Today is the day.

Hineni sits on the foot of their bed, staring down at the well-trodden boards, which lead up towards his place of rest. As his foot taps against the floor, he wonders; how many feet have walked this way? How many people have sat here, where he now sits? He’s a little nervous, honestly and his mind is running rampant. Are any people actually going to be showing up? If so, how many? Are they going to be overwhelmed with a flood of interested customers?

Or even worse, what if nobody shows up at all? What if the frogs have sullied their name too much already to the public?

His foot taps against the boards.

They’re counting on customers to show up, adventurers with loads of equipment, which needs to be repaired, curious people who are interested in seeing the owl-god, wanderers who want a cheap bed. They’ve lowered their rates for the beds in order to draw some new faces inside. Repairs, beds and baths are the current model of their finances. The library and the restaurant will come later, when they have more capacities. Maybe they can even branch out into other kinds of crafting too?

Is it going to be weird to have people here, inside of this home of theirs? Yes.

His foot taps against the boards again and then, something touches him from behind. The man turns around to gaze over his shoulder, looking at Obscura, who has crawled up from her side of the bed to sit behind him. The owl-god wraps her arms around his torso, pressing her head against his back.

“It will be good,” is all that she says.

Feeling her taloned hands clasped together in front of his body, he plants his hands on top of them, turning back forward. “It already is.”

“How are we looking?” asks Hineni.

“All good,” replies Sockel, shifting around a stack of papers. “I’ve set up a ledger for the rooms. Single nights for fifteen Obols a night, per head, baths cost extra. Seventy-five Obols if you book a full week. Baths are included with that one, but not food.”

Hineni thinks for a moment and then nods. “Sounds good to me.” Rhine raises a hand. “Rhine?”

“Who’s going to wash the bath?” asks the boy. The room is quiet for a moment. “You know? It’s gonna get all muddy and stuff,” he explains, going on.

The three of them look at each other. Sockel lifts a hand. “As our financial expert, I suggest that Rhine washes the bath.”

“Huh?!” Rhine crosses his arms. “You wash the bath!”

“Can’t,” says Sockel. She nods her head to the counter. “I gotta watch the counter and do the books.”

Rhine crosses his arms. “You spend most of the day sitting there doing nothing!” argues the boy. “I’m helping in the forge.”

“Says you, twerp,” replies Sockel, raising an eyebrow. “You spend more time sitting around than some drunks I know,” she argues. “Besides. Just use your river-magic.”

“Rhine! The river-wizard is not a house-servant!”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you sweep a hundred times now.”

“That’s different!”

Hineni sighs, the two of them are devolving into another spat of sorts. He’s going to have to handle this. It’s true that Rhine, with his river-magic, could perhaps be useful in cleaning the only water-tight room in the house, the bath. But at the same time, it’s going to be a real, full-time, dirty job by the time they’re really running. Dozens of people a day coming in from the dungeon, if not hundreds, in an ideal world, will make a real mess and they’ll do it fast. The boy works hard as it is and it seems mean to force him to do it, even if he is the most qualified.

It is true that Sockel does lounge around a fair amount. But she also works hard too and has provided as equally real and tangible results as Rhine has.

So he’ll have to pick one of them, assuming that he won’t have the time to do it himself. The man lifts his eyes towards the windows. It’s pretty noisy outside today. That’s rather surprising, given how terrible and disgusting the weather is. It’s somewhat rainy. Perfect weather for frogs. Yuck.

“- Runt!” barks Sockel, poking her finger against Rhine’s forehead.

Rhine presses his forehead against her finger, pushing her arm back. “Old tree-bat!”

“Obscura will do it,” says a voice from above their head.

Hineni looks up towards the rafters. Obscura sits there, having appeared without being noticed. “Generous Obscura, yes? Homemaker, yes? Hineni will like?” she asks. “He will give her many kisses, yes?”

“Ew,” says Rhine.

“Don’t be rude!” scolds Sockel, flicking his forehead. He lets out an annoyed bark, swiping away her hand.

Hineni shakes his head. “Hineni likes. But we need to build your image up more with the people,” he explains. “We can’t sell the image of a god, but then have you washing the bath during work hou-”

*Dhunk* *Dhunk*

The four of them turn towards the front door, staring at it for a second. Is that a customer? Someone that Avarice drummed up? Hineni walks up to it, pulling it open and looking outside.

“We’re not open ye -”

A flash of red, a hand comes to rise before him, an open, scaly palm gesturing his way to stop him mid-sentence. “I sure hope that you are,” says Avarice. “I brought company.”

Hineni stares, not just surprised to see the god of wealth here, but to see him in front of his door in the form of a dragon. This is a most unusual sight for this neighborhood, of course. Behind him in the street is an old, beyond rickety wooden wagon, not even a carriage. It looks like it’s held together by nothing else, save for the prayers of his worshipers and a fistful of nails. “…You what?”

He looks around the area. All around the cart, all outside of his home, the street is full of people. It isn’t just a few dozen, it’s more than that. This must be everyone from this neighborhood and then a good chunk of the people from the other ones as well. “I told you,” says Avarice. “This is an investment.”

“I’m not signing a new bank contract,” replies Hineni, pretty sure that the dragon is trying to sell him something again.

“No, but they will,” replies the god, looking over Hineni’s shoulder, inside towards the counter. The pamphlets that Avarice had given them have been neatly distributed all across its surface for the people coming inside to see. They weren’t there only a second ago. The sharp instincted Sockel must have spread them all out in secret, while Hineni had greeted the god just now. The elf has saved him yet again. Avarice would have been offended if they hadn’t laid them out properly. “Let’s make some money, weaponsmith Hineni, chosen of the owl-god,” says Avarice. Perhaps the dragon sees Hineni’s expression as the man looks around the massive crowd, staring expectantly at their door. “Don’t worry. I brought food. Let us make an introduction first,” suggests the god.

Hineni straightens himself upright, feeling rather put on the spot. He had a few things prepared, but nothing for a crowd like this and not out here, outside of his front door. Life has come to surprise him once again. Though, by now, he supposes that he has learned that it is for the best to just trust whatever the universe throws his way. He sighs, stepping forward, the soft breeze pushing through his sooty, black hair from behind. Hineni narrows his eyes, staring around the crowd, looking at every face that he can see, gazing his way expectantly. The fact that he doesn’t have either his scarf or his hat on is apparent to him, but it isn’t really an issue anymore.

- Let them think what they want to think. He’s done worrying about that. Hineni walks out through the crowd, climbing onto Avarice’s rickety cart. The deathtrap that it is wobbles, as he climbs up onto it. He hopes it doesn't break. He’s sure that Avarice will make him pay for any repairs to the old thing. “Welcome, everyone,” says Hineni, looking around at the crowd “To the reopening of the adventurer’s guild and to the home of the owl-god.” He looks around the mess of people, trying to find them. He can smell them in the air. The man narrows his eyes. “If you’re a frog. Leave.”

There are a few, clearly confused faces in the crowd. “If you don’t know what that means, you’re fine. So if you want to worship a new, better god, feel free to come inside.”

“Frauds!” yells a voice to the side. Hineni turns his head, looking at a group of people, making a ruckus on the edge of the crowd, trying to get in. “It’s a scam! The owl-god is a fake!”

“It’s true!” yells another voice. Hineni narrows his eyes. Frogs… “The owl-god isn’t even real!” The crowd seems to stir a bit, becoming spooked.

“Booo!” yells a voice, coming from a familiar face. The healer-frog, he has seen twice now before. The wind continues to blow.

Hineni plants his boot on the driver’s bench of the cart, pointing out towards them. “You’re going out of business, frogs!” He swipes his arms through the air. “We’re shutting you down!”

“Who~!” agrees a voice floating above him. Obscura hovers in the air, floating upside down. She tilts her head. Whispers move through the crowd, carried from one person to the next.

“She’s flying!” says an excited caster at the front of the cart.

“Owls fly,” explains Hineni, emotionlessly. It makes perfect sense.

Obscura twists her talon. The wind rushes, surging in a powerful gust that blasts through the street. The cart rocks beneath his feet, wobbling wildly, people cover their faces, shielding their eyes from the debris and dust and a series of surprised voices ring out as the wooden shutters of many windows slam shut all at once. Hineni watches as several people are lifted up into the air, frogs, the lot of them. Obscura flicks her talon out and the people all tumble down the way, rolling down the street, as if the wind had chosen to move them and them alone.

“Dirty frogs!” she hoots at them. “You will LEAVE Obscura’s nest.” The wind dies down, the people of the crowd look up to her. Obscura’s body shifts as she turns into the form of a gigantic owl. Avarice’s cart creaks and groans, the wood about to give out, the axle bending. Hineni looks down at his feet in worry. The giant owl sharply turns her head, looking around the crowd. “You WILL feel awe for mighty Obscura!” she hoots, holding her wings out wide. “Bow! BOW!”

Hineni looks at her for a second and then shrugs.

That’s an impression made for sure. It seems to work, honestly. It’s not every day that you see an owl the size of a small house, after all. The man looks out into the confused crowd, some of whom, actually do bow. “We’re open. But I’m not going to say it again,” he says, jumping off of the cart. “No frogs allowed,” he finishes, walking back to the door and towards Avarice.

“I’ll add the costs for my cart to the bill,” says Avarice.

Hineni looks over towards the dragon. “Send it to my secretary,” says the man. “I don’t handle the financials.”

A stream of interested people run inside after him. But not just curious people, also an array of Avarice’s devotees, who have come equipped with food, with drinks and with ample marketing materials for their seductive offerings of high-fee bank accounts.

Obscura flies inside, squeezing through the door as she shifts into her humanish form and sits up on the high rafters, up above the restaurant, allowing people to walk inside and greet her. Some people are there to find out more about her, having heard whispers of the mysterious owl-god for weeks and weeks. Others are there to offer tribute, bringing small token items as offerings; coins, trinkets and shiny baubles. One man in particular approaches, Hineni recognizes him as one of the twenty-seven, who had been given a free talon-dagger weeks ago. The man opens a cloth sack and holds out the body of a small frog, placing it into the offering bowl.

Obscura clicks excitedly clasping her hands together.

- Is it odd to say that he feels jealous about someone else giving her a frog? Maybe.

Actually, looking around the room, Hineni notices a few familiar faces. Most of the twenty-seven are here, in fact.

Sockel is running the counter, already explaining their offerings in a well-rehearsed speech to group of people after group of people, who she then lets get carried away by Avarice's servants. Rhine, meanwhile, runs back and forth from the reception to the forge, carrying full batches of equipment that people are already leaving here to be repaired.

Hineni looks around the room and by the time he’s finished making a single pass of the full hall, all of the tables and booths are already full to the brim. He blinks, just to be sure. But he is. Every single spot is full. Avarice’s helpers keep everyone tended to, offering them refreshments that Hineni is sure he will get a bill for later as well.

“By the way,” asks Avarice, walking up to him. “Do you have any ice? My man is sick today.”

Hineni smiles. “I know just the person.”

Okay, so, the guild is full and, just like he had expected, it feels odd. But it doesn’t feel odd in a bad way. He feels excited, giddy, even. It all happened so fast, didn’t it?

Before Hineni leaves the room to go to the kitchen, he spares one last glance out over the heads of the crowd and out through the front door of his home. The street has emptied entirely, with just about everyone having come inside.

Only a single woman stands there, dressed in an off-white, greenish robe, wearing a veil, far off in the distance and stares his way.

“Excuse me!” says one of Avarice’s workers, pushing past him to get to the kitchen. By the time he’s gone, so is the woman at the end of the street. But Hineni continues to stare, the hairs on his neck standing on end. There was something about her. Something familiar, something significant, something… big…

- The air stinks of frogs.

“The ice?” asks Avarice, nudging him.

Hineni blinks, shaking his head. “Oh, right!”