While Myth was attempting to keep from giggling, she cast a healing spell on my poor bruised face as the innkeeper's son, Markus, regaled us with a tale of its ignominious origin.

  Cori hadn't accepted the offer for breakfast and disappeared into the morning chill with barely a word. It wasn't awfully surprising for her, but I wished she had eaten something, as we had classes later that morning and I knew from experience how hard it was to pay attention during a lecture on an empty stomach.

  Oh well, she was an adult and was entitled to her mistakes.

  Smitty, however, had dug into breakfast with aplomb, eating her share as well as Cori's and was threatening to move on to mine in a moment. I held my plate at a safe distance as Myth finished up. I pulled out a pocket mirror I kept in my pouch to look. She had done a marvelous job and told her such.

  A pocket mirror is always useful for any adventuring lady. You can check your face and hair before a social call, and you can check around corners in a dungeon. Best investment I could have made.

  I clicked the mirror shut and couldn't help but glare at Markus.

  "So let me get this right. We were amid a bar crawl, and I ran face first into a lamp post, proceeded to challenge it to a duel, and then the four of us started kicking it."

  "Sure enough, ya did! Someone called the guard and me and ma brought you inside, donchaknow!" He erupted again in laughter.

  "Markus! It ain't polite to laugh at lady of Miss Alta's stature, ya know. Even if it t'were hilarious!" A voice called from the nearby kitchen with barely contained mirth.

  I sighed and rubbed my head. No matter how advanced healing magic got, it never could account for the pain of a hangover or the sting of embarrassment.

  I sipped my coffee, the bitterness helping ease the pain somewhat, and then shed all pretense and descended on my breakfast like a starving hound. If I had learned one thing in the months since my banishment, its that when food presented itself you took it, decorum be damned.

  As I finally calmed down from my hunger-induced fervor, I sat back and patted my belly with satisfaction. Manya, the innkeeper, always made the best breakfasts, and I always suspected she was undercharging for them. They rivaled anything I had back in my family's manor in terms of flavor and, most importantly, heartiness. She was a stout woman, with a perpetual smile on her face that extended to her eyes. She was kind, warm, but not afraid to assert herself when necessary. She didn't back away from drunkards or pushy guards and didn't give half a damn about rank. If you needed a place to sleep and food to eat and had coin to pay for it, or were willing to work in exchange, she was there for you.

  I think if it hadn't been for her and her son, I would've starved on the streets in those early days. All the money I had went to tuition and getting what I needed in the hopes of being accepted to Dungeon School. I hadn't considered that it would take time to actually be approved, and I was half afraid I would end up on the streets. They gave me a place to stay, fed me, all in exchange for a little cleaning of the rooms.

  I didn't believe in saints and angels, but if I did, Markus and Manya deserved to be in their number.

  "So, whatcha girls up to today?" Manya asked, joining us at the table next to Smitty, who was currently licking every empty plate she could reach.

  "Ughhhh, we got class today, don't we?" Myth slumped in her chair with a groan.

  "Sadly, yes. I think we're doing basic dungeon cartography today, or something like that." It still hurt to think too hard, but the day's schedule was starting to crystallize somewhat in my mind.

  "I like to make the pictures! Very important for you folk with weak noses. You get lost too easily and then Smitty have to find you, yes yes. Pictures make you get lost less." She made a huffing sound I had learned was laughter. She always looked so happy, but part of that was her snout seemed to have a perpetual smile. I found as a bit envious. I had been told more than a few times that my resting expression looked like I secretly judging everyone. Well, they used other terms for it, but those words aren't for polite company.

  I had found that too many folks assumed Kobolds were a simple folk, not very bright, or just plain naive. I think a part of this was that they were very open with their emotions, and due to some issues of anatomy, I believe, they couldn't perfectly speak the common tongue. Too many take this as a sign of stupidity, but they couldn't be more wrong. Smitty was sharp, perceptive, and as she said, she liked making the pictures. Which meant that her maps were well-made. We were all still pretty new at this, but what little we had worked on together in the class was miles ahead of what I could produce. I had been able to manage some vague instructions, but hers were detailed and full of information once you could translate her pictograms. Mapping was a special art that not enough adventurers appreciate, and I think she could go far with it, if she so chose.

  We thanked Manya and Markus, and she refused to accept any payment, but asked that we keep our feud with the street lamps to a minimum from now on. She gave each of us an embrace, which I managed not to look too embarrassed about, and we went on our way.

  The air outside had warmed up some, and people were making their way to and from the various inns and other businesses. Revenstahd was always a little bit busy, but early morning was a different sort of busy. A productive busy. I breathed in the cool air and savored the smells. My head finally felt clear.

  "I'll see you in class, yeah?" Myth said before putting her hand on my shoulder to get my attention.

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  "Of course! Oh, and I'm booking simulation time for us after class. Don't give me that look, you know you need practice." I waggled my finger at Myth, and her look of pure annoyance.

  "Ughhh fiiiine. Smitty, you always find Cori wherever she is. Could you give her a heads-up? Fearless leader here is putting us to the grindstone." She smirked at me.

  "I just want us to be at our best the next time we have to do a real one, is all!" I explained. I hated being called a leader. Leadership was a concept that had been drilled into me for so much of my life, and I didn't want to do it if I could avoid it, but I fell instinctively into directing folks. I had to admit to myself I only resisted it out of pique at this point.

  Smitty dashed off to find Cori, and Myth decided to just wander around the school campus till class time. I decided that I didn't want to show up to class in a dress I had just slept in. One that was still covered in kobold hairs.

  I quickly made my way back to our dorm room and changed into my usual garb, a simple blue skirt and white blouse, a jacket and leggings to hold back the autumn chill. I also grabbed my reading glasses. I hated to admit it, but I did need them for close-up work of the sort we were going to be doing in class. For some, they could be considered cute, attractive even, but I couldn't seem to pull off the look. At least I didn't think so.

  It wasn't something many elves even needed, so i felt some shame that I needed to. I wasn't going to let shame get in the way of needed skills, but it still lurked in the back of my mind.

  There was a lot about me that meshed with a lot of elves back in Burgotova. My hair was red, like an apple, unlike the golden or silver hair of most elves. I wasn't as tall or slender either. In fact I was rather self-conscious about my hips in particular, but I was more than happy to chalk that up to muscle development since I started dungeoneering.

  The only things about me I thought fit a proper elf were my long pointed ears and my bright blue eyes. Growing up I had felt so self-conscious about it, and always worried people were mocking me behind my back about it. I don't know if they were or not, but in my mind, they had been, and harshly too.

  No one in Revenstahd even seemed to care. I wasn't even the only elf in this town who looked different from Burgotovan elves. It made me feel more at home here than I ever felt in my birthplace. Good riddance to them and Burgotova. May it sink into the sea and become kraken feed.

  I did a double-check of my book bag. Pens, check. Books and papers, check. Compass, check. Everything looked in order. Time for class!

  -

  The cartography class was sparsely attended today. No doubt many of my fellows were still struggling with various hangovers or other ailments. From rumors I picked up from some of the chattier members of the class, mixed in with stories about a bunch of drunks picking fights with street lamps, a few students got injured in their dungeon runs, one even got poisoned by a mimic, just like I had fought, and potions hadn't helped.

  It was an unfortunate truth that some folks were resistant to potions and healing magics. There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to why this was, but it happened. Either the adventurer in question learned to adapt their fighting styles, learned techniques to move undetected through dungeons, or they just dropped out. Exceptionally resistant individuals also had trouble casting spells, and those in such cases were intensely susceptible to the strange mana of dungeons and its effects. They didn't last long as delvers, and if they were fortunate, found work in support capacities. Even a failed delver still had useful skills to the field as a whole.

  It was sad to think about, but it brought home the realization that over time, my class would be getting smaller and smaller.

  Our teacher entered the room, silencing all extraneous conversation. Our teacher, a Mr. Book, was a stonefolk, an intimidating being of stone, metal, and wood with glowing runes all over their form. At first glance one might confuse him for a golem, but stonefolk were something else entirely.

  Well, not entirely, I suppose. Stonefolk were created eons ago to be soldiers in some terrible conflict lost to history. Their creators and the memories of them were gone, but their creations persisted. I admittedly I hadn't looked into the details too deeply. They were an uncommon sight in the Mortal Kingdoms, Revenstahd having maybe three in total in the population, almost all of which worked at Dungeon School in some capacity.

  "Welcome, class, I'm glad to see you all survived your forays into the dungeons. And judging by some of your expressions, it didn't go as well as planned." He chuckled, a sound like rocks rubbing together. He went up to the podium and, with a wave of his hand, showed an illusory image of maps similar to ones we had been given.

  "No doubt you noticed that some of you had incomplete maps. Or outdated or just plain wrong ones as well. No doubt this caused no small amount of consternation and concern. Lack of monster data, missing notes about illusory walls, etc etc." He pointed at examples that flashed by in the illusion.

  "This is a common problem in the industry. There are many reasons not to make good maps. Some of it is a holdover from the eras when knowledge of the depths of dungeons was a closely guarded secret, as it still is in some places. Others planted false maps to throw off or even harm competition, others made up maps to bilk unwary adventurers with more vigor than sense, and would disappear with their marks' money before the time came to pay the piper, so to speak." He dispelled the illusion and turned back to us.

  "This is why learning to do your own mapping is so important. So you can make sure your information is accurate, as it is likely many of you will be returning to the same dungeons repeatedly. Accurate maps, along with a reputation for said accuracy, can be one of the most lucrative ways to make money as a dungeoneer, as it is inevitable that some adventurers won't want to do this themselves. Their laziness can be your ticket to wealth if you play your cards right."

  He moved to the center of the lecture hall and, with a motion of his arm, raised a block of stone straight from the floor. Stone folk had a natural control over stone and soil, but Mr. Book was particularly adept at it. He motioned for us all to come down to surround the table. I moved quickly, with my pen and drawing pad with me, as I wanted to make sure to get a good viewing position. I hated trying to get a good look from behind folks. It wasn't dignified, and some of my fellow students had questionable hygiene habits that I didn't want to have to struggle with today.

  "Today is a bit of an exercise to help you with quick observations. When in a dungeon, you will have to make your maps quickly, and often using nothing but your memory to do so, when you've gotten lucky enough to find a safe area. I will be making a representation of a dungeon for 1 minute, and you must draw it from memory. I will give you five minutes to do so." He held out a hand, and the top of the table shifted into the shape of a dungeon, complete with little representations of monsters, doors, traps, and the like. He held it there, and my eyes darted all over, trying to soak up as much as possible.

  "Begin!" He closed his hand, and it disappeared. We all began sketching furiously, and I tried as hard as I could to keep the image in my head as I charted out turns, bends, doorways, pits, as much as I could pull out of my mind. I knew I missed a lot, but I tried.

  He called time and had us hand over our hastily scrawled maps. He scanned over them quickly.

  "As good as could be expected. We will repeat these exercises for the rest of the class today." He held out his hand, forming a new map on the stone table. We all watched carefully as the new arrangement formed.

  "Begin!"