Abasdarhon's Castle Auto-translated

- No, I wasn't directly involved in that type of work, but I have related experience: in the 12th legion, we had to do things like that.

-- Calm down. Haven't you gone through a similar procedure before? I'm not very good with paperwork, but I can probably fill it out as you dictate, and you can sign it later. Vikaila, confirm (awareness check).

If that's all, Allison is going to show the slaves the house (but not the hidden underground rooms yet). Of course, if the troll can't get through the door again, it will be a problem, but on the other hand, that huge ogre did get through, and his skin is now displayed in the lair...

- Good day. I want to register as a healer. You have many wounded after that attack, and I want to help.

- That’s good! We really need people like you right now. Here are the papers, - the secretary handed Tiolas a couple of small forms to fill out and gave him a badge with the administration’s seal.

- Sir? Are you a student at this institution? - Sid repeated, even more sternly, coming into the field of vision of the orc's expansive gaze.

- I wanted to see the world with my own eyes.

Ilda took a closer look. - Wow! A collectible card! I used to collect those when I was a kid. You can't find them anywhere anymore. Well, except maybe from some collectors who sell them.

Thiolas got down to paperwork.

Having finished with the paperwork, the fairy returned to the Arena. The woman he had met earlier directed him to the infirmary and told him to help the sick, those with torn and cut wounds. On the way to where they were located, a man approached Tiolas. He was lying on his back, with his pants pulled down, and he had two arrows in his right buttock, around which some rags were wrapped.

-- I'll probably come tomorrow.
"Or the day after tomorrow. Or..."
Quint sighed wearily, closing the door of "Clean Hands" and looked longingly in the direction of the tavern. He could use a beer... And why can these creatures spend their whole lives sitting around in taverns, sleeping with prostitutes, and pretending to work, and still be completely satisfied with life, while he, sticking his tongue out, chases after the elusive phantom of wealth and power, tearing the throats of everyone who happens to get in his way, and can't even afford to drink as much as he wants?
"Because they are degenerates," his father's voice suggested.
It was getting dark, and Quint had one more important thing to do – take a look at the burned-out theater. Perhaps it was just a cliché from bad detective stories, but it was still worth visiting the ruins, if only out of curiosity and, perhaps, a sense of duty.

About everyone passing over the bridges
Pip Neurotic

Gagfik, or the phenomenon of dwarven elfism
Judeo and Romletta

The Pretended Dead Man
The Lovirg Barber, or Naive Naivety

The Cucumber Garden
Clouds

- There are shops near the Academy. The Mages' Society is located right in the Academy.

Yes.

"You could think that official work isn't a form of slavery," thought the security guard candidate and silently began to read the terms of the contract.

"Especially since it might be valuable to someone. What a scatterbrain the owner is," sighed Felian. "Maybe I'll leave it with you for now, and if someone looking for it shows up, you can give it to them?"