The dim light of dusk filtered through the wide windows of the office room the steward had rent for this meeting. Jago leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought, as the heavy oak door creaked open. Team NPCS entered cautiously.

  “Please sit,” Jago said, gesturing to the chairs around the room. His tone was calm. Weylan, posing as the dutiful apprentice, sat closest to his mentor, while Trulda leaned casually against the wall, her lute-club resting at her side. Skorr and Ulmenglanz took their seats, and Selvara perched on the back of Weylan’s chair in her raven form, tilting her head inquisitively.

  The steward’s gaze swept over the group, his sharp eyes lingering briefly on each member before he spoke. “You didn’t bring the investigator?”

  Weylan shook his head. “William’s gone underground. The farm has been officially handed over to the Church of Lieselotte. He found out the only thing holding the refugees working there was a debt against their employer. He managed to persuade Franziskus the bard to fund his efforts to buy out their contracts. Most of them have already been freed, especially since the Brotherhood couldn’t arrange accommodations or new workshops on such short notice. They’re scrambling to reorganize their supply chains and fulfill orders they’ve already been paid for. William is quietly sabotaging them at every turn.”

  Jago’s expression hardened. “You’ve made enemies of the Brotherhood, that much is certain. Staying in the city might not be an option for long.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Trulda said dryly, crossing her arms. “So, what’s the plan? Do we leave the city for good?”

  Jago allowed himself a faint smile. “Not necessarily. I have a job for you that requires travelling the surrounding areas. It is a mission, that addresses a dire need within the city.”

  He reached for a neatly bound report and placed it on the table. “The city’s healers are stretched to their limits. Especially since healing potions are almost impossible to get and prohibitively expensive. Few priests ever reach the level required for advanced healing spells. Without going into dungeons or facing dangerous monsters, they stagnate at low levels, unable to meet the demands of their calling. Some of the few we had, have joined adventurer groups or guilds.”

  Skorr leaned forward, his violet eyes narrowing. “And you want us to fix that? How?”

  Jago nodded. “By doing what you do best: adventuring. You’ll escort and power-level a group of novice priests and priestesses, ensuring they gain the experience necessary to reach level six. The church of Lieselotte has agreed to provide me with the first candidates. The high priestess is quite fond of me after the recent events.”

  Trulda’s brow furrowed. “You’re asking us to take children into danger?”

  “These are no children,” Jago replied, his tone firm. “They’re young adults who’ve already pledged their lives to healing and service. All they lack is the experience to face the real world. And without your help, they’ll never gain it.”

  Weylan looked around and saw everyone nodding.

  “Then it’s settled,” Jago continued. “You’ll meet with high priestess Marianna tomorrow morning at the church of Lieselotte. She’ll introduce you to the novices.”

  Selvara ruffled her feathers, letting out a low caw as if in agreement. The team rose.

  As they filed out, Jago called after them, his voice carrying a note of uncharacteristic warmth. “Good luck. The city is counting on you.”

  Outside, the cool night air greeted them, and the noise of the city faded into the background as they walked toward their quarters.

  “Babysitting novice healers,” Trulda muttered, shaking her head. “This is going to be fun.”

  * * *

  They met as planned at the temple of the church of Lieselotte. The soft hues of dawn painted the city in muted shades of gold, the streets still largely quiet. This early in the morning, few citizens already roamed the cobblestone avenues, their footsteps echoing faintly in the crisp air. Most of the citizens they saw were locals, preparing for another day of work.

  Team NPCS moved silently; their senses sharp despite the tranquility. As they approached the temple’s district, Selvara spotted a group led by a known brotherhood member from high above.

  Avoiding them proved surprisingly simple. With Weylan leading the way, they slipped into an alley and hid in the shadows, unnoticed by the thugs patrolling the streets.

  Trulda adjusted her grip on her lute-club, scanning the area for signs of trouble. Satisfied, she muttered, "At least some people have the sense to sleep in."

  The temple itself emerged from the misty morning like a beacon of warmth.

  Selvara stayed outside to circle the temple and keep watch in case of another incident.

  A gentle light glowed from the stained-glass windows, casting multicolored patterns onto the cobbled courtyard. At the side entrance, they met a middle-aged guard with sunken eyes and a weathered face. He leaned slightly on his spear, visibly tired. After Weylan showed him their invitation, he winked them through.

  “Rough night?” Weylan asked, full of sympathy.

  The guard blinked at him, momentarily startled, before huffing a weary sigh. “You could say that. Brotherhood’s been lurking too close for comfort. Rumor says they harbor a grudge at our church because of an inheritance dispute or something. Doesn’t matter much. They’re careful not to step over the line. Just enough to make our lives miserable.”

  Weylan nodded thoughtfully. “I hope you’re getting relieved soon. Looks like you’ve been here long enough to deserve a warm drink and a bed.”

  The guard let out a dry laugh. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Shift was supposed to end an hour ago, but the replacements haven’t shown up. Probably still snoring somewhere.” He looked up surprised when the dryad pushed back her hood.

  Ulmenglanz gave him a friendly smile. “Well, hang in there. Lieselotte watches over the weary, after all.”

  As they entered the temple, the faint scent of baked bread greeted them. A novice led them to the third floor, where the high priestess awaited them. The room was warm and inviting, its walls adorned with tapestries showing embroidered family trees. A sturdy oak table dominated the center, surrounded by comfortable chairs.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  At the far end of the room stood a hearth, radiating a gentle warmth that filled the space. It was built to resemble the goddess Lieselotte's emblem: a hearth fire engraved in bronze.

  The team members sat down, instantly relaxing in the homely atmosphere. The hot chocolate and fresh bread with butter a novice served them also helped.

  An elegant woman in her late fifties with her silver hair coiled into an intricate bun, welcomed them warmly. “Welcome, adventurers. I’m Marianna, high priestess of Lieselotte. Let us begin our meeting with a plea for the Favor of the Lady.” She turned to the hearth to speak a prayer to her goddess.

  Weylan looked around and met Trulda’s gaze. She nodded. They seemed to have the same idea. Yes, this was the goddess of home and hospitality, but every instinct was screaming at him he was being prepared for something he wouldn’t like.

  Finally, the high priestess addressed them again. “It’s a pleasure to meet the heroes responsible for bringing justice for Luthgar. Steward Jago has praised you for your involvement, even if he didn’t specify exactly what you did. Truly, you have our gratitude.”

  Skorr smiled at her, his violet eyes glowing in the firelight. “Glad we could help. The steward informed us we could help with a citywide problem. We are eager to hear how we can be of service and who we are to work with.”

  The high priestess only now noticed his unique eye color and racial features, but her serene smile didn’t falter for more than a blink. “As you likely know, Mulnirsheim faces a dire shortage of capable healers. We and the other churches have been trying to remedy this by training more priests and priestesses, but to treat any serious injuries, a healer must be level six or higher. Reaching that level, however, is a slow and dangerous process for those who live sheltered lives inside the temples. Without access to dungeons, monster hunts, or quests, many never progress beyond level five. And even that after many years.” Her eyes got a dreamy, far-away look. “Legends tell of priests of Grandmaster tier, level 16 or even higher, that could cast the True Resurrection spell, but I can’t even imagine aiming that high.” She shook herself out of her reverie and rang a tiny bell on the side table.

  Moments later, the door opened and three young priestesses in white novice robes entered. She gestured to them. “These are Alina, Mirabelle, and Faya. They are among our most promising initiates, but they need experience. I’m asking you to take them under your wing. Train them. Guide them. Help them gain the strength to become the healers this city desperately needs.”

  The priestesses immediately stepped forward, each with a wide, eager grin.

  “Oi, mighty adventurers, I’m Alina!” announced the tallest, a lanky girl with bright auburn hair braided into a long plait. “I’ve read all about adventurers in books! You’ve fought monsters, right? What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever faced? You have to tell me later!”

  Mirabelle, a shorter girl with round cheeks and a cascade of honey-blond curls, bounced on her toes. “Do you go into dungeons often? What’s it like? Are they as dark and spooky as everyone says?”

  “Hello,” Faya stood with her hands clasped in front of her. Her sparkling green eyes gave away her excitement. She glanced at Trulda’s Adventurer’s Dirndl before adding, “I like your dress. It seems sturdy and armored, as well as fashionable.”

  “Thanks,” Trulda replied, thinking at least one of them seemed halfway normal. Then she caught the way Faya’s gaze drifted toward Weylan.

  Weylan raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Trulda. “Well, they’re enthusiastic,” he murmured under his breath.

  Trulda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s one word for it.”

  The high priestess chuckled softly. “Their energy is boundless, but they are good girls, dedicated to our cause. They’ve shown remarkable potential. With your guidance, I believe they could flourish.”

  “You are aware,” Skorr interjected, his tone serious, “this will be dangerous. You’ll need to listen to us at all times, no running off or trying to prove yourselves. Agreed?”

  “Yes, sir!” Alina declared.

  “Absolutely!” Mirabelle added, practically vibrating with excitement.

  Faya just nodded, her expression getting more serious.

  The high priestess stood. “Thank you for agreeing to take them. I know it’s no small task, but this could save countless lives. May Lieselotte guide you all.”

  After she left, Skorr nodded at the girls. “Sit, girls. We need to plan our first adventure. I suggest a simple hunting quest to the woods north of the city. Farmers up north have reported problems with boggart-squirrels.”

  The three started grinning and sat down.

  “Boggart-squirrels?” Faya smiled broadly. “Do they look like normal squirrels? Are they just as cute?“

  Skorr sighed. “They might look cute if you don’t mind claws, fangs, and glowing blue eyes.”

  Trulda had waited until the three were seated and had their attention on Skorr. Now she slapped both hands on the table and leaned forward, muscles bulging on her arms. “Alright, listen up! You’re not here for sightseeing or to practice embroidery between sermons. You’re here to learn how to survive in the field, to protect yourselves and others when there’s no temple roof over your heads. That means leveling up, and that means danger! A group of boggart-squirrels isn’t called a havoc by accident. Trust me, they’re not pets. They steal crops, destroy fences, and sometimes even attack livestock. Farmers in the outskirts have been struggling to keep them in check. They’re pests, and they’re fast, too. Catching them won’t be easy.”

  Faya leaned forward with exaggerated enthusiasm, practically bouncing in her chair. “What if we make a trap? Something really clever, you know, big enough to catch a whole bunch of those nasty things at once!” Her voice had a forced sweetness to it, and she toyed absentmindedly with a strand of her hair. “And, um…” She glanced around the group dramatically before locking eyes with Weylan, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “Maybe someone… strong could stand guard? Like, uh, a brave and noble hero or something?” She fluttered her lashes in a way that was anything but subtle, her smile teetering between hopeful and absolutely obvious.

  The room went silent for a beat, with only the faint sound of Alina’s quiet snicker breaking the tension. Alina snorted. “Let me guess, you volunteer to stand guard with him? Sure, that’ll end well.” She looked at Trulda. “Why not just burn their nests and be done with it?”

  Trulda shook her head. “That would be a great plan, but no one could yet follow them to their nest. They’re too fast and as creatures from the fae realm, they’re also almost impossible to track.”

  Mirabelle looked up from the notes she’d started to scribble in her notebook. “Fae? Right… They’re half-fae creatures. That means they’re vulnerable to cold iron.”

  Faya managed to force her dreamy gaze away from Weylan. “Wait, wouldn’t the old tradition of putting horseshoes over your door prevent them from entering?”

  Skorr harrumphed. “Like any farmer could afford cold iron. Horseshoes are made from ordinary wrought iron. Cold iron is a metal found in bogs that must be refined by magic instead of smelting in a furnace. Then it’s shaped by magic or smithing without heating it.”

  Weylan shrugged. “I’ve been told we hang up horseshoes to collect luck, not anger fairies.”

  Ulmenglanz smiled at the lively discussion. “To hurt a fae creature, you’d need to touch it with cold iron. They can feel the presence of cold iron, but it won’t deter them. Instead, it’s a fine way to get your house burned down because you effectively declared war on the fae. Cold iron is brittle and doesn’t hold an edge. At least not without enchanting. I can think of no use for it except hurting fae creatures.”

  Mirabelle stared at her, only now noticing the telltale signs. “You’re a dryad! Aren’t dryads also fae?”

  The dryad shrugged. “Dryads and nymphs have left the fae realm for good ages ago. We can no longer enter it. I get a terrible rash when touching cold iron, but nothing worse. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that vile stuff, but if you really need to, I won’t mind.”

  Mirabelle tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What about teamwork? Faya could lure them out with bait, I could use a basic area spell to slow them down, and Alina could... um... insult them into submission?”

  Alina raised an eyebrow. “You want me to trash-talk squirrels?”

  Faya giggled. “You’d be great at it!”

  Trulda clapped her hands to get their attention. “Focus, girls. I like the idea of bait and a slowing spell, but you’ll need to plan the actual capture. You’ll also need to think about what happens if the plan fails. These boggart-squirrels can swarm if they feel threatened.”

  Mirabelle’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “Swarm? How many are we talking about?”

  “Dozens,” Trulda replied. “Maybe more. That’s why planning and teamwork are crucial. Now, I suggest you get your equipment and sturdy travel clothing. We meet here again in fifteen minutes, then we go.”

  After the priestesses had hurried away, Weylan muttered to Trulda, “We’ve got three teenagers who think this is some grand adventure. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Trulda’s grin was both amused and resigned. “We’ll find out soon enough. I hope none of them has your knack of attracting trouble.”