Stostine Swordhand’s POV
Redbrands’ Hideout, Underground Crypt

I took a step into the crypt proper, attempting to follow Glemerr as she helped walk Platick toward the cells Ricven had found. But that first step was the only one I managed before the back of Thorn’s scythe halted me.

The blade’s back was blunt, a fact I only realized as its cold steel grazed my skin. I backed away, startled, only to find both Thorn Wielder and Vareén staring at me with fierce, unyielding glares.

“No,” Thorn said to me in Elvish, her tone rivaling her gaze. “You will stay here. We will talk.”

“Talk?” I echoed, my eyes widening in response. I wasn’t a fool; I knew what this was about. But going over it now was a waste of ti— something that would take too long. The prison cells were in the next room—they were what mattered. Not this. “Thorn Wielder, I understand your concern,” I replied, also in Elvish. “But we do not have time for this. If you insist, I will explain later.”

I tried to step around her, but she adjusted swiftly, the sharp edge of her scythe hovering dangerously close to the back of my neck as she moved to block my path. I found myself trapped, both by her blade and the intensity of their stares.

“Talk,” she repeated, this time in Common. “Talk. Or die.”

Sunset leaned back, a chill running down her spine at the harshness in Fluttershy’s tone. In the past, Fluttershy spoke with a neutral voice. Even when she said Thorn Wielder seemed angry, like with the goblins, there was always a trace of timidity as if she were unsure if they were okay with it.

But now, none of that remained. Clutching the ‘lucky’ die in her hand, ignoring the thin spikes of its seed pod form, Fluttershy glowered at her friend, her voice laced with venom that Sunset wasn’t accustomed to.

“Fluttershy?” Sunset frowned, regaining her composure after a few seconds. The only other people at the table who could hear the two of them were Twilight and Story, the latter thoroughly distracted by whatever the others were dealing with.

“Are you alright?” Twilight leaned to the side, trying to catch Fluttershy’s expression.

“Plague,” Fluttershy growled, her face angled downward like a wolf ready to strike. “Smell plague. Hag. Hag on Stostine. Why?”

Hearing this, Spike scuttled out from under the table to see what had caught Twilight’s attention. But when he came into view and saw Fluttershy, his ears flattened against his head.

Through the whimpering, Spike was too concerned to stay silent. “W-What’s going on?”

His voice worried the Crusaders and Big Mac, who made sure that Button didn’t catch where it had come from. But at the same time, it made Fluttershy flinch back for a moment.

“Huh?” She blinked a few times, turning to look down at Spike, only to realize he was staring up at her with his tail tucked away, holding back more whimpers. “Oh. O-Oh, Spike. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want Stostine—err, Sunset—to tell me about that hag I saw.”

“You saw?” Sunset’s frown deepened. “Fluttershy, what do you mean you saw it? How do you even know about it?”

“Not Flutter—me,” Fluttershy quickly corrected as she pointed at herself, her usual demeanor returning. Rather than explain directly, she spoke as Thorn Wielder, but more neutrally, much like before the undead fight.

“Sense hag,” Thorn Wielder told me, her voice low and accusatory. “When fire burn green. You were scent of hag. Evil. Plague.”

Vareén took one last look towards the jail. Presumably, none of the others were around, because she stepped closer, her glare focused solely on me. “So that’s what that was? A hag? That’s what made you go nuts?”

I clenched my teeth. I suppose, for now, I’ll have to leave the prisoners to Ricven and the others. “Yes. It is a...lingering symptom.”

“Symptom?” Vareén’s eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. “Plague. Sickness.”

I nodded, then turned back to Thorn. “I apologize for worrying you both. Truly, I do. But understand that whatever I may act like in those moments, I do not mean what I may say or do.”

“Struck with fire,” Thorn reminded me, her voice sharp with the memory.

I winced. “I know. I am very sorry about that. I did not...I didn’t mean to...I will not do. It again..." But I couldn’t even force myself to meet her eyes as I made that hollow promise.

“You threatened to expose me.” Vareén stepped forward until she stood beside Thorn Wielder. Her voice sounded colder. “You swore you wouldn’t, and now you’re holding it over my head.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach, my face blanching with horror. I forgot I ever said that. It wasn’t important to me at the time—it was just a way to get her to do what I wanted. To keep her from taking what was mine, a voice glazed across the back of my mind.

I flinched, gripping my head at the sides and shaking until the whiplash drowned out the whispers.

“Hey, hey.” Vareén stepped forward again, her voice softer but still firm. “Focus. We’re talking.”

“I-I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry! I know I swore to you I wouldn’t. And I won’t. What I said was—” “Do you expect that to mean anything?”

I looked back at her as the desperation died in my throat. The two elves before me softened their expressions slightly, but their eyes still held more hostility than compassion. “First was the fight against the Redbrands last night when you mocked them. And just now when you snapped at us. How are we supposed to rely on you for anything when you act like that?”

“When hag appear,” Thorn added flatly.

“Wait. Appear?” I let the word register in my mind before I studied her. “What do you mean, ‘appear’?”

“Stostine change, hag arrives. Watching. From behind.” Thorn Wielder, with the hand not gripping her scythe—

—reached out and pointed just above Sunset’s head, right where the hag’s face had loomed before.

“Hag. There.” Fluttershy’s face tensed up, a cold sweat forming on her brow. She spoke with such conviction that Sunset actually turned around, half-expecting something sinister. But all she saw was Big Mac and the younger ones on the other side of the room. Sunset looked back at Fluttershy, still unnerved.

“You mean...Here?” Sunset’s voice dropped to a whisper. “In the classroom?”

Fluttershy nodded faintly. Then, her breathing hitched for a moment before she instinctively rolled the die again. As it struck the table, the fear that had gripped her moments before was abruptly squashed by a foreign will—a shift that made Spike’s body tense at the presence of her.

Twilight and Sunset exchanged a glance, missing Fluttershy’s sudden change in demeanor as they tried to process what she had just revealed.

“Hey, Fluttershy? The good die. Can I borrow it?”

The question didn’t come from Twilight or Sunset. It was Rainbow Dash.

Whatever was going on between her, Rarity, and Story, Rainbow Dash completely missed Fluttershy’s behavior. She seemed oblivious to how her usually meek friend wasn’t acting so meek at that moment.

Fluttershy blinked, her mind snapping back to reality as she registered Rainbow Dash’s request. “W-Why?”

“It’s for something important,” Rainbow Dash replied, nodding towards Story, who was speaking, though his words were gargled for Fluttershy and the others. “Please?”

Fluttershy hesitated, her hand still clenched tightly around the die. Her knuckles were white from the force. The seconds kept passing, with only Spike seemingly aware that there was something going on.

“E-Erm...Well.” Fluttershy stammered, her gaze shifting to Rainbow Dash’s outstretched hand. A small internal struggle played out on her face as she wrestled with an irrational reluctance to part with the die. But when she questioned herself on why she was hesitating, she found no clear answer.

Seeing Rainbow Dash’s growing confusion, Fluttershy relented. Whatever Rainbow was dealing with seemed more pressing than her own vague concerns. “Okay. Sure. Could I, uh, have it back after?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Thanks.” Rainbow took the die, tossing it lightly in her hand as Sunset tried to refocus on the more immediate concern.

“She was here? The hag?” I hid my mouth behind my hand as a million thoughts raced through my mind. A handful of them not being my own. But among them, I managed to force out a desperate plea as I reached out to Them.

Tabbrius? I thought outward. Are you there? Please be.

Silence. No answer. They were absent. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was still a bitter blow.

“She shouldn’t be.” I turned away from them, my face twisting with grief. “She hasn’t been here since...since...She shouldn’t be.”

“Stostine.” Vareén stepped closer, her hand catching my shoulder. Then, she switched to Dwarvish—a language we were fairly certain Thorn didn’t understand. “You said you were sickly before. Is this what you meant?”

I hesitated, then gave Vareén a brief nod before slowly turning to face them both. As I raised my hands in surrender, Thorn finally lowered her scythe and began to put it away.

“I have difficulty controlling myself in times of great stress,” I explained in Elvish so that Thorn could fully understand. “And when that stress takes hold, it spurs me to act on corrupted emotions—rage, cruelty, even joy. If you saw a hag, Thorn Wielder, then it is likely the same hag that causes it.”

Thorn closed her eyes, silently contemplating. Vareén, however, seemed to piece something together. “When Ricven helped you up, you called yourself a ‘Child of Auntie.’ What does that mean?”

“I...I don’t actually know,” I admitted, folding my hands at my waist. The phrase had haunted me since childhood. A leftover memory from those delusional days. It was like she made me want to say it, to embrace it. Like a mantra.

“Child of hag,” Thorn murmured, her eyes still closed.

“Erm, yes?” I glanced at her. “That...That sounds correct. She always made me say it, without me really understanding why.”

“A hag is a plague,” Thorn repeated in Elvish. “It corrupts Fey and Nature, uses them, spreads curses. It spreads with children.”

“Children?” Vareén crossed her arms, uncertain. “I mean, sure, plenty of hag myths involve children. But how would they ‘spread’ with them?”

Thorn opened her eyes back towards me. They were focused. No longer were they observing what was around her. Instead, her face showed someone acting on experience. “Hags birth hags. But they cannot create life. Only corrupt. Hag spreads with children. They remake children.”

Vareén turned to me, speaking in Common once more. “Please tell me you can decipher that.”

I attempted a weak smile. “Aren’t you the one who grew up surrounded by myths and folktales?”

She scoffed, hiding a smirk. “Just because I was raised by gullible zealots doesn’t mean I paid attention to their nonsense.”

Thorn’s voice cut back in, serious and searching. “This hag. Did you make a deal? Do her bidding? Were you born of her? Speak the truth.”

I straightened, considering her questions carefully. My memories of that time were fragmented, but clear enough to be haunting. After being brought to heaven, I was free of her voice for years. I had thought.

“I’ve never made a deal with a hag,” I said slowly. “Especially not her. And I don’t believe I was...born of her.”

Thorn eyes narrowed slightly. “No?”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to speak the truth. “I...became something. Something monstrous. I tried to escape my home, but I was stopped. Before I could do whatever it was that hag wanted of me, I was caught. That’s when...”

“So you were stopped,” Vareén interjected, seizing on the detail. “Did they put you back to normal?”

I nodded, using her interruption as a reprieve. “Yes. I woke up the next day, back to normal. There was no sign of it. And for years, nothing came of it.”

Thorn Wielder nodded, but her gaze remained intense. “You avoided. Have you done her bidding?”

I shuddered at the memory. “There were times she spoke in my mind, convincing me to play malicious pranks on my family. And I did them. But I always regretted it afterward. This was only before I became that creature.”

Thorn’s stare grew more distant, her thoughts visibly churning as she sought answers she couldn’t find. Her silence carried on uncomfortably long, and I began to hug my arms around myself.

“Does...does that count?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Was that me doing her bidding? And if so, what does that mean?”

Thorn’s face tensed further as she struggled to make sense of it all. Her eyes darted around, searching for clarity, until she finally closed them, focusing inward. But even after several moments, she still had no answer. Finally, she shook her head.

“Unsure,” she admitted. “Bidding is...more. It’s bringing misfortune, destroying symbols, killing, torturing. But prank? What is prank?”

“She means joke,” Vareén interpreted. “I think she means the hag had her be mean toward her family.”

“Joke? Be mean?” Thorn’s brow furrowed deeper. She seemed to wrestle with the concept, trying to connect it to what she knew of hags. But in the end, she just shook her head. “Jokes are not misfortune. And mean? That is all?”

“All?” I repeated, giving her an incredulous look. “I made my own mother cry. My father couldn’t look me in the face for years. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I hated how I made them feel. And you’re asking me if that’s all?”

Thorn Wielder shook her head, frustrated. “Not intent. When is bidding? When is corruption? When is difference? I do not know.”

“Alright...Well then, what would it mean if it was her bidding?” I asked, my arms still tightly crossed.

“If bidding, too late. Stostine is plague,” Thorn Wielder said bluntly. “If not bidding, safe. Stostine is Stostine.”

I took a few stiff breaths, letting Thorn’s words sink in. Her scythe was put away, and neither of the girls looked as though they wanted to cut me down any longer. However, there was still no real trust in their eyes.

Thorn Wielder seemed distracted, likely sifting through memories, trying to recall something that might help her come to a decision. Occasionally, she would close her eyes or let them wander, but they always found their way back to me, gauging my every reaction.

Vareén’s gaze, on the other hand, never left me. She wasn’t distracted—her focus was entirely on me. Her thoughts were likely bouncing between my betrayal and the oath I had made.

“I will do better,” I said, bowing my head. “At the very least, let me work with you all until we reach Gundren. If I lose control again, then so be it. If it keeps you all safe, I would understand what would have to come next. But these bandits must be stopped. The necromancer must be caught. And the man who hired us must be saved. I want to help. Please, give me that chance.”

Vareén sighed, her resolve finally breaking. “Enough. I’m not about to put you down when you’re sane. Besides, you want to solve problems more than I do. Cutting you down would make me feel worse by comparison.”

Thorn pursed her lips. “Hag gone for now. No scent. Stostine’s scent not linger hag, Stostine not plague. No kill.” She then turned, heading towards the others. “Stay not hag, Stostine.”

“Must be her way of saying she won’t do it either,” Vareén remarked, glancing at me. “Leave it to the divine hag girl to find bleeding hearts.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “In the most curious spots. Including from a changeling huntress, hmm?”

She turned from me, pulling her hood lower. “Come on. Let’s check in with the others. Maybe they’ve gotten those prisoners free by now.”

I nodded, folding my arms into my sleeves and following her into the next room. Inside, we saw that Platick had already made quick work of most of the locks. In the center of the room was Mirna, an unfortunate widow from Phandalin, along with one of her daughters. From another cell emerged the real Leanne, still chained to the wall, much to her and Platick’s frustration, but alive.

Standing in the opposite corner of the room was one last person: Yernal.

“You.” I stepped forward as Glemerr and Platick debated whether or not to rest before assaulting the remainder of the hideout. “This is where you went.”

He settled himself, staring back in disbelief. “You...You’re alive. All of ya.” He took a moment to glance at Thorn Wielder. “Even the Cortássian?”

I smiled at him. “That might not have been the case if you had taken the shot. It was close for a moment there. You have my thanks.”

He stared back, his expression darkening with guilt. “Ya saved me first, ta be fair. ‘Fore everythin’ went ta shivile, ya kept Stalwart from offin’ me. That woulda kept ya alive too, ya know.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded. “But I was not lying. We truly were not looking for bloodshed. Watching you die would have been saddening.”

He slumped back against the wall. “Makes sense, Ah s’ppose. But now what? Ya already said the Platinum Guard knows ‘bout all the necromancy. Can’t imagine anyone that survives you lot gets ta walk free.”

“No, they likely won’t.” My face faltered. “A few of them have apparently cracked under the pressure, particularly towards my friend, the gnome. So, we will try to put in a word for them. For all that may be worth.”

“Even after what they did ta you all?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’d do that?” He watched me nod, then mulled over his options. “Yer much nicer than ya should be. When that doppelganger came in, he riled up the place somethin’ fierce. Had ‘em all mad, fakin’ revenge just fer a chance at cuttin’ ya down.”

“And most of them have already fallen,” I informed him. “And to those lucky enough to live, they will remain as such until the Platinum Guard arrives.”

He took a deep breath, building up his courage before looking back up at me. By now, one or two of the others were listening in on our conversation. He had to face them too, and their eyes bore down on him.

“And...same goes fer me, aye?”

I hummed, turning the thought over. “Well, everyone captured so far has refused to surrender. Even the ones who turned on their band.” I glanced over my shoulder. Vareén and Rava had joined me. “What do you two think? Should he receive the same punishment if he’s the only one that surrendered?”

“Pretty sure he took potshots at us last night,” Vareén reminded me. “It was either him or the other Dwarf that struck you in the back. I couldn’t tell.”

Yernal stiffened, but before he could speak, Rava stepped forward. “A thought before ya speak, Yernal. If yer about ta throw yer dead friend under the bus, that won’t bode well. Criminal or not, Ah won’t have anyone lyin’ about the dead. If yer gonna say it was him, ya better be tellin’ the truth.”

Yernal swallowed, nodding gravely at Rava’s words. “What yer elf friend said is right. Ah took shots at ya. Even after ya saved me. And, well, Ah did hit her. Couldn’t tell quite where, but Ah know Ah did. Still, it wasn’t me that shot ya in the back. That was Daern. Ah ain’t sure Ah coulda taken that shot after ya saved mah life.”

Rava folded her arms, her eyes narrowing as she weighed his words. Vareén’s gaze was equally sharp, her suspicion evident. Neither of them seemed ready to trust him yet.

Rainbow Dash glanced over at Twilight. “What do you think, Twi? He tellin’ the truth?”

Twilight gave her an awkward look. “I don’t know. I remember Vareén getting shot, and only the Dwarves were shooting, but I didn’t keep track of which one did it.”

Sunset turned to Story. “Would Stostine remember? Or do I need to roll an insight check?”

Story frowned thoughtfully. “If you can’t recall, then I probably can’t tell you. Still, all three of you can roll insight on him.”

The three girls took him up on the offer, with Twilight and Sunset grabbing their regular dice, while Rainbow kept using the lucky die.

However, ‘lucky’ wasn’t the right word here. As Rainbow and Twilight rolled, both dice landed on the same, terrible number: 1.

“Here. Take it back.” Rainbow Dash handed the die back to Fluttershy with a sad expression, and Fluttershy quietly held it under her palm.

Sunset, however, wasn’t betrayed by her die. “Twenty-two.”

Story nodded, not needing to check his notes. “Consider this roll more about recalling events. Rava wasn’t there, so she has no clue. And Vareén just admitted she couldn’t remember. But Stostine? She does.”

“Cannae say fer sure,” Rava admitted, shaking her head. “Ah wanna take yer word on it, but—”

“No,” I interjected. “He is telling the truth.”

They turned to me, and I met their gazes evenly. “Constantly, Yernal was berated and insulted by his fellow bandits. Even before the human bandits started, this Daern did the same. Yernal held back.”

“As she says. Honest,” Yernal added quickly. “Look, Ah got no weapons on me. Search me if ya need, they took ‘em when they threw me in ‘ere. Same with mah cloak.”

Vareén scoffed. “What, are those things supposed to be an initiation or something?”

Yernal shook his head. “No. It’s what Glasstaff had us wear. Told us that whoever wore ‘em, undead wouldnae try ta kill us. Most of us just wore ‘em either on jobs or downstairs. Stalwart n’ the mage-haters wanted ta make an emblem out a’ them. Make the town ‘understand what they meant’ err whatever.”

“The cloaks keep the undead away?” I mused, rubbing my chin. “Come to think of it, the undead didn’t seem to care about that other Redhead when he burst into the chamber with a crossbow.”

“Or Glem fer tha’ matter,” Rava added. “‘Least, not till she managed ta tag one of ‘em.”

“Wait.” Vareén spun around, focusing on Glemerr. She was busy wrapping up her and Platick’s wounds while Ricven soothed the two townsfolk’s worries. But Vareén’s attention was on something else: Glemerr’s mask.

“The red cloaks.” Vareén held the side of her head for a second. “Glemerr’s mask is made of shredded cloaks. The undead thinks that she’s on their side.”

“Well, up ‘till she clocked one,” Rava again pointed out.

“Sounds right,” Yernal confirmed. “The way they told me, Glasstaff has his undead ignore somebody wearin’ a red cloak. But if someone with a red cloak hits an undead, Glasstaff, err another cloaked person, the undead go nuts on ‘em.”

“The cloaks keep you safe.” I frowned. “Which means, if we want to keep the undead from immediately attacking us…”

“...No.” Vareén shook her head. “No, please, tell me we’re not.”

“Vareén.” I looked back at her seriously. “In that small room beside the cistern we saw, you said that there were some extra capes? How many?”

Vareén grimaced. “I almost don’t want to tell you...but three. And they’re all filthy.”

“Three from the closet,” I repeated, thinking aloud.. “One more on the man that shot Platick. Two from the ones Glemerr took out. And Glemerr’s mask. We won’t even need to go upstairs.”

“Do we really need to wear those things?” Vareén’s tone turned slightly whiny. “We already killed his undead. What difference would it make?”

“He’s got more,” Yernal piped up. “The folk who stand guard outside his office mentioned how he keeps a couple spiders in there too.”

“Thanks for that,” Vareén muttered sarcastically. “Now it’s a given we have to wear those dumb things.”

I gave her a small smile. “If it helps, Prestidigitation is only a cantrip. I can make sure that yours is cleaned.”

“It’s not just the dirt,” Vareén grumbled. “I just...like my cloak better.”

“Are ya serious?” Rava shot her a look. “Vareén, lassie, nobody’s gonna judge yer fashion sense in a dirty basement. It won’t kill ya ta go without yer hood fer an hour.”

Vareén’s side-eye lingered on Rava for a few seconds before switching back to me. “If I wear one and a spider still crawls down my throat? I’m ramming it down yours.”

I forced myself not to squirm, taking a deep breath. The memory of spider limbs crawling across my skin, reaching through my fucking face, sent a shiver down my spine, but I kept my voice steady. “...Okay. That’s fair. And if the worst happens, I’ll do everything I can to prevent it. Rava?”

The Dwarf blinked, refocusing on my words rather than my expression. “Erm, yeah?”

“You can jump that pit, right? Could you double back and grab those other cloaks?”

With a look of recognition, she nodded. “Aye. Ah can do tha’. Be back in a sec.”

Rava hurried off to retrieve the cloaks as the others agreed to rest for the moment. Glemerr, still intensely focused, worked to bandage everyone else’s wounds after finishing with Platick, who in turn began drilling Yernal for information about the hideout. Thorn and Vareén, untouched by the recent battle, took up positions as lookouts, their eyes scanning the crypt for any sign of more Redbrands.

When Rava returned, cloaks in hand, I used a simple wave of my fingers to clean them with magic, making the filthy garments presentable. As she passed them out, Rava also offered rations and water to Leanne and the other prisoners, who accepted the meal with grateful, albeit exhausted, smiles. It was likely the first decent meal they’d had in weeks.

Despite the dreary atmosphere, with the remains of the undead still scattered outside the chamber, Ricven began preparing his violin, a content grin spreading across his face.

Vareén glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Tell me you’re not about to play something down here.”

“Oh, hush, Miss Vareén.” Ricven waved her off with a flourish. “I’ve got a reason for this performance. Y’see, them ‘bubbles’ y’all love so much are nice an’ all, but I can only do ones like those so many times. But with a bit of time? I can create somethin’ grander. Somethin’ that the whole crowd can enjoy.”

“With healing properties?” Platick asked, his tone flat.

Ricven only pouted. “Yes, Platick. With healin’ properties. Do ya gotta rip all the whimsy out of it?”

“Right. Because whimsy is exactly what we need in a prison, surrounded by bones.”

“U-Um.” Narra, Mirna’s daughter, raised her hand tentatively. “I wouldn’t mind some music.”

Ricven’s face lit up, and he snapped his fingers. “A pure angel, this child!” He then shot a mock glare at Platick and Vareén. “Y’hear that, ya borin’ stumps? The kid wants a song. Now hush up and enjoy.”

With exhausted patience, Platick and Vareén rolled their eyes but fell silent as Ricven positioned his bowstring. He tapped it in the air, conjuring a soft, jovial piano melody that echoed through the chamber. As each note rang out, small orbs of light appeared, growing in size until they coalesced into the shapes of different instruments—drums, flutes, and even a harp.

Ricven swayed with the rhythm, conducting his ensemble of motes with practiced ease. The music swelled, summoning a harmonious blend of tones that filled the crypt with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold, lifeless surroundings. The melody reached a crescendo, then paused, leaving a pregnant silence in its wake.

“Ladies,” Ricven announced with a grandiose bow. “It is my pleasure ta perform fer you...and Platick and that ex-con Dwarf.” He waved dismissively at them, earning a chuckle from Narra. “A delightful Song...Of rest.”

The instruments resumed, guided by Ricven’s violin, with the notes dancing in the air with a joyful energy. As the music swirled around us, a gentle breeze seemed to emanate from Ricven and his magical motes, washing over our tired bodies. The sound seeped into our very skin, soothing aches and pains, mending wounds with a tender touch that felt almost otherworldly.

The healing wasn’t instantaneous, but it was thorough. With each passing moment, the pain dulled, replaced by a comforting warmth that spread through our limbs. Ricven’s lively tune gradually softened, transitioning into a calmer melody. The motes of light pulsed gently in time with the music, each beat delivering another wave of healing energy.

As the hour passed, the music continued to weave its spell, binding our injuries and lifting our spirits. The threat of danger still loomed not far away, but in that small, sacred space, we found a brief respite. The weariness that had weighed us down began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose.

When the final note hung in the air, fading into the silence of the crypt, we were left not only physically healed but emotionally fortified. The group exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between us. Then, we picked ourselves up for what came next.

Platick Fortuna’s POV
Redbrands’ Hideout, Underground Crypt
1 Hour Later

The entire time Ricven played his violin, we were lucky. Not a single Redbrand found us. No close calls, no warnings from Thorn or Vareén, who kept vigilant watch by the door. It was a rare moment of peace in this cursed place—a chance to lick our wounds and regroup.

As we rested, Yernal proved more useful than I expected. He laid out the hideout’s layout as best as he could remember. I kept a close eye on him, but nothing he said set off any alarms. Either he was telling the truth, or his lies were wasted on being a grunt.

When we were ready to move out, Stostine turned to to the captives. “One last time. You all understand what to do, yes?”

“Keep the door closed and tied,” Mirna recited, gripping the rope in her hands. “And I’ll tie it to the bars on either side.”

“Good.” Stostine nodded. “And no matter what you hear, do not open that door unless you hear the song Ricven played.”

“Got it.” Mirna’s voice trembled slightly. “Please, please find Nilsa. Bring her back safe. Okay?”

“We promise,” Stostine assured them. “We won’t leave until we get her.”

Yernal cleared his throat and waved us over, switching to Dwarven so the captives wouldn’t understand. “Ah know it’s awkward askin’ this now, but... how long should we wait? Just in case...”

“Ya won’t have ta worry yerself ‘bout tha’,” Rava returned in the same tongue. “We’ll be back.”

“R-Right,” Yernal stammered, nodding. “Just...erm...”

I stepped forward, cutting through his uncertainty. “Give us two hours,” I said, my voice firm. “If we’re not back by then, get them out. Understood?”

I felt the tempered looks from the others who understood Dwarven, but I ignored them. Promises didn’t mean a damn thing if we didn’t make it back. Better to be realistic.

“One last thing.” I walked back into the chamber, noting Leanne’s cautious gaze following me. The only way she was getting out of there was if we returned with that key. Her survival depended on us, and that was something I couldn’t afford to lose focus on.

“Take these.” I took a moment to remove two daggers, handing them to Mirna and her daughter. “These are for self-defense only. Got it? If you see a Redbrand, don’t try to be a hero. Just keep yourselves safe.”

“Applejack, are you su—”

“Absolutely not!” Rarity’s outburst cut Sunset’s attempt at softly telling her otherwise. Rarity was having none of it. “Applejack, are you insane?! Why would you give them—”

“Rarity.” Applejack spared a glance at the Crusaders before giving Rarity a stern look. “Ah get it. It don’t look good on paper. But what’s the better alternative here? Give ‘em knives an’ hope they never need ‘em? Or don’t, and wish we had?”

Rarity’s face twisted in frustration, her anger barely contained. “Perhaps, but, if that’s the case, why not Yernal? He’s somebody who has fought people before. Further, we. Don’t. Know. Him.”

Applejack let out a slow breath, nodding along. “Yer right. We don’t. Which is exactly why Platick wouldn’t give him a knife.”

“Well then think of a reason Platick would give Yernal the—” “Rarity.”

This time, Sunset intervened, speaking only loud enough for Rarity to hear without the younger girls noticing. “If it’s our characters giving something to them, the girls won’t be affected. Besides, we don’t have too much longer. We need to keep moving.”

Rarity clenched her hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. “You’re...you’re right. Okay. We need to hurry and save the other twin.”

Or at the very least, stop the Nothic, Story thought, glancing at his phone. The clock was closing in on 6PM, and the timeline was tightening more than he liked.

“More than anything,” Stostine said, stepping up beside me. “Just focus on staying safe inside. We’ll be back soon.”

“Right. Best of luck,” Mirna replied, keeping Narra well behind her as we spoke.

As I turned, I caught the sound of shifting chains and saw Leanne enter the corner of my eye. “May the Goddess Tymora be with you,” she offered, her tone solemn.

My hand instinctively hovered over the spot where Sister Garaele’s medallion rested against my chest. The wound was healed, but the memory of that close call lingered. I had tucked the medallion into a different pocket earlier, but now, I figured it was better to keep it close—extra protection in case things went south again.

We stepped out, and as the door closed behind us, I listened intently. A few seconds later, I heard the distinct sound of the door being pulled tighter against its frame. They were following instructions. Good.

“Okay d’en.” Glemerr said, cracking her knuckles as she seemed much more focused than earlier. “Where to now?”

I adjusted the red cloak around my shoulders, redistributing the three daggers I had left. “Yernal said there’s a hidden path behind that door.”

Everybody followed my finger as it pointed out towards the third door leaving the crypt. The body of the most recent Redbrand lied beside it with an arrow still firmly lodged in his brain.

“Makes sense.” Vareén’s hand instinctively reached for her hood that was no longer there. The red cloaks were thicker than they seemed, and combined with her usual gear, it would have hindered Vareén’s movement Her old one was left behind with Yernal and the others. “That’s where the ‘warden’ tried to make a run for it.”

We crossed the crypt, our boots crunching against the scattered bones littering the floor. At the door, we stacked up as we had done before, each of us taking our positions with practiced precision.

“Ready...Go.”

Rava threw the door open, and Glemerr surged forward, taking up a defensive stance as she scanned the room. But it wasn’t needed. The hall was empty. A simple twenty-foot space with a single door on the right side at the far end.

“Clear,” Glemerr called, but she kept her arms up, ready for anything. Rava stepped aside to let me, Vareén and Thorn Wielder pass through.

“Remember. He said discolored stones,” I told them in Elvish. But I didn’t need to.. Both elves had already locked onto the same spot on the wall.

“Without a doubt, the saddest secret door,” Vareén quipped, earning a bored nod from Thorn Wielder. “One of the hinges is even a different color.”

Rava stepped in next, squinting at the wall. “Musta had a new one made by the blacksmith in town. They were really tryin’ ta bunker down in ‘ere, huh?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter now. Alright, Rava? I want you at the back this time. With the hallway this narrow, we’ll have to go about this single-file.”

Rava stared at me. “The back? Why’s that?”

“If Yernal’s right—and I’m pretty sure he is—the other side of this fake wall opens to the main chamber. The Nothic, bugbears, any Redbrands still standing? They’ll all be within earshot of this door. And since this is the only way to the necromancer, we want the element of surprise. Meaning, you need to be in the back.”

Rava clicked her tongue in mild annoyance but started moving aside, her armor clanking as she did. “Fair enough. Coulda phrased it better, though.”

“I take it you want me up front?” Vareén asked, expectant.

I nodded. “Yes.” Then I turned to the other elf, switching back to Elvish. “Thorn Wielder, you’re with us. And about that animal shifting you can do. Can you do it quietly?” She gave a single nod. “Good. Once you’re out there, turn into something mean. When we start, we’re going all out.”

She nodded again and began some controlled breathing exercises, preparing herself.

“Hey. Ah can be quiet too,” Glemerr whispered, clearly eager to prove herself. “And Ah got no armor. Lemme sneak in with y’all.”

I considered it, weighing the risks. Glemerr was light enough on her feet, so if she could keep her mouth shut she’d probably be as good as me or Vareén. “Alright, fine. Everyone else? Stay back until things kick off. If it goes wrong before that, you’ll know.”

“Oh, I might have somethin’ ta help,” Ricven chimed in with a sly grin.

“If you’re about to suggest playing music to help us sneak in, don’t bother,” I said flatly. “Your little ditty that broke my tools was more than enough.”

Ricven scoffed, flipping his cloak like a thespian. “It would’ve been more help if ya let the music in, but no. I don’t need music fer this. Tell me, who thinks they ain’t the most stealthy outta y’all?”

The group exchanged glances, each of us sizing up the other. My money was on Glemerr, but Vareén seemed confident in her. Thorn Wielder, on the other hand, had the quiet grace of nature. but here, on stonework, that wasn’t enough.

Eventually, when all of our gazes all settled on Thorn, Ricven had his answer. “I see.” Ricven sidled up beside Thorn with an outstretched hand. “Y’know, they say that singin’ ta plants helps ‘em grow. Mind if I prove that?”

Thorn watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered his offer. “Sing to Acrine?”

“Well a’ course. I wouldn’t sing ta just any plant, y’know? Come now, time’s rottin’.”

“Wasting,” Vareén corrected with a grumble.

Thorn kept staring down at Ricven, but when she saw the rest of us waiting, she finally relented. She crouched to eye level with Ricven and unwound a few coils of her vine, holding them out in front of him. Ricven took the vine gently, his expression focused.

“Now then.” Ricven cleared his throat and began to hum—a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that resonated through the vines. Each hum layered over the previous one, creating a subtle harmony that grew richer with each repetition. By the fifth hum, a faint thrum shimmered across Thorn’s vines, a quiet but steady vibration that lingered even after Ricven stepped back.

It was incredibly faint, only audible if you were right next to the vines, but it was there. As long as Thorn didn’t creep directly behind someone, no one would hear her coming.

“There. Ya see? Not all my magic needs ta be loud and boisterous. Thank me later,” Ricven said with a wink. But as he turned to rejoin the others, I caught him muttering to himself—something about the tone still not landing.

I shook my head, focusing on the task at hand. “At least it was quiet. Everyone ready?” I looked between the elves and Glemerr, watching as they all nodded in turn. “Okay. Carefully now.”

Vareén and I took point, easing our combined weight against the door. As we pushed, the wall shifted with a low, hollow grinding sound against the stone floor—a sound that immediately made us freeze.

“Dagnabit, Platick, yer supposed ta be good at this,” Applejack scolded, glaring at the sad little ‘4’ on her die. The total was at least in double digits, but it didn’t inspire confidence.

Good thing they’re going as a group, Story noted as he heard Twilight’s number barely more than double what Applejack had.

“Shush,” Vareén hissed, shooting me a sharp look as she slipped into the room first. I followed a beat later, moving slower to compensate for the noise I’d made.

Behind me, Glemerr slid through the doorway nex—

Natural-twenty, WOOHOO~!

PINKIE!

Hey, quiet! We’re stealthing here! You’re gonna give us away!

Ughhhh...

Glemerr moved with a cautious grace, never letting her feet fully lift off the floor. It served her well, and soon enough, the three of us were clustered together in the dim light, waiting for our last frontliner.

And Thorn Wielder didn’t disappoint. Watching our movements, she gave a final glance back at the others still in the hallway before skulking forward. Despite the complete lack of nature around her—in fact, I’d say in spite of it—she moved with an eerie fluidity, positioning herself silently between the three of us. The entire time, I noticed she held her breath, a small but significant detail that made me reassess her focus.

I wasn’t sure about Glemerr, thanks to her mask, but Vareén’s brow furrowed in brief confusion. Thorn Wielder met our eyes, then motioned for us to back up. With little choice, we obeyed.

We were standing inside a storeroom, its walls lined with crates and barrels that crowded the otherwise plain square space. The southern wall, completely missing, revealed a cavern with a massive gash in the earth that stretched into darkness. Weak torchlight flickered from the northern wall behind us, casting long shadows that danced over the rough stone floor.

I couldn’t see a thing beyond the torches, but the others covered for that. I watched them staring intently in one specific direction, clearly sizing up our enemies who sat in the darkness.

“Countin’ four hairy gobbos on da far side,” Glemerr whispered as we slunk to the left, using the scattered barrels to somewhat hide ourselves. Vareén had moved to the right, blending into shadows with practiced ease. She stayed standing at a full height, readying her bow and a single arrow in it. But even still, Thorn kept gesturing for us to give her further space.

How big are you about to get? I thought, finding another barrel to duck behind that allowed Thorn even more space.

The moment I did, Thorn gave me an answer. Once we were all a good distance away, she crouched low and exhaled a deep, controlled breath. Her elven form seemed to ripple like water, expanding and reshaping into a mass of fur and muscle. Her clothes and the red cloak vanished, replaced by thick brown hide as her body quadrupled in size.

Her face elongated, morphing into the snarling visage of a massive brown bear. The transformation was unnervingly silent, save for the light tapping of her sharp claws on the flagstone. Thorn Wielder, now a towering beast, glanced back at us, her massive head alone the size of her former body’s torso.

Bear? You had a BEAR this whole time?!

My thoughts screamed for an explanation I knew I wasn’t going to get. We’d spent last night’s ambush turning Thorn into a rabbit and a deer, and now I find out bears were on the list?

The only hint that this bear was anything more than a wild beast was the thick vines coiled around its front right leg. The vines had grown with her, now looking like something straight out of a jungle rather than the thorned forest vine we were accustomed to.

“Light. Light!” Glemerr pointed out towards the opposite end of the cavern as a light appeared on the opposite end. It was a simple candle, from what I could tell, carried by a human Redbrand. It barely illuminated the space far ahead of me, but gave me some perspective.

The chamber stretched about sixty to seventy feet long, with a chasm in the center splitting the room into two sides. Near the middle, two columns of rock supported the ceiling. The lodge wasn’t directly over this floor—not that it mattered. Even if we wanted to, we weren’t capable of bringing down those pillars.

Two wooden ramps bridged the chasm, each pitoned into the earth on either side. The ramp nearest to us was partially illuminated by the storage room’s torches, while the second ramp was just a shadow at the edge of the Redbrand’s candlelight.

As the Redbrand approached, I watched him exchange words with one of the bugbears. No, not an exchange. The Redbrand spoke, and the bugbear barely listened. Until, suddenly, it did. The beast snapped to attention, facing the human with renewed focus.

Weird. I thought. Klarg had no respect for humans. Why’s it so different here?

“I have a shot,” Vareén whispered, drawing an arrow. “Say the word and I’ll snipe a bugbear.”

“Maybe da closest one?” Glemerr suggested, her voice low. “It’d give us more time movin’ in if it’s down.”

We needed to act fast. Thorn might have been eerily still, her breathing silent, but there was no hiding a grizzly bear in the open.

And sure enough, Glemerr’s hand clasped my shoulder with a readied look behind her mask. “Platick? What’s da call? Which one?”

I glanced at her, then at Vareén. She was poised, bowstring half-drawn, waiting for my signal.

“Go for the one talking,” I decided. “It might be a leader.”

Vareén nodded, stepping out just enough to line up her shot. “Pluvv.” She didn’t bother whispering the word. Veins around her eyes and ears pulsed as her senses heightened, and in the next instant, she released the arrow.

I watched it disappear into the darkness, silent and swift, before it reappeared in the candlelight, burying itself deep into the arm of the bugbear nearest the Redbrand. The beast’s roar shattered the tense silence, a thunderous bellow that echoed off the cavern walls, amplifying to a deafening level. It was loud enough that even the captives back in the jailroom likely heard it.

I drew my rapier, sinking further behind the barrel to stay hidden. The enemy didn’t know our full positions yet. There was an advantage in that. But regardless, chaos erupted with half a dozen voices roaring in fury. First was the bugbears’, with deep, guttural cries reverberating around us. Glemerr’s rallying shout mingled with Thorn’s bear-like roar in retaliation, a sound so primal and fierce that it made the bugbears hesitate for only a second before they rushed us.

The chamber had become a vortex of noise, and it took everything I had not to cover my ears. But in the midst of that cacophony, I heard it—a single voice shouting from the enemy’s side.

Mine.

“Keep the human alive! I want his brain intact!”

Author's Note

For some reason, I thought I used 'A Short Rest' as a title for a previous chapter. I'm so glad I didn't because it fits perfectly here.

I know that there's a cliffhanger since the party's about to go into another combat here, but as I mentioned last week, I am gonna need to put this story on a small hiatus for a while. I'm thinking three weeks. This combat, as well as the rest of the dungeon after, is all blocked out but I want to have a several-chapter buffer set up to keep from having to focus fire the chapters late into the week.

For those interested in current stats for the characters going into the major fight, they pretty much have everything here. Rava's down to only 4 points of Lay on Hands, Vareén just used her final spell for this combat, and Ricven has only one spell remaining and no more inspirations. Finally, Glem and Platick are still down 2 & 3 HP respectively.

Despite the small hiatus, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If you have any criticisms or things you thought worked here, please let me know in the comments! I always love seeing your guys' replies on these.

See you in a few weeks, all!
Cheers,
-Zeke