The streets of Rivermere were buzzing with life as Ren and his group made their way to the Adventurer's Guild.
Merchants yelled about their "best deals in town," and the smell of fresh bread almost made Skorn stop for a snack. But the guild building stood tall and impressive, pulling them forward with its big emblem of crossed swords gleaming in the morning light.
Ren shoved open the heavy doors, which creaked like they hadn't been oiled in years. Inside, the place was packed. Adventurers swarmed around the quest board, talking over each other in a mix of excitement and confusion. The usual smells of leather, ink, and someone's leftover ale hung in the air,
"What's with the commotion? Did they announce a free buffet or something?" Skorn muttered, craning his neck to see past the throng of people.
Talos adjusted his glasses, trying to make out the writing on the poster pinned at the center of the board. "No, it seems to be...a competition?"
Ren elbowed his way through the crowd, glancing back at the others with a smirk. "Test of strength, accuracy, and teamwork," he read aloud. "Looks like Rivermere's got some creative ways to keep adventurers busy."
Olivia raised an eyebrow as she peeked over Ren's shoulder. "Strength, accuracy, and teamwork? Sounds like a challenge to me."
Skorn scratched his chin, his tail flicking with excitement. "Finally, something to break the monotony of caravan guarding. Think they'll let me throw boulders?"
Talos squinted harder at the poster. "It says the winners receive a special artifact from the city's vault. Sounds like it could be valuable."
Ren's sarcastic tone cut in. "Valuable? It's probably just a rusty dagger that some noble used to slice bread once."
The group laughed, but Olivia's eyes lingered on the mention of a 'teamwork' test. "This might be a good way to see how well we function together under pressure," she suggested.
"Or how quickly we drive each other insane," Skorn quipped, grinning at Talos, who immediately launched into a long-winded explanation about ancient Rivermere competitions tradition.
Ren rolled his eyes, tuning out Talos' monologue. "Alright, fine. Let's sign up," he said, waving a hand dismissively.
The crowd parted slightly as they moved to register for the event, a mixture of excitement and nerves settling over the group. Something about this competition felt like more than just a simple test of skill— it was tradition, tradition of Rivermere,
Rivermere had a reputation, and it wasn't just for its bustling markets or scenic rivers—it was for its obsession with competitions. The locals didn't just enjoy them; they lived for them. Every year, the city hosted countless events where strength, skill, and strategy were put to the test, and the whole town would gather to watch, cheer, and sometimes even place bets.
The tradition dated back thousands of years to Rivermere's legendary founder, a man whose name was etched in every history book: Lord Caedric Rivermere. He wasn't just a warrior—he was the warrior, a man who single-handedly defeated demons and carved out a safe haven in the wilderness. A city rose from his victories, and with it, his legacy.
Caedric was as respected for his wisdom as he was feared for his prowess in battle. He had a good heart, but his one true love—besides protecting his people—was a good fight. If a border skirmish broke out, Caedric was the first to charge in, leading his troops with a grin and a battle cry.
When he finally retired, the restless warrior didn't fade quietly into the background. Instead, he started a tradition: competitions where people could hone their skills, challenge each other, and celebrate the art of combat. It was his way of keeping Rivermere's spirit alive and making sure the people always stayed sharp—while having fun doing it.
"He was a battle maniac," the locals often joked, though they said it with pride. His love for fighting wasn't just about winning; it was about the thrill, the camaraderie, and the stories told afterward.
And so, the tradition continued, passed down through generations. To this day, Rivermere's competitions weren't just events—they were a celebration of the city's identity, a way to honor their founder's legacy.
"That's one hell of history if you asked me"
Ren strolled up to the clerk's desk with his usual air of casual curiosity. "Hey there, just saw the poster. What's the deal with this competition? What's the catch? Do I have to arm wrestle a dragon or something?"
The clerk, a seasoned worker who looked like they'd seen every kind of adventurer, raised an eyebrow. "It's a team competition. You'll need at least three people. If you don't have a team, you can recruit members and then sign up."
Ren glanced back at his group, who were huddled together—Olivia looking calm, Skorn cracking his knuckles, and Talos, predictably, adjusting his glasses like he was about to lecture someone. "Recruit? Nah, we're already a team. The official team." He grinned. "Just look at us: the grumpy knight, the healer who never misses a beat, the walking encyclopedia, and... well, me. A flawless unit of chaos."
Olivia raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."
The clerk smirked. "As long as you think you can work together without blowing each other up, you're good to go. Feel free to ask if you need more details."
"Noted," Ren said, taking the form the clerk handed him.
"Alright, team, let's show them what official team looks like."
Ren held up the form dramatically, like he'd just uncovered some ancient prophecy. "Alright, folks, the competition starts tomorrow afternoon. Are you ready to become legends? Or at least mildly entertaining failures?"
Skorn stretched his arms, a confident smirk on his face. "Legends, obviously. I mean, look at me. I'm already halfway there."
Talos adjusted his glasses. "Technically, the term 'legend' implies a story passed down through generations. I doubt we'll—"
"Talos," Ren cut him off with a deadpan expression. "I need you to save the lecture of legends for when we're famous."
Ren turned to Olivia. "What about you, Olivia? Ready to crush it?"
She smiled warmly. "Of course. I'll make sure you don't hurt yourselves too much."
"Great," Ren said, clapping his hands. "This is gonna be fine. Totally fine. What could possibly go wrong?"
Skorn raised a finger. "Do you want the list alphabetically or by likelihood?"
Ren waved him off. "Don't ruin the mood. We're doing this. Tomorrow, chaos becomes art."
--
The group spent the rest of the evening preparing for the competition—or at least, pretending to. Skorn was busy "warming up" by arm-wrestling random passersby in the guild hall. Talos sat cross-legged in a corner, scribbling notes and muttering calculations about strategy and probability. Olivia, ever calm, helped Ren skim through the form's fine print.
"Did you see this part?" Ren pointed to a section. "Teams may face unexpected challenges. Translation: 'We're throwing you to the wolves, good luck.'"
"Sounds about right," Skorn quipped, slamming another challenger's hand down onto the table. "Also, if there are literal wolves, call me. I'm great with wolves."
Talos raised an eyebrow. "That's oddly specific."
"Not as specific as your map of wind currents you're sketching for a competition that's probably just gonna involve punching things," Skorn shot back.
"Planning is key," Talos replied, pushing up his glasses. "If we're unprepared, we could—"
"Lose?" Ren interrupted, smirking. "Yeah, thanks for the motivational speech. Remind me to hire you as my personal life coach."
Olivia chuckled softly and placed a hand on Ren's shoulder. "You'll all do fine. Just don't overthink it, Ren. Sometimes strength comes from instinct, not strategy."
Ren glanced at her, thoughtful for a moment. "You know, you might be onto something. Or you're just setting us up for disaster."
The guild hall began to quiet down as night crept closer. The group decided to head back to the inn to rest.
As they walked, Skorn couldn't resist throwing in one last jab. "So, team leader, what's the plan for tomorrow? Should I just carry all of you to victory?"
Ren rolled his eyes. "If you mean literally carrying us, I'll pass. Your biceps are already inflated enough."
The banter carried on until they reached the inn, where they finally decided to call it a night.
Tomorrow, chaos awaited—and this time, it was organized chaos.