Tyrana Dreamscale, Kiya Darkwalker, Sariel Vexwyn, Bellithandra Sparklefoot, and Tressa Dakota all have something in common. They all fell in love with Artaius Blackstorm. The problem is that the man they love is cursed and he can do nothing about it. The Mad Mage fell twenty years ago and he cursed Artaius Blackstorm to live out a randoms day of his life every day until the day he finally dies. Some days he is a powerful Archmage, some days he is a toddler that cannot tie his shoes, and some days he is a teenager that hasn’t discovered deodorant yet. But everyday he is terrified because he is alone with no knowledge of the day before and no idea why.
Good thing for Artaius, he has five women who have vowed to love him, to protect him, and to keep him safe. The Mad Mage’s lair, The Caverns Of Time, is about to be reopened and his library may hold the secret to breaking this curse. But the Kingdom has declared that only the top adventuring guilds may enter once the gates open. To save Artaius these five women will take up the task of becoming one of the top adventuring guilds in order to tackle a dungeon that The Kingdom’s finest haven’t been able to conquer in almost twenty years.
This is a road trip about five women who are all married to each other. They are putting their lives on the line for the one man they would move heaven and earth to protect.
Below you will find samples of a few draft chapters:
Chapter 1
“All the dues and fees have been paid in gold, not credit as per your insistence, Archmage. So all that is left is to get your signature on the final documents. I hate to ask, but will the Archmage be able to sign the documents himself, or will one of you be signing in his stead?” the clerk for the United Adventurers Guild (UAG) asked.
Here in his small office in one of the UAG branches, he set out the final documentation on his desk. The task before him was nearing its end. He had spent the last four hours moving back and forth between his office and various other offices in the guild as he accepted, cataloged, and delivered the documents and payments needed to register a new adventuring guild. Normally, the process took a few minutes; however, the clients before him had insisted on two things: privacy and that everything, including full approval among all guild-related territories, be completed today. That final part could take weeks, if not months. However, since they were paying everything in coin instead of credit, including all fees to expedite the process, the UAG was happy to accommodate them.
The three people sitting before him were an odd collective, but that could be said for most people in the adventuring life. This group in particular was odd not just because of their adventuring lifestyle, but because of who they were.
The first was Sariel Vexwyn, an elf and a notoriously meticulous documancer. She was a known up-and-coming force in the halls of bureaucracy as well as the halls of knowledge. She wore wizard robes, but their cut and style made them look more like a gray business suit. She was the one leading this meeting even though she was the least intimidating of the three.
The second was Tyrana Dreamscale, a dragonborn Paladin of Idunn, the Goddess of Motherhood, Youth, and Vitality. She had been a captain in the royal military, a mercenary for hire after that, and a champion of her goddess since she was sixteen years old. The higher-ups were to be informed if she came within sight of a UAG branch. Today, she had come inside to register a new adventuring guild. If her history wasn’t intimidating enough, the fact that she was seven and a half feet of solid muscle was enough to put most people on the back foot.
The third was Artaius Blackstorm, a human Archmage of The Mages Guild and head of their Chrono Arcana Studies. The man was ancient for a human. No one knew his true age. It was common knowledge that he had been the leader of the Mages Guild more than once but was never unseated due to being bested in a duel or voted out. Each time he resigned was to take a sabbatical and to “let the next generation take the lead.” Even now, in his wheelchair, he gave off an aura of power that kept the clerk on his toes.
“The Archmage will be signing the documents himself, as he has for each document so far. He needs minimal assistance beyond someone to position the document, provide a quill and ink, and then to steady his elbow, all of which I will handle as his assistant. If this is all of the remaining documentation, then we will begin,” Sariel said.
“Sariel, please be nice. He is only trying to make sure that Artaius doesn’t feel overwhelmed. It’s a common misconception among our peers that he is not quite as spry as they are,” Tyrana said. Even seated, the red-scaled dragonborn towered above everyone in the room. She looked like a hulking brute, but she displayed gentleness and grace in the way she patted Artaius’s knee.
Artaius grunted in frustration. “Hurry it along. I have to take a shit and would prefer to do it in a toilet.”
The clerk blushed.
“Artaius!” Tyrana hissed.
“Archmage!” Sariel admonished.
“Quiet, the both of you!” Artaius barked. “Get my hand to the documents so we can go. I have to shit, and I don’t plan on holding it any longer than the next five minutes. Let’s begin, Miss Vexwyn. I know the clerk has been instructed to garner information, so let the young man ask his questions while I sign. Tyrana, answer whatever you wish. I’ve been patient enough. I will not wait around any longer. Let’s get this done and be on our way.”
Sariel did as requested and positioned the final paperwork sheet by sheet before the Archmage. She handed him the quill and steadied his elbow. As he signed, she periodically dipped the quill for him. There were more than three dozen documents that needed multiple signatures or initials.
“Go on, young man, ask your questions. You haven’t pissed or shit yourself yet, so you aren’t too intimidated,” Artaius wheezed. “How about I start you off: ‘Archmage, you’re such an accomplished individual and so advanced in years, why would a 127-year-old who could comfortably retire and live off the dividends of his lifetime of arcane research want to start and participate in an adventuring guild?’ Or a better question: ‘Have you shit your pants yet, Archmage?’ Which would you like me to answer?”
The young man paled behind his desk.
Tyrana growled, “Artaius, please, watch your language.”
“Oh, stop coddling him, Tyrana. He has tried to initiate a scrying spell six times since we arrived,” Artaius huffed.
Sariel narrowed her eyes at that. “Archmage, have you been countering his attempts this entire time?”
“Yes, it’s cute. I don’t believe he is a professional caster. He has a device of some sort,” Artaius laughed.
Tyrana turned her gaze to the young man behind the desk and narrowed her eyes. “I have not known the Archmage to be a liar nor a man that drops such information without wanting it addressed. So please enlighten me as to why you would be doing such a thing when he requested privacy.”
“My apologies, Captain Dreamscale. I was told that your request for privacy would be honored but that certain precautions had to be taken. That certain questions had to be answered if possible,” he said. The poor man was trying to hide behind his desk as much as possible.
“Questions such as what?” Tyrana asked.
“Such as the one I offered. Right?” Artaius sighed.
“Yes…just as the Archmage said,” the clerk agreed.
“I’m bored. And I really need to shit,” Artaius sighed. “More ink, please, Sariel.”
Sariel obliged while Tyrana, again, admonished Artaius.
“Artaius, perhaps your outbursts are due to overstimulation,” she growled.
“I just said I was bored, so obviously I am under stimulated,” he countered. “Anyway, to answer the question I presented on the young man’s behalf: my wife suggested I get out more. She doesn’t like that I just sit around my tower smoking and drinking my life away.”
The clerk looked puzzled. “I was not aware you were married, Archmage.”
Artaius smiled. “Most people aren’t. I’m somewhat of a recluse. I got married twenty years ago, and I liked it so much that I did it again. And then again two more times.”
“So you divorced and remarried, then divorced and remarried again quite a few times?” the clerk asked.
Now Artaius cackled. “Divorced? Who said anything about divorce?”
“And that is the final document,” Sariel exclaimed as she took the quill from Artaius. She set the quill down, capped the ink, and stacked every document before handing them to the clerk. “Now we will need all of our official documents, in triplicate as the Archmage requested, our upgraded adventuring and mercenary licenses, and the discount vouchers for the guild-approved vendors. Quickly, please—the Archmage would like to be on his way to the lavatory.”
The clerk quickly checked over the documents. Then he left the room and returned shortly with all of the items and documentation. Sariel checked over everything as Tyrana began checking Artaius’s wheelchair.
“Is that everything, Ms. Vexwyn?” Artaius asked.
“Yes, Archmage,” Sariel confirmed.
“Excellent. Before we go, young man, please show me your scrying device,” Artaius said.
“I beg your pardon, Archmage?” the clerk asked.
“You heard me. Hurry up,” Artaius grumbled as he waved to the young man to get on with it.
The clerk reached under his desk and produced a scrying crystal, setting it atop the table.
“Ah. Simplistic. Activate it,” Artaius commanded.
The clerk did so, and Artaius cackled. The withered Archmage lifted a finger and muttered under his breath. A thread of dull green lightning—thin as string—arced from his fingertip into the crystal.
“Archmage!” Sariel snapped.
“Bah! Just a bit of retribution. Nothing permanent, Ms. Vexwyn,” Artaius said, waving her concern away. “Let’s go before I shit my pants.”
Tyrana turned his wheelchair, and they left the stunned clerk to his thoughts. Outside the office, they hurried to the privy.
“Sariel, what did he do?” Tyrana asked.
“Let’s just say,” Sariel sighed, “whoever was on the other side of that scrying crystal likely just had the same problem the Archmage is so keen to avoid.”
Chapter 2
“To cold nights, bloody blades, and ale every chance we can get it!” Bellithandra yelled as she raised her tankard.
“Yep, to adventure!” Kiya clarified as she too raised her tankard.
They both waited for the third member at their table to join in. Tressa Dakota, though physically the largest of the group in all aspects, seemed incredibly small as she sat quietly, holding her tankard on the table with both hands. She was fumbling with the hood of her cloak, trying to keep it atop her head as she looked around nervously at every patron and shadow in the bar.
“Dakota!” Kiya said.
Tressa looked to her human friend. Kiya was almost three feet shorter than her own eight and a half feet but was standing tall, holding her tankard up in the air. Her combination of dark skin and dark-blonde hair, along with her black and green leathers, seemed to blend in perfectly with the cold décor of the room around them. Then there was the dwarf Bellithandra Sparklefoot—though she was supposed to call her Bellie—who was even shorter than Kiya. Bellie was only four feet tall and standing on her seat to lift her tankard in toast. Her pink hair and pink glittery fingernails, along with her black-and-pink leather jacket, stood out in contrast to everything around her.
“Sorry, I got distracted. Are you sure it’s okay for me to be in here?” Tressa asked.
“Come on, Cowgirl, raise that mug! Stop acting like it’s your first time in a bar!” Bellie told her.
“Umm… it is my first time in a bar,” Tressa mumbled.
“What?!” Bellie asked.
“Trouble, shut up. Dakota, you’re fine—you’re with me. Now raise your mug to adventure!” Kiya said.
“Okay… umm… to adventure,” Tressa said as she lifted her tankard to clink against her friends’, and they all drank.
Of course, when the tankards clinked, some of their drink spilled out. Bellie looked at the white liquid that came from Tressa’s. She tapped her finger in the spillage and sucked on it.
“Milk? You got milk from the bar?”
Tressa looked at her drink, then back up at Bellie, who was still standing on her chair.
“You told me to get whatever I wanted. I’ll pay you back if it’s too much… umm… once I get some coin,” Tressa explained.
Both Bellie and Kiya began laughing. They sat down and tried to gather themselves.
“Dakota, it’s okay. Milk suits you. Trust me,” Kiya said.
“Yeah, you’ll fit right in with this group. If you’re drinking milk, it means more ale for me!” Bellie laughed.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Kiya looked over at the sound. Some mercs were throwing knives at a target—a simple gambling game. Normally, she would have joined in, but not today. She had told Bellie to stay off the stage, as the bard had brought her lute and done her makeup as if ready for a show. None of that. They were just in the bar, staying out of trouble. So far, so good.
The food they had ordered arrived—last night’s stew and yesterday’s bread. They dug in, and Tressa started to spit it out.
“No!” Kiya told her. “Don’t. Get used to this, Dakota. This is what a good meal tastes like after we get moving.”
“But… this tastes like hot poop,” Tressa complained as she pushed it away.
“You mean barely warm shit,” Bellie joked.
“Dakota, you are going to eat that whole bowl, and you are going to keep it down. You throw up, and you’ll be carrying Bellie’s gear for the next week.”
Bellie pushed the bowl back to her. “Down the hatch—big bites, and keep drinking. Maybe jump up and down a bit too.”
“Trouble, you are not helping,” Kiya said.
“Yes I am. I’m helping me! She chucks, and I don’t have to carry my gear for a week!”
“I only said that because you pack like you’re moving into a new house. Now hush it up! Dakota, eat,” Kiya barked.
Tressa reluctantly took another bite. She cringed but did not spit it out.
“Good girl. Eat up. Like I said, this is what a good meal is going to taste like,” Kiya said as she went back to her own meal.
“It’s making my milk taste sour,” Tressa complained.
Bellie pushed her own tankard toward her. “Then drink ale like a—”
“Trouble!” Kiya snapped. She took a deep breath and ran her hand down her face. “Listen, Tressa. You signed up to go out with us and fight monsters—that’s the simple part. But the life of a mercenary isn’t comfortable when on the road. We might sleep in an open field under the rain. We might sleep in a cave during a snowstorm or flood. We might not sleep at all. The point is, the beds won’t be soft, the food isn’t going to be good, and sooner or later you’re going to use your bare hand to wipe your ass. So when you get a chance to sleep with a pillow, do it. When you get a meal that’s cooked in a clean pot, eat it. And when you get the chance to clean your ass with a wet cloth—clean it.”
Tressa looked down at her bowl. She nodded and continued her meal without complaint.
“Making speeches? You’ve been around Tyrana too long,” Bellie said as she stood up and grabbed their tankards.
“Where are you going?” Kiya asked.
“Getting refills,” Bellie shrugged.
“We don’t need refills. As soon as Tyrana gets done, we’re hitting the road,” Kiya argued.
“Didn’t you just say something like, ‘when you get a chance to get a refill, drink it?’” Bellie said as she danced away.
Bellie hadn’t been gone a whole minute before someone sat down in her seat. Tressa was surprised, but Kiya had seen him coming. Her hands weren’t on her spoon and bowl but close—just in the right position to flip the table before going for her knives. But hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
“Hey, big fella,” said the newcomer. Kiya could smell the liquor on his breath.
Tressa looked to Kiya and pointed to herself. When she nodded back, the novice mercenary looked to the newcomer.
“Oh, I ain’t a fella,” she said.
Kiya had to bite back a laugh.
“You looking to take over?” the newcomer asked. He had completely ignored Tressa’s statement and the sound of her voice.
“Oh no. Tyrana and Kiya are in charge. If you want something, you should ask them. They’re in charge,” Tressa explained.
Tressa didn’t understand bars—she had never been in one. But Kiya did, and she understood that the innocent answer had been the wrong one. She looked to the drunk and knew that he couldn’t be the problem—just the start of it. He looked across the room to a table filled with thugs and toughs. At the head of that table was a big man with a scowl aimed right at Tressa.
“Hey Rutt! He says he’s the boss!” the drunken newcomer yelled. He had completely misunderstood Tressa’s words and reported exactly what he—and every other drunk in the bar—had wanted to hear.
Kiya watched as Rutt stood up. He was big—well over six feet. He had muscle too, and bulk besides that. He was walking over, and a few of his gang were following. Then, of course, there were the others getting up to surround them.
Bars all had rules—some spoken, some unspoken. One such unspoken rule was that if a bar had a champion, they had to defend their title against any challenger. Another unspoken rule was that challengers did not have to be willing—just big enough to look threatening.
Rutt stepped up to their table with a few of his friends, who spread out, forming a ring with the other bar dwellers that wanted to see a fight.
“So you think you’re the boss here?” he asked.
Kiya stood up. “Listen, Rutt, there’s been a few misunderstandings. First, my friend’s a woman. The second is, she isn’t the boss.”
Rutt glared past Kiya to Tressa, who still had her hood up. The crowd started booing around them. Rutt smiled and said, “Man or girl don’t matter. A person that big comes in here, then they’re looking to challenge.”
Kiya was shaking her head. She had promised to keep their group out of trouble and intended to do so.
“No. We’re just leaving. Tressa, get up, we’re going,” Kiya said.
Rutt grinned. “You can leave when I throw you out!”
Tressa stood up. The crowd went silent when she rose to her full height of eight and a half feet.
Rutt, standing about two feet shorter than Tressa, suddenly seemed less enthusiastic about fighting. He looked around at his bar fellows. Some were slowly backing away, but the majority were still jeering him on. That brought his confidence back.
“Ain’t none that tall. Bet he’s standin’ on a chair,” said a man as he ran up and pulled Tressa’s cloak.
It didn’t exactly fall free of her body, but it did slip off her head as one side fell free while the other stuck fast.
The crowd all stepped back. Standing there was an eight-and-a-half-foot minotaur with red eyes, brown fur, and brown hair tied into a braid. She didn’t wear armor, but thick leather pelts for a shirt and skirt. It looked like every inch of her was solid muscle. A huge double-bladed axe rested easily on her back.
Rutt did not want to fight anymore—not against an actual monster. He also understood that Kiya just wanted to leave. So he had a way out. He tried to save face by saying, “I’ll let you leave, but you’ll buy me and my boys a pint for comin’ into my bar!”
Kiya knew the game. She held up her hands in defeat and acceptance of his terms.
That’s when Bellithandra walked up with three tankards of ale. She set them on the table and pushed one to Kiya, then one to Tressa.
“Bellie, what are you doing?” Kiya asked.
“Bellie, I don’t think I should be—” Tressa started.
“Ah! Don’t. You’re gonna want to drink that in one big gulp, Cowgirl,” Bellie explained. “Now drink it!”
Tressa had never heard Bellie sound so serious. She took up the ale and gulped it down in a single swallow. The minotaur made a face and began spitting on the floor. The crowd began to laugh.
Bellie looked to Kiya. “I heard everything. Drink your ale, and we can get moving.”
Kiya shrugged. She knew the game. She could pay for the drinks and leave. That was what any smart person would do.
“So this is what we’re doing,” she said, then she threw back her drink.
Then Bellie threw back hers.
Then Bellithandra Sparklefoot jumped up and smashed her tankard into Rutt’s face.
The big man stumbled and fell backward.
Bellie threw up both of her middle fingers, yelling, “BAR FIGHT, BITCHES!”
The room exploded into motion. Kiya backstepped, then kicked the thug behind her in his chin. She spun to throw her empty tankard into the face of another man. One of the bar thugs tried to grab her from behind, but she hammered her elbow into the base between his neck and collarbone, dropping him to the ground.
Bellie rolled over the table and dropped forward, clotheslining the drunk that was still in her seat. “Don’t ever park your ass in the headliner’s seat, ya bastard!” she yelled.
She didn’t stop there. The dwarf stomped on a man’s foot before punching him in the gut. Then she grabbed him by the back of his britches and his collar. Using him as a battering ram, she ran him headfirst into the balls of the next biggest thug in the brawl. When the big man slumped, he got a face full of Bellie’s forehead as she grabbed him by the ears and pulled him down into a headbutt.
Tressa closed her eyes, covered her mouth, and shuffled from foot to foot. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?” she panicked.
Rutt got back to his feet and surveyed the room. The dwarf that had sucker-punched him was fighting like a back-alley brawler. The human woman he had been negotiating with was dropping men with single strikes like a professional fighter. But the minotaur was acting like a coward. She hadn’t moved and looked like she might just bolt for the door. So Rutt grabbed the table and hefted it over his head.
“SHIT! TRESSA, MOVE!” Kiya screamed as she kneed a man in the side of his temple.
“COWGIRL, WATCH OUT!” Bellie yelled as she scrambled up after suplexing one of the thugs.
Tressa opened her eyes at her friends’ warnings and screamed when she saw the table in the air. Rutt brought the table down on her head. The big girl went down under the weight of the blow, and the table settled unbroken atop her.
The crowd cheered. Some began chanting, “Rutt! Rutt! Rutt! Rutt! Rutt!”
The bar champion raised his arms in the air and flexed his biceps. He began spinning a slow circle. He saw the dwarf looking stunned. He saw the human woman looking at him with wide eyes. Then he noticed that the cheering had stopped.
“You hit me with a table?” Tressa asked.
Rutt turned to see the minotaur standing up with the table held out in one hand. Then she swung it sideways, hitting him and sending him flying to slam into the wall. When he smacked off the stone, he landed on his feet, dazed and stumbling backward. Tressa, still holding the table in one hand, walked over to the bar champion and lifted him up. She set the table down and drove the man right through it and into the floor.
The room went silent.
Kiya took that moment to grab both Bellie and Tressa so she could pull them out of the bar. Once they were outside, the three started running down the street. When they were safely a few blocks away, they stopped and caught their breath.
“I’m sorry!” Tressa cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but he hit me with a table!”
“Don’t apologize, girl! He was the one that picked a fight!” Kiya said.
“She can lift a bar table with one arm and cries when she beats down an asshole? Yeah, she’s gonna fit in just fine!” Bellie laughed.
“Come on. The others are probably done and waiting for us,” Kiya said as she patted Tressa on the shoulder.
“Do you think they’ll be mad that I got us in a fight?” Tressa asked.
“Nah,” Bellie said.
“Nope. Bellithandra started the fight—you just finished it. She’s the one they’ll be mad at,” Kiya said.
Bellie just laced her fingers under her chin, batted her eyes, and smiled. “Ain’t I a scamp!”