“My class is [Apprentice Rogue],” Wren says. “What are yours?”
“[Apprentice Guardian],” Rowan says.
“[Dwarf Handyman],” Basalt says.
“[Psychic Child],” I say.
“Huh, so you are a reincarnator. I thought you looked a little young to be an adventurer. You’re clearly human.”
“You have higher Perception than average,” I say.
Wren turns to Basalt. “And a handyman? At least you’ve got an axe.”
“Didn’t get to choose my class when I spawned,” Basalt says. “Don’t worry. I’m a dwarf, so I still get bonuses to axes.”
Morning sees us heading for the stairs to the rat-infested basement. Anise and Meadow let us do this by ourselves so that we don’t lose out on experience. This is a highly regulated encounter inside of a licensed Adventurers’ Guild, so there’s no real danger to a group of Basics, for better or worse.
As much as I appreciate my mom always looking out for me, sometimes it’s nice to not have her hovering around me all the time, ready to set fire to anything that annoys me.
The basement for the quest is down two flights of stairs from the ground floor, and a man at the gate takes our quest ticket as if he were directing us into a movie theater.
At the barest glance, the Adventurers’ Guild rat run looks like you might expect from an inn’s basement. Barrels and crates clutter a dim room lit only by a flickering crystal lamp on the ceiling. A scurrying sound echoes from the shadows, and a door at the far end indicates that this isn’t the only room.
Basalt takes a peek into the closest barrel. “Empty.”
“Are you really going to look inside every barrel?” Rowan asks.
Basalt shrugs. “It would probably be quicker just to break them open with an axe and see if they drop anything.”
“Let’s put a hold on that for the moment,” Rowan says. “How many rats are in the room, Drake?”
“Five,” I say, telepathically pointing out their locations to my party.
“Nice,” Wren says. “That’s totally worth having a nine-year-old along.”
The rats in this room are about the size of a coyote. As soon as they spot us, they all rush out to blindly attack us.
A pair of daggers appear in Wren’s hands, and she grins as she leaps into the fray. From the way she moves, she’s a bit higher level than me, but given that she’s also older than me that’s not surprising.
I take on rats with my staff, trying to block their attacks and retaliate as best as I can, but a few bites get through. My staff doubles as a symbol of healing, though, and I dump Inspiration into [Rapid Healing] as I grit my teeth and power through.
Once we’re done with this room, I go over to open the door at the far end. It opens into another identical room, this time with six rats in it.
As we’re making our way through the implausibly large rat-infested basement, Rowan asks Wren about his sword.
“When exactly did you get this quest?” Wren wonders.
“Four years ago,” Rowan says.
“I wasn’t even here four years ago,” Wren says. “I was 11 and still in Rust.”
“It’s not like I had any leads regardless. I only thought my uncle was going off to fight goblins. So that may well have led to it. But it didn’t and I’m stuck.”
“Alright, well, I’ll get in touch with my contacts and see if they’ve heard anything,” Wren says. “But in four years, either someone bought it and has been killing monsters with it, or it’s sitting in a vault somewhere collecting dust.”
“Hopefully it’s the latter,” Rowan says.
“What was your uncle’s name? That would be an easier lead than some generic sword.”
“Wolf Talgarth Tempest.”
“I promised to help him with his quest and then got distracted learning to build a goblin kayak,” I say. “Sorry.”
Wren grins widely. “You’re a quest denier too? Or at least ‘procrastinator’. I’m kind of impressed that anyone who waited four years to think about following up on a quest ever got around to it.”
“You’re a quest denier?” Rowan asks.
“Yep,” Wren says. “Why do you think I’m here and not still in Rust? I don’t trust quests or the cores that give them and think they’re manipulating our lives and everyone else goes along with them way too blindly.”
“I don’t receive quests,” I say. “My core decided to hide my quest screen just to see what I’d do.” I pause. “This is something of a secret but I’m sure you don’t have any reason to go telling everyone.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Now that is interesting,” Wren says. “Also hilarious. Kind of proves my point, though. They’re fickle and do things just for entertainment. They don’t have our best interests in heart at all.”
“They’re alien. They don’t think like people.”
Wren nods. “And as such, it’s hopeless to try to understand them or predict what they might do.”
“Wait, there’s a quest screen?” Basalt says in puzzlement.
“You don’t have the icon either?” I say.
Basalt shakes his head. “Nope, no quest icon. Guess my core decided to do the same thing.”
“Mine just assigned me to Drake’s party,” Rowan says. “And Drake thinks I should do whatever I want. And doesn’t do like the Heroes in those adventure novels who just tell their henchmen ‘Follow me.’ He actually says what he’s doing and why and asks if you want to come.”
Wren is laughing aloud by this point. “You know… I think you must be the first people I’ve ever met who I didn’t have to worry about them suddenly getting a quest to get them to do something annoying. Don’t suppose you’d want to take me on in a more long-term position?”
“We’re a mess,” I say. “Stay as long as you like, if you want to see us messing up quests left and right. There’s another guy with no quests, who was born at the same time as me. A goblin reincarnator who decided to make friends with humans and set up trade agreements instead of become a Dark Lord. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how our first meeting went.”
“I heard something about the goblins being weirdly peaceful lately,” Wren says. “That was you? Sheesh, that sort of Deed should have gotten you to Elite. Why are you still Basic?”
“Because Tempest gave me a quest to kill him, and I didn’t know it until my core let me see my quest screen when I turned 7 so I could pick a class. It was even offering me the [Heroic Child] class as a reward.”
“Duuude,” Basalt says. “You didn’t mention that part.”
“A good reward can tempt even the most stubborn quest denier,” Wren says. “I have a feeling it will be just as hard for you guys to get to Elite as it will be for me.”
Rowan groans. “I’d been hoping to reach Elite before turning 14 and this other kid who was with us for a while got Elite at 12.”
“I would really like to analyze the aura of someone who is becoming Elite,” I say. “Last time I saw it, I wasn’t good enough at Clairvoyance yet and didn’t have the Enhanced Soul skills I now have.”
“That definitely sounds like something a [Psychic Child] would say,” Wren says.
We finish up the dungeon and loot the chest at the end. Just a handful of coins, split four ways, each of them marked with a rat face on the heads side and an Adventurers’ Guild building on the tails side. I didn’t really expect any special rewards for such a basic run. With our bounty in hand (or pocket), we head back upstairs.
At this point, we’re obligated to do some paperwork. The worst part is that I’ve never actually thought of a name for our party and now people are expecting me to think of one. I wrack my brain for something decent that isn’t already taken. (Fortunately, I can quickly check against the guild’s registry to see what’s been taken.)
After thinking on it hard and immediately rejecting a number of possibilities, I suggest, “Rainbow Knights?”
“I’m not a knight,” Basalt says.
“I’m not a rainbow,” Rowan adds.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “How about… Epileptic Trees?”
“This is an adventuring party, not a metal band,” Basalt says.
“Maybe something that actually slightly describes us?” Rowan says.
I hmm and consider what might describe us. Our one distinguishing characteristic over all these other parties is that we aren’t beholden to quests. I don’t want to put down something that immediately says ‘screw quests’, just in case we wind up running into trouble for it, though.
“Defiant Seekers?” I say.
“That one sounds cool,” Basalt says.
With the others nodding in agreement, I put that one down.
Anise shows up with a pickaxe in hand. “Hey, Basalt! I got you a late spawnday present. Or early, or whatever.”
“Oh, sweet.” Basalt takes it gratefully and examines it. “And it’s iron, too!”
“Yeah, the Flux Imports shop is the best place to find iron and steel around here. We mostly just have extra dungeon drops at Corwen and the local dungeons don’t drop many metal tools.”
“This will be a definite upgrade over the stone picks Drake’s been making me,” Basalt says.
“Mom, did you have a quest to bring us here?” I ask Anise as we settle in for lunch.
“No. We were close and I thought it would be cool to look over the edge. I didn’t just want to go straight home. I was bored of sitting around. Aunt Savannah has been smothering. I didn’t hear you objecting, though.”
“It sounded fun,” I say. “I was feeling sore about not being able to explore the second layer more but seeing something new that I can see is cool.”
Anise goes on, “Plus, adding Basalt gives you three party members who aren’t from the same Hearth, which is a requirement to register your party with the Adventurer’s Guild. And I wanted to support Meadow, and she was already coming here to look for a party because our cousins are pregnant and she’s trying to get in more dungeons before we’re suddenly aunts.”
“Aunts,” Meadow says, making a face. “It makes me feel like I’m suddenly getting old. I was already late to get to Elite. And seeing how little I was involved with the goblin thing, I think me and Daisy got the rank-ups that were supposed to go to Drake and Milo. I mean, we weren’t surprised. It would have been a big enough Deed to count for the whole party even if we didn’t do much.”
“I recently unlocked a new skill that will make it easier to figure out some neat stuff about how experience actually works,” I say. “I’m sure someone, somewhere, knows everything about all of this already, but I haven’t run across anyone in Tempest at least who specializes in psychic skills.”
“Yeah, there’s so few people in Tempest that there might be one in Tempest for every ten in Rust,” Wren says.
“I can see the quests on your soul,” I say, peering at her thoughtfully. “They’re like frozen lightning hanging on the edge of your aura, waiting for the right trigger.”
“That’s… kind of creepy, actually.”
“I might even be able to—”
I can see the quests in her aura, but when I got to analyze them, I just get a blank window. Right, I guess that’s trying to use the same quest display interface that is blocked off for me. I roll my eyes and filter the information through [Aspect Analysis] instead.
I blink, blushing in embarrassment upon seeing what, exactly, her core is demanding of her. “Um. Sorry.”
“I suggest we all avoid unnecessary romantic nonsense and just be friends, ’kay?” Wren says, looking at the other guys.
“You could be my daughter,” Basalt says.
“I’m not so crass,” Rowan says. “I already have too many women thinking I’m handsome and it’s really awkward.”
“Well, you look like your physical stats are pretty high,” Wren says. “But I’m not interested in giving the Hearth I came from children, ever.”
“Me either,” Basalt says, chuckling and patting her on the back. “You don’t have to talk about it, but it sounds like your home hasn’t treated you like a home. You wouldn’t be out here in another domain looking to sign on with strangers if you weren’t desperate. How old were you when you came to Tempest?”
“13,” Wren says.
“Well, don’t you worry. Uncle Basalt’s got your back.”