Cherreads

Chapter 5 - Opening the Job Board

The Tipsy Kobold was an absolute sensory overload—a wall of noise, ale fumes, and what could charitably be called "authentic tavern atmosphere." I was basically a ghost at knee-level, weaving through the forest of wooden tables and chair legs like I was navigating some kind of social stealth mission.

I spotted an empty stool at the bar and executed what was probably the least dignified mount animation ever, hopping up and waiting patiently for the NPC bartender to notice me. The burly man eventually registered my presence, looking down with mild confusion.

"Can I help you, little one?"

"I have business regarding Gorvok the Slayer," I said, switching to full Ellolia voice mode. The clear, authoritative tone cut through the nearby chatter like a blade.

Some absolute mouth-breather at a nearby table immediately started griefing. "Gorvok? That little thing's gonna take on Gorvok? What're you gonna do, bite his ankles?"

His table erupted in the kind of braindead laughter that reminded me why I kept chat moderated. My hand instinctively moved to Moonglaive's hilt. Professionalism, Reya. Don't get baited by trolls in real life just like you don't get baited online.

I slowly turned my head and locked onto the loudmouth with the kind of dead-eyed stare I reserved for the worst chat degenerates. When I spoke, my voice was flat and cold as winter.

"My village was burnt to the ground. Gorvok's men saw to that."

The laughter died like someone had unplugged their microphones. The entire mood shift was so abrupt you could practically hear the record scratch. I turned back to the bartender, pulling out a small but heavy coin pouch from my robes—currency I'd liberated from Akselondt's collection—and dropped it on the counter with a solid thunk that commanded attention.

"I am hiring," I announced, my voice carrying through the now-attentive silence. Time to open up the job board and see who wanted in on this raid. "Target: Gorvok the Slayer and his Iron Hand organization. The only qualification is that you have a personal grudge against them. I'm paying for intel, for distractions, and for able bodies to assist in coordinated strikes. Payment upon contract completion. Who here has been personally griefed by the Iron Hand?"

The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a crescent blade. Then, slowly, like players finally working up the courage to join a high-level raid, people started speaking up.

A grizzled dwarf with a face that looked like it had been through a cheese grater rose from a corner table. "Bastards hijacked a shipment of my clan's premium steel. Three months of work, gone."

An older human woman who'd been nursing her ale like it contained the secrets of the universe spoke up, voice trembling with barely contained rage. "They took my son. Sixteen years old."

One by one, others found their voices—a trapper whose land they'd seized, a merchant they'd bankrupted, a farmer whose family they'd scattered. They were basically a guild of people with nothing left to lose. In gaming terms, they were desperate enough to attempt content way above their recommended level.

Perfect.

"Excellent," I said, maintaining full character. "I will be conducting a solo infiltration mission to locate their primary target. I require a coordinated distraction at their main encampment in exactly two days. Those interested in getting paid for creating maximum chaos, meet me at the west gate at dawn tomorrow for mission details and role assignments."

I hopped off the stool with as much dignity as a four-foot-tall person could muster, leaving the coin pouch on the bar as proof that this wasn't some elaborate troll attempt.

Walking out, I couldn't help but think about how different this was from streaming. Online, I managed a community. Here, I was recruiting mercenaries for what was basically a revenge quest with real-world consequences.

I didn't need a party for this. I needed contractors. And I had just posted the most legitimate quest on the board.

Time to see who was actually willing to commit to the bit.

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