The guild was noisy, as always.
The smell of dust, wet boots, and cheap ale hit your nose the moment you walked in.
By the entrance a couple of newbies, arguing about who wields a sword better. By the wall, a guy snoring in armor. On the board, fresh quests, half marked "dangerous", "someone didn't return recently", or just scratched out with ink blots.
Ellie sat by the window. She had her own spot. The furthest one, where the ceiling didn't leak, elbows didn't jab her, and no one yelled near her ear. The bench leaned to one side, the table smelled of old cabbage, but this was the one place where no one bothered her. Usually.
There was noise in the center of the hall. Another meeting.
The heads of two major guilds, Blazing Fang and Golden Griffon, had been arguing for twenty minutes. Well, one was yelling — the other just smiled like a snake.
-They've totally lost it!- one barked, slamming his fist on the table. -Two missions in a row, no reports, no bodies returned! Rumors say they failed half their cleansings, buried the mess, and moved on! They're working like an assassin squad, not a guild! No one knows where they are, what they're doing, or who they've buried!
-They work fast. They don't wag their tails,- Griffon replied. Calmly. Slick.
-But you! Of course! So neat and by-the-book,- the second muttered, sipping something strong.- Reminder: last month you sent six rookies into the tunnels under Rash. How many came back?
- Three.
- Mmm. Lovely. Half. Excellent result.
- They weren't ready, I admit that. But you're covering for your guild. Your method's "slash first, think later."
- Our method's "survive and finish the job." Maybe you should try it.
- We have results.
- Results? I saw the results! A village burned, three people gone, and the team from the 'successful purge' came back without their mage, and no one explained why!
- Because he was an idiot and ran ahead. We tried to stop him.
- Sure. Of course. Ran off. Alone. Without backup. Without a signal. And you're like, 'Oh, he just wanted to die!
- If you want a tribunal, go to the Council. This is about assignments. Or are you afraid your recruits will jump ship and join us soon?
- I'll...
Ellie quietly exhaled into her mug.
Not the first time people yelled. Not the first time it would end with nothing. Soon, the same shouting would appear on the board in the form of badly written quests, and some rookie would latch onto one, hoping for quick pay and glory.
They'd be eaten alive, and it would all start again.
Someone in the corner spat into their cup. Another laughed. Everyone was waiting for either a fight or a fine.
She lowered her gaze to the board. Half the notices marked "priority", a third with crossed-out names, a few just smeared with dirt.
And not a single route update.
As if nothing in the forest had changed in three weeks.
- What do you say?- An old mage in a cloak appeared next to her. He smelled like dusty books and rotting moss.
He stared at the board with a twisted expression.- Do we take the "Cursed Hollow"?
-If you want to die in the first puddle,- someone on the left snorted.
- It was fine two years ago!
-And in those two years, tree roots ate four parties and one merchant. No one else came back.
- Well, who recorded that?
- No one.
- Perfect,- the mage shrugged.- Then on paper, everything's fine.
Ellie gritted her teeth.
She reached for her belt and pulled out her old, thin leather notebook.
Wrote down:
Guild squabbles: same people, same yelling, different excuse. Board shows three overdue quests and no updated terrain maps. No guilds track changes in routes. Still no one knows what's behind the 'rumble in the crack' under Hill 6.
She put the pen aside. Sat up straighter. Took a sip of water. Disgustingly warm, metallic aftertaste.
A young scribe with bags under his eyes approached her. His papers flopped around like noodles.
- Why are you sitting alone like a snake in a basket?- the scribe maybe twenty, ink-stained fingers, plopped down across from her.
- Don't you get tired of asking the same thing.- she replied without looking up.
- Not at all. I sit here from morning till night. No adventures. At least there are live people nearby.
- And I'm not alive?
- You're... weird. I don't see many like you. You come in, stay silent, leave, come back, silent again. No drinking. No fighting.
- You still haven't signed up with any group?- he asked, nodding toward the board.- They're about to be filled up. Then it's back to waiting.
- I'm not looking for a team,- Ellie said.- I'm not for hire.
- Then why hang around here?
- Watching. Seeing who's going where, and why. Sometimes just observing is more useful than jumping into someone else's mess.
- You mean… the map?
She silently handed him a neatly rolled sheet, dotted with marks, thin lines, and notes like "ice remains even in heat", "stones fall with loud noise", "don't shout — echo triggers collapse."
The scribe, impressed, muttered,
- You're like a cartographer. Or a grumpy old cynic.
- Thanks. Both, actually.
The scribe chuckled, then turned serious.
-Honestly, I don't get it. You're not a fighter, not a mage, not a healer... so what are you doing here?
Ellie set her mug down. Looked at him calmly, without irritation:
- I want to see what's happening. And record it. Not just kill, forget, and move on like nothing happened.
He fell silent.
Then sighed and pointed toward the end of the room.
- Registration's still open. Category: Explorer. Just watch out, they're about to start grabbing anyone left.
Three people were already at the desk. Two arguing, one eating bread dry.
Behind the desk sat a middle-aged woman with her arm bandaged. Cropped hair, callused fingers. Guild badge on her chest. A scar on her shoulder. Face said: "I've seen better than you die, girl." Her gaze was sandpaper.
- What do you want?
- I want to register.
- Category?
- Explorer. Documenter, if that's a thing.
- Name?
- Ellie.
- Experience?
- Several personal routes. Mapped and signed. I can show you.
- Partners?
- No.
- You sure?
- If I wasn't, I'd ask someone's mommy for permission.
The woman looked up. Stared a second. Then smirked.
- Rude. I like that. Sign here.
Ellie signed.
Got her badge.
Access pass. List of rules.
- Submit your report no later than three days after return. If you don't, we burn it after a week. We're not an archive.
- I'm not planning to be late.
- No one plans to be. Good luck, Ellie. Write big so it's easier to redraw if they only find your journal."
At the door, a senior adventurer blocked her path. Muscular guy with a face like a hammer. Armor full of dents.
- You coming with us?- he asked, not introducing himself.
- No.
- We've got a spot. One just dropped out.
- He has good instincts. Thanks.
- You sure you can handle it alone?
- Yes. Wouldn't handle it with you. You lot seem to charge in blind.
He snorted. Stepped aside.
Behind her, someone whispered,
-That's the one who writes? Her maps are supposed to be more accurate than the Council's.
-Yeah. But she's solo.
-Well, if she dies - at least she'll leave a mark.
The street was loud. The city lived its life. Carts clattered. People cursed. Others haggled. Ellie walked slightly off to the side of the road, unhurried.
At her waist an official badge. In her hand a rolled-up map. In her head silence. Not inspiration. Not joy.
Clarity.
The morning started with Ellie nearly tripping over a dead pigeon.
It lay on the step, as if it had waited for someone to walk out of the rented room and chose her moment. Neck twisted, wing bent, feet black. Fresh. She stepped around it. Kicked it aside. Not out of malice, just instinct. If she reacted to every dead lump in this city, she'd have gone mad by now.
There was no rain, but the sky brooded. The air smelled of stone dust and grease. Somewhere, merchants shouted. Someone yelled "fresh bread" in a voice better suited for funeral hymns.
The guild was four blocks away, past markets, woodcarvers' shops, and an inn with a sign: "Bones & Blood - no entry without registration."
Ellie knew it wasn't a metaphor. They did check badges before offering a room.
She didn't rush.
At the second intersection, she noticed a shop. Seemed abandoned before. Now a sign hung on the door:
"Writing Supplies. Sale. Trade."
Ellie stopped. Not because of the sign. Just... felt like checking it out.
Inside it smelled of glue, dry leather, ink, and something like burnt syrup.
The seller, a man around forty with one half-closed eye and an apron like a butcher's.
- Mornin',- he muttered without getting up.
- Morning,- Ellie replied.- Got anything slim, no gold trim, no flowers?
- Specify: for what?
- Writing. A lot. Daily.
He thought. Then pulled a simple leather-bound notebook from the shelf.
No patterns, no decorations. Color somewhere between gray and dirty green. Tied with twine.
- No frills. Paper takes ink and rain. Won't burn on the first spark. Binding won't fall apart if you throw it. I tested it.
- How much?
- Ten copper.
- For an empty notebook?
- For an empty notebook you'll fill with things that don't exist anywhere else. Or take the fairy one for half a copper, full of doodles and quotes like 'be yourself.'"
- Fine. Here's your coppers.
He took the coins. Tossed her the notebook.
She caught it. Checked, pages slightly rough, cover soft, smell of wood. Nice.
Outside, she sat on a wooden rail by a fountain. Water barely dripped, but the seat was good.
Opened the first page. Took out a pencil.
"Day One.
Bought a journal. No idea for how long.
Seller's weird, but honest. Smell tolerable. Paper decent.
Handwriting still legible. We'll see how long that lasts.
Today I want to take my first official mission. Not for money. I want to see if I can still write when it's all dirt, blood, and stupidity around me.
Because writing only for yourself — that's like fighting only in dreams.
Question for today: when you see someone doing something stupid — do you step in or just take note? Leaning toward the second. We'll see."
She closed the notebook. Tied it shut. Slipped it into her shoulder bag, closer to her body. Stood up. Now things were different. Now she had not just a plan, but proof she'd begun.
And now - it was time to head to the guild.