The Adventurers' Guild | RPG-Inspired Sleep Story

In tonight’s literary role playing game-inspired sleep story, you are the master of a small, but well-appointed adventurers’ guild in the port city of Sleeper’s Wharf. You oversee the management of quests and employment of adventurers – but you have also created a welcoming community for would-be campaigners and parties at all levels to advance their skills, practice cooperation, and pay it forward. Being a retired adventurer yourself, you strive to make the guild into the resource you wish you’d had when starting out. But tonight, a quest arises that’s so intriguing it might even tempt you out of retirement.

If you’re still awake as the story concludes, I’ll guide you through a meditation for rest and connection.

Music & Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, May You Have by Bonnie Grace, Binaural Overlay by Joseph Beg, Via Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Empower the next generation of adventurers in this fantasy RPG inspired bedtime story. Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series. My name is Laurel, And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey. Sleep and sorcery is one part bedtime story, One part guided meditation, And one part dreamy adventure. Listen to my voice for as long as you like, And when you're ready, Feel free to let go of the story and let sleep wash over you. If you're still awake as the story concludes, I'll guide you through a meditation for rest and connection. In tonight's literary RPG-inspired sleep story, You are the master of a small but well-appointed adventurer's guild in the port city of Sleeper's Wharf. You oversee the management of quests and employment of adventurers. But you have also created a welcoming community for would-be campaigners and parties at all levels to advance their skills, Practice cooperation, And pay it forward. Being a retired adventurer yourself, You strive to make the guild into the resource you wish you'd had when starting out. But tonight, A quest arises that is so intriguing, It might even tempt you out of retirement. Adventurers are extraordinary people driven by a thirst for excitement into a life that others would never dare lead. James Wyatt. Dungeons & Dragons. The Player's Handbook. The clink of metal, The scrape of coin across polished wood. The glint of gold in the candlelight. It's easy to get lost in the repetition of it you've found, Letting your eyes cross as you count out the bounty It's a good haul, More than you've brought in for a fortnight. You separate the coins out into separate piles, Pushing the more substantial sum across the table to Callum, The banished prince of Eldermoor. The smaller pile you sweep into your own purse. The guild takes a cut of every bounty or reward on a completed quest. Callum pushes an extra gold piece to you with a wink, And you pocket this too. Pleasure doing business with you, " you say to the handsome rogue. He's worse for wear than the last time you saw him, Having sustained a facial scar in combat with the wyvern that was snatching up livestock from nearby farmland. Somehow though, The scar only adds to his rugged good looks, Although his charisma stat may be contributing as well. Defeating the beast also raised his level, And you could swear he's just a bit taller and more muscled than he was before. You eye the cuff around his wrist, Which you're certain he didn't have when he set off for this latest quest. He notices your gaze. Take a look at this, " Callum says, Holding out his arm to you. It's the enchanted armband of the Wayward Brotherhood. Plus two to stealth when I'm wearing it. You admire the bronze cuff. I'd be wary of keeping that visible, You say. The Wayward Brotherhood is supposed to have dissolved decades ago, But I've heard whispers that they just moved underground. They were a society of master thieves who ran afoul of a dark wizard. If the wrong folk saw you wearing their relics, You could earn yourself a dangerous enemy. I'm already banished, Callum smirks, His trademark charm dripping off him. What's the worst that could happen? You heave a sigh. Prince Callum is one of the highest ranking members of your guild and a top earner. But He never ceases to exasperate you. Perhaps it's because he reminds you of you in your prime, When danger was exhilarating, And the only thing more valuable than gold was glory. You would charge headfirst into the deepest dungeons, Lead raids, Loot castles, And rescue innocents without a thought to your own safety. Always trusting in your strength and whatever half-baked plan you just come up with. You felt indestructible at the time, Just as Callum does now. But the new scar is proof that he isn't. Sometimes you want to tell him to get out of the trade. Or beg him to set up his own guild chapter in another town. But he's still so hungry, So rash. He isn't done with adventuring yet. Any other surprises, You ask? Callum lifts his heavy pack and drops it on the table in front of you. A few miscellaneous items spill out, Including several stoppered vials of liquid. I was going to sell some of these to Morfran when he comes through again, Callum says. But you get first pick of the loot. You pick up one of the vials. Is this wyvern venom, You ask? A milkmaid helped me extract it, Callum nods. Thought you could use it in the apothecary. We certainly can, You agree, Holding the vial up to the light. I'll give you a good price or a fair trade. You and Callum work out a bargain for the wyvern venom. A mix of gold and upgrades to his armor. Your alchemist will be delighted to have access to such a rare ingredient. For potions and remedies. There's another item in his loot bag that you show some interest in. A small talisman of hammered silver. It's inscribed with a cryptic symbol. Like a crescent moon. Or a closed eyelid. Callum knows nothing of its origins, Only stating that he looted it from a party of bandits who tried to ambush him on the road. Why? Is it worth something? Callum asks. I'm not sure, You say, Turning the disc over in your hands. But I'll take it off you for another 10 gold. It's a deal. You do not, However, Inform Callum that you have seen such a symbol before. Or that its reappearance stirs in you a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. Callum is already eager for another perilous quest, But you urge him to take a few days to rest up here. There's good food in the tavern, A place to wash up, And you can have his bed made up in the dormitories within the hour. Besides, Everything on the quest board at the moment is beneath him. He's far too overpowered to be taking on low-level adventures on the wharf. The banished prince finally agrees to take your advice, And he swaggers off toward the tavern to get some supper. You chuckle, Considering popping your head in for a moment, Just to see the barmaid blush. She's long carried a torch for Callum, And she often goes speechless when he enters a room. But you've got loot to deliver and a bed to turn over. You pocket the talisman. Gather up the vials of venom. And shout to the doorknob that you will be back at your table in a bit if anyone comes looking for you. Your holler apparently jolts the little creature out of a snooze. He jumps to life, Then nods enthusiastically. Although you doubt he heard what you said. It's just as well, You think. You're unlikely to see more foot traffic tonight from anyone who doesn't already belong to the guild. And you only pay the poor gnome to watch the door because you took pity on him. He's always looking for work, But his class and stats never seem to match up with the quests that cross your desk. This way you can give him a sense of purpose. Even if the service he provides isn't strictly necessary or helpful. It is a strange business you're in. And you'd never claim to be a master of it. But you get by. There was a time when you swaggered through the streets, Soared at your hip and cloak billowing about your shoulders. You traveled long distances, Stopping only to make camp or reset your buffs at a roadside inn. Now, The furthest distance you routinely cross is from your desk to the apothecary or the dormitory or the adjoining tavern. You do not regret leaving the adventuring life behind. Though you do succumb to nostalgia every now and then. You were the last of your party to realize the adventuring days were over. Despite ascending through skills and levels over years of quests and campaigns. And as much as you clung to the glory of it. Age eventually caught up with you all one of your companions, The half-orc barbarian Malthus, Returned home to his wife with the intention of finally starting a family. He sends a letter once or twice a year. They now have eight children, And one more on the way, If you remember right. But you and Zariah were reluctant to separate, Having been through so much together over the years, And no ties to land or family. Eventually, You settled here, In the port town of Sleeper's Wharf, Where you first met all those ages ago, When you were first looking for mercenary work. Pooling your shares of gold that you'd amassed in your adventures. You acquired the local tavern. Where so many travelers meet and decide to band together. The locals who knew you often brought you small jobs and relied on you to contract adventurers looking for opportunity. At first it was just little things, Clearing out a pixie infestation in someone's attic. Or providing security for ships, Unloading valuable cargo. But more and more, Your little one-room tavern became known as the place to go if you had a job that needed doing. Or, If you were an upstart, Hungry for the glory of questing. Eventually, You had to expand, Buying up the adjacent properties and renovating the space. Now, You operate the region's first Independent Adventurers Guild. A one-stop shop for the questing life. It's a place to meet, A place to train. A place to find or post a job. A place to buy, Sell, Or trade objects and artifacts. A place for community, For support in this most dangerous and most rewarding profession. In other words, It's exactly the thing you wish you'd had when you were first starting out. You only hope you've given the next generation of adventurers a better shot. You find Zariah in the small garden she keeps outside the apothecary. From her tangled mess of hair, Two twisted horns protrude. She kneels in the soil and carefully harvests dried poppy pods, Which rattle as she disturbs them. I've got a gift for you, " you say. And Zoriah looks up to greet you. Interest piqued. You produce one of the vials, And your friend gets up from the ground, Dusting soil from her knees. Without a word, She takes the glass container from your hands and holds it up to inspect. The sunlight glints off the chartreuse liquid. This what I think it is, She says after a few moments. Wyvern venom, You confirm. Callum's back. Good on him, Zoria says, Impressed. Just a few drops of this and I can make a year's supply of poisons. And I've got four of these vials, " you say. Zoraya's eyes light up. With a supply like that, She can afford to experiment, Possibly creating antidotes, Skill potions, And ultra-powerful healing brews. Together, You enter the apothecary, Zorya's alchemical workshop. She stashes the venom in her meticulously organized stores, Sealing the cabinets with a protective ward, And immediately setting about tidying the lab. It warms your heart to see how utterly at home Zariya is here. When you were still out in the field together, She could build a fire and whip up a healing potion in minutes, Using whatever tools and ingredients were at her disposal. She developed a keen instinct and knowledge of herbs that grow all over the world. Mastering their magical and medicinal uses. But as crafty and resourceful as she's always been. You know how much she longed for a place to call her own. A garden in which she could grow exactly the plants she wanted. A workshop in which to practice potion making. And a safe place to pass on her knowledge. Even now, She's cleaning up in preparation for a beginner's workshop on simple salves and healing potions, Which can be made with only a few easily foraged ingredients. You feel a great sense of accomplishment that you have been part of carving out this space for her. Before you leave to visit the dormitories. You pull the silver talisman from your pocket and show it to Zariah. Her eyes widen as she recognizes the symbol. Is that she trails off. The symbol of the dreaming gods, You nod. The silence between you is taught. Almost crackling. The last time either of you laid eyes on the crescent eye symbol. It was at the other end of the world. You, Zariah, And Malthus, Your long-lived adventure party, Had traveled to the cave of the forsaken to confront the leader of a cult to the Dreaming Gods. They were an extreme sect who believed the universe was merely the dream of a powerful conscious entity. And that other universes existed alongside this one, Dreamt by other deities. Their leader, An ancient elf called Elowen, Preached that these dream universes would one day collide. And that the only way to avoid the destructive collision was to wake the dreaming God of our world. However, If the god were to wake, According to the beliefs of the cult, Our world would cease to exist. Perhaps the other universes would be saved, Or perhaps we'd only be spared the violence of the collision. It was all nonsense either way. No one outside Elowen's sphere of influence believed this fabled doomsday would arise. But those in his orbit. The poor souls who were attracted to the message. Or the leader's otherworldly charisma and magical powers of persuasion. Became pawns in his game. One of those followers was the daughter of a lord, And he paid you handsomely to bring her home. Together, You, Zoriah, And Malthus strove to free the worshippers of the Dreaming Gods from Elowen's control and stop the Elf from carrying out his apocalyptic mission. At the cave of the forsaken, Your strength as a party came alive for the very last time. Elowen gathered his supporters to perform a sacrifice to wake the god. Zorya, By now the most gifted artificer in the land, Concocted a brew to combat indoctrination and mind control. While Malthus went into his berserker rage and took on Elowen one-on-one. Zariah targeted the followers with tranquilizer darts dipped in her liberating potion. The two of you carry the innocents out of the cave, One by one, Countering Elowen's magical attacks as best you could. When you had rescued every soul. Malthus withdrew from the fight. And you cast a magical blast that caused the earth and rocks to swallow up the cave, Effectively sealing the elf within for all eternity. But there, Upon the scorched earth, Where once the mouth of the cave had yawned wide, Now there was an indentation. In the shape of a crescent moon. Or a closed eye. Marking the spot where it had happened. As Elowen's followers came to, Remembering the events of the last year, They threw their arms around you, Grateful for your party's intervention. They showered you with praises, Offered you gold and bounty. The Lord in whose employ you labored, Hosted a grand feast for his daughter's return, With the three of you as guests of honor. But as extraordinary as the quest had become, As beautifully as you had worked together, Your skills and mastery so perfectly aligned. There was an emptiness. An exhaustion you felt at its end. Which you'd never felt before. You were not energized to find the next quest or slay the next beast. Instead, You were tired. You were drained. Instead of a sense of growing momentum, The excitement of the victory igniting an even more passionate drive. You longed to curl up in a place that was yours. And rest. You were, Though it pained you to admit. Finally getting too old for this. As the three of you made your way back home to the other side of the world. You knew it was the end. Funny, You thought, To have stopped Elowen and his cult from waking the dreaming god, If such a thing existed. Only to find yourself waking from a decades-long dream. Stepping at last. Into real life. Quiet life. Still life. The memory blurs as you refocus on the talisman in your hand. How long it's been since you beheld this symbol. Which is to you emblematic of a distant time in your life. A time that often feels like an illusion. A reverie you stirred from and could never grasp again. You and Zariah share no more words about the artifact. Your eyes say it all. It is amazing how two people can know each other well enough to communicate without words. But with a whole grammar of memory. And shared history. Well. . . Three people. If Malthus was here, You know he'd be thinking the same thing. That the re-emergence of the symbol of the dreaming gods can be no coincidence. That something restless must be waking on the far side of the world. And that perhaps it's time for a new generation of adventurers to pick up the torch you relinquished. You resolve to send a message to the house of the Lord who once contracted you to free his child from Elowen. Perhaps that Lord still governs there. Or his heirs will know the story. Perhaps they've seen the symbol where the cave once stood. You'll put ears to the ground and employ spies to gather whispers. If the cult of the dreaming gods is resurfacing, You want to know everything there is to know. And you'll send your strongest guild members to take it on. Maybe Callum, The fiercely independent rogue, Will finally agree to travel with companions for such a quest. All these thoughts swirl in your mind as you make up a bed in the dormitories. You turn the talisman over in your pocket again and again. You pay a visit to the training facilities, Where Bors, A dwarven fighter, Spars with Wraith, A paladin. Wraith has been working on mastering a shield spell that requires an intricate gesture and incantation, Difficult to maneuver during active combat. You smile as the shimmering field appears around the paladin this time, Repelling the dwarf's oncoming attack. They've both improved considerably in the last year. You remember when they were low-level upstarts, Skittishly taking on minor jobs at the wharf. Finally, You return to your desk to update the quest board. With the wyvern defeated, Most of the open jobs are small, Local, And fairly low paying. But with the gold just brought in from Callum's quest, And the steady business at the tavern. You are satisfied with the till of late. You've carved out a comfortable life here. It is sustainable. Quiet, Even happy. You call to the doorknob. Any visitors while I was engaged. The little gnome, Startled again, Stands at attention. One visitor, Yes, He says, Said he had a posting. I told him you were occupied, But you'd be back soon. Oh good, You say. Is he coming back later then? Oh no, The gnome replies. He said he'd wait for you in the tavern and have a bite to eat. Alright. I'll go talk to him. What did he look like? Big fella, The gnome says. Can't miss him. Might even have had orc blood if I'm not mistaken. But friendly as they come. Orc blood, You think. It can't be. You thank the little gnome and make your way to the tavern. Evening has just begun to fall and the lamps are lit inside and out on the alley. The amber glow spills in from the street to cast the whole place in a hazy, Dreamlike flush. You scan the crowd, For already a crowd is gathering at the well-loved public house. Looking for your visitor. Callum is there, Leaning across the bar, Chatting with the barmaid who blushes from head to toe. There's a bard in the corner playing seafarer songs on his lute as a few boisterous patrons sing along. Some are guild members. Others are local residents or visiting merchants. Your eyes finally settle on a table in the corner where a hulking figure sits, A mug of ale in his hand. Well, I'll be, You say, As you approach the half-orc, Who, With the exception of a few more gray hairs, Looks just the same as the day you parted all those years ago. Morpheus Well met. Your old companion stands to embrace you, His face splitting into a crooked-toothed grin. You feel your spine crackle as he hugs you, Lifting you off your feet a few inches. His height and uncanny strength never fail to humble you. You join Malthus at the table, Delighted beyond words at the unexpected reunion. You signal to the barmaid to get a message to Zariah, Imploring her to join you once she's wrapped up her potions workshop. You question Malthus on everything he's been up to in the intervening years. Everything he couldn't put in letters. You try in vain to remember the names of his children. But there are nine of them now. The oldest just coming of age, And thinking of taking on her first quest. How swiftly time slips away. And what a beautiful existence Malthus seems to have found. You promised to give him a tour of the guild, If he'll stick around the wharf a little while. He can even stay the night if he likes. Before long, Zariah rushes in, Eyes fiery. She jokingly punches Malthus on the shoulder, Chiding him for dropping in unannounced after all this time. You sit together and eat, Laughing and catching up. It's as if no time has passed at all. As if you are your younger selves again. Meeting for the first time in this lamp lit tavern. Not realizing you're sitting with the people who will become your family. What an unlikely trio you were then, And still are. What a remarkable fellowship you turned out to be. Finally, When it seems you can laugh no more. Faces stinging from smiling. You inquire about the real reason for Malthus's visit. The doorknob said he had a job for posting. What has brought him all the way out here? So many leagues from the happy home he shares with his family. To seek adventurers and mercenaries. Malthus reaches into his satchel and rummages around. You hear the clink of metal and glass as he shifts the many objects around within. And then he withdraws something. At first, It's obscured within his oversized hand. Then he places it flat upon the table. The small silver object reflects the flickering lantern light. It's a cloak pin by the looks of it. But it bears a symbol. The Crescent Moon. A closed eyelet. The symbol of the dreaming gods. It was recovered. Malthus explains, After a brawl in his village. The wearer of the cloak fled before anyone could question him. But if the symbol is surfacing again, Malthus says. It could be that someone is trying to pick up where Elowen left off. Or that Elowen escaped the cave of the forsaken. You and Zariah exchange a charged look. And then you bring forth the talisman you've carried all day. You place it beside the cloak pin. The symbols are identical in the lantern light. No words need be spoken between you. A silent covenant binds you. A grammar of gesture and thought. You hold a hand out to Malthus. It takes it. Nearly swallowing your hand in his giant one. You hold the other hand out to Zariah, Who takes it. The two of them clasp hands as well. Between you, There shines a universe of memory. A hundred adventures, Like shining threads that intersect and entwine. How many spells cast? How many potions brewed? How many adversaries vanquished? The question hovers in the air. If the ghost of your last adventure. An old quest long left behind. Has risen again to haunt this world. What will you do? In the glow of the tavern, Where sea shanties echo across the walls. Will you find the fighters and mages and rogues destined to pick up your mantle? Within the halls of the Adventurer's Guild. Where drowsy gnomes watch the door, And you have the space and safety to relax. To let your guard down after so many years in fight or flight mode. Will you hand over the torch? Is this the life you want? Forever. A life where you can still catch the whiff of adventure. But never again taste it for yourself. A life of ease. Comfort. And a softer kind of fulfillment. Or Will you clasp hands with your chosen family? And return to the fight. The symbol is a call. To adventure. You have every right to refuse it. You also have the right to re-emerge from your protective shell. To quest again. To finish what you started. It is never too late. The choice is all yours. All around you, Glasses are clinking and cheers are shouted. Some people are meeting for the first time over a hot meal. Discussing their hopes and dreams of glory. Others are simply here to rest and recharge before the next quest. Songs are sung and stories exchanged. Old friends. And new. Sometimes your whole life feels like a dream. The wild and wondrous adventures. The near misses. The strange encounters with mystical beings and mysterious gods. In a quiet life. And the nurturing of a community. There has been great love. Great reward. Great happiness in every phase. You look into the eyes of your friends. Your companions. You know they are wrestling with the same dilemma as you. It gives you comfort to see this. Because you know that whatever you decide, You will do it together. You hold each other through it. You feel immense gratitude. For the unseen forces. That brought you into each other's lives. Right here. So long ago. And immense gratitude. That they are still in your life. Through every phase. If all of this is a dream, You think. You are not ready to wake up. Take a moment to settle in. Letting your body sink into the surface. Dealing with every part of you, The sensation of being where you are. In this bed. Or this chair. In this room. The city. This planet. Breathe in the physical world. And breathe out. Relaxing deeper into it. Summon gratitude for the earth that holds you. And the physical world you move through and interact with. Now. . . Let your consciousness expand. To include that which you cannot directly see. Air. Smell. Taste or feel. Beyond the physical world. Into the realm of thoughts. Dreams and emotions. The realm of inspiration. And the abstract. If it helps. You can visualize this unseen, Ethereal world. As a cloud of mist. In which your consciousness hovers. Breathe in this awareness. And breathe out. Letting yourself relax. Melting into the mist. Now with your mind and body soft. Visualize a thread. A golden string. You can manipulate it with your mind if you like. Pulling it tight or coiling it up And now, See that golden thread anchor to the physical world. And stretch. Toward the ethereal one. Building a steadfast connection. Add another thread. Anchor it to the Earth. And let it stretch upward. Into the other world. Another threat. And another Keep layering thread upon thread. String upon string. And let them reach in all directions. Until they become a tapestry. Weaving. A great strong interconnected web. Connecting all things. All minds. All dreams to each other. Feel how you resonate. Within this golden web of life. Consciousness. And connection. How you are part of this vast, Interlaced community. You are vital to it. And you are nurtured by it. Breathe with the threads. The individual. And the collective. Connecting thought action. Dream and deed. Connecting you to all things. In this world. And the next. Sweet dreams.

Reviews

I absolutely LOVED this story. I hope there are more to come!❤️❤️

Excellent first chapter. Looking forward to more.

Very relaxing and soothing soon got me to sleep heard about half of the story so will be using this on again thank you xx