The time before last, there had been fourteen divers prepared to go into Farander. After that—according to Arnaul—only eight. Neither run had been considered all that successful, and significant numbers of powerful slimes had crawled wraith-like into the town, sickening and killing those they touched.

How many adventurers would they expect this time? In the lobby of the Hotel Cosmopolitan, where low lights and purple-red velvet tried to evoke human ideas of high class, Nyx and Ethel saw tables set for twenty...an obnoxiously high estimate. It would be depressing to see them “fill up” to, like, six. Unless they were full tonight already?

They looked around the place. It'd be their temporary dining room for a few days more, until they were cleared to dive, kill slimes, and keep whatever loot they came across.

Dulcen had claimed a table in a back corner. He was picking at oysters. There were two figures, also separate, in the middle of the room. One was hunched over with hands taut on the table’s edge, poised and anxious like a cat. The other, a child, was reading out loud.

“...and the water from the vein is plentiful. Without trade from Farander, many surrounding villages would die. Farzellen Park contains a holy relic that would attract hundreds of elves every spring even without a...”

“That's Linzy Sworn,” Nyx murmured.

They and Ethel had migrated over to the lush snack bar, where a work-in-progress bulletin board named all the adventurers assembled to date. It came with the barest details on them all: name, occupation, combat niche. And for Linzy, it noted, “Monk.”

“I didn’t think they left the cloisters,” Ethel whispered.

“No, me neither. And the other one doesn’t have a last name or hometown listed,” Nyx added, setting a finger on “Hue, Witch, Journeyman.”

“That happens sometimes. People with nothing to their name and even without memories, passing through, will call themselves—”

“I knew that part,” said Nyx, “but why did they let Hue in here, I wonder.”

They looked back at the journeyman at the table. A person of unremarkable height and build, dressed light, with a ponytail reminiscent of Athalie’s own. Must’ve leaned magician or rogue.

Of all the steps to take before entering a dungeon—prepping for its specific threats, packing well, taking the right equipment—none were so crucial as forming a suitable party. Everybody had to get along. Not as friends, but as comrades and professionals. Nobody could go in unprepared or, worse, unhinged. That had not prevented the “death” of Beverly Nicks two years ago, but in theory it had prevented many others.

“Don’t forget, they like witches more, in elf towns,” said Ethel, and she got a feeling that if she’d read from the right book on west Darshannan spiritual traditions, she’d have found an okay answer to Nyx's question. “Or maybe someone knew someone that knew Hue.”

“It’s not our business,” said Nyx, hoping their words were true.

***

Evening came. A spunky human, hair dyed fire-blonde, walked down the street with swinging arms and massive, unwieldy punching gloves, chanting, “Hey! Ho! Yeah! Woah!” A white-haired elf walked beside and a little behind her, keeping the brim of his big cap low, pretending he was unseen.

The next two members of their crew were here.

Nyx and Ethel happened to be roaming the streets when they made it. They’d simply been circling the streets, looking at houses and nudging cacti, nothing what had changed and what hadn’t. Changing course, they decided to follow them into town hall.

“Hello!” cried Athalie, trying to be heard over the chanting young lady’s song. But she wasn’t.

“Hello,” said Ethel, who’d turned to the elf instead. She raised her hand to shake, and he, rather than telling her to bow instead, bashfully shook it. “I’m Ethel Grisham. I’m here as an adventurer.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “News has traveled far, though your invention has not.”

“You’re not missing much,” she said.

“I’m Catamaug. I...actually I’m a farmer, but they really needed more hands, for the dungeon.”

“I see.”

Athalie didn’t get a chance to close ranks and introduce herself before they hit town hall. At that point, the same curiosity came over them all. Who was that chanting person? Catamaug apparently had as little idea as the rest of them. When they entered, the newcomer continued to chant her way up to the desk. She rang the bell, but Arnaul was already out, and he gave Catamaug an outraged glare.

For their part, Nyx and Ethel shrugged.

“Name?”

“Hey! Woa—oh yeah, yeah,” she said, and the song was over for good. “I’m Ragnorre Rock, the champion boxer of Arkadia!”

“Are you an adventurer?”

She held up two gloved thumbs-up. “I just registered!”

“Great,” said Arnaul flatly. “ID?”

She clumsily fished her ID out from the pocket of her shorts. It took her two minutes.