I, Peter Roughtuff, co-owner of Whistlemop’s Wonders and the Thirsty Goat Brewpub, reincarnated human from Canada, and Chosen Shaker of the God Barck, was having a bad day.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. The kind people wrote children’s books about. My beard was frizzing, a goat had eaten half my breakfast, and my office was being attacked by a horrible monster that spoke in arcane riddles. A sphinx that taxed my patience and my business. I was on the Highway to Hell.

“If you’d please examine Column B on Form #244A2 you’ll see that the numbers from Columns C and Y on Form #244A1 have been added incorrectly.” The gnome seated in front of me pointed at a column filled with math, which looked identical to all the other columns and pages filled with math. “The number is far too high, and it is increasing your tax bracket considerably.”

For the tenth time today, I considered pointing out that as the Chosen of a God, I had deity bestowed duties involving the brewing of alcohol to get to. And for the tenth time today, I dismissed it as a terrible plan - no matter how delicious it would be to watch the egghead from City Hall fall over in shock.

“Hello? Here?” The white haired gnome in a plain-grey pinstripe business suit pointed insistently at the page.

I dragged myself closer and peered at it bleary-eyed. We’d been at this for a couple days already, and I was close to being driven to drink. A feat, considering the horrid taste of dwarven brew.

“Looks like numbers.” I muttered.

The gnome, an actual Titled [Accountant] named Silverpen sighed. “Mr. Roughtuff, I understand this is your first time performing business taxes in the country of Crack. That is partly why City Hall has assigned me in particular to your case. I assure you that with a little more effort the forms are more than easy to understand. Here, [Bestow Clarity].”

A blue box popped into my vision with a *Bing!*

Milestone Used An [Accountant] is trying to grant you the [Calm] Condition.

Do you accept? Yes/No