I.

“Here she comes,” the older boy whispered, keeping his head low. The roof over Bayard’s stables was an ideal place from which to watch the comings and goings along Taverner’s Row. Stretched out on the side away from the street with only their heads peering over the roof’s peak, three urchins were doing just that.

“Twixt thinks this is a bad idea,” the girl beside him said. She was a full head shorter than the older boy and of a smaller frame, but quite wiry, as was the silent boy on the other side of her. All three were equal though in scruffiness and the ragamuffin look of their cast-off clothing.

The older boy ignored her, his gaze intent on his target. He had been shadowing the oddly-dressed ranger ever since she first set foot in Taverner’s Row. It had been obvious from the way she walked and gawked about that she was a stranger to the city. Probably some yokel from the outlands taking in the sights, he thought with a silent snicker. The elven style of her clothing in itself was not odd, being of the kind that many rangers tended to favor; it was simply odd on her as she was so clearly not of elven blood. More peculiar were the strange short blades at her sides, not so much swords as lopsided curved knives. The only thing that mattered though was that all of it, from the fine quality of the cloak to the crafted armor and footgear, looked expensive. Which meant money.

“I think it’s a bad idea too,” the girl went on stubbornly. “And Twixt says….”

“How come Twixt only says these things to you?” the older boy shot back, sparing the girl an annoyed look.

“’Cause you yell at him,” the girl muttered, looking back down to the street again. “That’s why.”

“I do not yell at him!”

The younger boy flinched but kept his gaze on the street. At the girl’s reproving “See?” look, the older boy blinked, then scowled, lowering his voice. “Well, not as much as he deserves anyways.”

“But why her?” the girl asked, nodding down towards the woman who was almost past the stables now. At that moment though the woman suddenly paused, as if sensing she was being watched, then looked up. Three young heads immediately ducked down below the roof’s peak.

“‘Cause she’s got money, that’s why,” the older boy hissed as they hunkered down out of sight. “Did you see the way she’s dressed? And those fancy blades she’s carrying? That stuff costs money.”

“But…” The girl hesitated, chewing on her lip.

“But what, Tween?”

“She’s a shifter,” the girl said, frowning, the markings on her face growing darker even as her longish ears lowered along the side of her head. “Like us.”

“She’s not like us,” the older boy growled, his own facial markings darkening as well, highlighting the differences between them. While the girl’s face matched the younger boy’s in pattern and slightly darker coloration, the older boy’s face was lighter and bore a distinctly different pattern. “None of ’em are,” he went on fiercely. “None of them give a damn about us. All we got is each other.”

“But Fish…”

“No!” The older boy glared at the girl. “I told you not to call me that. It’s a silly, stupid name and I don’t want it anymore. Fish get caught. And cut up and eaten. I’m not gonna get caught.” His jaw set with adolescent male certainty. “I’m fast and I’m quick and I’m gone before they ever see me. That’s why I’m—”

“She’s gone,” a small quiet voice said. The older boy and the girl looked up to see the younger boy peering over the roof peak.

“Why didn’t you say something?” the older boy growled, scrambling up to get a look himself. The street was still thronged with comers and goers, but the woman was no longer among them. “Dammit!”

“It’s okay, Twixt,” Tween said, crawling up between her twin and the older boy. She looked up and down the street herself, then turned to the older boy. “So what do we do now?”

“We find her again,” he muttered, moving down along the roof to the edge where it was close enough to the ground for them to jump.

“I still think this is a bad idea, Fi—” At the older boy’s warning glare, Tween sighed and began again. “I still think this is a bad idea, Ghost.”

II.

One of the things Ghost like about towns were the abundance of new things to see, taste and smell, which is why she liked to wander around and explore. And as usual people were frequently coming up to try and sell her things, like the rather scruffy looking urchin holding up a large but visibly rotting mudfish for her examination.

“Fish, miss?” The boy – a shifter child, she noticed – chewed his lip, looking embarrassed. “It… it was fresh a couple of days ago.”

“More than a couple of days, I think,” she said quickly, her nose crinkling at the putrid reek emanating from the thing. Probably the reason the boy hadn’t just eaten it himself, she thought, noting with how pitifully skinny he seemed under the layer of dirt and rags. The boy couldn’t be more than nine or ten. She wondered where his people were. “If you’re hungry,” she said, reaching for the purse at her waist, “I can—”

Instead of looking hopeful, the boy’s expression became even more embarrassed. “Catch, miss!” he said suddenly, tossing the fish to her. As Ghost caught it, the boy turned and bolted, yelling “I’m really sorry, miss!” over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.

“I’m really sorry too, miss,” another voice said suddenly. Ghost turned to see another urchin, this one a shifter girl, her face noticeably similar to the boy’s, not only in look but in its woefully apologetic expression. The girl turned to where a large bearded barbarian was heading their way, angrily wiping fish off of his face with one hand and making a fist with the other. He was accompanied by two equally large barbarians with bits of rotting fish strewn in the fur fringes of their armor. The girl sighed, stepped back and pointed at Ghost, shouting a wide-eyed “She did it!”

In the heartbeat that Ghost realized she’d been set up, the girl had turned and disappeared into the throng as well. “I didn’t do—” was all she could get out before the barbarians howled and charged, hurling startled merchants and shoppers aside as they fell upon her.

At least they hadn’t drawn weapons, Ghost thought with relief as she instinctively blocked the first barbarian’s fist from reaching her face and shoved another back with a kick to his hide-armored midsection. She wasn’t really intending to hurt them – even when one of the managed to grab her from behind and another delivered a painful punch to her ribs – until a skinny arm snaked in between them, snatched something from around her neck, and slipped out again.

“It wasn’t me, you idiots!” she snarled, jamming her elbow hard into the one holding her and then hurling him into the one in front of her. She only had the barest glimpse of a figure fleeing into the crowd, the strands of a broken thong dangling from their fist, before Fish Beard was on her again, slamming his massive knuckles into the side of her head.

“I… keep… telling… you…” Ghost was saying moments later, punctuating each word with angry kicks to each of the groaning and bloodied barbarians lying sprawled in the street, “it… wasn’t… me!”

“Frothgar believes you,” Fish Beard said, wincing as he held up a hand to ward off any further kicks. He frowned, looking around at the circle of curious townspeople keeping a respectful distance from the combatants. “Then who is throwing bad stink fish at Frothgar?” he demanded, looking for a new target for his wrath.

Ghost felt for the missing pouch which had been jerked from her neck, then narrowed her eyes in the direction she had seen the culprit fleeing, the markings in her face darkening visibly. “The unluckiest little thieves in Idyllrise,” she growled, a path in the crowd opening before her as people took one look at her face and hurried to get out of her way.

III.

Twixt and Tween were waiting when Ghost made it to their hideout under the back steps that led to the upper floor of Blue Jerik’s gambling den and brothel. The twins looked up anxiously as he scrambled beneath the steps to crouch beside them.

“I got it!” Ghost said triumphantly, digging his prize out of his tunic and tossing it on the ground between them.

“That’s not her purse,” Tween said, frowning at the small leather pouch with the broken thong. Beside her, Twixt was looking away, his arms wrapped around his knees as he hugged them to his chest.

“I couldn’t reach her purse,” Ghost said defensively. “She was turned the wrong way and I only had a second. Anyway,” he shrugged, “this is better. They usually keep the valuable stuff around their neck.”

“So, what’s in it?” the girl asked, curious in spite of herself.

“Don’t know yet,” Ghost said. “Didn’t want to chance opening it till I got here.” He picked the pouch up again and weighed it in his hand, fingering it lightly. “It’s definitely got something in it though.”

“Well, open it already,” Tween said impatiently. “I’m hungry. And so is Twixt.” As if on cue, the younger boy’s stomach growled, but he only hugged his knees tighter and buried his face against them.

Pulling the thong strands loose, Ghost opened the pouch mouth and upended it. Two small dark objects fell out, clinking metallically against each other as they hit the ground. The two young shifters stared, and even Twixt peeked up a bit over his knees.

“Arrowheads?” Tween picked up one of the sharp-pointed things and turned it over and over in her fingers, then turned her gaze on Ghost accusingly, bitter disappointment welling up in her eyes. “We went through all that for a couple of arrowheads?”

Ghost picked up the other one and examined it from different angles, hoping that it would somehow turn into gold or silver, but the thing remained crude dark iron. “Maybe… maybe they’re magical,” he offered, desperately clinging to the first straw that came to mind. “Maybe…”

“She was gonna give Twixt money for food,” the girl said sullenly, throwing the one she held back to the ground. “I heard her. We could’ve been eating by now!”

“They’ve got to be worth something,” Ghost insisted, his jaw setting stubbornly as he picked hers up and returning the two of them to the pouch. “Why else would she be carrying them around with her like that? Huh? Answer me that!”

“We gotta give ’em back,” the younger boy suddenly said, his voice barely audible.

“Are you crazy?” Ghost said. “After all the trouble we went through? You want to give ’em back? This…” he gripped the pouch tightly in his fist “…this is all we got.” Shoving the pouch inside his ragged tunic once again, he crossed his arms and hunched over, glowering at the ground. “The only way she’s getting ’em back is if she pays us for ’em.”

“She’s gonna come after us,” the younger boy went on, shivering as he spoke. “And she’ll find us too.” He hesitated, then looked to his sister. “I… I think she was in that dream I had. The one with the big cat that walks between.”

“I don’t wanna hear about your stupid dreams and your stupid cat,” Ghost shouted, slugging the younger boy in the arm. To which Tween responded by fiercely slugging Ghost twice in his own arm. “You leave my brother alone!” she growled, her fist up and ready for a third strike.

Ghost was silent and tense for a long moment. “I’m gonna go get some food,” he grumbled. “Wait here.” He started to crawl out, then hesitated, seeming to shrink in on himself as he looked back. “Don’t worry. I’ll… I’ll figure something out. I promise.”

When the older shifter boy had gone, Tween put her arms around her brother, holding him close. “He doesn’t mean it,” she murmured. “He just doesn’t understand, is all.”

“Ghost did something wrong, Tween. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I can feel it.”
Twixt looked up at his sister with wide, worried eyes. “We gotta fix it somehow, even if it makes Ghost mad.” He shivered again. "We gotta, or the cat won’t come.

IV.

It would seem, Ghost thought to herself, watching the pursuit coming hell-bent up the street below her, that Idyllrise was suffering from a veritable plague of feral shifter youngsters turned thieves. This one, a boy of about twelve or so, was attempting to make off with an entire shank of mutton over his shoulder, hotly pursued by an irate dwarven butcher shouting and waving a cleaver and by what she assumed was the butcher’s wife, cursing and waving a nasty-looking skinning blade.

Concealed behind racks of drying meat strips atop a neighboring butcher shop, Ghost had been watching for the two shifter urchins who’d set her up. And while this boy clearly wasn’t either of them, she’d wager a crown to a copper piece that he probably knew them. Which made him worth following. And catching.

Moving quickly from the open drying bins out onto the roof itself, Ghost began running parallel to the pursuit, leaping nimbly from rooftop to rooftop over the narrow spaces between the buildings. Even laden as he was with his ill-gotten shank, it was clear that the boy would soon either outrun or outmaneuver the butcher and his wife. Which he did only two blocks later, ducking sideways into the shadowed entrance of a clothier’s shop and hiding as the furious pair ran past, cursing and brandishing their cutlery until they vanished around the corner. When the boy finally reemerged, Ghost dropped silently from the roof to land right in front of him, startling him almost to the point of dropping his prize.

“That would’ve been impressive,” Ghost observed drily, grabbing the boy’s upper arm in an iron grip, “if you’d gotten away with it. But you didn’t.”

The boy’s eyes widened as he looked up at her face, the wiry muscles in his skinny ragged-clad arm suddenly tense beneath her fingers. But then his jaw set stubbornly and his eyes narrowed as his ears dropped back along the sides of his head. “I’m not giving it back!” he growled, trying to sound fierce even though his voice cracked embarrassingly on the ‘not’.

“I don’t want your pilfered sheep’s leg, boy,” Ghost said, waving a dismissive hand at the hefty shank still resting on his shoulder, “though I imagine the butcher folk you stole it from feel differently about the matter.” Tightening her grip on his arm, she nodded back in the direction he’d come from, keeping her eyes intent on his. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“Huh?” The boy blinked, confused for a moment, then tensed again, testing her grip this time. When it became clear that there was to be no slipping out of it, he immediately stopped. “Give you half to let me go,” he offered, biting his lip and looking desperately hopeful.

“A generous offer,” Ghost replied, her mouth quirking wryly, “but no. I will, however, make you a counter-offer.” She leaned in close so that her face was barely a finger’s length from his. “I’m looking for two shifter kids. A boy and a girl, maybe nine or ten years old. Look a lot alike. You help me find them, I’ll pay the butchers off and you keep the leg.” Standing straight again, she slowly eased her grip on his arm, though not completely letting go. “Help me find them before nightfall and I’ll give you enough money to eat anything you want for a month.”

The boy’s eyes met hers, wary but searching for a long moment. It struck Ghost that there was something familiar, in his look, in his face, even in his posture. She began to study him, trying to see beneath the unkempt hair and skin fur and the layers of rags and grime. The boy was distinctly uneasy with her sudden scrutiny, but remained still. When her grip eased just a little bit more though, he exploded into a wild fury of twisting, scrambling, kicking and clawing, filling the air with cursing half the words of which even she hadn’t heard before.

“Okay,” Ghost muttered, hefting the screaming struggling urchin up bodily and securing him – stolen leg and all – under one arm as she began heading back up the street. “The butchers it is, then. Cleavers and skinning knives and all.”

V.

From the shadows of a buttress of the temple of Shandaleen, the twins watched as the visibly annoyed shifter ranger made her way up the street, a struggling and cursing Ghost locked securely under one arm.

“I told you she’d find us,” Twixt said gloomily, retreating further into the shadows. “Now we’ll never be able to fix it.”

“We gotta rescue him," Tween whispered, watching in anguish. At her brother’s uncertain look, she dragged him back out again to where they could watch the shifter’s approach. “He’d do the same for us,” she said fiercely. “You know he would. And he’s right about one thing…” her brown eyes locked with his, intent and determined "…all we’ve got is each other.”

“But what’re we gonna do?” Twixt asked, his ears flicking anxiously as their angry victim came ever closer. “She’s stronger and faster than all of us together. And Ghost can’t help us.”

Tween looked up and down the street, her face stripes darkening as she frowned in desperate thought. It was actually getting hard to think with all the chanting and noise coming from the other end of the street. Where a religious procession was emerging from the temple, priests and monks and incense-wafting thurifers, carrying their most holy relic on its noon-day public display route. Her eyes grew wide as she looked back to her brother. His grew wide as well, but for completely different reasons.

“No, Tween!” he cried, his dark coloration paling even under the grime. “That… that’s a really, really, really bad idea!”

“It worked once," she insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him after her. “It’ll work again.”

VI.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Ghost growled at the squirming urchin under her arm as she made her way up the street. She half-wanted to take away the mutton leg he was still clinging to, but the dwarven butcher would probably want it back. Adding to her annoyance, a religious procession was entering the street from the other end, making the busy street even more crowded.

“And you’re ugly!” the shifter boy growled back defiantly, continuing to try and slip free of her iron hold around his waist. “And you smell funny too!”

Ghost was about to box his ears again when a small voice near her suddenly broke in with “The blessings of St. Mungo on you, sister.” Ghost looked down to see a small hooded figure, wearing the robes of a novice of Shandaleen, head down in supplication, holding up a wooden bowl containing three rather over-ripe mung-fruit, offering it to her. “Please share in the fruit of St. Mungo this day.”

“Uh, thank you but no,” Ghost replied, trying to move around the novice before she got caught in the procession now moving up the street. But the novice quickly moved with her, blocking her way. At the same time, another novice, face hooded and head down, carrying a similar bowl, went past them both, apparently in search of other prospects.

“Please, sister,” the young voice appealed, standing his – it sounded like a boy – ground and holding the bowl up to her all the more insistently. “It would displease the goddess greatly to refuse a gift of St. Mungo. Especially today!”

“Very well,” Ghost sighed as she gave in and started to reach for the least overripe fruit she could see… only to realize that the urchin under her arm had suddenly stopped struggling. Suspicion quickly began putting pieces together and Ghost switched gears, her hand moving not to the bowl but the novice’s hood which she abruptly jerked back, revealing the shifter boy who’d framed her with the rotting mudfish.

“You!” Ghost growled, only to suddenly sense things being hurled into the air behind her. Not at her, she realized as she saw mung fruits flying through the air over her head… towards the procession which was now almost upon them. The first fruit hit the high priest leading the procession right in the face, splattering to pieces and leaving his face and robes purpled with juice. Before Ghost could turn, the second hit the holy relic being carried by four appalled monks square in the middle, knocking it to the ground.

“BlessingsofStMungobeuponyou!” the boy mumbled hurriedly as he shoved the bowl into her free arm and then ran behind her where he joined the other novice – the girl shifter, her face now revealed as well – the two of them now pointing at Ghost and shouting to the enraged priests, monks and acolytes, “She did it!”

VII.

To Ghost’s surprise, the shifter ranger didn’t drop him but instead only tightened her grip around him as she took off in pursuit of the twins, even as the mob of outraged clerics and acolytes pursued her. Damn stubborn, this one, the boy thought grumpily to himself as he was bounced along against the ranger’s hip. And buffeted by startled streetgoers too slow to get out of her way. But the moment he was waiting for finally came when the twins, who had been deftly slipping through and among the ever-shifting gaps in the crowd, abruptly split off in different directions into even denser masses of people. The ranger growled in frustration for the briefest moment, then dropped Ghost and his ill-gotten mutton summarily to the ground as she veered left, going after Tween.

It was the smarter move, Ghost thought as he quickly scrambled to his feet, shifting the mutton to his left shoulder as he dug inside his ragged tunic. Tween was the more likely of the two to have what the ranger was after. Except that neither of them did.

“Hey, lady!” Ghost yelled after her, the pilfered pouch now dangling from his upheld fist. “You looking for this?”

The ranger glanced back at the sound of his voice. In the briefest instant, her eyes narrowed at the pouch in his hand, and then she whirled around and was charging at him with grim intent. That oughta let the twins get away, Ghost thought as he took off on the opposite direction – now he just had to get himself away. Which was going to be extra tricky he realized as he found himself heading straight into the mass of howling clerics with the ranger pressing ever closer on his sorry ass. Really damn stubborn, the boy cursed as he darted between the flapping robes of two acolytes in the front, yelling “Stop her! She’s crazy!” only to hear them yelp as they were shoved aside behind him. He had been counting on the crowd of angry priests and monks to make the ranger break off pursuit. From the sound of things behind him though, all he could count on now was that they might slow her down some. Which meant coming up with an alternate plan. In a hurry. In a really big hurry, he realized as he suddenly broke through to the other side of the clerical mass and the street once again opened up before him.

Running at full tilt up the street, dodging between carts and startled citizens, Ghost searched desperately for an idea, anything that could shake the ranger off his sorry tail. At the sight of an ox cart hauling away refuse down a side street, an idea suddenly came to him, and he could already hear Twixt whining about it being a really bad idea even as he veered off towards the palace gate. And see Tween folding her arms and nodding in agreement.

“Like I’ve got any good ones?” he muttered, increasing his pace as the slope of the street began to turn higher. He just hoped the damned thing would be where it usually was this time of day.

VIII.

“I didn’t do it!” Ghost snarled as she shoved a rather fat monk backwards, sending him sprawling into the knot of priests who’d managed to keep up the pursuit. Whirling about, she caught a glimpse of the boy – still stubbornly hanging on to his pilfered mutton – ducking into a side street.

The street led upwards, towards the palace area, she realized as soon as she was on it. Bad move, boy she thought as she made her way up it, relentlessly following the path of startled and confused streetgoers he was leaving in his wake. The closer he got to the palace, the more he was going to stand out and the harder it’d be for him to hide.

Except that, when she caught sight of him once again, he wasn’t hiding. He was hanging on to the back of a huge cart making its way slowly up the hill. As she ran up, closing the gap, two things suddenly hit her. The cart was leaving a truly foul reek in its wake. And the boy wasn’t merely hanging on – he was struggling to pull out a lynch pin that was holding the cart’s back side in place.

“No!” Ghost shouted, even as the boy finally jerked the pin free and the back of the cart fell open, freeing its load of stinking nightsoil to spill out in a wave into the open street before her, sending pedestrians cursing and screaming and fleeing in every direction to get away from the foul flood.

Ghost hesitated, her nose crinkling up fiercely at the smell of the flowing brown mess now blocking her way, but the boy’s triumphant smirk as their eyes met though was too much to let pass. Spirit leap! she thought quickly, thoroughly enjoying the way the boy’s expression changed from smug to startled as she suddenly vanished and then reappeared on the cart wall opposite from him.

“Game’s up, you little thief,” Ghost said evenly, eyeing the boy with narrowing gaze. “Hand it over. Now!”

IX.

“You want it?” Ghost shot back fiercely, bringing out the pouch with its dangling thong from inside his filthy tunic. He held it up just long enough for the ranger to recognize it, then hurled it towards the putrid muck filling the street behind them. “Catch!”

The boy was only able to enjoy the ranger’s startled look for a moment. To his astonishment, the ranger moved in a flash to the very end of the cart wall, gripped it with one hand and reached out with the other, stretching herself out to her greatest possible length, snagging the falling pouch with the tips of her fingers.

Panicking, Ghost flung the mutton shank at her while she was still stretched out and unable to dodge. The heavy meat hit her square in the chest, breaking her hold on the cart. “No!” the ranger screamed, glaring at him with a look of pure vengeful intent as she fell into the stinking muck.

Ghost knew better than to hang around and gloat. Scrambling past the cart’s driver, who had been yelling futilely during the confrontation, the boy darted up the street. Getting away was even more important now, he knew. If she hadn’t already been determined to get him, she’d be even more intent on it once she…

A blood-curdling scream of rage split the air behind him just as he reached the end of the street, almost plowing into a patrol of the city guard. “Watch out!” he panted, running past them. “Crazy lady back there. Very dangerous. You’ll need more men.”

It was a shame about losing the mutton shank, Ghost thought with some regret as he kept running. He’d have to steal something else for the twins so that they could eat tonight. But at least he still had the arrowheads, feeling inside his tunic to where he’d put them in his own pouch, whatever they really were. The ranger’s stubborn determination to get them back had him more convinced than ever that they had to be valuable.

Now, he thought as he glanced back anxiously over his shoulder, if he could just keep out of her reach long enough to find out why.

X.

“Ah, Lord Havengard,” the Captain of the city guard said as Kidalis approached. “I’m glad my man found you.”

“What seems to be the problem, Captain?” the young noble asked, looking around the market square, sensing some level of pertubation in the air.

“Well, we’ve been called to respond to a number of disturbances in the area.”

At that moment, two ragged street urchins, shifter children by the look of them, ran quickly past, followed by a trio of angry barbarians, the biggest of whom was yelling “Stop! Frothgar is wanting to beat you much badly! Stop is now!”

“I see,” Kidalis said, glancing as the group was in turn pursued by a number of guards. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Well, it seems that a member of your company is somehow involved in all of this,” the Captain went on. Just as a slightly older shifter urchin ran past, a pair of angry dwarven butchers waving cleavers and a burly cartman wielding a shovel hot on his tail. The Captain sighed and dispatched a trio of guards to follow them.

“May I ask which of my company is—” Kidalis began, stopping when a familiar figure dashed into the square, reeking and covered in muck, with a mob of howling priests and clerics intent on catching her. “Nevermind,” he sighed as the Captain directed the remainder of his men on pursuing them.

“From what witnesses have said,” the Captain went on, “she’s been involved in all of the incidents that’ve been reported.”

“Well, the good news is that she’s not intent on killing anyone,” Kidalis said, rubbing his temples between thumb and middle finger of his right hand. At the Captain’s questioning look, he merely shrugged. “She doesn’t have her weapons in hand. The bad news is that she’s going to keep this up until she gets whoever or whatever she’s after. My advice is to not get in her way.”

“But the disturbances,” the Captain protested. “The assaults on the citizenry, the disruption of commerce. And the damages, my lord. The damages!”

“I give you my word, Captain,” Kidalis said, placing a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, “that she’ll pay for any and all damages done and for any losses incurred.” The young noble shrugged once again. “It’s the best I can offer you. There’s really nothing to be done when she’s like this. Just be thankful it’s only her.”

Turning to leave, Kidalis hesitated, then glanced back. “If however you see a halfling with a long polearm and a strange accent getting involved, send for me at once.” He shuddered at the thought, muttering “We’d probably end up getting banned from the city.”

XI.

Ghost watched as the urchin boy backed up against the wall overlooking the river, looking franticly about. But the way to the left was blocked by the dwarven butchers and the carter, and the way to the right was blocked by Frothgar and his companions, who had the two younger urchins struggling in their grip. And even if Ghost herself wasn’t blocking the street leading up to the wall, the mob of clerics and monks behind her most certainly did, though they were as much intent on not letting Ghost get away as they were the boy.

“There’s nowhere left to run, kid,” Ghost said as she walked towards the shifter boy, her palm held out and up expectantly. “Hand them over. Now.”

But the boy only glared at her, then suddenly scrambled up the wall to stand atop it, looking down at the river moving swiftly below.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ghost said wearily, annoyed that the boy was too stubborn to know when the chase was over. “Everyone knows you city people never learn how to swim. And even if you did, a river like that is way too much for a stripling like-”

“That’s what you think, lady!” the urchin shot back, giving Ghost a final defiant look before turning and launching himself out from the wall, dropping at once into the rushing waters below.

“Ghost!” the two younger urchins cried out, struggling harder in their captors’ grasp. As Ghost turned in confusion at the sound of her name, the girl suddenly sank her teeth into one barbarian’s forearm, causing the man to howl in pain as he released her. Free, she ran to the wall and scrambled nimbly up to the top where the older boy had been moments earlier, looking over the edge in dismay. “Ghost!” she wailed, distraught.

The ranger hauled herself up to stand beside the urchin girl, gripping her securely by the scruff of her neck to make sure she didn’t do anything equally foolish. Searching the rushing water, she quickly spotted the small figure swimming with intent even as he was carried away from the crowd that were all now peering down from the wall top. A flicker of memory seemed to tickle the back of Ghost’s mind, something about the way the boy was swimming triggering a deep impulse, not only to catch him but something familiar about the situation, as if she done this before.

Cursing some choice elven words, Ghost quickly stripped off her arms and outer gear, tossing them to a startled priest. “Guard these if you value your life,” she growled. Glancing at Frothgar who had come up beside her, she added fiercely “And you guard those other two if you value yours!” And then she was gone, diving headlong into the river and then resurfacing with fast strong strokes in the hot pursuit of something from her past.

Ghost

(More to come)

Dear Arun, Jariel and Vondyr,

I hope this letter reaches you. I mean, I really hope this letter reaches you, because if it doesn’t, it means that we never got out of here. So where’s ‘here’? Good question, ‘cause we’re not completely sure ourselves. Kidalis thinks it might be the Faewyld, partly because of how it feels and partly because the place we’re in seems very familiar to him, from a long time ago back when he kinda disappeared for a while. I think I told you guys about that, right? And anyways, it’s sure not like any place I’ve ever been. I mean, it just feels different, like the air itself is just oozing with magic. And everything’s just…. more. Colors are more vibrant, smells are sharper, and even the ground under your feet feels more… alive? It’d be interesting if it wasn’t so scary. I don’t mean I’m afraid or anything! You know me better than that. And yes, Vondyr, I know there’s things in the world I should be afraid of, but that doesn’t mean I have to be. But anyway, I remember all those stories I’ve heard about the Faewyld. About how sometimes people go in and when they come out months or even years have gone by. If they come out at all, that is. ’Cause sometimes they never come back. And, so, okay, well that does scare me. A little, anyways.

Oh, and even if I’m not completely sure where we are, I am sure of one thing: it’s all Tilly’s fault. But I’ll get to that later.

First I gotta tell you about the war. We won! You’ve probably heard about that by now, at least some. And we all got through it okay, which is the important thing. Even that stupid goat of Tilly’s is still around, even though I kept hoping the Orcs would get it and eat it. Oh, and you would not believe what Eustace has now for riding around in battle on. It’s called a rhinocerous. I never saw one before and I don’t think you have either since they come from way south, I think. Imagine the ugliest cross between a bull and a horse you’ve ever seen, except twice as big, with thicker legs and with one big horn on its snout instead of two on its head, and that’s kind of what it looks like. Pretty scary in battle, I tell you, if it’s charging down on you. Eustace took it as a prize when we killed the top Orcish commander, Gruzhgarn. And Eustace looks pretty awesome riding around on the thing. I don’t think he’s named it yet. But I still prefer Blackwind though. He’s way better looking than anyone else’s mounts.

Oh, and when I say ‘we’, I mean us and a special ally that Tristan got to come help us: Seowyn’s Bear! It was the bear that actually killed Gruzhgarn. And this time Tristan didn’t have to make any deals with any demonic or devilish voice, which is a relief, ‘cause even though we needed the help I don’t want him making any more deals with those guys. It always ends up bad in the stories and songs you hear and I don’t want Tristan to end up in one of them as Tristan the Tragic or anything.

We all did pretty good in all the battles. Of course I was always amazing. But Kidalis was pretty good too. He’s really good at tying up the big guys, making it hard for them to maneuver or turn away from him while the rest of us attack. I’d hate to have to be on the receiving end of the stuff he can do, especially since I’m all about being able to move around. Eustace was pretty awesome, at least when he forgets about all that don’t-give-in-to-your-baser-instincts stuff and lets his baser instincts come out and kick ass! Tilly was also pretty awesome at times. I can never understand how a guy that small can get around so fast and strike so hard. And you never know what he’s going to do so it’s even harder for the enemy to deal with. I just wish he wasn’t so annoying. Tristan was really helpful. It’s like he’s got this deck of cards and whenever we need an ace, he can pull one out. You just have to make sure to ask the price first. I mean, not because of Tristan. It’s some of those voices of his which you gotta watch out for. I just wish he knew more useful spells. Maybe it’s just his nature, but half the time it seems like he learns stuff not because it’s gonna be useful but just because it’s interesting, to him anyway.

And like I told you, we’ve got Crys back now, except that he’s Shaper now. And his powers have grown during the time he was away, and it’s always kind of intimidating to watch when he reaches out and just… twists stuff? I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like there’s a way things are supposed to be, and somehow he can reach into that and scramble it all up, so that they end up not at all like they’re supposed to be. But it’s kinda odd how he never seems to get worked up, no matter how hot the fight is getting. Which is probably for the best since the one time I did see him get worked up there wasn’t any fight at all going on and we were in a tavern and I was worried he was gonna scramble everyone in the place. But still, he’s good to have on our side, even if I don’t really understand him much.

It’s also good ‘cause Shaper can do ranged-fighting stuff, which we’re kinda lacking in as a group. Tristan can do some too, but it seems like half the time we’re always coming up short in that kind of fighting, especially at times when it turns out that’s what we really need. I mean, I almost wish I had learned more about using a bow and stuff. Except that a bow wouldn’t really help all that much, and it’s just not the same as getting up nose to nose with an enemy and hacking him to pieces, and seeing that moment in his eyes when he realizes it, you know? Yes, Vondyr, I know I’m not supposed to think like that, but it’s just the way I am, okay? You can take the shifter out of the wild, but you can’t take the wild out of the shifter. Okay, so nobody ever really said that, but it’s still kinda true.

But anyway, I’ve gotta say I don’t like war much. At least, not the way it was being fought down there. We kept ending up in spots where there was no way to move around, like on stupid islands surrounded by water or stupid forts surrounded by Orcish hordes. I hate not being about to move around. But at least the war’s over and we won, so it’s all good and done with. The commanders took special notice of our role in the fort victory and now Kidalis is a Captain and so he’s all fluffed and more pompous than usual. The rest of us are all Lieutenants, for whatever that means since we don’t have anyone to command. Besides, titles feel weird, you know? Lieutenant Ghost? Not for me. I just wanna be Ghost. We did get some really nice-looking cloaks out of it though, with the Owl Bear symbol embroidered on them, so that’s not so bad. And I got this thing called a survivor’s belt, which comes in handy since I always seem to end up getting downed at least once in a fight. And no, it’s not ‘cause I’m being reckless! Well, I mean, not more than usual anyways.

Oh, and there’s this young guy – kind of a kid really – named Renny who’s kind of got a crush on me now. He was one of the soldiers at the fort. Just ‘cause I kind of kissed him before the final battle. It was just for luck, Jariel, so quit laughing! Anyways, he brought me some flowers before we took ship, and so I kind of kissed him again. Might see him again sometime. Don’t know what I’ll do then. He’s human and he’s… kind of fragile?

So anyway, since the war was over, we decided to go after Limba, ‘cause something in the course of all the fighting kind of woke up Tilly’s sharrash and it started singing. Well, not words or anything, but kind of a musical sound? So according to Tilly’s grandmere’s prophecy that meant it was time for Tilly to confront Limba. Which is why we’re now stuck in the Faewyld. Except for that damned goat of his, which is still back in the world. It’s not fair!

---

Sorry, had to put this away for a bit. Picking up now where I left off. About it all being Tilly’s fault.

So anyway, we head off to Darkmoss Bayou where Tilly’s Grandmere Odetta lives, wanting to see what she has to say. By the way, she’s bossy for such a small lady, and she pinches really hard! Turns out she was expecting us because she knew somehow that the sharrash had started singing. How? I don’t know. It’s an old-wise-woman thing I guess. It’s what they do. Besides being bossy and pinching people, that is. Anyway, Grandmere Odetta gives Tilly this fishhook on a silver line and a green glass bottle and tells him Limba’s gonna come after him – and the rest of us – three ways, first in mind, then in the flesh, and then in spirit form. But when he goes into spirit form, we have to follow him to the “other side” to finish the battle and capture his spirit in the bottle or else he’ll just keep coming right back.

Now this is why it’s all Tilly’s fault that we’re stuck here. When his Grandmere said we’d have to go to the “other side”, I thought she was talking about the other side of the swamp! Nobody said anything about it meaning we’d be going to the Faewyld!

Anyway, we decide we’d pick the ground to fight Limba on since Grandmere Odetta said we wouldn’t have to go hunting him because he’d be coming after Tilly. So we pick some this place in the swamp where it’d be hard for him to move around once he came in and where there were some ruins that gave us places to stand on and hide behind, and we work on it to make it as ready as we can. That night we got the first attack, then one in our dreams. It was kind of intense, but we all got through okay. Which was good because soon as we’re awake again Limba is coming at us in the flesh. That was a much tougher fight. I mean, like I told you before, this Limba’s as big as an island and has all this magic going on around him to make things even harder with plants and stuff attacking you. But Tilly was Limba’s main target and at one point it actually swallowed Tilly, and we thought he was a goner for sure but Shaper managed to bust him out. Kinda literally as he ended up blowing a hole in Limba from the inside. The fact that that by itself didn’t kill Limba tells you just how tough this thing was. It looked like even wounded as he was Limba was gonna swallow Tilly up again as he had Tilly in his jaws when I ran up, hacked my way up his back in a truly awesome way and killed him!

The funny thing was, I wasn’t trying to kill him. I actually felt like Limba was rightfully Tilly’s prey – you know? – and that Tilly should be the one to kill him, but I guess I got so caught up in the hunt mindset that I forgot and the next thing I knew I was standing on top of a dead Limba with my kukris in his vitals. I felt really kinda bad about it afterwards. I felt even worse when I realized that I was gonna have to apologize. To Tilly! For being awesome! It wasn’t fair! Why does everything with him end up being so annoying?

But anyway there wasn’t really time to think about all that ’cause as soon as Limba was dead this green shadow kinda rose up out of his body and headed for the water, and before any of us can say anything Tilly hooks the shadow with the magic hook his Grandmere gave him and the next thing I know is all of us are hanging on to that silver line and getting pulled into the water after this shadow of Limba…

…except that when we come up, we’re somewhere else. I mean, it was the same place we were before, but not exactly? I mean, the ground was sort of the same, except that none of the things we’d done to prepare it were there anymore? And everything was… wilder? And most of all, the ruins weren’t ruins but a standing castle! Which Kidalis later said he recognized. Which is what led him to think we were in the Faewyld.

But we didn’t have time to think about any of that because Limba was suddenly back to life. But different. Not an island-sized gator anymore but a large gator-ish man-like creature in a loin cloth. And it could talk, telling us we’d made a terrible mistake coming after it and stuff. And right away we start fighting again. Most of it was kind of a blur ‘cause there was so much going on with Limba summoning gators and nasty vine-creatures and doing psychic stuff. Mostly I just did what Kidalis told me to do, attacking whatever he said to attack since he seemed to know more about this place than anyone. It was a long fight and kind of dicey in places. Eustace was kept pretty busy keeping us up and fighting. I actually found that Tristan and I can work pretty well together in a fire-and-ice kind of way. Kidalis managed to keep Limba from focusing solely on Tilly which probably saved Tilly’s skin more than once, and at the same time coordinated our attacks to cut off the magical conduits that were feeding Limba his power. And Tilly was kind of awesome was well, his sharrash singing so loud the entire swamp could hear it as he whaled on Limba again and again, taking some pretty bloodying blows himself in the process.

Once we cut off Limba power sources though, we finally wore him down. I had a moment where could’ve finished him off. It was right there for the taking. But I learned my lesson from the last time and didn’t let myself get carried away – it was rightfully Tilly’s kill to make and so I stepped back to let him take it. Which he did, taking off Limba’s head in one final powerful swipe with his sharrash. And the best thing about it? Besides taking down this incredibly nasty creature that had terrorized Tilly’s folk for generations? I didn’t have to feel guilty anymore! It was all even! I didn’t have to apologize to Tilly!

(more to come)

My lord, as per your request I have gathered information on the Fire Wasps squad of Owlbear Company who have been causing you so much annoyance of late. They apparently only came into the enemy’s service recently and so not a great deal is known about them, even by the enemy commanders they serve, but I have endeavored to garner what information I could from within the enemy encampment, to add to the reports we’ve gotten from the survivors of and witnesses to their recent assaults on your forces.

Apparently these Fire Wasps were adventurers, nominally in the service of one Baron Greenfields of Seowyn’s Crossing in Summerland, before they came south to join the enemy’s war against your forces. Why they have come is something of a mystery, as they were apparently not sent by the Baron. One suspects that they may have offended the Baron in some manner and found themselves suddenly needing to seek their fortunes in other lands, a story that is not uncommon to find among the many groups who have come to the south to join the enemy’s cause.

The make-up of this particular squad is rather unusual in two regards. Firstly, the squad consists of a human, a minotaur, a half-elf, a halfling, a shifter and, confirming the recent reports, a shardmind, hard as that may be to believe. And secondly, in spite of their diverse origins, they are all of an age and have apparently – with the exception of the shardmind – known each other since early childhood.

One other oddity of note is that the Fire Wasps appear to have taken some vow of chastity, though none of them speak of having done so. But none have ever been known to seek dalliances of any kind, not even with any of the camp followers so abundantly in attendance in the enemy encampment. What this means, I cannot say, but will continue to investigate as it is highly unusual.

Their leader is the human, one Kidalis Havengard, a member of the lesser unlanded nobility of Summerland and the only one with a prior connection to the enemy forces, having an older sister, Daria Havengard, who is serving as a lieutenant and currently commanding a keep you are besieging. Has apparently had the usual martial training but has no command experience other than leading this group of adventurers. He is however unusual in that he is apparently fey-touched and has displayed on multiple occasions powers one usually associates with a warden. Is believed to have aspirations to marry the Baron’s daughter, which may explain why he and his companions had to suddenly leave the area. The Baroness seems to have taken a particular disliking to him, but whether this is due to his being landless and fey-touched or to some unwelcome impropriety on his part is unknown.

Noted weaknesses: Vanity and a tendency to overreach.
Recommendation: Dangle a chance for glory in front of him and lure him – and the squad he leads – into a trap.

The next most significant member of this squad is the minotaur, one Eustace, who strangely enough appears to be a priest of the goddess Shandalene. Exact origin unknown, but was apparently orphaned as a child and raised in a monastary, which may explain his dark and brooding nature. Formidable on many levels, the minotaur is a fearless fighter and a truly gifted healer. Possesses some unusual armor, though its exact nature and history he does not discuss with others. Has a strange disregard for wealth, which has made him of particular interest to beggars, and to the camp followers though he has not been known to give them his custom. Perhaps as a result of this, he has become the subject of much speculation among the camp followers as to his endowment, on which considerable wagers have been placed.

Noted weaknesses: Moments of conscience and an obsessive abhorrence of the unnatural that could be used to distract him
Recommendation: Take this one down first, at all costs. He keeps the squad up and fighting even when their individual members are being felled, often turning the tide of a clash almost single-handedly. Take him down and the rest can be overcome.

The shifter is known only as Ghost, comes from an obscure mountain tribe associated with a minor totem, possibly a snow weasel. A vicious fighter, she is much stronger than she looks and quite deadly with a pair of kukris. Favors moving rapidly about on the battlefield and assaulting multiple targets. She is most dangerous when one of her comrades is attacked, charging to avenge them from across the battlefield with extreme ferocity. A strange attachment on her part, considering that her most commonly observed interaction with them is to punch them for perceived slights.

Noted weaknesses: Impulsiveness, extreme competitiveness, and a restless nature. Also quick to react to insults.
Recommendations: Provoke her with insults, separate her from the others so that she cannot charge to their rescue, and then surround her so that she cannot move about.

The halfling is one Tilly Thistleshanks, comes from a disreputable family of swamp smugglers and poachers that plague the river south of Seowyn’s Crossing. Is believed to be half-mad, which makes him highly unpredictable in battle. Usually fights with a type of pole-arm called a sharrash, but is known to be particularly deadly in close combat with a short sword when he gets behind an enemy. Is apparently thought highly of by other halflings in the enemy camp, due to some legend associated with his bloodline regarding a fearsome creature named Linda. Exact nature of legend is unknown though it is rumored to have something to do with singing. Could possibly involve a mating ritual of some kind.

Noted weaknesses: Strange attachment to a riding goat and a large ugly rat which he carries with him at all times. Also exhibits a tendency towards acts of insane recklessness.
Recommendations: Avoid close combat, but do not let him get out of sight. Suggest taking him out with ranged attacks as early as possible.

The half-elf is one Tristan Holdfast, son of a minor brothel-keeper’s daughter in Seowyn’s Crossing. Evidently the by-blow of some liason with an elven ranger who still visits from time to time. Was originally believed to be addled but now believed to be possessed by a host of spirits, some of whom are diabolic in nature. He seems harmless in his manner, but this is now believed to be merely an act on his part. A sorceror of some skill, he is potentially the squad’s best ranged fighter. No appreciable martial skill, but nonetheless has a dagger of diabolic origins that seems to compensate for that at least at close quarters. Usually hangs back on the fringes to support the others with ranged attacks.

Noted weaknesses: His diabolical connections make him suspect to the enemy’s commanders and to others as well, including his companions. He is also frequently distracted and sometimes fails to focus, though this too may be an act.
Recommendations: Suggest contacting demonic realm to see if they can be drawn in to aid us against this one. Need to find out if he’s playing a double game and might be enticed to betraying the others. Also, may be able to use his diabolical associations to throw suspiscion on entire squad in enemy commanders’ minds and have them expel the squad from their ranks. Otherwise, dispatch a designated three or four-man ranged attack team to take him out early on.

The shardmind is called Shaper, though apparently it may have earlier been known as Crys. Possessed of formidable psionic powers that allow it to warp reality even at a distance. Can also both teleport and alter its appearance. Apparently it was gone for a period and has only recently rejoined their ranks. Origins unknown, but suspect that it involved the sacrifice of a childhood companion, a son of some peasant farmers that no one was likely to miss. Believe that the half-elf was behind this, possibly the result of some early pact with his diabolical associates. Does not seem to be under the half-elf’s control, but this may be simply deception, part of the elaborate game Holdfast appears to be playing.

Noted weaknesses: None. Should be considered highly dangerous. Need to find out more about shardminds.
Recommendations: Concentrated ranged attack by multiple magic-casters early on. You may only get one shot so it must be as effective as possible. Failing that, take out the half-elf so that he cannot direct the shardmind. One its master is gone, it may turn on the others as a mindless engine of destruction, or might be subject to control by one of our own magic-casters.

Summation:

While this Fire Wasp squad presents no real threat at the strategic level, they have proven to be a problem at the tactical level and are likely to become an even bigger problem in the future. The encounters between your forces and this squad have been costly and the outcomes, though sometimes close, invariably to the enemy’s advantage, boosting the enemy’s morale at the expense of your own. So neutralization or elimination of the Fire Wasps would seem to be highly advisable.

As encounters where they have sought your forces out seem to work in their favor, would suggest that a defensive or reactive approach is unlikely to yield results. Would further suggest that your best bet would be something along these lines:

(1) Lure them into a trap, using some bait that Havengard will be unable to resist
(2) Once they’ve taken the bait, split them up so that they cannot come to each others’ aid
(3) Take out the minotaur first so that he can’t heal the others, and keep him from being revived himself
(4) Take out the half-elf and the shardmind next, leaving them with no ranged fighters and eliminating the chance of diabolic intervention
(5) Take down the rest separately, but let none escape.
(6) Deal with them at your leisure

At the same time, I would suggest a second prong, aimed at casting suspicion on them within the enemy camp with incidents that make each of them seem unreliable, undisciplined and above all, untrustworthy, culminating with a major incident that reeks of both diabolic involvement and treachery, with evidence pointing at the half-elf and his shardmind, resulting in them being expelled from the enemy camp. I can arrange this myself upon receiving your order. And of course, my usual fee. With this two-pronged approach, if your forces fail to eliminate the Fire Wasps in the field, my machinations will cauterize them from within.

I continue my work in your service and await your response.

R

Dear Arun, Jariel and Vondyr,

Just wanted to write and let you guys know how we’ve been doing down here where the war with the Orcs is going on. We got here okay, though we almost got chomped up by that Limba creature that Tilly has this fate-thing going on with. I think he kind of left out a couple of important details when he first told us about him. Like the fact that this “gator” is as big as an island and has all this creepy supernatural stuff going on around it! Well, we managed to fight it off – barely – though some of the others who were there at the time weren’t so lucky.

But anyway, we made it down the river to the Sea of Sunken Fires, and then down along the coast to where the main encampment is. It’s like a city of tents and pavilions and everyone’s armed. We ended up signing on with this band called the Owlbear Company. Their leader is this Captain Merei Greenspear. We each had to prove ourselves to her before she’d take us on, though, so I ended up fighting a duel with her. Don’t worry! It was just to first blood. I gave her a pretty good run until she finally nicked me with her spear. I’m just glad I wasn’t having to fight her for real. She’s almost as good as Jariel. I guess we must’ve made a good impression because they set us up with some equipment we didn’t know we need, like a pavilion tent and stuff.

It’s really interesting, seeing all of these different fighting groups from all over. Most of them seem friendly enough, though we did run into this one group with an attitude, especially this halfling corporal of theirs. Couldn’t pound him though since fighting in camp is really frowned upon.

We also ran into a couple of familiar faces. Drum Ketterin from the Crossing, for one. He’s a corporal now, so he seems to be doing okay. And more of a surprise, we ran into Candac, the guy who was running a gang of robbers at that bridge I told you about, remember? The one who ended up getting away from the guys we left him with? Seems like he’s decided to try to make something of himself and he’s the camp’s quartermaster now. People can sometimes really surprise you, if you give them the chance.

Anyway, we got our first chance at action barely a day or so after we got settled in. They sent us to clear out this abandoned tower up the coast that had been taken over by Orcs. Let me tell you, I’ve learned a couple of things about Orcs. They’re not all that bright, but they’re strong and aggressive and they don’t seem to be afraid of anything. Kind of like Eustace except that they’re ugly and they smell. And some of them are really, really hard to kill. They’ve also got this nasty thing where, just when you think you’ve killed them, they make one last attempt to take you with them. I mean, you can cut an Orc’s head right off and he’ll still make one last slash or stab at you. Unless he’s carrying fire bombs in which case he’ll try to leap on top of you to burn you to death. So you can’t ever let your guard down, not even for a second.

But we did take the tower and we even managed to capture their leader alive. Which I thought was us doing pretty good for our first time out. I wanted us to take the leader right back and turn him over to Captain Greenspear, but Kidalis and Eustace had other ideas. They learned from interrogating One-Eye (I don’t know what his real name is as I don’t speak Orc, but he only had one eye) that a meeting was going to take place on this ialand between some Orcs and some Sea Devils about forming an alliance. So of course Kidalis gets all “We must go and stop this!” and Eustace is all “Yeah, yeah!”. I’m still for us taking the Orc leader back, but Kidalis is all stubborn about it and so we end up taking the Orcs’ boat and leaving One-Eye tied up in the tower while we go out to this island. I think it’s crazy, but I go with them. I mean, what can you do when someone you’re in a group with gets all crazy stubborn noble on you? So I went along with it. I mean, I couldn’t just let them go by themselves and get themselves killed, right?

I still think it was a foolish idea though. I mean, we’d just had a pretty tough fight, and we’d used up a lot of our tricks and spells and stuff. And now Kidalis wants us to go out and take on not only another band of Orcs but some Sea Devils as well? By going out in a rowboat? On the water? Where all these Sea Devils could be waiting under the surface and we’d never know? In a rowboat??? I mean, doesn’t this kind of sound like a really, really bad idea?

And even though this letter is kinda proof that we didn’t all get killed, it’s only because of some extra help. Which is part of why I’m writing. Some weird stuff went on that I’m not sure I’m feeling all that warm and comfy about.

It started when we were rowing out to the island (we left One-Eye tied up in the tower). Tristan and Eustace had cast these spells that allow them to comprehend languages, which would let at least the two of them understand whatever the Orcs and the Sea Devils said. Assuming that we could somehow sneak up close enough to hear them without being noticed. But while we were rowing over, Tristan got that distracted glassy look he gets when one of his voices is talking to him. I don’t know which one he talked to – there’s quite a few of them, it seems – or what was said, but something had to have gone on between them because when we got to the island, the Orcs who were already there didn’t seem at all alarmed at our arrival. Instead, they seemed to be expecting us, or rather, they seemed to think that we were the Orcs from the tower that they were expecting. Weird, right?

Anyway, the spell or whatever it was worked enough for us to get ashore and among them before they realized that anything was wrong, so we at least had the advantage of surprise. And believe me we needed every advantage we could get because Tristan, who was the only one who seemed to understand their leader, gave us the signal to attack just as soon as we were spread out among them. It was a hard fight, even tougher than the one at the tower. Their leader had some kind of sword that seemed to cast lightning, one Orc was some kind of storm shaman and another who must’ve had some troll blood or something because he got up again after Tilly killed him (but I managed to toss him into a fire before he could fully regenerate, so that took care of him). And there were other Orcs with clubs and flasks of alchemist’s fire to deal with.

So the fighting was pretty heavy when suddenly this big glowing multicolored crystal starts poking its way out of the ground. At first we thought it was their shaman summoning something, but from their consternation at its appearance apparently it wasn’t. The next thing we know the crystal suddenly explodes into a thousand shiny bits, pretty much blinding everyone for several seconds, and then the green bits of crystal gather and merge all back together and suddenly it’s Crys! (Except that he calls himself Shaper now.)

Long story on Shaper, which I don’t have all the details on yet. But he looks different now with some red crystal things around his eyes and some other stuff around his waist – kind of like a glittery solstice tree until you notice the legs. And he sounds even stiffer than I remember when he talks. And he’s got these really scary new tricks where he can do stuff to people that gives me the shivers just thinking about it. So he’s like the second weird thing that happened on this mission.

Anyway, Crys – or Shaper – had somehow known he’d be coming right into a fight and so didn’t need any explanations, which was good because we were too busy fighting to explain anything. And having him suddenly there really turned the tide in our favor, which was good because some of us – me in particular – were getting pretty chewed up. But the fight ended with us killing most of the Orcs except for their leader and one other who we managed to take alive.

So now you’d think we’d take our new prisoners with us and get off the damn island before the sea devils show up, right? Wrong. Now Kidalis wants to stay and take on the Sea Devils! I’m really not liking this, but of course now there’s a storm coming in and it’s going to hit before we can get even halfway back to shore, and even I don’t relish the idea of getting caught out on the water in the middle of a storm. So we’re stuck between the sea devils who are coming and this storm that’s coming even faster. And I’m wanting to jump up and down on Kidalis’ head yelling “I told you this was a bad idea!” but there isn’t time for even that!

Now I have to kind of blame myself for the next weird thing that happened. I mean, even though he didn’t say anything, it was pretty obvious that Tristan got us some kind of help from one of those voices he hears when we were having to take on the Orcs. And I knew from some other things that Eustace and Kidalis were kind of uneasy about some of the things these voices of Tristan’s were having him do. But in spite of all that, I was thinking that we were going to need all the help and edge we could get to take on these Sea Devils on top of everything else we’d done that day. So I asked Tristan if maybe one of those voices of his could maybe help us out in some way.

I know, I know. I was really uneasy about doing it but at the same time I couldn’t think of anything else that might help. I mean, Eustace has his thing with Shandaleen and all, which is really good at keeping us healed up and standing and all, but it doesn’t seem to help a whole lot in the divine-intervention-in-a-battle ways the bards are always singing bout. And Kidalis has his calling-on-the-wild thing, but like I said, he’d already used up a lot of his tricks and probably wasn’t going to be able to come up with more than some trip-over-a-tree-root or summon-dire-turnip thing. And neither Tilly nor me have got anything like any of that.

So I asked Tristan to maybe ask if any of his voices could help. And he did. And I don’t know which voice he asked, but I know he had to cut a deal with whichever one it was. And that whichever one it was, it was really not the sort you ever want to make any kind of a deal with. I mean, I didn’t actually hear what Tristan agreed to (the voices are only inside his head, not anyone else’s) but based on the nature of the ‘help’ we ended up getting, it was pretty obvious that there’s some bad dealings going on there.

But anyway, the only thing Tristan told us then was that one of his voices said it would send some help. There wasn’t any time after that to ask questions, so we spread out and hid in different places on the island (it wasn’t a very big island – you could just about throw a rock from one side to the other if you had the wind behind you). We’d barely gotten ourselves concealed when the sea devils emerged from the ocean. Most were armed with some kind of harpoon, but their leader, who seemed to be priest of some sort judging by his ceremonial-looking robes, had a trident.

We were okay until Tilly stepped on a twig or something. The priest touched this shell he was wearing around his neck and suddenly there was this burst smelling of brimstone and this big ugly red thing with yellow eyes, fangs and huge claws – Eustace said it was a carnage demon – appeared out of nowhere and went right after Tilly. And if that wasn’t enough, the storm finally hit, adding to the chaos. I still managed to be the first to take out one of the sea devils out though, with my axe of sundering. Chopped him right in back of the head.

After that things got hard to follow, what with the fighting and the storm thundering and raining on everything. The priest was bad enough, but even the ordinary sea devils were nasty to deal with. I found out the hard way that they have this really scary attack where they spear you with a harpoon while in the sea and then somehow start dragging you towards them, even though there’s no rope or cord you can see. And they have extra harpoons so that even if you escape the first one and break it, they can still hurl more at you. It’s very annoying!

We were okay at first. And I saw Shaper use one of his powers to warp reality around one of the sea devils and mulch him into so much fishy pulp, which was impressive and scary at the same time. But then the priest bellowed out something and more sea devils appeared and things were looking a lot less okay. That was when Tristan’s ‘help’ showed up. Suddenly another burst of brimstone went off and this other thing appeared, except this one was kind of dead-grey looking and had wings and was covered all over with nasty sharp spines, kind of like a flying zombie porcupine (Eustace says it was a spined devil). It then looked right at Tristan and hissed “What is thy will, o lord?”

See what I mean be weird? And definitely not comfy? And how now we’re all wondering just what Tristan has gotten himself – and maybe the rest of us – into? Not good, Very much not good.

But even with this devil’s help, it was still a tough fight. Especially when the priest summoned this giant shark that leapt up and dragged the devil under the water. I actually ended up taking out the demon with my mother’s frost kukris. Actually shattered the damned thing into pieces killing it. Also used this trick they can do – creating a burst of freezing cold – on the giant shark. Didn’t hurt it all that much but it did immobilize it for a bit by freezing the sea around it, which let the devil attack it from the air by hurling spines at it and Shaper to warp reality around it and actually teleport it onto the island, which was also pretty impressive, given that it was a giant shark. It was the devil that finally finished the shark off though, after which it bowed to Tristan and then disappeared with a flash of brimstone once again.

Like I said, Tristan has a lot of explaining to do.

So anyway, we finally got the upper hand and managed to subdue the priest and one of the ordinary sea devils after we killed all of the others. We found some stuff they must’ve been intending as deal gifts for the Orcs. Mostly some pearls and a coral necklace (which would look pretty nice on me, I’m thinking). There was also this sealed box, but we decided not to open that just yet.

And finally Kidalis said we could go back to shore. I wanted to ask if he didn’t want to wait for the rest of the entire sea devil nation to show up, but I was afraid he’d say yes, so I kept quiet. So we take our new prisoners back to shore, only to find that our original prisoner – the one-eyed Orc – had escaped. Apparently another Orc who’d managed to get away from the first fight came back to free him. I’m a little annoyed but again I don’t say anything. We did – in spite of everything – kill a lot of Orcs and sea devils and capture some of their leaders. So one getting away isn’t much of a price to pay. And all of this is definitely going to get us noticed by the camp leaders and make the Fire Wasps a name amongst the other groups.

But all that aside, I’m still kinda troubled. A lot of weirdness on this trip. Tristan making deals with strange voices only he can see, at least one of which appears to have infernal ties. Deals that might involve the rest of us. Crys suddenly showing up again as Shaper, more powerful than even before and more than a little scary. Especially since he seems even less… emotional? And Kidalis getting like he wants to just leap straight from the frying pan into the fire at every opportunity is kind of worrisome. And people think I’m impulsive! And reckless. I mean, sure, sometimes, maybe a little, but not like this!

Anyway, I better close this and get it to this ship captain who’s heading north. Some cousin of Tilly’s I think. I hope you’re all well. Miss you guys lots!

Hugs ’n slugs,

Ghost

On the morning of Carolan the 20th, the Fire Wasps awoke to find a snowstorm raging outside the mouth of the cave they’d taken shelter in. But this was like no snow they’d ever seen before as the flakes falling and swirling about were as black as dead ash, darkening the sky with their thickness. Tristan sensed that there was something deeply unnatural about the storm, that the snow was somehow charged with necrotic particles. Ghost remembered seeing it at a distance occasionally when she was traveling with Arun and his rangers. Arun had warned her not to venture into it or totems forbid let it touch her. The elf explained that its presence indicated that a gate to Shadowfell must have opened nearby or that a powerful undead creature was close at hand, and every time they witnessed it he immediately got the band under the nearest shelter. “We don’t want to go out into that,” she said to the others, relating to them what Arun had told her. If there were any doubts on her companions part, they were quickly dispelled by the sight of the occasional insect or bird shriveling up in mid-flight and falling into the river whenever the dark flakes touched one. Eustace asked Ilikan if he had ever seen this phenomenon before, but the young goliath, who was watching the ominous storm with wide eyes, shook his head and said no, not in his lifetime.

After a couple of hours though, the black storm abruptly stopped and was replaced by a soft falling of normal white snow. Wherever the black snow had fallen, what remained quickly dissipated, but Ghost cautioned everyone to take care to avoid falling into any patches which might remain unseen beneath the white snow now laying down a new cover over things.

It was quite cold when the Fire Wasps set out again, but with the storm over they were able to make decent headway. As they continued northward, they found that the geothermal effect of the river was slowly diminishing. The river continued to flow unfrozen, the thermal effect on the banks around it were visibly lessening, the snow and ice encroaching more and more the further they went. When night came, they found shelter in a bower of trees.

The next morning, the sky remained overcast but the weather was warmer. Ghost’s spectral snow leopard had not made a reappearance, but the young shifter was beginning to see and smell things about the land that felt familiar. Taking the lead, she constantly searched ahead for signs of life – footprints, a lost arrow, a wisp of smoke from a cook-fire – but there was nothing.

Sometimes Ghost would talk to Ilikan who was swaggering along in adolescent confidence with his new great axe over his shoulder, as well as his spear and a couple of javelins and a shield of hides stretched around a wooden frame. Curious, she asked him how well he knew his weapons and how he had been trained.

“Well, I haven’t really fought with this axe before,” the young goliath replied, nodding up at the weapon he’d acquired. “Otherwise I’m sure I would’ve killed far more of the goblin scum that we encountered.” He grinned confidently as he added “But I’m pretty handy with my spear and my javelins.” He proudly showed them to Ghost, particularly his spear with its haft banded with metal, apparently of dwarven make.

“It’s not like this crude goblin axe,” he went on. “But the crude goblin axe was quite helpful for beating on crude goblins,” he admitted merrily.

“When we get the chance,” Ghost said, “I want to see how much you know.”

“I wouldn’t want to dazzle you,” the goliath youth said, apparently with no sense of how pompous he was sounding.

“I don’t think you have a serious worry,” Ghost replied, her mouth quirking wryly.

“I’m sure you’re not familiar with the advanced goliath forms of combat,” Ilikan went on, trying not to seem condescending. And failing utterly. “But I’m sure…” The enormous youth paused, then offered “You seemed very adequate in battle.”

Ghost’s arm had already whipped back when Kidalis grabbed it in a discreet but firm grip. “When we camp tonight,” the young noble said, giving Ghost a no-you-can’t-kill-him look, “maybe, Illikin, you can give us a few tips.”

“Well, it’ll just be the tip of the iceberg,” the clueless youth said, gesturing loftily as they continued walking. “The very basic training that any goliath youth would receive in our village.”

“Of course,” Kidalis said pleasantly, finally letting go of Ghost’s arm when he was confident she wasn’t in danger of punching the boy’s lights out.

“You know,” Ilikan went on, as if explaining why he’d only be showing them the most basic stuff. “Outsiders. No offense.” The adolescent seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, then said proudly “My father is a very great warrior. I’m nowhere near his skill level.”

“I’m sure you’ll have time to get there,” Kidalis assured him.

Later, when they made camp that evening, Ghost innocently offered to spar with Ilikan. Kidalis quickly stepped in yet again, wanting to make sure the boy survived any sparring that took place. The young noble took the goliath lad through a few practice rounds, offering helpful tips on the best ways to react and counter certain types of attacks which Ilikan admitted to finding intriguing.

The next day, once they had set forth again, Ghost began to see things she actually remembered from her early childhood as having been near the village and her excitement rose, and in spite of everything a hope rose in her as well that maybe someone might still be living there, someone who would know her. But with each familiar sight, her hopes began to fall. Groves of fruit trees that she remembered as once having been neatly tended were now long gone feral, the snowfall on the ground beneath them marred by the myriad branches and limbs that had fallen over the years, along with the remains of many seasons of fruit that had rotted away uncollected. Hunting stands where village hunters had once laid in wait for passing game and fowl had gone fallow and now stood visible, no one having been there to properly camouflage them. Places she remembered as once having houses out in the open on the outskirts of the village were instead silent scenes of desolation, the houses having long ago fallen in on themselves – no one apparently having been there to repair them for a long, long time – leaving only jagged snow-covered husks of broken timbers and weathered beams.

No one said anything as they finally came upon the silent remains of what obviously had been a village at one time. The nearer they drew, the more it became painfully clear that no one had lived there for a very long time. A small group of feral goats pawing at the snow in the hopes of finding some uneaten grass beneath were the only living things to be seen. A memory from childhood made her instinctively stop to listen for the lead goat’s bell, but there was only the sound of the wind and an occasional uncertain bleat from one of the goats. An image filled her mind of a tarnished, knocked-about brass thing tied on with a bit of rope, something else that lay lost now somewhere, lost and forgotten by all but one.

As they continued, a few houses showed signs of having been burned, but other structures were surprisingly intact, sheltered at least partially from the elements by a cliff face that rose up sharply on one side and a thick stand of ancient evergreens that had been left around the others. Ghost ducked her head hopefully into the intact ones and poked around in the shells of the others. This one she remembered had belonged to Siri, the village smith, with her powerful arms and gruff good humor. That one had been Farshot’s – she remembered having a mighty pine cone battle with his sons Skunk and Kieper. But in each she found nothing, only silence and the flashes of memory that belonged to a girl named Squirrel.

It was strange, though, Ghost thought, that there were never any bodies, neither outside nor inside any of the houses she checked. Neither were there any goods, not any of the things that one might expect to find in a place where people had once lived. Whatever had happened here years ago had left the village stripped bare of any sign that anyone had ever lived there. But ass they neared the village center, she was surprised to find some things that had not been there before. Things, she thought as her ears drew back and the stripes around her face darkened with anger, that should not be there at all.

Positioned around the center of the village, three totem poles now stood, each one jutting up from a large snow-covered mound at its base and each covered with hideous goblinesque carvings depicting leering goblins, hairy hobgoblins, menacing bugbears, bargests and the like. Beyond them though, Ghost could see the longhouse where her mother and family once lived, and it infuriated her that the goblins had profaned her village by erecting these wooden abominations in its very heart.

“I do not like these things,” she growled, drawing her swords and looking around warily.

“Agreed,” Kidalis said, casually drawing his glave and readying it as he walked towards the nearest pole. As he drew near, the young noble saw the first hint as to what lay beneath the snow covering the mound at the pole’s base: a hand sticking up out of the snow, the skin dark and dessicated, still clinging to the bones in spite of the years that had passed. He began prodding the mound with the butt of his glaive to clear the snow away.

Seeing this, Ghost approached another pole, where she in turn found a hank of dark hair poking out of the snow like a patch of dead moss. When Eustace went to join her, Ilikan accompanied him. “I’m sorry, Ghost,” the young minotaur murmured, placing his huge hand on her shoulder. Tristan’s gaze was on the poles themselves. Fascinated by the carvings, he headed towards them. Tilly for his part hung back, gripping his sharrash and watching their rear.

At the first mound, Kidalis had managed to uncover a leg and was prodding in search of other bodies when the temperature, already freezing, abruptly dipped to a bitter, penetrating cold that cut straight to the bone, and a weird buzzing sound filled the air as suddenly all three totem poles began humming, the snow mounds at each one cracking open from within as gaunt and blackened figures began to emerge.

“What foul sorcery is this?” Ilikan gasped, boggling in horror.

“They are the undead,” Kidalis warned, stepping back quickly and whipping his glaive around.

Eustace stepped forward, wincing at the unbelievable cold assaulting him as he neared the nearest creature. Just being close to the thing was enough for him to suffer the debilitating effects of the cold it radiated. He quickly invoked a resurgent sun at the foul abomination, cursing silently when it missed.

Ghost was particularly horrified when she realized that the undead they faced were shifters who had been turned to zombies, shifters of her own village. The one coming at her she recognized as Siri, the blacksmith, and as the thing that had been Siri slammed at her with one great frozen arm, she only barely ducked out of the way in time.

“Why does it have to be the undead?” Tilly muttered as he ran up to help Eustace with the undead shifter attacking him. The young halfling flinched as he too was suddenly inundated with the biting cold radiating from the zombie, causing his attempt to crushing surge the thing to miss.

Lashing out with her swords, Ghost attempted to take her zombie – It’s not Siri… it’s not Siri! – down with a twin strike, but only managed to hit with one sword and only slightly damaged the thing, the blow sending a shock up her arm as if she’d struck a massive block of ice. Kidalis slashed at his attacker with resilience of life, also managing a hit but also only inflicting a minor blow. Ilikan, uncertain and rattled, hurled his javelin at another zombie only to miss it badly, causing the young goliath to cringe further in his chagrin. Tristan chose to hurl fiery bolts at undead, cursing as he missed and then pulling the spell back with a quick sacrifice to Caiaphon.

The shifter zombie facing Kidalis suddenly struck the young warden with its frozen forearm, immobilizing him as a shock of cold went all through him. And then the three totem poles suddenly vibrated and hummed ominously once again as three more undead shifters emerged from the snow mounds at their bases. One lunged for Kidalis and another for Tilly but fortunately both missed. The last one lurched forward, turning sightless eyes all about it as it searched for a living target.

Bellowing in his rage at the foulness the undead presented, Eustace invoked a lance of faith at the nearest totem pole, managing to damage it but taking cold damage from the nearest zombie as well as it lashed out at him, striking him in the side and immobilizing him. One of the newly emerged zombies struck at him as well but stumbled stiffly and missed, as did the one attacking Kidalis. Tilly, suffering visibly from the cold being inflicted on him, cleaved mightily at the zombie with his sharrash, cutting it down. The halfling then turned to cleave again at the totem pole but only succeeded in nicking it.

Disconcerting as it was to Ghost to see her fellow Fire Wasp cut down what had once been one of her fellow villagers, she knew it had to be done, that it was in fact what her people would have wanted them to do. Turning to the nearest totem pole, she dropped her off-hand sword and drew her axe of sundering, laying into the wooden abomination with a furious twin-strike. Her sword cut in deep, hacking a great chunk away from a hobgoblin’s face, and then her axe followed through, chopping the thing clean through. As the foul thing fell to the ground, she winced at the deep biting cold that bit into her as she turned to charge towards the third and farthest pole, the one closest to what had been her mother’s longhouse.

But the zombies continued to emerge as the two remaining totem poles shivered and hummed once again. The unnatural cold they radiated was taking a toll on the Fire Wasps, making it harder for them to press their attacks and to defend themselves. Kidalis managed to cut down the zombie lurching towards him, but another struck him from the side. Tristan also failed to dodge the zombie swinging at him, though fortunately the strikes it inflicted were minor. Illikan started to cheer as one of his spears lodged in a zombie, but when the thing simply turned towards him, seemingly unaffected by the spear sticking out of it, his cheer quickly faded. Eustace, beset by two zombies himself, was able to dodge their clumsy attacks but the cold was affecting him nonetheless. As it was Tilly, who had switched his sharrash to his off hand and drawn his sword to cut down a zombie from behind but missed, the radiant chill inhibiting his usual agility.

“Ghost, take out the totems!” Kidalis shouted, turning to face the zombie that had just clipped him. The young noble and Eustace both had their hands full, fending off zombies on all sides as well as the unnatural cold the things were radiating.

“Got it,” Ghost growled, readying sword and ax as she neared the pole nearest her mother’s longhouse. But at that moment, a strange mist suddenly emerged from the longhouse, flowing unnaturally against the wind. As the eerie mist swirled towards the fighting, it began taking on a vaguely humanoid shape, and the wind around it became filled with terrible whispers that threatened of pain and death.

Undeterred, Ghost closed on the furthest totem pole, leaving first one to the others. She hacked at it with her ax, chopping out big chunk, then hacked again in a desperate fury with sword and ax, cleaving it it two and felling it before it could summon any more zombies. Behind her, Kidalis shouted to Illikan, telling the goliath youth to take out the last pole even as he swung his glaive at a red zombie, invoking a weight of earth upon it. The zombie crumbled into pieces before him even as it clawed unsuccessfully at the young noble one final time.

Hearing Kidalis’ order, Illikan went after the final pole with his goblin great axe, hacking a great chunk from it. He looked pleased as the pole shivered and listed… but did not fall.

“Uhm, it’s still standing!” Tristan called out urgently, shifting to hurl curse and curse-bites at the red and blue zombies nearest him. His casting missed the red zombie but struck the blue one, severely damaging it. But unfortunately the thing still stood and was now turning its mindless attention towards him. And the pole he’d warned Illikan about suddenly hummed and shivered once again, calling forth yet another zombie that immediately lashed at the goliath boy with a frozen forearm, striking him grievously but fortunately failing to take him down.

Tilly set upon his zombie once again, felling it this time, and turned towards the last pole, intent on helping Illikan take it down. Kidalis however was still beset beset by a rather determined zombie, successfully blocking its assaults but unable to turn away from it.

The mist however was moving intently towards Ghosts, radiating a cold far worse than even that of the zombies, filled with a necrotic energy that she found to her dismay prevented her from healing. The young shifter gasped as the mist suddenly flowed over her, drawing her very life force out, the act of which seemed to give the mist more definition and substance, streaks of red seeming to appear all through it even as it left her bloodied and immobilized.

Eustace bellowed in frustration as he swung his scythe at the zombie in front of him, the unnatural cold throwing him off such that he missed the slow-moving creature twice. Another zombie suddenly lurched away from Kidalis and moved towards Tristan. Tilly struck it as it passed, as did Eustace, his scythe connecting this time and leaving the thing severely damaged and causing its strike at Tristan to miss. But while the young minotaur was distracted, another zombie struck him from behind, chilling him even further and leaving him immobilized. And Tilly himself, though suffering from being so dangerously close to the zombies he fought, slashed out once again and left the red zombie in pieces that fell unmoving back into the snow.

Bloodied, Ghost felt her shifter nature take hold and she attacked the mist in a fury with sword and axe. Her attacks however had little effect, even as the mist continued to draw her very life force out of her. The swirls in the thing grew redder still, and where the head seemed to be, she could now see Brekhu’s leering face forming, his dying curse seemingly made manifest now in the mist’s deadly assault on her.

Badly injured from the unrelenting zombie attacks, Kidalis called a healing on himself but even then remained still bloodied. The young noble grimly invoked a weight of earth on the nearest zombie, striking and managing to slow its advance, then quickly turned and used his glaive to thorn-strike the zombie attacking Illikan, his attack ripping the thing to pieces. Illikan, no longer under assault, turned and hacked the last pole yet again, taking more chunks out of it, but to the goliath boy’s chagrin the hideous thing remained standing, though it now wavered quite unsteadily.

Tristan was now suffering visibly from the cold, his pale features covered with frost. He drew his pact-blade and slashed at the zombie that was practically on top of him, but the dagger’s edge skittered ineffectually across the creature’s frozen flesh without penetrating.

Tottering but still standing, the remaining totem pole rattled and hummed weakly, but this time no zombies emerged. The mist, however, suddenly changed its shape, forming huge barghest-like jaws that snapped viciously at Ghost, but the shifter ranger managed to deflect them with her sword.

Bellowing in rage, Eustace invoked a radiant blast on the zombie in front of him, obliterating it completely. A red zombie however struck Kidalis – who seemed to be getting more of the zombies’ attention than anyone else – chilling and immobilizing him once again. But the tide was finally seeming to turn as Tilly slashed the red zombie from behind, cutting it down handily with his sharrash, giving Kidalis the needed respite to get his second wind.

Bloodied and suffering from the draining attacks, Ghost desperately slashed at the barghest-faced mist but missed. She then quickly ran backwards to get out of its range, hating the act of giving ground to the thing but knowing she couldn’t take much more of the draining it was inflicting on her.

Illikan, steeling his will and focusing, struck the pole with fierce determination, his great axe finally cleaving and destroying it “I got it!” he beamed, looking to his companions for praise. When he saw that everyone else was still busy fighting for their lives, he mumbled “As… if there was any doubt…” as he hurried to rejoin the battle.

Seeing Ghost’s situation, Tristan turned his attention to the demonic mist, striking out at it by invoking the vestige of mount valis. The mist seemed to shudder under his assault but did not turn away from Ghost, pursuing her even as she retreated, still on the attack. Its reddish swirls quickly enveloped the young shifter once again with the grasp of the cold grave, its cold and necrotic forces draining her further until finally, sword and ax still in hand, her eyes rolled up in her head as she shuddered and fell, limp and unconscious to the ground.

Seeing Ghost fall, Eustace quickly invoked a healing word on himself, then did an urgent life transference to his companion, reviving her enough that her eyes flickered open once again. But even with the minotaur’s healing, she was still bloodied. And worse, she was still within the mist’s deadly draining aura.

The last zombie attacked Kidalis, who was immobilized, but missed. Perceiving Ghost’s situation to be more dire, Tilly charged the mist with his sharrash, slashing through it. The magic of his weapon seemed to injure the swirling thing, pushing it back from where it had been over the shifter girl. Tilly pressed his attack, swinging at it again, but this time his slashes had no effect.

“Fire,” Eustace called out suddenly to the others, recalling something from his clerical teachings. “Fire or radiant energies can make vampiric mists temporarily substantial.”

Hurrying to her feet, Ghost found herself both relieved and annoyed – relieved at having been rescued from the mist’s draining swirls but annoyed that Tilly – Why did it have to be him? – was the one who’d pushed the thing away from her. I’ll thank him later, she thought to herself as she healed herself to the point where she was no longer bloodied. And then I’ll slug him.

Kidalis, looking distinctly annoyed himself at the persistance of the last zombie facing him, stepped back, drew a vial of alchemist’s fire from his cloak and hurled it at the undead thing even as it lunged at him with its jaws open to bite. As the zombie unwittingly snapped down on the vial, the briefest look of confusion lit up its deathly face just before a burst of greenish fire erupted in its mouth and a moment later its head exploded. When the rest of the undead thing slumped to the ground, truly lifeless once again, Illikan glanced at Kidalis. “That would be really impressive,” the goliath youth said with determined impassiveness, “if I thought you meant to do it.”

“What makes you think I didn’t?” Kidalis responded smoothly, casually brushing a bit of zombie spatter from his cloak as if this sort of thing happened every day.

Illikan shrugged, not rising to the bait. “I think our friends need our help?” he suggested instead turning back towards where the fight was still raging. “From beyond the trees, I hear some shouting and whatnot.” The goliath adolescent’s confident mask abruptly cracked however – along with his voice – when they came upon the sight of the other Fire Wasps harrying a blood-streaked mist in the form of barghest jaws intent on consuming Ghost. “What in the name of the mother of mountains is that?”

From his vantage point, Tristan invoked a curse at the mist, but missed. The young wizard quickly make a sacrifice to Caiaphon to draw it back, but it was for nought as his reinvocation missed as well. The mist was swirling furiouly, trying to get around Tilly who had positioned himself between the mist and Ghost. As the mist suddenly flowed over and above him, Tilly slashed up at it with his sharrash but missed as well.

The mist jaws then lunged forward and down, their cold and necrotic touch immobilizing and bloodying the shifter girl once more. But when Eustace invoked a lance of faith on the the mist, blasting it with a burst of radiant force, the swirling thing shuddered and suddenly seemed to become substantially more solid than before. Tilly immediately tried to take advantage of this sudden change even as the mist whirled around to attack him as well. His sharrash struck with a solid slash this time, actually bloodying the unnatural thing, but at a cost of the halfling taking cold and necrotic damage himself. While the barghest mist was distracted, Ghost hurled herself at it with a hunt’s end whirl of blades. Her attack however, while leaving it in worse shape than before, failed to take the unnatural thing down, at a cost of the shifter girl taking more cold and necrotic damage herself, standing but bloodied yet again.

Hurrying to join the fight, Kidealis draws his hand ax at hurled it at the foul mist, hitting it thanks to Eustace’s having made it less insubstantial. Illikan joined in as well, hurling a javelin at the swirling thin only to have it miss to his enormous chagrin, a feeling which was soon shared by Tristan whose eldritch blast missed as well. Ignoring the attacks from the other Fire Wasps, the mist turns its barghest face upon Ghost, whispering “Die!” as its jaws once again snapped around her. The shifter shuddered as her life force was drained from her and then slumped unmoving to the ground beneath the mist’s triumphant leer.

But before the mist could render itself insubstantial once again, Eustance, engraged at seeing his companion felled for a second time, quickly invoked another lance of faith upon it, the radiant light of his goddess’s benevolent force striking and destroying the foul thing for once and all, with Tilly instinctively ducking out of the way as the minotaur’s holy blast burst through the dissapated mist’s final swirls and over his head.

The evil threat finally dealt with, Eustace quickly knelt to heal Ghost, reviving her. When the young shifter opened her eyes, she felt as if a definite weight had been lifted from her, as if Brekhu’s curse, to kill her and her companions with undead made of her own people, had finally spent itself. And as she looked around, she saw the remains of the shifters of her village returning once again to normal semblances of death. It was still hard, seeing them in death, but not as hard as it had been to see them foully raised for an unholy purpose.

Kidalis, weary from having had to fend off so many attackers, collapsed on a log for a much-needed rest. Eustace turned to Ghost to ask what she wanted done with the remains of the people of her village. The young shifter frowned in thought for a moment. “It is not our custom,” she said finally, “but it would be better to build a pyre to burn them so that no one can ever again befoul them the way that evil barghest did.” She looked around the village for a moment, then back up at the minotaur. “You can use those houses that have fallen in on themselves for fuel, but leave the intact ones alone. They…” In her mind, memories, Squirrel’s memories, filled the village with those who had once made it live. “…they should be kept. They may be needed again. Someday.”

Ghost rose and turned towards her mother’s longhouse. It’s hard to see it so close once again, but harder still to bring herself to enter it. Memories, more memories, came flooding back with each thing she saw. The well where Asha would draw the water, teasing Squirrel that she wasn’t strong enough to pull it up yet. The tree where her father, as mild as he was, would teach her how to climb better, faster and higher than anyone else. The open span of ground where her mother would train the other Snow Stalker villagers in fighting techniques with their oddly curved blades for which they were known. In the end, she had to close her eyes to shut it all out before she could place her hand on the door.

It took a good strong shove to push the door, frozen in place by time and the cold, open and out of the way. Eustace put one of his massive hands on Ghost’s shoulder as she ventured inside. It helped to steady her at the sight of her mother, shockingly preserved, on the longhouse floor, her body cold and blue under the white fur but otherwise seemingly untouched by time. As she stared, Ghost noticed that her own breath was even more visible than before, a sign confirming what she felt, that for some reason the inside of the longhouse was even colder than the air outside.

Her mother was half covered by the body of an enormous bugbear, both of her kukri blades plunged into the body of the creature which must have fallen on top of her, pinning her there. A strong coating of frost glistened on both bodies, thicker the closer it was to the blades, and Ghost realized that these were her mother’s magic kukris, capable of calling forth great powers of ice. Her mother’s last defiant act – killing the enemy who was killing her – had inadvertently preserved them both, locked in the moment of their death. One less threat to the village would have been her only thought, even at the end. It was the way she had always been. It was the way she would have wanted to go. Silent tears of fierce pride froze on Ghost’s cheeks even as they formed, but she made no effort to wipe them away.

Eustace quietly backed out of the longhouse to let Ghost be alone. Once outside, the young minotaur started gathering the villager bodies and carrying them to where the pyre would be. The others had already searched the area and had found a bone hair comb set with topazes, along with two alchemically-treated whet stones. Frozen whet stones, Tristan deduced after he’d examined them a bit. Touch the stone to a weapon and it does cold damage to whatever it strikes.

Inside the longhouse, Ghost took hold of the bugbear’s frozen corpse and began to pull it off of her mother’s. There’s no better ending than to kill your enemy as he’s killing you her mother had once said. To which Jariel had later observed dryly Except killing him first. And not dying. As she tugged on the stiff bugbear body, it came away quite suddenly, the kukris still embedded in its chest. It was, Ghost thought later, as if her mother had finally released them from her grip. Ghost jerked the weapons from the dead foe and turned them over to examine them. It was the first time in her life she’d ever handled them, and she was startled as a layer of frost swiftly spread over her hands and fingers but she felt no cold. Frost-brand weapons, she recalled, that dealt cold damage. Clang them together sent out a blast of cold that immobilized opponents within their range and extinguished non-magical fires.

Ghost tucked the weapons away in her belt, then knelt down by her mother’s still form. “I came back, Mom,” she whispered as she picked her up to carry out to the pyre. Her mother seemed so small now, but in fact she had always been smaller than most. Ghost and Asha both had taken after their father in size and strength. It was only in Squirrel’s memories that their mother had been big. But it had been her mother’s ferocity that had made her who she was, and Ghost and Asha had inherited that as well.

When Ghost stepped outside with her mother in her arms, the other Fire Wasps turned to look. Even if they had now known who the dead shifter woman was, the resemblance would’ve made questions unnecessary. The frost steaming from her belt where she tucked the weapons, however, were a different matter, particularly as they were making tribal designs of frost into her clothing, but even those questions would have to wait. Ghost took her mother over to where the pyre was and set her down in the center. She took a moment to check the others, trying as much as she could to arrange families and loved ones together. It struck her, when she was done, that she had not found Asha among them, but she knew that by itself did not mean anything as others were undoubtedly missing as well, their bodies lost in the woods or dragged off by scavengers. Illikan assisted her as much as he could, the young goliath quiet and subdued for once as they finished their preparations.

As she knelt before her mother once last time, Ghost remembered, almost as an afterthought, to take her mother’s bone bead necklace from around her neck, staring at it as it lay in her hands. She was supposed to do this, she knew, but she could not remember why.

“It is only right,” Illikan offered, as if sensing uncertainty. “Unless your sister lives, you are chieftess now, yes?”

“Chieftess?” Ghost said. The thought had not occurred to her at all.

“That is what it means, does it not?” the young goliath youth went on, nodding at the necklace in Ghost’s hands. It was similar to the one she wore, but more elaborate, with a particular piece added that bore the symbols for tribe and leader.

“It’s what it meant,” Ghost acknowledged, not wanting to think about it. “When there was a village to be chieftess of.”

“This cannot be all of the people who lived here,” Illikan insisted, wanting to encourage her. “I have seen other snow leopard shiters. I told you before.”

“It’s not the same.” The young shifter frowned. Hope was not something she felt comfortable with. Not with all of the faces she’d seen, all remembered and all dead now. “They’re probably related, but…”

“Perhaps,” Illikan shrugged, finally seeming to realize that he wasn’t helping.

“I have to…” Ghost paused, looking at the remains of the village around her. “Someday there’s going to be more of us, here, again,” she said finally, her jaw setting in sudden decision as she vowed “I will bring them.” She put the necklace away in a pouch. It was not right to put it on. Not yet. But someday…

Eustace was removing the goblin and bugbear corpses, along with the remanants of the profane totem poles, to the edge of village. “Do not burn them,” Ghost said when she saw him. She had another use for them, but she did not say what, doubting that the young minotaur would approve.

When the pyres for her people were finally ready, Tristan used his magic to ignite them. Ghost noticed that the effort taxed him though. The fight had taken a lot out of all of them.

Ghost watched in silence as the flames from the pyres rose into the air, sending her family and people back to their ancestors on the wind. She looked around now and then to see if Snow Leopard would appear, but it did not. Perhaps she had done what was expected of her and there was no need. It was sometimes hard to know. Snow Leopard was not big on explanations.

“There’s no way…” Ghost said to her fellow Fire Wasps, tears coming unbidden as she watched the pyres blaze up before them. Emotions churned within her, making her words choked and jumbled. “You all had homes… at one point. Some of you still do. Actually most of you still do,” she amended, thinking of Kidalis’ father and sister, Tristan’s family at the Tarry, and Tilly with his seemingly myriad relations.

“Actually, we all still do,” Kidalis replied somberly. “And that does include you as well now, Ghost.”

“All that was…” Ghost turned to look around at the village, silent and empty. Her mother’s frostbrand kukris weighed heavily at her waist, as did the necklace in her pouch and the memories flooding her mind “…I carry with me now.”

“Do the memory proud,” Kidalis said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Find a way to pass it on,” Eustace added.

“A little Ghost?” Kidalis’ mouth quirked wryly as he glanced at Eustace. “I have mixed feelings about that.”

“Our shaman is named Leodaia Watches The Clouds,” Illikan put in. “She says that all trees fade in winter, but that every winter is followed by a spring.”

“Yes?” Ghost said, looking slightly puzzled.

“Just because your village is empty now,” the young goliath said encouragingly, “that doesn’t mean that there won’t be a spring.”

“I know,” the young shifter nodded. She looked again to the empty huts that lay along the village’s edge. “One day I’m going to bring people back and we’ll start again,” she said with determination. A bit of uncertainty crept into her expression though as she added “Once I figure out how to do that.”

“I’m pretty sure it involves a hut and furs,” Illikan said, trying to be helpful. “Starting a family.” The young goliath’s brow knotted at his own uncertainty. “My brother has one story and my sister has another. I don’t know who to believe.”

Tilly tried hard not to laugh, seeing that Illikan was quite serious. Ghost merely said "Well, I was thinking on a… somewhat different scale.

“I’m not supposed to ask, but I am very curious,” Illikan mused, then shrugged his enormous shoulders. “We will talk later.” The young goliath looked around at the others. “Well, uhm, I still have a home. If you’re still willing to travel with me.” He drew himself up to his full height, trying to seem older than his years. "The road is better when it’s shared.

“That is true,” Kidalis said neutrally, trying not to laugh. Ghost, however, was regarding the young goliath with a highly dubious raised eyebrow.

“What?” Illikan asked, noticing the look she was giving him.

“You’re the youngest, right?” she began.

“Of what?” Illikan asked, not understanding.

“Of your siblings?” she went on.

“Oh. Yes,” Illikan nodded.

“Just wondering how you’ve made it this far,” Ghost said drily, checking her pack to make sure she had everything as they made ready to depart.

“Well, I am strong,” the goliath boy said defensively.

“I have to think…” Ghost hauled her pack up onto her back, “your older siblings must beat the crap out of you on a daily basis.”

“Well, perhaps not the crap.” Illikan again tried to make himself look taller, which only added to the impression of a boy trying to seem like an adult. “I hold my own. When I was younger I took it a lot worse. But I have gotten quite strong as I’ve grown.” He heft his arm up, showing off his muscles.

Ghost eyed him for a moment, then reached out and pinched his bicep. Hard.

“Ow!” Illikand yelped, pulling his arm back. “You pinch like my sister!” At a look from Ghost, he quickly added “It’s not a bad thing! Her pinch is very terrible!”

“Let’s get you back to your village before they’re missing you,” Ghost said finally, unable to repress a slight smirk.

“They probably are already,” Illikan said, looking worried. “They probably think the Snatcher took me.”

“What’s the Snatcher?” Tilly asked, looking up at the unfamiliar name.

“Dare we ask?” Kidalis said, half-expecting another of Illikan’s fluffed-up answers.

“Some of the villages around our area have been having a problem where people have gone missing,” Illikan explained, quite serious. “I went out with some of my friends. We all quested in different directions to try and figure out how it was happening. I happened upon the goblins and thought perhaps it was them, but I didn’t see any signs that they were taking people. Except me.” Realizing what he was admitting to, the young goliath tried to backtrack. “But that’s ’cause… I… Well, they tried to.” He drew himself up stalwartly once again, proclaiming “But we know how that went!”

“You got lucky,” Kidalis observed drily.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Illikan insisted. “You were obviously guided to be by a higher purpose.”

“Well, while I will admit that you could probably have taken a fair number of them,” Kidalis replied, “there is no way you would have lasted against the barghest, the goblin caster, and…”

Illikan dismissed the young noble’s words with an off-hand gesture.“It doesn’t matter. I knew that something would provide. And here you all came.” The young goliath nodded, adding somberly “The mother of mountains is like that.”

“Something did provide,” Kidalis acknowledged, not wanting the discussion to delay their departure. “You’d better thank the Totems that we were there.”

“I do,” Illikan insisted stubbornly. “I thank the mother of mountains.”

“You’re wise for your age,” Tristan put int, trying to help smooth over the young goliath’s ruffled feelings.

“I don’t know. Thank you.” Illikan looked surprised, clearly not being used to being praised for wisdom. He grinned and shrugged. “But I am mostly known for being strong.” He then pointed with his spear to some foothills in the distance. “If you see that hill there, it is the one that, if sunset were coming, it would come just to the left of my village. It’s that way.” The direction he was indicating was somewhere between north and northwest.

“Good,” Kidalis said, leading off in the indicated direction to get everyone moving.

“Let’s be on our way,” Eustace said to the others.

Kidalis glanced back when he saw that Ghost was lingering at the edge of the village. “Ghost, if you are done here…”

Ghost waved him on. "There’s one last thing I need to do. I’ll catch up with you shortly.

As the other Fire Wasps followed after Kidalis, Eustace lingered in the back, out of earshot, explaining ‘the birds and the bees’ out of earshot to Illikan, who seemed shocked.

“Really? the young goliath exclaimed.

“I’m not sure how it works for Goliaths,” Eustace said, “but for most beings…”

“All of my siblings are lying to me!” Illikan said, clearly dismayed.

“First to grab the honor,” Tristan murmured, nudging Eustace in the side.

Back at the village, Ghost set about her personal task, one she was sure Eustace would not approve of which is why she chose to wait until he and the others were out of sight. She worked quickly but methodically, using her hatchet to prepare and sharpen a set of stakes which she drove into the ground at intervals until they ringed the village along all approaches. The young shifter then went to where the goblin bodies had been piled up and began chopping off the heads, taking them in twos and threes back to the stakes where she impaled them on the sharpened tops, each one facing away from the village in grisly warning to all who approached. The smoke from the pyre, drifting through the trees and across the snow-covered ground, cast an eerie pall over the scene, which seemed appropriate given the message Ghost was making. This place is ours, she thought fiercely as she jammed the last head down onto the last sharpened end, glaring into its glazed and unseeing eyes. And this is the fate of any who would take what is ours.

By the time Ghost caught up with the others, Eustace was just finishing his talk with Illikan about mating and procreation, at least from his theoretically knowledge of the subject. “..that’s how it works.”

“So we’re not found under rocks,” Illikan said, his young stone-like visage frowning in understanding. “And we’re not brought by birds. So both of my siblings were lying!”

“I don’t think you’re…” Eustace ventured, not wanting to cast the Goliath youth’s siblings in a bad light as he tried to think of some way to rationalize their versions. “I don’t think you’re-”

“I will have stern words with them,” Illikans said firmly, gripping his spear in such a way that the minotaur wondered what ‘stern’ meant in Goliath culture.

“You might be born from rocks,” Eustace said, remembering the some of the tribal origin stories he’d read in the course of his studies. The abbott had, after all, told him that in every ancient myth there was almost certainly some grain of truth.

“I do not think so,” Illikan said quickly, but his face softened with doubt as he remembered his own tribal tales. “It is said that long ago our we were born from rocks. But that was when our race was young.”

“I think that’s called a euphemism,” Ghost said as she came up alongside the two.

“It might be a creation myth,” Eustace offered, ready to go into another prolonged lecture. “Not a myth, but-”

“No,” Ghost countered, smirking. “I’m pretty sure part of it comes from ‘rocks’.”

“Are you saying that I have… big stones?” Illikan said cheekily, picking up on the tone in Ghost’s voice and provoking a laugh from Kidalis who had come up as well. “Do not ask me to prove it. I have only just met you. And you are very furry.”

Ghost eyed the Goliath youth, her smirk vanishing as her ears drew back a bit. “I think I have been insulted, but I am not sure.”

“You’re just furry,” Illikan went on, waving a hand as if to dismiss any hint of insult. “I know many people who are furry. I would not show them my great stones either.”

“So how far is it to your village?” Eustace put in quickly, noticing that Ghost’s fist was already clenching and wanting to change the subject before Illikan got it in the arm.

“Heaven help us if we are ever around this kid when he is older,” Kidalis sighed, diplomatically inserting himself between Illikan and Ghost, whose ears were still flattened back with annoyance.

“Maybe someday,” the young goliath said as he started jauntily heading along the path.

As they walked, Kidalis asked “What are your plans?”

“What?” Illikan asked back, not understanding.

“What is your plan,” Kidalis elaborated, “for when you get older? Will you travel?”

“I… don’t know,” Illikan said after a moment, frowning slightly. Apparently he’d never given the future much thought. Or any thought for that matter.

“For the first time,” Ghost muttered, giving the garrulous goliath a narrow-eyed sidelong look, “I now understand why Arun and the others shook their heads so much.”

“I am not certain,” Illikan went on, continuing his response to Kidalis. “I am still rather young. I must spend some time among my people, but it is generally considered appropriate for us to do some travelling.”

“If you do wish,” Kidalis ventured, “after you have perhaps get a little bit more skill at fighting – and you are obviously off to a fair start – my father and my sister run a very well known mercenary company and you would do well in their ranks.”

“Except that I was never that bad!” Ghost glared at Tilly’s snort and Eustace’s dubious eyebrow as the two shared a glance; they knew her when she was young and, oh yes, she was that bad. “Not a word!” she growled, her right hand balling up into a fist in warning.

“Actually,” Tilly said, stepping up quickly to walk alongside Illikan – and put the big goliath youth between his shoulder and Ghost’s fist – “my grandmere used to say that if there is no ill will in your actions, you never need apologize.”

“Your grandmother sounds very wise,” Illikan said somberly, oblivious to the sub-currents of growls and glares going around him.

“And yet we always looked forward to getting together with you every year at the fair,” Eustace said, dropping an amiable – and restraining – arm around Ghost’s shoulders. “There’s something endearing about your chutzpah.”

“My what?” Ghost blinked, then narrowed her eyes at the unfamiliar word, wondering if she’d been insulted again.

“Your boldness,” Eustace said airily, keeping his grip on her. “Your bravado.”

The next couple of days passed quickly. The weather was cold and cloudy at first, but finally cleared, and the group realized that that were now going generally upwards, the land rising steadily before them. Illikan seemed quite a home, mountain-goating his way up trails what were obviously to him familiar trails. Jumping atop a boulder, the goliath youth paused and pointed upwards above the trees to where, in the distance, a building could now be seen, jutting out of the side of a precipitous cliff. "That is the monastery above my village.

“Looks… precarious,” Eustace said, shading his eyes with his hand as he regarded the strangely placed structure.

“Nobody knows why the monks put it there,” Illikan said, following the cleric’s gaze. “But there are stories. They say they are guarding something. I am sure Brother Nahum will be delighted to see you. He hardly ever gets visitors.”

“Is he a goliath?” Ghost asked.

“No.” Illikan frowned in thought. “I am not sure what he is. He is… different.”

“Different than any of us?” Ghost asked, gesturing around at their very disparate group.

“Yes,” the goliath youth responded firmly, nodding his head. “He is quite different.”

The next day was cold and windy when the Fire Wasps made it it to the village, though they were almost on top of it before they even realized that it was a village. The buildings looked to have been almost drawn out of the natural landscape, stone dolmens everywhere, with no signs of obvious cutting or working in the parts that had remained uncovered by a layer of snow. And no signs of obvious entrance either. Sudden from up ahead came the sound of clashing metal, one piece between purposefully struck against another for the specific purpose of making noise.

“They have spotted us,” Illikan said.

“Is that the alarm?” Ghost asked, suddenly wary, looking ahead for any signs of movement.

“Just a warning that people are coming,” Illikan replied with a shrug. “We are not unfriendly.”

“Obviously,” Kidalis noted, nodding to where a group of goliaths were now openly approaching, armed but not with weapons in hand.

(more to come)

(more to come)

Ghost was feeling distinctly disgruntled as the Fire Wasps made their way along the road out of Seowyn’s Crossing. She ought to be feeling elated, she knew, now that they were finally on their way north to find Arun and the other rangers and learn from them the whereabouts of the goblins they’d encountered. The goblins, the evidence suggested, that might well be the ones who had massacred her village so many years ago. But that was before they’d paid a visit to Master Benathir.

Things had started well enough. Baron Greenfields had made a point of meeting with them before they’d set out and of speaking to her specifically. “I know it must be difficult for you, Ghost,” he said with a look of understanding. “I hope you will find what it is you are looking for out there.”

But then they’d visited Master Benathir. It was only supposed to be just to stock up on residuum, Ghost fumed, not to seek his opinion on anything. She knew she couldn’t fault Tristan for taking the opportunity to show his teacher the pact blade he’d constructed; the young half-elf was pleased that Benathir was visibly impressed by his accomplishment. But when the young half-elf had mentioned that they were about to head north, the elderly wizard was less than favorably impressed.

“North?” Benathir exclaimed in dismay. “In this weather?” Winter was already beginning, and going north, into the mountains, was not something he would have advised on anyone.

“What’s wrong with it?” Ghost asked, frowning defensively. She waited long enough and didn’t want anyone throwing any cold water on their plans to find Arun’s rangers and then, totems willing, to find the goblins who’d killed her family so many years ago.

Seeing that the young shifter and her companions were determined, the old master nonetheless did his best to at least dissuade them from taking their horses, suggesting that they instead purchase the rituals Endure Elements and Travelers’ Feast which could prove invaluable if, as he feared, the weather took an unexpected turn for the worse and they found themselves short of provisions.

“We do have a fair amount,” Kidalis said, “and even if we decide to go without horses, I believe we would have enough.” But then he went on to add airily “Not to mention the fact that we have myself and, you know, certainly Ghost has her moments of of being an excellent hunter, even in the winter.”

Moments??? Ghost glared at Kidalis but the young noble was listening and nodding to Benathir’s again advising them against taking horses, pointing out the problem of having to take fodder along as well, there being little available in the winter. And when the fodder ran out, he warned, the horses would begin to starve.

In the end, they’d left the horses behind in the Baron’s stables, along with Ghost’s plans to really get to know the Black and, just as importantly, show off her mount and her new riding skills to Arun and the others when they found them. And now they were walking on the road out of the crossing, heading north. On foot. Without her horse. And with Kidalis’ crack still rankling her.

And of course Tilly, being a halfling, had to yet again voice his concerns over whether or not they really had enough provisions for the journey.

Eustace called up to where Kidalis and Ghost were leading the way. “You guys are hunters, right?”

“Uhm-hmmm,” Kidalis acknowledged absently, not looking back. Or at Ghost who was glaring at him once again.

“There you go,” the young minotaur said to Tilly as if that settled the matter.

“What was that ‘moments of excellence’ crap?” Ghost said suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer.

“Just that,” Kidalis replied, completely unruffled.

“I can hunt as good as you any day!” Ghost growled, hunching her backpack further up on her shoulders.

“Really?” Kidalis said dryly, finally favoring her with a glance.

“‘Moments of excellence’,” the young shifter muttered, the markings around her face darkening with her mood.

“I will say we will probably be on equal ground in this area, because you’re familiar with it,” Kidalis offered, making what he considered a concession to his offended companion. “But in most other woods…” the young noble shrugged, gesturing as if that was a different matter altogether. “Eh.”

“You’re never going to let it go!” Ghost was seething now. “One day. One day! You brought in a deer and I just brought in some fish. Just one day. That’s the only time you’ve done better than me.” With that, she strode angrily ahead, prepared to sulk for the rest of the morning. And completely missing Kidalis’ smirk at once again having gotten her goat. After all, he thought sparing a knowing glance back to the others, it’s not my fault I’m the better hunter.

The first part of the journey was fairly straightforward: follow the Crown Way north, then around the Lake of Lost Memory until they reached the Chaos River. The weather conditions, however, were another matter, just as Master Benathir had been worried about. They were barely two days out and already the air was clear but damnably cold. And then, on Carolan the 1st, they had their first snowfall, just as the road ended at the Lake of Lost Memory and they were forced to go around through the woods.

Everyone did what they could to make their trek easier. Eustace took the lead, using his greater size – particularly his feet – to forge the path ahead, making it easier for the others to follow in his wake. Tristan helped by checking to make sure everyone was making the best use of their of winter gear. Whether this was because he’d merely read a book on the subject or because one of his voices was giving him tips, Ghost wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But whatever the source of his knowledge, his suggestions did seem to bear out.

Ghost, for her part, had hoped to shine, showing off her intimate knowledge of the lay of the lands that she have been over many times when she was with Arun and his rangers. She was confidently pointing out places to avoid where bad spots likely lay under the snow, only to fall through one herself and landing in a snow-covered stream. And as if her soaking were not embarrassment enough, she had to endure both Kidalis correcting her – “No, no, this way…” and Tilly needling her over her fall as he made the breakfast extra spicy to warm everyone up.

But for all of Ghost’s embarrassment, it was Tristan who had the hardest time with the cold. Everyone else was holding up okay, but the young half-elf’s thin build and inexperience with being out in the winter had him shivering before long.

Nonetheless, the Fire Wasps made it to and over the Arrow River in good time. Things looked up briefly when the weather cleared for a couple of days, but then grew worse than before when another snowstorm hit. As Kidalis sought out shelter for the group, Ghost managed to do better this time, managing to avoid the bad ground and guide people along the better ground. Tilly made a point of checking on Tristan, and the others as well, to make sure everyone was holding up okay, while Tristan for his part helped to keep everyone’s spirits up. Eustace continued to forge the trail, and, when they reached the shelter Kidalis had found, chose to act as a windbreak for everyone else, using his back to block the entrance. It took something of a toll on the young minotaur but he bore it stoically, showing no sign of his discomfort.

The snowstorm lasted for over a day, and when it finally passed, the Fire Wasps found that they were in fact buried under the snow, and a strange blueness now seemed to permeate the snow encasing them. Ghost, curious as well as feeling distinctly cooped up, was the first to dig her way out, and the first to see the sky lit up with strange shimmering blue lights, like an aurora but during the day, seemingly emanating from the lake. The shifter girl looked up at the phenomenon, her eyes wide with wonder, as the others came out behind her. In all of her years patrolling the woodlands with Arun, she’d never seen anything like this before. When Eustace finally dug himself out – having to widen the tunnel considerably – he was able to put a name to the phenomenon. “Aberrant sky,” he said confidently, looking up at the ever-shifting radiant display. “The lake of Lost Memory affects the weather this way from time to time.”

It seemed a bit warmer now, Ghost thought as they resumed their journey. The wind had died down. She led the way towards the Chaos River, the territory becoming more familiar the further they went. To everyone’s surprise but hers, conditions got distinctly warmer when they got close to the river. Warm springs, she knew, fed the fiver, leaving it not only unfrozen but its banks clear of snow and frost as well.

As they went further, Ghost began finding definite signs left behind by Arun and the others, seemingly random bits of twig and vine hanging in the trees and shrubs, marking the places they’d been and, more importantly, the directions they’d gone when they’d left. Excited, Ghost quickened the pace slightly, but tried to keep their presence undetected, wanting to actually surprise Arun. Which was somewhat more difficult than trying to surprise a an insomniac dragon, as she was reminded when, just as she spotted Vondyr in the distance, sitting near a camp fire, someone suddenly stepped up behind her from out of nowhere and whispered in her ear.

Ghost whirled about, only to find Arun, bow in hand, miming holding an invisible arrow, pulled back and ready to let fly. The rugged-faced elf smiled and mouthed a silent poink at her. Wordless, Ghost threw herself into his arms and the two embraced tightly.

“It is good to see you, child,” Arun said after a moment. “How are you?”

“Wha-? Child?” Ghost blinked. She was grown-up now. She’d been adventuring. She’d fought a dragon, dammit! “Well, I was pretty good until that!” she pouted.

“Well met,” Arun amended indulgently, embracing her yet again, “daughter of my heart.”

There was little time for a reunion, however. Arun had delayed his band’s going into winter quarters to await Ghost and the Fire Wasps but with the snowstorm that had just hit it was clear they could delay no longer. He quickly related everything he could tell them, most importantly that the goblins they’d found were now camped to the north, near the Yellow River. If Ghost and her companions went north, across the border into Kurdenheim, they would find them there. It was clear though that Arun had some misgivings about telling her this information.

“As much as I would spare it to you,” Arun said to Ghost, his tone solemn, “I still feel it is my duty to you as your guardian to give the opportunity you to find the answers, and either the revenge or the justice, that you seek.” He then pointed out the best route: up along the lake into the highlands and from there, cut northeast and they would run into Yellow River. He also told them about a tavern along the way they could stop at, known as Mama’s Place.

When asked what she would do if and when she found the goblins, Ghost said she wanted to make sure they’re the right ones. If she saw an earring the match of hers, then she’d know. She related to Arun what she learned about her earring from Master Attleworthy. She didn’t want to start a war, if it turned out that the goblins they found were not the right ones. But even if they weren’t, they might still know of the ones she was seeking.

“I just want the ones who killed my family,” the young shifter insisted. “I’m trying to rein in what I’m told are my ‘baser instincts’,” she added, frowning slightly over at Eustace.

Ghost was feeling distinctly awkward. Part of her wanted to revert to being a kid again, where Arun and the others would tell her what to do. But part of her wanted to be more grown-up than she really felt, wanting to be seen by her adopted ranger family as an equal. And part of her – a very deep part of her – kept reminding her what she had come all this way for and was wanting to get on with it.

All too soon, it was time to part and let Arun and the others get to their winter camp while it was still possible to reach it. Mindful of the worsening weather, the elven ranger advised her, if conditions prevented their return to Seowyn’s Crossing, to continue on north to where the dwarves were and winter there. He also warned her to keep an eye out for trouble as there had been rumors of enormous boats coming south from Jotenheim, the land of the giants, and other rumors from the border between Kurdenheim and Norhast of trouble between the Hastane and the dwarves.

“I don’t think we’ve seen the last snow,” Arun said, looking up with concern at the overcast sky, “and I think the worst may be yet to come.”

“Let us be off then,” Kidalis said, “before—”

“Oh, wait!” Ghost said, suddenly remembering. “I got you stuff!” Taking off her backpack, she dug out the presents she’d brought along for her family: Mother Ableby’s walnut pastries for Vondyr, a sealed horn of ale from the dragon hoard for Jariel, and finally, a bag of big pieces of obsidian she’d picked out for Arun.

“Alright,” Arun said, raising a bemused eyebrow at the gift. “What am I to do with mountain glass?”

“I thought you could, like, make things out of them,” Ghost suggested with a shrug. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“I probably could,” Arun said, accepting the bag with a smile. “I’ve hear they make wicked arrowheads.”

“You’re very hard to get anything for,” Ghost grumbled.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” the ranger leader replied. “You know that.”

“I don’t have to, I want to.”

“Your safety is gift enough for me,” Arun said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard for a father to worry about his daughter being an adventurer. I am pleased you are well.”

“And I am you,” Ghost replied, feeling the moment of parting drawing near. Too soon, part of her felt. It’s too soon. I…

“And I am proud,” Arun said, folding her into a last embrace. With that, the elves departed, walking into the trees and quickly vanishing from sight. The young shifter stared after them, her ears perked straight up at her father’s praise. She then turned and quickly took the lead heading north, not wanting the others to see anything they might mistake for tears.

By the 6th of Carolan, true to Arun’s concern, the weather was getting noticeably colder and more windy. A storm was coming, already visible on the horizon where the clouds loomed dark and heavy. The Fire Wasps found quickly sought shelter as best they could, to try and make camp before the storm hit. Ghost and Kidalis did some hunting while it was still possible. Determined to show up Kidalis, Ghost came back with enough rabbits to make a decent supper, feeling pleased that this night at least they would eat well…. only to find that Kidalis had brought down a moose, one so massive he needed Eustace’s assistance to bring the meat back to camp. As she sat down and began skinning her rabbits, the young shifter grumpily consoled herself with the knowledge that a nice tender rabbit made for a far tastier meal than any stringy old moose ever could.

The blizzard hit them the next day, and it was quickly apparent that their make-shift shelter was not up to the task. But when Eustace, with Tristan’s assistance, cast the Endure Elements ritual, suddenly the adventurers found themselves quite comfortable in spite of the winter storm they could hear raging around them. Sensitive to the feel of the land, Kidalis could sense something besides the storm at work, as if the land itself were anticipating something, something unusual… but what that might be, the young noble could not say.

The storm, though fierce, cleared after spending itself over the course of a day and a night, leaving the land deeply covered in snow. The Fire Wasps broke camp and continued on their way. When night came, they looked up to behold a strange sight. Against the backdrop of the starry night sky, clouds – all looking distinctly like dragons – were moving silently past, a procession that was eerie and yet beautiful at the same time.

The next four days were uneventful, the weather cold but without additional snow falling. As they proceeded, the ground was slowly rising as they were getting into the foothills of Kurdenheim, and soon after they began to see true mountains, particularly three jagged sentinels with snowy peaks. Ghost recognized them but it was Kidalis who knew their name: the Three Brothers, a famous landmark of the region.

Finally, after cutting northeast along the lake rim, the chilled adventurers were greeted by the sight of a small scattering of structures, the most prominent of which was an inn, lighted against the night, smoke curling from its chimney. There was no sign, but they knew from Arun’s description that it had to be Mama’s place.

At the inn, everyone’s head turned when Ghost and her companions entered. The patrons were a broad assortment indeed. Dwarves and Hastane mostly, they noted, with some Summerlings, some Karentai, halflings and elves, through which a short stout woman with elaborate grey braids busily made her way. An elderly, though still quite handsome – and quite buxom – dwarven woman. Mama.

“Find yourselves a table loves,” she called out to the newcomers over the din “and I’ll be with you in a moment.” As she made her way over, she cheerily checked on her patrons as she passed them. “And how’s the stew, Nathan? And another ale? Yes, yes, I’ll be coming, I’ll be coming…”

When the dwarven proprietress finally reached the Fire Wasps, she was carrying a tray of stone mugs that she’d collected from various tables. But when she turned to face her new guests, Mama suddenly turned pale, dropping the tray of mugs which scattered across the floor. She stared at Ghost, seemingly in shock.

“Yes?” Ghost said, feeling distinctly awkward. She had never seen the dwarven woman before. She was sure she would remember if she had. And yet the look of recognition in the dwarf’s eyes was unmistakeable.

“Asha?” Mama ventured, sounding as if she wasn’t sure if she’d believe the answer even if she got it.

Asha? Ghost blinked as a memory suddenly surfaced. A face, a shifter face. Older. No, younger. No, older. Older than her, anyway. And bossy. And… scared?
Asha?
Up the tree, Squirrel!
No!

Then she was back in the room again. Mama was still staring at her, but then the woman shook her head, more to herself than anyone else. “No, no, of course. You can’t be. You’re too young to be Asha.” The innkeeper stepped aside and bade them come the rest of the way in. “Please, please, come inside, come inside.”

“Wait, uh…” Ghost said as she was drawn along with the press of the other Fire Wasps making their way through the crowd. Tilly though bounded over to help the still visibly shaken dwarf pick up the mugs.

“Welcome to Braeken’s Crag,” Mama said when she’d guided them to a just-emptied table. “I know it’s not much of a town but you’ll see more of it in the light.”

“It’s probably one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen,” Eustace said, settling onto a bench, enjoying the warmth after days of having to wrap up against the cold.

“This is a town?” Ghost asked distractedly as she sat.

“Well, not much of one,” Mama admitted, glancing at Ghost but then looking away quickly. “Think of it as more of a resting place as people…” Seemingly unable to help herself, the elderly dwarven woman kept looking back at Ghost, then tearing her gaze away to address the others. “It’s not much of a town. It’s more of a way station between, you know, towns when people are coming trading down the river from Kurdenheim”

“Every place has its own exquisite beauty,” Eustace said solemnly, shrugging out of his massive outer cloak.

“You’re very kind,” the innkeeper replied, smiling a little. “Well, welcome to Mama’s place. I am Mama. And consider me all your Mama while you’re here.” She laughed, her face lighting up again with her former cheeriness. “What can I get you my fine lads and lass?”

“I think you have been hanging around the halflings quite a bit,” Kidalis observed with teasing good grace.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Tilly protested.

“I never said that it was,” Kidalis replied soothingly.

“Excuse me,” Eustace asked, politely getting Mama’s attention. “Do you have rooms available?”

“Rooms? Of course, of course, we do.” The innkeeper smiled genially. Up close, they could see streaks of yellow and almost metallic gold shot through her hair, which made her beautiful for all of her age. “Very few travelers stay here but we always welcome a few extra coins when we can find them,” she said cheerfully. “Drink of choice is, if you’ll forgive, called Mother’s Milk. It’s a barley ale. It’s thick,” she added. “Very thick stuff, but if you can get it down you, it’s almost like eating a loaf of bread!”

“A round for all of us,” Eustace said grandly, gesturing with a massive hand that showed he’d clearly need a larger mug for himself.

“Excellent,” Mama said. “And food?” she inquired, looking about the table. “You look weary and cold.”

“Well, on the subject of food,” Kidalis said, “even beyond dinner tonight we would like to purchase some rations.”

“Yes, yes,” Mama nodded, wiping a spot off of the table in front of the young noble. “I do a fair trade in them, indeed, but we should worry about that in the morning, my ducks.”

“Where can I put these mugs for you ma’am?” Tilly asked, holding up the tray of regathered mugs which he’d brought with him to the table.

“Mother’s Milk for all,” Mama said, making a mental list as she took the tray from Tilly. "And can I recommend the stew? It’s mostly muskrat but we stew it in red wine to take out the musk.

“Sounds lovely,” Eustace said, actually smiling himself now. The inn – and its proprietress – appeared to be quickly growing on the minotaur.

“That sounds excellent,” Kidalis agreed, shrugging off his own cloak.

“There’s mutton too,” Mama offered, collecting another couple of mugs from the next table over. “Mountain mutton is some of the best you’ll ever have. Mixed in with it, to give it a different flavor, muskrat can be a bit stringy, but it adds body to the stew. And dumplings,” she added. “I make the finest dumplings in the north with barley flour. And thick with root vegetables.”

“Her black bread is fantastic,” a halfling at the next table called over. “And she has fresh butter because she keeps her own goats.”

A short time later, Mama returned with a tray with stone mugs, somewhat heavy to heft but demonstrably hard to break, which she set on the table along with a pitcher of ale and a warm steaming loaf of black bread and bowls of thick stew, all of which smelled delicious. Kidalis discreetly placed a couple of gold coins on the table which the dwarven woman promptly scooped up with equal discretion. As she and Kidalis discussed the question of rooms, Ghost kept thinking back to the flash of memory she’d had.

Asha?
Up the tree, Squirrel!
No!
Up the tree, Squirrel. Now!

“Uhm, Mama?” Ghost asked when the question of rooms had been settled. “If that’s the way to address you…”

“Yes dear?” Mama said, turning her way. “Mama, that’s me.” The dwarf was smiling but there was still something in her eyes, something that even still was unsettling her.

Ghost watched the woman’s face carefully. “Who did you think I was when you said ‘Asha’?”

“I… I’m just being silly, I’m sure, dear,” Mama said, gesturing with a table rag, trying to seem casual even as her fingers fingered the bit of cloth uneasily. “There was a girl that used to come in here with her folks, long ago, but she hasn’t been around in a long, long time. And just for a moment…” The elderly dwarf glanced at Ghost’s face once again, then smiled, but it was a fragile, nervous smile, matching the uncertain way she held on to the table rag. “Well, I know many of the shifter clans that live in the mountains,” she shrugged. “There aren’t many with your coloration.”

Reaching inside her cloak, Ghost brought out the beads she wore around her neck and held them up for the innkeeper to see, watching her face.

At the sight of the bone beads with their tribal sigils, Mama sucked her breath in, touching her hand to her ample bosom as she looked at Ghost with widened eyes. “Who are you?” the dwarf asked in a hushed voice.

“I am called Ghost.”

“But that wasn’t the name you were born under,” Mama said, eyeing her. It was not a question.

“No,” Ghost admitted, but stopping there. Never tell strangers your name. Where did that come from, she wondered. Had someone once told her that?

“I knew a clan that had this symbol once,” Mama said, sighing heavily. “They lived up river from here, but… there aren’t none of them anymore.” Her eyes turned back to Ghost, regarding her intently. “So, who are you? And how do you come to be in my tavern?”

“Well, they were my people. They were my family,” Ghost said reluctantly. “And I… survived.” The young shifter was quiet for a moment. It had been so long. The attack. The tree. The river. “Asha…” she said finally. “I had a sister named Asha. Older.” She looked back up to the innkeeper, something unbidden and desperate welling up inside her. “How long ago did you last see them?”

“Well, it’s no secret, dear,” Mama said, her wrinkled face suddenly kind. “Sadness, but… that group was wiped out by goblins ten or eleven years back. If they were your people, then I’m sorry.”

“So you must have seen her when she was quite young.” Ghost tried to remember. Asha was older, but how much older? Old enough that she was beginning to have curves, Ghost suddenly recalled, a fact that she had constantly teased Ghost, who was still skinny as a stick, about. And more stingingly, old enough that their mother was teaching her how to use real weapons. But even so, this would’ve been ten years ago and Asha would have been much younger then than Ghost was now.

“I did,” Mama said, nodding. “She was such a dear thing.” The old dwarven woman hesitated, then lowered her voice. “If they were your people, then I’m sorry, but maybe these are deeds better spoken of when there are fewer ears around.” She nodded over to where a group of goblins were gathered in a shadowed corner, talking and dicing but largely staying to themselves. A group of traders, apparently. But goblins nonetheless.

“We can talk later,” Ghost said, frowning at the goblins but nodding reluctantly. Mama had known her family? Had known her mother? She tried to think back but so much was fuzzy, so much was missing.

Around them, other tables were clamoring for the innkeeper’s attention. “Mama, stop bantering with the new children and come over here. We’ve got empty mugs!”

“Oh, dear!” Excusing herself from the table, Mama moved off cheerfully to attend her other patrons, assuring them “There’s plenty of milk for everyone, loves!”

When the crowd gradually thinned out until only the Fire Wasps were left, the innkeeper put aside her tray and came over, pulling up a chair to sit at their table. “Well, now, Mama has a moment to think. So.. how’s the ale?” she asked, looking around out of habit. “Do you need more?”

Most of them didn’t except for Eustace who was a veritable bottomless pit for ale and Tilly, who could match him in appetite if not capacity.

“So, ducks,” Mama asked as she refilled Eustace and Tilly’s mugs, “what was it you wanted to ask, then?”

“I believe Ghost has all the questions,” Kidalis said, nodding over to where she sat. Mama hesitated, then turned to face her.

“You said… a group came…” Ghost began “of us… of my family.”

“Your family used to come through,” Mama said with a nod. “They used to trade things that they found up in the mountains or that they made. They brought them down here to Braken’s Crag to do some trading. Your mama and your sister, if no one else, used to come in here. I remember her, your mother.” The dwarven woman poured herself a mug, looking thoughtful. “Never knew her name but she was something. Quite the warrior.”

Snow-Stalkers, Ghost thought suddenly. They… we… we were Snow-Stalkers.

“Your sister was just coming into her own as a woman, I think, the last time I saw her,” Mama went on, taking a sip of her ale and tasting it thoughtfully. “But your mother…” the innkeeper gave a respectful nod, “I remember her and those curved blades of hers. She was something. I never knew how the goblins got her, but…” she sighed “…they got them all.”

Ghost tried to remember her mother, but the memories were so vague. She had been tall… or at least she had been tall to a ten-year-old. Tall, and always busy. Busy with Asha, busy with the village, busy with training the older shifters how to fight. An image came to her suddenly, of her mother’s hands, each holding a strangely shaped blade, short but heavy and curved in an odd way. With mist steaming off of them. Don’t touch! a voice said when she reached for one. Not until you’re older.

“What was she like?” Ghost asked suddenly, looking to Mama, her eyes both hesitant and yet needful.

“She was fierce. And she was proud,” Mama said firmly. “And everyone admired her. Whether they feared her, or whether they lusted after her, or whether they hated her…” the old dwarf shrugged with a knowing smile “…nonetheless, they all admired her.”

“Well, I suppose that’s two out of three,” Kidalis put in, favoring Ghost with a smirk.

Ghost frowned at the young noble for the brief moment it took her to figure out just how he had insulted her before her fist whipped out like a snake, nailing him in the upper arm. Fortunately for the young noble it was his shield arm, but the blow still stung.

“I remember… some,” Ghost said softly. “Mostly I remember… Asha was always bossy.”

“Well, she was bossy because she was trying to keep your people alive!” Mama shot back, taking umbrage at the young shifter’s words. “It’s a harsh climate up there. What with the occasional goblin raids and sometimes the dwarves and the goliaths getting feisty. To say nothing of the yeti!” she added, thumping the table soundly for emphasis.

“She sounds a little like my sister,” Kidalis said sympathetically, rubbing his arm where Ghost’s fist had connected.

“Hell’s bells,” Mama went on, gesturing indignantly with her thickly muscled arms, “I imagine your mother probably had to fight off a remorahz in her day!”

Ghost blinked, then shook her head quickly at the confusion. “No, I meant…” She hesitated, then shook her head once more, firmly this time. “No. Asha was bossy. Mom was just…” she tried to find the words, tried to summon the images of her mother she felt she should have in her head, but the memories were vague, fragmented “…Mom,” she finally murmured, looking down.

“Well,” Mama said, somewhat mollified, “it is the duty of older sisters to be bossy to their younger sisters. She was trying to learn how to be a grown-up, follow your mother someday perhaps as chief.”

Ghost looked up again, this time around her at the tavern’s interior, searching for anything that seemed familiar. “I don’t remember being here,” she said after a moment. “Maybe they didn’t bring me in.”

“Well, you would have been younger, I think,” Mama said, reaching over and patting her on the wrist. "I didn’t see your sister till she was a teenager.

“Did you ever meet my father?” Ghost asked suddenly. She had no memories of him at all.

“I don’t know,” Mama said, taking a drink from her mug and thinking back. “I met a number of shifter men, but if I have, then he was never introduced to me as Asha’s father or your mother’s husband.”

“But there’s been none of them?” Ghost asked, biting her lip. “None of them since?” The hint of a plea in her voice was matched by the one in her eyes. “None?”

“We went up after we hadn’t heard of your people for a month or more,” Mama recounted with a heavy sigh. The innkeeper shook her head, her massive braids brushing across her solid shoulders. “It was a terrible business. The bodies were slaughtered. There were goblins aplenty. We tried to lay them to rest but some of them were just frozen where they fell.” She shared a knowing look with the young shifter. “When the mountain snow takes something, it can be quite hard to get it away from it.”

“How far from here?” Ghost asked, looking uncertainly towards where her instincts told her north was.

“A few weeks maybe, if that,” Mama said. “But it’s all up river so it’s hard to take a boat,” she cautioned. At the questioning look Kidalis gave her, she added “There’s waterfalls.”

“I couldn’t remember…” Ghost said, the frustration rising in her once again. She was so close. She should remember the way home. But all she had was fragments, bits and flashes of a life she’d lost.

“The boats have to porterage around and that slows them them down a bit as well. Keep going long enough,” Mama said, gesturing with a grand sweep of an arm, “this river leads all the way back to the Stream Father himself, Hulendoch, the Great.”

“I remembered the general direction I came from before they found me,” Ghost went on, frowning slightly. “But they told me it was too far to go back. On my own, especially.”

“Well, on your own especially,” Mama agreed. “Who found you?” she asked, suddenly curious. “How have you lived all these years?”

“Arun,” Ghost replied. “You know Arun? Longstrider?”

“Oooh! Longlegs,” Mama said amiably, adding with a knowing look “Yes, I know him…. hmmm-hmmmm.”

“Oh?” It was now Ghost’s turn to be curious.

“He was a handsome man, for an elf. A bit on the beardless side,” the innkeeper chuckled, “but most are.”

“His group found me,” Ghost explained. “I lived with them for many years. They basically raised me and became my other family.”

“Then I will say a prayer to them,” Mama said, reaching over and patting the young shifter’s hand kindly, "for they have done well if they have raised you and kept you safe.

“We’re here…” Ghost hesitated, looking around to make sure no one was listening before continuing in a low voice. “Arun found what we believe was one of the goblins who attacked my family. Have you seen…?” Turning her head, she showed Mama her red-stone earring. “Have you seen any goblins wearing these?”

“No, ducks,” Mama said after peering closely at the shifter girl’s earring. “But then, most of the goblins who come through here are honest enough traders. Oh, they’ll stiff you on a tip,” the innkeeper went on, “but they’re not murderers or raiders. Wouldn’t allow them in if they were. Give them the side of my pick,” she muttered, her mouth quirking wryly. “Mama hasn’t forgotten how to fight, no matter how much silver’s gone in amongst the gold.”

“Were you an adventurer, Mama?” Eustace asked, eyeing the old dwarf woman with curiosity.

“Oh no, love, not me,” Mama said genially, waving the very idea away with a flourish of a hand. “That’s not the sort of life for me. I’ve no ‘breath’ running through me as they say.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Ghost said, finishing off the last of her mug. “Just to find if they may have been here.”

“Well, ducks, I hope you find them,” Mama said, looking to Ghost sympathetically. “I hope you get justice for your people. It’s terrible what they done.”

“Thank you for your time, Mama,” Eustace said formally, bowing his head towards the innkeeper in polite acknowledgement.

“Of course, love,” Mama said, taking her leave with a smile. “Anytime.”

When the innkeeper had gone, Ghost found herself overwhelmed by it all. It was the first time since she’d been rescued that she’d ever met anyone who’d known her family. Who could tell her anything about her mother. “I’ll be back,” she said suddenly, rising from the table. “I… gotta go to the jake,” she muttered, distracted as bits of memory welled up in her once again. “Get something from outside…”

“Will you need a rope so that you don’t get lost?” Kidalis offered, unable to resist an opportunity to bait his companion but this time in the hope of distracting her from dwelling on what had to be hard news for her. “There’s a lot of snow outside. Of course we might lose you in it,” the young noble went on, shrugging, “but….”

It was telling that the young shifter did not rise to the jibe and instead merely donned her cloak and left. A light snow was falling and the night was quiet as she walked away from the inn. It had not been snowing that night…

Waking to the sounds of fighting. Stepping outside of the longhouse. Figures clashing in the dark, flashes of bright metal, the scent of attackers. Someone suddenly grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the trees at the village edge.
“Asha?” Looking up in confusion, Asha dragging her headlong towards the father tree, her favorite, the one so big she could lose herself in its deep myriad branches.
“Up the tree, Squirrel!” Asha looking around anxiously, one hand pushing her towards the tree, the other gripping the half-spear their mother had been training Asha with. Eyes going wide. Asha is afraid. But Asha is never afraid.
“No!” Backing away from the trunk.
“Up the tree, Squirrel.” Asha shoving her at the tree again, harder this time. “Now!”
“No!” Standing her ground stubbornly. “I wanna-”
No warning. Asha dropping the half-spear, seizing her bodily and throwing her up into the father tree’s lower branches, forcing her to grab onto them or fall.
“Get up there, Squirrel. High, where no one can see you.” Asha hissing, picking up the half-spear once again. “Or so help me I’ll tell Mom what really happened to her favorite skinning knife. And where you hid the pieces!”
Climbing, climbing, confused. Hating Asha, bossy Asha. Hearing fighting. Confused. Scared. Asha is never scared. But Asha is scared. Looking down, but cannot see. “Asha?”
“You stay up there, Squirrel.” Asha’s voice, calling back, growing distant. “You stay up there till one of us comes for you. You hear me? You stay hidden, no matter what, till one of us comes back.”

Ghost was sitting on her haunches out in the open ground, holding herself, the inn some distance behind her. The snow had stopped but she was shivering and her face was wet. “I heard you,” she murmured, looking up at the starlit sky. “I heard you, Asha. But you didn’t come back.” She wiped furiously at the tears, cursing them. “Nobody came back.” When she looked up again, she was startled to find a huge snow leopard sitting directly in front of her, its grey eyes regarding her in silent expectation. As she watched, it slowly turned and started heading north, as if following the river. Ghost hesitated, glancing back at the inn, but when she turned to follow, the creature was gone, the snow before her unblemished by any sign that it had ever been there.

. . .

The next day, the Fire Wasps set out. Mama provided the rations Kidalis had requested, including dwarven way-cakes, packed with dried fruits and nuts, along with some dried meat, tea, and other things she had had on hand; three weeks worth of rations all totaled.

“One thing to be aware of,” the dwarven innkeeper cautioned them as they prepared to go. “Watch the mountain passes carefully. The yeti have started to get active again.”

“What’s a yeti?” Ghost asked as she adjusted her hood to cover her ears more completely. Mama explained as best she could, describing the creatures as having a cunning sort of intelligence and warning of their danger.

“Well, good fortune,” Mama said when the time had come to wish them on their way. “And I hope that the thanes of the five halls shall smile brightly on your travels. Or, in the case of the hooded one, turn away.”

The old innkeeper made a point of hugging each of them goodbye. Eustace she dragged down to plant a sloppy kiss on the minotaur’s cheek. Tristan she bundled up like an armload of sticks, leaving the young half-elf briefly worried about getting crushed in her affectionate but very powerful arms. Tilly she all but smothered with her ample bosom. With Kidalis she was a bit more formal, respecting his distance.

When Ghost’s turn came though, Mama drew the her down to her level and took the young shifter’s hands in hers. For the first time Ghost noticed how large the old dwarf’s hands were; enormous, like Eustace’s hands, making her own seem almost delicate in comparison. She turned Ghost’s hands over in her own, studying them. “You have a warrior’s hands,” Mama said after a moment, “like your mother’s hands.” Looking up, her old eyes held the young shifter’s with solemn resolve. “Go and give payback to those who caused her death. I never knew her name but I thought of her as a friend.”

Ghost hugged the old innkeeper tightly, closing her eyes and murmuring “Thank you.” Mama in return kissed her forehead. “A mother’s blessing on you,” she said, leaving Ghost struggling not to cry.

“You come back safe, all of you,” Mama said, turning away herself as she headed back to her inn. Giving a final wave goodbye, she called out “And watch out for those bloody furry yeti!”

As they headed up along the river, Ghost recalled a vague memory of her mother warning her about the ‘shadows in the snow’ that would try to sneak in and snatch children. It was, she was told, why children of the village always being watched. And why her mother did not want her going off alone. She also remembered being told that fire could be used to shove them back if she ever did find herself faced with one.

When she mentioned this to the others, Kidalis thought of the alchemist’s fire they had with them and asked Tristan if alchemist’s fire would be effective in snow. After some thought – and possibly listnining to a voice or two – the young wizard said that yes, it would be.

After following the river for some days, the land rising steadily higher as they traveled, the Fire Wasps finally reached the place where an icy cascade lay, looking as if it had flowed down out of the mountains. At the base, stone markers of apparent dwarven creation bore runes in both dwarven and elvish designating a pass that lay ahead. At the far end of the cascade, hewn steps could be seen going up into mountain, disappearing into what might have once been an ancient dwarven mine.

“Looks like a bad place for an ambush,” Tilly mused dryly after a moment, drawing his sharrash to the ready. “Or a good place, if’n yew are the wuns doin’ the ambushin’.” The rest of the Fire Wasps readied their weapons as well as they began to cross the icy expanse. Though parts of the flow were quite smooth, others were marred by gigantic chunks of jagged ice that made for difficult passage.

As they drew near to the halfway point, the Fire Wasps could make out the remains of a pair of statues that had once adorned the sides of the stairs at the far end. But before they could speculate on what the statues might once have been, a huge rock suddenly came flying through the air, smashing into the ground just behind them. The ice where the rock hit shuddered, groaned, and then collapsed, falling into a deep chasm that now blocked any hope of retreat.

“Ah do believe this is an ambush,” Tilly said, dropping into a crouch and scanning the ridges to either side of them. The halfling did not have to wait long as suddenly fierce white-furred creatures seem to emerge from the ice itself all around them. Without hesitation, he charged at nearest yeti, slashing it with his sharrash. The creature snarled at him viciously, its dire gaze fixing on him.

The battle was then quickly joined. Tristan moved to the side, cursing the nearest yeti and then hitting it with an eldritch blast. The yeti facing Tilly rushed at him, managing to claw the halfling before he could duck out of the way. Another of the creatures charged Kidalis but the young noble deftly deflected its attack.

But more of the creatures leaped into the fray. The yeti closest to Eustace abruptly turned and roared, running in a frenzied rage and trampling both Tilly and Tristan, injuring them and knock them prone. Another yeti moved to stand before Kidalis where it emitted horrible howls that inflicted thunder damage on Kidalis, Ghost and Eustace, forcing them to give way before it.

The Fire Wasps quickly rallied though. Lowering his head, Eustace bellowed and gore-charged the howling yeti, knocking it prone. Another yeti, up on the ridge, hurled a rock at Ghost but the shifter dodged nimbly out of its path, infuriating the yeti which roared in frustration. Unable to reach the yeti on the ridge, Ghost instead flew at the yeti nearest her on the flow, twin-striking it with both swords inflicting grievous slashes that left the creature bloodied.

Realizing that they were in danger of further attacks from the yeti on the ridge where it was out of their range, Kidalis quickly improvised. Running up to the side of the base of the cliff, the warden invoked a hungry-earth as he slammed it with his polearm. The force of his invocation not only knocked the yeti from its perch, it brought down a section of the cliff beneath it, leaving the creature nothing to cling to as it slid down the cliff face to end up prone at the base.

Leaping to his feet, Tilly attacked the yeti right in front of him, hitting it with a crushing surge, wounding it. When Tristan managed to stand again however, his attempted at an eyes of the vestage on the same yeti failed to connect. The other yeti then launched their own attacks. The one facing Eustace savagely grabbed the young cleric, raking his back with both claws, leaving him bloodied and in the creature’s grip. The yeti facing Tilly attempted the same maneuver, managing to claw him with one of its great hands but failing to grab him.
And the other yeti turned and howled its rage at Ghost and Kidalis, leaving them both bloodied from the thunder damage its howls inflicted.

Knowing he had to free himself quickly or succumb, Eustace invoked a resurgent sun on the yeti holding him, bloodying it badly but failing to free himself. The young minotaur quickly healed his wounds as much as he could and then braced himself for the next attack. Meanwhile, the yeti that had fallen down the cliff face jumped to its feet, picked up a boulder and hurled it at the object of its rage, the human who had knocked it down from the ridge. Kidalis moved quickly to dodge but the rock still struck him a glancing blow.

Feeling the need for greater speed, Ghost activated her spats of rapid motion, then charged at the howling yeti, hitting it with both swords in a twin-strike and huring it. But while she was close to the creature, she became aware of a deep moaning it was emitting that seem to attack her very nerves painfully, hurting her as well. Kidalis for his part unleashed a flurry of attacks, moved first to thorn-strike the yeti, pulling it closer, then invoking a strong-skin clash, the force of which hit that one and the rampaging yeti as well, killing the latter. But in doing so, he too suffered the psychic damage that the howling yeti was inflicting on all who came within its range.

In an equally impressive flurry, Tilly slashed the yeti attacking him with his sharrash, knocking it prone and bloodying it. The determined halfling then quickly closed with his prone foe, drew his short sword in a flash and plunged it deep in the yeti’s skull, dispatching the creature before it could inflict any other attacks on him. Tristan for his part cast an eyes of vestige once again, this time hitting one of the bloodied yeti with it. He managed at the same time to curse still another yeti, hurting that one as well.

Seeing two of its fellow creatures killed, the yeti holding Eustace shrieks in the minotaur’s face, calling for blood, psychicly damaging the young cleric but failing to incapacitate him. The rampaging yeti for its part ran amok, missing Tristan who managed to dodge out of its path but trampling on Eustace, Ghost and Kidalis, knocking the last two prone and injured, leaving Ghost in particular in bad shape.

Giving in to what he called his baser nature, Eustace invoked a righteous brand on the yeti holding him, then kneed the creature in its balls. When the yeti dropped him, the minotaur whirled about and savagely buried his scythe deep in the yeti’s spine, killing it. He then quickly moved to heal both Ghost and Kidalis, restoring them considerably. Only to have the howling yeti let forth another piercing shriek that struck Ghost and Kidalis, re-injuring them.

Infuriated, Ghost regained her feet, the stripes on her face darkening as she invoked her shifter nature, backing away from the howling yeti to get out of its range as she planned her attack. Kidalis retreated out of range as well, invoking a second-wind on himself and healing Ghost somewhat as well.

Caught with only his short sword in hand, Tilly quickly switched hands and drew his boomerang, hurling it at the howling yeti. To everyone’s surprise, the boomerang not only hit the creature but actually managed to bloody it as well. Tilly’s moment of triumph however was brief – he had misjudged his proximity to the creature and winced as its howling inflicted psychic damage upon him. Moving cautiously to avoid the effects of the howling, Tristan cursed the howling yeti and then inflicted curse-bites on both the howler and the rampaging yeti, wounding both. The rampaging yeti however then turned and shrieked at Tristan, inflicting psychic damage on the young wizard eveb as ut charged at him and trampled him, leaving him badly bloodied. Seeing this, Ghost ran at the offending yeti in an avenging charges. Her slash unforunately missed, but now she and Tristan had the yeti flanked between them. And seeing Tristan now so badly wounded, Eustace quickly invoked a healing on the young half-elf before any further attacks could leave him in an even graver state.

The hurling yeti picks up another rock, a truly massive one, hurling it at Eustace and Tristan. It seemed like an awkward throw at first, surely destined to miss its targets, but the creature’s intent became clear when the rock crashed through the ground just beyond the two Fire Wasps, opening yet another yawning chasm. Only luck allowed Eustace and Tristan to both dive prone and manage to not fall into the black expanse that now lay behind them.

Bloodied and in a flurry of shifter fury, Ghost charged at the yeti standing near the edge of the chasm where her two companions lay prone, screaming to get it to turn to face her. The agile ranger leapt through the air, bull rushing the creature with a flying strike against its chest, kicking off of it to propel herself back the way she’d came. The yeti staggered backward, arms flailing as it struggled to avoid falling, only to disappear over the edge, howling as it fell into the black depths below. Using the momentum she’d gained from kicking off of the creature, Ghost launched herself without missing a beat at the last remining yeti, falling on the bloodied creature in her full ferocity with a deadly hunt’s end attack, hacking it to pieces where it stood before what was left of its corpse finally fell lifeless to the ground.

The battle over, the Fire Wasps rested and healed themselves. A quick search around found the yeti’s lair up on the ridges. Strewn with an disturbing abundance of bones – human, dwarven, halfling, and goblin among them – they found a fine silk robe from far lands of Dojhan, along with an assortment of gold and silver coins the yeti had apparently stuck in the ice walls of their lair as decorations. A potion of healing was found frozen in the hand of a victim who apparently died before being able to drink it. They also found a strange stone which Tristan examined and determined as having an armor-enhancing enchantment. It was decided that Ghost should use it on her hide armor as she was usually the one most frequently getting hacked at by the various opponents they went up against.

The Fire Wasps continued on their way unmolested, mounting the stairs and entering the tunnel. They were somewhat surprised when they came out on the other side and found green before them, confirming in Ghost’s mind Vondyr’s belief in what he called the geothermal nature of the land in these parts causing the river to be warmer than it should be. As they made their way through the scrubby pines that prevailed on this side of the pass, they suddenly heard the sound of goblin voices coming from up ahead. Kidalis signaled them to silence as they began to move forward, weapons drawn. Ghost gripped her swords tightly, her thoughts dark and vengeful as the world narrowed to focus on the harsh jibber-jabber coming from the trees ahead.

It was the 26th of Delt when the barge the Fire Wasps had hired finally reached Vagabond’s Loop. The weather was cold and rainy and not at all to Ghost’s liking but the sight of the halfling enclave did raise her spirits considerably as it meant that they had finally made it back to Seowyn’s Crossing. All that remained was to get the dragon’s hoard – and head – up to the keep where they could deliver them to Baron Greenfields.

“Tristan,” Kidalis said, leaping onto the planking once the barge had been securely tied up at the dock, “either we will need to rent a wagon or you will need to make a wagon.”

“I can’t make a wagon.” Tristan frowned at the admission, his half-elven features furrowing in thought for a long moment. “But I can make a disc that’s… wagon-ish?” he offered finally, sounding not completely certain about the idea.

“That works,” Kidalis said, turning to the barge men and directing them to begin unloading their cargo onto the dock.

“Let me check Vagabond’s Loop,” Tilly put in quickly, not wanting to entrust their treasure to an untried notion their own wizard didn’t seem too sure about. “There might be somewun there who can lend us a wagon.”

“That would be cheaper,” the young noble acknowledged, thinking of the residuum Tristan’s spell might cost.

“Not as dramatic, though,” Tristan mumbled, disappointed. The idea of carting the hoard through the town on an invisible floating disc had quickly grown on him in spite of his initial doubts.

It did not take Tilly long to find a couple of cousins who agreed to rent him a couple of mules and a wagon. Haggling over the price actually took longer, and by the time they were finishing up the loading a crowd of curious halflings had gathered around the dock, including Tilly’s Aunt Claudine. Tilly waved excitedly from atop the wagon’s driving seat when he spotted her. “Aunt Claudine, yew got to see this!”

“What… what are we…” Aunt Claudine had to push and shove her way to the front of the crowd. “Are yew back?” she asked when she finally reached Tilly, quickly looking him over with a worried look on her face. “Are yew alive?”

“We killed a dragon!” Tilly said, grinning as he pointed to the dragon’s head where it now rested on the back of the wagon.

“Well…” the stocky halfling woman stared at the grisly fanged trophy “…good, then,” she finished finally, completely flummoxed.

“Yew’ve got to come see this!” Tilly insisted as he flicked the reins on the mules and the wagon began moving towards the road that led to the Baron’s keep.

“But Ah’m the middle of a tran…” Aunt Claudine turned to another halfling, a customer of hers who’d gotten drawn along with her and the rest of Vagabond’s Loop. “Will yew excuse me?” she said apologetically, gesturing vaguely at the departing wagon. “Mah nephew…” She turned away from the puzzled patron and hurried after the wagon until she was walking alongside where Tilly was driving. “Yew killed a dragon?”

The news spread quickly and it soon appeared to Ghost that every halfling in Vagabond’s Loop was following the wagon up to the keep. She watched in amusement as a gaggle of halfling children trailed behind the back of the wagon where the dragon’s severed head rested, nudging and daring each other to run up and touch it.

“I guess you’re the local hero now,” Ghost observed as she nimbly leapt up onto the wagon, landing in the seat beside Tilly.

“Well, we all would be..” Tilly began, but the young shifter cut him short with a sharp don’t-give-me-that slug in the upper arm.

“What part of ‘local’…” Ghost gestured expansively at the sea of excited halflings all about them “…are you not grasping?” Seeing Tilly’s aunt hurrying along beside the wagon, she impulsively reached down and gave the halfling woman an arm-up into the wagon. The young shifter then yielded her seat, climbing into the back of the wagon so that Aunt Claudine could sit beside her nephew. The older halfling blinked as a whiff of the perfume Tilly had anointed himself with hit her.

“Why do yew smell like a cat-house?” she asked Tilly suspiciously, leaning in briefly to confirm the source of the scent. When her nephew only laughed, she glared at him. “What have yew done to yoahself?”

“Oh Aunt Claudine,” Tilly said, cheerfully dismissing her reaction. His expression grew smug as he added “It’s expensive.”

“It’s expensive for ladies,” his aunt retorted, planting her fists on her ample hips. “On men it’s… weird.”

It’s worse than weird, Ghost thought, crinkling her nose at the perfume fumes that were now making her nostrils burn. It hadn’t been so bad when she was up beside Tilly on the seat, but now that she was in back of him she was getting the full downwind effect of his excessive indulgence. She quickly traded places with Kidalis to get further away from the overpowering scent.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Kidalis said sympathetically to the halfling woman, “but you know how he is when he gets his mind set on…”

“Oh Ah know how he is,” Aunt Claudine muttered, giving Tilly a dark look that promised we-will-talk-about-this-later.

As she moved to the rear of the wagon, Ghost found Tristan examining one of the walnuts from a crate that he’d opened, his bespectacled eyes curious as he poked at it with his dragonbone knife.

“You’ve never seen a walnut?” she asked as she squatted down beside him, finding it hard to believe.

“Well, we had some one time,” Tristan said as he probed at the walnut’s shell with the knife’s tip, “but… they’re expensive, and I never….”

“You can do that,” Ghost said, nodding at his knife, “or you can just take a couple of them and…” The young shifter picked out two walnuts and closed her hand around them, pressing them together and cracking the shells neatly “…and just pick the meat out,” she finished, opening her palm to reveal the now-broken walnuts, the meat now easily accessible to fingers.

“How’d you do that?” Tristan asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“You put two in your hand,” Ghost said, picking out four more walnuts and placing two of them in the half-elf’s hand “and then you close it.” She repeated the action with her free hand, the fingers closing around the other two walnuts and compressing them against each other until the shells cracked open. But when Tristan tried it, he yelped in pain, and when he opened his hand the walnuts remained completely intact.

“Here,” Ghost sighed, taking the walnuts from his hand and replacing them with the ones she’d already cracked open. “You can have mine.” It was sometimes hard to remember that the hands she had seen hurl magical bolts and blast enemies into pulp belonged to the same Tristan who couldn’t pull the cork from a wine bottle without a titanic struggle, while her fingers could crush an enemy’s windpipe with almost the same ease that she cracked walnuts.

“Thanks,” Tristan said cheerfully, picking out a meat fragment and tasting it.

As they neared the town, it was quickly apparent that the news had already spread among the townfolk, many of whom were already gathered where the road passed by the common to greet them. Seeing his mother and grandfather at the front of the crowd, Tristan climbed down from the wagon when Tilly drew the mules to a halt.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” the half-elf’s mother said, fighting back a sniffle as she hugged him tightly.

“It was touch and go,” Tristan admitted, hugging her back reassuringly, “but as you see…” he pointed to the wagon bearing the dragon’s hoard and head “…it worked out okay.”

“I’m just glad you’re back,” his mother sniffled again, reluctantly letting him go, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the crowd. Seeing him as a grown man was hard enough, but seeing him as an adventurer about whom tales were already being told was harder still.

“Make sure to come by later,” Tristan’s grandfather, Master Holdfast said, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “We’ll all want to hear the story.”

“I’m sure that we can all tell our individual parts,” Tristan said, looking around at the cheering crowd in bemusement, unused to being the object of adulation. Raising his voice to be heard, he shouted “We’ll give you a good story.”

“Excellent, excellent,” his grandfather said, waving as the crowd poured around them to greet the rest of the Fire Wasps. Several brothers came out from the monastery to gather around Eustace, and a number of the Baron’s guardsmen hailed Kidalis, greeting the young noble with enthusiastic good cheer.

Ghost watched the greetings and exchanges with a sense of wistfulness. She couldn’t begrudge her fellow Fire Wasps their good fortune at having friends and family gathering about them, but it did remind her that here, she really had no one. The only family she had were Arun and the other rangers, but they were far away. Still, she would be seeing them soon, now that their business for the Baron in the matter of Valryke had been concluded. And, she remembered, she had a new cloak she was anxious to show them. The thought triggered an impulsive desire in her to find Anil when they reached the keep so she could show off her cloak to the more refined shifter.

When the procession got underway again and finally reached the outskirts of the Baron’s keep, the Fire Wasps were hailed by many members of garrison. “I’ll run for the Baron,” a sergeant shouted to Kidalis, bowing quickly before he disappeared through the keep’s main gate.

A few moments later, Baron Greenfields emerged, wearing warm robes and a fur-trimed cloak with the hood up against the rain. Kidalis bowed politely as the Baron glanced at the Fire Wasps and their wagon.

“Why don’t we all get in out of this rain?” the Baron said finally, inclining his head back towards the entrance to the keep.

“A fine idea,” Kidalis readily agreed.

The Baron’s seneschal, Iartius Fairholme, quickly took charge, wanting to begin the accounting of the treasure hoard the Fire Wasps had brought. Directing that the wagon be brought out of the rain into the shelter of the main gate, he quickly engaged some of the halflings who had followed them up the road to help unload things, paying them from his own purse and taking inventory of each item as it was unloaded.

“If the Baron would like the dragon’s head as a trophy of sorts,” Kidalis offered to the seneschal as three halflings struggled to maneuver it out of the wagon, “he is certainly welcome to it.”

“I think you should at least present it to him as your proof, as it were,” Iartius said, noting the head as one more item in the inventory.

With some reluctance, Tilly brought out the vial of perfume he’d been carrying, handing it to Kidalis. “As much as Ah enjoy this,” the halfling sighed, “Ah think yoah lady friend might enjoy this more.” Kidalis in turn handed the vial to the seneschal, who made an additional note to his inventory before tucking the small glass bottle into a pouch at his waist.

As Eustace and Ghost took charge of the dragon’s head from the halflings and brought it inside to be presented to the Baron, Tilly looked it over thoughtfully. “It would probably look a lot better over the mantle at the Tarry.”

“Yes,” Kidalis agreed, sounding much like a parent exercising practiced patience with an overenthusiastic child, “but then the Tarry would have to change its name.”

“Why?” Ghost asked, looking puzzled.

“For such a monument as this…” Kidalis said, gesturing to the beast’s massive head as if the answer was too obvious to require explanation.

“Well, yew know,” Tilly said, not willing to give in so easily, “it’s up to them. And no offense to the Baron,” he went on, directing his words to the seneschal, “but… we killed it, not him. Again, no offense.”

“I’m quite certain that the Baron will see to a proper disposition of such a trophy,” Iartius replied, unruffled. “He is a hunter himself, you know, and is not likely to want to take your trophy away. But…” the seneschal caught Kidalis’ eye with a meaningful glance, “it’s a good gesture to offer it to him.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t sound as cozy,” Ghost put in. “The Minstrel’s Tarry sounds cozy. The Dragon’s Head tavern?” The shifter scrunched up her face. “It’ll probably get customers but, just, the name’s a little… different.”

“I actually know a tavern called the Green Dragon,” Iartius said absently as he noted down the two crates of walnuts the halflings unloaded. “It’s not bad, actually.”

“What about the Minstrel & Dragon?” Tilly ventured. He grinned, adding “It sounds regal.”

Ghost favored the halfling with a dubious look. “It sounds like one of them’s gonna get eaten!”

“Well,” Tilly shot back cheerily, refusing to be deterred, “Ah’d pay to watch that!”

When the halflings had finished unloading the wagon, they asked the seneschal if he had any further need of them. “No, no,” Iartius replied absently, fingering the pile of bear pelts, “I’m just going to get this accounted and tallied up.”

“If you like, this is what we counted,” Kidalis offered, handing the seneschal the list he had written when they had first loaded the hoard onto the barge, “and of course you can check it against your tally.”

“Very good,” Iartius said, accepting the list with a polite nod, “I shall do exactly that.”

The Fire Wasps were ushered in to the Baron’s personal solar where a fire was already warming the room up nicely. Benches and chairs were already arranged in a semi-circle before a low throne on which the Baron sat waiting. A gesture to a servant resulted in mugs of mulled wine being served all around.

“By all means,” the Baron said, motioning for the Fire Wasps to make themselves comfortable. “What happened? Obviously you triumphed.”

“We present to you the head of Valryke,” Kidalis said formally, as Ghost and Eustace laid the dragon’s head on the floor before the Baron, “the Emerald Death, as it were.”

“The Emerald Dead?” the Baron said with a chuckle, nodding down at the green-scaled head.

“Indeed,” Kidalis said, allowing himself a small smile.

“Not living up to his reputation it would seem.” Rising from his throne, the Baron walked around the head, studying it for a long moment. “Still, he caused enough havoc,” he said finally. He motioned for call for two of his guards to come and carry the trophy away, then returned to his throne. “I’ll have the hunt-master see about having this properly taxidermed for you.”

“Master Eustace, of course, used a bit of his knowledge to preserve the head,” Kidalis said as the guards struggled to lift the enormous head and carry it from the solar, “but that will wear off after a time.”

“Exactly,” the Baron agreed, pleased to be confirmed in his judgement of the situation.

“And besides,” Kidalis went on as he took the chair closest to the Baron, “we wouldn’t want any poison left over in its system.”

“You don’t want it just lying around,” the Baron rumbled affably, taking a healthy swallow of mulled wine, “you want to have it mounted on something.”

“Of course,” Kidalis agree, politely following the Baron by taking a drink from his own mug.

“Fearsome expression,” Tristan offered helpfully. “Mouth open. Rarrrh!” The half-elf mimed what Ghost assumed was meant to be a threatening dragon though to her it looked more like a colicky sheep.

“I believe for dragons the usual is mouth open, tongue lolling,” the Baron mused, “in a fearsome fashion… to suggest their breath. There’s an art to taxiderming different animals. I’ve never hunted a dragon but I believe that’s the… traditional. In any case I’ll have the hunt-master have a look. So…” he gestured grandly to the semi-circle of Fire Wasps “…let’s hear your tale.”

The Fire Wasps related their tale, with Kidalis beginning the recounting and the others jumping in at intervals to pick up the thread, each in their own way. Kidalis’ narrative tended to the formal, while Eustace’s began with piously acknowledging Shadaleen’s protection but quickly evolved into bellowing reenactments when he recalled a particularly enjoyable clash. Tristan tended to downplay his own role and occasionally confused things by recalling them out of order. Tilly’s and Ghost’s recounting on the other hand were highly colorful narratives that tended to play up their own roles and were laden with frequent one-up’s directed at each other that left the Baron raising an eyebrow at Kidalis as if asking ‘are they always like this?’.

“We were lucky,” Ghost acknowledged at the end.

“Well,” the Baron observed, “they say it’s smarter to be lucky than it’s lucky to be smart.”

“That almost sounds like a halfling saying,” Tilly said.

“I’m not sure who said it.” The Baron shrugged, motioning to a servant for more mulled wine. He shrugged as he added “Maybe some halfling said it.”

“It’s quite true,” Tristan put in after a moment, looking as if he recalled reading something to that effect somewhere.

“Maybe that’s why you all can avoid the worst of dangers,” Kidalis said, acknowledging Tilly with a raised mug.

“Halfling luck is reknowned,” the Baron agreed, raising his own mug to the halfling.

“At any rate, if you do not have any other requests of us, my lord baron,” Kidalis said, “we actually have word of something else to follow up on.”

“Do you think you can spare three days of your time before you go,” Baron Greenfields asked, “for me to get this properly squared away?”

Kidalis glanced to the other Fire Wasps, then looked back to the Baron, nodding. “I believe three days can be arranged.”

“I will make it sooner if I can,” the Baron assured them.

“It is always good to have a couple of days between forays,” Kidalis said, gesturing with an airy wave of the hand to indicate that it was not a matter of great concern.

“Indeed.” The Baron set his mug aside and leaned forward on his throne. “Have you given any thought to what you will do over the winter?” He gesture towards the solar’s window which looked out onto the courtyard. “Snows are going to be setting in soon and it’s going to be harder and harder to travel long distances. By most conventional wisdom you can either stay in one place, wintering for a time, or you can go someplace warm while things are still happening.”

“There is the idea of going south and perhaps helping deal with the orcs,” Kidalis ventured. “But I do not know if that will be far south.”

“It is fairly far south,” the Baron said. “Winter does not come as strongly down there as it does here.”

“That’s true,” Kidalis acknowledged.

“As far south as the bayous of Dalenshire,” the Baron went on, “winter does not come at all, the way we think of it.”

“Well, warm’s okay,” Ghost said, sounding a bit uncertain. Given her burning desire to go north, all this talk of going south was making her uneasy. “But…”

“It is up to you,” the Baron assured them before she could finish her thought. “In the next couple of days I may have an option for you, which of course you are free to consider.” He smiled and looked to the group in general. “Now I’m sure Master Holdfast that your family will want to see you, so I shall not detain you.” Looking to Kidalis, he inquired “I assume Iartius is in the process of tallying?”

“Did anything of interest happen while we were gone, m’lord?” Ghost put in suddenly, sensing that the audience was nearing an end. Caught in mid-sip however, her ‘interest’ came out somewhat burbled.

“Adventures?” the Baron said, looking puzzled.

“Interest, my lord…” Kidalis offered.

“Oh,” the Baron said, apologetic but still puzzled. “Sorry.”

“She needs to work on her proper pronunciation of words,” Kidalis said, giving Ghost an admonishing look, to which the young shifter blinked, then glared back at him.

“Now, now,” the Baron put in, waving back Kidalis’ intervention. “I misheard. Credit where credit and all that.” He looked back to Ghost, shrugging “Honestly, since the soldiers left a week or so ago, it’s been fairly quiet. We haven’t had word yet of what’s transpiring further down south but I’m keeping my ears open, always.”

“Of course,” Kidalis said.

“Wherever it is your journeys take you next,” the Baron went on. “I hope you’ll be back in time for New Year. It’s a month away.”

“It’s… hard to say, m’lord,” Ghost said reluctantly. She had no idea what Arun and the others would be able to tell her when she found them, let alone what their chance discovery might lead her to. But she had to follow it regardless, and even the Baron’s wishes would have to wait.

“Well, if not,” the Baron said, noting her discomfiture, “I’m sure that no one will take it askance.” He paused, then said "It seems to me from your demeanor, if you will forgive me, that you have business of a most personal nature.

“I have had news that I need to go and…” Ghost hesitated, not sure how much she should divulge “…investigate something.”

“Your… elven family?” the Baron ventured. He was not entirely ignorant of the people he had chartered.

“Yes, m’lord,” Ghost said with a nod.

“Very good. Of course.” The Baron turned to Tristan. “Master Holdfast, I’m sure your family would like to see some of you tonight.”

“I’d like to see some of them tonight too,” the young half-elf responded, looking as if he’d only just remembered that he was back in Seowyn’s Crossing. And that he had family there.

“Well, be well,” the Baron said to the Fire Wasps as a group, rising from his throne. “And I shall hope to speak with you again, perhaps later tonight or tomorrow.”

“Please give my regards to Alinora when you see her,” Kidalis said as he bowed for the Baron’s leave.

“I will pass your regards,” the Baron said formally, nodding in final dismissal.

Before leaving the keep, Kidalis sought out the seneschal to discuss the division and ultimate disposal of the hoard, in particular procuring a share of the ale and walnuts for the Minstrel’s Tarry. To which place the Fire Wasps next headed. They had expected a crowd would be waiting but nonetheless were somewhat surprised to find it as crowded as they could ever remember it being with a spillover of patrons lingering near the door and windows. All of whom turned to greet their arrival.

“So where is it?” Master Holdfast asked eagerly when they entered the Tarry, wiping his hands on a cleaning rag as he hurried up. “Do you have it?”

“Have what?” Kidalis asked, unable to resist feigning ignorance to what everyone was gathered for. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ohhhh, Master Havengard,” Tristan’s grandfather chided, wagging a finger at the young noble. “You are cruel. The dragon’s head! Everyone saw you walking with it earlier.”

“The Baron’s having it prepared,” Ghost said absently, sniffing the air for hints of what the kitchen might be preparing.

“He’s having it properly mounted,” Kidalis explained.

“Ah! Very well,” Master Holdfast said, looking a bit disappointed – along with many in the crowded tavern – that the Fire Wasps had not brought the trophy with them.

“We were thinking it would look quite handsome over the mantle,” Kidalis offered.

“What mantle?” Master Holdfast asked as he cleared a path through the patrons to the table they had waiting for the heroes of the day. “Oh, our mantle!” he said when it finally hit him. Looking over to the wall where the fireplace and its accompanying mantle lay, the old man studied the space thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose I could take down my collection of mugs. A dragon head would be a much stronger conversation piece.” The taverner became visibly fluffed when he pictured how it would look. And how much of a draw it would be for his establishment. “That’d be quite nice actually.”

The evening was a merry one and the Fire Wasps didn’t have to pay for a single drink all night. The ale flowed as once again they related their tale for the enjoyment of the crowd. Shortly upon finishing their tale, the door to the Tarry swung open and everyone turned to see a strange green mist – with the distinct scent of sugar about it – puffing into the tavern. Four men carried in a beautifully done green subtlety made in the image of Valryke. Or rather, as the Fire Wasps thought but were too polite to point out, in the image of what Mother Ableby’s imagination thought the dragon would look like. The real Valryke was nothing like the cutely confectioned creature being presented to them. The carefully crafted subtlety would puff a cloud of green sugar mist out of its mouth when a small button on the tray was pressed and everyone praised Mother Ableby for her creativeness and ingenuity, to which she could only blush with pleasure.

“And how much warning did you have to whip that one up?” Kidalis asked, but Mother Ableby only smiled a bit, not being one to speak in front of crowds.

“You, my dear,” Kidalis said, bowing to kiss her hand, “are a magic in the kitchen.” The praise and the gesture only made her blush all the more furiously.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to prepare the alternative,” Ghost said wryly, envisioning a display of dead Fire Wasps crafted of spun sugar and strewn across a battleground of marzipan.

The cake was quickly sliced up and served all around, with everyone relishing the butter-cream frosting and the marzipan scales with their almond flavoring.

At one point Eustace noticed an old man, a stranger not of the Crossing, studying Tilly intently. The odd embellishments embroidered into his robes – spangles with stars and moons – suggested that he might be a scholar of the arcane, as did the long white beard with silver wire entwined throughout. But the oddest and most notable thing about the man were the very strange pair of goggles he was wearing, an elaborate set of clockwork-ish mechanisms sprouting from a silvery skullcap that every now and then clicked and whirred as a new pair of lenses flexed into place before the old man’s owlish-looking eyes.

The minotaur bent his head near to Tilly’s ear. “Some stranger seems to be quite interested in you.”

“It must be the perfume,” Tilly said with a grin born of the many ales he’d consumed.

Eustace sighed and shook his head, but before he could say anything further the old man rose and, leaning heavily on a staff, made his way over to their table. As he drew near, Ghost noticed he had a small lizard perched on his shoulder, the same color as his robes. A chameleon, she wondered, watching its colors shift as it crawled from one shoulder to the other, flicking its tongue out curiously.

“Excuse me, young man,” the old man said, his goggled eyes staring directly at Tilly. “Your gauntlets. Do they… enhance your strength?”

“Ah…” Tilly blinked at the stranger peering at him through the oddment of lenses, nonplussed for a moment before he finally managed “Yes, they do!”

“Ha!” the old man exclaimed with satisfaction. “My eyes aren’t good but they can still recognize that craftsmanship.” He abruptly grabbed Tilly’s gauntleted hands and began pointing. “You see this intricate curlicue work here? These are Eladrin make, possibly dating back from the time of the Fey War.”

“How can yew tell all that just by looking at the little squiggly things?” Tilly asked, staring at the elaborate designs on his gauntlets that the strange man was pointing out.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” the man said apologetically. Doffing his weird cap, he bowed as politely as his years would permit him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I… am Cornelius Attleworthy. Artificer.”

“Tilly Thistleshanks.” Tilly pulled off a gauntlet offered his hand, not wanting to accidentally crush the elderly artificer’s rather delicate looking hand. “Pleased to make yoah acquaintance.”

“Ah, likewise,” Attleworthy replied, shaking Tilly’s hand with surprising firmness given his years.

“Is…” Tilly hesitated, staring in fascination at the man’s mechanized headgear. “Could Ah try that on?” he managed finally, unable to resist.

“Well, I don’t know that it will fit you very well,” Attleworthy said, looking between his hat and the halfling’s head, “but you can try.”

When the artificer turned his cap around and placed it on Tilly’s head, the halfling almost panicked as the world around him suddenly went bizarrely blurry. But as soon as the cap was securely on, the little mechanical arms began clicking into motion, moving lens after lens back and forth before his yes with whining ‘wheek, wheek’ sound until gradually the world came back into focus. When Tilly could see clearly once again, the adjusting arms ceased their movements and lay silent.

“Oh mah goodness…” the halfling said, looking around the table and the room. Everything seemed… brighter and clearer somehow. And he noticed strange glows and auras about certain individuals and things that he had not seen before.

“I invented these to help both my normal vision and my vision into the arcane,” Attleworthy said, a note of pride in his voice.

“This is absolutely wonderful!” Tilly exclaimed, continuing to turn his enhanced sight about the room. He reluctantly returned the cap to the artificer when he realized that the man was almost blind without the benefit of the cap’s enhancing capability.

“Well, thank you young man,” Attleworthy said as he redonned his headgear. “Oy! Your vision is terrible!” he blurted, staring about in sudden panic, but the mechanical arms once again began switching lenses back and forth before his eyes and his panic quickly subsided. “Oh, no, sorry…” he said as the cap once again adjusted to its wearer. “Very good. Ah, there we are.” His calm – and his vision – restored, the elderly artificer turned his attention back to the Fire Wasps around the table. “I’m going to guess by the way you’re all lit up like New Year’s lanterns that you are adventurers. Also..” he gestured at the celebrating crowd and the remains of the subtlety which were barely recognizable as having been part of a dragon “…the party of dragon-slaying is something of a giveaway as well.”

Turning back to the table, the elderly wizard continued. “As I say, I am an artificer by trade. Magic items are my stock and profession. And those…” he nodded again to Tilly’s gauntlets "…are quite fine, I must say.

“Oh, thank yew,” Tilly replied, flexing his hands and regarding his gauntlets with greater appreciation. “We got them in our travels.”

“Of course,” Attleworthy said. It was common knowledge, after all, that part of the allure of adventuring was the chance to acquire items of an extraordinary nature.

“Yew may have heard of us, actually,” Tilly said, gesturing grandly to his companions around the table. “We are the Fire Wasps. We are an adventuring company.”

The artificer’s eyes looked thoughtful behind their curious lenses for a moment. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head.

“Oh,” the young halfling said, looking visibly deflated. “Uhm, nevermind.”

“You must not be from around here,” Kidalis observed. “Where do you hail from?”

“I’m originally from Estwald,” Attleworthy replied, “but most recently from spending time in Calenmar. And having heard from some stories out here of ruins and such like, some magic banner or something, I thought I might come out and have a look.” The elderly wizard leaned back in his chair. “The secrets of the ancients are fascinating. We’ve forgotten more about magic than we can ever hope to gain in our lifetimes. It’s quite sad. The skill to make these is lost, even to the Eladrin who once made them. And they aren’t even the true gauntlets of ogre power, as they are called. These are but pale shadows of the originals, of which it is said there are only two or three sets left in all the world. But even so…”

“Those originals must pack quite a whallop,” Tilly said, knowing how much his ‘lesser’ gauntlets enhanced his strength.

“I would say so,” Attleworthy agreed. “I’ve never had the pleasure of examining them but I have seen references and illustrations.” He began staring at Tilly’s sharrash, as if seeing it for the first time. His skullcap whirred and buzzed as the little mechanical arms exchanged lenses. “Hmmm. I’m intrigued also by your peculiar weapon.”

“Oh, this?” Tilly looked up at the long-handled weapon where it rested against the wall beside the table, then shrugged. “This is just an heirloom.”

“But… it’s magic!” the artificer said, looking the weapon up and down once again.

“No, it’s not,” Tilly insisted, in spite of a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice.

“I assure you, it is.” The elderly wizard smiled indulgently. “I can see the fire numa within it quite plainly. But magic items – the real sort, mind you, not the baubles an old hack like myself could cobble together – are imbued with the true fire numa. Sometimes they simply… slumber.. until someone with enough fire numa of their own picks them up and wields them. Don’t worry, son. I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”

Ghost had tried to follow the wizard’s explanation but looked puzzled. “So… does that mean it’s magic or not?” she asked, peering at the sharrash as if trying to see what Attleworthy was evidently seeing.

“Ah dunno…” Tilly said, still not convinced.

“It is magic,” the artificer insisted. “It’s just not magic for you…” he hesitated, then shrugged “…yet.”

Tilly scratched his chin as he regarded the pole weapon. “Ah wuz told that it’ll learn to sing someday….”

“Well, see?” Attleworthy spread his hands as if all had just been explained. “There you are.”

“Wait a minute,” Ghost said, her eyes narrowing at Tilly. “That it will learn to sing? Or that you will learn to sing?”

“That it will learn to sing,” Tilly asserted, nodding up at his sharrash

“Well that I can believe,” Ghost deadpanned, her eyes nonetheless glinting tauntingly at her fellow Fire Wasp as she took another drink of ale.

“Give Tilly a few drinks,” Kidalis observed, unable to resist a smirk of his own as he joined in, “and at least he thinks he can sing then.”

“If you have anything else you’d like to have examined,” Attleworthy offered as one of the Tarry’s serving girls refilled his tankard, “I’d be happy to give you my insights on them. I do have some knowledge of things,” he said, trying not to sound as if he were bragging. “And if there’s anything you’re interested in, well, I can’t make anything as fine as your gauntlets…” he nodded towards Tilly’s “…but I can craft magic swords and armor and whatnot.” He shrugged as he took a sip of ale. “Common items.”

Ghost hesitated, chewing on her lip for a moment. “I have something I’d like you to take a look at,” she said finally.

“Alright,” the artificer said, setting his tankard aside and directing his attention to the young shifter.

“…and something I might ask you about,” she added as she reached up and removed the red-stoned earring from her right ear and handed it to the elderly wizard.

“Very well,” Attleworthy said absently as he peered at the small piece, his skullcap whirring as different lenses clicked into place before his eyes. “I sense…. something about it,” he murmured after a moment, “but it’s not a piece I’m immediately familiar with… Ah!” The artificer blinked suddenly, then shivered a bit. “It has an infernal influence about it,” he declared as he handed the earring back to Ghost. “Devilish. I’m not saying you’re devilish,” he added quickly. “I’m just saying that the item you’re wearing has a tiny bit of infernal magic imbued in it.”

“Is it dangerous?” Ghost asked, eyeing the earring in her hand, uncertain if she should put it on again just yet.

“I don’t know,” the artificer said, “because I can’t tell what it does.” The old man stroked his silver-wired beard for a moment. “It may be something as simple as a way for someone to keep track of someone else,” he said finally. “Or to communicate, if they learn the trick of doing so. But probably you would need more than one in order to be able to do that.”

Ghost quickly brought out the matching earring that Shale had given her. “Like that?”

“Well…” Attleworthy peered at the other earring, then shook his head. “No. This one doesn’t seem to be attuned to the other one.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ghost put the second earring back in its pouch, not sure if she should be disappointed or relieved.

“Might be from a different set,” Attleworthy suggested. “Similar, but not attuned.”

“The thing I wanted to ask about though,” Ghost began as she donned her earring once again, “was… you said you can craft items?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not a blacksmith or a weaponsmith,” the artificer said. “I can’t make you a sword, but if you had a sword I might be able to imbue it through ritual magic.”

“Can you put a ritual on it?” Ghost asked.

“Possibly. What is it you’re looking for?”

“Actually, I was thinking, like…” the young shifter hesitated, hoping that she wasn’t about to get laughed at “…you know the ritual of Fastidiousness?”

“I am familiar with that magic, yes,” Attleworthy said with a nod.

“I was wondering,” Ghost went on. “Can you put that on something? It doesn’t have to be anything important,” she added quickly.

“I suppose it might be possible,” Attleworthy mused, sipping at his ale once again. “It’s not a common piece that I’m familiar with, but I’ve heard in the capitol of suits of clothing imbued with Fastidiousness that repel dirt, mostly in the, uhm…” The old wizard frowned as if trying to remember something. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, “my thoughts wandered. In the ownership of nobles and whatnot,” he continued, recovering his train of thought, “who want to be able to make a good impression.”

“Oh. Well, I’d like to know if you think it’s possible,” Ghost said, trying not to sound too eager. “And if so, what it might cost,”

“Oh, it might be possible,” the artificer said, gesturing in an off-handed way. “Unfortunately…” his gesture fell away with a sigh “…I have to admit I don’t know the knack of imbuing an item with that ritual. But as I say, it does exist,” he offered, raising his mug once again for a refill. “Something to look for and strive for. And isn’t that what being an adventurer is all about and whatnot?”

“I guess so,” Ghost replied, her ears drooping in visible disappointment. She didn’t want to strive for it; she wanted it now. Before the next time the Fire Wasps descended into some slimy underground place or some foul-smelling creature that had no right to exist exploded all over her.

“It’s curious,” Attleworthy went on, looking around the table. “I thought as I was looking over here that I saw something else unusual. But now that I’m here I can’t quite find it.”

“Was it on an individual?” Kidalis asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” the elderly wizard said. “I just sensed or saw an odd aura.”

Kidalis turned his gaze towards Tristan, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“What, me?” the young half-elf said, not particularly liking the attention he was now getting.

“You’ve always got things around you,” Kidalis observed, eyeing Tristan over the top of his mug. “It’s just that none of us can hear or sense them.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ve got an aura,” Tristan muttered, defensive. He glanced to the artificer anxiously. “Does it?”

“Everyone has an aura of sorts,” Kidalis said, shrugging as he sipped his ale. “Mine is more… wild. Theirs…” he gestured to the crowd around them “…are more mundane and self-powered if you will Brother Eustace’s is….”

“I resemble that remark!” Tilly put in cheerfully, which only made sense when one considered the two empty tankards before him on the table.

“Yes, yes you do,” the young noble said indulgently before resuming his explanation on the nature of auras. “Brother Eustace’s is… part of his connection to his goddess. And yours is… well, we don’t know,” he finished with a final shrug.

“I’m not sure myself,” Tristan admitted. “If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m almost scared of when that answer comes,” Kidalis admitted.

“Me too,” Tristan agreed with a nod, “strangely enough.”

“If you’re ever looking for common magic items,” Attleworthy put in, trying to steer the conversation back to the prospect of doing some business, “do let me know. As I say, I do possess the knowledge to craft them.”

“We do appreciate the offer,” Kidalis assured him.

Tilly expressed an interest in having a short sword enchanted. When the artificer said it was something he could do, Ghost impulsively drew both of her long swords and laid them on the table. “How much would maybe it cost to do both of these?” she asked.

“Both of them?” Attleworthy turned his multi-lensed gaze on the two weapons. “Well, for a basic enchantment that would help to guide the wielder’s hand in accuracy and strength.. for the two of them… about seven-hundred and twenty gold.”

Ghost’s eyes went wide at the cost. “Okay…” she gasped in a choked voice “good to know…”

“I’m sorry,” Attleworthy said, taken aback by her reaction. “Was it something I said?”

“No,” Ghost managed after a moment, visibly embarrassed. “It’s just… I’m not used to dealing with numbers that high.”

“We are not that far along with our adventuring career, Master Attleworthy,” Kidalis put in diplomatically.

“Ah,” the artificer said, understanding. Still hoping to do a bit of business, he mentioned his skill at scriving scrolls and brewing potions as well, suggesting how adventurers are always looking for potions of healing. To which Kidalis, with a neat bit of sleight of hand, produced the ten vials that he happened to have on him. An offer to enhance Eustace’s holy symbol only brought about a polite evasion with the minotaur saying he would consider it. When Kidalis showed him his sword Angtharius and asked what it would cost to enhance his weapon, the artificer glanced at Ghost, who had balked at the figure he’d quoted her for her weapons, then reluctantly informed the young noble that the cost of enhancing Antharius – which already had its most basic magics awakened – with some simple runes would be several degrees greater. It was not that he was trying to gouge people, Attleworthy assured him, only the cost of the amount of residuum needed for the ritual. To which Kidalis could only sigh with regret and say it would not be happening.

As it turned out, Attleworthy’s best prospect was Tilly when he offered to awaken the halfling’s weapon.

“My sharrash?” Tilly asked.

“Is that what it is called?” Attleworthy looked up at the polearm. “Would you want me to awaken your sharrash?”

“What do you mean by ‘awaken’ it?” Tilly asked, clearly puzzled.

“Well, as I say, it has already has plenty of fire numa sleeping within it,” Attleworthy explained, gesturing at the sharrash. “I can’t waken the whole thing, but I can start it waking up, a little bit…” he paused, trying to think of how to put it “…make it more accurate more damaging in combat,” he said finally.

“Bring out some of the latent magic within,” Kidalis offered.

“Exactly!” the artificer said, nodding in gratitude to Kidalis for his help. “Most weapons I can scribe simple runes onto. That is one thing. But I can also awaken some abilities. It would not come into its full potential until your own fire numa matched that of the weapon.”

“Well, Ah don’t know, sir,” Tilly said, looking uncertain. “Ah mean, no disrespect to yew, but Ah think yew might be a little confused. Ah have been told that at some point it will learn to sing, but…”

“Well, there you are, then!” Attleworthy exclaimed, slapping the table with satisfaction.

“…but how it would affect combat?” The young halfling took the sharrash and turned it about, peering at it. “I don’t know what songs I’d teach it, either.”

“I don’t really know what you mean when you say it will learn to sing,” the elderly wizard confessed. “It may refer…” He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment, eyeing the blade and then Tilly himself. “There are weapons called song-blades. Are you perchance a traveling bard?”

“Get him drunk enough and he thinks he fares well,” Kidalis snickered.

“Ah. Don’t we all when we’re in our cups,” the artificer said jovially. “Well, I sense that there is more to this weapon than a simple blade.”

“It’d be three-hundred and sixty gold to awaken it?” Tilly asked, chewing on a bit of straw as he weighed the cost in his head.

“To awaken it’s most basic fundamental nature, yes,” Attleworthy said with a nod.

When Tilly did not respond immediately, muttering to himself as he considered his options, the wizard sensed it might be best to let the halfling talk himself into it. “Well, I should be in town for a few more days,” he said, taking a final sip from his tankard. “If you should find yourselves wanting the services of an artificer, I should be most glad to help you.”

“Actually, if Ah may,” Tilly spoke up when he saw the artificer was preparing to leave. "Ah heard once from a magic magicky armorer that it might be possible to take the magic off of one suit of armor and put it on something else?

“Oh, yes,” Attleworthy said eager, resuming his seat. “That’s actually a relatively common ritual. So if for example, if you had a magic sword that you didn’t have any use for and wanted to transfer its enchantment to your sharrash, that might be a possibility. Or to a different sword or an axe. Or if you had a suit of armor and wanted to move that magic to a set of robes or something, these are always possibilities.”

Tilly shows him the chainmail of durability he had acquired. “Could yew transfer the magic from this to a set of hide armor?”

“Oh, yes, most assuredly.”

“How much would that be?” the halfing asked, chewing on his bit of straw once again.

“Oh, nothing,” the wizard quickly assured him. “Well, not nothing…” he admitted as he began figuring the exact cost, drawing numbers in the air.

As Attleworthy pondered the problem, Ghost broke in and asked him about her earring that she had showed him, wondering if it could be used to find any other earring to which it might be linked. The elderly wizard informed her with regret that, while it was indeed possible, it unfortunately involved some knowledge that he himself did not possess. Kidalis then suggested that Ghost should ask Master Benathir if he could accomplish it. Attleworthy nodded, recognizing the name as being a fellow wizard of considerable reputation, to which Kidalis added that he was also Tristan’s tutor in the magic arts.

“Indeed,” Tristan said eagerly.

The artificer peers at Tristan with his multi-lensed eyes. “Maybe it is on you that I saw that strange aura,” he said after a moment. “Something you are carrying that has a strange feel to it.”

“It wasn’t this, by any chance?” The young half-elf brought out his pact-blade and showed it to the curious artificer. “It’s new, so I don’t know much about it.”

Attleworthy blinked as several of his lenses shifted back and forth. “May I?” he asked. Taking the blade carefully, he examined it, turning it over and over again in his hands. “Its design is not familiar to me.” He looked back up at Tristan. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, I carved it, you could say,” Tristan offered, not wanting to sound boastful but not knowing any other way to say it.

“Are you saying you made this?” Attleworthy asked, peering at the blade once again with open astonishment.

“Well, the blade,” Tristan said, nodding at the sharp part. “It’s made from a dragon’s tooth.”

“I see,” Attleworthy murmured, turning the blade over and looking up and down its length. "Well, you didn’t make it without help, that’s for certain. The arts of making daggers like this are…

“The hilt was given me by a helpful halfling,” Tristan went on, trying to be helpful.

“It was given to you?” Eustace broke in, eyeing the pact-blade suspiciously.

“Uhm-hmm,” Tristan said absently, not picking up on the shift in the minotaur’s tone. Or that everyone at the table was now staring openly at his pact-blade which he had for some reason never bothered to tell them about, let alone show them. Ghost certainly had never seen it. She would have remembered anything that distinctive: blade carved from a dragon’s fang, bound to a hilt wrapped in black leather with a glittering purple amethyst embedded in the pommel.

“He… told me that he was supposed to give it to me,” Tristan said uncertainly, his eyes blinking behind his glasses now that he was aware of everyone staring.

“Just like that?” Eustace rumbled darkly.

“Just like that,” Tristan affirmed, wondering why Eustace was acting so strangely.

“Well, ah…” Attleworthy hesitated, wondering what he had inadvertently done that was causing so many strange reactions among the Fire Wasps.

“I think he’s been listening to the same voice I’ve been listening to,” Tristan went on, returning to the topic of his mysterious hilt-donor.

“This… frightens me slightly,” Kidalis said after a moment, exchanging a glance with Eustace.

“A new one of these, coming into existence now…” Attleworthy murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“You’ve seen these before?” Tristan asked, hopeful.

“Oh yes,” Attleworthy nodded. “I’ve met a number of warlocks in my time. And pact-blades are not so uncommon. But usually they are handed down over years…”

“I hope to be able to hand this down to somebody someday,” Tristan said as he took his blade back. “Sometimes, I guess they have to start somewhere, don’t they?”

“I suppose so,” the artificer said, sounding doubtful. “But you have to understand, young man, that the art of crafting pact blades has been lost for centuries. Since before the alliance of the seven kingdoms, in fact.” He watched as the half-elf resheathed the curious blade. “A new one brought into the world is an interesting thing indeed.”

“Was there a reason that they were lost?” Eustace asked, turning his attention to the wizard.

“Oh, no. The arts of creating many magic items have been lost,” Attleworthy explained. “There are very few these days capable of crafting anything more powerful than, say, the suit of armor your halfling friend is wearing. Or that circlet. Or.. or the sword he carries.”

“I just want to make sure there’s no law forgotten in what he carries,” Eustace rumbled, frowning as he folded his heavily-muscled arms and leaned back in his chair.

“No, no,” the artificer explained, trying to reassure the minotaur cleric. “It’s just that we have forgotten much. Even the Eladrin with their long history and memory have completely forgotten the craft of creating the gauntlets of ogre power that your friend wears.”

“What does it do?” Ghost asked, cocking her head at the sheathed blade that now hung at Tristan side.

“I think it helps me be a better warlock,” Tristan offered, looking hesitant. He didn’t like saying things he wasn’t sure about, but the answer felt right.

“Yes,” Attleworthy affirmed with a nod. “In a way, it acts for him the way a wand would, or the way a sword does in your hands,” he added, gesturing to Ghost. “Adds to your accuracy or your damage. But also…”

“I can’t stab with a wand, can I?” Tristan said, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “I can stab with this…” The young half-elf eagerly mimed stabbing a foe with his pact-blade.

“Yes, it’s true,” Attleworthy acknowledged. “It’s an excellent defense if you are attacked. Also, it helps to protect those who fall under a warlock’s curse. If they dare to attack you, they will suffer for it.”

“That’s what I understand,” Tristan said. “It’s new. I haven’t had a chance to actually try it out yet.”

“Well, I wish you luck of it,” the elderly wizard said. “It’s pretty fascinating.” He went on to relate a bit of history, explaining that many pact-blades were known to have come from Old Falwythe.

“Is this though what you were seeing, then?” Ghost asked, nodding at Tristan’s blade when he was done.

“I think so… I believe so. I wouldn’t bet my beard against it…” Attleworthy glanced down at his silver-wired beard, one hand covering it protectively “…but suffice to say I’m fairly certain.”

“You have accumulated a number of interesting items already in your travels,” the artificer went on, pointing at various weapons and items the Fire Wasps were carrying. “And yet from the few stories that I’m hearing, you’re only just beginning your journeys. Interesting.”

“Makes me wonder what we will acquire by the time our adventures have become much more well known,” Kidalis mused.

“Indeed. I should be curious to know that as well.” The elderly wizard scribbled a note on a piece of a scroll and then handed it to Kidalis. “If you’re ever in Estwald, you can look up myself or one of my colleagues at the Universitas Tamor.”

“We shall,” the young noble assured him, slipping the piece of parchment into his tunic.

“Very good. Well, unless you have any other use for my services,” Attleworthy said, rising to his feet, “I shall leave you to your celebrations.”

“Will you be in town?” Ghost asked. She didn’t want to seem too eager, but there was always the chance she might be able to find some way to raise the funds she needed to have the wizard enhance her longswords.

“Yes,” Attleworthy said with a nod, taking up his staff once again. “I should be around for a few more days at the very least. And then I shall see where my studies take me.” His voice lowered to a more confidential tone as he leaned in. “I’m trying to get in to see the Baron as I understand he possesses a most unusual tapestry or banner or something.”

“That we found him,” Kidalis informed the elderly wizard, with a slightly smug look.

“Oh, truly?” Attleworthy blinked owlishly behind his lenses. “Well then, very good.” He hesitated, then ventured “Perhaps you can… put in a good word for me? I haven’t had too much luck yet.”

“We can certainly mention directly to him that you are seeking an audience,” Kidalis assured him.

“Ah, very kind.” The artificer inclined his head politely in gratitude.

On an impulse, Kidalis suddenly dug into his pack and brought out a suit of old armor, asking the artificer if he could re-size it to fit Tilly.

“Actually, yes,” Attleworthy said, peering at the armor in question. “I believe I could. Once I transferred the enchantment I could then cast the enchant magic item and shrink it down to size.” He looked to the young halfling inquiringly. “It all depends on how you feel about hand-me-down armor.”

“It smells funny,” Tilly muttered, wrinkling his nose.

“Certainly no worse than you after the perfume,” Kidalis shot back.

Tilly only grinned. “Hey, that’s expensive!”

“It’s also not for men, much less for halflings.” Now it was Kidalis’ turn to wrinkle his nose in distaste. “You all seem to have the scent of the bayou about you.”

“We do,” Tilly admitted cheerfully, leaning over to add a confidential “It’s the spice.” Deciding against the used armor, Tilly departed the tavern to see if the local armorer had anything suitably new that he could purchase.

Returning her attention to the mysterious pact-blade, Ghost cocked her head at Tristan, openly curious. “So one of your ‘friends’…” she gestured, waving her fingers in a vague manner near her ear “…told you how to make this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tristan said, eager to talk about it now that his pact-blade was out in the open. “He gave me some instructions on how to do this.”

“And so he also talked to someone else who also came to help?” Ghost ventured.

“That’s my best guess,” Tristan said, chewing on his lip. “They were a little sketchy about the whole thing. They basically just said that they had to give it to me. So I can’t think of any other reason.” He frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded firmly. “They must’ve been talking to the same person I was.”

“Was there anything… odd about the person?” Ghost asked, curious.

“No.” The young half-elf shook his head. “Just a halfling. Just walked up to me and friendly gave me the hilt. It was kind of mysterious to me too. I guess, uh…”

“Somebody somewhere likes you, I guess,” Ghost put in with a smirk as she lifted her mug to Tristan’s unknown benefactor.

“So far it’s been good, but uh…” Tristan squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m hoping he doesn’t want to cash in. He’d done a lot for us. He helped you out too,” he added, glancing at Ghost, uncertain how much he should be revealing about what had happened.

“Oh?” the shifter asked, looking puzzled. Then she blinked and her ears seemed to perk up suddenly. “Oh! Was that that thing, that flash?”

Tristan nodded and sighed. “I’m just hoping he doesn’t try to cash in on any favors because I’m not sure what kind of price he’s asking for all these things he’s given me.”

“It’s always good to ask,” Ghost acknowledged. The young shifter looked thoughtful as she took a healthy swallow of ale, then cocked her head, curious. “Do any of the other voices give you stuff too?”

“No, not so much.” Tristan said. “Advice sometimes,” he admitted after a moment. “Nothing concrete like this, though.”

“Interesting,” Ghost said, thinking on just how much Tristan had revealed to her. It was, to be honest, one of the longest exchanges she’d had with the young wizard since their fight with Valryke. She was beginning to understand why he’d been more reticent than usual of late.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tristan mused, thinking back to when he was young and the voices had been much less… involving.

“Yeah, I have my spirit totem that shows up every now and then,” Ghost offered with a grimace, her ears drooping down the way they did when she was aggravated, “but usually to tell me I’ve screwed up.”

“I get that a lot too,” Tristan admitted.

“From your voices?” she asked.

“Yeah.” The young half-elf scowled, looking like a disgruntled owl behind his glasses. “A lot of them just make fun of me.”

“Oh.” Ghost could help grinning, her ears perking back up again. “Suddenly I don’t feel so bad.”

“But some of them tell me to ignore those voices and… it’s a little confusing up there.” Tristan gestured vaguely above his head as if the invisible voices he heard were circling about him. “This is the only one that’s been really… helpful.”

“Is it like all the time?” Ghost asked, fascinated by how much Tristan was telling her. “Or just now and then? or…?”

“It’s kind of a background buzz?” Tristan ventured, looking hesitant as he tried to find the right way to explain it. “Kind of like walking into a party and everyone’s talking at once? And you just kind of tune it out, ’cause…” He gestured to the crowd around the table as if blocking out the noise they were making “…and then somebody walks up to you and starts talking to you, and you don’t… and all these people are still talking?” The young wizard looked distinctly annoyed, then waved his hand dismissively. “But I don’t listen to ’em.”

“I kind of figured it was something like that because you’re always so distracted a lot of the time,” Ghost said, sympathetic but also smirking a bit.

“Yeah, sometimes it gets kind of loud and people are talking this, this… it gets a little noisy,” Tristan sighed. “But I’ve kinda… I’ve had this my whole life and I’ve kind of learned to tune it out.” His expression brightened as he held up his pact-blade once again. “But when they come and give me hilts and swords and things like that, I listen.”

“I wouldn’t have turned it down,” Ghost admitted cheerfully, toasting Tristan’s new blade.

“No,” Tristan replied, though whether it was to Ghost or to one of his voices, she couldn’t tell.

A short time later, Tilly returned, proudly wearing some new hide hide armor that’d been dyed to match his flame bracers.

“So you can be a flaming streak of halfling,” Kidalis observed wryly as Tilly resumed his place at the table. The smell of freshly dyed leather wafted over everyone.

“You smell like a tannery!” Tristan declared, quickly moving his chair away from Tilly’s.

“Much better,” Ghost observed for her part, making a conscious effort not to breathe any more than she absolutely had to. The grinning halfling still reeked to high heaven, but at least this time it was only of tannin and dye. The smell was strong to be sure, but anything was better than the cloying nose-burning perfume scent Tilly had previously drenched himself with. “Much, much better. That I can stand.”

The party was then interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Baron Greenfields along with his usual escort of guards.

“Please, please… as you were,” the Baron said quickly as the crowd began doffing hats and taking a knee. "I have come to enjoy a cup of fine ale…

“Oh!” Master Holdfast blinked and hurried off to fill a tankard with his very finest.

“…and a slice of cake,” the Baron went on, nodding towards what remained of the dragon subtlety, causing Mother Ableby to go all aflutter behind her fan.

“…and to speak with my friends for just a moment,” the Baron finished. As he made his way over towards the Fire Wasps’ table, the crowd parted before him, eyeing the Fire Wasps with even greater awe at the Baron’s public declaration of them as being his friends.

Once Master Holdfast had brought over the tankard and Mother Ableby had served up the best remaining slice of the cake, the Baron sat down to business. “Iartius has finished the accounting and your numbers and his match up quite well. I wondered if you wanted to discuss the particulars of how you wish to divide salvage. He mentioned something about walnuts?”

“Yes,” Kidalis nodded. “I believe Mother Ableby would put the crate of walnuts to good use. And I can think of no better place for a rare couple of casks of the ale than here in the Tarry,” he added, gesturing towards Master Holdfast who positively beamed at the prospect.

The Baron simply nodded, consulting a piece of parchment he drew from his sleeve. “By Iartius’ accounting, four hundred and eighty-five gold of the treasure is yours.”

“I would also like to possibly take a small amount of that perfume as a gift,” Kidalis went on, “for a few different people.”

“I see.” The Baron smiled, sampling the cake with his free hand. “I’m certain that can be arranged.”

Ghost, however, was wincing. “Not any of us,” she begged, shaking her head in dismay at the prospect of Tilly getting his hands on any more of the dreaded stuff. “Please?”

The young noble couldn’t resist. “Oh, all for you, Ghost,” he assured the horrified shifter. She gave him a foul look when she realized he was joking, and only the presence of the Baron kept her from taking a punishing swing at his oh-so-deserving arm.

The Baron continued down the list, inquiring if they wanted to take any other part of their share in goods instead of coin. The only item of interest turned out to be the bear pelts.

“We are going to need heavier winter clothing,” Kidalis said, looking around the table to the others. “Maybe the pelts would not be a bad idea.”

“A nice winter cloak would be nice,” Tristan put in. “Some of these bear pelts we could probably use, one each. Or at least part of once each,” he added, glancing between Eustace’s enormous bulk frame Tilly’s rather diminutive one.

“Ah probably just need a third of a bear pelt,” Tilly said with a shrug, looking down at his new hide armor and wondering how the bear fur would look adorning it.

“Exactly,” Tristan said, looking back to the Baron. “They can share one.”

“I’m sure Eustace would need whatever is left over,” Kidalis agreed.

“Actually, I would appreciate it if you all would drop by the keep tomorrow morning,” the Baron said affably, visibly savoring the taste of the ale. “I’m certain that I can have my tailor fit you out for winter clothing.”

“That would be most gracious of you,” Kidalis said, bowing his head politely.

“If there’s nothing else in particular you wish, I’ll either give it to you in coin,” the Baron said, consulting his parchment once again. “Or, if you prefer, the gems, because they’re easier to carry.”

“If I can have another cup of this ale,” Tristan put in, sounding hopeful. “And a walnut tart from Mother Ableby.”

Kidalis spared the young wizard a puzzled look, then looked back to the Baron as if no interruption had occurred. “I think the gems would be easier to carry.”

Baron Greenfields nodded, making a mental note. “How much of the perfume do you want?”

Kidalis considered a moment. “Twenty gold worth?” he ventured. It would amount to about a fifth of the vial.

The Baron nodded once again, then went over the agreed division of the treasure to make sure they’d covered everything. When that was done, Kidalis took the opportunity to put in a good word for Master Attleworthy, informing the Baron of the artificer’s desire to examine the banner they’d found. The Baron was agreeable to the idea and said he would send for the elderly wizard on the morrow.

“Please come by for breakfast tomorrow morning,” he added as he rose from the table, prompting the Fire Wasps to rise with him. “I have something I wish to discuss. Well, two matters actually,” he amended with a smile.

“Of course,” Kidalis acknowledged with a polite bow.

“Then I bid you all a fair evening.” With that, the Baron and his guards departed. The crowded parted before him as he made his way out, then resumed their noisy partying, buzzing excitedly about the obvious display of favor the lord had just shown his adventurers.

“Okaaaay,” Ghost said, grinning as she turned a knowing gaze pointedly on Kidalis, “Who’s it for???”

“My mother,” the young noble said simply, taking up his mug once again.

Ghost blinked, her jaw dropping. “Your mother???”

“She’s a very cultured woman,” Kidalis said, utterly unruffled. “She would love something like this.”

“It’s not for Alinora?” Ghost asked. She couldn’t be that wrong about Kidalis’ interest in the Baron’s daughter.

“Well, she might enjoy some of it,” Kidalis mused, swirling the ale in his mug about idly. “I suppose Mother doesn’t need all of this.” He took a sip of his drink and managed to keep a straight face as he suggested “Maybe Anil would like some?”

Ghost’s expression quickly went from baffled to bristling. “Why her?” she growled, though there was a distinct feel of a whine in her tone.

“Why not?” Kidalis went on, barely managing to maintain his bland manner as he continued to rattle the shifter girl’s chain. “She is a very cultured woman. Often times more so than you are.”

“That’s just because she lives up in the keep,” Ghost muttered, slouching in her chair and folding her arms petulantly, her ears sinking down in a deep sulk.

Meanwhile, Tilly had slipped out once again, unnoticed by the others. The halfling was very good at that, it seemed. When he returned, he sat down next to Ghost, a look in his eye that immediately made her ears draw back.

“Hey Ghost,” he said cheerfully. It was his I’m-too-innocent-to-be-plotting-anything look.

“Yeah?” she said warily, her eyes narrowing.

“Ah was speaking with Master Attleworthy,” Tilly said. “Ah’m really interested in finding out what magic is locked in mah sharrash.” He then related to her his discussion with the artificer about a deal they could make that could allow for both of them to get their respective weapons – his sharrash and her two swords – enhanced.

“Yeah?” In spite of the warning bells her instincts were setting off, the prospect of getting her swords magicked up had Ghost curious. “Yeah? How much?”

She ended up returning with Tilly to where Attleworthy was staying. After a brief discussion of what items might be taken in trade and how much would be needed in coin, they reached a tentative agreement: Ghost would give up her healing belt and Tilly his bracers, which, along with forty gold, would be enough for Tilly’s Sharrash and one of her swords. Ghost frowned at the prospect of only one sword getting enhanced, but before she could object, Tilly popped the trap.

“Ah’ll cover your second weapon,” the halfling offered cheerfully. His grin grew slightly wider as he added “Yew’d only owe me.”

Ghost felt the wariness she’d had earlier immediately shoot up again. “What would I owe you?”

“What’s wun enchantment among friends?” Tilly said with a casual shrug, still grinning like a ferret with both ends of a rat hole covered.

“The mind boggles!” Ghost hissed, glaring at her rival’s smugness. He knew how much she wanted that second weapon enhanced.

It was a tough choice, but in the end she knew she had to go for it. The thought of fighting with only one weapon enhanced bothered her. It just felt wrong, out of balance, and balance was very important to her. More than that, where they were about to go, she wanted every edge she could get.

“Oh, all right,” she growled finally. “I’ll owe you.” She almost choked on the word but managed to get it out, largely through bared teeth.

“If you’ll leave your weapons with me,” the artificer said, glancing back and forth anxiously between the grinning halfling and the shifter girl who looked about ready to take his head off. “I should be done in a few hours.”

They left their weapons and returned to the Tarry. Neither of them said anything, but every time Ghost glanced at Tilly and saw that strange grin on his face, a shiver ran up her spine. She’d seen it before, all too often, every time the sawed-off little possum-fucker snatched one of her prey out from under her. Oh, Snow Leopard! she wondered inwardly, invoking her spirit totem, what have I just agreed to?

*

The next morning, after breakfast, Ghost went shopping for gifts she wanted to get for Arun and the others when she met up with them. She purchased some of the fine ale they’d brought back from the Tarry, some of Mother Ableby’s sweet walnut pastries for Vondyr, and finally settled on some raw obsidian pieces for Arun, hoping that maybe he might appreciate being able to use them to make arrowheads or something. The unflappable ranger was frustratingly hard to buy for.

When she rejoined her fellow Fire Wasps and they made their way over the bridge and up to the keep, they found Baron Greenfields already out and about, taking with some of the men of his garrison.

“Ah, my dragonslayers!” the Baron called out with pleasure when he saw them approaching. “Excellent.”

“Are you out for a jaunt?” Kidalis inquired, nodding at the Baron’s riding leathers and the furred cloak he wore, quite sensibly given the overcast sky.

“Well, I am hoping we are out for a jaunt,” the Baron said affably, clapping an arm about the young noble’s shoulders. He gestured towards the stables. “Please, come with me.”

“My ostler can help you pick out an appropriate horse,” the Baron said as they entered the stables. He glanced inquiringly towards Ghost and the others. “You know how to ride, yes?” It was to be assumed that Kidalis, being of the nobility, would have been trained since childhood in horsemanship, but the others were a different matter.

“Yes…” Ghost acknowledged, somewhat hesitant. “Uhm…” Leaning towards Kidalis as they began walking past the stalls, she whispered anxiously “How much do these cost?”

“What? The horses?” Kidalis asked.

“Yes.” Ghost had already pretty much exhausted her funds on the deal with Master Attleworthy – and Tilly, she thought with a shiver – on getting her twin blades enhanced. A horse would almost certainly be beyond her reach.

“Well, these are very fine specimens,” Kidalis said, nodding at the animals they passed in their individual stalls. “I imagine these would be more than normal…”

Ghost stopped suddenly in front of a stall when, to her surprise, she recognized the horse in it as the wild black she had impulsively tried to ride when she was taking lessons from the stable boy at the stables near the Tarry. Apparently the horse merchant had stopped by the keep before he left the Crossing and had sold the animal to the Baron.

The other Fire Wasps continued walking about the stables, looking over possible mounts. Kidalis paused a moment to study each horse, see if it ‘clicked’ as he put it, or not, and then walked on. Eustace settled on a big grey mare, a large draft horse meant for heavy work but that was just the right size for him. At another stall, Tristan found a jet black horse with a white splotch over one side of its face. The horse seemed to be regarding the young half-elf intensely; the splotch around one of his eyes had the effect of making his eyes seem like they were of different colors. Tilly, for his part, picked a goat. A very angry-looking goat it was, with a dirty beige-ish white coat, long chin hair and one horn missing, chewing in an almost challenging fashion as it regarded the halfling standing in front of its stall.

Ghost studied the black for a long moment. It seemed a little calmer than it was when they’d first met. The wildness was still there but it seem channeled now, a swift and good horse for certain. The young shifter felt a pang of envy at the thought that it now belonged to the Baron, but at least it was close enough for her to have some chance of riding it again. As they exchanged stares, it snorted and pawed the floor of its stall as if remembering her, but did not seem intent on killing her. At least, not right away. “Okay,” Ghost murmured, meeting the black’s steady gaze with one of her own. “Round two.” Turning back towards the Baron, she called out “I’ll take this one.”

Kidalis ended up choosing a large mare, a beautiful dappled grey, calm but alert, its eyes a shade of milky blue, very alert to her surroundings, but very calm as well. The Baron came over, smiling at the young noble’s choice. “You have a good eye. That’s an Eladrin-trained horse. From the valley stock.”

“Something seems a little… worldly about her,” Kidalis mused, reaching up and stroking the mare’s neck affectionately.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the Baron said as his ostler began taking the selected mounts from their stalls to be saddled and bridled. “Some of my folk are going to ride with us.”

Ghost watched the black as the stable boy brought it out. The stallion was clearly excited, radiating a lot of nervous energy but it was not a fight anymore. It was like the horse now was feeling “What can we do together?” She instinctively felt that she could now give it its head and it would run fast and swift without trying to kill her.

Once they had gathered outside the stable, the Baron introduced the stable boy. “This is Corran Ostler,” he said, nodding towards a brown-haired, freckled Summerling youth mounted nearby on a pony. “He’s one of the young folk who work here at my stable.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, masters, mistress, Corran said, touching his forelock respectfully as he nodded to the Fire Wasps.

“And this is Kaius Greenglen,” the Baron continued, nodding towards an older man, also of Summerling stock, with jet-black hair swept back from forehead. He was balding but with a full mustache and beard of salt and pepper coloration.

“M’lords, m’lady,” Kaius nodded, equally respectfully, sitting atop a lean brown horse with sleepy eyes.

“He is one of our old family retainers,” the Baron said. Looking around to make sure that all of the mounts had been brought out, he looked to Kidalis and smiled. “We should do a bit of riding, yes?”

“Is Eldrin Nath going to be joining us?” Kidalis inquired.

“Ah. Not today,” the Baron said genially, shaking his head. His smile seemed to widen as if at some private joke. “We’re not hunting today.”

“Ah. I have not seen him in quite some time.”

“I’m afraid I have him working on your dragon head at the moment,” the Baron said. “None of his apprentices are ready to take on such a challenge.”

Ghost looked puzzled when she noticed a saddled goat included among the mounts. Seeing her stare, Tilly walked up and stood beside her. “That’s mah goat,” he announced proudly.

Ghost turned her stare on Tilly, incredulous. “You’re riding a goat?”

“What?” Kidalis asked, looking over at the pair. “Could you see him riding a clydesdale?” The young noble smirked. “In his defense, he has more sense about him than certain other diminutive individuals we know.”

When she looked back, Ghost found the goat was giving her the most evil look an animal had ever given her, as if it understood her every word and hated her with every fiber of its being. Tilly, upon noticing this, locked eyes with Ghost, then took a handful of halfling spice and offered it to the goat. As Ghost watched, the goat ate the offered spice effortlessly, looking distinctly smug. A moment later though, the goat’s eyes went wide and it shivered. Trying to seem nonchalant, it walked over to the water trough, but once there it plunged its mouth into the water, drinking heavily. After a few minutes, it finally returned, trying to act as if nothing were wrong but staring balefully at Ghost as if what had happened were entirely her fault. It chewed desperately on a mouthful of straw, trying to get rid of the horrible burning in its mouth but not willing to give the hated shifter the satisfaction of seeing it openly cry.

“That’s mah goat!” Tilly said once again, beaming.

Mounted on a fine silver palfrey, the Baron watched the exchange with bemused amusement. “Ah, indeed,” he said finally. He looked around at the gathered party. “Are we ready?”

“You might need to give that goat another minute or two,” Kidalis said wryly as he mounted his dappled grey.

“Of course,” the Baron said genially as the goat returned to the water trough for a second dousing.

The Baron led the way north, making small talk about the weather as the party followed the road past the Tarry, beyond the village green, and ultimately out of Seowyn’s Crossing. Glancing up at the overcast sky, he remarked at how Anil had said it would snow soon. Anyone could guess that! _Ghost thought grumpily, glancing skyward herself.

They continued northward, passing beyond the Furrow farm, then turned down a somewhat overgrown lane that hadn’t apparently seen use for several years. When they finally reached the end of the lane, they came upon an old dilapidated manse. Though it was clear even at a distance that the inside of the manse had fallen into ruin, the stone walls and towers had endured in fairly good shape. Two large towers fronted the manse to either side of a wide set of steps that led up to the main doorway. As the Baron led the away around the grounds, they found the remains of a courtyard in back which also had a well.

“This seems like an odd place, m’lord Baron,” Kidalis commented, turning a curious gaze to the lord. “What is here?”

“Well, there is an old manse here,” the Baron said, drawing his horse to a halt when they reached the front of the structure once again. He looked up at the ruin, regarding it thoughtfully. “I’m planning on restoring it. I think that the town can use more land, and I think if there were a manse out here with a population or a guard or something like that, we might be able to reclaim more of the old farmlands and such north of the Furrows and what have you.”

“It sounds like a good idea,” Kidalis agreed, looking around at the surrounding lands, which did have the feel of fertility about them.

“Always looking to expand the borders,” the Baron added, to no one in particular.

“Of course,” Kidalis said, wondering where the lord was heading with this train of thought but knowing it was best to let him reveal his mind in his own good time.

“And this border in particular is a troublesome one,” the Baron went on, frowning slightly. “Gristamere is that way,” he said, raising a gauntleted hand and pointing to the northeast. “Of course, the wall lies between us and the goblins. Still, when they do raid out…” he nodded at the lands that lay between the party and far off border “…this is the way they tend to come.”

“Indeed,” Kidalis said, nodding politely.

The Baron turned back to face the ruin once again. “I haven’t really begun the renovations yet,” he said, “but I am told by one of the dwarves in my employ that the stone itself is still quite sound and just needs some shoring up.” He gestured vaguely at the different sections of the structure. “Some niceties, perhaps some replacement work on the roof,” he suggested, shrugging a bit, “new slate and whatnot.”

“It will be a fine mansion again,” Kidalis agreed. He knew little of the builder’s art himself, but if a dwarf said it could be done, then more than likely it was so.

“That is my hope,” the Baron said, his hand returning to rest on the horn of his saddle.

“Perhaps… a summer getaway for you?” the young noble ventured, hoping to draw the Baron out a bit as to why he had brought them all here.

“I… would want someone who would be able to take care of it properly,” the Baron said affably, waving the suggestion aside. “I have so many other estates that I have to look after. Not only Road’s End but the other places of the barony.” He turned in his saddle to face Kidalis. “My intention is to give it over to some poeple who can keep the northern border of the town safe. Well, at least while they’re in residence.” He gestured over to where the older man and the youth he had brought with him waited on their mounts. “Kaius here is my choice for steward, as I expect that the residents are likely to be gone more often than not. And Corran here does a fine job as stableboy.”

Kidalis blinked as he began to realize what the Baron was suggesting. But before he could ask, the Baron pulled what appeared to be a formal deed out of his tunic and handed it to the young noble.

“Ah, my lord…” Kidalis said after a moment, trying to overcome his unpreparedness as he hesitantly accepted the offered deed. “So far… I can probably count the number of times I’ve been speechless on one hand.”

The Baron laughed heartily. “I’ve noticed that.”

“We all have!” Tilly put in, favoring the flummoxed Kidalis with a cheeky grin.

“Ah, uh, thank you!” Kidalis bowed as courteously as he could on horseback. “I… I hope we can do justice to what will be needed of the area.”

“Once you’re here for a while,” the Baron said, acknowledging Kidalis’ bow with a polite nod, “it is my assumption that farmers, perhaps younger farmers who are chafing against still working for their parents and such, will move north and provide food for the manse.”

“I believe that will be, ah…” Kidalis trailed off, his mind still racing, trying to absorb the sudden change of circumstances.

“But you’ll need a good steward,” the Baron went on, nodding at Kaius who inclined his head. “Because as I say, I assume you will not be in residence for a good amount of time, and he has a fine hand for figuring things out.” He paused as he took the opportunity to dismount from his horse. “He served me at another one of my estates as my steward there, but his son is now come of age and has taken to the family business, so he will run that estate and I thought you could use his experienced hand. And you’re going to need a stableboy.” he added, gesturing at Corran who had hurried up to take the reins of the Baron’s horse once he had dismounted.

Kidalis quickly followed suit and gestured to the others to do the same. “We… of course, sir.”

The Baron led the way about the manor grounds as he discussed the particulars with Kidalis. As he’d indicated earlier, the manse was in decent shape for having been abandoned for so long, a mark of the dwarven craftsmanship at its core.

“I took a look in it earlier,” the Baron said. “The left hand tower.. it looks like there is a decent meeting hall behind it, or will be once it’s furnished. There are bedrooms upstairs, enough for all of you to have your own room, as well as several guest rooms, though you’ll have to argue over who will get the larger bedrooms.” He smiled a little bit. “I believe there is room for anything else you might want: workshops, a chapel, a library perhaps once you accumulate the books for it…”

“I don’t care about larger,” Ghost said, eyeing the towers intently. “I just want the highest.”

“Good luck!” Kidalis snorted. The highest rooms were his by right, fellow Fire Wasp or not.

“What?” Ghost said, looking back, clearly puzzled. Why would a human care about having the highest room? Probably just to get his nose that much higher than anyone else’s, she decided, barely stifling a snicker.

“Ah could have a garden,” Tilly murmured, walking around the overgrown courtyard.

“The courtyard used to have a fine garden in it,” the Baron acknowledged. “But it will need a sturdy hand to tame it back.”

“Maybe Ah can get a spawning pool goin’,” Tilly mused, his eyes lighting up at the thought. “Bring some crawfish up from the river.”

“Only a halfling,” Kidalis sighed. A pool full of crayfish? In a proper courtyard? You can take the halfling out of the bayou, the young noble thought, but you can’t take the bayou out of the halfling.

“Yew’ll be appreciating mah gumbo if Ah manage to get a spawnin’ pool goin’,” Tilly shot back smugly.

“You may need to tone back the spice for Ghost,” Kidalis said, making sure the shifter heard it.

Ghost glowered at the implication she couldn’t handle what a halfling could. “No. Way.”

“Well, this is certainly a generous offer,” Kidalis said, turning back to the Baron. "Of course, I know you will be benefiting from it as well.

“When you are in residence, a strong hand up here to guard the north,” the Baron said, gesturing grandly over the grounds. “A place for you to winter, if that is what you decide to do. I know you must enjoy visiting with your grandfather,” he said, nodding to Tristan, “but I assume also you’ve come of an age now, all of you, when you’re probably starting to think about a place to call home when you’re not on the road. And this should be a good one for a group of your size.” He resumed his stroll about the grounds. “You’ll have to decide on other servants. These two will serve faithfully, but if there are other servants you want, a groundskeeper, cooks…”

“If you would be willing to part with her,” Kidalis put in, “I would certainly appreciate Anil’s hand.”

The Baron frowned for a moment, but then shrugged. “I will leave that up to Anil.”

“I appreciate that, my lord,” the young noble said, inclining his head in gratitude. Ghost, however, narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, wondering what he was up to. Just because she wears a dress and knows how to talk dainty courtly talk, she fumed inwardly. But can she take down a stag and then gut and dress it? And then drink an annoying halfling under the table? Not likely!

The feeling of annoyance brought a potential problem to mind, however. “M’lord?” Ghost said, moving up alongside the Baron. “one question?”

“Yes?” the Baron replied.

“The Reeve’s… reach,” she said after finding the right word. “Does it extend here?” The shifter could just see the avaricious gnome showing up the very moment the manse was ready for occupancy, armed with all manner of fees that would need paying and liceneses that would purchasing.

“It’s part of the town,” the Baron acknowledged, “but the Reeve is not likely to bother with enfoefed people in my service.” The lord smiled thinly. “He knows his place.”

“Just curious, m’lord,” Ghost said, sounding relieved. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I would have no problem dealing with the Reeve,” Kidalis said, a glint of none too subtle meaning in his green eyes.

“Yes, they are high towers…” Ghost said, grinning with feral glee as she peered up at the manse front.

“He would probably bounce,” the young noble mused, continuing their rather dark-humored speculation on how they could deal with the Reeve if he did show up.

The Baron regarded the pair with a mix of indulgence and reproval. “You’re part of the law,” he reminded them, “not above it.” He then smiled a little, returning to the previous subject. “If your farmers grow grain, you’ll have to have them send it to the mill.”

“Well, it will still take some time before the manse is…” Kidalis began.

“Of course,” the Baron interrupted, holding up a hand to indicate that the point was understood. “I hope to have it liveable within a month or so. So if your journey takes much longer than that, it may be welcoming you on your return.”

“It will be most interesting,” Kidalis said, imagining what the restored structure would be like and the uses they could put it to.

“It feels strange,” Ghost said, cocking her head thoughtfully up at the great stone towers. Permenance, particularly of abode, had become almost an alien concept to the young shifter, what with growing up among rangers and then living the life of an adventuer with her fellow Fire Wasps.

Kidalis took a few discreet steps away, then knelt to feel the land, to get a warden’s sense of it. It had a solid feel, he found, a good feel if a little wild. Though wild is not necessarily bad, he reflected, glancing over at Ghost’s pawing horse. And at Ghost, who seemed just as restless.

“I do not know what kind of journey you have ahead of you,” the Baron went on when Kidalis had rejoined him. “If horses are useful to you, then of course…” he gestured at their mounts “…but if not, you are welcome keep them in my stable until your own is prepared.”

“Again, you are most generous, my lord,” Kidalis said, "although I believe where we will be looking for Arun and his companions, horses may get in the way as much as they help.

“They’d be of limited value,” Ghost acknowledged, “because in a lot of places there are no roads.”

The Baron shrugged and smiled to Kidalis. “I will leave it in your hands.”

“Thank you m’lord,” Ghost said, bowing her head and feeling overwhelmed as the enormity of the Baron’s largesse began to dawn on her. “This is… most generous!”

“Indeed,” Tristan put in, having stayed silent through most of the discussion.

“You destroyed a dragon,” the Baron said, his tone serious. “It is no small feat. And I wanted you to realize that I know it is no small feat.” He then smiled affably as he added “And I imagine that your stuffed dragon head may look good over your mantle now.”

“Kind of hard to sleep with that staring at us,” Tristan murmured, shivering as he envisioned the fearsome head looming above them on some wall, “but…”

“Well, don’t put it adjacent to the bedrooms would be my advice,” the Baron said, laughing.

“Ah, well,” Kidalis said, wondering where some of the odd things Tristan said came from. He looked to the Baron once again. “Uh, you said that there were two matters you needed to speak with us about?”

“Well, horses, the manse,” the Baron said, counting the two items off on his fingers, then looking to Kidalis questioningly.

“Well, you are most generous,” Kidalis said, bowing once again. “I hope that we can do this place justice.”

“We are your loyal servants, m’lord,” Ghost put in, copying Kidalis’ bow.

“You are very helpful servants,” the Baron said, with emphasis. “As I said, I will not forget the suffering that you have alleviated by destroying that thing. If you ever think you need something specific… If there is anything you think you might need, let me know.” He gestured to Corran who quickly brought his horse up. “If it is within my power, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Of course,” Kidalis acknowledged.

“Feel free to look about,” the Baron said as he mounted his horse once again. “Feel free to bring your horses back, for the stables are not ready yet.”

Tilly led his ‘war-ram’ away for a quick circuit around the manor grounds. He was no farmer, but the lands looked good even to his untrained eye, with room for four or five farms between the manse and the Furrow farm, more than sufficient, he thought, to support the manse. “Ah’m thinking we might need a foreman,” he said when he returned. “At least, somebody… a liason between, like, the farmers and us.”

“I think the seneschal would be excellent for that,” Kidalis said, drawing a rough map of the grounds on a piece of parchment.

“Who’s the seneschal?” the halfling whispered to Ghost, not wanting to let on to Kidalis that he hadn’t been paying attention. She smirked and pointed over at Kaius.

“That’s me,” Kaius said, speaking up for the first time. The older man came forward and bowed respectfully. “Steward, technically. Essentially while you’re gone, I will make certain the estate runs smoothly in your absence.”

“And then we will have a stable boy,” Kidalis added, nodding over to Corran as he continued to work on his map.

“Me, sir,” Corran said as he hurried over and bowed. “Aye. I love horses, and that black is a fine one,” he added to Ghost. “I mostly find myself tending a little bit to the ones at the castle…” the stable boy gave a slight shrug “…but it’s gotten to the point where there’s fewer horses than need work.”

“Just be sure to keep mah friends’ horses away from mah war ram,” Tilly instructed the stable boy pompously, calling attention to his chosen mount. “It’s very belligerent. Wouldn’t want them to get hurt.”

“I can see that thing has a feisty temper,” Corran said dutifully, eyeing the goat as if it were indeed a ‘war ram’ and its owner as if he knew what he was talking about. “You need fear not.”

“Fortunately some of our animals aren’t going to need as much attention,” Kidalis observed dryly as he walked inside the ruin, continuing his mapping.

Inside the walls, a number of different rooms were visible, as was a large hall on the left. Out the back door, a passage led into the courtyard. He noted the position of the well, what appeared to have been several outbuildings. He also observed a number of bedrooms in the delapidated upstairs section, some with large fireplaces.

“I will claim the most noble of the bedrooms,” Kidalis said finally, folding up his parchment.

“What does that mean?” Ghost asked, her ears drawing back along her head as she eyed the young noble, wondering if he was deliberately goading her once again. She just wanted the highest of the bedrooms, the one with the best view of the road. It was sheer instinct, nothing more. It’s what she was.

“Can Ah just get somethin’ built above the stables?” Tilly asked. “Ah don’t do structures.”

“I’m certain you could,” Kidalis said.

“What do you mean you don’t do structures?” Ghost asked. First Kidalis and his ‘most noble of the bedrooms’ craziness. Now this?

“Yew ever tried buildin’ somethin’ this size in the swamp?” Tilly said, nodding up at the high stone walls around them. “It sinks faster than a north streams.”

“But…” Ghost waved her hands about in frustration, mostly resisting the urge to just slug the annoying halfling, then finally gestured to the lands surrounding them “…we’re not in the swamp!”

“Yeah,” Tilly acknowledged, “but Ah’m not used to being surrounded by so much rock.”

“What, you have a problem with that?” Ghost stared at her fellow Fire Wasp incredulously. “I’m not used to being indoors!”

“What’re yew sayin’?” Tilly asked innocently. “Yew want to share the stable?”

“No!” the shifter girl shouted. “We’re being given a mansion and you want to stay in the stables?”

“Well, the stable is in the mansion,” Tilly pointed out, managing to keep a straight face.

“It’s on the grounds,” Ghost hissed.

“It’s either that or Ah share a room with yew,” Tilly said with a grin, clearly enjoying how much he was getting up her nose.

Ghost seethed as she felt her fingers closing into a fist. “You can stay in the stables,” she growled finally. “With the goat.”

“It’s a war ram,” the cheeky halfing pointed out, correcting her.

“With. The. Goat!” Ghost said acidly. “Look at its horns. It’s not a ram!”

“It may have been at one point,” Kidalis put in, not meeting Ghost’s glare. It’s just too easy sometimes," the young noble thought to himself with a slight smirk. There was hardly any sport in it at all.

When they finally departed the manse estate, the sky was overcast and cloudy all the way back to town. Tilly, riding on his goat, announced that he was wanting to look into getting barding for his ‘war ram’. Ignoring their insane halfling companion, Ghost and Kidalis discussed whether they should take the horses with them on the journey or leave them in town.

“It would be a good opportunity to test the animals out and get familiar with them,” Ghost suggested.

“I am most intrigued by this one,” Kidalis admitted, reaching down to pat the dappled grey’s neck. She was a very gentle horse.

“Ah am acutely aware of mah war ram’s eagerness for blood,” Tilly said cheerfully.

Tristan took his horse off to the village green, wanting to spend some time getting to know him. Eustace rode his great work horse over to the monastery, wanting to discuss with the abbot about possibly setting up a small shrine at the manse. Tilly departed on some mysterious errand, which once again sent an ominous chill up Ghost’s spine.

Ghost decided to take her horse out in the open land to see just how fast he’d go. She gave the black his head and found that he was indeed quite fast, his great hooves making a deep drumming sound as they flew across the grounds and the young shifter growling and whooping as she urged him on. Kidalis for his part took a more leisurely ride around, looking at potential farm lands and glancing back now and then to check on Ghost as she rode about madly on her black. The two seemed well-matched: deep-rooted wild streaks just barely managed by a modicum of self-control. He only hoped that one of them would keep the other from breaking both their necks.

Before returning to town, Kidalis made a point of dropping by the Furrows, telling them about the Baron’s plans for the manse and asking them to inquire around to see if there were any ambitious younger farmers looking to strike out and start a place of their own. He also gave a vial of the perfume to Brom’s mother who seemed grateful if a bit uncertain as to what she should do with something more suited to court life than to cows.

The young noble then dropped by the keep. Upon finding Anil, he told her about the manse and about his wanting to offer her a position there. Anil was a bit reluctant, not wanting to offed the Greenfields who had been most kind to her over the years, but promised she would consider the offer. He also gave her a vial of the perfume. The shifter girl sniffed at it cautiously, then abruptly sneezed about ten times in quick succession. “It’s… very strong!” she managed finally, choking out her polite thanks before making a hurried retreat to the keep’s gardens, trying desperately to think of some herb that could quell the burning in her nose.

Undaunted, Kidalis thought sought out Alinora, to whom he gave another of the vials of perfume. The princess accepted the gift with perfect grace, recognizing the scent with delight. Her mother, however, looked on disapprovingly, not saying anything but making her view on the subject of princesses accepting gifts from adventurers quite clear.

The next days passed in a hurry as the Fire Wasps prepared for their journey north. Kidalis checked on the distributions from the dragon hoard, making sure the Holdfasts got their ale and that Mother Ableby got her walnuts, and then turned his efforts towards insuring he and his companions had sufficient provisions for their journey.

Ghost, with excitement mixed with a degree of trepidation, accompanied Tilly to pick up their newly enhanced weapons from Master Attleworthy. Picking up her twin swords, the young shifter tested them out, making swings and cuts in the air. She could feel a definite difference. Jariel had always taught her that a weapon should feel like an extension of her own arm. Her swords now felt almost preternaturally responsive to her, seeming to almost seek out the target on their own, surer and stronger. She complimented the elderly artificer enthusiastically on his craft. Tilly picked up his sharrash, and, after testing it out with a few swings, held it to his ear, but no sound was forthcoming. “You can’t rush prophecy,” Ghost reminded the visibly disappointed halfling, assuring him that it would happen when it was meant to happen.

When at least it was time for them to begin, the Baron summoned them to the keep to give them a parting gift: tailored furs, made from the bearskins from the hoard, to go under their armor for protection against the weather. They fit perfectly and all thanked the Baron profusely for this additional show of his generosity.

And so, that morning, the Fire Wasps headed north, with Ghost keeping an eye out for ranger signs that Arun and the others would’ve left to aid in locating them. That they would find, and much more besides.

Finding Valryke

They were on the right track, Ghost thought firmly as she and her fellow Fire Wasps made their way along the trail that let to Muldoon’s farm. All of the pieces seemed to fit. Dragons were territorial, and Valryke had gone out of his way to seek out Tristan to warn them to leave him alone, which made her wonder why. There had been no reports of dragon attacks in the vicinity of Muldoon’s farm after all. But then Valryke was no ordinary predator. Dragons were clever, and Ghost’s instincts told her that a clever predator would probably do its hunting and ravaging away from its lair so as not to give away its location.

As they traveled through the woods, Ghost and Tilly looked for dragon sign, venturing off the trail and checking along each side. And they did find dragon sign. Branches high up in trees broken off where something big had passed, always pointing in the same direction. Half-eaten carcasses of various animals with a tell-tale greenish tinge they recognized from their previous travels through the area. In addition, Tristan and Kidalis sensed they were traveling along a fey ley line which according to their knowledge tended to attract dragons. The news only added to Ghost’s feeling that her initial suspicion was correct.

They reached Muldoon’s farm in the late afternoon. They ended up staying the night after Muldoon had badgered and cajoled them into helping him rebuild some stys for his pigs in return for sharing his supper and roof with them. The beans and bacon, along with bread and honey, were a welcome break from their usual fare, and though the former mace-master could tell them little, he was able to point them in the direction he’d sometimes seen the dragon flying overhead. As they prepared to continue their search the next morning, the Fire Wasps held a brief council to discuss how best to find the dragon.

“We’re dealing with a reasonably intelligent creature,” the young shifter mused, her brow furrowed in thought. “It’s probably going to take extra precautions to hide its lair. What I’m thinking is that when we don’t find any sign of him, that is when we might be closest to his lair.”

Tristan ventured that he’d read that dragons like to have lairs that allowed them to lord over their territory. Which led Kidalis to recall that there were in fact some ruins in the vicinity, the remains of a keep built long ago by a bandit named Rantheus who had fancied himself a king, an excellent place for a dragon to store a hoard. It seemed a good place to start.

As they headed towards the keep, Ghost and Tilly kept up their search along the way for dragon sign, and both noticed that the amount of sign they found was dwindling the closer they drew to the keep, seeming to confirm Ghost’s thoughts on Valryke wanting to conceal his presence in the area to keep his lair undetected.

Finally they came to a break in the trees, beyond which lay the ruins of a surprisingly large keep. Remnants of siege weapons that had apparently once battered at its walls lay where they’d been abandoned, and though broken, large sections of those walls still remained standing in places, a quiet hollow wind blowing through the ruins’ empty corridors. But even in decay, it was an impressive structure.

“For a bandit,” Ghost observed, looking over the vast stretches of wall still standing, “this Rantheus did pretty well.”

“Well, he was a petty king, as they say,” Kidalis said with a shrug.

Ghost couldn’t help snickering, glancing sideways at the young noble with a cheeky grin. “Aren’t they all?”

The Fire Wasps spread out, checking the grounds around the ruin, where they found recent dragon tracks at a couple of the larger breaches in the walls. “This looks promising,” Ghost said eagerly, kneeling down to examine the claw prints more closely.

In addition to the dragon tracks, the ground around the breaches was littered with the remains of a number of bodies, mostly humans with a scattering of other races, all half eaten and all foul with greenish-tinged poison and advanced putrescence.

“He’s very wasteful,” Ghost observed with a frown, her flatish nose crinkling at the putrid stench.

“Well,” Kidalis offered, recalling what he’d read about dragons’ lairs, “he probably left them out here as a warning.”

“Dead humans will certainly keep a lot of animals away,” Tilly agreed, prodding a nearby corpse with the butt of his sharrash. “Especially poisoned dead humans.”

“And other humans,” Tristan added, covering his nose as he backed away from the unpleasant find.

“It’s just that,” Ghost went on, her frown deepening as she continued her thought, “with all the other stuff we’ve found, he always just takes the best bits and leaves the rest behind.” Clearly the shifter girl was bothered by this.

“If he was hungry,” Tristan mused, looking around at the half-eaten remains, “or really, really greedy – he’d have taken everything.”

“You don’t have to be greedy,” Ghost said, shaking her head firmly at the half-elf’s thought. “It just, like, amongst my people, we were always very… efficient. I think that’s the word.” She gestured at the body-littered grounds around them. “You don’t waste stuff. You make use of it. You can make stuff out of the hides, out of the bones, the hooves.” At her companions appalled reactions – she was talking about corpses and not animal carcasses after all – her jaw set stubbornly. “You don’t waste stuff.”

As they ventured through the breach and into the ruins, there was no sight or sound of the dragon, only the soft desolate sound of the wind blowing through the stone fragments of the keep’s remains. But they had no sooner gotten into the keep’s first chamber than suddenly the quiet was broken by the clatter of rocks and rubble being disturbed behind them. When they turned to look, they were greeted by the sight of the corpse remains rising to their feet and coming after them, a hungry and menacing look in what was left of their faces.

“Ghouls,” Eustace muttered, gripping his scythe firmly as he drew it over his head into the ready position. “Don’t let them near you.”

“See?” Ghost said, feeling vindicated as she quickly drew her swords. “This is what happens when you leave stuff around!”

Battle was quickly joined as the ghouls fell upon them. It was hard enough trying to avoid their tainted claws and fearsome bites, but one ghoul in particular was nastier than all the rest, emitting a stench so foul it could stagger anyone who got a whiff of it right in their tracks. The Fire Wasps quickly concentrated their attacks on that one. The battle was pitched and Kidalis in particular was getting the brunt of the ghouls attack, but Ghost and her companions were able to hold their own, Tristan’s eldritch blasts and Eustace’s radiant sun attacks seeming to do exceptional damage to the undead horrors. But it was Tilly’s sharrash that finally took down the nastiest one – a ghast, in fact – with crushing surge attack that caused the unnatural abomination to explode, splattering everyone near it in necrotic gore. And as it always seemed to happen, Ghost was closer than anyone, getting the biggest share of the foul spray, though Kidalis was even less lucky, getting hit in the most vulnerable gaps in his armor. But with the ghast gone, the tide of battle turned decided in the Fire Wasps’ favor, even with Tilly being taken down temporarilty by a particularly vicious attack. But even with the battle going there way, Ghost worried in the back of her mind about how long it was taking, wondering if Valryke would should up while they were still fighting off the ghouls. Luck seemed to be with them though, and when Eustace and Ghost took down the last ghoul with a lance of faith and a twin strike between them, the ruins were finally quiet again.

“Someone should’ve buried that thing,” Ghost panted, staring down that the foul creature’s scattered remains. “Somebody probably did!”

“Ghost,” Kidalis ventured, pointing at her, “you’ve got a little, uhm…”

Ghost blinked in puzzlement, then suddenly realized she was covered head to foot in ghast ick, the smell burning in her nose. The young shifter shuddered, looked forelornly towards Eustace, managing a small whimpering plea for a fastidiousness ritual even though she knew they couldn’t take the time, not with the chance of Valryke suddenly showing up. “Why can’t we fight any clean creatures?” she whined, doing her best to clean herself off with her swords.

(more to come)

Dear Arun, Jariel and Vondyr,

I’m adding this letter to my last one since we got through the tournament without me getting my butt kicked and since Master Holdfast hasn’t found anyone heading out your way yet.

Oh, and as you already know, since I got Master Benathir to do the sending for me, Shale found me and gave me your message. And the earring. And also as you already know, we have to go deal with this green dragon, Valryke, before I can come, but I will be coming just as soon as that’s done. This is the first real sign of the goblins who killed my family in all these years. I swore I’d find them someday, and maybe now I can finally keep that vow.

And in case there’s any doubt, Shale was, if possible, even more annoying than the last time I saw him. I mean, I tried to be nice. Honest! But he always finds some way to get right up my nose and it wasn’t even a minute before he had me throwing stuff at him. Didn’t hit him of course – he’s too damned fast for that. But anyway, he found me and gave me the earring and the message and so he did do what you told him to do. I can’t fault him on that account. But does he have to always be so annoying? And why only with me? I mean, he doesn’t act that way with you guys.

But anyway, I gotta tell you about the tournament. Not only did we not get our butts kicked by these Sworn Sword guys, we ended up winning! Our first tournament – can you believe it? I wish you guys could’ve been here to see it. I mean, these Sworn Sword guys were good. There were five of them against the five of us. Well, actually, only three of them were Sworn Swords – the three that were wanting to kick our butts just because we got even with them for snatching that caravan guarding job from us in Berwick. Though now I have to admit that was kind of my fault – I was the one who mentioned it to them when we met them the first time around. It still wasn’t nice of them to move in and snatch it, though. I mean, you know how I feel when someone snatches prey I’ve been tracking, right?

Anyways, the three guys who were Sworn Swords were this human guy named Carrick Deepford, an elf named Thirnon Sunbrowed, and this halfling woman named Briada Blackbraids. The other two were this dragonborn guy called Hradurik the Bold, who while not a Sworn Sword was working with the first three when they snatched that job from us in Berwick – and kind of unexpectedly this local Reeve’s man named Drum Ketteran. If the name sounds familiar, it’s because he’s the older brother of Issak Ketteran, the guy who was always picking on Tristan before I started punching him out for doing it.

Judging by what I saw in the battle, I’d have to say Deepford was the best overall fighter of the lot, though Thirnon was the fastest and Hradurik was the toughest, as you’d expect given their races. Blackbraids and Tilly ended up running off and going one on one, so they were out of sight most of the time until Tilly finally took her down and came back to rejoin the main fight. Drum… kind of surprised me. He wasn’t a bad fighter at all; took some pretty good licks and got in a few of his own. And he didn’t back down the way I thought he would.

Anyways, we won, like I said. Looking back on it, we did have a couple of advantages. For one thing, they didn’t have any real magic-casters like Tristan, so that helped a lot. I think they were counting on Blackbraids to deal with him as she was their ranged fighter, but that’s where we had another advantage: they weren’t expecting someone like Tilly. Since he was armed with his sharrash, they were probably assuming he’d be in the main melee, and I think it took them completely off guard when he went after their ranged fighter instead. And of course we had Eustace and Kidalis who could keep us up on our feet or get us back on our feet if any of us got taken down.

And then I was also something of a surprise. I think they were planning on taking me out first – it was my butt they were most wanting to kick, after all – and then have Thirnon keep the rest of us off-balance and uncoordinated while Deepford, Hraduirk and Drum picked us off individually. And they almost did it; Carrick and Thirnon had me down before the first round of fighting was over. But they hadn’t counted on Eustace being able to revive me. And most of all, they didn’t know that I was trained by you guys. It actually ended up working the opposite of what they were expecting. Tilly kept their ranged fighter from being effective, Tristan got in some curses and blasts that bloodied both Carrick and Thirnon, and Kidalis called up all kinds of wyrdling attacks that kept them from coordinating their own attacks. And I was amazing. I wish you could have seen it. At one point after Drum got in nasty blow on Kidalis that actually took him down for a bit, I made this fantastic charge leaping up and over Thirnon, coming down with sword flashing right on top of Drum. The stunned looks on both their faces was something I’ll never forget. The battle turned our way right after that. In a single turn of battle, I took down both Thirnon and Drum with a blinding flurry of strikes, Tilly took out Blackbraids, and Eustace took down Carrick with this awesome bellowing gore-charge. With all of us up and able, Hradurik saw nothing to be gained in continuing the fight and yielded.

It was funny after the tournament was over. As far as Carrick and Hradurik were concerned, everything had been settled and they didn’t hold a grudge anymore. Briada was still fuming, but I think that was more because she lost money betting on her own side to win than anything else. Thirnon… well, Thirnon had never thought it was that big a deal to begin with. He did ask me something interesting after the tournament though. He mentioned that certain moves and my aggressive style seemed rather familiar and asked if by chance I had been trained by a certain ranger of his acquaintance named Jariel Bladestorm. You can imagine how proud I felt at that moment. I’ve always wanted to make you guys proud of me. Having someone recognize one of you as my teacher is about the highest praise I could ever get.

Another thing I learned from the tournament is that you can learn things about someone from fighting them. Other than how to beat them, I mean. I’d always assumed that because Drum was Issak’s brother and because he worked for the Reeve that he was, well, scum, and before the tournament began, I was wanting to take out Drum before anyone else. Which of course was me not really thinking, as Kidalis pointed out that the others were more likely to be the better fighters and on top of that were used to working together and so taking Drum out first really didn’t make much sense. I still wanted to take him out though, even if it was only after the others were dealt with. But I watched him carefully during the fight. Aside from being a decent fighter, I noticed that he never tried to run or hang back and let someone else do the fighting. He took his licks as much as anyone and afterwards didn’t make any excuses for his having lost. I mean, you gotta respect that in anyone, right?

I was also surprised later at the Tarry when a couple of recruiters were there looking for men to join up to fight the orcs who had been making trouble down south and Drum signed up. My first reaction was that he must have fallen out of favor with the Reeve over losing the tournament – which it turned out he had – but I was still kinda curious and so I sought him out later and bought him a drink at this other tavern where a lot of farmers tended to hang out. We talked a bit and I found he wasn’t really all that bad a sort. I told him he did well in the fight which seemed to make him feel better. And we actually ended up taking on the rest of the bar in a fight when someone threw a mug at us, which is always a lot of fun. I think I kind of learned something from this, though I’m not quite sure what yet.

Anyways, I need to finish this letter so I can add it to the other one I left with Master Holdfast to pass on to you either when he finds someone heading your way or for the next time you guys make it in to the Crossing. We’ll be leaving in the morning to head down to Berwick to deal with this dragon. I admit I have some mixed feelings about it. I mean, I’ve always heard dragons are really nasty pieces of work, and I’m not sure how good my swords are gonna be against something that can fly and whose breath and bite are poisonous. But at the same time, I really want to see one, and actually taking one down would be awesome. So wish me luck and I’ll be up to see you just as soon as this mission is done.

Miss you guys lots!

Hugs ’n slugs,

Ghost