Love and Cold Winds: Part Two

    Lym'rothlin Badgerheart (Also know as Lym to his friends and lovers) had heard and sung songs of heroes of happenstance using their wit or dumb luck to accomplish their goal. The handsome halfling had no idea he would ever find a living soul that would have both aspects wrapped in a uniquely eye-catching package such as Vort. 
    Norra was a hunter down to her core, born and raised in the dense Novera Forest. She knew how to track, hunt, and even cast a little magic to give her arrows and knives enough of an impact on monstrous beasts. Caution and distance had been her only companions 'till a boy with storm colored hair saved her from the club of a berserk minotaur, and so the wood elf swore a life debt to him.
    Their reasons aside, over the year of travelling and performing feats to gain a decent reputation, the three found themselves becoming fast friends. And while they decided things by diplomacy, Vort's cheerfully chaotic disposition often led them down very interesting roads. In this particular instance it had led them to the human settlement of Parnattha on the edge of Garr'thd's Swamp.
    Within this particular town was a Tavern (non) ironically called The Slippery Fish. Garn found himself sitting in a back booth with Vort and aforementioned company. His prospects of ale-powered flirting was dashed as he looked between the chipper bard and the ranger oozing stoicism out of her green cloak. Vort had sat himself right next to Garn while the height-apposed duo sat opposite of them. Lym had just finished regaling everyone within ear shot of the perilous tale of how the party got its name, The Happy Accidents.
    "Well...An excellent song." Garn finally said. The halfling stood on his seat and bowed, eliciting a smattering of applause from nearby patrons. To think this all stemmed from the harmless question of, "So, who are you?"
    "Anyway," Norra said, "Lets just cut to the chaise. We need a fourth member to get into the higher levels and you're the best option for miles."
    This was not the first time the dragonborn had heard this line. Once he left his little village and started making a splash in his newfound profession, a representative of the nearest local guild (The Hardy Serpent) came to fill him in on the way of the world while attempting to recruit him.
    In times long past past the five great heroes of old formed the first guilds to combat the evil sweeping across the land. The High Guilds are those guilds which follow the highest orders of the High King and the Collective Kingdoms. From each region they oversee the Lesser Guilds, those formed by seasoned adventures to tackle greater challenges and tasks with all the benefits involved. Further segmenting this are Parties, smaller bands of adventures who are either in a guild or trying to get into one. There are also Mercenaries, those who prefer the independence away from the political  and cutthroat practices guilds tend to accumulate in their ranks.
    Any adventurer also had a Level, which was a short hand for their experience and prowess, and depending on the guild the process of leveling up could have been stupidly easy or easily frustrating. Garn happily skipped all this nonsense and marked himself as 'Mercenary, not taking requests'.
    So, why would he even hear them out now? One could blame the small man with storm colored hair that bitch slapped him into a wall. He of course would not admit that to himself or anyone else.
    "I don't know, what's in it for me?" Garn finally said.
    "A chance to actually be challenged again." Vort spoke up, "Plus, the money isn't half bad!"
    Garn blinked and looked down at the smiling human. Given he was the one who bitch slapped him an hour ago this sentence out of context would have been condescending. However the sheer sincerity it was spoken with, combined with a very honest assessment, Garn had begun to feel ever so slightly bored with his lot in life. He had left his home village to experience the world, and only took the job to hone his sword skills and get some gold for himself.
    Given the mediocre challengers he was put up against, he was made into the child with the biggest stick in the age old game of 'don't hit me with that'. He was tempted to say no to them much like the other parties and guilds that had attempted to recruit him, but he was more tempted to say yes (definitely not from the silly flight of having a crush, how dare you imply that?).
    "Alright," he said finally after the correct amount of tension built. "I'm in."
    "Yes!" Vort shouted joyfully. "Drinks are on me!"
    The whole party cheered, and proceeded to partake in the age old adventuring bonding experience; Becoming amazingly drunk and rowdy for the rest of the night.