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George ignored the stares from the surrounding people and burst into the adventurers’ guild. He panted for breath as he stood at the entrance, holding the door open with one webbed hand. His spear was strapped to his back, and he wore simple leather clothing made from leviathan hide. The adventurers stared at him for a moment before turning their attentions away. The silent guild burst out into commotion once again.
George ran to the receptionist’s desk, but he was pulled back by someone on the line. “This is an emergency!” George shouted, shaking off the hand holding his shoulder.
“I have an emergency too, but you don’t see me skipping the queue!” the person at the back shouted.
George shot him a dirty look before shouting, “The undead have invaded the coasts!”
The lobby fell silent. The silence remained for three seconds before someone snickered. Other people started to laugh as well. “The continent’s run by holy dragons. Holy dragons!” someone said. “You think any undead would stand a chance here?”
“I’m serious!” George said, his gills flapping as his face turned red. “All of our tribes along the coast have been subjugated!”
The receptionist cleared his throat. “Please calm down,” he said, still reading the papers in his hands. “The guild master is out at this time, but I’ll be happy to help you with your problems. I only ask that you wait in line like the rest of the folk here. Thank you for your patience.”
George’s face fell at the receptionist’s response. His people were being hunted by the undead, yet he had to wait in line. Who knows how much more torture they’d have to undergo before he could explain his problem properly? He clenched his spear and trudged to the back of the line, head lowered. A sigh escaped from his lips. If only the elders hadn’t been so eager to chase away those two ocean crossers, then maybe the undead could’ve been repelled. To be fair, he wanted them gone as well. Their tribe would’ve run out of food if that boy stayed for another week.
When it was finally George’s turn to approach the receptionist, an hour had already passed. The receptionist rubbed his eyes and raised his head. He flashed George a smile, but he looked more demented than friendly due to the dark circles underneath his eyes. “Welcome, how may I help you today?”
“The undead have invaded the coast,” George said, his hands trembling. “My tribesmen have tried fighting against them, but they were losing when I left to turn in this report.”
The receptionist blinked. “This is serious if that’s true,” he said and furrowed his brow. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I did!” George shouted.
The receptionist furrowed his brow. “I must not have heard you,” he said and sighed as he pulled out a blank piece of paper. “We’ve been overloaded for the past week ever since the guild master left on her adventure.” He dipped his quill in the inkwell. “How long has it been since they’ve arrived?”
“There weren’t a lot of them. We fought them thinking we would win, but they managed to stall for two days. Then the tides turned on us without warning, and I was sent here,” George said, counting with his fingers. “It took me four days to reach here.”
“Nearly a week then,” the receptionist said with a nod. “Can you describe their characteristics? Zombies, ghouls, skeletons? I assume your tribe wouldn’t have engaged if there were any liches or dullahan present.”
“Skeletons,” George said. “Lots of skeletons. Easily over a hundred of them.”
“Fishmen skeletons?”
“Human.”
“Interesting,” the receptionist said as he finished filling out the paper. “I’ll place the scouting mission on the commission board. After the scouts return, we’ll determine what to do from there.”
“It’ll be too late by then!” George said. “My tribe will be wiped out!”
“I understand your frustration, but there’s really nothing else that can be done,” the receptionist said. “I can only follow protocol.”
George’s teeth clacked as he ground them together. He dropped the bag by his waist onto the receptionist’s desk. “Leviathan scales and teeth! I’d like to sell them and recruit a group of A-ranked adventurers to cleanse the shores.”
The lobby fell silent once again. A few adventurers in the corner glanced at each other before standing up. “We’ll undertake the mission,” a young, well-dressed man said. He and his companions looked like they’d belong at a dinner party rather than on an adventure. “Skip the middleman and give us those materials directly, and I assure you we will fulfill your request with ease.”
“Done!” George said.
The receptionist glanced at the approaching party. “Evan Lancefell, the son of Duke Lancefell,” he said and nodded at George. “You can trust him and his party.”
“I’d like to come too,” a voice said. “I’m just a C-ranked adventurer, but I don’t expect any rewards. Please take me with you.”
“And me!”
“Count me in as well.”
A flabbergasted expression appeared on George’s face as he looked around. Why were so many people volunteering now? Maybe he should’ve started with the leviathan scales and teeth. The noble human, Evan, smiled at him. “Surprised?”
“A little,” George said as he nodded at the gathering mob.
“That’s the influence of a noble,” the well-dressed girl beside Evan said as she stuck out her hand. “We’re the Shining Stars of Lancefell. It’s a pleasure to do business with you.”
“Ah, yeah,” George said and nodded as he took her hand. It was soft compared to a fishman’s scales. He placed the bag of materials into Evan’s hands. Why were the merchants who came to do business with his tribe always badmouthing the nobles? They seemed like good people.
“Do you have any more of these?” Evan asked as he put the bag away. He placed his arm around George’s shoulder and led the group outside.
“Not on me,” George said. “But the undead arrived on a dead leviathan. It should still be on the beach.”
“Excellent,” Evan said. “We set off immediately. To the stables!”
***
“Leader!” a skeleton said and raised the spear it liberated from a black fishman. “We finished tying them up.”
“Very good,” Mr. Skelly said with a nod. He stomped in front of the bound and gagged fishmen who were piled up on the beach. “A few got away, but that’s okay.” He cleared his nonexistent throat. “Greetings! We’ll begin the inspection now.”
The fishmen’s eyes widened as skeletons lined them up in neat rows on the beach. A large cluster of fairies flew over and peered at the scaled creatures, poking them and rubbing their skin. Mr. Skelly turned his head and asked the red-haired fairy hovering by his shoulder, “Can you do it?”
“Of course!” the red-haired fairy said. “Our illusions can only be seen through by our mother. And Vur, but he’s not here so that doesn’t matter.”
“Rella! You said I could start,” a blue-haired fairy said and flew up to her sister. She stuck her tongue out to the side and pointed at Mr. Skelly. The air around him shimmered and warped. Blotches of green and blue floated into the air, and soon, a fishman was standing in Mr. Skelly’s place.
Mr. Skelly lowered his head and inspected his scaly hands, flipping them over and waving them about. He pressed against his newly formed flesh, but his finger went straight through until he touched the bones in his palm. “It’s good enough,” Mr. Skelly said and cackled.
“What do we do with the fishmen afterwards?” a skeleton asked as a fairy worked on transforming its appearance.
“That’s a bit difficult to say,” Mr. Skelly said and rubbed his chin. “Our orders were, ‘conquer everything,’ ‘spread fear and terrorize everyone,’ ‘continue doing what we’ve always have,’ and ‘knit a few sweaters or something,’ but I’m not sure if the mistress was serious about that part. Oh, and ‘teach the dwarves a lesson’—whatever that means.” He stepped forward and undid one of the fishmen’s gags. “I’m sure we can work something out, right?”