Why Accreditation Matters (and Why the System Is Very, Very Broken)
Across the Commonwealth—and well beyond it, in jurisdictions as diverse as the Barony of Sixteen Misplaced Lakes, the Roving Principality of Tesselwick, and the city-state of Castellum Taxhaven—adventurers roam the land performing deeds that range from unquestionably heroic to deeply questionable.
In theory, these individuals are regulated.
In practice, the licensing bureaucracy is held together with twine, post-it runes, and the emotional stamina of three overworked clerks who haven’t had lunch since the reign of Queen Saffria IV.
This report examines the current state of the Adventurer Licensing Authority (ALA):
- its crumbling infrastructure,
- its spiraling corruption,
- the alarming rate of magical malpractice,
- and the growing number of citizens who have recently been incinerated by someone claiming to be a trained professional.
With love, whimsy, and mild civic panic, we present:
The Adventurer Licensing Crisis.
I. The Original Purpose of Licensing (Back When It Still Worked)
Long ago—historians disagree on the exact timeline, as the original records are kept in a fireproof vault guarded by an extremely forgetful dragon—the ALA was founded to protect the public from:
- Untrained spellcasters
- Overconfident sword-wavers
- Individuals who describe themselves as “Rogue by trade” without specifying whether they mean burglary or political commentary
The goal was noble:
“To ensure that any citizen venturing into danger does so with competence, clarity, and minimal explosion radius.”
A licensed adventurer was once a symbol of civic responsibility. Someone vetted. Someone accountable. Someone who, at the absolute least, had read the pamphlet titled “So You Want to Cast Fireball: A Basic Guide to Not Obliterating the Public.”
But today?
Well.
Let’s take a look.
II. The collapse of standards: A timeline of bureaucratic decay
Year 1: ALA established. Standards are strict. Testing is rigorous. Paperwork is manageable. Spirits are high.
Year 40: Paperwork load doubles. Budget stays the same. Testing protocols expand to include ‘Ethical Considerations of Loot Redistribution.’ Spirits falter.
Year 75: The Great Coffee Drought of the Western Coast. ALA staff begin adding self-reported qualifications to licenses. Nobody stops them.
Year 112: The ALA headquarters is partially burned down by a wizard claiming to be “clearing space for innovation.” His temporary license was revoked. He didn’t notice.
Year 175: The Testing Department begins a decade-long strike over the implementation of “Practical Teleportation Exams.”
A leaked memo from the time simply reads:
“We cannot grade candidates who vanish halfway through the exam.”
*Year 201: Adventuring Guilds begin self-certifying their members. Quality varies.
Some guilds produce paragons of heroic virtue.
Others produce the man in East Grenton who claimed to be a “Level 11 Cleric of the Swordlord,” despite refusing to touch swords, lords, or religion.*
Year 230: The ALA quietly stops verifying references. Everyone pretends not to notice.
III. Fraud: The “Adventurer-for-Hire” Who Has Never Been Inside a Dungeon
Reports of fraudulent adventurer licenses have surged 300% in the last decade, according to documents I personally retrieved from the ALA’s dumpster at 3 AM.
Notable recent fraud cases:
Case #1: The Phantom Paladin of Willowmere
A man who claimed the ability to “smite with holy radiance” by rubbing two lanterns together and hoping for sparks.
He passed the ethics exam with high marks.
No one knows how.
Case #2: The Necromancer Who Was Actually Just a Puppeteer
Technically harmless.
Legally confusing.
Emotionally damaging to the children’s puppet show community.
Case #3: The Eight-Time Archmage
This individual submitted the same certificate eight times with different coffee stains.
All eight were accepted.
Case #4: The Rogue With No Known Skills
Turned out to be a potter. An extremely talented potter, mind you, but incapable of picking locks, disarming traps, or climbing anything taller than a kitchen stepstool.
He did defeat a goblin once—by dropping a vase on its head.
IV. Bribery: The Guilds That Bought Their Certs in Bulk
Let’s be honest:
Some guilds have more gold than scruples.
The following is a partial list (names altered for legal reasons, but recognizable if you squint):
• The Order of the Shining Sunrise
Bribed examiners with “honorary squire badges.”
These badges are made of chocolate.
• The Brotherhood of the Blazing Blade
Gave out season tickets to their underground fight pit.
The ALA staff accepted.
Some examiners never came back.
• The Emerald Eye Cabal
Their test-takers consistently scored a perfect 100%.
Investigators discovered the grading rubric had been “stored accidentally” in their break room.
• The Wandwright Circle
Paid bribes in the form of extremely well-crafted wands.
This was only discovered years later when a review board realized every examiner possessed the exact same wand.
V. Magical Misuse: Catastrophes Caused by the Unlicensed
It is one thing to accidentally mishandle a sword.
It is another to miscast a spell that scrambles the fabric of reality.
Documented incidents from the past year:
• The “Sudden Summer” of Frosthold
An unlicensed druid attempted to cast Gust of Warmth.
He cast Heatwave of Eternal Noon instead.
The local berry crop mutated into sentient glowing spheres that loudly requested better working conditions.
• The Teleportation Disaster of Fernwick
A sorcerer tried to teleport across the street.
Arrived inside a bakery.
Inside a loaf of bread.
Survived.
Became a local mascot.
• The Conjured Horse Epidemic
An amateur conjurer summoned “one horse.”
Instead summoned “one hundred horses.”
They have since unionized.
• The Lava Incident in the Quiet Town of Rivermint
A novice pyromancer attempted to cast Firebolt without a license.
Created Fire… Everything.
The river now runs warm. Tourist revenue is up. Morale is mixed.
• The Curse of Infinite Geese
A hedge-wizard attempted to ward off pests.
Mispronounced vermin-warding verses.
Unleashed geese.
So many geese.
The ALA refused to investigate, stating: “We lack a goose division.”
VI. Why Proper Accreditation Actually Matters
Some skeptics argue that licensing stifles creativity or deters young adventurers.
Others say that the bold should not be fettered by the cautious.
To these skeptics, this reporter says:
“Please stop encouraging teenagers to hurl lightning bolts without supervision.”
Licensing serves crucial civic functions:
1. Ensures basic safety standards
Every licensed wizard must know:
- How to aim
- How to apologize
- How to extinguish large fires
- How to file a damage report
2. Protects citizens from magical fallout
There is a difference between “heroic bravery” and “accidentally summoning a demon because you skipped your reading.”
3. Prevents monopolization by reckless guilds
Without oversight, the wealthiest guilds would flood the market with undertrained adventurers, devaluing professional heroism while doubling the number of crater-related incidents.
4. Creates accountability
When a licensed adventurer destroys property, there are forms.
When an unlicensed one does it, there are craters.
5. Establishes ethical expectations
A good adventurer:
- Returns stolen goods
- Respects local laws
- Does not kick down doors without checking if a sign says “Please Knock”
VII. So Why Is the System Broken?
A combination of structural problems:
• Chronic Underfunding
The ALA receives less money than the National Duck Census.
(The ducks are winning.)
• Outdated Testing Standards
Exams still include questions like:
“Describe the proper etiquette for greeting a vampire.”
(Vampires have not used etiquette since the Old Hunger Wars.)
• Political Interference
Nobles love sponsoring their own adventurer candidates.
Strangely, their protégés pass 31% more often.
• Overreliance on Guilds
Guilds now perform 70% of training.
Quality varies from “exemplary” to “Are you sure this isn’t a cult?”
• Staff Burnout
Many ALA examiners have developed a medical condition known as “Arcane Fatigue,” which doctors describe as “the magical equivalent of being tired of everyone’s nonsense.”
VIII. Proposed Reforms (If Anyone Would Fund Them)
The Civic Report consulted experts.
(They charged hourly. One demanded snacks.)
Here are the most promising recommendations:
1. Fully Modernize the Testing System
Introduce practical skill demonstrations that don’t involve igniting an examiner’s desk.
2. Centralized Magical Incident Reporting
A mandatory registry where citizens can report:
- accidental explosions
- suspicious spellcasting
- ominous chanting in basements
- geese
3. Independent Oversight Board
Comprised of retired adventurers, civic scholars, and at least one grandmother who fears nothing.
4. Tiered Licensing
Different tiers for:
- novice adventurers
- full professionals
- “please stop touching spellbooks” amateurs
5. Guild Accountability Reviews
Any guild with an 80% annual incident rate must host community service events or bake sales until morale improves.
6. Bribery-Resistant Protocols
Exam questions randomized by a magical entropy engine.
(Experts insist it’s safe. Experts are often wrong.)
7. A Goose Division
It’s time.
IX. The Future of Adventuring: Can the System Be Saved?
Yes—if citizens demand reform before the next magical catastrophe.
The adventuring profession is essential.
Heroes protect us from monsters, bandits, rogue wizards, and occasionally themselves.
But a system built on trust, twine, and wishful thinking cannot endure forever.
We must rebuild it:
not to limit heroism,
but to preserve it.
Because nothing kills the romance of adventure faster than having a wall of public notices reading “Please Do Not Cast Spells Within City Limits.”
X. Closing Remarks from the Reporter
As this article goes to press, I hear from sources that the ALA is hosting a symposium titled:
“Licensing Reform: A Brave New Era, Assuming We Survive Lunch.”
Progress?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps the symposium will burst into flames halfway through the keynote, as these gatherings often do.
Either way, this reporter will be there, notebook in one hand, fire extinguisher in the other.
Filed for The Civic Report.
May civic institutions be durable, spell-resistant, and preferably goose-proof.
