The Myth Seekers met for a late dinner, and the dining room had begun to fill up. They found themselves sitting at a long table with another team of four who called themselves the Dungeon Runners. The other team had mostly kept the conversation to their end of the table until they found out who was sitting with them.

  Danzel, their gregarious [Bard], shot a dazzling smile.

  “Congratulations on the [Quest] and promotion. Have you lot been slapped in yet?”

  Raith looked around and the others shook their heads in confusion.

  “I don’t think so. What does that mean?”

  The Dungeon Runners all chuckled.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s get a few drinks in you first.”

  And drink they did. It seemed like from the moment they finished dinner there were always at least three drinks in front of each of them. As the plates cleared and the booze started flowing more freely, Danzel pulled out his lyre and struck up a lively tune that got everyone happy and dancing.

  Getting ‘slapped in’ turned out to be literal. When a team was promoted, they would line up and everyone present would walk by and give them a hearty slap of congratulations on the shoulder.

  Raith thought it might not be so bad after the first few, but by the time the tenth person whacked him in the exact same spot with a shit-eating grin on their face it really started to sting. Tolliver definitely got the worst of it, but it was hard to tell if that was due to his lack of physical [Skills] or people taking advantage of an opportunity to slap a noble with impunity.

  When it was done, they were treated to another round of shots and sat down to nurse their drinks and bruised shoulders for a bit. Raith turned to the gnomish [Mage] and his [Rogue] companion who were chatting down the table.

  “Do either of you happen to know a [Ranger] named Silas?”

  They both shook their head, but someone from the table behind him overheard and spoke up.

  “The armored archer guy? Aye, he passed through a month or so ago. Said he was heading south to Yandel because there was no luck to be had in Tethia.”

  While that shouldn’t have been surprising, the words hit Raith like a dagger in the heart. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Thea looking at him sympathetically.

  “All we can do is wish him the Weaver’s luck. We’re far too drunk to get deep into our feelings right now. Come on, let’s have a dance.”

  The next couple of hours were a blur of laughing and dancing. Thea somehow even managed to get Nyhm out on the dance floor and then passed him off to some pretty half-elven [Rogue] who seemed smitten with the tattooed elfling.

  Raith took a break and sat down to sip at his ale. At least he thought it was ale. Maybe it was mead. His taste buds were too fried from all the shots to be able to tell anymore.

  I should be drinking water right now. Tomorrow is going to suck.

  “I hear your team needs another archer.”

  He turned towards the high-pitched voice, blinked a couple of times, and then rubbed at his eyes because Raith was certain he was hallucinating. Standing on the backrest of the chair next to him was a two foot tall woman wearing form fitting, purple leather armor and a quiver of arrows on her hip. Dragonfly wings sprouted from her back, and she flitted from the chair to the table to stand a little closer to him.

  Raith leaned away and rubbed at his eyes again. He looked towards Thea to see if she was looking at the same thing he was, and she was frozen with a drink halfway to her lips and eyes wide.

  “You’re a pixie,” Thea managed at last.

  The little woman giggled and bowed with a flourish.

  “Zinnefria at your service. The greatest archer in the five realms.”

  Raith furrowed his brow.

  “How can you hurt anything with those little arrows?”

  Zinnefria pouted.

  “Well, I admit they don’t always hurt very much. But my aim is so very, very good! And they can do other things. Like make people sleepy, or make them dance.”

  That sleepy part tickled something in his memory, but he’d drank far too much to get ahold of it.

  “Make people dance?”

  The faerie looked uncertain for a moment, then brightened up.

  “Oh, and I have a mighty dragon steed! Can I please join your team? We’ll have oh so much fun.”

  Thea pulled herself together enough to whack his arm. She probably didn’t do it on purpose, but it was the same shoulder he’d been slapped in on and it hurt like crazy.

  “Stop pestering her, Raith. Of course, you can join our team. It would be an honor to have a True Fae by our side.”

  “It would?” Both Raith and Zinnefria asked at the same time. Zinnefria then looked back and forth between them and beamed. Then the pixie darted into the air and spun in a circle with her arms spread wide.

  “Oh, how wonderful. I can’t wait to tell Phineaus we’re Myth Seekers. No fae has ever been a Myth Seeker before.”

  She sped away, then reversed course and hovered above the table in front of them.

  “And since we’re such good friends, you can call me Zinny.”

  And then she was gone. Raith sat there staring dumbly for a minute before turning to look at Thea.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Did that really just happen? And who the threaded fuck is Phineaus?”

  Unlike his extreme bewilderment, she seemed to be overcome with something more akin to awe. A tear streamed down her face, and he grew concerned.

  “Hey, are you ok?”

  She looked at him a gave a huge smile.

  “Did you hear that? I’m friends with a True Fae. Get your ass up. We’re getting drunk tonight.”

  Raith helplessly watched her speed towards the bar with an extra spring in her step.

  “But we’re already drunk.”

  ***

  It wasn’t pain on the scale of the Grins. That perspective on the throbbing in his skull was a small comfort, but it did help a little. Raith tried to sit up and was overtaken by a wave of nausea. Some kind soul had put a bucket next to his bed, and he used it to empty the contents of his stomach, which was still almost entirely alcohol from the taste of it.

  This state of affairs occupied his attention for the next twenty minutes before he was finally certain there was nothing left to throw up. He swished some water around in his mouth, then spit that into the bucket too lest it come right back up again if he dared to swallow.

  I am never drinking again for as long as I live.

  Laying down hurt his head too much, so he tried to sit up. It was a marginal improvement.

  Wait, Nyhm went to the apothecary yesterday.

  Desperate hope drove him to his feet, and he stumbled next door to his brother’s room. He opened without knocking and froze in shock halfway in with his hand still on the door knob. His brother lay tangled in the sheets with that half-elf woman from last night. He’d never even heard Nyhm talk about women, let alone date one.

  The elfling's eyes shot open, and he blushed furiously as he saw Raith standing there. The girl was asleep on his arm, and it was clear he didn’t know how to politely untangle himself without waking her up. The pounding in Raith’s head finally overrode his shock.

  “Please tell me you got hangover potions while you were at the apothecary,” he whispered.

  Nyhm nodded towards the desk.

  “They’re in the drawer over there. Grab ones for Thea and Tolliver, too.”

  “Oh, thank the Weavers. I’m giving you all of my gold from the next five [Quests].”

  “I don’t want your gold. I just want you to get out and shut the damn door.”

  Raith quickly retrieved the potions and downed one as he quietly let himself out. Tolliver’s room was directly across the hall, so he went there first. He gave a quiet knock and put his ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  He knocked again a little louder and heard a stuttered snore. The last he remembered, the noble had found himself in a group of [Mages] who were showing off spells on the front porch before someone called the guards and they were threatened with arrest if they didn’t knock it off.

  Alright, he can have his when he gets up.

  Thea was next. Another quiet knock with no response. He tried the handle, and it was unlocked, but he paused as he started to open it. If she was in a similarly compromising position to his brother, he really didn’t want to see it. He settled on opening it a crack and whispering loudly.

  “Thea, are you up?”

  A groan came back in reply, followed by the creak of the bed and some retching into a bucket.

  “Please tell me you’ve come to murder me.”

  Raith smiled and let himself the rest of the way in. His potion was really starting to kick in, and he was beginning to feel like an actual person.

  “No such luck, but Nyhm picked up hangover potions yesterday.”

  She reached out a hand and made grabbing motions with her fingers. He came across the room and handed it over, resisting the temptation to mess with her.

  “Your brother is a Paragon. And I’m never drinking again for as long as I live.”

  “I said the same thing. Tolliver is still sleeping. I’m going to go shower and wash this foul taste from my mouth.”

  “I’ll be doing the same as soon as I can move without wanting to die.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast.”

  She threw up a little in her mouth and then swallowed it back down with a grimace.

  “Randy gods that was disgusting. Please don’t say the ‘b’ word again. You almost made me waste that potion.”

  Thirty minutes later, he was showered, shaved and felt like a new man. He expected it would be awhile before anyone else made their way down, so he ordered himself some breakfast and found a seat off in the corner of the mostly empty dining area. Last night had been more socializing than he normally did in a month, so he didn’t mind some quiet time.

  The waiter brought eggs, sausage and thick toast with jam to go with his cool tea. It all smelled delicious. He took a bite of toast and closed his eyes, savoring the combination of jam and butter.

  “We still haven’t made it official.”

  Raith’s eyes shot open, and he saw the pixie from last night standing on the table and straddling his plate. He lurched backwards in surprise and nearly choked on his bread. Reaching around her, he grabbed his cool tea and took a long drink.

  “Weaver’s tits, you’re real.”

  She put a hand on her hip and booped his nose.

  “Of course I’m real, silly. The most real thing in this whole city. Even better, I’m a Myth Seeker. But we need to go make it official or it doesn’t count.”

  “Do you mean, like with the Guild?”

  “Of course that’s what I mean. Do you think we don’t know how mortals work?”

  “I have no idea what you know. I’ve never seen a True Fae before. Almost no one has.”

  Probably about as many as had seen a True Dragon. And they were treated with equal caution by mortals, although for entirely different reasons.

  “How very strange. We see you all the time. Now up, up, up. Let’s go talk to that man with the marvelous mustache.”

  He thought about asking to finish this breakfast, but decided it wasn’t worth trying to argue with this creature. They found Drannon sitting at his desk doing paperwork. He looked up as they came in and opened his mouth to greet Raith, then shut it and stared in surprise at the pixie hovering next to him. He quickly recovered and continued with what he’d been going to say.

  “Good morning lad. I’m surprised to find you vertical after last night. How’s your shoulder?”

  Raith rubbed at the sore spot and winced.

  “It’ll heal. We have an addition to the team we’d like to get on the books.”

  He gestured towards Zinny, who put her hands on her hips and stuck a pose.

  Drannon’s eyebrows furrowed, and he gestured for Raith to come closer. Raith moved over and leaned in so the guildmaster could whisper in his ear.

  "Is that an actual pixie?"

  Raith nodded in confirmation.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to allow a fae onto your team?”

  They both looked over towards Zinny, who was still posing and hovering in the same spot.

  “I’m really not. But Thea would never forgive me if I said no.”

  “Did it make you agree to any bargains?”

  Raith shook his head.

  “No, nothing like that.” Then he realized there was plenty of last night he didn’t remember. “At least I don’t think so.”

  Drannon frowned sympathetically and cleared his throat before raising his voice back up.

  “Very well. I must say this is most unusual, but there is nothing in the rules against it.” He rummaged through the paperwork on his desk and pulled out a file. “Luckily, I still have your file out. Now then, what is your name, Miss?”

  “Zinnefria.”

  “Any last name?”

  She looked around confused, then towards Raith.

  “What is your last name?”

  “Uh, Quirric.”

  She looked back at Drannon and nodded confidently.

  “Zinnefria Quirric.”

  Raith held up his hand in protest.

  “Hold on, that’s not how last names work. They’re passed down through bloodlines.”

  “But Nyhm is a Quirric and you share no blood.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “Then why can’t I be one, too?”

  It was way too early and he’d drank far too much last night for this conversation. He could already feel his headache coming back.

  “You know what? Forget it. It’s fine.”

  Drannon scribbled in their file and looked back up at Zinny.

  “And what’s your class and braid?”

  “Immortals don’t have the Weaver’s Gifts, silly.”

  The Guildmaster frowned and set down his quill.

  “My apologies, we don’t really deal with your kind and I hadn't thought it through. However, this means we can’t bind you to their [Quest] as a team.”

  The pixie frowned and thought for a moment.

  “But you can still stain your dead trees with the words of it?”

  Drannon nodded uncertainly.

  “And I can have a badge?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Drannon rummaged through a drawer to fish out a sliver badge and handed it over to the pixie. She clutched the prize in her tiny fist and thrust it into the air.

  “An Accord has been struck. To arms, fellow Myth Seekers!”

  The Guildmaster gave Raith a look of profound sympathy.

  What the threaded fuck have I gotten us into this time?

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