Keylynn cringed at the spores that fell on the finished Complete Assessment Report Form G—Guild. She should get up from her desk and set it on Dauven’s desk, making it officially no longer her responsibility. As members of the Royal Assessment Department and Adventurer Welfare Council, their job was to ensure the safety of adventurers throughout their curated journey to herodom. The department’s mission statement is to prevent a failed or bored hero from becoming the next Big Bad Evil Person to plague their land.

  She shook off the bright yellow spores released from the puff shroom colony currently residing in her hair. She cringed seeing the bright yellow spores smear and stain the crisp white paper. Great, now Dauven will expect to find something wrong with her assessment. He already won’t be thrilled that there was another death during her assessment, but the cause of death will likely give him pause. ‘Cause of death: Refusal to sign form 3C—willful rejection of assessment recommendations’ following the previous guild master’s, which she knew just long enough to note it in her CAR-G.

  Through her bond to her fungal colonies, they were all highly sensitive to her emotions. Their reactions were often to protect her, in the best way a fungus can, from the source of her strong emotions. Unfortunately, fungi don’t understand most emotions, let alone the anxieties of working in a corporate office, such as informing Dauven of yet another death on the job. Her puff shrooms are prone to release mildly toxic spores, the yellow induced a deep, restful sleep that her fellow assessors of the Humanoid Resources Department always needed.

  Perhaps she should tell the HR department head, Grief the minotaur, that she was feeling under the soil before Dauven came looking for her late paperwork. Peering over her cubicle partitions, she saw nearly all of her nearby coworkers, Grief included, were sleeping soundly at their desks. She sat down, seeing a new clod of dirt on her desk. Letting out a sigh, she helped one of her worms down to the loamy soil. “There you are, Wyrm. You are always so kind to the puff spores.”

  “Do you have the…” Dauven’s voice startled her. The clod of dirt grew thousands of small, white, hair-like feet, grabbed her assessment, and slid it under the soil, hiding it from his view. She hoped he didn’t notice. “When you can bid the puffs adieu, it will be a blessed day of celebration.”

  In response to his words, three magnificent fruiting bodies blossomed from her hair. Puff shrooms grow into large, round, white balls that release spores in a big puff, like a large exhale from vents all along their tops. The flesh of the puff shroom swells and puffs while it’s being eaten, making it a delightful snack that most in the office are hesitant to sample.

  She coughed a couple of times, pausing at the mycelium network spreading across her hand slowly. Her colonies were trying to soothe her racing heart and sweaty, slick palms. “I was just about to…” she paused, her words becoming a jumble of elven. Clenching her jaw, the puff shrooms puffed out both yellow and orange spores in her mind. “Acquire your presence.” She simplified translation to words filling her mind. Her word salad was not what she needed at this moment.

  Dauven raised his eyebrow suspiciously, eyeing her pile of soil now sprouting several different mushroom species. "I acquired your presence to request your CAR subclass G." His clipboard hovered beside him with a pen at the ready. Wizards of his calibre are above holding their own clipboards.

  “I am unable to submit it. I am feeling the common human expression under the loamy surface.” She used her professional voice for when she conducts assessments with a mixture of an under-the-loamy-surface Eugene. She has no plans to go as far as he does to leave the office early. Once he was able to negotiate an entire week of paid absences from the office by emptying his stomach contents on Grief.

  “You mean under the weather,” Dauven told her gently.

  Keylynn frowned. That didn’t sound right. She was certain that Eugene said, 'Under the loamy surface.' “That doesn’t make sense. Everyone is under the weather.”

  Dauven gave her a shrug. “That’s the phrase. It was originally used by sailors to signify they were going below decks to hide from the weather.”

  Eugene must have misspoke as he often does to poke fun at her. She’s seen as odd; first, she’s a forest elf, an uncommon sight in an office, and she’s often covered in moss, dirt and mushrooms. She hoped he woke up with a pounding headache like when he consumed too much fermented fruit juices.

  “In all the time I’ve known you, even when we ventured up north of the FrostMaiden, you have never been sick. Whatever you have now must be deadly.” Dauven stated giving her a stern look.

  She coughed again. Perhaps she should empty her stomach contents on Dauven if only she knew how. “I know I shouldn’t have come in with my highly lethal, deadly pathogen.” She looked down and watched her fungal colonies in her desk reach out with their hyphae to uncover her report.

  “It appears your desk has grown paperwork, impressive,” he mused playfully. “With that deadly pathogen and all.”

  “It was worth a chance. Everyone uses sick days, especially Eugene. Not once do I get the same. I should be rewarded for all the days I don’t miss from the overconsumption of fermented fruit juices,” she huffed angrily, feeling a slime mould rapidly grow up her arm. Hardening as it went, it formed a protective shell as sturdy and thick as insectoid chitin.

  Dauven reached for the completed CAR-G form on her desk and dusted it off, gently removing the yellow stain. “I have filed several complaints on your behalf. Corporate has stated sick days are for being sick and refuses to redefine the definition for those who are unable to get sick. I suggested allowing an accumulation of sick days to be converted into vacation days, but they wouldn’t have it. They feared it would be a motivator for people to come in when they are sick.” He explained, aggravated, as his eyes scanned her assessment.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Did you stipulate sick day conversion is used for those who are unable to get sick, like the entire disciplinary department?” The disciplinary department is run by paladins whose oaths align with corporate standard operating procedures and code of conduct. Keylynn was sure they read every memo and addendum as if they were sacred texts.

  “I did. No one in the disciplinary department has ever taken a vacation day,” he countered, turning the page of her file. Any moment now he will read the line about the dead guild master.

  She chewed her lip nervously, and her puff shrooms puffed out a mixture of spores: red, yellow and orange. The orange ones cause numbness and loss of motor control upon contact, while the red ones cause searing pain where they touch. If they remain in contact long enough, they burrow their way through flesh. She’s been told it’s terribly painful, and she wishes she could experience it.

  The spores swirled around Dauven as an invisible presence kept them from touching him. He looked up at her, looked back at the report, and then back at her. He found the death of what’s-his-name guild master. May his soul find peace and his body provide much-needed nutrients to the world around him.

  “Please tell me this is a clerical error.”

  She tilted her head slightly. Why would he ask if a cleric was harmed or failed during her assessment? “To the best of my knowledge, I can assure you there was no cleric involved, harmed, or otherwise.” Unless the guild master was a cleric, she did omit their matrix scan and class designation.

  “Can you explain how refusing to sign a form results in death?”

  “Oh, that,” she nodded in understanding. “Yes,” she nodded, “I can see your confusion. I did omit his matrix scan and class designation. It was my error, an inquisitor error, if you will. I will rectify this by ensuring I don’t make the same careless mistake in the future. My apologies for my absentmindedness.” She rambled, hoping he won’t remember this. She loathed doing the matrix scans and avoided them as much as possible. She often simply asked or inferred class designations.

  He massaged his temples and let out a deep sigh out of his nose, flaring his nostrils. He was irate now. His nostrils only flared when he was irate. “How does his refusing to sign a form result in his death?” He asked, lifting his head and looking her in the eye. She saw his cold fury in his smoky grey eyes.

  Her chitinous slime mould spread across her chest forming a hardened shell. Pressing a hand gently on the hardened slime, she thanked it for its care and asked it to return to its slumber, for she is in no real danger here. Dauven, as irate as he is, won’t be harming her. He will most certainly be irate.

  She sucked in a deep calming breath and slowly let it out. “On the list of my recommendations to reduce loss of adventurer life was the removal of a mimic that resided in guest room 421.” She was grateful for her brown slime mould supplementing her memory. Exact details were crucial in moments like these. “I was informed by what’s-his-name that there was no such vermin in his establishment. An insulting label for a mimic and entirely false. However, I let it be.” She paused to suck in another calming breath. The ignorance of the guild master was astounding. “I invited him to prove it to me. So he did. He entered the room, and then the mimic ate him.” She left out the part where she provided aid to the mimic in the ingestion of the guildmaster. There was only so much Dauven’s human heart could handle. “I then followed loss of life protocol and relocated the mimic.” The mimic now lived in her backyard and was thriving. Technically speaking, she should have acted to terminate the mimic even though it was only guilty of being hungry. It felt wrong to kill a creature that she fed.

  “Stop killing people on your solo assessments.” Dauven sounded defeated. She had never seen him sound so deflated and tired. There had to be something more to his mood than another death on the job. This one isn't even entirely her fault, unlike the last time when she discovered a fatal bee allergy. What is festering in his mind?

  “I will attempt a more diplomatic means first.” But should that fail, she will resume finding a means to not directly end anyone’s life. That, as she was informed, is murder. Murder is very much against corporate policy. Furthermore, if it's determined that her emotional regulation is the cause, she would have to sit through their anger management program. Again.

  “When was the last time you accessed and reviewed your matrix?” He asked with an abrupt change in tone.

  “I’m not sure.” She paused, trying to recall the last time that she had accessed her matrix. She had slug shrooms at that point, or was it the spiral shrooms? “I always forget. It’s not that important.” She waved it off. It was a series of menus, numbers and confusing language. What did she need a skill tree network for? Why would she track skill point growth? They accumulate naturally; why should she monitor their growth? Besides, she’s not an adventurer who is eager to develop a new ultimate spell or attack.

  “Excellent.” He chirped like a happy bird dining on the best worm of the day. That is never good. “I think you need a refresher on your training. You can resume active duty when you have completed your training module."

  She glowered at him and felt firepot shelf mushrooms sprout down her arms towards her hands. She shook them away, she will not be setting her boss and friend on fire. “Again so soon?”

  His smirk brought to mind a cat who finally caught the mouse. “Yes. You need the refresher on the importance of your matrix, and you might even gain a qualification or two.”

  It was his second comment that had her pulling out her training notebook, which holds most of the answers needed for the quizzes at the end of every training video. He wanted her to gain at least one new qualification, but why? What was going on that he wasn’t saying?

  “You are in luck, I have been wanting a paid vacation.” She stood up from her desk.

  “Don’t forget your comms device.” He placed it in her hand before he left the annex, probably to go pester Barnibus. She glowered down at her comms device before sliding the bane of her existence in her pocket. The touch screen loathed her. Without the aid of her hyphae, she wouldn’t be able to use it at all.

  She sat at one of the three training computers in the training room that was within the Humanoid Resources annex. HR was charged with training all new hires and reminding current staff of their training. Another reason they are the ghouls of the office and Gary, the actual ghoul.

  She logged into the computer with her employee number and password, ignoring the notification that she was due to change her password. She will deal with that later.

  She selected the first training module, ‘Welcome to the Royal Assessment Department and Council,’ and leaned back in her chair. First she will learn all about how fulfilling of a career she has chosen and what an engaging journey she is about to go on. Next she will be learning all about the cogs of the machine, every internal department that worked behind the scenes to make the RADAWC run as smoothly as it does.

  Her comms device chimed when she started the video series that focused on teamwork. She checked her comms while a video played. She listened absently to how there is no I in team and how teamwork makes the dream work.

  Dauven: Team meeting in Meeting Room 54B, five minutes. MANDATORY

  Gwen: I’ll bring the cookies! Do we need anything else?

  B and B: We need at least ten minutes.

  Dauven: I needed your dungeon assessment three days ago, you will attend this meeting in five minutes.