Sareth shoved open the door to the Withering Whale, and they stumbled back inside, dripping and slightly breathless from their dash through the sudden downpour. The warm, smoky air of the pub hit them like a comforting blanket, though Kiroth was acutely aware of the cold rainwater plastered his black hair to his head and trickled down his back. The pub was still lively, the band still playing their energetic, melancholy jig, seemingly oblivious to the tempest raging outside. Most of the patrons, similarly, were too engrossed in their drinks and conversations to pay much mind to two soggy individuals re-entering from the alley.

  They made their way back to their corner table. Shiela, the silver-haired dwarf, was gone, presumably having had her fill of Spickets for the night. Liana perused around the pub, flying erratically from group to group and earnestly engaging each one. Only Thargon and Corym remained, nursing fresh tankards.

  "Well, look what the storm dragged in," Thargon rumbled, a wide grin spreading across his red face as he saw their soaked state. "You two look like drowned rats."

  Corym, however, looked concerned. "Whoa, you guys got caught in that? It came on fast." He quickly set down his mug. "Here, hang on. I can help with that." He held out his hands, palms open, and muttered a few quick, sibilant words Kiroth didn’t recognize. A faint, orange glow emanated from his fingertips, and a wave of palpable heat washed over Sareth, who was standing closer. Steam instantly rose from her leather armor and coppery hair, and in a matter of seconds, she looked remarkably dry, if a little flushed. Corym then turned his attention to Kiroth, repeating the gesture and the incantation. The warmth was surprisingly intense, almost uncomfortably so for a moment, but it did the trick; Kiroth felt the damp chill evaporate from his clothes and skin, leaving him feeling dry and considerably more comfortable.

  "Thanks, Corym," Sareth said, shaking out her now-dry hair.

  "Anytime," Corym replied, looking pleased with himself.

  Thargon took a long pull from his tankard. "Well, Kiroth," he said, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "This old tiefling is about ready to call it a night. Planning on heading back to the Rusty Flagon – that's the hostel – pretty soon. You're still welcome to follow me, get a bunk for the night. It's dry, mostly."

  Kiroth nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good, Thargon. Thanks. I appreciate…"

  "Actually," Sareth interjected, looking thoughtfully at Kiroth, "why don't you stay at the Guildhall tonight, Kiroth? We have a few spare cots in the common room. It’s not luxury, but it’s secure. And you wouldn't have to navigate back here in the morning if you wanted to talk more."

  Insight Check: Failure! (Target 13 / Rolled 9 + WIS Modifier -1 = 8)

  He couldn't quite read Sareth's intention. Was she just being hospitable? Or was there another reason she wanted him at the Guildhall?

  Corym, however, looked surprised and a little put out by Sareth's suggestion. "The Guildhall? Why would he stay there? He’s not a member of the Sugar Beasts." He blurted the name out, then immediately looked like he wished he hadn't.

  Thargon let out a short, sharp laugh. "The Sugar Beasts? Still calling yourselves that, are you, Corym? Catchy." He raised an eyebrow at Sareth. "Trying to indoctrinate this poor lost soul already, Sareth? Get him signed up before he even knows what a quest log is?" His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of proprietary concern for Kiroth in his voice.

  Sareth just smiled enigmatically.

  Kiroth, however, had an idea. The conversation about jobs, the mention of the recently departed dishwasher… it sparked something. He was new, yes. He was lost, yes. But he wasn't entirely helpless.

  "Actually," Kiroth announced. "Before I go anywhere, I think I’d like to help Billy with those dishes." He looked at Sareth. "You said he needed someone?"

  Sareth's eyebrows shot up, her expression shifting from enigmatic to genuinely surprised, then to something akin to delighted approval. A wide, warm smile spread across her face, crinkling the corners of her purple eyes. "You want to… wash dishes? Tonight?"

  Kiroth nodded, feeling a strange sense of purpose settle over him. "Yeah. Why not? Got to start somewhere, right?"

  "Well, I'll be," Sareth chuckled, shaking her head. "Sure, Kiroth. I'm absolutely certain Billy will be more than pleased to have the help. Ecstatic, even."

  Before Kiroth could head towards the kitchen, Thargon reached across the table and pressed something cool and familiar into his hand. It was his knife.

  "Don't forget this," the tiefling rumbled. "Wouldn't want you heading off to battle dirty dishes unarmed."

  Kiroth closed his fingers around the hilt, the weight of it surprisingly reassuring. "Thanks, Thargon." He looked up at the massive tiefling, feeling a genuine surge of gratitude. "For everything. For picking me up off the street, literally. For helping me out when you had no reason to, except… well, just being kind."

  Thargon looked genuinely abashed, his red face seeming to darken slightly. He waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, don't mention it, Kiroth. This city can swallow newcomers whole if they're not careful. Just paying forward a bit of luck I once received myself." He grinned. "Besides, if you do end up scrubbing pots here regularly, I'm sure we'll be running into each other again soon enough. The Whale's my home away from home." He gave Kiroth a hearty clap on the shoulder that, this time, Kiroth managed to mostly absorb without stumbling.

  With a nod to Thargon and Corym, Kiroth headed towards the bar where Billy, the orc, was expertly juggling three tankards and a loud argument with a surly-looking human. Kiroth waited patiently, and when Billy finally had a moment, he cleared his throat.

  "Uh, Billy? Sareth mentioned… you might need some help with the dishes?"

  Billy’s tusks seemed to gleam as a wide, appreciative grin split his green face. "Did she now? Why yes, lad! Come on back here!" He gestured towards a grime-stained door behind the bar. "You're a lifesaver."

  The kitchen was… an experience. It was small, cramped, and sweltering hot, even with the rain lashing down outside. And the dishes. Gods, the dishes. Mountains of them. Plates crusted with dried gravy, tankards sticky with spilled ale, pots blackened with burned stew, silverware caked with unidentifiable food scraps.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Right then, lad," Billy boomed, his voice echoing off the greasy stone walls. He pointed to a dark, circular opening in the far wall, about waist height. Flames, an unsettlingly intense orange and green, flickered within it. "All the solid garbage – bones, spoiled bits, anything that won't wash off – goes in there."

  Kiroth stared at the fiery portal. "In… in there?" He remembered the smoldering sigils at the destroyed building, Thargon’s casual mention of portals to the Eleven Hells. This looked suspiciously like one of them. "What… what is that?"

  Billy just shrugged. "Donkey’s arse if I know. Some kind of permanent disposal enchantment the landlord set up. Saves on carting rubbish away. Just don't stick your hand in too far, eh?" He chuckled, then clapped Kiroth on the back again. "Scrub well, work fast, and there's good coin in it for you." With that, he lumbered back out to the bar.

  Kiroth looked from the mountain of dishes to the fiery portal of doom and back again. He sighed. Well, Kiroth, he thought, welcome to the glamorous life. He rolled up his sleeves – or rather, pushed them up his new, shorter arms – grabbed a scouring brush that looked like it had seen several wars, and got to work.

  Manual Labor (Dishwashing): Success! (Target 10 / Rolled 15)

  Surprisingly, he found a rhythm. The work was repetitive, mindless, but there was a certain satisfaction in transforming a caked, disgusting plate into something relatively clean. His new body, though small, proved surprisingly resilient. He didn’t tire as easily as his old self would have.

  Hours passed in a blur of hot water, scraping, and the occasional wary toss of particularly stubborn refuse into the fiery maw of the disposal portal. The sounds of the pub gradually faded as patrons left and the band packed up. By the time he finally scrubbed the last pot clean, the Withering Whale was silent except for the rhythmic drumming of the rain outside and Billy’s occasional snores from a stool he’d propped behind the bar.

  "Well done, lad," Billy said, rousing himself as Kiroth wiped his hands on a thankfully clean rag. The orc’s eyes, though bloodshot, held a genuine approval. He reached into a pouch at his belt and counted out a handful of coins. "Twenty-five silver pieces, as promised. Good night's work."

  "Thank you, Billy," Kiroth said, the cool weight of the silver in his palm feeling like a significant victory. He was tired, his muscles ached in ways he hadn’t known they could, but he also felt… good. Accomplished.

  Just then, the kitchen door creaked open, and Sareth poked her head in, her copper hair damp from another trip through the rain, though she held a battered-looking oilcloth umbrella this time. "Still alive back here, Kiroth?" she asked, a smile in her voice. "Thought you might have drowned in dishwater. Come on, I’ll show you the way."

  They stepped back out into the alley. The rain was still coming down steadily, a relentless curtain of water. Sareth opened the umbrella, and Kiroth huddled close beside her as they ventured out into the dark, slick streets. The city was quiet now, the only sounds their footsteps and the constant drumming of the rain.

  "So," Kiroth began, his voice a little hoarse, "this Guildhall. It’s… some kind of adventuring guild, right? For fighting monsters and stuff?"

  "It is that, yes," Sareth confirmed, her purple eyes glinting in the faint, reflected light from shuttered windows. "The Sugar Beasts – don’t laugh, Corym came up with the name when he was about twelve, and it just sort of stuck – we take on contracts. Escort jobs, recovery missions, monster bounties, a bit of dungeon delving when the mood strikes. The usual."

  "The usual," Kiroth repeated, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Right."

  They walked in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the shared umbrella creating a small, intimate space amidst the storm. Then, Sareth turned down a narrow street that led towards what looked like a series of old docks jutting out into a dark, unseen body of water. And there, moored alongside one of the sturdier-looking piers, was… a boat. Not a small fishing skiff, but a surprisingly large, two-masted vessel, its dark hull gleaming wetly in the rain. It looked seaworthy, if a little weather-beaten.

  "This," Sareth announced, gesturing towards the gangplank, "is the place. Guildhall of the Sugar Beasts. We call her 'The River Bear’."

  Kiroth stared. A boat? An entire adventuring guild housed on a boat?

  They carefully made their way up the slick gangplank. As they stepped onto the deck, a disembodied voice, reedy and echoing, spoke from the shadows near the main mast. "Mistress Sareth returns. Identity confirmed. One guest accompanying."

  Kiroth jumped, looking around wildly. Then he saw it. Hovering in mid-air, shrouded in a faintly glowing, swirling mist, was a single, enormous eyeball. It was veined with red, its pupil a slit like a cat’s, and it regarded them with an unblinking, unnervingly intelligent gaze.

  "He's with me, Micheal," Sareth said calmly, apparently unfazed by the spectral guardian.

  "Affirmative," the eyeball rasped. "Welcome, Mistress Sareth. Welcome, Guest." The misty aura around it pulsed once, then it drifted silently back into the shadows.

  Sareth led Kiroth towards a companionway that descended below deck. They emerged into a surprisingly spacious common area. Lanterns hung from the low beams, casting a warm, flickering light over comfortable-looking mismatched couches, a large central table covered in maps and scrolls, and shelves overflowing with books and strange artifacts. In one corner, a reptilian figure was curled up on a cushion, engrossed in a thick tome. This one was a vibrant, sapphire blue, with delicate frills around its neck and intelligent, golden eyes. It looked up as they entered, and Kiroth felt a moment of hesitation, remembering the surly one from the temple.

  "Ooooh, Sareth! You brought a new friend!" the blue lizard-person chirped, her voice surprisingly high and melodious. She uncurled herself gracefully and bounded over, her movements fluid and quick. She was smaller than the surly lizard priest from earlier, more slender, and her face held an open, curious expression. "Who's this little one?"

  "Lily, this is Kiroth," Sareth introduced. "Kiroth, this is Lily. She’s our… well, our everything. Treasurer, quartermaster, librarian, resident bookworm."

  Lily beamed at Kiroth, her golden eyes sparkling. "A pleasure, Kiroth! So, what brings you to our humble abode? And more importantly," her gaze sharpened with professional interest, "what level are you?"

  Kiroth felt a familiar awkwardness. "Uh… Level Zero, still. Just… got here today."

  "Oh, that’s perfectly fine!" Lily trilled, unfazed. "Everyone’s got to start somewhere! In fact," she darted over to a cluttered desk piled high with books and ledgers, "I have just the thing!" She rummaged for a moment, then pulled out an old, dusty tome. Its leather cover was cracked, its spine broken in from countless readings. "This one's quite popular with our new recruits. Tales of Tenacious Tim: A Beginner's Guide to Not Dying Horribly. Sometimes it gives them a new spell, or teaches a new skill if they study it hard enough. But it definitely provides an inspiration point."

  "Inspiration point?" Kiroth asked, looking doubtfully at the battered book.

  "Okay, Lily, that's enough evangelizing for one night," Sareth interjected, stepping between them with a gentle smile. "Thank you for the book. Kiroth is tired, and he needs to get some rest." She took the book from Lily and handed it to Kiroth.

  "He certainly does," Sareth continued, guiding Kiroth past the main cabin area and towards a narrower corridor lined with curtained-off bunks. She stopped at one. "This one's free. Other people are sleeping in here too, so try to be quiet." She gestured down the hall. "My bunk is just down there if you need anything. Try to get some real rest tonight, Kiroth. I think… I think you and I should do some training tomorrow."

  Kiroth looked up at her, surprised. "Training?"

  Sareth nodded, a serious but encouraging look on her face. "Yes. Can't have you going into your first real adventuring gig completely green. There’s a marsh not far from here. Slimes. They’re a good way to start out. Messy, but predictable." She winked. "And you're lucky; not many Level Zero nobodies get a cool Level Two veteran like me to help guide them through their first ooze encounter." She chuckled softly, a genuine, warm sound that made Kiroth feel a little less like a complete lost cause.

  The day, which had started with a violent death and a naked awakening on an altar, was finally, impossibly, drawing to a close. He looked forward to what horrors and absurdities tomorrow might bring.