The Adventurer’s Guild in the dwarven city of Minnova was bustling, and there was an eager air that always came with a crop of new adventurers.

Greentree had just undergone a Boss Shift, and the dungeon was ripe for fresh teams to learn the ropes. Monsters were most dangerous in their lairs, and it would take at least another year for the displaced denizens of the dungeon to settle into new territories.

The large open hall was dominated by an enormous notice board on one wall. A collection of administrative booths sat opposite, and a cafeteria style bar took up most of the back wall.

The floor was covered in tables, each staked out by an adventuring team enjoying their favourite libations from the bar. Laughter and good natured competition could be heard throughout, alongside the occasional sound of belching and - more recently - the odd bit of loud flatulence.

At one such table the up-and-coming adventuring team Brightstar was resting after a successful dungeon dive. The group of four were a bit banged up and made an eclectic tableau.

A brown-bearded dwarfess in a high-quality leather gambeson in the middle of lecturing a teammate. A balding gnome in overalls bent over his tools and occasionally swearing. A lumberjack bearded dwarf with a handlebar moustache digging through a medicine kit. A brown-skinned South Erdian gnomess in a white robe watching the bar carefully.

“You’re still holding your shield too high, Balin. It’s giving you a blindspot below your waist.” The brown-bearded dwarfess said in a tone of serious critique. Her prim and proper attire and oiled gambeson were accentuated by a pencil moustache and anchor beard. Starshine Morris was well known around the Guild as the hard-nosed daughter of the Chief Guard of Minnova.

Balin Roughtuff looked up from where he was applying salve to a cut on his knee. “I think I learned me lesson, Starshine. Just give me a few more weeks of fightin’ fer my life against deadly vegetables and I’ll be an expert.”

“Give the dwarf a break, Starshine. He’s doing great for someone who was a simple carpenter in a reform mine just last year." The gnome in engineering coveralls muttered from where he was fiddling with a collection of broken glass on the table. He wiggled his white toothbrush-moustache, adjusted a pair of goggles and swore. “Barck’s Bloody Beard!”

“First tha mine, then tha brewery, then tha brewpub, then tha dungeon.” Balin sighed. “It’s been a long year.”The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Just wait till you're over three hundred." The gnome chuckled. "The years whizz by and you’ll miss when they were ‘long’."

"If ya say so, Flowerpott." Balin shrugged.

The gnomess in the white robe pointed to the bar. “Here comes Raysdotter with our drinks. Ray-ray! Over here!” Aishablue's voice was a bright alto that Balin’s brother Pete had once described as ‘vaguely Punjabi’.

“Hooee! That was a rough run, eh!” A dwarfess in shining black leather armour plunked a trio of beer mugs down on the table. Her beard was as black as her armour, and shaped in a carefully manicured Garibaldi style. “Yer coffee will be a bit, Ai, and Flowerpott - get all that Godsdamn glass off the table!”

“I have to finish this Glassfly! If you want golem air support, then I need dwarven emotional support!” The gnome shot back.

“This is why people think we’re weird!” Raysdotter complained as she plunked down into an empty seat next to Balin. She jostled him as she did so, and his finger jabbed into the small wound.

“Ach, that stings!” Balin hissed. “Can ya not just give me a [Minor Blessin’ of Regeneration] Raysdotter?

“You’ll be fine, ya big baby.” Raysdotter patted Balin on the shoulder.

“Learning to handle pain in a safe environment like this will help you handle it in combat.” Starshine said with conviction.

“Now that’s weird.” Flowerpott smirked.

“I’ll have you know it’s an accepted bit of dungeoneering!” Starshine shot back. The two were soon bickering over the esotera of pain and agony while Raysdotter interrupted every once in a while with gorey tidbits. A pair of dwarves walking past gave them horrified looks and backed away.

Aishablue sighed. “No… that is why people think we’re weird.”

“I wouldnae worry.” Balin said good naturedly. “Everyone knows that any kind o’ fame is good fame when it comes to the adventurin' life.”

“Speaking of which, how are you finding the adventuring life with Brightstar, Balin?" She replied. "Is it more - or less - stressful than the Thirsty Goat Brewpub? I imagine things must be pretty crazy there after the Feud.”

Balin nodded. “Aye. Pete is part-owner of it now. Between tha Thirsty Goat and his business with Whistlemop, he's swamped.”

“Is your brother planning to enter that Octamillenial Beer Competition thing?” Aishablue pointed towards a yellowing piece of paper sitting forgotten on the notice board.

“Mebbe. But since its tha start o’ tha new year, he and Annie are fightin’ with somethin’ even more terrifyin’ than any monster in Greentree.”

“What’s that?”

Balin replied in a hushed tone full of fear and repressed memories. “Taxes.”