Reinstated to his normal state of jovial vagueness, Fred leaned back in his chair and grinned. He breathed in the tea-scented air with great satisfaction.

"What now?" he asked Joan, jingling his last copper. "Something to eat?"

"No," said Joan, "keep your money. Simon the Baker gave me some food and I feel like you might need another cup of tea before the day is done."

"Fair point. So what shall we do next? Your bag quest? The witch?"

Joan crossed her arms and considered.

"Bag first," she said. "I think we need to grind a little before we take on the witch. Upgrade our equipment and such."

"What!" said Fred, in mock surprise, "you think a teaspoon won't do the job? What could we do? Spoon her eyeballs out of her sockets very gently? One of us can hold her down while the other digs into her cranium with–"

Susan the Troll coughed and glared at Fred, spilling some of her tea on the tablecloth. A skeleton waiter rushed over to mop it up.

"Sorry, sorry," said Fred, lowering his voice. "I'm sure we need something better than a spoon, is my point. What was she like anyway?"

"The witch?"

"Yeah."

"Standard evil witch stuff, I guess."

"Humour me," said Fred. "This is my first time, remember?"

"Well I couldn't see her that clearly," said Joan. "It was dark. The fire had burnt right down to embers. It was probably midnight."

"You could tell the time by the fire?"

"Well, she called herself the Midnight Witch."

Fred crossed his arms on his chest thoughtfully.

"That is a bit of a giveaway."

"Something woke me up, a sound maybe. The floorboards creaking perhaps? And then I smelt this horrible stale smell – a stench like something rotten." Joan wrinkled her nose as she remembered. "But thank goodness I did wake because she was leaning over you... sort of sniffing." The hair stood up on the back of Fred's neck. "And when I moved she turned towards me and I saw her face."

"Not attractive I take it?"

"Actually she was rather pretty. She just smelt like old cheese and needed to wash her hair."

"Oh!"

"I asked her what she was doing and she said she was hungry. So I asked her if she wanted some of our food and she said, no she would just help herself to the tasty morsel lying right there."

"The tasty morsel being me?"

"Yup."

Fred shuddered.

"So I said I would rather she didn't and then she flew at me, pinning me to the floor and she was strong, really strong. Her face was inches from mine and suddenly I could have sworn her teeth were longer and sharper than they had been seconds before. But I couldn't really concentrate."

"I don't blame you," said Fred. "I can't believe I slept through this."

"Neither can I," said Joan, curtly. "But anyway she said she would leave us alone if we gave her gifts. I bargained for a while and ended up giving her your trousers and cutting my hair off. We might need a party to get rid of her."

"A party?"

"You know," Joan waved vaguely, "a group of us. We will need to find people. It's going to be difficult, but hopefully worth a lot of XP."

"Why? We are very nice? Why wouldn't people want to make a party with us?"

"Our stats are low and our equipment is crap."

"So we find other people with low stats and crap equipment?"

Fred and Joan looked out onto the street. A group of impressively armoured old men were walking past leading their horses and slapping each other on the shoulder. Their pauldrons were so large Fred wondered how they went to the privy. Surely, they would get stuck in the doorway. Maybe they had to go in sideways? A gryphon's head was tied to one of the horse's saddles.

"We could ask in the tavern," said Joan, uncertainly.

"Why do we need to get rid of the witch? Carry on just the two of us for a bit? We could just find some easier quests to start out, more wood chopping and cake baking et cetera?"

"Well yes," said Joan. "But she will come for us eventually."

Fred looked at Joan. She smiled weakly. Her eyes were a delightful shade of hazel, Fred noticed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She was just placated by the presents. They bought us some time."

"How much time?" Fred asked, his voice calm. He picked up the little porcelain milk jug and peered inside. It was shaped like a skull and still half full of milk. He tossed it down his gullet and returned the little jug to the table with a thump.

"Well I never," muttered Susan, behind him.

"A week," said Joan. "It should be long enough. We can do plenty in a week."

They sat in silence, listening to the skeleton playing the harp. Fred licked the last of the milk from his lips.

"A party you say?"

"Yes."

"Susan, fancy being in a party with us?" He leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at the large troll who blushed beet-red and fanned herself disapprovingly with her menu.

"I should think not," she said, pursing her lips.

Fred raised his voice and shouted across the tea-shop to the beefy proprietor who was standing behind his counter at the door.

"Dave? How about you? Want to join our party?"

Dave didn't even bother to reply, but his glare was most eloquent. Joan rolled her eyes.

"To the tavern then!" said Fred, leaping to his feet and striking a pose. The tea had filled him with renewed vigour. "Keeping an eye out for decrepit fools like ourselves, daft enough to join our party! Thank you, Dave! Madam!" He bowed to Susan who sniffed and blushed again.

"You're in a good mood," said Joan, as they pushed open the tinkling door. "I must remember to keep you full of tea."

"I might need a flask," admitted Fred.

"I'll add it to the list."

The afternoon was ageing as they made their way down the cobbled street. The westering sun was sinking slowly into a haze of gold and silver-edged clouds on the distant horizon. The crowds were thinning and the tavern was easy to find. It emitted more sound than the rest of Merry Plebbingons put together – a plump, bulging structure with a neglected thatch disgorging music and laughter in equal measure. As they approached someone shuffled through the squat orifice of its front door and threw up around the corner. A wooden sign proclaiming "Beer and Loathing" was hung at a jaunty angle, cracked and lightly smeared with bird excrement. For those who had trouble with the written word a large, jolly tankard of beer was painted with more enthusiasm than skill.

"I never saw a more wretched hive of scum and villainy," said Fred under his breath, his eyes lighting up.

"What?" said Joan.

"I said it looks fun."

"Keep an eye on your bag," said Joan, casting a somewhat dubious eye over the doorway. They stepped into the Beer and Loathing, noise and heat slapping them in the face like a jovial, damp sock. The interior of the tavern was dimly lit and smelt of stale beer and mouldy straw. Before Fred could get his bearings Joan tripped over something on the floor. Fred lunged and caught her in his arms and they both looked down. A small, plump woman with mousy brown hair and shimmering chainmail was lying lengthwise across the vestibule entrance.

"Epic!" said Joan.

"Don't mind me," said Epic Failure from her position on the ground.

"You made it to Merry Plebbingtons!"

"Is that what it's called?"

"Would you like to join us?" asked Fred, setting Joan back on her feet with some reluctance. "We are going to start a party."

"I don't think I'd like a party."

"Not a party, party, like–"

"A group of people," said Joan, "who travel together and look out for each other. And share stats."

"No," said Epic Failure. "Go away."

"Alright then," said Fred, and stepped over her carefully. "You take care now."

Fat, drippy candles lit the central room of the tavern, burning in great waxy clumps along the bar and at the centre of each crowded table. A fire roared in the hearth at one end of the room belching out clouds of smoke and delicious smells from the cauldron of stew simmering on top. Patrons drank, ate, danced and generally made merry.

"It's a little early isn't it?" Fred murmured to Joan as they slid onto a bench next against the wall. "Isn't it like four o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Most of our patrons prefer to go to bed early."

A buxom young woman in peasant-blouse, apron and blonde pigtails appeared in front of them, standing with her hands on her hips and a harried expression. "Hi there," she said. "I'm Rosie. Something to drink?"

Looking around, Fred observed that much of the clientele was indeed elderly, the same as in the tea shops and on the streets of Merry Plebbingtons. The knowledge made him feel a little lonely. But then, as he watched the carousing, geriatric crowd of cloaked and armoured adventurers, he decided he was happy for them. If you were going to die the best way to go was old. Old and stacked in the stats department in the comfort of your warm bed. Not crushed beneath the weight of a seven-tonne chandelier at the age of twenty-something. He shook his head and shuddered. It was the first time he had thought about his death in a while and he didn't like it. Fortunately, distraction arrived momentarily in the shape of Rosie's bosom. The bar-maid leaned over to wipe the table offering Fred and Joan a lingering view of her rather expansive cleavage. "Sorry," she said, catching their eyes. "I was designed to be flirtatious and a bit desperate."

"There's no need to be sorry," said Fred.

"It's no problem," said the barmaid, winking. "You're pretty enough. Shit. There I go again. Urggggh."

"Are you an NPC?"

Joan elbowed Fred in the side.

"It's not polite to ask," she hissed.

"No, it's fine," laughed Rosie, tossing one fair plait over her shoulder. "And yes, I'm an NPC. But I've been separated from the dungeon for long enough that I'm starting to grow my own mind."

"Away from the dungeon?"

"Yes. I mean I am the dungeon, all of us NPCs are. Like a toenail or a bit of hair, but separated from the mind. And now I can think for myself. Most of the time." She tapped the table in front of them. "Everything here is made from the dungeon." Fred eyed the table with renewed suspicion. "I just happen to walk around and talk."

"I'm sorry," said Fred, "that seems a little unfair on you."

"It's fine," said the barmaid. "I'm looking forward to seeing what I will become. And in the meantime, I quite enjoy being part of the ecosystem. Now, what can I get you? We've got tequila, rum, Budweiser, pure Ether (I do not recommend) and some amyls. Oh and half a salt shaker of cocaine but that's expensive. I don't recommend that either. So, what's it to be?"

"We are a little low on funds," said Joan.

"That's unfortunate," said Rosie.

"Do you have any jobs we could do?" asked Fred. "To earn a bit of money?"

Rosie looked over to the shadowy corner and cocked her head at a hooded stranger who sat there, wreathed in shadow. The candles didn't seem to reach that corner. The darkness was deeper and it was impossible to see the person's face. Their hood was tatty and patched, although it looked as if it had once been fine and they wore a sword belted at their waist. Nursing a large pint, their face was entirely hidden by the darkness cast by the hood. A pair of obsidian many-sided dice rested next to his hand.

"He might have something," she said. "He usually does."

"No," said Joan, firmly. Fred made a small noise of disappointment. "No!" she repeated, turning to him in agitation. "Not yet! We need something menial. Something safe-ish where we can earn some coin to upgrade our gear before going after bigger stats. Are you trying to get us killed?" she asked Fred who was rolling his eyes. "It hurts you know. To respawn. You won't enjoy the process I promise. What about him?" Joan nodded at the lanky red-headed man behind the bar. He was polishing a glass absentmindedly and staring off into the distance, a starry expression in his youthful eyes. "Does the bar-keep have any jobs that need doing?"

"Oh, that's–" Rosie made a noise like a sneeze.

"Bless you."

"No," she said, disparagingly. "That's his name. He's the Owner of the Beer and Loathing. No good asking him. Spends all his time listening."

"He looks young to be the Owner," said Fred, who was still feeling self-consciously youthful.

"Listening to what?" asked Joan.

"Dungeon knows. The wind, he says." Rosie giggled and rolled her eyes. "Load of hot air I'm sure. Personally, I think he's just high all the time. Likes to tell stories about all the things he's done but I don't believe a word of it. The one time he went on and on about it for three whole days. Says he's a great magician, went to some school. Killed a king. Dunno why. Slept with all the wimmin, he says. Goddesses and the like. I've heard more convincing stories reading off the back of the privy door." The red-haired inn-keep wandered past. He seemed to be dressed in long wizards robes, a vague expression painted on his face. The trio watched him go in silence. "Plays a decent tune though," added the barmaid. "If he's in the mood, that is." She raised her voice. "Oi! Boss! Got any jobs that need doing?"

The flame-haired barkeep looked surprised at having been spoken too.

"Jobs?" he said. "Have they asked Spider?"

Everyone looked over at the shadowy stranger.

"No," said Rosie, "they are looking for simple jobs, not a quest."

"Oh," said the bar-keep vaguely. He shuffled away. Fred opened his mouth to say "well I never," or to tut loudly before the thought crossed his mind that he might sound a bit like Susan the Troll. So he shut it again. "They can clear out the rats in the cellar," said the bar-keep over his shoulder. "Or take Betty to her grandmothers." He disappeared into a back room.

"Well there you go," said Rosie, beaming.

"Betty," said Fred, quickly. "I call dibs."

"Fine," said Joan, rolling up her sleeves. "I could do with some exercise."

"Axe is out back," said Rosie, "cellar is down the stairs. Be careful they bite." Joan disappeared with a groan and Fred turned to Rosie.

"Where can I find Betty?" asked Fred. The barmaid grinned.

"Follow me," she said, turning on her heel. She led him through the crowded great room and up a rickety and twisting flight of stairs to the second floor of the inn. The roof here was very low, and Fred had to walk at a strange angle to keep his head from hitting the exposed thatch.

"Betty!" called Rosie, somewhat theatrically, Fred thought. She stamped her feet loudly as they walked down the passage, taking exaggerated steps as if she wanted to go as slowly as possible. "Betty! Are you ready? The nice man is going to escort you to your nan!" She paused outside a door, cocking her head as if listening for something. "Betty!" she cried and rapped her knuckles on the wood. "I hope you are ready."

Rosie pushed open the door. It opened with a tortured creak to reveal a dark hole of a bedroom. Fred squinted, trying to see into the dank interior.

"Betty, are you ready?" Rosie sounded like she was trying to suppress a laugh. Fred was pleased she was trying not to laugh or he would have been more than a little creeped out. Of course, she might just have a morbid sense of humour. He had dated someone like that once, and they hadn't even had the excuse of being made of dungeon.

A hunched shadow that Fred had thought was part of the furniture moved. A piece of the darkness unfolded itself and came forward. Fred had assumed, from the context, that Betty was a child, but what stood before him did not appear to be human. Fred was fairly sure, despite never having seen a goblin before, that Betty was, in fact, a goblin – in this case, a goblin wearing a blonde wig, a frilly pink dress and clutching a teddy bear with one missing eye. Betty's skin was a dark, almost pitch black and mottled with green. It was nearly hairy enough to constitute fur. Her nose was bulbous and protruding and her ears large, bat-like and pointed. Her eyes were flat, black pools of aggression and the darkness filled her entire sclera. The goblin child glared at Fred.

"I'm ready," she squeaked in a rather grotesque falsetto. Betty had rather alarming canines. "Is the nice man going to take me to grandmas?" She stared up at Fred with unbridled animosity.

"Hello...er... Betty," said Fred. "My name is Fred."

Betty bared her fangs at Fred and grunted. Fred leaned over and spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Rosie. Betty continued to glare, not breaking eye contact. Her head was about hip height to Fred and he couldn't shake the feeling that if he looked away the "child" would take a run at him and start gnawing on his ankles.

"Um, Rosie? Is Betty a goblin?"

Rosie turned to look at him, her eyes wide and sparkling with suppressed mirth.

"Oh nooo! Whatever would give you that idea? Betty's as human as you or me." She winked.

"Alright then," said Fred evenly. He raised his eyebrows and addressed the small, pink frocked creature before him. "So does Betty know the way to her grandmas?"

"No!" squeaked Betty.

"Your map should have it marked," said Rosie. She turned with a swish of her skirts, pausing dramatically at the top of the stairs to smile at Fred. "Good luck!"

She descended leaving the pair alone. Fred and Betty exchanged glances. Fred sighed.

"I suppose we better get going then. Um. Help! I need Help!"

The Incomplete Guide appeared with an orchestral flourish and a sneer. The gold motes surrounding the book and the Guide's head rotated sulkily through the air, as if the ginger-haired apparition was a particularly bad-tempered star pulling them into his gravitational grumpiness.

"Yes, Your Highness, what is it? What demeaning and pointless task would you like me to accomplish for you today?"

"Nice to see you too," muttered Fred. "Can I see the Map? I need to take Betty here to her Grandmothers."

The Guide leaned over and peered down at Betty who glared up at him, arms akimbo.

"Oh dear," said The Guide. "I see Administration has run out of NPCs again. Whatever next. Alright then. Since I clearly have nothing better to do–" The book flopped open and Fred leaned forward to examine the Map. The visible areas had grown extensively since the last time he had seen it. The streets and shops of Merry Plebbingtons had been added in fine detail, as well as a big "X" lying across the ruined farmhouse labelled "Midnight Witch" and another over a cottage on the outskirts of the village. The later was marked "Betty's Nan". It was one of the little farmhouses they had passed on the way in that morning."

"This shouldn't take too long," Fred muttered to himself, which was good because it was nearly nightfall. He didn't fancy wandering about in the dark by himself and his stomach was beginning to rumble again. It was past teatime. After taking careful note of the direction, he dismissed the Guide and beckoned to Betty. "Come on then."

They trundled down the stairs, through the noise of the great room and out into the streets of Merry Plebbingtons. Twilight was falling and the first stars were just appearing in the mauve of the heavens.

It wasn't far to the edge of the village. Fred made a few attempts to engage the strange goblin child beside him in conversation. His attempts were met with silence so he gave up at the first chicken coop. They walked on at an easy pace and Fred lost himself in thought. He was just beginning to relax when he realised he was walking by himself. He looked about wildly and then spotted the small pink figure further down the hill. He muttered something rude under his breath and retraced his steps. The goblin child was staring aimlessly at the side of a building a street back, picking her nose.

"Oi!" said Fred. "Betty! What are you doing?" The goblin-child shrugged and trotted beside him once more. But as soon as Fred picked up the pace she lagged behind and then seemed to lose interest in following him. She wandered off and stood staring into space. Fred went back, exasperated. The sun was gone now and it was fully night. The village was quiet and suddenly eerie after the warm noise of the Beer and Loathing. "Come on!" said Fred, trying to strike a cheery note. "Try and keep up!"

"Don't go too fast," said Betty, in that annoying falsetto that Fred was one hundred per cent sure was not her real voice. "My legs are very little." They both looked down at Betty's short but incredibly muscular and extremely hairy legs.

"Okay," said Fred. "We will go slowly."

They walked, Fred taking a step, stopping, and then taking another step. In this way they managed to progress half of the way up the hill towards Betty's grandmother's cottage without incident. Fred took to doing an entrechat after every step, just to stop his brain from exploding and was delighted when he was rewarded, fifty or so entrechats later with:

[The Fredinator +1 Elevation]

"Oh, how nice," he said, to no one in particular. "Although what that means I have no idea. Betty, what does it mean?" Betty didn't comment.

They arrived at Betty's grandmother's cottage a short while later. Fred rapped on the door and a wizened old lady tottered out and threw her arms around the ugly goblin child, who suffered the attention with the same emotional capacity as a plank.

"Betty, my love!" The grandmother opened the door and Betty shuffled inside without so much as a backward glance.

"Bye, then," yelled Fred.

"Thank you, kind adventurer," the old lady trilled. "Can I offer you some sandwiches for the road? And some coin for your trouble?"

"Thank you," said Fred, feeling a little put out. "That would be very kind."

He departed the NPCs house a short while later with a handful of change and a tomato sandwich and wondered if Joan had done any better with her rats.

[The Fredinator. Quest Completed. +5 XP]

The Fredinator Level 1

Class: Monk ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

XP: 19

HP: 13 [2 bucket + 1 pair Flimsy Sandals + 1 Boring Boxers + 2 Charismatic Trousers +1 Threadbare Shirt + 2 teaspoons + 4 Spoon of Destiny]

Bonus: Condensed Milk

+1 Charisma (-1 Charisma +2 Charismatic Trousers)

+1 Elevation