The Squad Gathers

Malloki Tuwile

The Mad
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The tavern was bustling as per usual. Glasses clink here and there or thud on the hardwood surfaces to summon one of the lovely waitresses obviously hired to sell more drink. The atmosphere of the cheap establishment claimed it was anything but cheap, as the merriment abound was well worth its weight in gold.

One soul was not quite so merry, however. Quinn sat quietly in an empty booth, thumbing through various papers with only brief respites for a sip of his gut-rot whiskey. The man was hard at work, analyzing the various applications of dozens of well-known warriors and scholars from across the various worlds. It was a mentally grueling procedure.

Had he known this would be so difficult, Quinn might have just slapped an advertisement onto the front billboard of the cheap tavern and called it a day. Hiring roughens would be less trouble in the here-and-now. Let future Quinn deal with the repercussions.

The age-worn man pulled a pocket watch to check on the time. “Thirty second and he’s--” the verbalized thought had to be eaten as his booth gained an additional occupant.

The slender elven man with hair like steel gossamer and very traditional attire. The black tunic held a bronze trim and a split deep enough to hide beneath a matching bronze-like belt and red sash beneath.

“Mr. Carson, I presume?” Inquire Quinn, a brow cocked. His only response from the gray-haired elf was a nod. Thirty seconds to spare; this man was very punctual. “Well, Mr. Carson, I assume you’ve read through the application. Essentially I’m looking for sell-swords and the like to earn a bit of gold for my research. You will receive a fair share, and along the way, you may benefit from my research directly. Does this sound acceptable?”

Again, there was another nod. Quinn took a moment to reflect on the unusual silence. “No questions?”

For a moment, the elf’s pale gray eyes lower to the table. When they return, his lean shoulders rose and fell.

“It takes a wise man to listen, but a fool not to question… So let me not be that fool and ask a question of you. Can you speak?” Quinn’s inquiry brought an amused smile to his guest’s pale lips. The man shook his head. “Ahh. Your application did not mention you were mute. Not that it matters. Can you write? How would you communicate?”

There was a long moment of thought from the elf. His first response came as the general gesture for writing. The next, his hands rose and did the speaking for him. The silent motions were kept brief, doubting even the old human knew the language.

“Pleasure’s mine, and please, refer to me as Q or C, whichever you prefer.” The brows elevated upon the elf’s face showed his surprise. “I’m almost sixty years old and hiring adventurers. Do you think I just sit on a stoop and talk about my grandkids all day?” Quinn said with a light smile. “I’m a scholar, and I find sometimes a few extra languages - spoken and non - make my line of work easier.”

The elf had simply greeted Quinn by his full name, spelling out Quinn Darcii for the majority of the gestures. With the friendly abbreviation offered, he returned the favor. You may use my first name. I would not trust a man who calls me Mister with my life.

“I wholeheartedly agree. Familiarity between allies,” Quinn said with his smile broadening. “Are you of the chatty type? I’ve known a few mutes who prefer silence.”

The latter, signed Cain. The elf, Cain Carson, remained poised with a proud posture though he too let a smile cross his lips. His next gesture was not to bring about silent words but to point out the eyes that were leering at them from across the room.

When Quinn followed the pointing finger’s direction, he too spotted the onlooker. She was not attempting to hide her gaze -- not that it would help. The luminance of the golden eyes among contrasting the non-human darkness of her flesh set her apart from the primarily human-colored folk bustling about.

The dark indigo-black skinned woman perked up when noticed by the pair. Quinn and Cain had only a brief moment to glance towards each other before the chipper young woman crossed the room. Quinn had opened his mouth to greet the new company, but paused when she simply plopped her derriere into the seat next to himself.

“Salutations! I heard you were hiring people for some money-making scheme right? Well, I’m your girl, you can count on me!” The disarming smile on her dark lips could melt hearts, but the deceitful charm was not quite so effective on the aged Quinn.

“I’m accepting applications for work,” he responded as politely as he could muster. “Adventurer types looking to make a little coin.”

“Oh…” There was a moment of hesitation and her glowing gaze darted around. “So, like, legal stuff, or…”

Now Quinn was curious. Another glance between him and Cain confirmed they both had the same question. Was she worried, or disappointed? “Completely legal,” Quinn quickly informed her. “Though sometimes we will be operating for the law… outside the law. Bounty hunting is a rather common mercenary work that pays quite well.” The woman’s lips pursed for a moment in thought. “Are you still interested?”

“Hmm?” A quick fluttering of lashes and the refocusing of her gaze was a telltale sign she had simply zoned out. “Oh, yea! Totally! I could totally do what you just said, you can count on me!”

I don’t think this one’s all there, signed Cain. He took note that the newcomer looked dumbfounded by his waving hands. She has the look of a street urchin. ill-begotten gains polish her wardrobe.

“Hey! Don’t go casting any spells on me, I have friends in high places. Don’t try me, bucko!” She was lying through her teeth, obviously. “Look, my name’s Maeve. I’m here, but I can be anywhere we need to be at a moment’s notice. Need work, will travel. And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty or chip a nail. Common, you guys need a gal, who wants to hire a sausage fest, huh?”

“Well… you drive a hard bargain.” The near pleading of Maeve had pulled at a few heartstrings. She was very childlike, though he had no doubts she was close to her twenties. While he never had kids, he imagined this is what a parent might feel like trying to tell their offspring no. “Very well. I have a spare application, why don’t you--”

“Aww, paperwork?” The disheartened slump of Maeve’s shoulders once again weighed on Quinn. “Alright… Just give me the darn thing…”

Quinn handed her a crisp piece of paper. Hours went into the formatting and questions, but he doubted she would care how streamlined he had made it. “It’s only one page, and rather informal. Why don’t you have a drink while you work on it?”

She was happy to take him up on that offer. As she slid out of the booth and dashed off wordlessly, he caught an almost mischievous grin on her ebony lips. When his gaze turned back to Cain, he was primed and ready to sign; You know she is going to put that on your tab, yes?

“You caught that too?” He sighed the response. “Well, at least she is out of our hair for now. Back to the topic at hand.” Once again, the elf nodded. He felt no need to sign, so his fingers laced together and rested promptly upon the table.

“Very well,” Quinn began, quickly regaining what composure he could muster. “I selected you for your martial talents. You claim to be a novice tactician, with a focus on exotic weapons and controlling the battlefield. I take it the whip on your hip is the chosen exotic weapon?” He had no tone of disapproval, but the curiosity was evident. The elf’s lips curled in a content smile at the seasoned human’s reaction and once again offered a slow nod.

“I can imagine the tactics a master of the whip might employ. And you read the agreement, yes? In a party of five, your cut of all proceedings would be ten percent with--”

I understand. Ten percent to each of the five members employed, with fifty percent to a shared pool for major expenses and outfitting. The wording was exactly as printed on the briefing. I request enchanted whips when it is my turn to be outfitted.

It was Quinn’s turn to nod his acknowledgment. He took a brief moment to jot the note down on Cain’s application. “What is an exotic weapon master without appropriate exotic weapons?” He offered the rhetoric with a casual smile. “I can tell you’ve read over the information I’ve offered, so let’s move to a few questions. I hope you don’t mind, I would rather ask these in person…”

The gentle sway of steel gossamer gave the understanding nod an extra level of elegance. “Thank you. First question… Why do you seek to join a group with no direction?”

You mentioned coin. You mentioned adventure. In between those lines, I read a full stomach, a little spending money, and all the chance in the world to hone my skill in a multitude of situations I would not think to train for alone. The lengthy silence while Cain signed gave a moment for Quinn to sip at his sour hash. Even after the elf finished, Quinn took a moment to reflect.

He rather liked that explanation. “Adventuring for personal gain is common, but yours is not avarice. Good answer.” He paused after the praise to glance over his notes. “Alright. What can you offer both myself, and your fellow teammates? What are your useful skills?”

This one gave pause to the signing hands. After a moment of consideration, there was a hint of defeat in the hands that sign; I can offer my hands. Be they wielding weapons or offering friendship. I cannot think of any other useful skills.

“I’d consider humble a skill, and we can attribute that to a friendly atmosphere in the party dynamics.” Another satisfactory answer. Considering he expected many of their activities to require physical combat in pursuit of higher coin, a focused tactician was well needed. “Moving on, before I bloat your ego too much… Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

I prefer to live in the present. In ten years, I see myself alive. This was the first unsatisfactory response. It was not a terrible response, but the questions were designed to give insight into one’s personal drives.

This was a far more confusing question. “A tactician with no plan for the future? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

I plan to survive. The last gesture was slowed for emphasis.

Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. His plans would be anything for survival. “And what of your potential allies? Would you cross us to survive?”

If we were but coworkers, perhaps. However, I’ve heard the hard life of so-called adventuring often forges bonds far stronger.

“So you come looking to make friends?” To Quinn’s cross-examination, the elf merely shrugged and smiled. His hands did not move, but Quinn understood. If it happens, it happens, and the pale pretty-boy was not against the idea.

“I understand,” Quinn sighed with something akin to relief. “Last question,” Quinn paused briefly to regain his proverbial footing. “What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”

However fast the wind carries it.

“Very zen. As expected from everything else I’ve seen. I think I’ve heard enough,” Quinn said in conclusion. With a glance at the silver pocket watch sat open on the table, he realized the interview had already taken almost thirty extra minutes. “Why don’t you go have a drink? You may add it to my tab as well. I know that Maeve lass already has.”

With as much poise as his original approach, Cain slid from the booth and offered a polite bow. I do not drink… though, I do smell a lovely roast calling my name.

“Then a plate on me. Please stay for an hour or so, I believe I’ll have a few more words to share when next we speak.” Quinn’s phrase brought a bright smile to the regal elf’s expression. Most would recoil when using that particular word on a mute. The older gentleman had no qualms.
 

Malloki Tuwile

The Mad
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Cain had given a lot for Quinn to consider. There was no doubt this elf was a solid choice as a companion. He was not all about making coin, and while those other goals were self serving, they would do well to aid any future gathering. Quinn valued the man's drive to.improve the one skill he knew he could offer, and the idea that the party would become more than coworkers.

The idea of friends among coworkers had not crossed Quinn's mind much at all before this meeting. With the new take on the first applicant, those that would follow now sounded less appealing on paper.

A wizard who just sought to finish the job, at any costs… Those words now worried him more than ever. What I'd the cost was betrayal?

A hunter who specifically mentioned "I'm not here to make friends" in her notes section. Despite having a number of achievements, did Quinn want this rogue element holding his life in her hands?

Then there was the application of the Summoner. This application had been crumpled and left at the back edge of the table, disregarded for both the lack of completion and the disregard for any of the questions beyond name. With the new outlook on party dynamics, it no longer sounded like the worst entry.

"Name's Sully, and you want me. Let's talk over drinks, aye?" That was all that had been written, and even this was scribbled on the blank back, rather than the notes section at the bottom. There was a picture, however, of a little horned monster creature winking, a little heart seeming to radiate from the gesture. Charming, Quinn supposed.

However, there was a complete oversight in the application. He had no means of tracking the man. He could be anywhere on the vastness of Erde Nona, or across any of the worlds beyond this one. The act of uncrumpling the paper seemed in itself fruitless when Quinn knew he may never be able to meet this applicant in person.

Still, he sat the wrinkled paper to the side. Maybe he would look into that at a later date. For now, he had another applicant to address.

Peering up through his spectacles, the ebony skinned Maeve had returned. She had a slight sway to her now and a smile ten times brighter than any she had unleashed before. "I'm done, Bossman!" She chimed, thrusting the paper at Quinn.

He accepted it with a kind smile. When he turned the page to look it over, he took note of the childish women's surprisingly elegant handwriting. It was on par with scribe… or a forger… but regardless, it was completed. "Alright. Well, due to the odd circumstances, we will go ahead and do your verbal application and I will read this over after."

"Perfect!" Without further provocation, she sat in the booth where Cain had just left. "Alright, so I should probably tell you I have a a few fines I need to pay… so that coin is going to go to clearing my name… And I have a few uh… skills…. That may come up…"

Quinn had an easy time hiding his surprise, since he expected the woman to come with a history, considering her question of legality. "I think I understand. You are one of the shadow touched races, and I suspect you just use what skills come natural to you.”

“I want to say that’s racist, but…”

A brow quirked at Maeve’s statement. “Buuut? A Fetchling has a knack with blending in to the shadows, a supernatural knack no less. You probably have a story where it was all you had at your disposal, so you employed it to the best of your ability. Am I caught up so far?”

Maeve, who felt oddly exposed under the wise old man’s inspecting gaze, could not hold her gaze up much less her shoulders. Her slump was an obvious confirmation that Quinn had everything figured out. “Something like that…”

“Well,” Quinn continued. “Supposing you try to stay on the right side of the law and engage your particular skill set for the betterment of the group, I can let your pass infractions slide. That being said, I expect you to use your share of the coin to start paying off your fines. The last thing I need is a repeat criminal…”

The glimmer of hope shimmered in the fetchling’s amber eyes. Her lips parted with a smile but before words could be uttered, Quinn held up a finger to put the breaks on whatever she might have said. “You still have to answer a few questions before I consider you.”

Giving no time for the young woman to interrupt with her childish whimsy, he moved right into the first question. “Why do you seek to join a group with no direction?”

Her brow furrowed deeply. “You don’t have a direction? Do you need a map or something? A compass?”

Quinn lifted his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Of course he could not stifle the small chuckle that escaped him. “I forget, you didn’t read the briefing… No, this group is more aimless. We will simply be undertaking random jobs, some potentially dangerous in pursuit of money. I’m hiring so called adventurers because we may be moving place to place, world to world in search of these jobs.”

A surge of brightness from Maeve’s eyes showed an overwhelming enthusiasm. Quinn had his answer already, but she was happy to express her delight. “That sounds amazing! You mean we get to travel around and see new places? Daring and excitement around every corner?” Pure wanderlust.

“Indeed. I will take that as your answer. Second question, what can you offer both myself and your fellow team mates? What are your useful skills?” The questions were still nice and fresh in his mind from the enlightening chat with Cain.

Maeve once again parted her lips to speak, but hesitated at the last second. Her luminescent eyes darted around the small tavern. After a moment of consideration, an item was slowly drawn from the waistband of her pants, beneath the back of her coat. Quinn eyed it for a long moment, then slowly touched his hip. “You took my gun.”

“Yea… I was gonna chase you down when you left… and if you didn’t hire me, I was gonna try to weasel myself into the group with good faith, like you dropped it.”

“There is a safety lock…”

“Yea...“

“I don’t know how pick-pocketing would come in handy, but I have a feeling we may be dealing with many locked doors if we are tasked with intelligent ne’er do-wells. So I assume we can say stealth and a familiarity with locks.” The reply was but a slow, embarrassed rise and fall of her head. “Since I’m not well versed in either, and Mr. Carson is more specialized in combat tactics, I suppose having someone capable of these things won’t hurt.”

The way she blinked innocently at him was heart-wrenching… but he could tell it was by design. She was obviously playing her innocence up at this point. “Moving on… Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

This was obviously an easy question. “Wherever the next job is, if you hire me! Somewhere different than the day before, if I get lucky.”

“No thoughts of a big house, lots of money…?”

The narrowing of her lips and slow shake of her head seemed earnest. “Nah… Maybe a small wagon and a few cute horses to pull it if I want to settle down…” Wanderlust hit this one hard.

“No goals in life?” Again, Maeve just shook her head with a heavy shrug. “Nothing to tie you down?”

“Not right now. Can’t say future me won’t find a pet or something.”

“Fair enough,” Quinn could not fault the answer. She had nothing to lose, but everything to gain. With just a bit of insight, see seemed like the type to quickly make friends if he considered her bubbly personality. “Alright. One final question. What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”

Her head snapped back and her eyes went wide. “Uh… What does that have to do with the job?”

“Just… answer the question.”

“Oooookay? I don’t know, depends on what’s chasing it?”

Again, Quinn cracked a smile at the unusual response. “Acceptable. Why don’t you go have a bite to eat while I read over your application.”

“Right-O, Bossman!” Maeve almost bumped the table as she bolted out of the booth to solute. It was an overly cutified act, one not lost on the older gentleman.

“And hang around for about an hour. My four O’clock is a no-show, but I have one more appointment to consider before I make my final decision.

Maeve gave a curt nod before prancing off to join Cain at the bar. Quinn had to wonder exactly what they would talk about… She definitely did not know the language of hands…

Again, his eyes fell onto his pocket watch. Between thinking over that Sullivan application and the lacking of any detail, and the brief conversation with Maeve, the next applicant was already five minutes late.

Ruffling through his papers, he pulled the one application in particular. “Is there a Jonovan McGlough present?” His voice rang out with a surprising authority. Cain and Maeve both turned his way, with the latter thoroughly caught off guard. “Jonovan McGlough?”

He waited a moment, eyes scanning the crowd. No Jonovan it would seem. For now, he sat the application to the side. PErhaps there was a halfway decent reason for the tardiness.

The next application was not due for another thirty minutes, but the person may already be present. Again he spoke up, this time a few more eyes turned his way. “Hammond Brandrith… Brandreeth… Branderith…” Each itteration of the name was a bit quieter as he fell uncertain with its pronunciation. Brandhryth… what culture was that even?

“It’s BrAHND-hreeth,” growled a rather large, brown skinned man as he approached. This was not a human of dark skintone, though he could see perhaps a hint of mocha. The tusks and short but low-pointed ears denoted this man as a half-orc. The man wreaked alcohol with every fiber of his being.

Quinn gestured to the seat across from him. Midway through, he took a look over the portly belly of this large goliath of man. His arms were thick as trunks with muscle, but he had a definite beer gut to him. Not unhealthy exactly, but no doubt a bit thicker than the booth would allow. “An oversight on seating arrangements,” Quinn offered with an apologetic nod. “Would you like to pull up a chair?”

A mighty hand waved off the offer. “Nah. Been sittin’ for th’ last hour, wait’n on ya. Le’s just get this done with aye?”

“Very well. So I noticed your application was in a language I don’t understand. I replied to you for fair chance, could you read this to me?” Quinn slid the paper to the edge of the table. The orc looked down upon it and immediately scoffed.

“I don’ read. I smash puny things.”

“So… how did you know to meet me here?”

“Had some scrawny thing read it.” That made sense. “Had some things t’ change. I don’ like this ten percent thingymabob, li’l man said it was like having one apple instead of ten, and five bein’ saved for later. I wan’ five apples now.” The gruff tones held more than a hint of aggression and slur.

“So you want half of the pay meant for five people?”

“Yup. I’ll be doin’ th’ most fight’n, an’ that means I get most of th’ money, right?” His logic was flawed, but not entirely off base. The half-orc looked like a fit warrior… but not much else.

Quinn took a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m the employer, and you are applying for a job under my terms. If you are not happy with it, you can seek employment elsewhere.” His hands idly crossed upon the table. A general gentlemanly posture, but one gloved finger slowly twisted a dial upon the back of the other, more modified glove. “Do you agree to the terms as written?”

The result was almost expected. The green-mocha man thrust his hand towards Quinn’s surcoat and pulled him from the booth. The simpleton did not seem to acknowledge the faint whining from the contraption affixed to Quinn’s hand. “I said… Things’r gonna change. Right?”

Click. From the corner of his eye, Quinn could see Cain swiftly approaching and Maeve hot on his tails. Whip drawn by the former, a dagger in the hand of the latter. However, it was neither his new allies nor himself that would defuse the situation.

“Hey,” came a feminine voice that might have been crueler sounding than even the half-orc’s. Quinn had not noticed the absolute unit approach with her casual stride, but he quickly realized the intent. One word had the orc’s attention, but the way she reached over his shoulder and gripped his shirt had his focus.

“Oi! Watcha think yer doin, ya gray cunt!” He bellowed after being violently yanked away from the old man. “I’s just get’n into my negotiat’n groove!”

The half-orc must have been six-foot-five or just above. It was surprising when even he had to look up to the easily seven-foot-tall woman. With half her scalp buzzed down and the myriad of reds dying her long mohawk and the presence of a King-Of-Edge dark jacket, Quinn was a little eager to see the typical barbarian versus what he could only assume was a wastelander.

The woman scowled, her pale eyes leering upon the smaller, muscular man in her grasp. “Negotiations are over.”

“T’ hell they are!” Bit back Hammond, who immediately released Quinn to rear back a fist. All Quinn saw was the flailing of rose and crimson strands before the resounding crack had him wincing where he stood. The orc crumpled on a heap, his brow bloodied.

The large woman on the other hand seemed unphased. Her brow was bloodied, but not by her own ichor. “HOLY SHIT!” Maeve squeaked from a stone’s throw away. “That was AWESOME! Bossman, can she join the team? Common, can we keep her?”

The savior-of-the-moment turned her gaze onto the ebony fleshed woman, then to the elegant elf standing to her left. Finally, her gaze drifted onto the old man with the lightning covered glove.

“Sure.” Quinn was a little more than afraid to tell her no. If her brow could cause so much devastation, he hated to think what that oversized hammer in her other hand might do. “What’s the job, bossman?”
 

Malloki Tuwile

The Mad
Level 3
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The booth had grown quite full for this particular interview. The newcomer sat directly across from Quinn, eyes drifting ever now and then out the window next to her. Cain, obviously curious, had taken a seat next to Quinn, after requesting permission of course. There was something signed about Quinn’s safety, but the curiosity was too obvious for the deception to fly.

Maeve made it a point to claim the seat next to this gray-skinned woman. She had said nothing, but her bright eyes praised the stone-faced woman.

“Well,” began Quinn once everyone had found their seats. “Let me start this off by saying there were paper applications… but it would seem my desire for protocol has long since gone out the window.” A sideways glance was shot towards Maeve with obvious implications. “So let us begin with a few questions. How does that sound?”

“Go for it,” the woman replied flatly.

“Alright… Name?”

“Griselda. Grizzly. Zelda. Whatever floats your boat.” She seemed distanced from the conversation right in front of her. She sat inches from the praising eyes of Maeve, but the fetchling might as well have been a mile off.

“Right… so… Why do you seek to join a group with no direction?”

“I dunno. Next question.”

“That’s fine you haven’t even been briefed. What can you offer both myself, and your fellow teammates? What are your useful skills?”

“Don’t have any. Next question.” She obviously had skills in combat, if the hammer and hammer-like headbutt had anything to say about it. Did she not include those as useful skills?

“Uh… okay, where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Donno. Next question.”

This was going nowhere fast… but there was still much to be glimmered from her obscurity. “What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”

This time her eyes intentionally drifted to the window, aiming higher as if to look at the sky. “However fast it believes it to be. Next question.”

“That was it, miss Griselda,” Quinn offered an apologetic smile. “Most of the important stuff was on the paper.

“Well. Can’t read. Guess I’m disqualified.” As if looking for an excuse to leave, the woman turned to Maeve, only to give her a look of surprise as if she had not even noticed the tiny little thing next to her. “May I pass?”

“Maeve, let her up, please. But before you go, may I speak freely?” Griselda, seemingly quite polite despite her ruffian appearance, settled down to listen. She said nothing, but her eyes were on Quinn.

For a moment he pondered whether he really should speak freely. This woman was not entirely intentionally intimidating, but her previous actions had the man a bit on edge… “From your answers and the way you carry yourself, I cannot help but assume you are a drifter. No real homestead, nothing to draw your attention or focus. As a Goliath, it seems odd for one of your kind to be alone and so passionless.”

The recognition of her race earned the slightest tilt of her head. “Go on.”

“Yes, well, uh… Maeve here wishes to join to see the various worlds out there, to explore and live a life of daring. Cain here wishes to use this as an experience to train his particular niche form of combat and employ his tactics. I’m in it for the gold to fund my research and inventions…” He could see the spark of impatience in the eyes of this behemoth, but it was tempered by tolerance.

“If you are looking to simply drift… Why not drift with us? Like a leaf caught up by the breeze of a passing carriage? Drifting only so long as that the breeze blows in the right direction.”

“Your metaphor is lovely. Speak plainly.”

“Hang out with us as a temporary agent, earn a cut of the jobs we do and if you decide this isn’t your thing… you may be on your way. No one here has signed a contract.”

“As I said,” Griselda placed a hand upon the table, as if ready to push herself to her feet. “I have no valuable skills to offer. Just a silly illiterate goliath girl.” Her cold gaze turned onto Maeve, who begrudgingly moved out of the way.

As the goliath rose to her feet and began to step away from the bar, Quinn tossed in one last half-hearted comment. “I see a stalwart defender who’s armor is not shining plate, but a stone-covered heart.”

The woman stopped in her tracks. “And what I see is a foolish old man looking to make his lucky break thirty years too late.” She did not turn around but peered over her shoulder at the gaggle of would-be adventurers. “I see three empty graves, waiting to be filled.”

Quinn was stunned into silence. Maeve was speechless -- thankfully. It was the mute who interjected. He did so by standing and offering a finger, the universal sign for wait one moment. Without any due explanation, Cain walked to the bar and gestured to the cheery dwarf standing behind it.

Not a minute had passed by the time he returned, placing down four large mugs of a pale lager. One mug was placed where Griselda had been sitting. Though his gaze held the curious eyes of the Goliath, he signed to Quinn.

“What does he say?” The woman asked.

“He says…” Cain repeated the gestures. “Cain says that he sees the fourth mug with no one to empty it.”

“D’AWWW!” Squealed Maeve, hands clutching her heart. “That’s so adorable! Oh jeez, I feel like I’m gonna cry!”

There was a glare from the three more serious minds present, which had Maeve practically pressed to the floor with the combined weight. “Sorry! I’ll just… sit…” She quickly replaced herself in the booth, her hands occupied with the mug.

Griselda and Quinn remained quiet for a moment longer. The next move was, surprisingly, the goliath’s. She tapped the bare shoulder of the fetchling and with a simple gesture politely requested a path back to her seat. Maeve quickly obliged, squee’ing internally.

For a long while, they sat in relative silence. It was a conversation through presence alone. Every now and then, the elf would turn a smile towards the brooding goliath. At one point, one corner of her lips quirked in a smile she simply could not help.

Maeve was dying of adorable overload.

Quinn had no fucking idea what was going on.

Maeve’s mug fell empty first. Quinn’s was nearing the bottom not long after. Oddly, the goliath was the third-place drinker, second to last only to the elf. Cain had mentioned he did not partake in alcohol, but he had taken very small sips to honor the silent arrangement he had apparently made.

The new guest was the first to break the silence. "If you want to read that piece of paper to me, I’ll give you my answers.” She had given up. Between Maeve’s near glow and Cain’s silent charm, she felt oddly comforted. It was a sensation of inclusion she rarely felt.

Quinn glanced upon the papers for a moment. With a hearty sigh, he nearly slapped the table and curled his fingers upon the stack to crunch a majority of them into a semi-ball shape. Save for one particular piece. “I do not feel that is necessary.”

“I will be the leader of this contingent,” he continued. “However, I will be resorting to the diplomatic vote wherever the outcome has a group impact. Considering my two current members have already cast their vote, and I have no strong feelings either way, I will simply go over the rules.”

With the crumpled ball brushed to the side and the seemingly blank application laid before him, Quin interlaced his fingers. The Lightning Gauntlet still had a slight tingle from its earlier charge. “Let me be clear about this. I suspect danger will be our main forte. That is where the coin is, after all.”

“That’s fine.” Griselda did not seem perturbed by the concept of danger.

Quinn took a moment to examine her neutral expression. She did not seem to be hiding any strong emotions. She had one big “blah” written upon her gray brow. “Very well. On the topic of coin, to summarize, you will be granted ten percent of the earnings from any mission with a lump-sum reward. We all earn this, even myself. The remaining fifty percent will be held back for lodging, meals, equipment, and travel.”

Again, the goliath just coasted along. She responded with a casual nod. It was still a more physical response than the last question. “If that’s the case, I’m not too worried about getting paid. Sounds like whatever that ten is would just be spending money. Just add it to the pot and make sure I get “equipped” first. I tend to go through a lot of jackets.”

The old man reached to his ear for his pencil but found none there. Figuring it must have fallen when the orc roughed him up, he just made a mental note. “Your awards will be added to the pot, and you will be given first priority in regards to new clothing. I can understand your line of work requiring it.”

“Moving on,” Quinn chimed as he once again fell into the rhythm of logic and lists. “You will be expected to maintain a professional attitude towards the other members and myself. This means, in the youth slang, no bad beef. This is grounds for immediate termination.”

“Aww!” Maeve chimed in with a distraught sound. “What if… say… two of the squad peeps want to date? Like… you know…” She proceeded to make a few lewd gestures with her hands. Griselda rolled her eyes and Cain exhaled a muted sigh. “You know…”

Quinn’s sharp gaze fell onto the others. “I believe dating a coworker to be a potential disaster. Speaking rationally, failed romance often makes one irrational. In the event that there is an attempt and failure… One or both parties will be expelled if proper work ethic cannot be maintained. Accept this and I will allow dating a coworker.”

He expected the reactions to be blah at best, but the surprise was on him. Griselda tilted her head for a brief moment of thought… “Yea, I can go for that.”

One can no more choose their heart’s desire than the direction of the wind. I accept the terms. Cain signed with a smile of both wisdom and satisfaction. It was an odd combination.

Once again outvoted, Quinn redoubled his efforts to make sure each member knew his thoughts on the topic. “And no fornication on the job.” The mutual thumbs up was another surprise. “Very well. I am outvoted and I will concede to popular demand.

“Next item,” back to the rhythm. “Should you shirk your responsibilities when they are required, your payment will be cut. Seeing as you have forgone your pay and requested priority of equipment, your priority privileges will be lost. Your responsibility is combat, namely… you will be on the front lines. Maeve and I are not the most sturdy when it comes to exchanging blows.”

“I’m no master, but I’ll do what I can. What about when there’s no one to fight? Or are you guys planning to pick a fight everywhere you go?”

“Hardly,” Quinn unfolded his hands to wave off the accusation. “In the event, the talent I hired you for is not relevant, you will simply make yourself useful. For example, assisting with camp setup. Do you have any non-combat skills to offer?”

This time, the goliath offered a true smile. It was a fair bit larger than any she had put on display before, though not quite full. “I like to cook.”

While the personal hobby was not as surprising to Quinn, Cain and Maeve had their turn. “That’s good, I hate cooking! Reminds me of being in my dad’s house… No thank you!” The fetchling, who had held in her words thus far, was quite adamant about not being stuck with this particular job. “I can probably hunt for food, but I ain’t skinning it! Or cooking it!”

The chemistry was already blossoming. Griselda slowly petted the fetchling’s head. No words, just pets.

Cain, coming around to Quinn’s speed, suggested moving forward. He signed; Is that last application our proposed fifth member? The elf gestured towards the nearly blank page in front of Quinn.

“Right… yes, this application is a unique one.” The human stated as he turned it over. On the back, he reread the message aloud. "All it says is; ‘Name's Sully, and you want me. Let's talk over drinks, aye?’ There is no more information. Even contact information is nonexistent."

Cain casually reached across Quinn to take the paper. After flipping it over a few times with a hard furrowed brow, he simply shrugged. He could infer no more meaning than Quinn. You did put the interview location in… Maybe this person is already present and waiting to be called?

“Astute observation. A better start than scouring the worlds,” Quinn mused with humor. “Let us see if this Sully showed.”

The four-member-strong group fell quiet. It was not in response to Quinn’s course of action, but to the silence that fell across the room. The usual white noise of the calm tavern had been long since forgotten until it simply stopped without provocation.

The thin crowd around the bar shifted, all eyes on the bartender. “Wait…” Maeve broke the silence with but a whisper. “You said Sully?”

“My proper name is Suilaebhan,” the bartender announced from afar. The crowd had parted to form a clear view between the group and the tall, muscular half-elf. The sharp smile, pointed ears, dark brown hair down to his lower back and the brightest blue eyes one might ever see gave the man an air of beauty. The tree-trunk arms, broad shoulders and barrel chest him an air of power. “Some modernize it to Sullivan. Others just call me Sully.”

“OMG, The cute bartender is going to be our new bestie!” Maeve squeed in delight. “You’re not gonna be the only pretty elf in the group,” she added towards Cain.

Maeve was the only one capable of speech, though not much could stop the fetchling. Cain and Griselda were normally not very talkative in the first place, but they looked at the bartender quite unsure. Their eyes eventually turned to Quinn.

With a silent gesture, the leader of the odd assembly summoned the half-elf over. Suilaebhan placed a hand on the bar and hopped over with little effort. With a stride as bold as can be, he turned a number of eyes as he passed.

“The same speed as the flock,” he stated. There was no context, but Quinn understood. That final curveball question.

“You work here?”

“Nah. Got the gig for a day, thought I’d surprise ya.”

“So you went through the entire hiring process in the twelve hours since I posted the interview address?”

“Yup.”

“You charmed the crowd enough to quiet the rabble… for an entrance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you think you can schmooze your way into this party by that same charm?”

“You got it.”

The back and forth between Quinn and Suilaebhan was swift but informative. It was not Quinn that responded next, but Griselda. The woman was quick to lift her hammer and toss it towards Sullivan. It was not an act of aggression, but clearly a test. The man caught it by the length of the handle and placed it upon his shoulder. “I’m not an illusion, cutie. That’s all me.” Beneath the tight-fitting drab tabard, the man flexed his pectorals.

Griselda huffed at being called cute. Cain was lost in his ponderings. Quinn was considering this man’s actions and his means of application. Maeve was practically vibrating with energy. She was on board with the hunk joining the team.

“While Bossman’s thinking things over, you wanna grab a drink or something? Don’t worry, we can TOTALLY date coworkers here!” All eyes affixed to the fetchling. When she noticed, her smile only widened. “Dibs!”

Suilaebhan unleashed a kind chuckle. It had Maeve practically melting. It was a deadly weapon, that man’s voice. For the second time, Maeve would receive a comforting head pat. “Your eyes should not sway your heart, dove.”

It was the full elf that found that statement most impressive. The genuine and gentle turn down from the half-elf earned a sigh from Maeve, but the kindness in his voice kept her willful emotions from sparking. I like him. He signed to Quinn, the only one who seemed capable of understanding.

“I like me too,” Suilaebhan chimed in.

Quinn cocked a brow. “You understand the language of signs?”

At that point, Suilaebhan began signing; Indeed I do! I know quite a few languages, many of them monster-related.

“Yet, you can’t fill out a simple application sheet?”

“Did I need to?”

Quinn opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze drifted to Griselda and Maeve. He had not even looked over Maeve’s and Griselda simply could not. “No. It would seem my method has been ineffective.” He was reminded of the half-orc from only a few moments ago. “Did you read it at least?”

Suilaebhan laughed and waved off the silly question. “Of course I read it. Ten percent of the earnings on lump pay, and a vote on divvying per-head quests, I read all of that. Be-Tee-Dubs, ten percent would be my vote.” Thick arms were posed for Maeve’s delight as he propped on the edge of the table.

“Only thing I request is when shopping anywhere that haggles… that I do all the talking. Because if you hire me for anything, it’ll be my people skills.”

Quinn took a moment to look around the table. He had a wise man, a pure warrior, and a sneak. He was the brain of the group thus far. With his focus landing on Cain, he considered this man good with people… but being mute, it severely hampered his ability to negotiate with the common folk.

This Sully fellow drove a hard bargain. His list of accomplishments in the last twenty-four hours was impressive, to say the least. “Very well. I will submit a v--”

“YES!” Maeve chimed as if knowing it would come to a vote.

“Could use a people person,” Griselda followed.

Cain just offered a thumbs up.

“The decision is unanimous, Suilaebhan is our fifth and final member.”
 
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