Terms and Conditions

"We wished to hire the adventurer who cleared the camp to guide us to the exact location and relevant approach paths.”

Morgana pretended to think it over, though inside she was already seeing a pile of extra coin. Then, her lips curved into a slow, devilish smile. She arched a brow.

“So you drag me in, insult me, then ask for help. Adorable.” She let her voice turn soft, wounded. “Given the way my sterling reputation has been shredded, I’ll need compensation for emotional damages.”

Avric frowned, earnest concern knitting his brow. “Miss Morgana, if we’ve truly hurt—”

She let her expression shift into a wounded pout, voice dripping with false innocence. “Well, I was horribly underestimated and had my competence questioned. My poor adventurer’s heart is just crushed.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I might never recover.”

Avric’s brows knitted in guilt. “I… didn’t realize you felt that way. I apologize if we truly hurt you—”

The priest moved his hand to cover his mouth while turning his head away from them. But he wasn't fast enough. Morgana caught his silent chuckle and mirt hidden in his eyes.

She pressed a hand to her chest like a tragic heroine. “My poor adventurer’s heart is in pieces.” A pause, then a sunny smile that did not reach her eyes. “Double the pay you planned to offer. And I keep any valuables we turn up, unless you absolutely need them for your investigation. Those are my terms.”

“Double?” Avric echoed, already guilt-struck.

Borik, in the mean time, did not feel the need to hide his booming laughter.

“Aye, double,” Borik said, eyes crinkling as his mouth split into a grin. “She’s playin’ ye, lad. Gods above, the lass has ye dancin’ like a puppet. But she’s right clever about it. Terms accepted.” He elbowed Avric, dwarf-style, affectionate and brutal. “Ye heard the lass.”

Avric looked confused for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was still worried about her feelings. Then realization dawned, and his cheeks flushed a vivid red. “Oh. You were... ah. I see.”

Morgana’s smirk returned in full force. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, Sir Shiny.”

He coughed into his hand and muttered, “I… agree to your terms.”

“Excellent.” She clapped her hands once. “Where do I sign?”

The guild master reached for a slim parchment and slid a contract across the desk with a quill dipped in ink. Morgana scanned it: objective, authority of Everlight’s Radiance to collect evidence, guide duties, hazard clause, remuneration… Double looks real nice in writing. She dotted her name with a flourish and handed it back.

“Stamp,” the elf said, and the receptionist, who had appeared like a well-trained ghost, pressed a heated bronze seal into the corner. It hissed and left the guild's symbol on it.

“Departure?” Morgana asked, tone practical now that the fun part was done.

“Dawn tomorrow,” Tomas said. “We’ll meet at the Northgate, western path, and keep a tight march.”

“Map?” she asked.

Avric produced a folded chart from a satchel and set it on the desk for her to view. She traced a path with one finger. Her path. Marking where the camp had been, the creek bend where she’d first seen smoke, the low ridge that gave her an angle on the archers.

“We’ll approach from the south,” she said. “Ground’s firmer, less noise. If there’s residual magic, it’ll pool in the dead wood near the creek hollow.”

The guild master made a neat note. “Understood.”

“Anything else?” Morgana asked.

“Only this,” the elf said, eyes unreadable. “You handled the goblins efficiently. Keep that efficiency on this assignment.”

Morgana grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m very efficient. I’ll be expecting that rank promotion soon. D-rank jobs are just too easy.”

The elf merely gave her a silent look and gestured toward the door. “Dismissed.”

She turned to go; the trio did the same. In the corridor, the noise of the guild rose from the stairwell like a tide of iron and voices.

“Miss Morgana,” Avric said as they walked, a touch stiff with residual embarrassment, “for what it’s worth, I am sorry for doubting you.”

She glanced up at him, amused. “Don’t take it too hard, Sir Shiny. You’re exactly the kind of man I can’t resist teasing. Honest eyes, tidy armor, conscience like a cathedral.” She waggled her fingers. “It’s practically a hobby.”

Behind them, Tomas chuckled. “Careful, Avric. She’ll have you confessing you’re wrong even when you’re right.”

Avric groaned softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose as they descended the stairs together.

Borik added, cheerful as a tavern bell, “An’ if she doesn’t, I will. I like her. Lass bargains like a merchant an’ bites like a warg.”

Morgana tipped him a look. “You’re not terrible yourself, short stack.”

He barked a laugh. “Aye, that’s right.”

They reached the stairs. The receptionist from before ghosted up beside Morgana, causing her to yelp silently.

"How the fuck are you doing that? We left you with the guild master upstairs!"

The man just gave a smile and ignored her comment. Instead, he handed her the stamped copy of her contract and a small token, etched tin on a cord, marked Official Guide (Temporary). She slipped it over her head, the metal cool against her collarbone through the shirt.

“Northgate at dawn,” Avric repeated, striving for professional after being thoroughly played. “We’ll be ready.”

“I’m always ready,” Morgana said. Mostly because I cheat, she added silently. “Try not to be late. I charge waiting fees.”

Tomas’s mouth twitched. “You do not.”

“I do now.”

A pair of mercenaries drifted past smelling of oiled leather; a clerk argued with a hunter about the definition of “giant” in “giant centipede.” Morgana breathed it all in, felt the contract’s weight in her pocket, and let satisfaction settle in her bones.

“By the way,” she called lightly over her shoulder as they parted near the notice board, “you can stop fretting, Sir Shiny. I’m not actually fragile. I just look incredible while being dangerous.”

Avric’s ears went faintly pink again. “I… gathered.”

“Good.” She flashed a grin, then pointed at the board. “Also, if anyone tries to ‘assign’ me another gather-herbs-for-old-Mella job, I will personally staple that notice to their backside.”

Borik guffawed loud enough to turn heads. “I’ll hold the victim for ye.”

Tomas sighed with mock piety. “I will not condone stapling. But I won’t stop you either.”

Morgana’s laughter came quick and bright, then she pivoted toward the exit. Double pay, all valuables, dawn rendezvous... clean. Now I just have to lead the holy trio to a murder field I turned into confetti and pretend I’m not secretly a demon. Easy. Totally easy. 

Fuck me.

She pushed through the door into sunlight and the sweet stink of the street. Plans ticked through her mind: supplies, a quick check of the route, a bath if she could be bothered, and maybe, just maybe, a drink that tasted like something other than boiled regret.

Promotion, she told herself with a private smile. Say it with me. Promotion soon. D-rank’s a joke.

Her smile sharpened. If the guild didn’t notice her value, she’d carve it into their ledgers with a moon-black blade.

Dawn couldn’t come fast enough.