Chapter 10: I Think We Should Get Better (Part 3 final)
After a solid night's rest, the two-duo headed to the guild with a clear, shared purpose: a quest substantial enough to finally push their rank from Copper to Bronze.
The guild hall buzzed with its usual morning energy. Azazel scanned the board, dismissing anything that looked like simple extermination or fetch-work. Their reputation needed a capstone—a job that demonstrated utility, cooperation, and tangible benefit to the community.
"Here," he said, pointing to a notice stamped with the official seal of a village mayor. "This is it."
QUEST: Repair the Stonecross Bridge
Posted by: Mayor Brenna of Fallow's Ford
The Stonecross Bridge, our only safe crossing of the White River, has been damaged by spring floods. Our village is split, and supplies cannot reach the eastern farms. We have the will but lack the skilled hands and the strength to gather the necessary materials swiftly.
Objective: Assist village craftsmen in repairing the bridge within five days.
Rewards: 150 Silver, a formal commendation to the Adventurers Guild, and a wagon-load of provisions from our grateful harvest.
"It's not a monster hunt," Reginleif observed, reading the details.
"Exactly,"Azazel said. "It's a logistics and labor problem. It shows we can do more than fight. We can build. That's the kind of thing that gets you promoted."
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Arriving at Fallow's Ford, they found a village strained but not broken. The broken bridge was a jagged scar across the rushing White River, with villagers on both sides shouting plans over the noise of the water.
The village head carpenter, a grizzled man named Doric, laid out the challenges.
First, Materials."We need four mature ironwood trunks for the main supports. They grow up in the High Folds, a half-day's trek. We also need good, flat river stone for the pilings—plenty in the riverbed, but it's back-breaking work to haul up."
Second, Construction."I'll direct, but I need strong backs and folks who can follow instructions to the letter. A bridge that's poorly fitted is a death trap."
Third, Security."The noise and activity have drawn Rock-Back Badgers from the bluffs. Nasty things. They're curious, they burrow, and they'll undermine a foundation if left alone. They need to be kept away."
They devised a plan. Reginleif would handle the stone. Using controlled gusts of wind, she could loosen and lift the heavy, flat stones from the riverbed, guiding them onto the bank for the villagers to move—a task that would have taken a dozen men days.
Azazel and a team of villagers would tackle thetimber. The ironwood trees were dense and hard as the name suggested. While the villagers notched and sawed, Azazel used his strength and his kukri for precise stripping of branches. His "Youshadow" found an unexpected use: when a felled tree began to roll dangerously down a slope toward a worker, he solidified the shadow beneath it, creating a sudden, frictionless stop that saved the man's legs.
TheRock-Back Badgers were a persistent nuisance. They weren't evil, just destructive. Fighting them off would have been a bloody, pointless slaughter. Instead, Reginleif crafted a solution. She created a constant, low howl of wind at the periphery of the worksite—a sound the vibration-sensitive badgers found deeply unpleasant. It was a harmless deterrent that kept the furry saboteurs at bay without a single drop of blood spilled.
For 3 days, they worked from dawn until dusk. Azazel's muscles ached in new ways, and his hands grew raw, then calloused. He learned the language of construction—plumb lines, load-bearing angles, the smell of fresh-cut ironwood. Reginleif's precision with her wind became as vital for placing a cornerstone as it was in a fight.
On the 4 day, as the sun set, the final stone was set. Mayor Brenna, a formidable woman with kind eyes, drove the final ceremonial peg. The village cheered. That night, the feast in the longhouse was a riot of laughter, music, and heaping plates of food—part of their promised "share of supplies."
Mayor Brenna presented them with a scroll case bearing her official seal."This is my commendation. It states that you provided not just labor, but ingenuity and heart. You healed our home."
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Back at the Korvath guild, the receptionist's eyes widened as she read the mayor's scroll. She compared it to the notes in their growing file: the herbal rescue, the messenger delivery, the safe return of a pet, the defended shipment.
"Wait here one moment,"she said, disappearing into a back office.
She returned with the Guildmaster himself,a stout dwarf with a beard woven with metal rings and eyes that missed nothing. He looked them over, then scanned the commendation.
"Stonecross Bridge,eh? Doric is a stingy bastard with his praise. If he didn't throw you off the project, you did well." He grunted, a sound like grinding stones. "Copper is for proving you won't die immediately. You've done more. You've proven you can make things better."
He took their guild badges.With a tap of a small hammer and a flash of mild enchantment, the dull copper facing peeled away, revealing a layer of dark, sturdy bronze beneath.
"Welcome to Bronze Rank,you two. Don't let it go to your heads. The work only gets harder from here."
As they left the guild,the new bronze badges felt heavy and significant on their tunics. They weren't just survivors or problem-solvers anymore.
They were Adventurers.
———
The bronze badges on their tunics felt new and solid as Azazel and Reginleif left the guild. The promotion was won, the plan achieved. Yet, the final step of their original plan remained.
"Now,"Azazel said, stretching his aching shoulders. "The last quest."
Reginleif raised an eyebrow."We are Bronze. The goal is met."
"It is,"he agreed. "But the plan wasn't just to get the rank. It was to establish ourselves so solidly that we could afford to… look around. With the Brotherhood quiet and the city feeling normal, this is our chance. We take one more job—something local, something that lets us explore the edges of this place on the guild's coin. Then, we have our fun."
A faint smile touched Reginleif's lips."A reconnaissance mission disguised as a chore. Very well. One last Copper-style job."
They chose a notice from the outer board, one that had been up for a few days.
QUEST: Noises in the Night
Posted by: The Night Watch, Korvath Outer Wall
Strange sounds—scraping, whispering—emanate from the old Sentinel's Keep ruins after dark.
No sightings, but it's unsettling the watch and the nearby farmers. We're too stretched to investigate properly.
Objective: Determine the source of the disturbances at the ruins.
Reward: 60 Silver and a case of fine dwarven stout from the watch commander's private stock.
It was perfect. Close by, seemingly low-risk, and with a reward that promised a taste of the city's comforts.
---
Sentinel's Keep was less a keep and more a collapsed shell of mossy stone on a wooded hill overlooking Korvath's northern fields. As dusk settled, the place lived up to its billing. Eerie, metallic scrapes and low, indecipherable whispers seemed to drift from the very stones, amplified by the ruins' acoustics.
The first challenge was exploration.They moved through the broken archways and collapsed halls with caution, Azazel's senses alert for ambush, Reginleif's ears straining. The sounds seemed to move, leading them in circles.
The second challenge revealed itself.In the main hall, the whispers coalesced into a disorienting chorus, and the shadows seemed to dance independently. A minor, residual haunting? A natural acoustic illusion? Bats burst from a crevice, making them flinch, but it was a red herring. The true source was cleverly hidden.
Azazel spotted it—unnatural wear on the flagstones near a seemingly solid wall."It's not ghosts. It's mechanics." He pressed on a loose stone. With a groan of neglected gears, a section of the wall slid back, revealing a narrow staircase leading down.
The simple mystery unfolded below.In a small, hidden cellar, they found the source: a damaged, forgotten Clockwork Sentry, a magical construct from a previous era.
One of its grinding gears was misaligned, producing the horrific scraping. Its fading vocal runes, meant to issue challenges, were malfunctioning into whispers. It was pathetically trying to patrol its tiny, sealed chamber, bumping into walls.
It posed no real threat.It was just old, broken, and lonely.
They didn't destroy it. Reginleif, with her precise wind, held its arms still. Azazel, using the rudimentary engineering sense he'd picked up repairing the bridge, used his kukri's tip to carefully nudge the warped gear back into its track.
The scraping stopped.The whispers died with a final, sighing hum. The construct's glowing eyes dimmed to a peaceful blue, and it stood at quiet attention, its duty finally fulfilled without error.
---
They reported back to the night watch commander, a dwarf with impressive sideburns, explaining the solution. He grunted, impressed. "A clockwork! Thought those were all looted ages ago. Saved us a lot of nervous nights. Good work, Bronzes." He paid them and handed over the promised case of stout, each bottle dark and foamy.
The reward wasn't just silver and beer.It was a story—a quirky, clever tale of solving a mystery that wasn't a monster, which would spread through the watch and the guild's rumor mill, painting them as thinkers as well as fighters. The artifact was the knowledge of the hidden cellar itself, a secret location they now knew. And the confidence came from ending a job with zero violence, using only their wits and newfound skills.
That evening, they didn't go straight to the inn. They used their earnings to explore Korvath as civilians for the first time. They bought hot meat pies from a street vendor, listened to a bard in a bustling plaza, and finally, they shared one of the bottles of dwarven stout on the steps of a quiet fountain, watching the city's normal, un-sieged life pass by.
The plan was complete.They had rank, reputation, a growing map, a small stash of secrets, and for the first time since he'd fallen into this world, Azazel felt not like a fugitive or a survivor, but like a person who belonged, however strangely, to a place.
End of Chapter 10
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