Posting Bounty!

As the enchanting hologram faded, the little girl from the rabbit tribe concluded her song with a cheeky tongue poke. This melody, a cherished gift for Grandpa Lance, a figure of courage and valor renowned among her kin, was both catchy and whimsical. Tailored for the young ears of her tribe, "Little White Rabbit" resonated with simplicity and joy, quickly becoming a beloved anthem among the youngsters and a staple in the curriculum at Bunnymen Academy.

"That sounded delightful!" Lucia, the dragonling disguised as a hatchling, chimed in. She was particularly taken by the young singer, whose snowy locks and matching rabbit ears added a touch of innocence to the performance.

Observing her, Lucia mused about the unique features of the rabbit people: their charming ears perched atop their heads, the distinctive dental structure needing occasional orthodontic intervention to blend into human societies, and of course, the iconic rabbit tails. The latter, rumored for its softness, sparked a playful curiosity in Lucia. "I wonder how soft her tail really is?" she pondered aloud, her thoughts tinged with a whimsical longing.

Amidst her reflections, Lucia recalled the conversation of the ancient dragon, playfully referred to as the grandfather of the rabbit girl. Despite his age, which stretched into millennia, his interactions with the rabbit folk were always benign, he may have often taking on the guise of an elderly druid to mingle unnoticed.

This mingling of cultures under the luminous glow of the holographic stage spoke volumes of their intertwined fates, weaving a narrative rich with the fantastical elements of both dragon lore and the vibrant life of the rabbit tribe. As the light dimmed, the song echoed, a melodic bridge between species, generations, and stories yet to be told.

"Does this proposal sit well with you, elder?" the voice teased through the projection.

"I'm quickly catching up to grandpa's level. Give it a few more years, and you might just surpass me," Mr. Lance retorted with a wry smile, his tone both proud and playful.

"Tell me, elder, what prompts this rare communication? Are your pockets feeling particularly light today, or are you in search of some thrilling new commissions? Or perhaps," the voice added with a hint of mischief, "are you looking to enlist our Bronze Guild's bounty hunters at no cost?"

Mr. Lance, affectionately known in the Bronze Guild for his occasional exploits, held a status akin to royalty among the guild members. Even the guild president couldn't help but address him respectfully as "Uncle Lance."

"Are there any eager young souls in the guild today? Ones with a zest for life, upright characters, and a penchant for assisting the elderly without expectation of payment? If so, let them come forward," Lance queried with a chuckle.

Meredith, the lively bunny girl appearing in the projection, couldn't help but laugh. "You really haven't noticed, have you, old man? Each time you call us via projection, an unusual hush falls over the guild. Surely, you've observed this?"

"You seem to lack any real spirit of generosity," she teased.

"It's you, sir, with your notorious reputation. They're all quite intimidated by you," she continued, her voice laced with humor.

"This time, I'm not here for charity. I have a bounty mission to assign. Meredith, take note, draft up the details, and pin it on the guild's notice board," Lance instructed firmly.

"Understood," Meredith responded, her magic pen poised and ready.

As Lance dictated the grim details of the bounty mission handed down from the ominous Death God Solomon, Meredith's pen danced through the air, capturing every word. She then fetched a piece of paper from a drawer, skillfully maneuvered it behind the floating script, and with a focused gaze, solidified the text onto the paper.

"Hold on, elder, you've omitted something crucial, what's the reward? Given that the target is a lich, I must remind you that the challenge is steep and the payout seems lacking. Our guild's bounty hunters might hesitate to accept such terms," Meredith pointed out, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Fret not, I was merely jesting," Lance replied with a sly grin. "As your elder, I wouldn't dream of shortchanging you. Let it be known to the valiant young warriors of your guild that the reward will be five psychic gold coins from the infernal realms."

The silence that followed was suddenly broken by a chorus of boos echoing from the other side of the projection.

"Mr. Lance, five psychic gold coins might barely cover the transmission fees, and that's before we even consider the costs of travel and accommodation! This bounty mission of yours requires crossing borders; taking it on means dealing with substantial expenses," a voice articulated, tinged with frustration yet holding a note of respect for the elder.

"Yes, indeed, sir, you must increase the compensation. Otherwise, we'll be operating at a loss," another voice chimed in, echoing the sentiment.

The projection screen flickered as three or four robust figures materialized, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation. These were not strangers to Mr. Lance; they had ventured on numerous quests with him, sometimes even shoulder-to-shoulder in the thickest of dangers.

"Let's be clear, as a partner, Mr. Lance is unmatched in reliability. His longevity and wisdom make him a beacon of safety in perilous times. But," the speaker paused, choosing his words with care, "when the danger is not immediately lethal, you'd do well to watch your back around Mr. Lance."

It wasn't that Mr. Lance harbored any malicious intentions, but his curiosity often got the better of him, particularly when he stumbled upon unfamiliar herbs. His experimental potions, purportedly to ease fatigue or enhance vigor, occasionally had... unexpected effects. Some turned green, others sprouted odd appendages.

Given his penchant for experimentation, the guild's bounty hunters were wary. They'd readily join him on high-risk missions, where his expertise was indispensable. However, for tasks of lesser danger, they hesitated, fearful of becoming inadvertent test subjects to his latest concoction.

"Louis, Dalton, Bazelle, you three ungrateful souls, have you forgotten the fortunes we've reaped together?" Mr. Lance's voice carried a mix of jest and reproach.

"Hey, old man, it's not the past we forget; it's the present we're wary of. Your current offer is far too meager for the task at hand. An immortal lich, crossing borders? That demands more than a pittance. And let's not forget the last time," the speaker grumbled, his tone half in jest, half in genuine grievance. "You turned me into a green-skinned spectacle, Dalton here ended up with elephant ears, and Bazelle, poor fellow, was transformed into a kobold. You may not mean harm, but your tricks sure have a cruel twist, old man!"

"Alright, I'm raising the stakes: ten psychic gold coins from hell, plus a rare opportunity to commune with the dead. I offered you first dibs at a fortune," Mr. Lance declared with a hint of finality in his voice. "If none of you are willing to take it, then Meredith, please forward the bounty task to the Bounty Union Headquarters. I'm certain those desperate enough to duel with deities will jump at this chance."

"Old man, you should know the market's turned sour," one of the hunters retorted, frustration lacing his voice. "The value of psychic gold coins has plummeted, now they fetch somewhere between thirty and fifty gold coins, and sometimes, they don't even sell. Five psychic gold coins won't cover the transmission fee."

"What?" Mr. Lance's surprise was palpable. "Has the market really fallen that hard?"

As the conversation about fluctuating currencies and grim financial realities momentarily paused, one of the hunters, keen to lighten the mood, shifted the topic.