My days were a blur.

I’d wake at dawn and climb down the many stairs to the kitchens at the lowest level of the Guildhall. Typically, I’d arrive before Thorde, so I’d start preparing the essential tasks to make the rest of the day easier. I’d begin by setting logs inside of the hearth and then slowly stoking them to a blaze. Then I’d fill the larger kettles with water and hang them on the hooks over the fire to boil. Afterward, I’d sharpen and straighten the knives so that they’d be at their best. I would then move down the hallway to the storerooms, and gather oats, grain, yeast, and dried fruits and bring them back to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

By that time, Thorde had usually arrived, and the two of us would begin our separate tasks for the morning. I’d work on the porridge, and Chef—as I began to refer to her, would start mixing and baking the bread.

I would chop the oat grain into smaller pieces and mix them with the dried figs or apples on hand, casting them into one of the kettles. Next came sugar, cinnamon, salt, and cloves. I’d stir the mix slowly as the contents of the pot would bubble and pop. While I waited, I’d get a fresh pile of beaten oat hulls, and place them on a thin metal sheet on the cooking shelf fastened to the top of the hearth. We would roast the grain so that we could store it and have more in a few days’ time.

When the porridge was almost done, I’d slowly pour goat’s milk into the kettle and add more spices. Then I’d lift the pot from the hook, and set it to cool on the massive butcher’s table on the far side of the room.

I’d leave the kitchen and exit the Guildhall to the wood hold, gathering up several bundles and bring them back, resting them in the woodbox next to the hearth. Once Thorde was finished baking the bread, we’d set heaping hunks of butter on their crust and let the heat melt it over top. Then we each set to slicing up the loaves and arraying them on the large silver trays. We’d finish by serving up dozens of bowls of porridge, and I’d make several trips back and forth to deliver the food to the ungrateful members of the Guild.

When I returned, Thorde and I would eat breakfast as well, usually whatever had been on the menu that morning. Afterwards, we’d spend about an hour cleaning up after ourselves before getting started on preparing lunch.

The work was demanding at times, but rewarding as well. It had been ages since I’d been able to practice my hand at cooking anything, but now I spent the hours through the day doing just that. The hours turned into days, and those days turned into weeks. I became quite comfortable with my work, and thought less and less about the goings-on of my friends of the Beatdown Brigade. But Anubis and Lina, they were always on my mind. No matter how many snide comments or aggressive actions were directed at me, I kept my focus on my tasks. Until I could divine a way to escape, I’d just have to use the opportunity to slowly gain more Skill Levels.

I still hadn’t been able to figure out anything pertaining to the night I’d died, or why I was selected to join the Guild. I had assumed it was Matar that had given the order, but he hadn’t seemed to know much about me beyond wanting to get some dirt about the Beatdown Brigade.

That couldn’t be all it was. Right?

Each night, after my work was complete, I was given free rein of the estate. I would usually wrap up some of the leftovers from dinner and climb up a few floors on the back staircase designed as a servant’s entrance. I’d discovered a pleasant little alcove—a deeply recessed sill for one of the windows looking out over the grounds. It was private, as there was hardly ever any traffic through the area.

The passage led up to the top floor, where the library was, and servants or apprentices didn’t usually have a reason to go up there or use these particular stairs.

I crawled into the window and unwrapped some of the cheese I’d brought along from the dinner service and took a few bites. The rich flavor sang to my tastebuds, and it was difficult to restrain myself from wolfing the whole thing down in one go. It was a healthy portion of aged blue cheese, and had some sort of tangy fruit cured inside of it. Whatever it was, had a delightful sharpness to it. Thorde was truly a wizard with food, and I had begun to wonder what her Cooking skill was leveled to.

Do NPCs even have Skills, and could they be Leveled?

Then I had another thought.

Was she an NPC?

It seemed reasonable that she would be. Especially considering how unlikely it was that someone would just set up shop in the kitchens of such a poorly regarded Guild, but I suppose I didn’t know. She never spoke about herself when she did speak, but I got the impression that it would forever remain a mystery. I wasn’t likely to get her to tell me about herself, in any case, and asking someone if they were an NPC just seemed rude.

I chewed thoughtfully on the edge of the shard of cheese, and positioned myself so that I could look out the window.

It was dusk, and the clouds had broken above the horizon, showcasing a thin ribbon of color that harmonized in hues of glorious red and gradient purple that chased the setting sun. The myriad colors reminded me of Iam’s gigantic avian mount. I wondered where the Beatdown Brigade were. I didn’t believe that Anubis would stop looking for me, but perhaps the others wouldn’t care enough to figure out where I went.

I sighed and turned my focus to a different feature far beyond.

I could see the soft lights of Gruoch in the distance, a beacon in the encroaching darkness. I’d spent less than a few hours there, but I longed to walk down the streets again. It had seemed so exciting to be among the crowd there. It had felt like something magical was actually occurring wherever I looked. It spoke to my sense of fantasy and my longing for adventure.

Now, though, the harsh reality of this side of my new home was a slap in the face. While not particularly cruel, the situation I’d found myself in was less than ideal. I felt robbed of the opportunity to enjoy this world’s offering in my own and worried that I was doomed to be trapped at the Malicious Intent’s Guild Hall forever.

There was a shuffle of boot on flagstone as a massive shadow fell over me, and I jumped.

“Sorry,” said a calm, lazy-sounding voice.

I spun from my perch and faced the sneak who’d startled me.

Maroon skin, pale green hair, and a corpulent frame enclosed in tight metal armor. It was the Fomorian who’d helped me open the door the Officer’s dining room a few weeks ago.

“Oh, Shizukana,” I said, relaxing.

“Hey,” he greeted, holding up a large hand and wiggling his fingers, “are you considering jumping?”

“What,” I asked, confused, “jumping?”

Shizukana smiled and nodded.

“From the window. You know, ending it all in one fell swoop. You seen ready to abandon this life of Apprenticeship and take the final plunge.”

I chuckled, stretching out and yawning.

“It’s less of an apprenticeship and closer to servitude,” I said, pointing my thumb toward the window, “but, wouldn’t that be kind of pointless? If I hurled myself from the parapets, I’d just end up here again. Better to hang around a bit longer, you know? Enjoy this cheese.”

“That’s true enough,” Shizukana said, his eyes on the food in my hand, “is that from the kitchens?”

I looked down at the shard and smiled.

“Sure is,” I said, and held the cheese toward him, “you want some?”

Shizukana kept it in his gaze and then gave me a shy smile.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to deprive you of your meal.”

I shrugged and tossed it to him.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” I said as he fumbled to catch my toss, “they have me slaving away with Chef Thorde as part of my duties as a thrall.”

Shizukana took a tentative bite, as if it might be a prank. His eyes lit up as he tasted it, and he began chomping into it with relish.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you delivering food,” he said, his mouth full.

“Such is my lot in life,” I mused, “do they still have you cleaning out sheds?”

He nodded.

“Unfortunately,” he said, finishing the cheese. He began licking his fingers passionately and then froze, his eyes locking on to me in the very picture of embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“Nah, go HAM,” I offered, reaching into my satchel and removing another cloth-wrapped bundle. I peeled back the folds, exposing the food within.

“Want some bread?”

The Fomorian smiled.

“I’m going to have to hang around you more often!”

I tore the small loaf in two and handed one half to him, bringing the other up to my nose and taking a whiff. The smell was intoxicating. It had been baked earlier this afternoon, and still had the lingering aroma of yeast and oats. I ripped out a section of the cottony insides and popped it into my mouth.

Delicious.

It was silent while we finished the meager meal. Once we were done, I wiped my face with my shirt sleeve.

“I wish we had something to drink,” I said, and picked up the empty cloth wrappings, stowing them away in my bag.

Shizukana nodded, and in his casual manner, motioned for me to follow.

“Now, I can return the favor,” he said, and without waiting for me turned and began ascending the stairs.

“Wait!” I exclaimed, sliding out of the window sill.

“Have you been to the library yet?” Shizukana asked, his back to me.

“No, I didn’t think I was allowed,” I said, attempting to keep pace.

“Well, that’s just about the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,” he said, but his voice had a humorous lilt to it, “and I spent all day cleaning the bathrooms inside Horn Keep, so that’s saying something.”

I trailed his long strides as he made his way up, three steps at a time.

We reached the top floor, and Shizukana pushed the door open to the long hallway leading to the library. It was devoid of life, and our footsteps echoed loudly.

The archway to the library was just ahead. Beyond, I could see countless shelves, teeming with books of every color, promising hours of information, and intrigue. Lantern light bathed the room in a warm glow, spilling out into the darkening hallway, and an overwhelming sense of coziness filled my chest and stomach. It was an inviting view. Malicious Intent continued to surprise me.

As we entered, I craned my neck upward automatically. The library was absolutely massive. A sixty-foot ceiling hung overhead, decorated with a detailed woodland scene, much like the door to the kitchens. Dozens of towering bookcases lined the walls, and rows had been constructed in a narrow formation I couldn’t believe most Fomorian could navigate. The palace of books had three levels, and wherever I looked, I could see ladders and spiral staircases, overflowing with austerity.

There were two Guildies in the vicinity, and they gave me a reproachful look when they saw me. Other than that, the space seemed mostly barren.

My Fomorian Sherpa strode through the aisles, leading me along in his wake. I didn’t know where we were headed, but it seemed as though we were moving toward the more shadowy section of the place. I was suddenly very nervous that he might be taking me somewhere to get my ass kicked.

Better than I deserve for falling for such a simple tactic.

We reached another doorway, and Shizukana was forced to dip under the low frame as he entered. In my new, smaller form, I felt like I was in the land of the giants.

At fifteen feet, the room inside didn’t have the same clearance as the central area, but was still high enough to leave an impression. There were bookshelves in here as well, but the volumes inhabiting them were much older, and most of the bindings were either cracked or missing. There were four long tables, each with a lantern at their center. Though only one was actually lit. The room was empty save for one other soul— a squat, muscular Fomorian woman in an ale-stained tunic.

She had a stack of books in front of her, as well as a handful of scrolls, and loose parchment. A quill and inkwell rested on top of the mess. Most noticeably, the woman had a small cup sitting on the tabletop, circles of dark liquid gathered around it from spills.

She didn’t look up as we arrived, choosing instead to take sips from the vessel in front of her, quietly focusing on her task. In one of her large, olive hands she held a scroll open, and she kept pushing the fringe of her black bangs out of her eyes as she scowled at whatever it contained.

Her name floated above her head, and I noticed there was a big red X next to it.

Zealot [ Underling ] [ Lvl. 13 ] X

“Zel,” Shizukana said, and the Fomorian woman suddenly started, leaping to her feet and her hand flashing to her side.

Woah, don’t sneak up on her. Noted.

I tensed up, wishing I had something to defend myself with. However, Shizukana calmly raised his hand.

“Easy, Zel,” he said in his trademark lazy cadence, “we come in peace.”

It took a moment for the crazed expression to melt from Zealot’s face as her eyes focused on the two of us. Then she smiled wide, almost crazily.

“Ah,” she said, her hand never leaving her side, “peace? It was about to be pieces! I didn’t see ya there.”

Zealot’s voice was rough, as if she had worn it out shouting, and had a strong drawl to it. She seemed twitchy. Her eyes wheeled onto me, and she nodded.

“Who’s this fella?” she asked.

“Vale,” I offered, then remembering the custom, I said, “well met, Zel.”

Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Nah, easy on that, Vale,” she warned, eyeing me up and down, “my friends call me Zel. You and I ain’t exactly familiar yet, are we?”

I could feel my embarrassment reddening my face.

“Oh, sorry, Zealot,” I bumbled, holding my hands up in a pacifying gesture, “I’m still new and learn—“

“Oh, I’m only foolin’!” Zealot said, her smile returning, “sorry ‘bout that. My humor’s ill-suited to some, but that’s on me.”

The Fomorian woman motioned toward the chairs at the table.

“Come, sit down and join me,” she said, and offered up her cup, “y’all want something to drink?”

Shizu nodded.

“I’m showing Vale the ropes on how to withstand the unsavory aspects of life with Malicious Intent.”

Zel frowned again, and spit.

Tell me how you really feel.

Zel reached down to the floor and brought up an opaque red jug. Something sloshed around on the inside as she set it down on the tabletop with a loud clop.

That sounds heavy.

“You drink, Vale?” she offered, motioning to the container.

“I, uh, used to be able to drink…” I began, then, worried I would reveal too much, I tried to save it, “but I think my tolerance may have gone down since I got dragged into this Guild.”

Zel nodded as if she understood and slid the jug over to me.

“Guests get first pull.”

I looked at the red earthenware jug, and saw that there was an available prompt.

Noxious Spirit

Eh? What’s in this stuff? It smells like a wet boot! Drink at your own risk. If there was a rating system, it would have five skull-and-crossbones on it.

Might Requirement: 5

That made me nervous. I wasn’t strong enough to lift the container.

Plus, it might kill me.

“Uh,” I said, looking back and forth between the two Fomorian, “I don’t think I can pick it up.”

Zel stared at me for a moment and then let out a loud guffaw, slapping the tabletop with her palm.

“Aw, you’re just a little guy,” she said, all teeth, “we gonna have to Level you up some, so you can gulp down a real drink!”

She snatched the alcohol up effortlessly in one hand and poured a little into the cup in her hand. Then, she slid that back to me, the liquid spilling out on the wood of the table.

“There you go,” she said with a wink, “if’n you can lift that, I think you’ll have yourself a right-good time.”

I stared at the dark liquid inside the cup. The prompt was right--a pungent smell assaulted my nostrils, almost overwhelmingly so.

Here goes nothing!

I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip.

Oh, no.

It was the most potent drink I’d had yet, since arriving. Which wasn’t saying much. But still, it tasted like gasoline and fungus, and I nearly spit it out. Instead, I steeled myself and swallowed.

“Goes down smoother’n you’d think, right?” Zel asked, nodding as she did.

Like the Titanic.

I set the cup back down and smacked my lips, wincing.

“It’s not bad,” I lied, feeling a hot burn in my chest and wondering quietly if I was about to die.

“Oh, yes it is,” Zel said, laughing suddenly, “it takes like burnt hog piss, but that’s no reason to turn your nose at a stiff spirit.”

I looked up at Shizu, who had been watching the interaction with his usual disinterested placidity.

“Want some?” I offered.

“A’course he does,” Zel said, and lifted the jug up again and handed it over to the gigantic man on the other side of the table.

Shizu bowed in thanks and took a gulp right from the lip of the container. He winced too, and set it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

“That’s disgusting,” he said, and moved his shoulders around in a stretch, “but it beats being sober. At least, as long as we have to be here.”

“The damndest of truths,” Zel agreed.

I regarded these two for a moment before venturing a question.

“The both of you seem to hate it here,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “so how come you’ve stayed so long?”

“Well,” Shizu answered, lifting the jug and taking another sip, “I am unable to leave, much like I imagine you are.”

I nodded.

I see, so it’s not just me that’s bound to this awful Guild.

“I joined back at the beginning,” Zel said solemnly, leaning forward and lowering her voice, “but it’s a whole different animal than what it was. It used to be glorious, virtuous too. Then Matar ascended to his mighty throne and brought the rest of us down into the muck.”

I was intrigued. I slid my chair closer.

“So, Matar wasn’t always in charge,” I said, thoughtfully.

“Hell, no,” Zel spat, shaking her head, “it used to be there were two different leaders of this outfit. Tradius Darkmarl and Soren the Behemoth. Two of the finest Adventurers you ever did see. Warriors, both of them, and eyes like the sun.”

Zel seemed to be a bit poetic when she drank, and as she snatched the jug from Shizu and took a deep draught, she began to gurgle more prose.

“They lead the Guild with a firm, but fair hand, and allowed any who dared to the option to stake a claim, and vie to be accepted into the ranks. ‘Course that was well before our time. The Guild has been around fer a stretch, as you might now be imaginin’. Hell, when I joined, Tradius’ son, Alastan Darkmarl, was running things. But Matar,” Zel paused to spit her distaste at his name, “well, he is a right sum’bitch. He and I were in the same Wave together, started in Clagcnoc, and even went on Quests with the same group. He was different then.

Friendlier, some might venture. But Matar had somethin’ off about him. He’d jump from party to party, always looking to join up with the best an’ brightest stars he could find. I joined Intent afore he’d ever even heard of it, and things were absolutely splendid.”

Zel took a deep drink from the urn and let out a satisfied sigh when she was done.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Matar joined not long after me, and he was already gathering a bit of a following in his own right.

See, he’d spent his time Raidin’. Running ‘round dungeons, and gathering the good loot for himself--and o’course his posse of lackeys. When he joined up here with the Guild, he was leading a host of about twenty men. Now, that’s more’n enough to start your own Guild, and forge your path with your ideals. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Naw, Matar wanted a Guild with a lineage, something well-known already so that when people saw him leadin’ it, they’d be mighty impressed. So that’s what he set about doin’. His flunkies joined up as well, and they helped him. He started rising in the ranks, and cozying up to the already-established Officers, like Paris.”

“Paris was already an Officer?” I asked suddenly. For some reason, that took me off guard.

“She were indeed, little friend,” Zel affirmed, “she’s one o’the most tenured Guildies here, save for the Treasurer. But when Matar started doin’ his thing, she didn’t say boo. He waited for his opportunity, and when Alastan decided to step down--a suspect decision in its own right, Matar was voted in almost unanimously. Almost.”

She spit again, but her aim was a bit off, and hit the edge of the table. She stared at the spittle for a moment, and then wiped it off with her hand.

“As it were,” she continued, “Paris, bein’ the second-in-command, she shoulda been a shoo-in for Guildmaster. But she seemed keen on supportin’ Matar’s vision. He kept as Vicemaster, but immediately upon ascending to his throne, ejected all the other Officers, even the ones who’d supported him.

Then he made the Guild Fomorian-only and started runnin’ with the whole evil motif. Changed up the Guild banner and everythin’. Apparently, and almost definitely because I’m Fomorian, I was gifted the prestigious honor of makin’ the cut.”

“But, if all of your friends and mentors had been given the boot, why’d you stick around?” I asked.

Zel was silent for a moment, her eyes on her drink. She seemed thoughtful, and when she finally spoke, it was as though she was choosing her words carefully.

“I joined up with Intent only about four months after I arrived here. By the time Matar took over, I’d been in it for a year and some change. I had spent more time in this strange world as a part of this Guild than I had outside of it. It’s what was comfortable. I’m not proud of it, but it’s part o’ me that I can’t seem to back out on.

There aren’t that many ‘riginal members left. I guess I’m still rutted believin’ that if I stick ‘round, a bit of the old Guild stays alive. I made the mistake of arguin’ with Matar about it in the past, but he went and shut me up real quick-like.”

She was silent for a moment.

“He demoted you?” I asked.

“True enough,” she said, nodding, “I’m the highest Level Underling in the whole Guild. Queen o’ the Noobies. Got this big ole ‘X’ markin’ me as a blasted pariah as well. I ain’t been able to catch a break. Hence the drinkin’.”

I nodded and tilted my head to the side.

“Pardon my asking, but what does that mark mean?”

Zel scowled, but then it faded, and she took on a more baleful expression.

“I killed a’ NPC,” she said.

My heart backflipped.

“Purposely?” I ventured carefully.

She nodded solemnly.

“I ain’t proud of it,” she began, “I was in a mood like storm clouds. I don’t even remember what happened, to be true, but there were an argument o’ some kind. The poor cuss was a shopkeep. He said something that must’a really drove me madder’n a bowlegged bumblebee, and I stabbed him. It’s pretty hazy now, sometimes that happens to me. I just get so burnt up, that I go berserk. Start breaking stuff, an’ punchin’ folk in the head who ain’t even got nothin’ to do with what I’m steamin’ about. This was the first time I’d killed somebody about it, though.”

Zel seemed remorseful, but I wasn’t sure why. Sure, it was a dick move to kill someone. But, at best, they’ll just hold it against you when they return.

“So, you get branded, just for killing a non-player character?” I made a mental note to try to avoid that stigma.

Zel eyed me thoughtfully, looking me up and down as if to see if I meant something harsher by my words, and I tensed. But she sighed and took a sip of her jug.

“You’re pretty green,” she said, “so I ain’t imagine you’d been enlightened to this yet. But, NPCs don’t come back if they die. They’re dead permanently.”

This information hit me like a freight train, and I immediately regretted my earlier words.

Oh. Shit. I’m an asshole.

“There’s enemy NPCs,” she continued, “friendly ones, and neutrals as well. But, it’s a serious smirch on an Adventurer’s honor to knowingly kill any NPC that isn’t makin’ moves to kill you first.”

A snore ripped through the quiet tension of the room. Shizu was fast asleep in his chair, his arms folded over his chest and his chin drooping.

Zel nodded to him. Then, she scooped up the jug, and tucked it under her arm, standing, and made a move to leave.

“I think that’s as good o’ reason as any to pack up for the eve,” she said, “make sure he doesn’t spend the night in here, will ya?”

I sighed.

“Sure thing, Zel,” I said, and stood.

How the hell am I supposed to wake this great slumbering beast?

“It was good chattin’ with ya, Vale,” Zel announced, just before ducking out of the room, “I hope you don’t spend near as long as me in this gods-forsaken place. ‘Night.”

Just like that, she was gone.

I shook Shizu by the shoulders, and slowly, he began to rouse. He blinked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then smirked.

“Oh, hey Vale,” he said, and then let out a big yawn, “what did I miss?”

I shrugged my shoulders as the big Fomorian began to rise.

“Nothing at all.”