The adventurer's guild, even at this early hour, was a hum of half-lazy, half-bloodthirsty energy.
A couple of tired adventurers were slumped at the tables with mugs of something that was probably coffee but could've easily been boiled dungeon slime.
A few others were already geared up and squinting at the bulletin board like it might bite them.
But behind the counter, at the very heart of the place, stood two mirror images of half-elf sisterhood.
Clara, the red-eyed, sharp-tongued menace of the registration desk, leaned forward with her chin in her palm and all the energy of someone who'd rather be literally anywhere else.
She tapped her nails in an irregular rhythm — half bored, half making sure everyone knew she was bored.
Althea, the one with kind purple eyes and a posture that screamed I just want peace, was wiping down the counter for the third time in as many minutes.
