Compared to the tunnel they entered through, the cabin looked ordinary enough. They were in a storage room, barrels of unknown substances taking up the majority of the area. A rug which had been placed over the trap door, lifted and curled after they had disturbed it.

Selrah held her hand on her dagger and for the first time that Mythril had seen, also grasped a staff in her other hand. It was of a long and thin dark metal, the top of it decorated with green gems in a metal frame to look like bat wings, the head of the bat perched on top of the staff, eyes of black diamond.

“I think we can all assume this isn’t what we thought it would be,” Jumin said, his own staff, feathers swaying along the steel as he moved it, in his hand ready.

Mythril reached into his satchel and equipped his sword. This earned him a curious look from Jumin.

“Why do you keep-“

Thankfully, before the question could be asked, a sound came from above. A low groan, deep and grumbling through the wooden timbers.

They approached the stairs quietly, Mythril behind Selrah who was creeping upwards first, Jumin close behind. The groaning was alternating between long drawn out cries and quieter grumbles, it grew louder as they closed in distance towards it.

They moved through a kitchen, Mythril pointing out a thick iron cauldron. From within they could hear the bubbles, and see water splatter over the rim. A fire burned bright beneath it, the logs still relatively uncharred. It was newly lit.

Selrah paused before they could walk through the open door and into the room it appeared the noise was coming from. She reached into her satchel and tapping on her scroll, did so until she had handed each of them a vial and taken one for herself.

“Renewal potion,” she said, taking a sip of her own. “Just in case.”

Jumin drank his next, a nod of his head to show his appreciation.

Mythril looked at the potion in his hand. It swirled with the appearance of water, but when he put it to his lips he tasted a thicker consistency. It ran down his throat as cold as ice, but settled in his stomach with a warm and comforting feeling.

Selrah glanced at both of them in turn, nodding when they signalled that they were ready. Jumin with a nod back, and Mythril by raising his hand and sticking up his thumb.

They rounded the corner as swiftly as they could without stumbling in to one another. At the far end of the room stood a man, green as moss, and thick as any trunk. His face held an expression of fury at their sight, lips furling upwards to reveal teeth that pointed both up and down, gnashing together when he began to charge.

Selrah struck the ground with her staff, and encircling the orc Mythril recognized [Forsaken Grasp]. Spindly fingers reached up and gripped at the orc’s legs, pulling on the thin material of his trousers. He tore free and towards them, again Selrah struck the ground with her staff, this time also pointing forth her dagger.

An imp hopped forth, sparks flying out from its fingertips. Beside it sped a wolf, its tail splayed branches, and its head a skull. It rounded on the orc and pulled it backwards, holding it in place along with the undead hands while the imp sent tiny green flames in its direction.

“Mythril, strike!” Selrah called from beside him. She thrust the dagger in the air again, this time when she brought it down blood splattered out from the orc’s head, a gash streaking down to his nose.

Mythril brought his sword up high, and like he had in many worlds before, he sprung towards the orc. It pulled its own sword from its waist before Mythril could land his blow, swinging it first at Jumin, who leapt back with a yelp, and then catching Mythril’s sword in a parry.

The strength from which metal struck metal sent Mythril stumbling. He righted himself before he fell to the floor, his hand on the back of a wooden chair that trembled under his weight.

The imp continued to send tiny flames towards the orc. Selrah struck her dagger in an upwards motion, brought her staff out in front of her and with a thin liquid with the appearance of blood spurting from the dagger, and a black and smoky mist coming from the stave, the two streams entwined and struck the orc in the chest.

Jumin was back on his feet, now in noxiri form. As the orc tumbled backwards, he shifted into a bear.

Mythril’s mouth dropped open, only now did he see how much Jumin resembled an effigy of a pagan god, built of sticks and bones in the shapes of different animals. The palms of his hands were of heavy wood that pulled the orc upon him, his fingers of bone, and nails the long and sharp shards that he recognized now as [Noxiri’s Pledge].

“Strike him, Mythril!” Selrah screamed again, her hands fumbling in her bag. He shifted his attention away as she began to sip its contents.

He pulled the sword up high, and charged towards the orc. The tip of the blade glinted in the reflection of the candle flames encircled in sconces above. He moved to bring the blade down upon the orc’s head only to be halted by two cries.

“Wait!” the orc’s eyes opened, the same light of the flames that lit Mythril’s sword danced in his pupils.

If this hadn’t been enough, the shrill cry from behind would have.

“Stop, Mythril!”

Selrah pointed up the stone stairwell. At what, was not yet clear to Mythril, but hearing Jumin’s sigh he knew the noxiri was aware of whatever it was Selrah had seen.

Other than the stone steps, and the timber frame that made up the ramshackle built handrail, there was nothing much else to see. From a timber that made up the ceiling a banner hung, draping over the doorway, just above head height of perhaps a human, but it would sure have brushed over Jumin’s eyes.

Then he recognized what he was looking at. A black banner with two pointed tips, each with the appearance of being dipped in white ink. At the centre a skeletal hand, as stark white as the edging. It was a guild banner.

“The Noxiri Knights made claim of this home?” Selrah asked.

The orc remained slumped against Jumin, the leather jerkin that clung to its bulging stomach moving in and out with deep breaths.

“Speak, orc.” Impatient, Selrah brought down her staff onto the ground. From it, a liquid of blackish-purple seeped across the stone tiles and to the orc’s feet. It fumbled in Jumin’s grasp, lifting its bulking legs. With no where to move the ink like substance wound its way up the orcs body until it found its mouth. Here, despite the orc’s attempts at holding its lips pressed firmly together, it slipped between them and down his throat in disgusting gurgles.

The orc lurched forward and threw the liquid back up and onto the ground. It bubbled briefly, before disappearing through the cracks of the floor.

“Don’t use your tricks of the dead on me, witch,” the orc spluttered, spots of liquid still dripping from the edges of his mouth. “I am one of the living.”

Selrah walked towards the orc, her frame so fragile compared to his you would think he could crush her skull with his fingers. Yet it was the orc who stepped back, and Jumin, his form still that of a bear, who held him in place.

“I will treat you like the dead until you act like one of the living,” she hissed. “Now speak.”

The orc grunted and nudged his head in the direction of a wooden table and chairs. Upon it, a tankard had been over turned, whatever liquids were inside now spilled and darkening the once light-coloured wood.

“Let’s sit,” Jumin said, transforming once more to noxiri, but not loosing his grip upon the orc.

Mythril gratefully took a seat. It was not the only thing he was grateful for the orc suggesting. The first had been his cry to wait, leaving Mythril the option to not attack. He was growing frustrated with himself. All those years on games, all those titles held. Now, in a game and he was useless. He could swing a sword, but what good was that, what fun was that, in comparison to shape-shifting or raising the dead.

At his feet Selrah’s imp bounced and bobbed enthusiastically. He almost kicked it. Even that thing was more powerful than he was.

Selrah gripped her scroll in her hand, and after a few clicks upon the table was summoned a selection of breads, cheeses, tankards of a caramel coloured liquid, and even what looked like a sweet pie. She noticed Mythril take note of this and frowned. “That took a long time to bake, pies are a new recipe” she said, pushing it more central to the table. “It’s to be shared.”

“I was only admiring the crust,” Mythril replied, now taking note not of the fact it had taken a long time to bake, but that small blueberries were bursting out of the top and the sides. Had this been in his own home that pie would have been crumbs by now. But here he was seated beside a cook who looked at him like she would sooner bake him into a pie than let him have the first slice.

“Noxiri Knights,” the orc said, reaching for a chunk of bread hesitantly. He took it at a nod of Selrah’s head, stuffing it into his mouth eagerly. The orc sighed, and appeared to regain some of his previous furore. “So that’s what those bastards are called.”

Jumin pointed up to the banner at the top of the stairwell, his other hand busy spilling liquid from the tankard both into his mouth and over the bone of his chin. “Would appear so from looking at that banner.”

“Well,” the orc continued. “I suspect they’ve done me out of pay. And whatever copper they’d have thrown on the table, it’s not worth getting my skull split in half over.” He looked over to Mythril as he said this, but rather than an expression of anger it was a smile that took his lips.

“So, Kon was wrong, or tricking us, either is likely,” Selrah said, placing her scroll onto the table and swiping to QUEST LOG. “They didn’t take all the griffon babes, they took the entire quest line and made it into this instead. Do you know the reward?”

The orc shook his head. “I’m not on it. I’m not guild aligned so I don’t need the reputation, and I spend my time as a swornsword. If the reward isn’t for resale then it’s not of interest to me.”

“They’ll have lost a lot of reputation with Elder Moor for this, and it must have been a guild effort to switch an entire quest line. What worth was it using Guild Ambition for this?”

“I can make a guess,” Mythril said, pulling the pie towards him. It was the orc that had given Mythril the idea, not to take the pie, but to the reason why the Noxiri Knights might make the quest completely unobtainable. “We need the vials for tomorrow, we get the vials from the griffon babes.”

“And the Noxiri Knights want you to fail,” Jumin said, pointing at Mythril with a fork. He was unsure where the noxiri had summoned it from, but pulling out his scroll Mythril eagerly searched for it. His pie was about to become much easier to eat.

“It will take more than us being unable to obtain some elemental resistance vials to fail the summoning. We have been given a number of quests to complete, all of us.”

“Then I hope you have a back up plan because if this guild was willing to risk its reputation on changing the course of this quest line then the chances are they’ve done it for every one they think you’ll need.”

“Orc ears on a stick,” Selrah exclaimed, bringing her fist down against the table and sending the food bouncing up in the air. “No offense,” she added, glancing towards the orc.

“Not my ears, not my offense to be taken,” the orc said in reply.

Fork summoned and pie half eaten, Mythril cut another small piece away and waved it towards the orc. “Did they give you any idea when they’d be back?”

“None,” the orc said and pushed its balding head into its hand. “That should have been a giveaway that they weren’t about to pay me for guarding this place.”

“I don’t think they left you here to guard it,” Jumin added. He stuck his fork in the pie in front of Mythril and dragged it across the table towards him. Before it could reach him, Mythril had cut another chunk free, splodges of blueberry dripping across the table as he rushed it to his mouth.

“They knew Elder’s Chosen were coming,” Jumin continued. “All of Elder’s Chosen. Lone wolves, in teams, in groups… and they left one guard?” Jumin shook his head, blue juice dripping over his teeth. “You were either left as a message or a mockery. Both, I’d hazard.”

Selrah and Mythril leaned back in their chairs in unison, both of them sighed. But, whereas Selrah’s hands soon landed back against the wooden edge of the table, Mythril’s clutched at his stomach. He took his hands down to his pants only to push out air from his mouth in agitation when he found there was, of course, no zipper.

“They really don’t care what good this would do for Elder Moor, do they? They only care about their own gains.”

Jumin laughed, short bursts that he washed down with more ale. “They’re noxiri, in Elder Moor. I wouldn’t be surprised if like many Elder Moor aligned noxiri before them they had a change of heart and wish they’d aligned with our home.”

“Hexwood?” the orc asked.

“Hexwood,” Jumin answered.

“I’m of Hexwood born. My names Bestie, by the way,” The orc said proudly, then again ran a hand across his head. “You’re all Elder Moor aren’t you?”

Jumin nodded, and waved a hand in the direction of Selrah and Mythril, “Not only that, but these two are champions. They’re in one of the faction’s top guilds. You’re lucky we’re not in the Deadlands, would be little of your wares to come back to once they were through with you.”

Mythril would have enjoyed the praise, had he felt he had earned it. He knew that it instead belonged to the true owner of the body he was in. A body that was becoming markedly more uncomfortable. He had been partially listening to the conversation, but the more occupied part of his mind was on swiping through his scroll to INVENTORY and browsing for more comfortable trousers. With little choice, he selected a pair of trousers that looked to at least be made of cloth.

“Very funny,” Bestie said, seeing the change.

“Really, Mythril?” Selrah questioned. “Elder Moor jester wear? I knew we shouldn’t have taken part in that event. Just don’t put the hat on.”

Jumin simply laughed, pulled out his scroll, and within seconds was wearing the same green and gold diamond patterned incredibly short shorts as Mythril. “If we’re going to represent Elder Moor, we may as well do it right.”

The two sat there grinning at one another, Selrah shuffled in her seat while the orc decided to try his luck at taking some of the pie.

“Rather than acting like it’s the festival of the Elder’s Blessing, how about instead we focus on the fact that Noxiri Knights have used their Guild Ambition to try and ruin our chances tomorrow?” Selrah was leaning forward, her hands gripped around a tankard.

“Elder’s Blessing,” Jumin scoffed. “We’re definitely not acting like it’s Elder’s Blessing, I’d be passed out asleep on this table if it were, Mythril too, his face in a pie by the looks of it.”

Mythril held the last forkful up to his mouth, the orc watching it hungrily. He had taken it before he could even grab so much as his own forkful.

“A festival of pie sounds good to me.” This was the kind of other world Mythril could cope with, no not cope with, but actually enjoy right now. It was hard not to join in with the revelry and joking of Jumin. He had seen it in so many shows and movies before, the comradery of the adventurers. He glanced to Selrah. Her long white hair tucked behind her ears with the headband, ears pointed, lips turned down in a scowl. He hesitated before pushing the food into his mouth – his group of adventurers was missing the only one he cared to have by his side.

He remembered what he needed to do. He still ate the pie.

“Can we revert the quest lines?” he asked, chewing on a particularly sticky blueberry. “If they used their Guild Ambition,” he said this hoping he was using the terminology right, “can we not use our own?”

Selrah turned the thought over in her mind. Jumin pointed his fork between Mythril and the elf, signalling that he, too, thought this was a good idea.

“We’d need to call a guild meeting.”

“We have one tonight, at the tavern,” Mythril reminded her.

“And that will be too late.” She hadn’t needed reminding.

She drummed her fingers upon the table while the rest of the group watched and waited for an answer. Her head jolted upwards, from wherever her thoughts had been she was now very much back amongst them.

“Is there a mailbox nearby?” she asked Bestie, who nodded in reply and pointed towards the door he had originally been guarding.

“Outside,” he said. “It could use some paint though.”

“I’m not asking because I want to redecorate,” Selrah said as she stood from the table. “We might have been the first to have made it to the cabin, but Kon knew the griffon babes were gone, that means others must be at least trying to complete the quests, even if they weren’t yet sent on the new ones.”

Mythril noticed that she walked with more of an unsteady gait than she had previously. She stumbled to the door, leaning her hand against the frame and resting for a moment before walking out.

He glanced to Jumin, who with tankard already in hand, rocked it back and forth and mouthed drunk.