And because I was bored tonight, I present "so how did Quille's signing up go?"

[hider]
For guild receptionist Ervan Seliac, it had been a slow day. There had been the usual early morning rush of junior adventurers picking up the local tasks but on a rainy day like this things tended to be quiet, and the quiet, bookish man was never the most popular of the receptionists to go up to. Fine by him – it gave more time to catch up on his studies: they could always use more healers and it paid much better than manning the desks.

With the polished tile approaching the counters and the well-lit main hall, it was easy to tell when someone was coming, even with his nose buried in a textbook. There was just a distracting drip, drip, drip…

When he looked up and adjusted his glasses, there [i]was[/i] someone standing there, an awkward-looking figure with a slight frown marring what was visible of her features. An elf, [i]obviously[/i] an elf with those long ears, figure swallowed under a rough, leathery mantle, the drip coming from the rain pooling off of her cloak.

“Ah… how can I help you?” How long had she been standing there waiting? Ervan leant forward slightly to try and gauge from the size of the puddle. That long? How had she crept up?

Her response was a quiet murmur. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that.”

“The guard have advised me to become an adventurer. The magistrate gave me this,” her voice was still soft and distinctly accented, but a pale hand carefully emerged and placed a sealed scroll on the desk.

Ervan took his time checking and breaking the seal before reading the contents – nothing unusual, dock a fraction of the bearer’s pay as fines, or report back to the authorities if they quit early – and tried to ignore the way her eyes seemed to constantly bore into the top of his head. 

“This all seems to be in order. There’s some paperwork and an assessment to complete, if you don’t mind following me, miss…?”

“Quille.”

The short trip through to one of the guild offices, normally overboard for a simple onboarding but necessary with the additional legal complexities, was unnerving. More than once, the receptionist felt the need to stop and check that she was following, only to find the tall figure exactly one pace behind. It was just too silent.

Most of the paperwork was simple: name, agreeing to the pay garnishment, and so on. When it came to skills…

“We’d normally start any newcomers at copper rank, but if you have any prior experience or applicable skills, we can take that into account and arrange an assessment,” he explained, giving her a smile.

“I am a hunter,” there was a definitive tone that hadn’t been present in her previous answers.

“Ah, like deer? Or perhaps elk, maybe mammoths…?” Ervan clarified. She [i]had[/i] been apprehended for poaching, and it was clearer in the office’s magical illumination that her heritage was of the northern folk. Definitely not a complete novice, but…

“When visiting the surface. I normally hunt anything beneath it, but I like [i]karakmeli[/i] the best.”

“That would be…?” 

“I think the translation is… rock eater?” Quille dug about beneath her cloak and carefully placed a cleaver on the table. The blade was odd, with a distinct metallic gleam to it despite being otherwise a creamy ivory; the blade and handle were carved from a single piece, leather roughly wrapped around it to provide more grip, “Teeth are better than steel for blades, very long lasting. But hard to work with.”

That was not a creature that he had realised could exist – one where a single tooth could be reworked into such a sizeable implement with a ready cutting edge. Definitely skilled enough for monster-hunting work, if that was Quille’s [i]normal[/i] prey, but they would need a full assessment.

“I’ll see who we have available to test your skills.”

[hr] 

The assessment was easy to arrange; the Venne branch always had a few silver ranks hanging around and even a gold-ranked adventurer today, and they were happy to give up a little bit of time in exchange for some free drinks later. Despite the weather, they filed out to a nearby common, a few bored city folk lining up to watch what was going on.

When Quille shucked her cloak, one of the adventurers let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of knives.”

But nothing really in the way of armour, which went some way to explain the hunter’s silent movement… even if the knives ought to offset it somehow. 

As a self-professed stealth specialist, the direct test of her combat ability was postponed, starting with an actual test of those stealth capabilities. One or two at a time acting as prey, while the others performed as examiners – and a mage they had wrangled doing her best to fake some cover or interesting features without ruining the common beyond their ability to restore.

The results were odd. Quille’s skills were clearly polished, refined, and tracking her was a veritable headache; if she started in someone’s blindspot it was very hard to catch a glimpse. But she’d get caught out by the oddest things. A novice might not notice the sudden crunch of leaves or the snap of a twig, or the slight hint of a shadow when the sun started to come out, but the more experienced adventurers in this rank could reliably pick it up in time. 

When the roles were swapped, there were similar oddities, occasions where she might instantly pinpoint where someone was approaching from, but have to take longer to narrow it down when the terrain was open or muffled wood. Not a problem for your average expedition, but in a high ranked one…

There was a frustrated cast once again to Quille’s brow when they concluded after the combat assessment – her knife fighting skills, at least, were much above the expectation for a stealth specialist concentrating on instant takedowns, although much of that was a slipperiness and difficulty in pinning the woman down rather than out-and-out engagement.  

“Does your guild have a large basement?” 

Ervan scratched his head. It had several – there was lots to store, even if you only counted the beer and wine cellars. “It does, why?”

“One more test. There, in the dark.”

All the odd flaws finally came together once – after a promise of another round of drinks – the assessment was repeated, down there amongst the wine racks. It wasn’t completely perfect; they didn’t have an equally subterranean group to really contest her, only old Hjalmar. But with much more controlled light sources, or true darkness, and no [i]plants[/i]…

Ervan’s wallet suffered at the [i]extra[/i] round of drinks he’d had to pay out to make sure his girly scream was forgotten.

The strange, quiet elf was admitted to the guild as a steel rank that evening, as many of the usual crowd as possible making sure to buy her drinks and get to know her.

Against alcohol, she barely even rated a copper.
[/hider]

as for how recent this was… probably a few days ago from whenever we start the RP? She's gotten over the hangover now. xd