Adam had handed over his basic health potions to the second group, making sure they would adventure safe and sound, so he decided to make another set of potions. 

Adam plucked a Thread of Fate. 

The boy had dirt all over his face, and wore ragged clothing. His hair was dark, a dirty, dirty blonde, but there was something more to him. 

That day he had tried to find something to eat, and though he usually found something to eat, he was unable to. He wrapped a thin cloth around himself. The boy had long become used to hunger. 

He thought about going to the bakery he usually walked to, but he decided against it, not wanting to bother the woman too much, in case she’d refuse to give him more bread in the future.

If he had, he would have walked across a young Iyrman.

Thus Fate was forever changed. 

Omen: 3, 18

Adam slipped on his nightval bear leather which had been fashioned into a nearly sleeveless tunic, which cooled his body. He wore his puthral breastplate over it, the purple metal from the Iyr which was lighter than typical steel, and did not cause him trouble when he tried to move stealthily.

Today was the day he’d meet his new companions for their quest of dealing with the Outbreak. The Adventurer’s Guild had cleared a field towards the back to allow the group to meet, with some food and drinks ready for them to eat as they mingled.

Fate’s Golden was second to the party, as five others waited, chatting amongst one another. Three were heavily armoured, two of whom were women and also carried amulets denoting their faith. Two of them wore much less armour, one wearing studded leather, and the other, an Aswadian, wore a set of robes. Each of them were in their thirties or so, and carried with them a multitude of weapons, as well as Steel Rank token.

At first Adam thought the Aswadian was a spellcaster, but seeing that they were carried a shortsword and a staff, Adam understood they were like Kitool, a Monk.

“You must be Fate’s Golden,” the heavily armoured man said, standing up to shake Adam’s forearm. “And you must be Adam, the leader.”

“So you’ve heard of me,” Adam said, shaking the man’s forearm. “What have you heard of me exactly?”

“You’re a Half Elf, and apparently, like to cause trouble.”

Adam slowly nodded his head. “Sounds about right, honestly.”

“Oliver. We’re the White Ghosts,” Oliver said. “This is Emily, a Priest, Sir Matilda, a Guardian from the Order of the Thousand Hunts, Bob, a Rogue from Eagle Wing, and Azar Hills, from Aswadia.”

“Order of Black Mountain?” Azar asked, nodding his head to Dunes.

“Gold Sands?” Dunes asked, approaching the Monk. 

“Bronze Dragon.”

“Ah,” Dunes said, nodding his head, noting the bronze trim on the robes. The Aswadian’s shook forearms, a custom which had become the norm in the lands even as far as the Confederacy over a millennia ago. 

“Bronze Dragon?” Adam asked, glancing between the pair. 

Azar said something in the Aswadian tongue, causing Dunes to laugh. Azar chuckled, sipping a drink, before offering Dunes some. 

“He’s queer, but he’s good,” Dunes said, accepting the drink. “Stronger than any of us.”

Adam raised his brow, wondering what Azar had said about him. 

“Any of you?” Matilda asked, looking to the Iyrmen. “There’s three Iyrmen.”

“Adam would be difficult for me to defeat,” Jurot said. “He has already shown his strength by defeating someone greater than me.”

“Who?” Matilda asked. 

“My aunt.”

“Is she as strong as you?”

“No,” Jurot said. “She is stronger.”

“What are Iyrmen good for?” Bob asked. “Sitting in their hills. Decent at being sell swords, but you don’t fight, not like our Eagleknights and our Order.”

“I can tell you’re from Eagle Wing,” Adam said, exchanging a glance with Jurot. 

“What do you mean by that?” Bob asked, squinting at the Half Elf.

“We had a Knight from Eagle Wing, I can’t quite recall his name,” Adam said.

“Sir Frederick Leftwing,” Jurot said.

“That was it! Sir Frederick! Almost got himself killed talking shit.”

“You watch your tongue boy,” Bob snarled.

“Just like that,” Adam said.

“It was not Sir Frederick Leftwing,” Jurot said.

“What?”

“It was Sir Dorian Westerly, a Woodknight.”

“Oh,” Adam said, looking to Jurot, narrowing his eyes in thought. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” Jurot said.

“It was Sir Dorian,” Dunes confirmed. “From West Wood.”

“You know…” Adam thought. “I think you’re right. He was angry that the Iyrmen couldn’t be punished by the King’s Law. Sir Frederick was alright, actually, I don’t think I have any qualms with him. I misspoke about the good and decent fellow known as Sir Frederick, and I hope you’ll accept my apology, Bob.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. He didn’t trust the Half Elf, but he apologised rightly, so he couldn’t hold it against Adam too harshly.

As the groups were introduced to one another, they began to mingle, the Priests speaking with one another, and the Aswadians chatted away in the corner in their own tongue. 

“A filthy leaf ear?” called a voice.

Adam sighed, turning to face the new group of adventurers. “Oh.” Adam stared at the young adventurer, who was so familiar.

“What are you-,"

Adam snapped his finger. “It’s you! The kid that I beat up back then!”

“Wh-what…” the young adventurer began, staring at Adam, flushing a deep red. 

“Hold on.” Adam glanced aside, trying to think. “Wasn’t it a year ago? Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? It was about this time last year that I beat the shit out of you. A hundred gold, right? Did I let it go for Paul, the Vice Master?”

Adam recalled the fight of how he bodied the punk kid. He had just levelled to Level Four, and had beat the kid in a single blow. If he wanted to, he could have killed the adventurer, but he let the punk go. “Did I not beat you hard enough last time?”

The young man fumed at Adam. “Had you not used a magical weapon, I would have beaten you.”

Adam threw a look to Jurot, chuckling lightly. “Right. Right.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure if I didn’t use my magical weapon, my armour, my hands, my eyes, you certainly would have taken much longer to lose.”

One of the adventurer’s companions placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you trying to get us kicked out of this quest?” she whispered into his ear.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” the young adventurer grumbled. 

“I didn’t expect the cohesion of our group to be so sorely affected by just a single man,” Oliver admitted.

“Hey, I didn’t ask to be born this handsome,” Adam said, wiggling his ears at the Steel Rank adventurer. “There’s another group of kids who don’t like me neither.”

“What did you do to them or is it because of the ears?”

“I helped to save their lives and then one of them, a Karen, accused me of sexually harassing them.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?” Adam stared into Oliver’s eyes.

“Put your hands on the girl?”

“I don’t believe so,” Adam said, thinking. “Someone else tied them together. Jurot can probably tell you.”

“Let’s hope they aren’t a part of our group then, otherwise we’ll have quite the pro-,"

“What are you doing here?” called a voice.

Adam sighed. He didn’t turn around, instead throwing Oliver a look. “It’s them, isn’t it?”

“There are four of them.”

“Three woman, and a guy?”

“Yes.”

“The guy is a Priest of… Ebony, I think?”

“Yes.”

Adam turned, seeing the four. A young woman in robes, another young woman in leather, a young woman in heavy armour, and a young man in heavy armour.

“I can’t believe they expect us to walk around with you!” the young growled at him, before her eyes darted to the Iyrmen. 

“I can’t believe they brought over such rude kids to join us,” Adam said, clicking his teeth with his tongue. “I already beat the lot of you before, so don’t cause trouble.”

The young woman clutched at her staff. “You fiend! You’d better stay away from me.”

Jaygak threw her a dirty look. “Why?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“No, but I remember someone was punished for spouting all kinds of lies,” Jaygak said. “If you don’t want to spend another month cleaning the streets, you should clean your mouth.”

Adam smiled at Jaygak, nodding his head at her. 

“How dare you suggest Adam has beautiful horns like mine.”

Adam frowned.

Jaygak had played it off as a joke, but Adam had suffered from enough discrimination over the past couple of days, and then there was the fact she used the word fiend. Fiend, a word used to describe Devilkin in a negative light.  

The young Scribe Mage, more commonly known as a Wizard, shut her mouth quickly, but continued to glare at the group.

‘Should I beat them up again?’ Adam thought. ‘I could probably say I was defending myself since they started an issue.’ Adam looked to the other groups, all of whom were full of Humans. ‘No. Chances are, it doesn’t matter who starts it, they’ll probably only end up blaming me since I’m a Half Elf.’ 

Four groups had gathered together, and Adam could only wonder what the make up of the last group would be. 

‘I bet it’s a group which hates me.’ Adam did his best to try and remember who else he had offended in his current life. ‘Mountain Knight?’ Adam thought, recalling how a powerful Knight wanted him dead for being an Elf. 

‘No, no. There’s no way that…’ 

The fifth group appeared. 

 

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Who will the fifth group be? 5 Cthulu spawns? 5 Champions of Order? 5 French adventurer? 

I'm just letting you know that the Gold tier patrons are about to have a lot of fun.