back, deeply offended. “It’s grease-based enhancement architecture! There’s a difference!”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  What’s her name?!

  Anders turned back to the table, already dismissing the man like he was yesterday’s soup.

  You absolute WART of a man, Anders! Important?! What’s more important than a life-altering furniture transformation?! I could be STYLED right now! Styled and CHAMPIONSHIP-READY!

  “You will regret it!” The owner growled. “When you need a table enhancement, do not speak of Griesa the Grease Queen!” Then he walked away. His keg juggled angrily as he did.

  [Jug of Ale refilled: 3]

  Wait. What? Who’s been drinking?

  “Ah! This is life!” Marin slammed his empty jug on the table. He’d been sneakily turning on the tab while Anders and the owner were arguing. “Call the server! I need another refill!”

  The server came and EXCHANGED Marin’s jug for another one, already topped up.

  [Jug of Ale refilled: 3]

  It didn’t count.

  Ducaz called for the tavern owner to bring them their jugs of ale, but the owner, clearly a man who held grudges, purposefully ignored them.

  Look what you’ve gone and done, Anders, you harlot-buttock wart!

  Marin slammed his empty jug onto Blorbo’s surface with a contented sigh. “Ahhh! That’s five!” He wobbled in his seat, already reaching out to flag down a server.

  This man’s downed FIVE jugs before anyone even start talking!

  “Oi! Another one!” Marin called.

  The server walked right past him.

  Marin blinked. “Oi?”

  The tavern was bustling, and every server was preoccupied, except for the tavern owner who was clearly not busy but turned his back to their table. He even tipped his keg away as he passed, like Marin was about to snatch the ale straight from the tap.

  Blorbo’s hope crumbled.

  It was over. He was doomed. The quest would never be completed, like the five other quests he had going right now.

  BANG.

  The tavern doors slammed open with such dramatic force that the hinges wheezed in protest. A gust of air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of oil, metal, and the faintest hint of scorched leather.

  A girl, no older than sixteen, walked in, a massive, gear-studded pauldron clanked as she moved. A pressure gauge protruded from her shoulder, and a pocket watch monocle gleamed over one of her eyes. On her belt was a tiny clock, and on their arm was another clock strapped to a third clock. Atop her bowler hat attached a goggle underneath a feather, next to a miniature chair hung from a slightly bigger chair, hung from a slightly bigger chair. There was a door in the front of said hat.

  And, of course, on her back—

  A keg.

  No. Not just a keg.

  A mechanical monstrosity of a portable bar system, all pipes and valves and delicate, hissing steam. A clockwork arm twitched and adjusted the nozzle, self-regulating the keg’s pressure.

  Her voice boomed as she strode forward, “WHO DARES SPEAK ILL OF GRIESA THE GREASE QUEEN?!”

  There was a question mark atop her head. Blorbo clicked on it.

  [QUEST: The Greatest Enhancement (1)]

  Objective: Have one part be upgraded by the great inventor.

  Reward: Vary, based on the upgrade.

  Prerequisite: Having finished Have some fun (1) (You cannot accept this quest)

  Failure: None

  Accept: YES/NO

  What? Why do I have to finish the drinking quest before this one?