Joe was a normal guy. Just a normal guy, living a normal life, in a world of monsters, magic, and demi-gods.

He loved his family, his job, and worked every day to make sure both were secure and sound. He was a 'sanitation engineer' in the employ of the adventurers association, and he was damn good at it! They always left behind such awful messes everywhere they went. Spraying blood and guts all over streets and dungeons without a care in the world. That's where the cleaners came in.

Joe was part of a team dedicated to ensuring that any and all remains left by creatures who didn't decompose into mana were disposed of properly. Adventurers who came through and slaughtered chimera with poisonous blood, not thinking of how it might make the earth barren. Other creatures that were known to decompose into dangerous plagues, or human bodies that attracted monsters from miles around. There was a reason they burnt the dead, and adventurers didn't commonly wait around to ensure that was done.

It wasn't much, but it was honest work.

He didn't much care for adventurers, despite working for the association headquartered in their unofficial capital of Kriegstad. But his sons loved them, collected their branded merchandise and couldn't spare one minute off that accursed association tablet. Always talking about this or that hero, guild, or team. Joe took this job to get access to the complimentary tickets, not something he'd ever have been able to afford in his lifetime.

And what a job it was, the shifts were long, exhausting, and everything was filthy...

The arena was in shambles. Above, there was trash scattered everywhere, and several spots to indicate where someone had opted to relieve themselves in broad daylight rather than walk to a restroom...

Below, which was the zone he was responsible for, was worse off, but at least there wasn't any shit. He sighed, staring at the sea of shattered stone and rubble, stretching his shoulders and pulling a long 'T' shaped stick from his cart. It looked like a broom, but it was a focusing rod designed specifically for the purpose of repaving roads shattered in combat. Either by monsters, or adventurers that jumped off buildings and landed on the ground really hard. Always so flashy and dramatic, no concern to the damage they caused, or the health of their knees.

The arena looked like a giant had decided to do the same. What had so recently been flat sandy ground was a crater of overturned brickwork and scattered reinforcement rebar.

Next, he removed the floodlight, tossing it up into the air with a merry whistle to illuminate the arena. It was dark and cloudy, not an ounce of moonlight making its way to the ground. Joe liked the night shift, though, for the peace and quiet.

Nobody to come harassing him, and an excuse to get some time alone with his thoughts. He loved his wife, but they'd been married for near two decades now, people needed some time to themselves. He took a neat leather wrapped cylinder out of the pouch on his hip and twisted it twice. Enjoying the pleasant melody of Unert's 5th Symphony, brought to life through vibrations in the air. His most prized possession, it was hard to find a lexicanum like this, one of the old and reliable ones of such exceptional quality. Beyond his means, if not for a lucky find that he'd decided not to report. Not like whoever the rich idiot that left it laying in the middle of a fountain would likely care, anyone with the coinpurse to throw a 300 Credit artifact like that away could spare it.

Still... Joe felt guilty. He just liked music so much and his salary wasn't nearly enough to afford to exorbitant prices charged even in the second hand shops. It didn't make sense, either. Presumably, runesmiths had been making all sorts of artifacts like this for generations on end, was there not a surplus of them? What happened to the rest? Society was just unfair like that, and that was a sort of justification for his dishonesty.

“AH!!!” Joe screamed, tripping back wards and landing uncomfortably against a chuck of rubble. “I'm sorry! I'll turn myself in!”

No trouble had come of it, until now. Joe's floodlight pierced the gloom of the arena, illuminating a dark scarlet figure. No, not scarlet, but rather wearing armor covered in blood that continued to rain through the segments, pooling on the ground below its feet. Coming so fast that whatever cleaning properties the armor might have was failing to keep it in good condition. A fel creature towering over him, continuously growling and grinding its teeth. Still and haunting, hoarse of voice. Joe lifted his stone roller in two hands and prepared to swing it should it come closer, but it didn't seem interested in moving whatsoever.

“What the hell are you!?” He yelled.

“Please...” The thing whispered. “Please help me...”

“Joe?” Someone called from above. “Hells the matter?”

“Don't come down here, Wallace! We got ourselves an undead!”

“Undead? That's impossible, the wards wouldn't allow for that.” Wallace dropped down to the floor of the arena. Unlike Joe, he was a real mage, a real lazy one – and the supervisor of the crew that had been hired to keep the arena clean. “What the hell is that?”

“I told ya, that's an undead – boss!” Joe's hand shook nervously, pointing at the bloody knight in front of them. Stock still and hissing, still just... Spraying blood all over the place. “Gods sent it here to punish us!”

“Get a hold of yourself.” Wallace laughed, but he had to admit this was rather spooky. “Just some idiot playing a prank. Who the hell are you, an adventurer? Don't you know harassing service employees is frowned upon in this day and age?”

The person in front of him was mumbling, Wallace could barely hear it, so he stepped forward and put his ear to the face guard of the mans helmet.

“Please...” The man hissed through grit teeth. “I've been here for thirteen hours and I cannot move.”

“Oh damn... Oi, that's the white wolf kid that my daughter keeps talking about.” Wallace laughed. “Hahaha! Looks like they left our buddy here in the arena after the fight was over!” The man slapped his budding ale gut with a hand, bent over in laughter. “I can't believe it, thirteen hours!” He wheezed, doubled over and cackling. Enjoying himself quite a bit, by the looks of it.

Joe didn't find that particularly amusing, himself. “That's just sad, Wallace. Nobody came looking for you, kid?”

“They did not...”

“Why are you just standing there, then? Are you stuck in the rubble?”

“I can't move, I said.” Tyr winced, his mouth was dry beyond belief and he was locked in the cage that was his armor. A side effect of trying to absorb some kind of death curse that had weakened him to the point of immobility. And by the looks of it, he hadn't gotten much out of the experience.

Wallace continued howling in laughter, he'd never seen anything so ridiculous in his life. “T-thirteen hours! Th-they...! Hahaha!”

–

“Damn.” Mikhail spat, feeling a little woozy from all the drink. Easiest time of his life, getting paid to come here and do nothing but hang out with Fennic and flirt with foreign women. That same Fennic was staring at him now with a smug grin on his face.

“Read em and weep, you ugly bastard.” Fennic grinned. Graciously accepting the pile of coin that Mikhail angrily thrust in his direction.

“Gods but I miss you being a mute fuck.” Mikhail groaned.

“Oi, that hurts my feelings. Ain't we pals?”

“If I'd a crossbow with two bolts in a room with you, a vampire, a fat titted goblin and a--”

“Aye, aye.” Fennic shook his head, words slurred from drink. “Ye'd shoot me twice, innit?”

“Nope.” Mikhail said with crossed arms, eyebrow raised. “I'd shoot myself and let the beasts have at you.”

They chuckled quietly, keeping their voices down to avoid waking the slumbering giant laying about on the floor by the fireplace. For some reason, Samson refused to sleep in a bed, and the nighttime blueish white mana-flames keeping their suite at a nice cool temperature were as good any any if a man didn't mind sleeping on the hard floor. Samson was just strange at times, but he was a good lad.

“Could've done worse for ourselves. Not a bad life, is it brother?” Fennic smiled again, he had a nice warm smile even on a mug so ugly as his. His hangdog face and droopy eyes were such that it was almost endearing, but time never seemed to take that roguishness out of his features.

“Could've done.” Mikhail nodded contentedly, taking a small sip of the 'whiskey' he'd grown so fond of since their time in the republic. “Better than a hanging, I reckon.”

Fennic's smile brightened, shaking his head wistfully and staring at more money than he'd ever see in any normal life. It still astonished him how absurdly wealthy some of the nobles were, and Tyr himself was absolutely loaded.

“Hey.” Jura's voice came from the door as she strode through it wearing nothing but a bathing robe. She was quite the looker, that one – Mikhail thought so at least. Long legs, nicely gifted in the chest, muscular thighs, bodacious by another word. Just like them, Tyr 'could've done'. “Tyr isn't back yet?”

“Thought he was with you.” Mikhail shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. “Probly off proposin' to some kijin lass to complete the trifecta. Mans got a gift and a yearnin'. Just like, his ole role model and mentor.”

Fennic rose to his feet suddenly, pulling a thin dagger from his waist. Walking toward the door and concealing it gracefully in his sleeve with his ear pressed to the wood and a finger on his lips. That was never a great sign, Fennic only had one good eye but it was sharper than an eagles, and his ears were twice as good. He'd never been the trusting sort, least of all here in this place.

“Someone comin'.” Fennic said, waiting for the person to knock at the door before opening it with a slit and frowning into the beam of light coming from the hallway of the hotel estate. “Nevermind. Found him.”

A middle aged man with a slight bend to his back pushed an upright cart, a hand truck. On it, tied to its frame with rope was Tyr. Covered in dust and dirt, growling something about 'thirteen hours' and 'what the hell is wrong with you guys?'

“Who are you...?” Fennic asked, looking at the man. He seemed to be some kind of janitor or mechanic staff based on his blue coverall.

“Joe.”

“Joe?” Mikhail asked with a suspicious look about his face. “Joe who?”

“Joe Mama.”

“My wot?”

“My name is Joe Mama, m'lord.” Joe frowned. “This happens a lot, I still do not understand why.”

Mikhail cracked a smile, now beaming at the old man with his hands on his hips. “Hear that, folks? Ole Mikhail has been promoted to m'lord. I'm all fancy as you like, a nice gold belt and boots of virgin troll butt-cheeks.”

“We're knighted, you idiot.” Fennic shook his head slowly. “We've been knights for years...”

“Oh yeah...” Mikhail pondered this reminder of his status. “I guess that's right. Are we still knights since Tyr got banished though? Are all knights nobility?”

“I don't care.” Fennic shook his head in exasperation. “You're the law man, always acting a fool at random, you know damn well our charters were never revoked. We have a dang crest and everything.”

“Why don't you both shut the hell up?” Jura demanded, and they accepted. As much of a looker as she was, she was equally terrifying as any of the other young princesses. More so, honestly, Alex was the meanest of them all but she'd never strike them, too unladylike. Jura had no such compunction for being gentle. “Why is Tyr tied to your dolly like that...?”

Joe shrugged. “Found him in the arena, lad says he can't move. Too heavy to carry, figured this would be the best option. Nice and smooth, like, got a bad back and the lads heavier than me wife.”

“I see...” Jura cleared her throat, dawning realization settling in her skull. “Thanks for bringing him to us, in that case. Just, uh... Leave him there – I'll have someone return your cart to you in the morning...”