Wall walkers of Adjepbar

Summary

Adventure: Wall walkers of Adjepbar
GM: Jonathan Bean
Season: TBC
Night: 8
Level: TBC

Party

Aurora - Scribe - played by Keith Smith
Lizette - Party Leader - played by Dylan Stephens
Keshah - Mil Sci - played by Michael Haycock

Employer: TBC
Mission: TBC
Pay: TBC

Wall walkers of Adjepbar

- Adventure Recap: Wall Walkers of Adjepbar**

The session opened deep in an active necromantic ritual chamber beneath Adjepbar. A sacrificial rite was underway on the altar, with Miriam bound and bleeding. Multiple necromancers (including a short, ex-Hobbit-looking one) were directing swarms of rats and lesser demonic entities (some resembling disheveled imps). One necromancer was felled by a well-placed shot, instantly breaking his controlling charm; the rats immediately switched from coordinated attack to panicked “runaway mode,” while several demonic creatures began spasmodically flickering between rat and humanoid forms.

The party — Aurora, Lizette, Keshah/Keitha, and their ghostly or summoned allies — prioritized extracting Miriam. Combat was chaotic and brutal. Lizette became heavily engaged, suffering repeated draining attacks that stripped both Endurance and Willpower. Aurora performed a daring aerial extraction, scooping up the unconscious Miriam (and, at one point, a panicked friendly rat) while using teleportation charges and flight to reach safety at the top of the chamber. Lizette was slain in the melee but was subsequently revived through a combination of the Emulator of Saint Cuthbert (rank 9 healing effect), multiple Greater Healing potions, and restorative magic. The group executed a fighting withdrawal up a steep passage, sealing or bypassing the lower crypts as surviving necromancers and undead continued to clash in the background.

Emerging into a hobbit-run temple complex dedicated to the Mother of All, the party was met by approximately fifteen elderly hobbits and **Cerse**, the Guardian of the Hearth (a hobbit priestess in white robes with gold sash and headband). Cerse immediately recognized both the necromantic taint on Miriam and Lizette’s standing with the city, granting them access to the temple’s favors and healing resources.

Empathy and diagnostic magic revealed the grim truth: Miriam had been ritually impregnated with a devilish entity (not a true demon, but a lower-planar devil). The pregnancy was only a few weeks along in real time but had been massively accelerated by the powerful crystals used in the rite. The child was feeding on Miriam’s life force and magical potential; left unchecked it would consume more than half her abilities by birth and leave her permanently altered. The entity was also exerting a subtle charm-like influence, making Miriam protective of it. The party debated several harsh options:

- Surgical or magical removal of the “foul spirit” (possible but dangerous to both mother and child). - Allowing the birth then attempting to banish or destroy the newborn (ethically appalling to most of the group). - Seeking external aid, specifically from **Sirene** (an entity connected to the Plane of Air) or using specialized counter-spells and purification rites.

Cerse made clear the temple would not condone the sacrifice of innocents to “purify” the child, but would support non-evil methods and could call upon significant favors given Lizette’s heroic reputation. The group was then ushered into a more formal audience chamber — breezy, incense-filled, with cushions and finger foods — to meet the **Chamberlain**, a well-dressed hobbit official. He was unsurprised by their arrival (“Why am I not surprised?”) and listened as they recounted the altar fight, the necromancers’ fear of “something powerful” coming through if the sacrifice failed, and the current state of Miriam.

The Chamberlain and priestesses confirmed the entity was devilish rather than demonic and offered notes from previous failed attempts to deal with similar incursions. They also hinted at larger troubles in Adjepbar: “wall walkers,” issues with the baths (occasional undead incursions), training damage affecting local forces, and problems with rats or cats in the streets. The party discussed whether any of these side issues required immediate attention or could be left to the city’s masters.

- Major NPCs Encountered**

- **Miriam** – rescued victim, now unwillingly carrying a devilish child. - **Cerse** – Guardian of the Hearth, representative of the Mother of All; pragmatic and compassionate. - **The Chamberlain** – senior hobbit official able to call upon city favors. - Multiple necromancers (several slain or routed). - Sirene (mentioned but not yet met) – potential Plane of Air contact.

- Current Status & Unresolved Hooks**

- Miriam is stable but still carrying the accelerated devil-child. The charm effect and life-drain continue. - The party possesses the sacrificial dagger and has partial intelligence on the larger ritual that was interrupted. - The “something powerful” the necromancers feared may still be a looming threat. - Potential quests remain open: cleansing the baths/crypts, dealing with wall walkers, investigating the Plane of Air contact, and deciding on a permanent solution for Miriam’s condition without committing evil acts. - The group has temple backing and healing resources but must choose their next move carefully before the entity advances further.

The session ended on a tense but hopeful note, with the Chamberlain and priestesses awaiting the party’s decision on how to proceed. The immediate tactical fight has been won, but the strategic and moral consequences are only beginning.

Scribe Notes

Night 1

Chapter 1: The Merchant's Shadowed Commission

We are hired in the halls of the Seagate Adventurer's Guild

Day 1
Within a high-ceilinged chamber, somewhere in the Seagate Adventurer's Guild, whose walls shimmered with faint inner light, the merchant lord of one of Adjepbar's oldest trading families regarded the three adventurers seated before him. The air carried the scent of ledger ink, spiced wine, and the distant clamour of the market below. The merchant representative, who did not give us his name, spoke without preamble, his voice low and measured.

"We believe someone is spying on our merchant business," he said. "Our rivals have been improbably lucky for the past year. They anticipate our caravans, undercut our prices, and steal our buyers before ink dries on the contracts. We do not wish to alarm the rest of the house. You will investigate discreetly. Report only to me."

Keshah, the black-haired mage with striking green eyes, inclined his head. "You'll learn about us soon enough," he replied. "What precautions would you suggest?"

The merchant outlined the web of alliances his house maintained with seven other families, the importance of heraldry, and the sprawling compounds where secrets multiplied like mould in the cellars. An internal probe had yielded nothing; outsiders were required. Payment would be generous if results came within four weeks. Equipment would be provided, but the Wall Walkers must remain unconnected to the family should anything go wrong.

It seemed reasonable to me that we should go there as merchant representatives ourselves, so I made enquires about if any local merchants were looking for markets in Adjepbar. I ended up getting in contact with a local leather works that had lots of stuff to sell. "Thirty tons of leather," I noted, steering the talk toward practical matters. "Two barns, bound for the Five Sisters Way. We can arrange watchers and a caravan if needed."

Keshah nodded. A young man entered quietly, offering additional details on the shipment before withdrawing. The merchant's expression remained guarded. "If you remain untroubled and successful, further contracts will follow. There are ancient ruins in the north that may hold answers, but that is for later."

Conversation drifted toward the city's unwritten laws. One of the Wall Walkers murmured the words of a subtle social charm, its effect like oil smoothing troubled waters. The merchant answered their careful questions with visible reluctance. We did discover that the kidnapping and ransoming back of remarkable looking women was an accepted practice. At that point, all eyes turned to Lizette, our red haired, emerald eyed beauty.

"Under Lord Bray's precedents, the death of a woman is often not counted a crime," he said flatly. "Kidnapping and ransom of commoners draws little notice. Honour matters more when dealing with the powerful. Champion the wrong house and you place yourself outside all protection. Challenge a lady or accept one, and the rules of engagement are merciless. Lose face and you may lose far more."

Keshah absorbed the warning, fingers tapping the table. Rumour of double agents and an elemental that had seized a distant throne were mentioned in passing, along with the possibility of bodyguards who could allow armour to remain hidden. Keshah told us the story of what happened the last time he was in Adjebah, something to do with a kidnapped daughter being 'employed' as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and a very angry and very powerful father who wanted her back. When the meeting concluded, handshakes were exchanged and quiet thanks offered.

"Good luck," The merchant said as we rose. "You will need it in these houses."

Their first commission had begun: walk the delicate line between merchant houses, expose the spy, and survive the customs of a city that rewarded cunning far more than mercy.

Chapter 2: The Glowing Walls of Adjepbar

The Wall Walkers arrive at the luminous market of Adjepbar

The discussion turned practical as weariness settled over the group. Lizette offered her healing arts, restoring strength where fatigue had accumulated from our earlier exertions. Keshah told us he had some rune portals that could get us quickly to our destination, several hundred miles south, but they would make us rather tired going through. Fortunately, it would only take two hops but we would need to rest for a bit after each hop. So, late that evening, we set off. With refreshed resolve, we consulted our maps and activated the dimensional artifacts. The world folded around us, and in the space of two swift jumps we stood amid the crumbling stones of an abandoned ruin high on a windswept plateau. Beneath us the desert stretched away in silvered darkness, while green hills rolled northward under starlight.

Day 2
Night still held the land when we descended toward the city. Its outer wall emitted a steady bluish radiance, casting ethereal light across the sands. Aurora remained just beyond the glow, watchful, while the others approached the northern gate. The streets within revealed a wonder: flat-roofed buildings whose terraces overflowed with rooftop gardens, lush greenery defying the arid climate. Ground floors showed few windows, most shuttered or barred, but higher levels opened to the air.

We followed the map to a busy intersection where the night market thrived despite the hour. Hundreds of locals moved among stalls, trading cloth and linen, steel tools, spices, and hot food that scented the warm air. Most travelled in small groups of three or four; guards patrolled discreetly. Children darted between adults while merchants called their wares beneath strings of lanterns.

Keshah stayed close as the party observed the flow of commerce. One among them, seeking not to blend but to command respect, approached a clothier’s stall. The merchant, an amiable man with quick eyes, listened to the request for garments befitting a representative of an important trading house.

"Gold," the merchant advised with a knowing smile. "Gold proclaims wealth and influence here. Red can serve, but gold… gold draws the eye of those who matter." He spoke of the coming festival on Friday, when the city would celebrate with special trade and pageantry. Samples were brought forth—fine linens, richly dyed silks, a tailored jacket with flowing sleeves in the local style. The chosen ensemble was measured and fitted while the group sampled warm bread and kept watch on the surrounding crowds.

By the time the transaction finished, the sky had begun to pale toward morning. Eight o’clock brought a pleasant eighteen degrees and clear air. The Wall Walkers, now attired as prosperous emissaries, moved deeper into the glowing city with purpose, the weight of their covert errand for the Adjepbar merchant house resting lightly on their shoulders.

Night 2

Chapter 3: A Haven Overlooking the Port

Arrival at Lady Alba's courtyard haven in Adjepbar

The streets of Adjepbar's merchant district thronged with well-to-do traders, most of them human, their footsteps echoing off sturdy stone façades. For the last hour we moved through the flow of commerce, drawing glances that lingered especially on me, much to my chagrin. I could see the young men watched me with open admiration, which still made me uncomfortable although I should be used to it by now. For a while, I considered buying a hat to blunt the attention. but I was really never a hat person anyway.

We pressed on toward the port, looking for a reputable place to stay, sacks of goods slung over shoulders, until we reached a handsome building set behind a low wall. A small garden lay beyond, graced with two large reflecting pools and riotous flower beds. A dwarf and a hobbit sat chatting in the shade while a woman moved among the blooms. She looked up as the party entered.

I greeted her diplomatically and politely and asked if she had rooms to let. Her name was Alba, and she smiled, brushing flour from her hands. "You are from up north, yes? A bit further than the port district, I think." She studied them a moment, then nodded towards Keshah.. "We have rooms. Excellent ones for you and your two daughters."

After a brief confusion over identities, we were led up a flight of stairs to a spacious chamber on the first floor. High windows shaped like elongated pods looked out over the harbour, letting in salt air and the cries of gulls. A balcony overlooked the inner courtyard, and the room itself was airy and well-appointed, bright with colourful hangings and clever wooden screens. Two smaller bedrooms opened off it.

"The balcony faces the courtyard," Alba explained. "You may come down and play dice if you wish. We have a fur trader, a ship captain, and others who gather in the evenings."

While servants brought cool water and fresh linens, a boy of about eight appeared in a miniature captain's uniform, bubbling with excitement. His older sister, Marian, followed more sedately. She appeared to be fifteen or sixteen, not quite human, with an easy grace. "I can help you learn Adjepbaran," Marian offered, "if you wish. An hour each morning, perhaps? Just enough to speak with other merchants." "That is a very good idea," I replied. "We'll do that." Marian's face brightened. She spoke of the Tournier, an elven organisation that had spent the last decade fighting drought and the expansion of the drow, striving to change things for the better in the city. The companions exchanged glances; the name was new to them, but clearly important. I decided to change into the light blue silk kaftan I I had bought earlier so as not to look so distinctive Talk turned to the length of our stay—three or four weeks at first, perhaps longer—and to meals and guides. The boy tugged at Keshahs sleeve. "Are you good with a sword? Will you come to the martial yards and meet the others?" "Maybe," Keshah answered with a smile, "but not today." "I will arrange a guide for you in the morning," Alba promised As the sun dipped lower, a tray of delicate pastries appeared, each topped with a thin layer of candied lemon. Marian's mother, who was our host, Alba, it seemed, was an exceptional baker, though she guarded her recipes closely. The companions sampled them gratefully, speaking of the Western Kingdom and the possibility of growing the same fruit there. Before anyone could finish their tea, a group of twelve people entered below, accompanied by guards. Two men led the way up the stairs, their voices carrying clearly through the open windows. Whatever business had brought them to Alba’s door, it carried the unmistakable weight of importance.

Chapter 4: Merchants, Magic, and Moonlit Baths

Negotiating lodgings and secrets in the merchant house garden

In the shaded garden of the merchant house, where pod-like windows overlooked beds of fragrant herbs, we found themselves greeted by a courteous attendant and a pair of watchful guards. The man bowed politely, explaining that his lord and lady were resting upstairs. "If you require any assistance," he offered, "my lord employs many fine guards. We would be happy to help."

We introduced ourselves as representatives of a northern merchant company seeking trading contacts, our story centering on shipments of fine leather from the Western Kingdoms. "We are on the east coast," the attendant confirmed, smiling at their momentary confusion about the western lands. He spoke knowledgeably of the uncharted territories beyond, where sea-grass prairies stretched toward the Sea of Grass and hostile tribes made commerce perilous.

When talk shifted to their length of stay, our host’s brightened. "Three weeks, you say? That can be arranged, with a modest discount for such valued guests." They settled on full board—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—plus the use of the common areas. The host grew more serious when the subject turned to security. "We wish to avoid any unnatural troubles," she said carefully. "Elementals, devils, or the Fair Folk bring nothing but complications."

"We understand completely," I replied. "If we encounter any such problems, you will be the first to know." To ensure our privacy, we requested permission to raise a simple ward against scrying. The attendant agreed, provided it harmed no mortals, and soon a subtle veil of magic shimmered around our quarters, courtesy of Lizette. As evening approached, conversation grew lighter. We were invited to the night market and the coming festival. "The day after tomorrow is Friday by the old Elven calendar—derived, they say, from the Hobbit reckoning." Over glasses of cool wine, he described the other guests: a noble party from the country whose presence had heightened security. "Their captain informed me of your arrival," he added. "They have enemies in the city."

I admitted I worked with the magic of the air. "I fly often," I confessed. "Though I know some places shoot down anything that takes to the sky." The attendant took this in stride, then arranged for Keshah to have a bedroll in the outer chamber, ensuring us ladies would be better protected. Later, the group descended a narrow spiral stair into the cool earth beneath the courtyard. Dripping water echoed softly thirty feet below ground. Here lay the baths: one pool steamed with medium heat, while the other remained magically chilled, its waters crystalline and refreshing. The air smelled of minerals and herbs. As we lingered, the captain of the upstairs guard approached with polite but pointed questions about the timing of their arrival and the nature of our work.

Lizette met his gaze evenly. "We have no interest in causing trouble," she assured him. "Nor in entanglements of any sort." A shadow of old heartbreak flickered behind her words, but she dismissed it with a small smile. The captain seemed satisfied, and the companions returned to their rooms, the weight of their dual identities—merchants on the surface, Wall Walkers beneath—settling more comfortably around them in the warm Adjepbar night.

Chapter 5: Aspects of the Sun and Secrets in the Garden

Exploring the fortified gardens of Adjepbar

The conversation drifted comfortably in the lamplit common room. "First breakfast will be served after eight," our host said. "You're welcome to join us. Sunrise comes around five thirty in these parts."

Aurora smiled. "That suits me perfectly. Ever since I was a little girl I've woken with the sun. I believe it has something to do with my Solar aspect."

"Solar," the host repeated, clearly intrigued. I then spoke quietly of my own troubled aspect, the result of a magical accident years before. Sympathy flickered across the host's face before the talk turned to practicalities.

Meetings would be best held in public places over the coming weeks, the group agreed. Some would use enchanted items to search the premises for hidden portals or structural weaknesses, while others planned a lengthy preparatory ritual to ensure safer travel later. One vessel in particular earned admiration: a pitcher that kept itself filled and perfectly cool. "I like that," Aurora said. "Where can I get one?"

"How about the baths first?" Lizette suggested. The idea met with quick approval. Temperature was debated lightly; Aurora, protected by her resistance to cold, cared little whether the water ran hot or cool. Plans for the next day took shape around them. Their recent acquaintance clearly meant to monopolise their time, beginning with the first festival tomorrow evening and continuing the day after. Still, there would be moments for their own pursuits.

"I want a proper look around the room and grounds," one of the Wall Walkers declared. "I'd rather we went together." The others concurred. Some could dress down and mute their more obvious traits, an elf among them and a northerner besides. They would wander the city, consult private maps, and begin gathering information on their target merchant. Street inquiries or a quiet word with the local magistrate might prove safer than magical spying; their quarry was almost certainly warded against such intrusions.

We stepped out into the evening air. Before we even reached the elevated terrace, guards could be seen at the head of the staircase. Small wind-up birds, delicate mechanical constructs, flitted among the foliage. The garden itself was breathtaking, almost excessively so, with living roofs of overlapping leaves and artful pod-like windows catching the last light. "Somebody has gone rather over the top," I murmured, half admiring, half amused.

The grounds were lovely but not undefended. Shards of broken crockery lined the tops of the walls, enough to discourage casual climbers. A shimmering field of spikes was called into being across a vulnerable stretch of ground, its magic glimmering faintly through the floorboards of the rooms above. It would hold for half an hour, more than long enough.

Chapter 6: Candlelight and Careful Words

Dinner among merchants and mysterious guests

The afternoon light had already begun to fade when we settled on our approach. Posing as merchants offered the clearest path to move freely within the organisation and the household itself.

When the bell rang downstairs, we shut away our preparatory spells and made our way to the dining hall. A long trestle table had been laid with crisp linens and flickering candles. Five new faces waited among the family: a burly bodyguard whose watchful eyes missed nothing, three women whose quiet conversation suggested both status and caution, and a handful of others. A merchant and two physicians sat beside several family members, including a dwarf and a hobbit who tutored the children in mathematics and arcane theory.

Conversation flowed easily at first. One of the merchants produced a small wooden case and offered samples of sugar-salted dried oranges, bright with flavour. I leaned in, genuinely interested. “How long have you been trading these?” I asked. The man explained the difficulties of export to the Western Kingdom versus the Lunar Empire, and soon they were speaking of olives, figs, and the ingenious underground barrels in which the household grew much of its produce. The talk drifted to mutual acquaintances and older adventures; one guest remarked that Keshah looked familiar from a clean-up operation years before. “I was hired on for that one,” he admitted, and the table nodded with approval.

The fourth son of the house, permitted to visit the city because of his place in the line of succession, proved an eager conversationalist. He spoke freely with both Keshah and Lizette, who had chosen a simpler, more practical outfit reminiscent of the household staff. Captain Gendel Hammersong, a powerfully built man introduced as one of the legendary figures from Superstition Mountain, eventually turned the discussion toward more serious matters. “I understand you were involved last night,” he said carefully. “I hope you lost no one who did not deserve it.”

The table quieted. Talk turned to the uncontrolled summoning that had complicated everything: a creature that slipped its bonds, a general left furious, and the lingering question of whether a doppelganger had orchestrated the chaos. Speculation passed back and forth—whether the summoner had been replaced, how one might banish such a being, or whether anyone still owed favours that could open doors on other planes. Hammersong listened closely, offering that further investigation might prove useful to all parties. “If you learn more,” he said, “we would be interested in employing your talents.”

The meal continued with careful attention to the dishes: flavourful creations ranging from delicate to boldly spiced, though everyone avoided the vivid red garnishes that tasted distinctly alien. When the last plates were cleared, the companions retired upstairs. A young servant girl informed them that Mr. Tumblewall would join them for breakfast at eight, and that language lessons could be arranged if desired. As they climbed the stairs, conversation turned to practical wards and the limits of certain magics, but the night air carried the sense that alliances were quietly forming beneath the candlelight.

Night 3

Chapter 7: Steam and Sweet Offerings

A soothing soak in the inn's misty baths

The common room had settled into the comfortable rhythm of evening, the bard's voice rising and falling like distant waves as he recounted an epic of dwarfish campaigns against the Dark Circle. Lizette lingered a quarter-hour longer than her companions, content to let the story wash over her, but the rest of the party soon slipped away. They had already decided against splitting up; wherever one went, the others followed, especially when the promise of hot water beckoned from below.

The stairs to the baths were narrow and built for smaller folk, forcing the taller members of the group to descend sideways, one shoulder forward. Mist curled thick in the underground chamber, carrying the pleasant scent of minerals and warmth. Two pools lay side by side, separated by a low dividing wall that rose only a few inches above the waterline. One steamed invitingly hot; the other offered a gentler, cooler embrace.

Lizette eased into the hotter pool with a sigh of pleasure, while Keshah and I chose the milder waters. "Quite pleasant actually," I remarked, sinking deeper. Conversation drifted lazily between them: comparisons to the tiered baths of the Lunar Empire, jokes about the pool's nine-foot depth – which allowed me to submerge myself entirely, and whether even someone like Matt Tumbledown could fit down the stairs. Laughter echoed softly off the stone as we moved between temperatures, letting the day's travels melt from weary muscles. By the time we climbed out, skin flushed and minds clear, the experience had lived up to the inn's reputation.

Returning to our chamber, we found it transformed. The room had been tidied with care; fresh towels lay neatly stacked, shutters drawn against the night. Outside their door waited a tray bearing a small bowl in which orchids and jasmine blossoms floated like a miniature lily pond. Beneath the covers lay an assortment of delicate sweets that filled the air with fragrant sweetness.

We had scarcely settled when a soft tap sounded at the door. The young male servant stood outside, eyes bright and manner polite. "Um, hello, Mistress," he said. "Is there anything you need before turning in for the night?"

After checking with the others, the answer was no. The conversation turned to practicalities. "What time for these language lessons?" we asked. The lad replied that he had arranged them for two hours after dawn. Breakfast could be brought up or taken downstairs; after brief discussion and a humorous detour into second breakfasts and the merits of hobbit-like appetites, it was decided the meal would arrive in pur room. The young man nodded wisely at the tale of a distant shaman who had once claimed I carried more than a little hobbit in their soul, then bid them good night.

The companions closed the door, the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air, and prepared for well-earned rest before the new day's studies began.

Chapter 8: The Lady Cat's Vendetta

Aurora negotiates with the imperious lady cat

The conversation with the servant concluded pleasantly. The Wall Walkers would receive their language tutor after breakfast; the offer was accepted with polite gratitude. Once the man had withdrawn, Keshah moved to the doorway and windows, setting small runestones in place. The runes were tuned with care so they would ignore the ordinary traffic of the corridor and the presence of the party themselves, stirring only if unknown living things approached.

Day 3
Night passed without incident. The early risers stirred while the city still lay in darkness. I rose at four to begin my purifications, and the others followed as dawn neared, each performing their purifications and preparatory spells. The usual chorus of birds was muted here; the upper districts of Adjepbar offered little countryside, only rooftops and the distant murmur of the poor quarter below. We spoke quietly of the stones and the precise nature of the wards while the household began to stir.

At half past six a discreet tap sounded at the door. I answered it. Marian, the flour-dusted daughter of the house, stood outside with a laden tray. "I have brought you breakfast," she said, stepping past her guest to set the meal on a side table. A sleek cat followed at her heels, tail high, and promptly began weaving between ankles.

I couldn’t resist, kneeling and , reaching to stroke the visitor. With a soft invocation of the animal speech I had retained from her fairy days, I greeted the cat. The feline's golden eyes fixed on me with sudden interest. I had a sudden feeling I was going to regret this.

"I am fine," she replied, "but I smell bacon."

The exchange that followed was as imperious as it was amusing. The cat introduced herself as the true mistress of these chambers and promptly denounced one Tommy, a rival who had been trespassing on her territory for far too long. "That ***** has been treating on my turf," she declared. "I want you to kill him."

I laughed despite herself. "Tommy? I take it he's another cat."

"Of course he's another **** cat. What are you, stupid?"

I assured the feline, who we later found out preferred to be addressed as Your Magnificence, I was merely confirming details, then scratched behind its ears as requested. The cat demanded milk, more bacon, and continued scratches, all while eyeing the rest of the party with aristocratic disdain. When her gaze fell on Keshah she paused.

"Does that dumb one over there understand me?” the cat5 asked Only if I translate," I replied

The cat considered him. "Tell the elf to feed me. He looks funny. Actually, yeah… elf. You look nice. He looks dumb."

I decided not to relay to relay the insult, remarking that he would not be wounded by the opinion of a cat. Meanwhile the creature rolled onto her back, demanding belly rubs. Again I could not resist. Having three cats of my own at home, As I obliged, the cat purred and continued her list of grievances, clearly accustomed to ruling the household from the tops of cupboards and the laps of nobles. Breakfast grew slightly colder while the Wall Walkers listened, translated, and tried not to laugh too loudly at the small tyrant now holding court in our room.

Chapter 9: Cats, Courtiers, and the Tongue of Five Sisters

Aurora communes with the household cat as Mr. Tudor arrives for the morning lesson.

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the guest chambers, catching on the delicate arrangements of flowers that had been left for their comfort. I stood near the casement, head tilted as I listened to the bird calls drifting from the courtyard. "I heard them this morning," I said. "I should speak with them too, and see whether they've brought any news."

My companions exchanged glances. Keshah leaned forward, voice low. "I think they are the eyes and ears of creatures not of this place. Spy birds, if you take my meaning."

I smiled with recognition. "I've done that sort of thing myself in the past." I described the metal birds she had seen in the courtyard, unmoving and unnaturally sturdy. Their conversation was interrupted by the imperious arrival of Your Magnificence, who made her demands plain. Marian, the young servant attending them, was promptly sent for more milk.

When she returned, Marian looked apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry about that," she said, referring to the aggressive lady cat she had carried out by the scruff. I only chuckled, listening to the exiled feline's indignant complaints fading beyond the door. "She's a lovely cat," I remarked, "though it seems she prefers belly rubs, milk, and bacon above all else. You know what cats are like."

Lizette looked astonished. "You speak to all animals?"

"Yes," I admitted. "It comes from when I used to be a fairy. I've retained some of the old magics, including plant empathy. I can tell when a growing thing isn't well." She gestured to the flowers on the sideboard. "These aren't complete plants. It's hard to explain, but sometimes it's nicer to have one still rooted in a pot."

Marian's brow furrowed in polite confusion, but she recovered quickly. "We can organise that. Half a dozen, perhaps? Roses or lilies?" I thanked her after requesting lilies, , and the servant promised to see it done before asking whether we needed to dress for the tutor's arrival.

I glanced down at her casual attire and agreed it was time to change. I managed the unfamiliar garments with surprising speed, though Marian still stepped in to help. "You've got it over the wrong shoulder today," the servant noted gently. After a brief adjustment that tightened the kaftan in all the proper places, I felt presentable once more.

"I'm still trying to get the hang of it," I confessed. "I rather like this style. I might wear it back home." When asked what I normally wore in the Western Kingdoms, I described the finer courtier dress required for audiences with the king. "I spend much of my time at court as a diplomat. It can be taxing, but I have a few friends there, and my own estate besides."

The others debated their own attire. "Are we supposed to be wearing our festival clothing today?" Keshah asked. Marian shook her head. "No, the octopus-raising festival is tomorrow."

A soft knock sounded at the door. The young male servant bowed politely. "Good morning. Your tutor is here."

Mr. Tudor entered with quiet dignity, being an elderly man wearing a floppy hat. He bowed low, then straightened and greeted them in fluent Volksprachtt. "I understand you are from the Western Kingdoms," he said. I confirmed it, complimenting his own command of the tongue. Tudor smiled. "I hailed from there for some time. I am only passable, but I get by."

He settled himself, eyes bright with purpose. "We have much to discuss. I will bring you up to speed on the terrible goings-on within the city. But first, I shall introduce you to the beautiful, delicate tongue of the Five Sisters." He broke at once into the liquid, intricate language.

Lizette admitted quietly that she already spoke it, though she had wondered whether it was a tongue reserved for halflings or the ruling class. Tudor waved the concern away. "Tutoring is not necessary for you, then. Perhaps instead you might bring hot water and some light refreshments?"

The morning, it seemed, would be equal parts conversation and careful study.

Chapter 10: Blessings of the Five Sisters

Breakfast at the noble house in Adjepbar

In the sunlit upper rooms of the noble house, Master Tudor adjusted his robes and regarded his pupils with a scholar's gravity. "Please have a seat," he intoned, before turning a critical eye on Lizette. "Who says your tongue is perfect? You have no need for lessons. You are dismissed." Lizette retreated gracefully, though not before the elves exchanged a few light-hearted remarks about their own halting command of local tongues.

The tutor puffed up like an indignant pigeon when further interruptions followed. "Interrupt me again, young lady, and you will be punished. I am conducting serious lessons here." Yet once order was restored he settled into his work, weaving ritual words that drew visible strands of mana into the air. For nearly an hour the elves listened as the magic coalesced, until at last Tudor rose.

"Now I will prepare magic for you which will last for today and enhance your ability to understand the languages of the Five Sisters. We will continue the lesson tomorrow at the same time. In the meantime, let my blessings be upon you." With a few precise gestures he cast the enchantment over Keshah and myself. Our ears and tongues tingled; suddenly the rolling vowels and subtle cadences of the city felt far more natural. When we thanked him in the newly clarified speech, Tudor beamed. "Their oral fixation will be magnificent," he declared with theatrical flair before bowing and taking his leave.

A polite tap at the door announced that breakfast awaited. We descended to find the long table alive with nearly twenty members of the household. The Mistress of the House moved among them, her arms and nose dusted white with flour and a faint kiss-mark still visible on one flour-streaked cheek. Servants had packed six generous lunch cases with sandwiches, meat pies, and delicacies for the day's expedition. The dwarves were already eating heartily, and the rest of the staff greeted the guests with warm familiarity.

A bard had claimed the far end of the table and was regaling the company with colourful tales of the visitors' exploits. Some details were flattering, others clearly fanciful. The noble mother watched her son with visible displeasure as the young man hung on every word about the elves. "There were mostly flattering tales," she remarked dryly, "about you sending your human servant in your place to protect your virtue." I laughed it off, insisting my servants could run my distant Artzdorf estate far better than I ever could.

Conversation soon turned to the coming festival. "I would like to stay for it," one of the party admitted. The mother nodded. "A lot of the young men of the great houses will be wheeling statues up and down the street in carts. The first saints who arrived here were set upon by tasks; the hobbits told them that to settle they must carry burdens from the docks all the way to the fortress walls. That endurance is what we celebrate today." We listened with genuine interest, sensing that witnessing the procession might reveal more about the city's layered history than any formal tour. All the while the packed lunches waited, a promise of further adventures once breakfast and gossip had run their course.

Chapter 11: Debates of Equality and Olives

A spirited debate on taxes, elves, and olives in the breakfast hall

The lord leaned back in his chair, a faint dusting of flour still clinging to his sleeves from the morning's kitchen oversight. "If you were aware of any skulduggery, I'm sure you would put a stop to it," he said with a knowing smile, recalling the thief they had once driven from the lands with thrown stones.

I returned the grin. "Lightning bolts," I declared, eyes twinkling. "And I say that with a smile. It would be rather shocking."

Their host chuckled before turning to Lizette. "Miss Summers, do you heal the poor and afflicted?"

"I try to heal everyone if I can," she replied earnestly.

The lord nodded. "Then you will have your work cut out for you east along the docks, in the poor quarter. Many there are suffering. The elvish enclave fights against such poverty as well, though their methods..." He trailed off with a disapproving wave.

Lizette glanced at her companions. "If we have time today, it wouldn't hurt to go down there. I suspect I won't have the endurance to help them all, but perhaps I can ease a few burdens. We should all go together—and disguised, lest we be mobbed."

"A wise precaution," Keshah agreed. He explained again, to the lord's visible confusion, that he and Lizette held equal status, with her perhaps ranking slightly higher by background. The nobleman blinked, clearly unaccustomed to such notions.

When the conversation turned to the elves, the lord's expression soured. "They spread dangerous ideas of equality and claim the nobility should pay taxes to the town. They've been teaching the poor trades and skills far above their station."

"And what is wrong with that?" Keshah asked. "Knowledge benefits everyone."

"Where we come from, it is normal for nobles to pay taxes," Lizette added. "An educated populace can earn more, buy more, and strengthen the entire city."

The lord looked genuinely horrified. "Our lords, the hobbits, only tax the merchants. We own our own lands. If just anyone could afford our olives, it would be tragic. Our goods are precious; they must remain so. Besides, there will always be the poor. My own great-great-grandfather spoke of such reforms in riddles and nonsense. It came to nothing."

I listened with quiet amusement as the economic debate circled olives, oil, and limited supply. The lord remained adamant that expanding the market would cheapen their legacy.

Eventually the talk drifted from philosophy to more personal matters. One of the adventurers confessed to being an exile from Alfheim itself, though it had been many years since they last walked its streets. Plans for the day diverged: some would visit the upper city, while others expressed keen interest in the docks and the seaside. Pearl diving sounded thrilling, though Keshah warned of ruffians.

"They wear very little, leap from the piers into deep water," he explained. "It actually sounds rather fun." I replied. "I learned to swim not long ago. I've holidayed on magical islands and planes of water—beautiful places, though reaching them requires knowing the right paths."

"You could guide others there," Keshah suggested.

"I prefer to remain a visitor," came the reply, "enjoying the sights like any tourist. Perhaps the dwarves would be interested, though they've rather suddenly departed."

The lord listened to these tales of distant realms with a mixture of fascination and skepticism as the morning light shifted across the hall, hinting at the adventures that lay ahead in Adjepbar's divided streets.

Chapter 12: Bones, Cats, and Goat Skeletons

The goat-skeleton cultists parade past as a curious cat approaches the Wall Walkers.

The master of the house rose from the breakfast table, gave his flour-dusted wife a fond peck on the cheek, and gathered his packed lunch. "Good luck in your travels today," he told the guests. "Try not to get lost, and keep your servants from running too far out of control." With that, he departed with his small entourage, leaving the room suddenly quieter.

I exhaled, glad to drop the polite smile I had worn all morning. "We'll head off as well," I said. Keshah nodded, already thinking ahead. "We're free until the festival tomorrow night. We could walk down to the poor quarter. Lizette can see to the sick while we gather what news we can."

We stepped from the cool interior into the bright, noisy streets of Adjepbar. Porters streamed in both directions, voices rose and fell, and at least fifty souls seemed to fill the thoroughfare at any moment. I kept one ear tuned to the local dialect, quietly matching half-heard phrases to those I had learned and tucking the rest away in memory. Keshah adjusted the mask at his belt, and the trio debated whether their packed lunches would suffice or if they should buy extra food for the destitute. The suggestion of a bakery near the docks won out; better to purchase a hundred plain loaves than anything sweet.

The main road widened. Ahead came the steady thump of drums and the brazen clang of gongs. A procession wound toward them: robed figures with long, plaited hair carrying the bleached skeletons of goats mounted on poles like banners. Citizens made way without complaint. I watched the macabre parade with open curiosity.

Before I could ask questions, a large tabby male cat sauntered up, sniffed once at my boots, and looked me in the eye. I sighed then murmured the familiar words that opened my mind to the speech of beasts. The cat's voice arrived crisp and disdainful. This was Tommy.

"You've been fraternising with that fat fool from the big house. I am called elsewhere, but you will do. The rats are smuggling the bones of the Earl into the city. Tell them to stop their games."

Amused and intrigued, I followed the cat down a narrow alley. Halfway along the left wall lay a heavy iron grate set into the stone. With a grunt of effort I hauled it aside. Several pairs of beady eyes gleamed from the darkness below.

"Oi, rat!" I called down. "Message for you. From Tommy. He knows about the bones and the Earl."

A chorus of vulgar curses rose in reply. Their apparent leader, a grizzled specimen missing half an ear, spat, "Who the **** are you and how the **** do you speak our tongue?" The exchange grew no more polite. Once the warning had been delivered, I let the magic fade, replaced the grate, and walked away. The cat followed for a few steps, meowing indignantly.

Keshah arched an eyebrow when I rejoined them. "What was all that about?"

"The cat thinks the rats are smuggling the bones of some long-dead Earl," I explained. "The rats have mouths like dockside mercenaries. It feels as though we've stumbled into something larger than simple vermin squabbles."

Keshah frowned. "I agree. This city keeps its secrets close."

We had not gone far when a young man was shoved directly into their path by the retreating edge of the cultist parade. He stumbled, caught himself, and stared up at the elves and the striking woman before him. Rather than bolt, he offered a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, honoured folk. Didn't mean to run into you. Those goat-bone cultists always clear the street."

"Who are they exactly?" I asked. The youth shrugged. "They watch for signs. When the goat skeletons rise and walk on their own, they take it as a command to attack Kirkul, one of the Five Sisters. The city was sacked forty years ago. Pirates, skeletal wights, and worse things live there now. Not many follow the cult, but some of the middle families quietly support them. Everyone wants the old cities reclaimed."

I exchanged a thoughtful glance with my companions as the drums faded into the distance. The streets of Adjepbar, it seemed, held more than bread and gossip.

Chapter 13: Blue Sands and Sunken Minds

Traversing the blue quarter of Adjepbar

The young servant spoke with quiet conviction about the displaced citizens of the fallen city. They had scrimped and saved for years, he explained, and in two years' time they meant to hire mercenaries and reclaim their homes. "When the goat-skeleton animates," he added darkly, "foreigners will be blamed for raising the bones. It will go badly for the cats."

One of the companions murmured agreement. The servant then asked whether they had any connection to the elven citadel. Learning we intended to visit the enclave, he offered to escort us; he himself was due for sword lessons. The party accepted, and the group set off through the winding streets.

As we walked, the servant glanced at the two elven women with open curiosity. "Your wives seem remarkably articulate in the local tongue," he observed. There followed an awkward but good-natured clarification: the elves were independent merchants under escort, not spouses. The servant himself was married, a fact that seemed to amuse him once the misunderstanding was cleared. "I see," he said at last. "Well, you are all clearly well looked after in our city."

Several blocks later the walls around them deepened into vivid cerulean. The servant gestured upward to a painted high-water line at the level of the first floor. "This is the blue district," he announced. "Power of observation." When asked why the colour dominated, he described the substance sold only after dark: blue sand. Refined by desert cultists from crystals unearthed by the shifting dunes, the powder brought on pleasant hallucinations. Those who partook felt their minds fill with cool, crystalline water in which they could swim; the experience was trippy rather than distressing. Sunlight destroyed the drug instantly, which was why it could never be sold by day.

We pressed him on its nature. Was it addictive? Did users suffer cravings after a single dose? The servant admitted uncertainty; some perhaps did, though he believed most did not. Lizette wondered whether healers could cure any dependency that took root. The answer was a simple no. Still, the possibility of acquiring a sample for study lingered in the air as they continued onward.

Conversation drifted to older sorrows. I recited the grim history of Kirkul, southernmost of the Five Sisters. Sacked first by Ivenian longships, then again by the Dark Circle in 805, the city now stood empty. Its former people traded from offshore islands or had resettled elsewhere; only rumours remained—undead herds, evil cults, and the occasional ill-fated expedition by church knights. The servant listened with open admiration. "Your knowledge is extensive," he said.

The scholar among them shrugged modestly. "There is a great deal in our library. When I am not otherwise occupied, I read." I mentioned the Seagate Guild's past involvement and noted an intriguing reference to the Blue Morning Fog of 810. Lizette speculated that the fog might be the very same substance burning away at dawn. "Just a theory," she added with a smile. I nodded, already planning further research upon their return home.

As the elven enclave drew nearer, talk turned to practicalities. The dwarves might find the blue sand fascinating, one adventurer mused, but the others counselled caution. They were conducting an investigation; becoming entangled with too many powers would only complicate matters. The slums, after all, were not their concern. With that quiet resolution they pressed on, the blue walls slowly giving way to the green heights of the citadel ahead.

Chapter 14: The Elven Enclave

Keshah demonstrates the hand-and-a-half sword to the students of the Elven enclave

The conversation had turned serious as the group considered venturing alone into the slums. "If we go down there, things could get out of hand," Lizette warned. "We don't want to hurt anyone, but if a mob sets on us our choices become limited." Keshah shrugged off the concern with grim indifference. "I don't give a damn if a whole bunch of humans want to kill themselves attacking me." Yet compassion tempered their words; the thought of rampant disease in the squalor weighed on them. "It would be good to help," Lizette admitted. "Cure a few illnesses, prevent the spread. And perhaps, in speaking with enough of them, we might learn something useful."

In the end we chose caution and followed their guide out of the blue-sanded quarter. The streets soon changed. Fountains glittered between carefully planted beds of greenery, and the air itself seemed lighter. "This is nice," I murmured. Our escort led us to a grand building that claimed most of a city block. Broad steps flanked by columns rose to an entrance that opened, after a short climb and descent, onto a vast courtyard.

More than a hundred fighters moved across the sanded floor, wooden weapons clacking in disciplined patterns. Most were human, though dozens of elves moved among them, correcting stances and demonstrating forms. The air rang with the rattle of practice blades.

An elf of obvious rank noticed the newcomers. He crossed the courtyard with measured grace and addressed Aurora and Keshah in fluid Elvish. "If I am not mistaken, it is Aurora of the Western Court and Keshah of the Adventurers' Guild." He inclined his head. "I am a friend of the ambassador to the Western King. What fine humans have you brought to us, and why?"

The conversation flowed easily in the elven tongue. The visitors learned that this enclave sought to extend Alfheim's influence against the drow, who had begun pressing naval forces toward the Five Sisters. Remarks were made about the brevity of human lives; Lizette, the healer accompanying them, drew polite approval when her talents were mentioned. "A healer," their host noted with genuine pleasure. "Very good."

The elf clapped his hands sharply. The courtyard fell silent as students formed neat ranks. In a voice that carried to every corner he announced the honoured guests: Lady Dawn of the Western Kingdom and the esteemed warrior Keshah. Then he turned to the swordsman. "Keshah has offered to give us a few pointers. Which weapon would you prefer?"

"My best is the hand-and-a-half," Keshah replied.

A practice blade of appropriate size was brought forward. Keshah took it with easy familiarity and began to speak, explaining how the weapon earned its name by being equally effective in one hand or two. The students listened with rapt attention, even I watched closely., as I have a magical hand and a half I intend to get better with using. With smooth, unhurried movements Keshah demonstrated simple forms, showing how the grip changed, how balance shifted, how the same blade could cut or thrust with lethal grace depending on the wielder's stance. The elf instructor smiled. "Are you willing to give us a display fight?"

Keshah glanced at his companions. "We'll just do a demonstration," he decided. The instructor nodded, clearly pleased, and prepared to cooperate. The courtyard waited, expectant, as the renowned visitor readied himself to show what a true master could do with steel.

Chapter 15: Demonstrations and Stacks

Lunchtime debates at the elvish enclave

In the sunlit training yard of the elvish enclave, Keshah stepped forward. "I'll slow it right down," he said, "so everyone can follow." With the effortless control granted by long mastery, the figure moved through the sequence: precise cuts flowing into held poses that somehow looked both lethal and serene. The mixed company of fisherfolk, fourth sons of merchants, and bakers' boys watched in attentive silence. When the final stance was released they offered quiet applause. The style was clearly foreign to them, yet they remained courteous and thoughtful.

Practice blades clacked across the yard for a time longer before the trainers called the midday break. Benches were drawn up and simple fare laid out. Once the clash of weapons ceased, the broad local accents softened into the common speech of the Five Sisters, even among the elves. Conversation turned first to the purpose of their school.

"We educate people," an instructor explained, "and create disciplined fighters. A folk who can defend themselves are harder to oppress." One of the Wall Walkers nodded. "Which is why the nobles dislike it. No one wants armed peasants answering back." The elves conceded the point but noted that all here were free folk. The brown-booted dwarves of the city guard, they added, were pleased; muggings and street violence had fallen sharply since the training began. A few fatalities seemed an acceptable price for safer docks and alleys.

Talk drifted to the goat-skeleton cultists who had lately left the city. "The Skellieweds took a caravan back toward the sacked city," an elf said. "They mean to prepare the ground and reclaim it in a year or two, once the worst of the undead are cleared. They brought adventurers with them; there was some trouble with a minotaur cult and pirates, but that was long ago." We exchanged glances, quietly marking the place for a possible visit on their return journey.

Lizette found herself surrounded by a knot of teenage lads who puffed their chests and traded mock insults. She smiled at their boasting. "I'm older than I look," she told them. "A great deal of prolonged life has gone into this face." The elves nearby chuckled, confirming that judging an elf's true age was notoriously difficult.

More serious matters soon surfaced. The enclave trainers spoke of fresh trouble between the three major Stacks: northern, southern, and western. "Trade disputes, as always," one said with a sigh. "Rumours claim certain houses have hired extra swords, and at least one party travels with a great healer. We do not yet know who." They warned that the coming octopus-raising festival might see 'accidents' as old scores were settled. Without strong authority in the city, the merchant Stacks had moved to fill the vacuum, and jealousy could turn deadly.

The elves admitted they felt a measure of responsibility for the region. Their long trade in myrrh with the hobbits had helped shape the city's fortunes, and they continued to teach the poor so they would not be so easily victimised. Still, they doubted the lessons would overturn the social order.

As the meal drew to a close, news from Alfheim was shared: debates over skirt lengths had reached new heights of absurdity, with the enclave elves proudly claiming to be more forward-thinking than their kin in the upper city. Far graver was word that agents of the Drow were working within Adjepbar, seeking to open direct trade between the city and the Elvish Isles.

"Of special interest to them are the sands of the Blue Quarter," an instructor noted. When asked whether the blue sand was addictive, the elf gave a solemn nod. "Very much so. Yet in the fogs of the Elven Isles it lets the user see the creatures that swim through the air. A useful gift, if one can survive the cost." We listened closely, aware that gifts from such quarters often carried hidden poison.

Chapter 16: Visions of the Deep and the Saint's Bones

Conversations of powder, wererats, and the festival of statues

In the quiet halls of the elvish enclave, the conversation had drifted from language lessons to more curious matters. Their host leaned back, describing the effects of the crystalline powder the adventurers had inquired about. "It makes you regenerate," he explained. "It also makes you fiercely hungry and increases one's libido. Your heart rate rises, and the regeneration is quicker."

One of the party members tilted his head. "So what other effects does it have besides changing the vision?"

"Underwater visions," the host replied. "While giving you visions of underwater realms. It isn't truly addictive, though some grow fond of it, like a very strong cup of coffee. It may have some medicinal value, though I'm not certain it would be useful for true healing."

We exchanged thoughtful glances. The prospect of a substance that could speed recovery while inducing strange oceanic hallucinations was intriguing indeed. Their host then changed the subject. "I understand from the young lads that you're planning on visiting the poor quarter this afternoon."

"That was the plan," Keshah replied. "We were going down to the coast, and Lady Lizette wanted to offer healing to the poor and sick."

The host nodded gravely. "As a healer, then. Some people down there will need it." He produced pen and paper, quickly scratching down several names and addresses. "If you could swing by these places and ask for these people in particular, that would be good. There are many others you should politely overlook. If you make it well known that you're giving away healing for free, especially at high ranks, you will get mobbed and cause chaos. The people on this list will keep their mouths shut. We can send some guards with you—they know the area and command respect."

When asked about conditions in the slums, the host's expression darkened. "On the edges, not too bad. In the centre, however, there's a strange cult of wererats which has inflicted some of the poor quarter with their shape-changing curse. They keep to themselves and have set up an enclave. They are human-sized rats, living above ground."

I straightened up . "Speaking of rats, you haven't heard anything about the bones of earls being smuggled into the city by a bunch of rats? I have the ability to talk to animals, and a cat gave me a message to pass on to the rats. They confirmed it."

Their host looked momentarily confused, then intrigued. "From a cat? Well, I hadn't heard that particular rumour, but it is of great interest. There's an old legend of a saint who was the first Earl of the city. They could return, and whoever returns with his bones to the centre of the city can take power. I hadn't heard it for a good forty years. No one believes it these days, but you should investigate while you're in the poor quarter. The dwarves put down a similar rat problem a couple of years ago, though they're distracted at the moment."

The talk turned at last to lighter matters. "The festival tonight is to do with some fish in the harbour," their host said. "Tomorrow night's festival involves escorting the statues—all the statues—up to the Hobbit Wolds. The captain of the guard, normally a dwarf, will receive them. The younger sons of all the great houses and stacks, dressed in loincloths and oil, will carry these Adonis-like marble statues from the lowest city to the highest under torchlight, with much chanting and singing. It is a display of manly virtue."

"Do the statues ever get dropped?" asked Lizette.

"They're heavy. It is seen as bad luck, but accidents occur. Seven are being represented this year by alliances of houses, minor stacks, and merchant guilds flexing their muscle. We were invited but have no interest. You should go along. You will probably find handsome young men flexing their oiled muscles under torchlight and cloths."

Chapter 17: Festival of the Fishes

The docks of Adjepbar prepare for the Festival of the Fishes

The conversation turned, as such talks often do, to the spectacle awaiting them the following night. "It'll be a spectacle," their host assured them between bites. We leaned in, weighing the customs of this strange city. Keshah asked whether the rival houses were likely to sabotage one another. The answer came with a wry smile: of course they would. Tricks and traps were expected, wheels removed, ground made slippery, yet outright violence was forbidden. A brawl between stacks would end in a duel, and duels, their host noted dryly, were regrettably hit-or-miss affairs.

They learned that only three or four of the great statues usually reached the top intact. The largest were hauled by teams of thirty or more from the extended families known as stacks, some numbering hundreds of souls. It was not strictly a race; prestige lay in the size of the statue and the dignity with which it arrived. Injuries were inevitable on the steep, narrow streets, but families could call upon reserves during the long pauses along the route. Healing an injured rival, however, would be seen as declaring allegiance, and a healer who switched sides too freely would soon be branded a turncoat.

Satisfied, the group thanked their host for lunch and made their way down to the docks. The waterfront had transformed. Nearly five hundred souls crowded the wharves in a swirl of purposeful chaos. Long, pale octopuses were being lifted on tall poles, their tentacles arranged like living banners above the throng. Fishermen practised raising and lowering the creatures, turning the eerie forms into swaying puppets that drew laughter and applause. Nearby, open fires roared beneath iron plates where fish sizzled and seafood delicacies bubbled. Young women with skirts hitched high stomped inside wide barrels, crushing fish heads into a pungent tomato coloured mash that their guide identified as garum, the strong fish sauce favoured throughout the region.

Lizette moved among them like a jewel dropped into rough gravel; her finery alone seemed to account for half the wealth on the docks. The others blended more easily, threading past musicians and puppet shows on one side and the serious industry of gutting, cooking, and barrel-stomping on the other. Hundreds of fishing boats bobbed alongside the quay, their crews adding to the din.

Curious about the octopus ritual, I sought out a local and asked its meaning. The man grinned, showing teeth stained by years at sea. "If you can do it the best," he explained, "no girl can refuse your kisses." When pressed whether the custom belonged only to men, he laughed. "Or to girls who like girls. Everyone knows you're always allowed to kiss underneath an octopus." He went on to tell the tale of the pearl diver, generations ago, who had somehow managed the feat and afterward could breathe underwater, or so the story claimed. The listeners exchanged glances, half-amused, half-intrigued, while the octopuses swayed overhead like pale ghosts against the evening sky and the smell of garum and grilled fish wrapped the docks in the promise of a long and lively night.

Chapter 18: Kisses Beneath the Octopus

The wererat addresses the Wall Walkers amid the bones of contention

The docks of Adjepbar thrummed with life as the Festival of the Octopus spilled across the wharves. Lanterns swayed above stalls heavy with coral carvings and the day's glistening catch. Locals paraded with live octopuses draped across their arms, and the air itself seemed salted with anticipation.

A friendly vendor explained the custom to the three striking outsiders. "It ended in tragedy, the old tales say. The creatures slowly lost their ability to breathe air once they left the water. Kisses keep the badness away. So no one refuses a kiss beneath an octopus." She winked. "It's considered very bad form."

We could not help but notice the attention we drew, which was a bit concerning. The crowd seemed enchanted by us in particular; even among the port's own pretty faces, we stood out like visitors from some brighter realm. Keshah, in particular, drew appreciative glances, though the octopus-bearers appeared most interested in the women.

As we moved through the throng, our eyes fell on delicate coral statues prepared for the next day's procession to the hobbits high above the city. "Carry one up on foot and leave it with them," we were told, "and trade will smile on you all year." I pressed a few silvers into a vendor's hand and selected a pair, slipping them safely into my pack. The afternoon was wearing on; the true festivities would begin in roughly five hours.

There was work to do first. The elf's list of addresses led us into the poor quarter. At the first home, a cramped two-room sandal shop, a young girl showed them inside. Seven people lived here in pinched circumstances. The mother limped on a knee that had mended crooked after a bad break. Her husband sat motionless on one side, the legacy of a stroke that had stolen the use of his left arm and leg.

Lizette let her empathetic senses brush across them, confirming the nature of the damage. While Keshah worked on the wife's leg with focused care, Lizette invoked her special healing rites. Between them they coaxed damaged nerves to life again, restoring strength and sensation. The couple's gratitude was quiet but profound; colour returned to their faces as years of pain began to ebb.

The next call took them closer to the water. A dock labourer lay wheezing on a pallet, her breathing ragged and wet. Her young daughter coughed with the same hollow sound. This was no ordinary illness. The lungs were scarred, poisoned by the blue sand that sometimes drifted from the desert crystals. After neutralising the lingering toxin, the healers turned their arts to regeneration. Fresh tissue knit together while the family watched in stunned silence. The mother managed a weak smile. "The fish we handle... some of them carry strange dust," she whispered. The adventurers warned her to keep clear of the blue drifts in future.

Twilight was nearing as they left the docks. In the distance, the grotesque parade of goat-skeleton cultists still capered through the middle town. The trio gave the main festival a wide berth and turned toward their lodgings. That was when the cat found them.

A sleek, battle-scarred tom bounded from the shadows. "What have you done?" he demanded, voice sharp with indignation. "You started a turf war. Go down there and tell them they will be driven out, that their tails will fall off if they don't get rid of those bones at once!"

Exchanging glances, we followed. The cat led us around a corner where a couple was stealing kisses in a narrow alley. Beyond them lay an astonishing sight: forty or fifty pounds of carefully arranged bones. The remains appeared to be those of a minotaur or perhaps an ogre; but the skull was missing. Tiny tooth marks showed the rats had transported every piece.

Keshah stepped forward. One rat in particular stood atop the pile, larger than its fellows and unnaturally bold. It rose on its hind legs and squeaked, yet the sound carried meaning. "We have summoned you. You will obey us, rat speaker."

Lizette extended her senses, reading the currents of magic that clung to the creature. "A wererat," she murmured. The animal was clearly under some form of compulsion, a spell woven to grant it authority over its kin. The party felt an odd, artificial friendliness toward the rodent, yet the enchantment's edges were unmistakable. Whatever game the rats and cats played over these bones, it had just become far more interesting than a simple turf war.

Chapter 19: The Promised Land

The Wall Walkers receive their grim errand from the rat speaker

The cat regarded the party with yellow eyes that gleamed like chipped citrine. "Take these bones and be gone," he urged, voice sharp with feline disdain, "quick, quick, before the rats do terrible things to you."

The bones proved far heavier than expected when lifted; what should have been dry and brittle felt dense as lead, carrying an unnatural weight that made every skull and femur a burden. "Not bone," Lizette muttered after close inspection, though whether this was observation or intuition none could say.

We worked quickly, feeding the remains into a magical satchel that swallowed the impossible load without complaint. "We can't walk into the inn carrying an entire skeleton," I observed. "There might be questions asked."

"You could claim it's for any number of festivals," Lizette replied with a shrug. "The octopus-raising is coming up. You're always allowed to kiss underneath an octopus, after all."

From the shadows came the rustle of many small bodies. The rat speaker stepped forward, whiskers twitching with self-importance. "Thank you, mister," it chittered. "Just carry them safely to the promised lands."

I glanced at her companions, then addressed the rat directly. "What are you trying to achieve here? Where is this promised land?"

The rat drew itself up. "You are under my control," it declared with surprising gravity. "Take the bones to the promised land—the warehouse in the Blue Street districts. Down to the one in the centre."

I gave a theatrical bow. "I obey, great rat. I obey my master." Behind the performance my eyes met the cat's in mutual disdain; the cat returned the look with aristocratic contempt.

With the last of the bones secured and the rats' instructions memorised, we withdrew from the stacks. They crossed back through the poor quarter under starlit skies, the city gates clanging shut behind them as they reached their inn. The hour was late. Inside, the common room stood quiet, and one by one they retired, the weight of their strange cargo and stranger errands lingering in the dark.

Night 4

Chapter 20: The Ragged Intruder

Capturing the puzzle-monster in the dead of night

We slipped back into the inn under cover of night, the weight of our recent discoveries heavy on our minds. We had scarcely closed the door before a familiar shape darted inside: the sarcastic house cat known as Magnificent—or Mags to those she tolerated. The cat's golden eyes gleamed as she complained about the long wait and the poor quality of the scraps offered.

Downstairs, the innkeeper's daughter announced dinner with a warm smile. The meal proved a welcome distraction, and accompanied with acrobatic performers who moved with surprising grace. Conversation flowed easily between bites of spiced fish and fresh bread. I, elegant even in travel-worn attire, introduced myself as a diplomat, while Keshah declared herself a bodyguard and adventurer. The young woman asked about our travels and the curious statues we had acquired, sparking debate about whether to walk the five miles uphill or risk the no-fly zones that seemed to blanket the city. Laughter mingled with the clink of utensils as we traded stories of narrow escapes and ambitious suitors best avoided.

Later, in the privacy of our room, we savoured bowls of steaming chocolate laced with spices, accompanied by grapes, melons, and crisp cookies. Mags returned, her demands for fish growing more imperious. I translated the cat's barbs with amusement, revealing that I kept a small pride of felines, or they kept me, back home in the Western Kingdoms—Selene, Luna, and Celestia among them. Talk turned to the mechanical songbirds that had begun appearing, their eyes unnaturally watchful. Mags confirmed the birds served as spies for stranger powers, creatures that saw what ordinary eyes could not.

The bones taken from the alley refused to stay quiet. Even within their bag they shifted and reassembled in subtle new patterns, as though yearning for a missing shape. I, dressed for sleep in a flowing negligee that drew a startled glance from the returning innkeeper's daughter, insisted on further study come morning. Yet sleep proved elusive. A living bird appeared at their window, soon joined by its mechanical twin. When Lizette attempted to heal the creature, the cat grew agitated.

Day 4
"Wake up," Mags yowled through my translation, batting insistently at my faces I followed her guidance to Lizette's room and there, half-hidden in shadow, crouched the intruder: a ragged spectral construct no taller than a forearm. It resembled a golem of string, rags, and glittering knickknacks, its form slick and mutable like a wet puddle given malicious intent. Eyes and blisters surfaced and sank across its shifting surface. It watched them with predatory patience, poised to smother and deliver its poison.

Keshah's blade came free in a heartbeat. Working together, we overpowered the creature before it could strike. It proved surprisingly strong for its size, yet no match for our combined efforts. We emptied a glass jar of its water and manoeuvred the squelching entity inside, where it bulged and twisted uselessly against the glass. Mags observed with feline satisfaction, offering cryptic warnings about the one who commanded such servants—the enchanter who saw through birds and bent winged things to his will. She urged them not to speak his name aloud - Maranor the Unholy.

As the inn settled into quiet once more, we regarded our captive. The puzzle-monster floated in its prison, a macabre trophy and a warning. Whatever plot swirled around the bones and the factions of Adjepbar, it had now reached their doorstep. The day would bring divinations and difficult choices, but for tonight they had turned a silent threat into a contained curiosity—and earned a few more sardonic compliments from the cat who had saved their sleep.

Chapter 21: Songbirds, Bones, and a Cat's Demands

Lizette divines the songbird's secrets as Magnificent looks on

In the upper room of the comfortable inn, Lizette closed her eyes and let her awareness sink into the delicate mechanisms of the songbird perched before her. Mana flowed from her in steady pulses as she worked two separate divinations, one after the other. The first revealed the bird as a greater summoning construct, animated to act as a spy. Highest rank on the mechanical bird: Wizard's Sight. It also has animation and a Wizard's Ear. I identified the species it looked like as a Peeping Russel. As for the ‘pond golem’ when its power faded it would disassemble, but not before delivering a more lethal purpose: it could smother a sleeping victim and force poison down their throat.

"It could probably drop little bits of itself into their cupped hands," Lizette murmured, eyes still distant.

Her companions absorbed the grim intelligence. The second working turned toward the jumbled bag of bones we had acquired. These proved far older and more complex, steeped in necromantic energies and blood magic that carried faint echoes of werewolves and shapechangers. The construct, when assembled, stood roughly eight feet tall and required the blood of a doppelganger or other mutable being to fully animate. Someone had carefully prepared it as the foundation for something far more dangerous.

"We'll split the important pieces," Keshah declared, separating the pelvis and a few other key bones so the skeleton could not easily be remade. We nodded; and he bones were divided and hidden among our gear.

As the morning advanced, Mags possessed a withering sense of sarcasm that needed no translation. When they attempted to explain their discoveries, the cat simply yawned.

"You smell the people and they give you food," Mags observed through lazy blinks. "Just like magic."

We could not help laughing. To a cat, it seemed, all worthy sorcery ultimately led to breakfast.

Downstairs the innkeeper's family had prepared a generous spread of porridge, honeyed bacon, twisted pastries, and curious crepes rolled with fruit and nuts. The landlady, upon hearing about the mechanical bird, shook her head in disbelief.

"A spy device? Here? Those are common tricks in the Western Kingdoms, but why would anyone bother watching my guests?" She glanced at the cat. "You should ask her where she found it."

We did. This particular bird proved to not come from the courtyard as a quick count soon accounted for all of them. Nothing unusual was discovered about them except that the last one had a spell called ‘Detect Spy’ on it. We also discovered that these mechanical songbirds could be obtained in the market place.

The conversation turned practical. The innkeeper asked a favour: her daughter had the evening free for the ongoing festival, and she wondered whether the trustworthy visitors might escort the young woman. We readily agreed. In return she promised a packed lunch and offered advice on local customs. Festival attire, it seemed, should be worn all day.

"We'll be back by one o'clock," we assured her.

After the meal we stepped into the sunlit streets of Adjepbar, Mags trotting imperiously at tour heels. I was convinced by Mags to give a dozing tomcat, Tommy, on a garden wall a gentle nudge, well Mags wanted him pushed off the fence but I thought that was a bit mean. The offended feline retaliated with a lightning swipe that left four deep scratches on my hand. Magic knit the wound closed before real damage could linger, but the message was clear: Adjepbar's cats suffered no fools.

Our destination was a market stall tended by a dwarf wearing an eyeglass. Exquisite mechanical songbirds gleamed on display, gem-eyed and delicately winged. The merchant tried to steer them toward cheaper models until he realised these customers understood exactly what they were buying. We were told that the cheaper models needed returning and recharging every two weeks but the more expensive ones could hold out for a year before the magic ran out. Installed in them was a spell called ‘Sunsong’.

"Top of the line," he admitted with a grin. "They'll last a good while longer than the common ones."

I purchased two of the finest, wrapped in ribboned boxes, along with a few simpler robins for experimentation. As we negotiated, Mags wound between their ankles, reminding them with periodic yowls that her patience, like her milk supply, had strict limits.

Chapter 22: Whispers of the Blue Tower

The mosaic artist at work on the Cat Lady’s grounds

The shopkeeper leaned back against his bench of half-assembled mechanisms, eyes narrowing as he studied the strangers before him. "I'm not sure I'm gonna divulge that information, you know?" he said, looking them up and down. "Yeah, you should be careful. There are stories. The cat told me." I replied.

When pressed, the tale unfolded. In a blue tower perched on the edge of the industrial district—past the red tower, amid rising smoke-stacks from the forges—an enchanter had lost something valuable inside a heavily trapped stronghold. The man, called Mungo or something near it, turned out to be Maranor the Unholy.,sought clever winged creatures to fly in and retrieve the prize. "He's got money," the shopkeeper added with a grimace, "but he smells terrible. Constant bad BO. You don't wanna be around him. And apparently he can control anything with wings."

The companions exchanged glances. We recalled the strange mechanical songbird that had perched upon our windowsill that morning. It had not flown away like any natural creature; instead it had brought an injured companion for healing—an act far outside ordinary avian behaviour. "It can't be a bird," one murmured. "Not really."

The shopkeeper shrugged. "That'll be that fella in the blue tower. Maybe you should have a chat with him—but be careful."

Before departing, conversation turned to commerce. I introduced myself as Dawn representing a leather concern from distant lands. The artisan’s eyes brightened at the mention of cowhide; such material was rare in Adjepbar. "If you've got nautical leather, I don't know how many gears I could work," he said. Details were exchanged, hands shaken, and a future meeting of merchants arranged with professional courtesy.

Thanking him for the pair of songbirds now in our care, we took our leave and made our way through the streets to the Cat Lady’s compound. The wooden building stood out among the adobe structures, its high fence smelling faintly of salt and age. A bell on a string summoned movement above. An elderly man peered down, his face weathered by decades and rumoured to have once tasted fire-drake blood.

"My tall lords, what brings you to our fine abode?"

"The cat has brought us here to speak to the Cat Lady," Keshah answered.

With a gracious nod he lowered a stout rope net. The fence itself rose fourteen feet, fashioned from the clinker-built hull of some forgotten ship, its planks now standing upright like battlements of driftwood and concrete. The party climbed, well, I flew, emerging onto an interior balcony that overlooked a scene of startling beauty.

Before us stretched a half-finished mosaic floor. An extravagantly dressed artist worked with serene concentration, arranging sands of a dozen hues into intricate patterns. Half a dozen peculiar brass instruments stood on spindly legs nearby, each pouring carefully measured pebbles. The man’s chief tool was a two-foot mechanism shaped like a splayed spider, its central body a flawless magnifying lens. Sunlight, focused through the glass, burned the coloured grains into fused glass pebbles that locked the design permanently in place. Where he had finished, the floor glowed like living jewellery; where he had not yet reached, plain cobblestones waited their transformation.

The artist spared the newcomers no glance, lost in the alchemy of light and stone. The old servant simply smiled, as though such wonders were everyday matters beneath the Cat Lady’s roof.

Chapter 23: Moonlight Mosaics and Feline Councils

Merda the Cat Lady receives the Wall Walkers in her sunlit court

The late morning light slanted across the high walls of the Cat Lady's estate as I launched into the air with Magnificent clutched safely in my arms. A few gasps rose from the street below while the cat's indignant meows trailed behind her. The climb to the top of the mosaicist's tower was swift, though Lizette's cloak briefly snagged on the stonework, forcing her to wriggle free with a rueful laugh. "I'll have to get used to this," she muttered.

The elderly man looked up, his eyes widening with delight at the sight of them. "That was very well done," he declared, to the artist, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Keep working like that and you'll make first mate in no time." He gestured proudly at the half-finished mosaic: depicting three figures battling tentacled fish-monsters from a small boat, every shard of glass fused into a shimmering masterpiece.

"It must be viewed from above," he explained, clearly hoping they would linger. When I drew near, the artist grew even more animated. "You would be magnificent under moonlight. I have just the lens for it." He produced a curious crystal and held it to the light. "Pose for me in four days' time. We could create something extraordinary." That would be the next full moon. I had to admit, I was rather curious about this. Besides, the mosaic itself was amazingly beautiful.

Lizette and I exchanged glances at the modelling proposal. Was he talking about posing nude? With a few carefully chosen words of namer magic, Lizette teased out the heart of his enchantment: moonlight. The sculptor beamed. "Yes! Come back when the moon is right. We shall have wine. Red, I think, for the young lady? It will be quite an experience." Though the conversation drifted toward practical concerns, the artist assured them his tower held its own defences against prying eyes. "No peeping here," he laughed. "Only art."

The old servant, who had watched the exchange with growing impatience, cleared his throat. "None of these side jobs," he grumbled, though his fondness for Magnificent was obvious. "We are here to see the Cat Lady. Merda." He led them down a spiral stair and through a series of coloured doors until they stepped into a wide, sun-bathed chamber. A dozen cats turned as one to regard the newcomers. An elderly woman with the unmistakable grace of a sentient cat-folk rose from her balcony seat, flanked by a younger cat-woman and the old man himself.

Merda's golden eyes swept over them. She meowed a long, intricate greeting to the assembled felines, then switched smoothly to the common tongue. "I am told you speak with cats," she said, clearly intrigued. The old servant explained his own gift with a touch of pride. "When I was young I drank the blood of a fire-drake. It lets me converse with household beasts." He added, almost as an afterthought, that he had once been something of a fairy knight before reforming his ways.

The Cat Lady settled onto a cushioned divan while her cats arranged themselves like a living tapestry. "You have come seeking guidance," she said. "Tell me of these bones."

Lizette and I took turns recounting what we had learned. The sack contained a jumble of minotaur and other bones, a necromantic construct that could be animated with the blood of a shapeshifter, a weir, or an innocent. Several factions in Adjepbar hungered for it. The Goat Cult and their First Lords wished to wield the creature against the ruins of Kurkul. The fish-folk of the harbour sought to carry it to the ocean depths to purify poisoned waters. Doppelgangers schemed in the shadows, and the ratfolk seemed desperate to be rid of the whole affair.

Merda listened without interruption, her tail flicking thoughtfully. "The doppelgangers hold one skull and threaten the ratfolk with it," she murmured. "The bones themselves are said to drink in necromantic energy, growing stronger as they consume the dead. Some believe they could cleanse an entire city of undeath. Others simply wish to loose chaos."

Keshah leaned forward. "Cleaning the ocean sounds like the noblest cause. But what of the skull we lack?"

The old servant gave a crafty smile. "I have a plan for that. There is an evil shapechanger in the city. If we force it to assume the form of a cyclops and petrify it at the moment we strike, we may claim a cyclops skull. With that, the construct could be completed on our terms."

I accepted the grim suggestion with a nod of thanks, trying not to show my misgivings. Around us the cats watched with unblinking intensity, as though weighing the souls of these tall, curious strangers. Sunlight glinted on the distant mosaic tower, a reminder that beauty and danger often shared the same walls in Adjepbar. The conversation had only begun, but already the weight of prophecies and rival ambitions pressed upon them like the city's own ancient stones.

Chapter 24: Charms, Spirits, and Cyclops Skulls

Merda the Cat Lady strikes a blood bargain with the Wall Walkers

The talk turned to the city's restless ghosts. Merda knew of a murder that had occurred a couple of nights ago that could be relevant Keshah confessed he could see spirits naturally and could investigate. Merda's ears twitched with interest. "I have the place of death," she said. "If the victim's spirit lingers, could you speak with it? I would pay well for the truth of what happened."

We exchanged glances. When Lizette quietly revealed her mastery of restorative arts, capable even of returning life to the dead, Merda's expression brightened with calculation. She then looked at me since I was the one with wings. "In that case, your blood, properly purified by Lizette’s gifts, could serve a greater purpose. We could craft a charm to protect you from the enchanter who dwells in the blue tower. He has a fondness for winged creatures, and a sentient who can fly would be irresistible to him."

I leaned forward, allowing my Air Wings to flicker into visibility for a moment by fluttering them so she could see the movement. "What would this charm do, exactly?" I asked. Merda gestured with a graceful paw. "An amulet of distraction, perhaps, to veil your power and beauty so you appear unremarkable. The enchanter would waste little effort on you. In exchange for investigating the murder scene and questioning any spirit you find there, I will provide such protections, along with introductions among the city's factions." I was thinking Lizette would also need some sort of Amulet to hide her Physical Beauty. Even I felt some sort of attraction for her but didn’t want to try anything with a fellow party member. After all, it hadn’t worked with Lila. I was also looking a little pale as they seemed to be talking a LOT of blood to make the Amulet.

Keshah considered the offer carefully, weighing the dangers of the blue tower against the value of Merda's goodwill. The group spoke of doppelgangers seeking refuge, of mechanical songbirds and circling political interests, but the immediate bargain felt solid. By the time the discussion drew to a close, the Wall Walkers had agreed to visit the site of the killing before the spirit's trail grew any colder. Outside, the sun stood at its zenith on the third day of their stay in Adjepbar, and the intricate game of favours and secrets had only just begun.

Night 5

Chapter 25: The Healing of Elves and the Fevered Procession

The fevered procession of statues winds through Adjepbar as the companions observe from a rooftop sanctuary.

We slipped down from our high perch. Keshah landed lightly on his feet, while Lizette followed with equal grace. Aurora extended her invisible wings and glided silently to the cobbles, the group reforming without drawing undue attention from passers-by on the lamplit street below.

My keen senses caught a furtive huddle of figures off to one side, but the tempting aromas of lamb, cinnamon, and crackling pork from a nearby bakery soon distracted me. Before I could dwell on the odd blue dust I had smelt earlier, a well-dressed young hobbit came sprinting up. "My lord," he panted, "are you the ones who visited the Elvish fighting school?" He pressed a note into Keshah's hand and dashed away.

The message spoke of an alteration at the port involving the Navy from Albertsburg. Deciding the school lay on their route, the party quickened their pace. What they found was no simple dockside dispute. A tense stand-off gripped the atrium. Dwarves and hobbits on one side of the street, warily eyeing a group of elves on the other. Inside, blood stained the stones and two young elves lay injured.

The Grandmaster recognised us at once and gestured toward a side door. Tension hung thick in the air; armed figures crowded the staircases. One elf had suffered a punctured lung and poisoning. Lizette set to work, first drawing out the toxin. The elf coughed up a wriggling black slug that splashed onto the floor. A helpful young man produced an empty potion bottle, and the creature was safely contained. Ribs were mended, bruises tended. The elf's colour returned as bones knit and breath came freely again.

Questioning revealed the fight had begun when dwarves and hobbits objected to the school's teachings. A duel had been demanded; their captain was humiliatingly defeated three times. Rumours, it seemed, had poisoned more than just the wounded elf. Talk turned to a blue enchanter stirring trouble, possibly linked to the blue dust plaguing the districts, and to the two young women travelling with the party who had drawn unwanted eyes. The Grandmaster offered aid should they need strong arms, and one of the healed elves extended a dinner invitation towards me for the following night, aboard a lantern-lit boat. It actually sounded interesting so I accepted.

No sooner had we finished than a dwarf captain approached. "Lady Lizette, you are under arrest. Come with us to the palace at once." The same command fell upon me which had me rather puzzled. Though the wording was blunt, resistance seemed unwise. The dwarves proved courteous escorts, allowing the party to stop at their inn so I could change onto something more appropriate and courtly. I emerged in a sky-blue royal ball gown that shimmered with gem-dust sparkles, complemented by an ever-blooming crimson rose pinned to the bodice. The effect was breathtaking.

At the palace gates, repairs from earlier damage had rendered the courtyard pristine once more. The Chamberlain himself greeted us—the very man a previous party had nearly resurrected on a previous visit. He was all gracious smiles and politely rebuked us for not announcing our arrival sooner. "The heroes of Adjepbar should have been received at once," he said, eyes lingering on me, which was making me rather nervous.. I was even presented with a sash that I was told aided in pregnancy, which had me really worried for a bit. Rooms were offered but politely declined in favour of our current lodgings. After a brief audience and assurances of future welcome, we were released with an escort back to the inn.

Marian, our young charge, awaited us. Apologies for lateness were met with understanding, though rumours of marriage proposals and palace business had already circulated. Changing back into more practical attire, the group set out once more, cutting across town toward the port district. Chants of goat-wielding cultists echoed from back alleys.

The streets opened onto an astonishing spectacle. Sixteen colossal marble statues, each many times the height of a man, were being hauled toward some unknown destination. Hundreds of citizens swarmed the procession, chanting and cheering. Teams of fifteen muscular workers heaved at ropes and poles, swapping with fresh hands while others drove wedges and worked block-and-tackle rigs scavenged from ships. Scented oil and flower petals filled the air. I felt the temperature around the statues rising unnaturally; the oil carried a spice that left humans flushed and exhilarated, their hearts racing with an almost drunken fervour.

Lizette and Marian showed signs of breathing the vapour, though it posed no immediate danger but I decided to employ Vapour Breathing spells on us all as a safety precaution. Keshah lifted Marian onto his shoulders so she could see better over the crowd. From second- and third-story windows and rooftops, watchful elves observed with bows at rest. Spotting us, a lithe elven woman slipped through the throng whom I admired for her agility.. She greeted Keshah warmly and extended an invitation from Lady Olga: to join them on the roof of the next red-brick house for a clearer, more peaceful view.

We ascended an outer staircase into a jasmine-scented rooftop garden. Lady Olga and her companions—dark-elven, fair-elven, and human women—bowed in greeting. Mind-speech was cast so all could converse above the roar of the streets. Olga inquired politely about our presence in Adjepbar. Keshah spoke of leather trade, while the others admitted curiosity about recent troubles: the bones of the Earl, goat cultists seeking them to cleanse an undead-haunted city abandoned centuries ago.

"Caston," Olga murmured. "It fell on hard times long ago." She confirmed the desert spice drifting on the breeze, a festival tradition that inflamed human passions but left elves largely untouched. As the massive statues ground onward below, propelled by sweat-slicked teams and ecstatic crowds, the companions felt the city's layered intrigues tightening around them like invisible threads.

Chapter 26: Whispers Above the Scented Procession

Conversations on the balcony as the festival procession passes below

The air hung thick with the sharp, invigorating scent of blue spice as teams of men and women below thrashed the road with birch switches. The oil they spread rose in vaporous clouds, catching the late light and lending a fevered energy to every movement. On the balcony above, the elf that had invited us up here watched the slow procession with a warrior's idle vigilance, her bow nearly as tall as she was.

"It makes men work harder," the elf explained, her voice carrying the easy cadence of one accustomed to courtly talk, "and women grow more... observant. No addictive qualities, of course. It's traditional for the festivals. The heat from the statues helps the vapour spread." She glanced sidelong at her listeners. "The young women love it."

I stood a little apart, still adjusting to the city's exuberant customs. When I complimented the immense bow, and compared it to my own bow, the conversation turned personal. The tall elf regarded her with quiet amusement. "I'm not that experienced with such attention," she admitted. "I usually avoid it.". I had to agree with that but added "Depends who's offering the attention,"

A faint smile. "Clearly you've been meeting the wrong sort. You should visit the Elvish court sometime. I had to admit I had never been.

We spoke of origins then—Alfheim and its high elves, the freer ways of wood elves in the outlying forests. I described herself as young for her kind, only recently joined to the Seagate Adventures Guild. The taller elf, whom I shall refer to as Cleo, studied me with new interest. "If you have things to learn, you're in good hands with Keshah. My great-aunt once described Keshah as magnificent."

The talk drifted from courtly dalliances to matters of the heart. I ended up confessing my wariness, the way I kept suitors at arm's length. Cleo’s eyes sparkled with recognition. "All sentences in Adjepbar begin and end with the love of a good woman," she observed. When conversation turned to the sash the palace master had given her—intended to ensure a healthy pregnancy—the elf translated the courtly blessing with gentle humour, then teased my limited understanding of water mages – which was true.

Below, the statue-bearers continued their laborious march, the crowd's fervour rising as the day waned. Marion remained transfixed by the spectacle, while Lizette listened with a healer's quiet concern. When talk shifted to the violent trials unfolding in the streets, Cleo grew serious. "Keshah is a good man," she warned, "but the body count would be high before the mob tore him apart defending you. They have their own healers. Do not meddle in the affairs of humans unless you wish to choose sides. Some blood must be spilled for the spectacle to hold meaning."

Lizette's discomfort was plain. "I never liked it when preventable deaths occur under the guise of sport." Yet the elf's counsel was firm: the injured would not thank an outsider's interference.

As the light began to fail, conversation turned lighter. Plans for dinners aboard harbour boats, invitations from lords' sons and princesses, and the promise of future festivals in the sands north of the city. Cleo spoke of golden lizards whose fresh blood granted air mages the ability to converse with creatures of earth and sky. I was already gifted in such magics, and weighed the convenience against the chaos of constant chatter from every bird and beast.

Then a small, furry shape appeared at the edge of the balcony—a ratman, short-tailed and cautious. He waved us toward a shadowed passage. I crouched to his level so as not to loom. "An acquaintance of mine," I explained to the others as I attempted to get the Speak with Animals spell off, succeeding on the second try.

The creature's whiskers twitched. "We will meet you after dark and take you to the scene of the murder."

"Unless we already know it," I answered.

"Very good. We will see you at the alley." The ratman slipped back into the gloom, leaving the companions to contemplate the evening's darker obligations. The festival's drums still throbbed below, but the true work of the night lay ahead.

Chapter 27: Blue Spice and Clockwork Gifts

Evening indulgences and the cat's curious gift

We trudged back to their rooms, the weight of the evening's revelations still clinging to them. The spirit had shown them the site of a murder from long ago, and the danger had been real. Yet Marian's mother looked visibly relieved as we arrived, her shoulders loosening with the knowledge that the night had been worth it. She had seen too much already; a little ringing in the ears from the blast was a small price.

To my surprise and delight, Cleo had offered to come back with me so we excused ourselves for a bath while the others unpacked. Supper arrived in fragrant waves: cinnamon, nutmeg, and the distinctive metallic tang of blue spice woven through a cake that invited investigation. "It's rare," their host explained with a knowing smile. "It lasts for seasons and finds its way into most everything. Some say it carries a touch of magic."

Star-shaped biscuits with vivid blue icing followed. "Three and no more," came the firm instruction. Lizette accepted the warning, yet the flavour proved treacherous. Each bite doubled the joy of the last, until she was shaking and the tray had to be taken away. She salvaged the final crumb as an offering before the urge overpowered her completely. The others felt it too, that bright spike of delight that made ordinary food taste suddenly bitter by comparison.

In their chambers a servant delivered a tray of hardened dates, twisted breads, and fruit, all laced with the same blue dust. "Of course it's in them," he said when asked. "It goes in all the food here." Conversation turned to its effects: euphoric happiness followed, he warned, by a deep sadness the next morning. Still, lamb rolls were ordered, extra portions set aside for me when I returned from my soak.

While they ate, the mages turned their attentions to more arcane matters. Divination on that sash revealed a gentle regenerative power that awakened only in the presence of injury, along with a blessing for unborn children and an easing of childbirth. Useful, if narrowly situational. Then the cookies called again. Their magic was mild, born of something once living, and each one intensified the pleasure of the previous bite until restraint became difficult. "Fifteen or twenty might kill you with sheer dopamine," Keshah observed wryly. To prevent that happening to Lizette who was trying to eat the lot, the remaining biscuits were banished into a portable hole.

Only then did they notice the clockwork bird resting in the middle of my bedroom floor. It was not the one she had purchased earlier; that piece still lay boxed. This metallic creature bore fresh claw marks across its surface, dragged in by the ever-meddlesome cat. "Magnificence must have caught it," one of them guessed. The bird itself was inanimate now, though faint traces of prior enchantment lingered.

Down in the bathhouse, I submerged herself, the water-breathing ring cool against my finger. I kept my head above water at first, then thought better of it, letting the ring do its work. Mouth closed, senses stretched wide, I floated in the warm silence and waited while enjoying Cleo’s ministrations.. I frowned as I detected something moving at the edge of my perception, just beyond the tiled walls.

Chapter 28: Sirens, Cookies, and the Hunter's Prize

Magnificence delivers her prize

The faint melody drifted upward through the water like a half-remembered dream. The moment the notes reached them, both companions surfaced quickly, exchanging wary glances. "Another siren," I muttered. After my last encounter with such creatures, neither wished to investigate further. We climbed from the pool, dressed, and made our way back through the tiled corridors to the safety of my room.

We opened the door to a peculiar scene. Lizette knelt on the floor, arms raised in supplication, her face a mask of desperate longing. Keshah held her firmly by one wrist, preventing her from reaching the plate of treats. "Do I want to know what's going on?" I asked dryly.

"Don't eat the blue cookies," Keshah warned. "They're addictive."

What followed was a long, increasingly mathematical conversation about exactly how addictive they were. I tallied the escalating pleasure each biscuit delivered, doubling with every bite until the numbers grew absurd. "Two to the power of six... or was it ten?" Lizette managed between pleas. By the time they finished calculating, it was clear the treats had overwhelmed her willpower. The addiction, they hoped, would fade after sleep.

A soft knock interrupted us. The young servant boy stood in the doorway, offering a red cookie on a small tray. "My mother said you might be in need of this," he explained. The red variety, it seemed, would help counteract the blue. We accepted it gratefully, noting the boy's discretion.

Meanwhile, Mags, the cat who preferred to be addressed as Her Magnificence, strode through the open door with tail held high. At my feet she dropped a mechanical bird, its neck cruelly twisted. "It was trying to spy on me?" I exclaimed, stroking the triumphant feline. Moments later, Mags coughed up a writhing black slug that hit the floor with a wet sound. A swift stomp ended the parasite's existence, bringing visible relief to everyone present.

"Who's the smartest hunter amongst us?" I cooed, as the cat curled contentedly into my lap. "You are a magnificent pursuer." The praise seemed to please Mags immensely. From the doorway, Cleo watched with amusement. "Are you going to be stroking that pussy long?" she asked, the double meaning unmistakable. I turned scarlet while the group could only laugh, acknowledging that, for now at least, the cat's will remained firmly in control.

Chapter 29: The Cat's Insistent Counsel

Breakfast with Magnificence, where even the cat has opinions on the coming night's intrigues.

The last conversations of the night faded as we retired retired. We checked their rooms for hidden threats before sleep claimed them, the enigmatic cat padding alongside with promises to guard the open window. Mags was no ordinary beast; through some ancient pact or potion from distant isles, it could make its thoughts known, and it took full advantage of the privilege.

Day 5
Dawn arrived with a gentle tap at the door. A young servant girl entered bearing trays of steaming porridge, eggs wrapped in crisp bacon sprinkled with sesame, and wriggling delicacies that testified to their freshness. The bacon still twitched on the hot plate, a local custom that drew mixed reactions from the visitors. Keshah sampled the water first, wary of the thick green drink that seemed to stain the teeth, while Lizette bore faint traces of cookie crumbs from the night before.

No sooner had the trays settled than the cat appeared, voicing imperious demands through its spell. "Feed me," she insisted, leaping onto a lap with practised entitlement. The companions obliged with strips of bacon and a saucer of milk, all while exchanging amused barbs. The cat complained about rough handling and slow service, prompting stories of past feline misadventures and backhands that ended with claws.

Between bites, conversation turned to more serious matters. The cat recounted its interrogation of a courtyard bird before dispatching it. The creature had tried to bribe its way to safety with "words of power" meant for the sick, though the cat had dismissed the offer. Examination confirmed traces of strange magic on the broken bird, raising questions about its true nature and purpose. Was it one of the mechanical spies rumoured to haunt the city, or something sent by the enchanters whose shadows seemed to lengthen each night?

The language tutor arrived for the morning lesson, along with Marian, who blushed at the sight of Keshah, and raised her eyebrows at the noisy cat now presiding over the gathering. The lesson was frequently interrupted as the cat was gently but firmly removed from the room, only to return with indignant meows. During a lull, we asked a servant girl to carry a message to the lady of the house: that something had sung from the depths of the temperate pool, a siren-like presence that warranted investigation. The girl promised to relay the warning at once.

As the lesson continued, the tutor shared the tragic tale of two lovers from rival families in old Adjepbar. Denied union by their houses, they had sung to each other across the harbour in the trade tongue, their voices carrying on the night wind until fate intervened. Cleo listened with raised brows, clearly entertained by the chaotic household she had joined.

By the time the trays were cleared and the cat had been appeased with one final piece of bacon, the group's thoughts turned outward. The mechanical bird still required further divination, but more pressing was the plan forming for the evening. They would go over the back wall tonight, slipping into the palace grounds to speak with the major domo and unravel the threads of intrigue that had drawn them to Adjepbar. The cat, watching with half-lidded eyes, seemed to approve of the mischief to come.

Chapter 30: Whirring Gears and Vanishing Footsteps

The dismantled mechanical bird and the silent pool where Marian vanished.

In the garden behind the house, a small mechanical bird perched among the leaves, its intricate gears clicking softly as it drank in the sunlight. "Is this a live bird or a mechanical one?" I asked. The answer came quickly: it was winding itself up, recharging for another flight.

Determined to examine the curious construct, I called forth invisible wings and fluttered upward. The bird proved elusive, hopping nimbly from branch to branch and leaving its pursuer thrashing among the twigs. A colourful goblin oath escaped in frustration. Below, suggestions flew back and forth until a bow was raised. The arrow found its mark; the bird spiralled down in a clatter of metal and feathers.

Gathering the scattered pieces revealed remarkable craftsmanship. The mainspring had been wound so tightly that the impact had shaken the entire mechanism apart. It gave one last feeble chirp, a large cog spinning uselessly before the device ran down completely, its small red eye flickering out. "Put it in the sunlight," someone offered. "Maybe it'll charge up." But the bird remained lifeless in their hands. I collected the components, and the group debated its origins. The work seemed too fine for the marketplace tinkerer; perhaps the enigmatic figure in the tower had crafted it, or maybe the merchant simply kept a hidden workshop busy replacing the devices as fast as they were lost.

I eyed the broken thing thoughtfully. "I'm tempted to take the other one down and get it fixed. We thought he was a Binder, right?" Before the conversation could deepen, voices rose from inside the house. Descending the stairs, the party found the family in distress. The mother spoke urgently with the farmer and their two daughters while the young boy tugged at sleeves.

"She went down there about ten minutes ago," he explained, wide-eyed. "I just went to check and she's not there at all. Her clothes have been folded up next to the pool. I can show you." The metal-tempered bathing pool shimmered at the bottom of the stairs. The party exchanged grim looks. "We are definitely going to deal with this," one declared.

As we followed the boy toward the water, I sighed. "Well, it's happened. I think I'm going to end up having a singing competition with a siren. The last time I did that, it didn't turn out well." Lizette offered a reassuring nod. "Maybe I can help back you up. I do the singing, but more of the courtly style." Together we approached the pool, the folded clothes a silent warning of whatever had claimed Marian from the water's edge.

Night 6

Chapter 31: The Ghost in the Bathhouse

The vengeful ghost emerges in the bathhouse

In the upper room of the inn, we spoke quietly of Marian's disappearance. She had gone down to the back-house baths the night before and simply vanished. Cleo and I (Aurora) had heard an eerie song rising from the park below, like the call of a siren, but had decided against investigating in the darkness. Now, with morning light, we resolved to face whatever waited in those waters. I was fully expecting to be going underwater so I dressed in my two piece scaly swimsuit, added a belt with beltpouches and my maingauche - since my Spirit Dagger was already safely hidden in my leg - and put practical walking boots on my feet. As it turned out, I was wrong - so very wrong - but at least the dwarves appreciated it.

A knock sounded at the door. The young lad, Marian's brother, stood trembling on the threshold, his face wet with tears. "It's all right," Keshah told him gently. "We're gearing up to go get your sister back."

The boy looked at our gathered faces. "They found her," he said.

We hurried downstairs together. At the top of the staircase leading to the baths was the common room. There, a crowd had gathered. An angry-looking dwarf stood among them, and the faces of the onlookers were pale. One of the house workers covered her eyes. We pushed through into the common area where breakfast was normally served.

All eyes were fixed on something on the floor. It was a leg, severed near the thigh. The dwarf had found the remains in the bath and brought what he could upstairs. I stepped forward to examine it. The wound appeared natural rather than clean-cut, marked by multiple punctures from very sharp teeth. Keshah noticed a small tattoo of a bow just behind the thigh. Though the limb was the right size for a child of twelve or so, its pallor and other details convinced us it did not belong to Marian. Plus it was not customary in this region to tattoo a child so young.

The innkeeper's wife, who had been crying, approached. When Keshah quietly assured her the leg was not her daughter's, relief washed over her so strongly that she began to faint. Lizette caught her before she struck the floor and passed the woman to another for care.

We questioned the dwarf. He had discovered the partial remains beside the bath with no sign of the rest of the body. No magic lingered on the limb. While the innkeeper's wife recovered, we spoke with three young women among the staff: the baker, the milkmaid, and the housemaid. The women exchanged uneasy glances when the word "siren" was mentioned. Instead they told of a ghost, a young man named Jock who had once been interested in both the milkmaid and the housemaid. A fight had broken out and someone had died. Since then the spirit had lingered, making small things disappear and, on rare occasions, harming the living. The dwarf also handed us three coins, two gold, one silver, and he told us to put them into our mouths as they would provide some sort of protection – luck and steady nerves he said.

Thanking the women, we descended the stairs into the bathhouse corridor. The air was warm and damp, lit by lamps that cast shadows across skeleton-themed mosaics. Wooden benches lined the walls, some overturned, with clothing scattered across the floor. Three archways opened into a single chamber holding tiered pools: one hot, one warm, one cool, fed by polished stone steps worn smooth by generations of feet.

A wet slopping sound echoed from deeper inside. Then the temperature plummeted. From the corner of our eyes we saw a ghostly figure burst from the wall, a young man with an angry face and a head that had been smashed in. He swung at my back as I was placing one of the gold coins in my mouth, but I stepped aside at the last instant and the apparition plunged straight through the floor. A faint crackle lingered in the chilled air.

Moments later, black slug-like creatures with six legs dropped from the ceiling onto Keshah and myself. Lizette spotted them immediately. "There are some on you as well," she warned, turning so her companion could see her own back. The creatures were dispatched quickly, one revealing yellow stripes that suggested poison. They had come from somewhere above, perhaps the sewers. Inky black droplets began to fall from the ceiling in half a dozen places. The party moved clear, advancing cautiously beneath the archway into the pool room.

The ghost returned. This time it emerged from the wall with a desperate cry: "Help me!" before collapsing once more through the floor and vanishing. The timing suggested it took the spirit roughly thirty seconds to reappear. Whether it had meant to attack or simply reached out in some tormented loop was difficult to say. The companions stood ready in the damp silence, weapons that could strike spirits held before them, listening for the next slopping footfall in the water.

Chapter 32: The Ghost in the Runes

The Ghost's Warning

The spectral figure lunged toward me before collapsing into the shimmering net of runes Keshah had drawn in the air, in order to trap it.. Blood still trickled from the cut on Keshah's leg where the runes had been inscribed. The ghost, a young man who would have been handsome were it not for the deathly pallor and hollow eyes, fell to one knee within the trap.

"You ask for help or do you need help?" Keshah asked gently. The ghost's voice carried the hollow echo of the restless dead. "There's a terrible monster. A terrible monster. I tried warning everyone. No one can hear me."

We pressed him with questions. The creature lived in a crypt through the walls at the end of the hallway. It was dark and terrible, with claws and teeth. The ghost admitted he had trouble moving, that he had been hit in the head from behind while in the bathhouse. Friends had been present, but his memory faltered. He seemed newly dead, still confused, lacking the drifting certainty of older spirits.

"Usually these cities like Adjepbar are built atop older ones," I observed. "There could be a secret tunnel connecting the bath to whatever lies beneath." Before we could investigate further, the bone sculpture mounted on the bathhouse wall began to stir. The decorative assemblage of remains animated, pulling free as a hulking construct of three creatures' bones fused together. Teeth gnashed in the dim light.

We fell back in alarm. I retreated around the corner as the skeletal horror advanced. We raced up the spiral staircase to the common room above, where a stout dwarf had already positioned three round shields to barricade the doors. The dwarf stood ready with weapon in hand, having heard the blood-curdling screams from below. That had been Lizette. Us elves are fairly immune to the fear effects of the undead, but Lizette was not.

"Skeletons down there? Plus necromancy?" the dwarf growled. "There's crooks near the bottom everywhere. Somebody's incorporated skeletons into the very walls." He pressed a tankard of good dwarven ale into our hands, offering blunt advice between swallows, mostly at Lizette. "You don't go mucking around with that bad stuff. You either zap it or you blast it or you throw a hammer. You're the weaker race. Hide between the rocks and try not to run away." The dwarven ale proved to be rather fortifying and Lizette was able to collect herself enough to cure the mental damage that she had suffered. Besides, if a dwarf offers you good dwarven ale, it would be the height of rudeness to refuse it.

Fortified and steadied, the adventurers descended once more. Keshah maintained distance from the troubling black patch on the floor that radiated supernatural fear, while I took the lead. I had already extracted my Spirit Dagger from my leg and had it, and the maingauche ready. At the bottom of the stairs we felt a sudden change in air pressure. Then the walls moved. Black crystals rained from the ceiling, splattering and coalescing into dozens of slick, inch-long slugs. Some merged into larger horrors a foot long, ringed with circular teeth and possessing three eyes. One of the larger creatures seemed to prepare a spell.

I acted swiftly, summoning a powerful blast of air that hurled the entire squirming mass down the corridor. The creatures smashed against the far wall with terrible force, many bursting apart while the black patches that spawned them diminished. The fear that had gripped us began to fade.

Pressing forward, we reached a heavy door at the corridor's end. The ghost appeared once more, struggling to hold it open from the other side. I found a sturdy bench and jammed it firmly into the doorway to keep the passage clear. Beyond lay inky darkness and the unmistakable stench of death. Keshah's light spell, cast upon a rune on his staff, pushed back the shadows to reveal a corpse—little more than bones now, missing a leg bone, dead no more than three months.

A sulphurous hot-water drain ran through a gutter cut into the rock, confirming this crypt connected to the bathhouse above. The tunnel opened into a much larger chamber. Ancient sarcophagi lined the walls, their stone lids carved with lunar-eyed figures and dates suggesting three hundred years or more. One lid stood slightly askew, leaving gaps at the edges. Something dark and tar-like bubbled beneath it.

Careful inspection revealed small holes in the stone and the distinctive tracks of grave scorpions. When Keshah shifted the lid further, the light fell upon a remarkably well-preserved pair of boots and leggings inside—too fresh for the tomb's age, suggesting recent necromantic interference. The body attached to those legs remained hidden for now, but the threat of swarming scorpions and whatever else stirred in the crypt made clear they had found the source of the evil the ghost had tried so desperately to reveal.

Chapter 33: The Spectral Champion's Warning

The spectral champion warns the Wall Walkers of the evil below.

The sarcophagus lid grated sideways as the party shoved it clear, revealing a well-preserved body of a large human warrior laid within. Keshah stepped back warily. Before our eyes the form began to animate, flesh stirring with unholy life. Yet something else rose first: a spectral, ghostly apparition that separated from the corpse and took the shape of a striking male warrior.

"Champions of the realm," the apparition declared, "you have come at last. This is good. There is an evil presence here. It must be defeated." His voice carried the weight of long vigilance. "It carries a black whip and a shield which eats the souls of those that gaze upon it. Take care. You are most suited for dealing with this enemy."

The spectral champion looked exhausted. With those final words he faded away, and the body collapsed inert once more.

We stood in uneasy silence. It was me that urged turning back, citing the little girl who still needed rescue and the feeling that we were travelling the wrong path. Keshah insisted we press on; as retreat would only mean retracing their steps through water and darkness. As we debated, a new sound reached us from ahead: the scrabbling of claws.

A dog-sized rat emerged from the tunnel, larger than any common vermin. It rose onto its hind legs and addressed them directly. "Keshah," it said, "the others have told me you are working on the quest of the bones. Be quick. There is an evil creature who has charmed a few of my brethren, and I think they mean to kill that young girl. There is an altar—make sure she does not die on it. She will be forever lost."

The rat offered to lead us. I pulled out my Draw Mage Robes that I had shoved in one of the larger belt pouches and put it on over my swimsuit for extra magical protection. We then followed the large rat (raus?) through passages that dipped low then rose again until they reached the edge of a drop. Thirty feet below and forty feet across lay a torchlit chamber. A girl was tied by all four limbs to a stone altar. At its head stood a human figure waving a sacrificial dagger, ranting in a strange mixture of Common, Elvish, and Hobbitish words. Around him milled dozens of rat creatures—most wolf-sized—moving with unnatural, charmed obedience. On the far wall gaped a dark, warty cave entrance ringed by jagged tooth-like stones. Hot steam rolled from it, pierced occasionally by sullen red-black light. The Hellmouth, I named it.

The party acted at once. I enhanced Keshah’s arrows with Arrow Flight magic while Lizette prepared spells to counter the Necromantic magic. Enchanted shafts flew true at the dagger wielding human Necromancer. Several rats shook off their compulsion and fled in confusion. I launched into the air, soaring across the gap on a bombing run of knockout gas that spread over the gathered creatures before landing beside the altar. Steel flashed as bonds were sliced away—mostly rags and cloth—freeing the girl, Marian

From below, a different voice rose in panic. "No, no—slay her with the dagger before it's too late! You will complete the quest, my friends!"

A second human lunged for the fallen dagger. Before he could use it, pain struck the rescuers like a hammer. A hidden necromancer had unleashed a terrible spell. Keshah and I convulsed as our joints twisted and popped with unnatural rigor; our hearts stuttering and our limbs locking in agony. Though the worst passed after long, wrenching moments, the lingering pain left us moving at half speed, sweat-streaked and swearing.

The remaining rats scattered. The necromancer who had seized the dagger dropped it again, reeling. As the chamber emptied, a third spellcaster was revealed. He screamed at the intruders, face twisted with fury.

"You fools! It will come out and devour you all!"

Night 7

Chapter 1: The Young Lad's Tears

The tearful brother arrives as the Wall Walkers prepare to face the siren

In the lightless room the call went up at once: "Hello, sir. Why we have no light? Let's all have infravision."

Talk turned at once to the mystery that had kept them awake the night before. Miriam had gone down to the back house and simply vanished; the place itself was now folded up tight by the edge of the bath, offering no sign of her. Cleo and another had heard the unmistakable sound of a siren singing from the bottom of the park. They had decided against investigating in the darkness then, but that decision was reversed; they were definitely investigating now.

"She's trapped by a water thing," one reminded the rest. Memories of an earlier clash with a siren were still raw; the creature had not been easily bested. Speculation followed on whether such beings attacked the elderly or relied on their charming song. Several voices admitted they were probably susceptible themselves, and the tactics for breaking free were quietly rehearsed.

A knock sounded at the door. When it opened, the young lad stood on the threshold, face wet with tears yet trying to hold himself steady. "It's okay," the party told him, "we're just gearing up to go get your sister back now."

The boy looked from one face to the next. "It's alright," he answered, "they found her."

Hoping to steady him, one of the Wall Walkers drew on military science to rally the lad. It was true he had not trained long with them, yet he had taken orders before and obeyed without faltering. Another adventurer made it clear he would stay out of the front line. "I'll be sitting there casting hand spells."

Still the young lad wept. One among them stepped forward to offer what comfort could be given. "But first, the sister," the comforter said. With the boy in their care they left the room, descended the stairs, and took him with them to help however he might.

Below, an angry-looking dwarf was visible over the railing, and a gathering of people had formed around the top of the stairwell, their voices rising in a single uneasy murmur.

Chapter 2: The Leg in the Bathhouse

The ghost of Jock emerges in the bathhouse

From the top of the staircase overlooking the common area, the companions gazed down at a grim gathering. Pale-faced guests and house workers clustered near the pool, one servant covering her face in horror. An angry dwarf stood among them, his gaze fixed on something in the water. The crowd parted as the adventurers approached, making way for Aurora in her fine red leather armor, shield strapped across her back and concern etched on her features.

They descended into the breakfast hall that doubled as the bathhouse entrance. There, floating on the surface, was a single leg. The dwarf captain, a sturdy figure named Kim, explained what had happened. "I went down there," he growled. "Found her dead in the bath, next to the pool. No sign of the rest of the body. I grabbed what I could and came upstairs."

Aurora, Kesha, and Lizette pressed closer to examine the limb. It showed signs of a violent severing—clean in some places, marked by what looked like multiple sharp wounds in others. No trace of magic lingered upon it. Kesha spotted something unusual just behind the thigh: a small tattoo of a bow. The leg seemed too small and too pale to belong to any of the missing girls they knew, certainly not Cleo, who had been taller. "It's not Cleo," Kesha announced loudly. "It's not Miriam either."

The innkeeper, a woman who had been hovering nearby, let out a sharp breath at those words. Relief washed over her face, but it proved too much; her knees buckled as she fainted. Lizette moved swiftly, catching her before she struck the floor and easing her into the care of one of the young mages, who helped the woman breathe steadily.

"We still have a mission," Lizette said quietly to the others. "A child is missing."

The group turned their attention to the three young women among the staff—the baker, the milkmaid, and the housemaid—who had been exchanging uneasy glances. When questioned about their nervousness and the strange sounds from the water, they hesitated before speaking. "It's a ghost," one of them whispered. "A whitey ghost. There was a young man called Jock. He was interested in both the milkmaid and the housemaid. They fought over him, and one of them died. Now his ghost takes revenge. Sometimes makes things go missing."

"Ghosts don't usually bite off limbs," Aurora observed. The girls had no answer for that, only nervous shrugs before they slipped away to their duties.

Leaving the upper floor, Aurora descended the stairs into the lower bath corridor. The air grew heavier, carrying the scent of warm water and minerals. Three arched entrances led to the tiered bathing pools, where the hottest water flowed down into cooler ones. Mosaics of skeletons danced across the walls in the city's distinctive artistic style, and buckets with sponges sat ready for patrons. Stools held discarded clothing, some of it torn and overturned.

A sloshing sound echoed from the pool room. Then came the unmistakable chill. From the corner of her eye, Aurora saw a ghostly figure burst from the wall—a young man with an angry face, wearing what looked like a stovepipe hat. The apparition swung at her back in one fluid motion before vanishing into the floor. The temperature plummeted, leaving a crackle in the air. Both Aurora and Kesha had witnessed it clearly. Aurora, who had been placing a coin in her mouth as a precaution against whatever lurked in the waters, had dodged at just the right moment.

"It looked like he meant to go through the floor," Kesha said, "or perhaps he lost control."

The group readied their weapons, each one enchanted to strike such spirits. From another room came more wet, slurping noises. Then Kesha felt something shift on her back. A black slug-like creature with six legs wriggled free and dropped to the floor with a wet plop. Lizette did not hesitate. She stepped forward and drove her blade into the thing before it could scuttle away, ending its brief escape.

The bathhouse fell quiet once more, save for the distant sloshing of water. Whatever had claimed the rest of the girl's body—and whatever force commanded both ghost and creature—still waited in the depths.

Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Walls

The philosopher's ghost emerges from the wall

Lizette warned Aurora that a pair of the strange insects clung to her back. Aurora turned, allowing her companion a better look, while the group scanned the ceiling where a large, dark stain marked the stone. One of the creatures was black with yellow stripes, a clear warning of poison; Aurora flicked it away onto the floor where it twitched but did not die. They had not seen the bugs emerge from the sewer, yet their presence set everyone on edge.

The corridor opened ahead with overturned wooden benches lining one wall and three arches leading into a single chamber. Within lay three pools: one warm, one of medium temperature, and one cool, each reached by worn stone steps polished by generations of feet. As Aurora backed warily toward the pools, black inky droplets began to fall from above. The companions quickly stepped clear.

Then the ghost appeared. A young man stepped out of the solid wall, lunged toward Aurora crying "Help me!" and collapsed through the floor. Thirty seconds later he repeated the cycle, always from the same spot, always falling away again. Kesha acted swiftly, slicing her own leg to draw blood and tracing glowing runes in the air. The magic flared and the ghost was caught, held fast within a net of crimson light. He dropped to one knee, unable to break free.

The spirit was a philosopher, still fresh in death, his form translucent yet revealing the handsome features hidden beneath a skull-like pallor. "There's a terrible monster," he gasped. "I tried warning everyone. No one could hear me." When asked where it lived, he pointed down the hallway. "In a crypt through the walls... beyond the end of the corridor. Dark and terrible. Claws... teeth." He admitted he had been struck from behind in this very bathhouse, though he could not recall the killer. Friends had been present, yet the memory remained clouded. He moved with obvious difficulty, drifting and falling as though drained of all energy.

The companions spoke quietly among themselves. The city of Adjepbar was built atop older ruins; a secret tunnel might connect the baths to whatever lay beneath. Aurora examined a small artifact they had recovered earlier and determined it radiated an aura of fear, likely meant to keep intruders away. While they conferred, Aurora stepped around the corner to peer deeper into the chamber. Her gaze traveled past Kesha's shoulder to the far wall where a decorative bone sculpture began to stir. The carved remains of three creatures peeled away from the stone, knitting themselves into a single towering skeletal horror.

"It's coming out of the wall!" Aurora shouted, already backing away. The group retreated toward the base of the stairs while the animated monstrosity advanced slowly, ten feet away and closing. Lizette readied herself to meet it with steel as the others prepared spells and weapons, knowing they could neither let it reach the upper levels nor allow it to surround them in the narrow corridor.

Chapter 4: Horrors from the Black Wall

Kesha confronts the black slugs born from necromantic crystals

When the screaming finally stopped, Kesha stood at the top of the stairs with her companions, voice hoarse. The dwarf had already positioned three large round shields before the doors of the common room, axe ready, his stance that of a warrior expecting the worst. The blood-curdling sounds from below had shaken him, yet he managed a rough laugh as they rounded the corner.

"This again," the dwarf said to Kesha and Albert. "Human, skeletons down there plus necromancy plus undead. And tell me there's a crook down there everywhere." He described the animated skeletons on the walls and the dark magic that powered them. Riley and Lizette listened as the dwarf urged caution, warning that blasting the place apart would bring the building down.

The dwarf passed around tankards of good dwarven ale, its hoppy scent filling the room. "If a dwarf offers you ale," he declared, "it would be rude not to drink it." Kesha drank, the honeyed brew steadying her somewhat. The dwarf fixed her with a serious gaze. "Your two friends are elves, you know that, don't ya? They got pointy ears. You don't. So you gotta use what's between your ears. You don't go mucking around with that bad stuff. You either zap it or you blast it or you throw a hammer, ya hear me? 'Cause you're frail, you're wounded, you're the weaker race. You hide between the rocks and try not to run away."

After a brief rest, Kesha prepared protective spells against the necromantic influence. She cast Spell Magic upon herself, granting a short window to counter the dark stain below. With her friends, she descended the spiral staircase, moving just far enough to see the corridor while remaining at maximum safe distance. An air pressure change brushed their cheeks as they crossed an unseen threshold. The wall itself seemed to shift.

Black crystals rained from the ceiling, splattering across the floor. Most burst on impact, but several coalesced into foot-long slugs of shimmering darkness, each sporting a ring of forty sharp teeth and three eyes. One larger specimen appeared to ready a spell. Kesha gripped her weapon, stomping several flat before they could reach her. She then unleashed an air blast, hurling the writhing horrors down the corridor. They smashed against the far wall with thirty-three points of crushing force, some dissolving, others scattering. The oppressive fear that had gripped her began to recede; she felt Aurora's protective presence.

The party advanced to the junction where three archways branched from the main corridor. A spectral figure strained to hold a door open from the far side. Kesha seized a sturdy bench, jamming it firmly into the doorway to keep it from closing. No black slugs remained. Beyond lay inky darkness and the immediate stench of decay. A quick search revealed the corpse of a young humanoid, dead no more than three months, reduced mostly to bones with one leg bone missing.

A tunnel led onward, cut with an open gutter through which pink, sulphurous hot water flowed. "This is the drain from the pool above," Kesha observed. She cast a rank seven light spell upon her Rune Star, its bright radiance pushing back the shadows and revealing the grim path ahead.

Chapter 5: The Spectral Warrior and the Rat's Warning

The ritual chamber and the Hellmouth

Kesha's staff cast a bright, steady light from its activated rune as the party ventured deeper into the darkness. Scurrying sounds echoed from a far corner of the chamber while they examined a corpse some fifteen feet away. The group advanced carefully, noting the floor was covered in tracks—many ordinary, but others disturbingly large, six or eight feet in span. Something about the prints seemed wrong; the creatures left impressions as if walking on hind legs alone, more like hyenas or civets than ordinary beasts.

The room opened into a much larger space that stretched off into shadow. Tisha's light revealed a corpse picked clean to the bone lying on the floor. A distinct magical aura pulsed just above the ground, suggesting the presence of a ward. "We probably shouldn't hang around here," one companion urged. "We should continue looking for the baby and the girl."

Further on they discovered a row of stone sarcophagi set into the walls, each adorned with curved decorative work and small statues above. The figures looked lifelike save for their oversized noses. Dates carved into the stone placed them roughly three hundred years in the past. One sarcophagus stood out from the rest; it sat askew, with a five-inch gap along one side while the others rested flush against the floor.

The heavy lid resisted at first, but with effort they slid it aside. Beneath, a dark, oily substance bubbled slowly upward, and long-legged grave scorpions skittered across the interior. Inside lay a remarkably well-preserved pair of boots and leggings, and within the sarcophagus rested the body of a large human warrior. The form looked freshly dead, held in unnatural stasis. As the lid moved fully clear, the body began to stir.

"Prepare," Aurora said sharply. The greater undead warrior started to rise. Before it could fully animate, however, a spectral apparition separated from the corpse—a ghostly, striking male figure clad as a champion of old. The spirit regarded the party with tired eyes and spoke in a resonant voice.

"Champions of the realm, you have come at last. This is good. There is evil presence here. It must be defeated. I fear I may have fallen. It carries a black whip and a shield which eats the soul of those that gaze upon it. Take care. You are most suited for dealing with this enemy."

The apparition looked exhausted as it faded away, and the body collapsed lifeless once more. The group stood in momentary silence. "He was a good guy," someone murmured. Conversation turned briefly to armor and whether they should double back, but the discussion was cut short by movement in the distance.

A large rat, the size of a dog, came scrabbling up a low bank toward them. It rose onto its hind legs and addressed Kesha directly. "Kesha. The others have told me you are working on the quest of the bones. Be quick—there is an evil creature who has charmed a few of my brethren, and I think they mean to kill that young girl. There is an altar. Make sure she doesn't die on it. She will be forever lost."

The rat led them onward through passages that dipped low then rose again. At the edge of a sharp drop they halted. Thirty feet below and forty feet across, torchlight revealed a grim tableau. Two humans stood beside a stone altar where a young girl lay tied by all four limbs. Swarming around them were twenty or more rat creatures, most wolf-sized, though a few were smaller. The beasts moved with unnatural, charmed obedience. One of the humans waved a sacrificial dagger above the girl while chanting, the gathered creatures encircling the scene. On the far wall yawned a dark, warty cave mouth ringed with jagged teeth like a maw. Hot steam billowed from it, occasionally lit from within by red-black glows—the Hellmouth.

Chapter 6: The Interrupted Sacrifice

The Wall Walkers disrupt the necromantic ritual

Kneeling on the ledge overlooking the chamber, the archer drew and released. The arrow, bright with Liz's enhancing magic, sped true toward the necromancer ranting at the head of the stone altar. Ten feet from the sacrificial slab the hooded figure stood, his voice rising and falling in a mad blend of Common, Elvish, and Hobbitish words that echoed off the walls. The shaft struck hard; the necromancer spun in place, clearly wounded.

Below, several rat creatures inside the camp spell shook off its hold. One reared up, ankle clearly broken, yet both sprang sideways and bolted through the crowd in panic. The rest of the worshippers milled uncertainly, some still shaking their heads as though waking from a dream.

From the ridge another companion launched into flight, wings carrying him forward on a bombing run. He clutched vials of knockout gas, ready to triple the effect across a wide area, mindful of the nasty red substance coating the far side of the roof. As he dove, the first archer nocked another shaft and tracked the new threat: a humanoid pushing through the ratmen straight toward a ceremonial dagger lying near the altar.

"No, no, slay her with the dagger before it's too late!" the human shouted. "You will complete the quest, my friends!"

The flyer descended in a controlled glide, fluttering wings slowing his fall enough to survive the thirty-foot drop. He landed beside the altar where young Kisha lay bound and began cutting. The ropes proved mostly rags and cloth; a few quick chops freed her. "Kisha, great," he murmured. "I will not spit on your corpse. No little nibbles either." Nearby, saber-toothed beasts were rounded up and brought under control while the remaining ratmen fled or stood disoriented.

The human cultist reached the dagger, but events overtook him. A second necromancer, previously hidden among the rats, completed a dark incantation. Invisible force slammed into the rescuers. Aurora felt her joints lock and twist as though rigor mortis had seized her while still alive; bones popped, knees and thumbs wrenched from their sockets. She endured nine points of internal agony, then eleven more as the spell renewed. Sweat beaded on her skin; every movement became a battle. Her companion suffered the same wracking pain, left with only half his normal speed and swearing like a sailor.

Despite the torment the Wall Walkers kept fighting. The cultist who had seized the dagger dropped it. The chamber began to clear as the last ratmen scattered. Under the luminous ritual light the lead necromancer whirled on them, face twisted with fury.

"You've interrupted it, you fool!" he screamed. "It will come out and devour you all!"

Night 8

Chapter 1: The Broken Charm

Rats surge in panic as the necromancers' dark charm shatters within the sooty portal chamber.

The chamber opened like a great maw, its walls curving outward and circling the entire space. High along one edge ran a narrow ledge where Keshah stood, the drop to the floor below a sheer thirty feet. From that vantage the chaos below was plain: rats swarmed in every direction, no longer a coherent mass but a frantic horde seeking any door or passage that might carry them to safety.

Two of the necromancers had already fallen. One lay pierced through with arrows, collapsed where he had stood. The second had stepped forward to seize an object from the altar only to be shot in turn, dropping his prize as he fell. The third screamed a warning that went unheeded. At the exact moment the second sorcerer lost consciousness, the foul charm that had bound the rats shattered. As one they woke to their surroundings and erupted into pure panic, fleeing in runaway mode, maximizing their own safety above all else.

"They're not working as a coherent group nor mob," observed one of the companions. "More like maximizing their safety." The rats clearly hated the place; the bad magic and oppressive juju prickled at their instincts. A single friendly rat that had accompanied the group chose that moment to retreat hastily back up the corridor by which it had arrived.

Aurora stood amid the tumult, the fleeing rodents momentarily hemming her in. "Can you fly me back up?" she called toward the ledge. Yet there was no time to wait. Something stirred within the portal—an open, cave-like maw from which occasional gusts of soot drifted upward on unseen currents. The remaining necromancer, the one positioned nearest that dread aperture, prepared a countermeasure and pressed himself against the wall, staring with open fright toward the entrance.

Lizette moved purposefully toward the altar, angling to one side so as not to obstruct Aurora's work. "I'm intending to run over to the altar," she had declared, and now she threaded her way through the scattering rats. Aurora, aided by her ghostly companions, continued slicing the cords that needed freeing, her hands steady despite the surrounding disorder. The archer among them had an arrow nocked and aimed in the general direction of the necromancers, eyes fixed on both the sorcerers and the restless portal.

Only three living adventurers remained active in the chamber with their spectral allies. The rats continued their mad dash for every available exit while the final necromancer watched the entrance in terror, the broken enchantment having turned his ritual into pandemonium.

Chapter 2: Demons at the Altar

Aurora cuts Miriam free as demons emerge

The companions stood over the altar, voices tight with urgency. "Is Miriam doing anything?" one asked. "She seems to be unconscious," came the reply. "Or dead. Hard to say. She's not bleeding, though." It was always a bad sign when there was lots of blood, they agreed. At least she was attached by only two bonds now. If they could free her, she might be pushed clear of the table.

All around them the chamber teemed with rats, far larger than any natural vermin, some standing waist-high. They scurried in every direction, screaming. One leaped onto the altar itself; Aurora screamed something unintelligible back at it, a frantic "Retish! Retti! Retti!" None had yet run through the portal, at least. "This is what we call a target-rich environment," someone muttered.

Near the door, one of the creatures was changing, its body twisting halfway into human shape as it scrabbled at the latch. Kisha drew on her power and released a healing burst that washed over herself, Miriam, and two of the nearer rats. The necromancer they had thought defeated stirred. He dragged himself upright on the far side of the altar, arrows still jutting from his body, and cowered there for cover.

Then the hairs rose on the backs of their arms. A sickening presence filled the air. Kisha's senses cut through the chaos: five new figures had appeared, a mixture of undead and devils. The smallest, winged one looked like a disheveled imp. The rest were drawn and emaciated, their forms nastily demonic. One of the rat creatures staggered as it approached them, then collapsed, slipping involuntarily between rat and humanoid shapes in violent spasms.

Aurora lifted her bow and loosed an arrow at the clawed demon in the center of the group. The shaft struck savagely, knocking the creature back, though it glanced away without sticking. With her keen perception she noticed something more: a mystical bond like a chain of energy ran from one of the demons to two of the others. "We should shoot that one next," she said. Lizette's voice cut in, urgent. "You guys probably should get out of there. Get Miriam."

The rat-things continued to run and scream, flinging themselves at the newcomers. Claws and fangs savaged two of the demonic figures, leaving them savagely wounded though not yet dead. The door swung open; several rats bolted through it. "I think they add to our worries," Lizette observed.

Aurora launched herself into the air, wings carrying her over the chaos to the far side of the altar. She drew her blade and began slicing at the ropes. The panicked rats scattered from her path. A few precise cuts and the last bonds fell away; Miriam was free. On the ground, Lizette readied the dagger she had carried into the room, preparing to hold the undead at bay until Roy could carry the girl to safety.

Chapter 3: The Altar's Dark Awakening

The necromancer rises with burning red eyes

Kisha drew her bow and took aim at the imp. "He's a demon, isn't he?" she asked. The reply came quickly: he was no demon, but an imp among the devils, far less powerful though still dangerous. Her shot struck home with magical force, and the creature exploded. With its death the undead it had commanded began to stumble, no longer directed.

A black stream of necromantic energy poured from the doorway in response. Rotted organs, twisted screaming faces, and bursting pustules flooded the area. Several undead collapsed beneath the wave. Kisha and her nearest companion took part of the brunt; the filth clung to them, leaving them feeling more soiled than they had been in the past six months. "My gloves are still nice and clean, at least," one remarked dryly, though the humor could not mask the revulsion.

Their military scientist noted the presence of the necromantic caster responsible. The wall walkers began to pull back. Aurora descended on swift wings to lift her allies thirty feet up the sheer surface, promising to return if anyone became trapped below. One fighter seized Miriam and made an orderly withdrawal, shield ready, choosing not to engage the nearest necromancer in passing. "I don't see much point going down there since we're just going to come back up again," the fighter observed.

From their elevated vantage they watched the two surviving necromancers. The younger one moved frantically beside a low altar, stabbing his elder colleague with the bloodied dagger in what was clearly an emergency sacrifice. Red blood spilled across the stone and began to boil. The ground trembled faintly.

Hoping to thwart whatever ritual was forming, one of the wall walkers reached out with healing magic to close the stab wounds of the fallen necromancer. The blood and black corruption swirling on the altar surged back into the body through the open gashes. The wounds sealed. The necromancer rose, eyes now burning a furious red. "You have overdone it," he said in a voice thick with new power.

He stepped forward and extended a draining touch. The healer felt eight points of fatigue and four of willpower ripped away before any resistance could be mustered. Around the empowered necromancer the inky muck, loose eyeballs, and putrid slime slid across the ground toward him, gathering at his feet like loyal hounds.

Chapter 4: The Five-Way Battle

Aurora rescues Lizette as Keshah confronts the necromancer

The ritual chamber had fallen into complete pandemonium. "Well, you stopped the sacrifice, then, by the looks of it," one of the companions observed. "I think so. Unless they were trying to summon something like this. But I don't think so. I think this is a side event."

Rats poured across the floor in a squeaking tide, fleeing through every available doorway. "Time for rats to run around," someone muttered. More undead were already shambling through another entrance at the far side of the chamber. "These are skeletons, aren't they?"

The grim inventory continued: one skeleton, a ghast or ghoul, another skeleton, a particularly large one, and a caster directing them from somewhere nearby. "It's a philosopher's set of undead," Aurora said. "If we get out of this, I'll tell you all about them."

One of the skeletons raised an amulet high toward a recruit who answered with an amulet of his own, while elsewhere a figure tore violently into the necromancer. The conflict unfolded in a chain reaction of betrayals. "Undead, so demons controlling undead, and then undead trying to control the demons," Lizette said. "No, four-way battle, and then there's the rats, and then there's us."

When the dark pulse subsided, the immediate danger fixed itself on Lizette. The necromancer came at her with terrifying speed. "You go first," she told her companion. "I'll try and shoot him and slow him down."

Aurora wheeled overhead, dropping Miriam and Claudine before diving to intercept. "I'm dropping off Miriam and then going after Lizette," she called. "Heading down to get you."

The necromancer struck first. His bone dagger punched into Lizette's lower abdomen twice in quick succession. Excruciating pain flared through her body as he drank deeply of her essence. She felt her strength and willpower bleed away, the wounds from earlier injuries compounding into a single burning torment. "Not loving that," she gasped.

Still the creature pursued as she tried to break away. He stabbed her again, draining her once more. The necromancer looked increasingly vital while Lizette staggered, her vision swimming. "The whole plan was for you to fly down and get me," she managed to shout.

Keshah acted without hesitation. He swapped weapons, triggered his teleportation device, and materialized amid the fray with blades drawn. He placed himself squarely between the necromancer and Lizette, shielding her even as the motion knocked her from her feet. A restorative surge washed over the companions; the healing lifted Lizette enough that she remained conscious despite collapsing.

The necromancer lunged again, but Keshah met the attack. His sword connected with unnatural force, the blow landing far harder than expected. The short necromancer staggered backward under the impact, wounded severely for the first time in the fight. Lizette, though still reeling, shook off the worst of the draining effect.

"Grab Lizette," Aurora called as she swept in low. She seized her fallen companion and lifted her clear of the deadly melee, carrying her back toward safer ground while the necromancer reeled and the wider battle of skeletons, ghouls, and rats continued to rage.

Chapter 5: The Rat's Plea

The rat's desperate plea amid the fall

In the thick of combat, one of the rats leaped at Lizette, clinging desperately to her leg. 'Save me, save me,' it squeaked in a high-pitched voice. Lizette, her wings beating hard under the strain, decided to take the creature with her despite the burden. 'If I can take him as well, I'll take him,' she said. Keisha observed that most humans were rather chunky from not eating enough vegetables, prompting Lizette to explain that it was rather annoying to talk to one's food, which had led her to become a vegetarian. 'That's a slippery slope,' Keisha replied. 'Never talk to your food.'

Fully encumbered now, Lizette felt her movement slow dramatically, but she pressed on, wings laboring. Aurora and others lay unconscious, while the necromantic spell that followed washed over the conscious party. Lizette, Keisha, and their companion resisted its pull even at a severe disadvantage. The Willow Heralding took effect just in time, causing the rat to lose its grip and tumble earthward.

Lizette crashed soon after, toppling the necromancer as she fell. Keisha acted swiftly, gesturing to transfer the impact into her staff where it would remain for a time. The necromancer exceeded his limits and collapsed. The rat, unfortunately, did not survive the fall. Lizette and Aurora both hovered on the edge of death, though Aurora absorbed the worst of her landing against her armor and bounced back with a single point of endurance. Things were dire; both Lizette and Keisha found themselves on death's buzzer as well.

Keisha took stock of the battlefield alone. The foes seemed inclined to eliminate one another as much as their enemies. She stepped forward, unengaged from the immediate fray, and seized the live survivor among the fallen. With a second charge of her teleport, she vanished and reappeared at the top. Her companion noted the charges were now down to two. Efforts to heal Aurora or provide soul fortification came up short.

Conversation turned to the necromancers. One had emerged from the blood moor with burning red eyes, only to be dragged back into it by unseen forces. The hobbit necromancer was gone as well. Keisha reflected on her own aspect, caused by an enchanted pure heart that brought death at night and life in the day, wondering if it might be changed. She confirmed she wore both armor and a dress beneath it. Meanwhile, deadites pressed against the wall and tried to open a nearby door while others hauled the hobbit necromancer's form away.

Chapter 6: From Death's Grasp

Lizette revives, yet the strange discovery leaves the Wall Walkers unsettled

A claw had torn through Aurora, ripping body parts and dragging her entrails across the floor in a slick trail of blood. She lay bleeding profusely as the fight's final moments ticked away. Keshah knelt beside her. "I need a big heal," he said, but the usual plant-powered options were useless here. Instead he fed her a ten-point golden healing potion. "You'll regain consciousness soon," he told her, "and pick up a little more at the end."

Aurora's eyes opened moments later. "Oh, good grief, what's going on here?" she breathed. The potion had lifted her just above death, yet she remained critically weak. She drank one of her own healing potions and then a strength-of-stone elixir, color slowly returning to her face. Keshah admitted he rarely carried vast stores of healing because he seldom took damage himself; his amulets and staff usually delayed injuries until the battle ended. "There's always another necromancer," he added grimly as word came of two more humanoid deaths in the distance—shape-shifters, judging by their final words. The rank necromancer they had feared was still at large.

Their attention turned at once to Lizette, who lay dead at the bottom of the cliff. Keshah peered over the edge and saw her body with a rat-like creature literally trying to hide beneath her skirts. He teleported down, keeping low in an attempt to remain unseen, but the creature noticed him anyway. It crossed the distance and struck him hard across the abdomen with its staff before turning away.

Hector won the race for initiative. He seized both Lizette's corpse and the rat—which clung desperately for its life—and transported them back to the clifftop. Once safe, he studied the dead woman. Empathy revealed that something was wrong with her. "That tapping was suspicious," he muttered. The warning signs were unmistakable: a necromancer, a fresh corpse, and a place steeped in necromantic power. "It's bad," he warned.

"How long has it been since you died?" their companion asked. "Less than a minute," Keshah answered. The companion produced a crystal he had carried for ages. "In that case I've got something that will bring her right back. It's a Canith Get Up and Go Crystal." Though they feared what might happen when the crystal's life energy met the necromantic taint, it was their last, best hope of preventing her from rising as something undead. He cracked the crystal between his teeth and pressed it to her lips.

A surge of vital force swept through Lizette. The crystal restored her fully, returning endurance and even fatigue in a rush that left her feeling ghastly yet delivered from agonizing pain. All of them now stood alive at the top of the cliff. When Keshah moved to lift her, however, his hand came away with only a thick clump of her hair while her body remained motionless at his feet. "Shit. What?" he exclaimed, staring in confusion.

Chapter 7: Strength and Shadows

The empowered flight from the crypts

The decision was made in the tense darkness of the crypt. "You should pick up the girl," one companion urged. "Fine, I'll pick up the girl," came the reply, though the burden soon fell to the robed woman who stepped forward. She drank the Strength of Stone potion, and its power surged through her. Her muscles swelled dramatically, arms thickening until they rivaled the biceps of the strongest laborers. Her robes creaked and groaned at the seams, the fabric stretching unnaturally as her bosom strained against the cloth in a way it never had before.

"Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea," she muttered, flexing her newly massive limbs, "but it doesn't matter. I need the speed." Miriam proved light as a feather in her grasp. The group moved swiftly down the passageway, the woman's powerful strides carrying them forward. They paused after a time in the corridor, waiting for lingering afflictions to fade. Two minutes, they had agreed. Yet before long, sounds echoed from behind them. A shimmering haze appeared roughly sixty feet back in the passage, near the ledge they had left behind.

Undeterred, they pressed on. The robed woman navigated a dangerous drop of four feet with mixed success; her landing was jarring, but her armor absorbed the impact. They reached the secret door at last. The undead halted on the far side of the protective ward, unable to pass into the chamber that held the great coffin. "So what are we going to do?" one asked. The consensus was clear: take Miriam back to the inn, then return later to finish cleansing the crypt without further complications.

Before departing, they studied the door carefully. Between the thief's keen eye and their combined efforts, they discovered the mechanism—a pressure plate disguised as one of the floor tiles. After sending one through to test it, they confirmed the door could be operated from both sides. They passed through, closed it securely behind them, and verified they could reopen it if needed.

As they began ascending, the woman who carried the unnatural presence within her spoke. "Before things go too far, the thing inside of me... I have lost feeling of undead. Have I heard of something like this?" The others exchanged glances. It was not undead, they determined, but possibly demonic. Empathy revealed it was roughly four weeks along in what should have been a normal human gestation. "The crystals may have affected it and healed it as well," one noted, drawing comparison to what had happened to the lizard person. It was clearly not natural.

Continuing upstairs, they passed the black splotch on the ceiling from their earlier battle. It was merely a stain now, inert and harmless. Lizette bolstered her morale and, with uncertainty clouding her thoughts, cast a Greater Summoning Counter upon herself. The stairs led them back toward the surface, the weight of Miriam in their arms matched only by the heavier mysteries they carried within.

Chapter 8: Emergence from the Hellmouth

The Wall Walkers surface with Miriam and grim news of the hellmouth

Having countered the greater summoning, the companions gathered around the unconscious Miriam. A careful reading of her condition revealed she was an ordinary human who had endured a terrible fright along with abrasions from being dropped. She showed no sign of pregnancy or deeper affliction.

"She's good," one of them declared. "We can take her out." They slipped her a healing draught for good measure and lifted her carefully, filing through the secret door and sealing it behind them. The fighter who had absorbed fifty-one points of necrotic damage moved with leaden steps; the pulse of dark energy had left him gutted, fatigue entirely spent. Though he insisted he could regenerate and needed no further healing, his companions supported him up the steep stairs from the bathhouse depths.

Nearly eight minutes after the fight, they reached the surface. A waft of sulfur rolled out with them, turning heads. The dwarves had already donned armor and weapons and stood ready. "You guys got a serious undead problem down there," the party announced. "Necromancer hobbits—at least three, though one of them may have been human—skeletons, minor demons, devils. There's an altar and a sacrificial dagger. Miriam was meant to be the sacrifice for a major summoning. We called it a hellmouth."

The dwarven captain nodded grimly. "Devils, you say? I'll get the guard. We'll bring healers and some of the lads—really tough sods."

Miriam's mother rushed forward, relief breaking over her in a flood of tears. While the girl remained unconscious but stable, one of the rescuers produced smelling salts. The sharp scent soon brought Miriam around so mother and daughter could embrace. In the midst of the reunion, attention turned to Kisha. She was running hot, her body fevered in a way that felt unnatural. When they examined her more closely, the truth emerged: she was pregnant, but not in any natural sense. The life within her carried the mark of something else entirely.

Chapter 9: Dwarven Carts and Hobbit Priestesses

Dwarven reinforcements arrive with mysterious caskets as hobbit priestesses of Estee look on.

The conversation lingered on the child. It had been born only four weeks earlier, its growth accelerated by the massive crystals that had saturated the site. The party weighed whether the infant leaned more toward the ledger's darker side, yet all agreed it carried no taint of negative energy. Whatever the creature was, it felt more like a cambion than mere undead, and even if that proved true, half of its blood remained human. Aurora in particular felt the weight of uncertainty; she resolved to seek a divination once the immediate crisis passed.

Before long the room filled with dwarves. More arrived every minute until the space became standing-room only, crowded with bearded figures and the original companions. One of the party offered to lead them down to the bathhouse and show them the secret door, but the dwarves waved the suggestion aside. Still, the adventurers followed at the rear, counting the stocky warriors as they descended. One hundred and twenty dwarves in all made their way through the hidden passage.

The dwarves worked with brisk efficiency. They lifted the secret door off its hinges and set it aside, then laid rails from the first floor down the spiral staircase, across the lip of the bath, and through the open crypt entrance. Small mine carts soon rattled along the improvised track. The operation took perhaps fourteen minutes, each cart bearing a sturdy wooden casket. The companions watched with interest, especially the engineer among them who admired the cleverness of the setup.

Keshah struck up a conversation with one of the dwarves during a brief lull. She explained the necromancers' desperate ritual, the sacrificial dagger, and how the younger mage had turned the blade on his elder after the companions had prevented the girl's death. The dwarf listened gravely, consulted a large ledger, and asked about the ward that still hummed in the crypt. The party assured him it belonged to a dead hero resting in a nearby sarcophagus and advised against tampering with it. The dwarves had already cut their own tunnel to bypass the barrier.

When talk turned to the caskets and whether they contained holy water, the dwarf gave a noncommittal grunt. Counterspells were mentioned; the companions offered what aid they could, though one admitted her own reserves were limited. She checked her restorative supplies while the dwarves continued their grim preparations.

At that moment three priestesses from the local temple arrived. They were hobbits, the most strikingly attractive and beautiful the companions had ever seen. Aurora found herself flushing and muttering that she was out of her league. Leslie, equally captivated, asked who the priestesses served. The answer came readily: Estee, goddess of fertility, wellbeing, and healing. The revelation eased some tension; Aurora quietly explained the gentle portfolio to any who had not heard it before. Even amid the carts, rails, and looming battle with the undead, the small procession of holy women brought an unexpected note of grace to the crowded crypt.

Chapter 10: Twinkling Sands and Careful Distractions

The dwarf guides Keshah away from the perilous sands

In the dim passages beneath Adjepbar, the work continued with steady purpose. Tracks had been laid beyond the waters, threading through layers of counterspells and pressing onward toward the altar room. Laborers had broken open several caskets and were now sprinkling a fine yellow and blue twinkling sand across the floors.

Keshah eyed the shimmering grains. "What's this stuff?" she asked. When she pressed whether it was the same blue sand rumored to cause hallucinations, the dwarf took her gently by the hand and around the waist, guiding her back down the line toward the entrance. "I don't want you to have any problems," he told her. "Just breathe easy back here. Afterwards we'll get a drink and I'll bring you up to speed about it."

Keshah smiled at the prospect. "Drink sounds right good after I've had a bath." The dwarf's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'll slide you into a nice hot bath. I might even get a couple of those priestesses to join us if I'm lucky."

She shifted the conversation, reminding him they still needed to investigate the bars because she had heard a siren song. The dwarf acknowledged that sirens were an ongoing issue in Edgipaw; many bars in the city suffered their calls. Keshah recalled her last encounter with such a creature as particularly nasty.

Further reports came in: the teams had reached the altar room, which still held critters. Carts of the sand were being shipped down. "If you're an adept down there, just don't draw any mana for God's sake," the dwarf warned. When Keshah learned the sand would transform any mana-drawing creature into more of itself, she suggested an air blast from the ledge once the sand was poured, driving it toward the hellmouth.

The dwarf shook his head. "The proximity to the sand would probably have a negative effect on you. You're a brave lass, but you'd have to draw magic." After further back-and-forth, he patted her on the bum and chuckled. "When we're in that bath together having a hot brew, a couple of priestesses, me and you, you can be my wingman any day. Now just go sit over there and look pretty for me."

Keshah conceded with a wry smile. Wannawitz, hero of Jukbar and acting as bodyguard for the adepts, agreed it was wise to withdraw. "With this much anti-magic around, we probably don't want to be in proximity." They moved upstairs, continuing to place counterspells where the sand was less concentrated. Casks of the substance continued to pass them on the way down.

Once above, three priestesses approached. "Keshah, could you introduce us to Lizette and Aurora?" They curtsied gracefully and each kissed her hand. Blushing, they added, "The dwarf told us that you have an eye for the ladies and a fickle heart."

Keshah gave a small laugh. "I don't know about fickle, but..."

Chapter 11: Revelation at the Temple

Cerse reveals the dark omen within the Temple of the Mother

The priestess's words landed with embarrassing precision. "He says it was a moving smorgasbord of desire and lusts that you were displaying," she told the young elf, who promptly turned a deep shade of crimson. The second priestess intervened kindly. "Now, now, don't be so harsh on the young lass. She's young and innocent and hasn't made her mind up. Isn't that right?"

"No, I haven't," the elf answered quietly.

"Well, there's plenty of time for everything."

"Yeah, I'm an elf," she replied. "I've plenty of time apparently. That might cause problems."

One of the priests fixed her with a steady gaze. "Hm. We should have words, young lady."

What began as an awkward conversation soon escalated. When a private room was suggested, the senior priestess shook her head. "That's probably not wise. How about we do it our way? Guards, grab her!" The dwarven guards looked startled but moved to seize the adventurer the priestess now called a dangerous woman, a hero of Edgipal afflicted by unconsented necromantic magic.

"You can be a bit more subtle," one companion suggested, stepping forward. The priestess insisted the matter required care, especially given the victim's charmed state. After brief debate about privacy and reputation, she touched the dwarven guards' foreheads and murmured, "Your lips are sealed on this matter, gentlemen." The group agreed to accompany her to the temple, the embarrassed elf declaring they should stick together and never split the party. The priestess quickly scribbled a message, dispatched a runner, and the dwarves cleared the streets ahead of them.

A quarter of an hour later they arrived at the temple, where fifteen or so elderly hobbits fussed about their duties. A hobbit woman in a bright white robe with gold sash and golden headband approached, her presence radiating calm authority. "Pleased to meet you. Aurora, is it?"

"Yes."

"My name is Cerse. I am the guardian of the hearth here, and I represent the mother of all." She glanced at the party. "I understand your associate, your fellow adventurer, has been afflicted by necromantic magics in a place of power."

Over cups of tea she poured for each of them, the adventurers recounted the incident: a necromancer striking their companion in the torso with his staff. Cerse listened, then confirmed what they suspected. "You are very much charmed," she told the one who asked. When they questioned how she could tell what their own healing arts had missed, she replied simply, "Because I am not the recipient, nor am I charmed. This sort of thing has happened before."

"There are multiple ways of dealing with this," Cerse continued. "We can safely get rid of it from here, and it will go back to whence it came." The conversation turned to the nature of the affliction. The priestess explained that such entities were often tied to schemes and symbols of power, and if left alone the outcome would be a creature of bad omen: a child likely born dead, raised by dark forces, able to predict terrible happenings yet never believed. The adventurers absorbed the grim lore, asking whether the being would be essentially human, simply carrying a dark doom. Cerse confirmed it was so.

Chapter 12: The Priestess's Counsel

The priestess outlines the dark choices surrounding Lizette's pregnancy

In the hushed sanctuary, the priestess regarded her visitors with a grave expression. "Maybe. A dark human," she said. "The city is very complicated. There seems to be all sorts of things going on." The conversation turned quickly to the entity growing inside their companion Lizette. One of the group observed that she would probably not be able to carry it to a normal term.

"So what are we looking at?" another asked. The priestess explained that they were looking at addressing it that very night. When someone suggested it might be only human, she corrected them firmly: it would only become human by feeding upon Lizette. There was no 'just' about it. The exchange grew heavier as they questioned whether both mother and child could survive. One adventurer admitted that when she had believed it a demon, she had been more willing to see it destroyed, but now hesitated.

The priestess offered tea to ease the tension, though it was eyed with open suspicion. "Is it just tea?" "It's tea," the priestess assured, and the cup was accepted. She insisted they not reach any conclusions without Lizette present, noting that their friend was not in her right mind and could not yet make sound judgments. Two of the companions stepped aside to speak further with the priestess, who laid out the grim truth.

The spirit inside Lizette was that of a fallen necromancer, using her as a charmed vessel to live on. It would amplify her abilities over the coming weeks and months before consuming well over half of them at birth. The priestess identified it clearly as devilish rather than demonic, one of the lower powers. Lizette had been chosen in part for her healer abilities, which would help keep both mother and child alive through the ordeal. Normally such a being would emerge in eight to twelve weeks; Lizette was already about four weeks along. In the interim, she would attract concentrations of mana, which the child would absorb, eventually claiming her powers as its own.

Several options were presented. They could venture to the nether realms, where Lizette might give birth as part of a spell to send the creature back as a vengeful hunter against the tormented necromancer. An alliance with beings from the Plane of Air offered another path, as did the graces of a great elvish lady from one of the traveling courts. Consulting the Chamberlain was strongly recommended; given Lizette's status as a hero of the city, he would wish the matter resolved in her favor. Surgery remained possible but risky, the priestess warned. Both mother and child would likely resist, and the spirit might attempt to possess Lizette to preserve itself.

Aurora was asked for her views. "Whatever's best for Azet, I would guess," she replied. The priestess sighed that such matters rarely left anyone better off. Aurora spoke of her own experience having primary abilities carved away, still working to regain them. The priestess offered assistance. Another companion then described his own affliction, a heart condition with a daylight aspect that had left him ineffective halfway through their latest encounter. The priestess acknowledged the dilemma.

Seeing that all three carried significant burdens and that Lizette stood in high regard, the priestess declared they could call upon favors. She urged them to speak with Lizette now that they had consulted among themselves. Before departing, one adventurer turned back with a final question for the priestesses: was there a way to remove the evil soul or spirit and allow the child to be born normal? The priestess considered it a worthwhile aim and confirmed that, yes, it was an excellent line of inquiry. "How might we start doing this?" he pressed, as the weight of uncertain choices settled over the chamber.

Chapter 13: Paths of Purification

Lizette seeks a path to purification in the temple

In the quiet sanctuary of the temple, Lizette pressed the priestess for answers. The reply chilled her: every day she should sacrifice a newborn child to the thing inside her. The blood of innocence would purify it. Lizette recoiled at once. "What? Is this like a test? I'm not that far gone." The priestess assured her it was no test; she had simply asked what could be done, and the answer was given honestly, though neither the temple nor its servants would condone or permit such an act.

Lizette shook her head, desperate for another path. The priestess acknowledged that other ways existed, though they were worse. When Lizette asked whether they might speak to one of the powers of life, the priestess reminded her of recent experiences with pacts and negotiations, then offered a different possibility: rumors spoke of traveling to the lands of the dead to stand before Death himself, who could slay the evil within a person if he chose. Yet she warned that such a journey would likely end in the deaths of all three companions.

Lizette's companions joined the conversation, one of them summarizing the harsh timeline. The entity would emerge in four weeks, or perhaps eight to twelve, far shorter than any human gestation. It was no ordinary child. Lizette insisted that if the evil could be removed, what remained might yet become human. Her friend countered that it was not running on normal biology at all; it was something else entirely, more parasite than baby.

The High Priestess returned, her expression grave. She made it clear the temple would not tolerate any talk of sacrificing newborns, then listened as Lizette described the other suggestions. Appeals to the powers of light were discussed: Michael, Uriel, Raphael. The priestess noted that such beings would certainly make the entity not evil, but their methods were heavy-handed. They cared little for collateral damage, believing that the righteous would simply ascend to heaven. Raphael, she suggested, might be the most likely to grant a hearing without immediate destruction.

"You should look upon this as a spell that has been cast upon you," the High Priestess urged. "You are being manipulated at a fundamental level by the powers of evil. If you have not been listening, then there is no hope for you." Lizette still clung to the hope of saving what grew inside her rather than destroying it outright, but the priestess and her companions emphasized again that no true baby existed, only an internal parasite on an unnatural clock. With the weight of those warnings hanging in the air, Lizette finally said they should go.

Chapter 14: The Chamberlain's Counsel

The Chamberlain tests Lizette's resolve in the temple sitting room.

In the quiet of the temple, conversation turned to practical matters. Lizette announced she would take time to clean herself up, still bearing the mess from earlier trials. Aurora agreed, adding that she had a few more questions. "Have you got all your wool, Pepper?" she asked, before turning to the more pressing mysteries of Adjepbar.

"There seems to be some really weird stuff going on at the moment," Aurora said carefully. "Sirens in the bottom of the baths, for one. And there's the business with the bones—something to do with an earl, or cultists from Shurakura dragging them around. Then there's the goat skeleton cult, tied to one of the cities ransacked by the undead. Kikol, I think."

The temple official confirmed the sirens were an infrequent but known nuisance, occurring perhaps once a year. "People still like baths," he noted, adding that adventurers had been sent to deal with the problem before. He offered Aurora the notes from the previous three failed expeditions, which she accepted with the admission that she had tangled with sirens in the past and knew how messy such encounters could become.

Talk shifted to the old legends of cats and rats. "The stories go that when the cats and rats eventually leave the town, pestilence will follow," the official explained. He encouraged the party to address all three matters if they could. Aurora noted the play on words when he mentioned handling them "before dawn," prompting a brief smile as her own name was recognized in the pun.

A young man soon appeared, guiding them through to the main sitting room. It was a large, open-air square chamber appointed with columns, breezy curtains, low cushions scattered about, and incense burning in many places. Finger foods had been laid out. Into this space walked a well-appointed hobbit—the Chamberlain himself. He smiled from ear to ear upon seeing them.

"Why am I not surprised?" he said. "You've got yourself into a pickle."

Aurora replied that such was the nature of their business. The Chamberlain understood that Lizette had been charmed by demonic powers and infected as well. He thanked Aurora for offering to resurrect him the previous year, calling the gesture noble, though he was glad it had not been followed through; it would have led to mass carnage and much death. He had been slain by the sultan, he explained, but resurrected shortly thereafter by another hand. There had been a misunderstanding.

"You are somebody of great importance to us, Lizette," the Chamberlain continued, "and this has happened in our city to you. This is not a good thing. You're probably also not in your right mind." He glanced at Keshah and then at Aurora, noting that her friends remained undecided on the matter. "What would you have us do? How can we assist you?"

Lizette answered steadily: "I would like to find a way to get rid of the evil soul spirit that is trying to be reborn and keep the child."

The Chamberlain put out his hand and stabbed it with a dagger. Blood welled. "Does that satisfy you? That was the first child to be murdered in front of you—to ensure that your child is born pure."

Lizette recoiled. "No. They've told me there are other ways. Ways that don't involve committing evil acts. I won't get rid of evil by committing more evil. That seems kind of counterproductive."

The Chamberlain healed the wound before their eyes. "Then you should try to send it back where it came from—the dark realms."

"That wouldn't help," Lizette replied. "How would we do that? I'm fine with getting rid of the spirit, sending it back. Is there a way to do that while keeping the child?"

Keshah interjected that they could not even be certain it was a child at all. "I don't think it's a child. It's a parasite."

Lizette pressed on. "What can we do? How can we stop this?"

Chapter 15: The Blighted Gift

The grim cost of foresight

In the shadowed sanctuary of the temple, the priest's voice carried the weight of inevitability. "The cost is great," he warned, "and I'm unclear if you're aware of what is to be paid."

Lizette met his gaze steadily. "Perhaps you could enlighten me."

The priest offered a harsh demonstration involving severed fingers to illustrate the folly of her ways, but Lizette immediately objected. "Without killing children. I think we already discussed no evil."

"It won't kill children," the priest replied. "I will just cut several of your fingers off."

Keshah leaned forward. "And what's this going to do?"

"This will show her the folly of her ways," the priest said. The healer among them dismissed the notion outright, noting that Lizette could simply regenerate what was lost. The priest conceded the point but maintained it would grant her time for contemplation.

Further discussion unveiled the true price. Everything Lizette had worked for would be halved or worse. The child would foresee events and horrors yet always be ignored, condemned to a blighted existence that would warp its spirit into something undesired. It was, they agreed, effectively a curse.

Talk turned to other possibilities, including the plane of air, but the priest confirmed such a path would demand a major miracle beyond their knowledge. Sirene, however, had already been summoned—though her court roamed between locations. When Keshah offered to visit her, the priest advised against Lizette leaving the temple; the risk was too great, with a seventy-five percent chance she would permanently lose half her abilities.

"I will make arrangements," Keshah said. "I'll head off now then, if that's okay."

Lizette urged him to take Aurora, insisting she would be safe within the temple. Keshah confirmed he held rights to travel to the outskirts of Seagate by magic tunnel. The Elvish ambassador there could reveal the court's location, allowing him to portal close and proceed with Aurora's aid if needed. He admitted his limited familiarity with the Elven Court, given his background as the bastard son of high nobility from Els and his father's history as an Elvish invader to the Western Kingdom.

"I'll start up a ruin portal and head off," Keshah decided. There was no sense in taking others and draining more fatigue. His companion planned to pursue separate leads at the temple, prompting Lizette's wry remark about admirers checking him earlier. "No, not those sort of leads," the companion clarified.

As preparations finished, Lizette allowed herself a moment of dark humor. "So, it's a virgin birth. I should start a religion."

"It's not gonna actually be born though," Keshah reminded her. "It's a chest popper, remember?"

"I'm hoping Sirene can help with this," Lizette said quietly. "I'm gonna end up owing her big time."

"You're bound to," came the reply. "I don't think she would be adverse to that idea."

Keshah stepped through the portal to Seagate. Shortly thereafter, Miriam and her mother arrived at the temple as well. To Lizette's quiet relief, Miriam looked well.

Chapter 16: Whispers of Caution

Rules of the big things

And her mother and her were ushered off to another room. The words that followed came laced with uncertainty. "But, you know, there are lots of really big things out there. Just be careful, there are rules. I, I get them wrong, so I'm the worst person. But, something like you're only supposed to speak to... No, don't know that. Well, then don't speak around. Alright. But really? Okay. I, I could be wrong. Talk to someone who's actually sure what's going on, because you don't want to get it wrong."

People and Places

Alba - Our host at the inn
Marian - Alba's daughter
Captain Grendel Hammersong - Captain of the Dwarven Guard
Mr Tudor Tumblewall - Our language tutor - teaching us the local language
"Her Magnificence" (Mags) - the inn's cat
Tommy - a local tomcat
Maranor the Unholy - the Enchanter who lives in the Blue Tower
Merda - The Cat Lady

Lore and Clues

TBC - Review clues, prophecies, promises, and discovered facts.

Buffs & Mil Sci

Long Term (assumed always on)

Magic	Caster / NPC	Rk	Base Chance	Range	Duration	FT	Target	Effects
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Short Term

Magic	Caster / NPC	Rk	Base Chance	Range	Duration	FT	Target	Effects
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Misc

TBC - Review daily rituals, consumables, protective auras, meals, rings, shells, and other recurring resources.

Watch Order

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	11	12
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Marching Order

Default: TBC
Double File: TBC
Single File: TBC

Astrology

TBC - Review lucky numbers, readings, auspicious days, and party-wide astrological effects.

Loot

TBC - Review payment, treasure, potions, invested items, services, destroyed items, and unresolved claims.

Calendar

Seasonal Overview: TBC - Populate from NPC Forge weather timeline when date range is known.
Icon Legend: [sun] clear, [sun/cloud] mixed, [cloud] cloudy, [rain] rain, [storm] storm, [fog] fog, [warning] severe, [wind] wind, [new moon]/[crescent]/[full moon] moon phase.

Date	Day	Weather	Temperature	Rain	Wind	Dawn	Sunset	Moon	Notes
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Winter

Winter
	Moonday		Duesday		W'ansday		Th'rsday		Frysday		Reapsday		Sunday
	Samhain
Frost (7)
			1	Guild Meeting	2		3		4		5		6
	7		8		9		10		11		12		13
	14		15		16		17		18		19		20
	21		22		23		24		25		26		27
	28		29		30
Snow (8)
							1		2		3		4
	5		6		7		8		9		10		11
	12		13		14		15	Solstice	16		17	The Duke of Carzala's Winter Ball	18	Yuletide
	19	Days of Chaos	20	DoC 2	21	DoC 3	22	DoC 4	23	DoC 5	24	DoC 6	25	DoC 7
	26	DoC 8	27	DoC 9	28	DoC 10	29	DoC 11	30	Twelfth Night
Ice (9)
											1		2
	3		4		5		6	First Plough	7		8		9
	10		11		12		13		14		15		16
	17		18		19		20		21		22		23
	24		25		26		27		28		29		30

GM Review Notes

Reader-style draft generated from the safe Roleplaying/Reader Mode stream.
Review names, links, operational sections, and chapter emphasis before moving this text to a permanent campaign page.