The guildhall was everything Nyssa had expected and more.

  Vast and spacious, with high ceilings supported by thick stone columns, and a main floor that stretched out before them like a small city square filled with the bustling activity of professional adventurers conducting their businesses.

  She was the wolf in sheep's clothing, the fox in the henhouse, the zombie in the orphanage.

  A substantial bar dominated the far wall, its polished wood surface gleaming under the light of magelight lanterns. Behind it, shelves lined with bottles of various spirits reached toward the ceiling, tended by a burly dwarven man with a braided red beard and the prettiest twinkling eyes.

  A temple of food sat steaming in a dining area sprawled in front of the bar, filled with long wooden tables and private booths where parties of adventurers gathered in their stages of planning, celebration, and recovery. Thick was the air with conversation and laughter, heated debates prickling Nyssa's ears over treasure splits and approaches to quests.

  In one corner, a bard strummed a lute while a group of warriors sang along in slurred unbecoming phrases about a smitten dragon and a princess with a penchant for large men.

  Things had changed so much since her last foray to the realm of the truly capable — and yet — things had stayed much the same.

  Only one thing mattered here: hunger. Gold or glory. If one was not hungry, then this was not the place for them. Amithaera could respect the adventurer mindset.

  Hells, she had been one herself once upon a life.

  Her eyes met the hanging banners clinging from every available surface above, displaying the heraldry of dozens of smaller guilds and adventuring companies. Some Nyssa recognized from her intelligence gathering over the years: The Spear Hawks, The Luminary Knights, The Scarlet Somethings of Something or Other.

  She looked to the trainer as they moved through the small crowd, noticing that they were well-known in this space. Adventurers called out greetings, or raised their tankards in acknowledgment, or simply nodded respectfully as she passed. The woman seemed to have a good reputation.

  "Lyanne!" A grizzled fighter called out from one of the booths, "Training another lamb for slaughter?"

  "Just showin’ her round, Kris." Lyanne called back, rolling her eyes and looking back at Nyssa with a wink. The exchange drew chuckles from nearby tables, though Nyssa noticed more than a few adventurers giving her appraising looks. Some were curious, others were landing their sights on her appearance, and a few were sizing her up as she passed their male partners.

  "Quite the sight, eh?" Lyanne asked, clearly enjoying Nyssa's wide-eyed examination of the scene, "This is where the real business gets done. Not like those milk runs posted outside."

  “Mm,” is all Nyssa got out as they continued.

  The trainer led them to a section near the back of the hall where a much larger notice board dominated the wall. This one was easily three times the size of the public board outside, packed with postings that made the goblin clearing jobs look like childish games.

  "Here we go." Lyanne said, gesturing expansively and dramatically at the display, "The real bounties. The jobs that separate the wheat from the chaff."

  The hunters from the prey.

  Nyssa's eyes scanned the notices with growing interest. These were indeed of a different caliber entirely. She parsed through a few of the big ones, hoping to find what she was looking for.

  DRAGON SIGHTING

  “Ancient Rogue Red reported nesting in the Godspeak Mountains. 5,000 gold reward for confirmed elimination. Proof of death required. Contact Guild Master Saddhar for details.”

  LICH UPRISING

  “Undead army gathering in the city ruins of Eirthenfeld. Multiple confirmed sightings. 3,000 gold plus salvage rights. Experienced clerics and paladins preferred.”

  BANDIT KINGDOM

  “The self-proclaimed "King" Garl, former headsman of the North Hold, has unified several bandit clans in the Salmon Marshes. Trade routes compromised. 2,500 gold for his crown, additional bounties for his lieutenants.”

  And there, near the bottom of the board, a notice that made her pause:

  SPIDER QUEEN GHRAZA

  “The great arachnid of the Puppet Village continues to expand her territory. Several merchant caravans lost. 1,500 gold for elimination. Mental acuity and fire spells are recommended.”

  Nyssa had to suppress a smile at that one. Ghraza was hardly an evil being. Maybe territorial, and with questionable taste in entertainment, but she had never been particularly malicious. The spider simply enjoyed having company, even if that company happened to be magically compelled to dance for her amusement. She fed her thralls all the time, although — from what a very traumatized Crayma had reported — the spider had been having them hunt and consume wild goblins.

  Waving away the unconcerning diets, what had really caught Amithaera's attention more than any individual bounty was what was notably absent from the board. Dragons, liches, bandit kings, and cute little spiders… but nowhere did she see any mention of the Necromancer. No notice about Amithaera and her threat to the realm. No warning about the Terror of the Darklands.

  Not a damned thing. Not even a tiny note on the side to warn people.

  She’d had a bounty. She knew she did. The Iron Talons had put their names down for it, they’d had to. Maybe her bounty had been moved up to a bigger, better guildhall, somewhere only legendary adventurers could attempt to face down the might of her power.

  The Warrior was certainly not… legendary, though.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" Lyanne said, mistaking her prolonged examination for awe, "These are the jobs that build reputations — fortunes — if you're good enough to survive them.”

  "They certainly look... challenging.” Nyssa managed out in the middle of her disappointment, "I'm surprised there aren't more magical threats listed. You know, I've heard stories about powerful Necromancers and the like."

  Lyanne shrugged, chuckling to herself like she knew everything, "I can’t think of any. Who’d you hear stories from?”

  “... Passing adventurers.” Nyssa answered, mouth grit and tight with barely-contained anger.

  “Hm. Well, there’s the veteran fellas. If there was a Necromancer worthy of a bounty out there, they’d be the ones to know,” the trainer replied, gesturing with a nod at a booth not too far from them.

  Three unassuming adventurers sat within, engaged in a conversation. Not a single piece of armor between the trio, only weapons: a sword resting on the table, a stave across a lap, a heavy crossbow leaning against one of the seats.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Nyssa let out a short and frustrated breath, then looked to Lyanne, to this flippant woman, “I thought you were a veteran.”

  Lyanne grinned sheepishly, open hand coming up and rotating left and right, “Eh… I mean, more or less. I’m not not a veteran. The Hardshells have just been at this for longer than me.”

  There was no stopping the huff of a laugh that left Nyssa’s judgemental smile. What a silly name. Lyanne seemed to notice that the ridiculousness of the party’s name had brought the maiden a giggle, and elbowed her arm.

  “Heeey, come on, show a little respect,” the woman murmured, but kept her smile. “Why don’t you go ask them about your powerful Necromancers? After that, lemme buy you an ale. It’s the least you can let me do after this little tour.”

  Ugh. Ale. She’d be more surprised if this creature suggested anything other than ale. Of course it was ale. The standard drink in any adventurer’s respite, the mighty warm alcohol.

  Amithaera was more of a wine type. A Nyra'Thayin red, or even a Horvan dessert white, if the situation was absolutely dire.

  But Nyssa supposed she should reward the woman with a bit more of her limited time, “Fine. One cup.”

  “One cup,” Lyanne confirmed, patting the woman’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

  Good luck.

  The Necromancer needed no luck to speak to prey. They would need luck, for she was losing her patience.

  She began to make her way to the booth, to these silly Hardshells, intent on finding out what they knew of her bounty. It was clear to her that it had been simply elevated to a monstrous difficulty, one that only the most elite adventurers would dare attempt. These Hardshells, ridiculous name aside, were clearly her target demographic.

  As she approached their booth, the three adventurers looked up from their mutterings. Up close, she could see why Lyanne had called them veterans. There was something in their eyes, a wariness in their stares that was evidence of their experience. The man with the sword had scars crossing his knuckles, the woman with the stave bore a thin old burn across her throat, and the crossbow wielder was missing two fingers on his left hand. She could sense their power, and there was still so much to be desired.

  "Excuse me," Nyssa said, affecting her most innocent smile. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping you might be able to inform me of something.”

  The swordsman gestured to the empty spot beside the Sorceress, his voice adopting a polite tone, "Of course, my lady. Please, sit. I'm Theon, this is Helena, Kevan, and…"

  He pointed to the end of the table, at the edge, at a little animal eating a piece of cheese, “That is Grater the Rat, our mascot.”

  She hadn’t even noticed the creature till he pointed it out. Grater simply stared at the maiden. Beady dark eyes watched her every move, undeterred by what she really was. Swallowing her light confusion, she looked at the group once more.

  "Thank you so much," Nyssa said, settling into the offered seat, looking at the warmly smiling Helena. "I'm Nyssa.”

  “Hello, Nyssa,” Helena greeted, looking the woman up and down. “I like your dress. It’s very fetching.”

  The maiden blushed, grinning widely, “Oh, thank you! I, um… I was just looking at your bounty board, and I couldn't help but notice... Well, I've heard such frightening stories about powerful Necromancers, but I don't see any postings about them."

  "What kind of stories?" Helena asked, leaning forward with mild interest. Nyssa could see her fingers touch the fabric of the blue dress, feeling it lightly as if checking its quality.

  Making a slightly perturbed face, Nyssa stammered out, "Uh, oh, just… absolutely terrifying tales of dark lords commanding armies of undead."

  Theon answered quickly, “The Lich.”

  Not the bloody Lich.

  “Yep, the Lich,” Kevan repeated, nodding. Grater squeaked, chomping at the cheese. When Nyssa looked at the animal again, it paused its feeding to stare at her.

  What a disgusting little rat.

  Nyssa instead smiled, chuckling and clearing her throat, shaking her head, “Uh, no! No no, not a Lich. These stories were about a, um… a Necromancer. I believe it was a Terror of the Darklands? Wouldn’t someone like that warrant a substantial bounty?”

  The three exchanged a look. Tension permeated every crevice of the booth now, a quiet stillness that Amithaera was certain could only be intense fear. Finally, recognition of her power and–

  They burst into laughter.

  "Amithaera the Necromancer!?" Kevan wheezed, slapping the table, "Oh, that… that is good…”

  Nyssa's smile froze on her face as the laughter continued around the table.

  "That bounty got pulled about a month ago," Theon said, wiping his eyes, catching his breath. "Lack of interest. Half the guild wasn't even sure the ol’ hag was still alive."

  The words struck Nyssa like a Smite to the face.

  Not sure if she was still alive? Lack of interest? She was the Terror of the Darklands! She was…

  Wait, had he called her a hag?

  "Did anyone ever attempt it recently?" She heard herself ask, though her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears.

  "Attempt what, hunting a ghost?" Helena chuckled, being the only one to stay mostly composed, "I mean, there was one party... What were they called? The Iron something?"

  "Iron Talons.” Kevan supplied for the Sorceress, "Saddhar asked them to go and just see if there was anything even worth posting a bounty for. That was... What, three weeks ago? Haven't seen ‘em myself since, but we’re always out and about, so… they must’ve come back and confirmed what we already knew: Amithaera, that old girl, has retired.”

  The world seemed to tilt sideways. The Iron Talons. Those fools hadn't been glory-seeking heroes at all. They'd been sent on a reconnaissance mission. A welfare check to see if she was even worth bothering with anymore.

  And she'd killed them. She'd eliminated the one party that could have confirmed she was still a threat, still operating, still deserving of fear and a proper bounty.

  The Warrior, that damned woman with her foolish letter, was an even bigger fool for having attempted to kill the mighty Necromancer without proper preparedness.

  Had they thought Amithaera an easy mark?

  Did she not inspire total fear anymore?

  "Nyssa? You alright there?"

  The voice seemed to come from very far away. Nyssa blinked the thoughts away and found three concerned faces looking at her. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, taking in a breath, and managed a weak smile, “I… Yes, sorry. Just thinking. It’s all very… very scary to think about.”

  “The Lich, now that’s scary to think about,” Theon suggested, smiling at his companions. “Undead army in a whole city? That's almost as bad as Soulsword. Thank the Gods that the Great Heroine did him in.”

  Nyssa's jaw clenched at the mention of her old master and his supposed killer.

  “I’d take some dingy necromancer with a couple of minions over the Lich, though.” Theon added right after, placing another piece of cheese next to Grater.

  That hurt to hear. That sting on the pride, that tingling in her cheeks, the burning in her guts to set this entire place aflame.

  Helena nodded at that, rubbing the tip of her finger on the rat’s head, “Hear. We’d need a damned good Cleric for that bastard, at the very least.”

  “Mm.” Kevan groaned out, having just taken a sip of his drink, “And a Paladin. A big one. Oath of Vengeance, minimum.”

  "You're welcome to stay for a drink if you'd like," Theon offered kindly.

  Nyssa shook her head, standing up on unsteady legs, "No, thank you. I already have... plans."

  Kevan glanced over her shoulder toward the bar and grinned at the sight of the woman waving with a big smirk on her face, "Ah, with Lyanne, I see. Fair warning, my lady, that one loves too hard and too fast. Watch yourself."

  But Amithaera barely heard him. She was already walking away, her mind reeling with the implications of what she'd learned. Her reputation was in ruins. Her bounty, her professional validation in the space of formidable villains, had been shelved due to a lack of interest from the peons.

  She was a nobody. A has-been. A relic that people weren't even sure still existed. All because of those damned foolhardy Iron Talons trying their luck.

  To the deepest pit of the Hells, she cursed them.