My Art

It's all her fault.

No, this isn't her just blaming herself for a bad situation.

She made the call.

Ossillaph-08 has unofficially joined the team.

Her words hit like ice in her veins. She gave them her her benefactor. The Mirror Spire. And their symbol...The exact same mark burned into her memory from the day her brother Xahn died.

The day she made the wrong call.

It's all her fault.

The briefing room aboard the Wayward Profit had once been a cargo hold, but Everly Jenkins had transformed it into something far stranger: a war room, a workshop, and a caffeine-fueled crime against architecture. But mostly it was a hunk of junk in space.

Holographic projectors hovered over the center table. Half-disassembled scanners lined one wall in neat, obsessive stacks. A tangle of cables ran across the floor like vines. The air smelled faintly of hot circuitry, stale coffee, and the kind of tension that settled in before someone said the wrong thing.

P.E.A.C.E. Prime stood beside the main display with her arms folded, purple interface lines pulsing faintly beneath her skin. Korrak leaned near the rear bulkhead, silent and unreadable as always, while Snarble lay coiled at his boots, black eyes half-lidded but alert. Violet sat quietly at the table, hands folded in her lap. Golden skin reflecting the lights.  Everly paced. Calla lounged in her chair with practiced ease, one boot hooked over the opposite knee, looking bored in the way only people who were absolutely not bored ever managed.

And in the center of it all sat Ossillaph-08.

No restraints. Just a chair.

She sat with one robot leg crossed over the other, silver cybernetics catching the cold blue light from the projector, her expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement, as if this entire room were an inconvenience she intended to survive out of spite.

Everly stopped pacing and jabbed a stylus toward her. “Just so we’re clear worm, you are only alive because you promised useful information.”

Ossillaph inclined her head. “And yet here I am.”

“Temporary,” P.E.A.C.E. said without looking up from her tablet. “Status pending emotional stability of the room.”

Calla snorted. “Then we’re doomed.”

Ossillaph’s gaze flicked toward her. “Probably.”

Everly exhaled through her button nose, then slapped the projector awake.

A star map blossomed above the table, bright and precise. Silver route-lines spread outward through the darkness, some solid, some broken, some tagged with warning markers. Smuggling corridors. Dead lanes. Hidden relay points. The sort of map that only existed when someone had spent years erasing evidence and calling it strategy.

At the center of several converging paths, a symbol rotated in cold blue light.

A split skull inside a hexagonal frame, gold and black, the lower point drawn into a blade-like taper.

The room went quiet.

Not instantly. Not all at once.

First Everly stopped pacing. Then Korrak straightened a fraction. Violet’s posture changed so subtly it would have been easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. Even P.E.A.C.E. lifted her head, optical focus narrowing as if she were already running the symbol through a hundred hidden archives.

Only Calla did not move.

Ossillaph nodded toward the image. “The Mirror Spire.”

The symbol turned slowly above the table.

“Not just a gang,” she said. “Not pirates. Not exactly soldiers either. They move cargo, erase people, retrieve technology, destabilize governments when the right people ask nicely. Good people.”

Korrak’s voice came low from the wall. “Terran black wing.”

Ossillaph’s mouth twitched. “You know more than you let on.”

“I know enough.”

Everly folded her arms. “So let me get this straight. Our little trap worked, and now we’re hunting a secret government-backed pirate death cult.”

P.E.A.C.E. answered at once. “Statistically speaking, the trap succeeded because Calla flirted more than expected.”

Calla would have laughed at that yesterday. She would have fired back something sharp and ridiculous and turned the whole thing into a game.

Today she only stared at the symbol.

Because it wasn’t just a symbol.

The room dissolved around the edges.

Metal smoke.

Emergency lights.

Xahn shouting her name.

Her own hand slipping on the controls.

The wrong door opening.

A black ship in the docking glass.

That same mark burning into the hull.

Gold on black.

Watching.

Her brother turning back toward her, eyes wide with warning, because she had made the wrong choice.

Again.

And again.

And again.

It’s all her fault.

The coffee cup in her hand cracked.

The sound was small.

Too small for what it meant.

No one seemed to notice at first. Everly was still talking. P.E.A.C.E. was still analyzing. Korrak was still silent. Violet’s gaze had begun drifting toward Calla, but only with the kind of concern that came before certainty.

Then the cup slipped from Calla’s fingers and shattered on the floor.

Every head turned.

Calla stood very still, staring at the hologram like it had reached across a long time and taken hold of her throat.

“No.”

Her voice came out thin and distant.

Violet was on her feet instantly. “Calla…”

“No.”

This time it was sharper.

Calla pushed back from the table so fast her chair scraped loudly across the floor. She pointed at the symbol with a trembling hand. “That ship.”

Ossillaph’s expression changed. “What?”

“That symbol was on the ship.”

The room stayed frozen.

Everly blinked. “What ship?”

Calla laughed once, but it had no humor in it at all. “That ship.” She swallowed, breathing too fast now. “My last government op. The one before the monastery.”

The silence that followed was different from the first one. This was no longer curiosity. It was impact. She never spoke of her past.

Korrak straightened fully. Snarble lifted his head. Even P.E.A.C.E. stopped moving.

Calla stared at the hologram, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. “I saw it,” she said. “I saw that symbol on the hull before everything went to hell.”

Violet’s voice softened. “Calla.”

Calla ignored her. Her eyes locked on Ossillaph. “You knew them? That ship, that crew!”

Ossillaph did not look away. “Yes.”

That one word seemed to drain the air from the room.

Calla stepped closer to the table. “Then tell me why.”

Ossillaph’s face hardened. “They weren’t my people.”

“Close enough.”

“Calla,” Everly warned, sharper now.

Calla didn’t even glance at her. “You knew them. You know that symbol. You know what they do.” Her voice had gone tight and cold, the kind of cold that only came after pain had burned through everything softer. “So start talking.”

For the first time, Ossillaph looked less smug and more careful.

She studied Calla for a long beat, as if she were seeing the shape of a wound before she was seeing the person carrying it.

Then she asked, quietly, “What happened?”

And somehow that was worse.

Because nobody had ever really asked her that.

Not like that.

Calla’s jaw tightened. Her hand dropped to the edge of the table, knuckles white. “My brother died. I made a bad call…” The words came out flat at first, then rougher on the second breath. “And I think they were there.”

No one spoke.

The projector hummed softly overhead. Somewhere in the ship, a vent cycled. The stars beyond the hull kept burning in indifferent silence.

Ossillaph looked at the symbol again, then back at Calla. For the first time since her capture, her expression had lost all amusement.

It was concern.

Real concern.

The meeting ended badly, though not in the loud way anyone might have expected.

No shouting. No weapons drawn. No dramatic exit.

Just the quiet kind of wreckage that came after something old and buried finally found its way into daylight.

Calla left before anyone could stop her.

She moved through the corridor without looking back, boots striking the floor in hard, even steps that were almost convincing until the second they weren’t. By the time she reached the observation deck, her pulse was hammering in her throat.

The rear deck was dark and cool, the stars spread out beyond the glass in cold, endless brilliance. Calla stopped there, bracing both hands on the railing. Her fingers were shaking.

She hated that.

Hated how quickly she was seventeen again if she let herself be still too long.

The door slid open behind her.

Violet, of course.

Calla didn’t turn. “You’re getting predictable.”

“Mm.” Violet stepped beside her. “And you are avoiding me.”

Calla gave a short, broken laugh that didn’t become a smile. “I’m avoiding the part where I start breaking things.”

Violet looked out at the stars with her. “You already did.”

Calla closed her eyes. Tears forming.

For a while neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t empty, though. Violet had never been loud with comfort. She was worse than that. She was patient.

Finally Calla said, very quietly, “I thought I made it up.”

Violet turned her head. “What?”

“That ship.” Calla’s voice tightened. “That symbol. That whole night.” She swallowed hard. “For a long time I kept telling myself I was making connections where there weren’t any. That I was tired. That I was angry. That I was just... trying to give the pain a shape.”

Violet said nothing. She only waited.

Calla stared out through the glass. “Because if it was real, then it means I’ve been running from the wrong ghost.”

Violet’s voice was low. “You were not running.”

Calla huffed a weak breath. “No?”

“You were surviving.”

That made Calla’s throat close up worse than anything else.

She looked down at her hands. “Feels like circling.”

Violet nodded once. “Sometimes that is what survival looks like.”

Calla let out a slow breath, the kind that had been trapped behind her ribs for years. “My brother died because of me I made a wrong call facing them… he died..”

Violet’s expression softened, just a little. “Then this mission matters more now.”

Calla wiping away tears gave her a sideways look. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It is not the only way,” Violet said.

Calla almost smiled at that, but it didn’t quite make it. Instead she looked back at the stars, blinking hard.

Then Violet reached for her hand.

Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Just enough for Calla to notice and choose.

This time, Calla let her.

Her fingers closed around Violet’s, and the tension in her shoulders broke by degrees, not all at once, but enough.

Inside, the briefing room still waited with its holograms and its answers and Ossillaph-08’s dangerous knowledge.

For perhaps the first time in several sessions, the party actually attempted to move the main plot forward.

Unfortunately, they were the party.

The morning began slowly at the tavern, with the aftermath of several poor life choices settling over the group like a fog. Gwyane, former wizard student, current alcoholic adventurer, and recent victim of his own enthusiasm, looked absolutely miserable. The young sorcerer sat slumped over a table with his face pressed against the wood, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and his dignity nowhere to be found.

A mug of water sat untouched in front of him.

Rashare looked genuinely concerned.

"You alright there, sonny?"

Gwyane slowly raised a thumb.

The thumb trembled.

Then it lowered again.

"I think..." he groaned. "I think the room is attacking me."

"The room isn't moving."

"It is from my perspective."

Rashare scratched his head.

"I don't understand. We drank the same amount."

Gwyane looked up at him in disbelief.

"You are a magical forest tiger-man."

"That's fair."

The poor ex-student eventually staggered off toward his room to sleep off what was surely one of the worst hangovers of his young life, leaving the rest of the party downstairs.

Dutchman had finally been brought up to speed on the previous night's events.

The druid listened quietly while the others described the hobgoblin ambush, the dog rescue, the knife, and the increasingly questionable decisions that had somehow led them all back to town alive.

By the end he was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Eventually the laughter died down and the group faced a much more difficult challenge.

Actually deciding what to do next.

The discussion dragged on for quite a while as plates were emptied, drinks were consumed, and increasingly ridiculous suggestions were proposed.

One side argued that they should return to Dutchman's mysterious Circle and provide an update.

The problem was that the update wasn't much of an update.

They knew somebody was creating strange hybrid creatures.

They knew magic and science were somehow involved.

They knew Witch-Tech might be connected.

And they knew almost nothing else.

"It feels like we're collecting puzzle pieces from six different puzzles," Arcades admitted.

"And half the pieces are on fire," Kai added.

The second camp argued that they needed to keep pushing the investigation before every lead went cold.

"People disappear," Dutchman pointed out. "Evidence disappears. Witnesses disappear."

Kai nodded.

"Sometimes because we accidentally kill them."

"That too."

Then came the financial problem.

The party was poor.

Not starving poor.

But definitely "recently arrested and fined fifty gold each" poor.

"We need money," Arcades said.

"We need answers," Dutchman countered.

"We need both."

"We need more money than answers."

"We need enough money to buy answers."

The debate somehow spiraled into a discussion about alternative revenue streams.

At one point somebody suggested selling Dutchman’s body.

The deep dwarf took the idea surprisingly well.

"I am rare."

"You are."

"Exotic."

"Unfortunately."

"There may be a market."

"There absolutely is."

Dutchman nodded thoughtfully.

"Interesting."

Arcades buried his face in his hands.

"We are not selling party members."

Then someone suggested selling Gnomesguard to a wealthy noble as a decorative curiosity.

The autognome seemed intrigued.

"I could simply walk away later."

The DM immediately intervened.

"You would need to roll deception constantly."

Gnomesguard thought about it.

"...Pass."

Eventually sanity prevailed.

A plan formed.

First, complete a simple local mission for money.

Second, investigate the location where the mysterious elf corpse had been discovered near the docks.

Third… profit…

Everyone agreed.

The plan lasted nearly ten minutes before somebody tried changing it again.

A new record.

The group headed toward the mission board, that faithful source of employment, misery, and occasionally both simultaneously.

Several familiar postings still hung there.

The bandit bounty remained untouched.

Various guard contracts called for travel outside the city.

One request sought protection for researchers studying strange hybrid animals appearing in the wild.

Kai immediately pointed at it.

"That one screams Witch-Tech."

"It also screams money."

"Even better."

“We’ll do it.”

Then they found the final posting.

A handwritten plea from an exhausted noble household.

Every morning, without fail, a mysterious individual appeared.

A seven-foot-tall “human” man.

A goat.

One wall.

Nobody knew why.

Nobody could stop him.

Nobody could even catch him.

He would arrive.

Throw a goat at a noble's house.

Then leave.

The noble would scream.

The cycle would repeat.

Every.

Single.

Day.

The table went completely silent.

Then Kai started laughing.

"I love this city."

The mission was accepted immediately.

Not because it paid especially well.

Not because it advanced the plot.

But because everyone desperately wanted answers.

Especially Kai.

"Imagine dedicating this much effort to anything."

"What if he's justified?" Arcades asked.

The table paused.

That was actually a fair question.

"What if the noble deserves it?" Rashare added.

"What if the goat deserves it?" Gnomesguard countered.

"What if the goat is the mastermind?" Dutchman suggested.

Kai pointed at all of them.

"This is exactly why nobody trusts adventurers. Remember if we turn on our employer, nobody will hire us."

Before heading out, Rashare decided to sell one of his greatswords.

Kai immediately saw an opportunity.

"Write a name on it."

"What?"

"Legendary swords have names."

"They do?"

"Absolutely."

Kai grabbed the weapon.

"Look at this thing. Call it something dramatic. The Widowmaker. Dragon's Bane. Steve."

"Steve?"

"People remember Steve."

Arcades immediately intervened.

"Or... hear me out... tell the truth."

Rashare chose honesty.

The sword sold for ten gold.

Kai looked disappointed.

"Steve would've gotten twenty."

Meanwhile, Gnomesguard split from the group to gather information.

The autognome spent the next hour interviewing locals about goat-related incidents with the seriousness of a detective investigating a royal assassination. Good luck.

The rich district greeted the rest of them with manicured streets, polished stonework, decorative gardens, and people who looked expensive.

The target house itself was surprisingly modest.

Large by common standards.

Tiny by noble standards.

A four-foot decorative fence surrounded the property.

Kai stared at it.

Then grinned.

"I see."

Arcades immediately knew trouble was coming.

"No."

"The noble is clearly part of the Tall Alliance."

"No."

"The fence exists to keep short people out."

"No."

The shorter members of the party collectively groaned.

Dutchman threw a bread roll at him.

Kai considered that a victory.

As they waited outside, Arcades turned toward Dutchman.

"Hey, you're a druid."

"Last time I checked."

"You can turn into animals, right?"

"Of course."

Arcades pointed toward the house.

"If we find the goat, maybe you can talk to it."

Dutchman nodded confidently.

Then dropped onto all fours.

"Bark bark."

The party stared.

Dutchman continued.

"Bark bark. I am dog."

Silence.

Long silence.

Finally Kai spoke.

"I have no idea what I'm looking at."

Neither did anyone else.

Then something strange happened.

A dwarf sprinted down the street behind them.

Without warning, he ran directly into a wall.

And vanished.

Dutchman pointed immediately.

"DID YOU SEE THAT?"

Kai didn't even turn around.

"No."

"There was a dwarf!"

"No there wasn't."

"He ran through a wall!"

"You're imagining things."

Dutchman looked offended.

"You people never believe me."

"Because your evidence is terrible."

A few moments later, the estate's guard arrived.

Ironically, he was also a dwarf.

The table erupted into laughter.

The universe had impeccable comedic timing.

The armored guard led them inside the estate grounds while muttering about how ridiculous the entire situation had become.

The property itself showed signs of extensive renovation.

The structure was old, but somebody had spent a fortune transforming it into a respectable noble residence.

As they walked, the guard finally explained the situation.

His expression suggested he hadn't slept properly in weeks.

"The current lord has owned this property for ten years."

"Okay."

"And every morning for the last several days..."

The guard paused.

"...a seven-foot-tall human arrives carrying a goat."

The party listened carefully.

"He jumps over the fence."

"Impressive."

"He runs to the east wall."

"Still impressive."

"He throws the goat at the wall."

"..."

"..."

"..."

The guard rubbed his temples.

"The goat hits the wall."

"Okay."

"The goat screams."

"Reasonable."

"The goat gets up."

"What?"

"The goat is completely fine."

The party exchanged confused looks.

The guard continued.

"There's always blood."

"That's concerning."

"And fur."

"Also concerning."

"But no injuries."

"Very concerning."

"And then the giant man and the goat leave together."

Kai slowly nodded.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

The guard pointed dramatically toward the eastern wall.

"THANK YOU."

"I've been saying that for days."

The exhausted dwarf slumped against his spear.

"It makes no sense."

"It serves no purpose."

"It solves nothing."

"And nobody can catch them."

Kai looked toward the mysterious wall.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

"Well."

"What?"

"I think this might be the best job we've ever taken."

And with that, the investigation into the legendary Goat Thrower officially began.

The party was finally inside the estate and, for perhaps the first time all day, dealing with a mystery that sounded even stranger than anything involving Witch-Tech.

The owner of the property greeted them personally at the front entrance. Lord Fernando Machemah was an air genasi with immaculate clothing, perfectly combed hair, and the exhausted expression of a man who had spent the last several mornings watching a stranger assault his house with livestock.

Kai studied him carefully.

"So let me get this straight," the fighter said. "You've never met this guy before?"

"No."

"He never says anything?"

"No."

"He just shows up every morning, throws a goat at your wall, and leaves?"

"Correct."

Kai stared at him.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Fernando sighed.

"You have no idea how many times I've had that exact conversation this week."

The party asked every question they could think of. Had the man ever spoken? No. Left a note? No. Threatened anyone? No. Asked for money? No. Stolen anything? No.

The insight checks came in.

The verdict was unanimous.

As far as anyone could tell, Lord Fernando was telling the complete truth.

Which somehow made the entire situation worse.

The noble handed the investigation over to one of his guards, who led them through the estate grounds toward the eastern wall.

The garden itself was beautiful. Carefully trimmed hedges lined stone paths. Flower beds bloomed in neat rows. A fountain splashed peacefully nearby.

And right in the middle of all that elegance sat a patch of dead grass.

"That's where he lands," the guard explained.

The party moved closer.

Sure enough, the grass had been flattened repeatedly. Nearby, another scarred patch marked where the goat usually impacted the wall.

A few strands of coarse hair still clung to the stone.

There were even faint smears of dried blood.

Kai crouched beside the impact site.

"So the goat is definitely real."

"The goat is very real."

"And survives?"

"Every time."

"That goat has seen things."

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the city, Gnomesguard had become trapped in what could only be described as an accidental social experiment.

For nearly an hour he had wandered the streets asking complete strangers if they had seen a giant man throwing goats at noble houses.

Most people immediately walked away.

Some laughed.

Others looked genuinely concerned.

One elderly woman crossed herself and hurried off before the autognome could finish his sentence.

Eventually a merchant stopped and stared at him.

"Friend, what drugs are you on?"

"I am not on drugs."

"You sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Can I have some?"

Gnomesguard blinked.

"I don't actually possess any."

The man looked disappointed.

The artificer straightened proudly.

"Though I am reasonably confident I could manufacture some."

The merchant brightened.

"Really?"

"But that would be illegal."

The merchant immediately lost interest.

Gnomesguard nodded wisely.

"I am merely a magnifying glass."

The merchant walked away even more confused than before.

Eventually he found someone willing to actually talk.

The fellow mentioned seeing a giant frog-spider creature wandering around a week ago.

Gnomesguard immediately perked up.

"Oh! I tried riding it."

The man froze.

"You what?"

"I attempted to ride it."

"...Why?"

"It seemed like a reasonable scientific experiment."

The local stared at him for several seconds.

"Did you win?"

"No."

"Fair enough."

The conversation continued.

"Did you get to keep the meat?" the man asked.

"What meat?"

"The frog-spider. Some deep dwarf was selling it."

Gnomesguard immediately recognized Dutchman.

"Ah yes. Entrepreneurial spirit."

"Nah, all sold out."

"A pity."

The man shrugged.

"If I find more weird monsters I'll let you know."

"I would appreciate that."

"You got gold?"

"Oh yes."

The man looked surprised.

"You don't seem rich."

"I enjoy long walks and speaking with strangers."

"...You're weird."

"That is a common observation."

The two parted on surprisingly good terms.

Back at the manor, Dutchman completed his ritual.

Kai watched the process uneasily.

Something about it never sat right with him.

Druids were supposed to be nature people.

Trees.

Animals.

Grass.

Not standing in circles surrounded by strange energies while muttering arcane nonsense.

That felt suspiciously cult-adjacent.

The ritual completed.

Dutchman froze.

"Oh."

Everyone looked at him.

"What?" asked Arcades.

The deep dwarf slowly turned.

"There is necromancy here."

Kai immediately pointed at the goat stains.

"Undead goat."

"What?"

"Undead goat."

"Why would it be an undead goat?"

"You just said necromancy."

Dutchman ignored him and concentrated.

The magical trail was powerful.

Far stronger than it should have been.

His eyes narrowed.

"No..."

The aura wasn't coming from the goat.

It wasn't even coming from the garden.

It was coming from the wall itself.

The exact place where every goat struck.

The guard blinked.

"The wall?"

Dutchman pointed.

"The wall."

The guard suddenly looked nervous.

"Uh... that's the master bedroom on the other side."

The entire party slowly turned toward the house.

That was odd.

Very odd.

Dutchman reached a conclusion.

Then immediately pulled out his axe.

The guard nearly had a heart attack.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"Investigation."

"THAT'S A WALL!"

"Correct."

The first chop landed.

CRACK.

The guard looked horrified.

"You can't just chop holes in a noble's house!"

"The noble hired me."

CRACK.

"I'm solving the mystery."

CRACK.

Kai folded his arms.

"You know, when he does it, everyone complains."

"Because he's using an axe!"

"When I do it they complain too."

Arcades produced a glowing pebble and tossed it into the crack.

The light illuminated something beyond.

Kai squinted.

"You know, I wonder if carrying glowing rocks around causes cancer."

The table immediately paused.

The DM casually replied.

"Maybe."

Arcades looked confused.

"What's cancer?"

Kai thought for a moment.

"A drunk cleric explained it once on duty. Sort of. It's when your body decides it hates itself."

Before anyone could respond, Gnomesguard's voice crackled through the sending stone.

"That is an oversimplification. Cancer is a large group of diseases characterized by uncontrolled cell growth and abnormal—"

Kai groaned.

"Same result."

"Not scientifically."

"Body kills itself."

"That is not medically accurate."

"Close enough."

Then Gnomesguard heard the chopping.

He froze.

"...Do I hear construction damage?"

Dutchman answered proudly.

"Maybe."

"STOP."

"No."

"THAT IS HISTORICAL ARCHITECTURE."

"Make me."

The sending stone went silent.

Then everyone realized what had happened.

Gnomesguard was running back.

As fast as his little metal legs could carry him.

To save the wall.

Not the people.

The wall.

Eventually Dutchman managed to peer through the opening.

He saw darkness.

Dust.

And bones.

Lots of bones.

The deep dwarf slowly lowered himself.

"...Well."

"What?"

"There are bones in the wall."

The guard looked horrified.

"The WHAT?"

Kai stood up immediately.

"Okay. New theory."

"What theory?"

"Our noble is a murder."

The guard looked even more horrified.

The party quickly called Lord Fernando back.

The air genasi arrived looking mildly annoyed until Dutchman explained what he had discovered.

The annoyance vanished immediately.

"You found what?"

"Necromancy."

"What?"

"Bones."

"WHAT?"

"And possibly a hidden room."

Fernando stared at his own house.

"There is no hidden room."

Dutchman pointed upward.

"What's below your bedroom?"

The noble thought.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Just an old crawlspace nobody can access."

Everyone paused.

Kai pointed.

"That sounds exactly like where hidden rooms go."

Soon the entire group was searching the master bedroom.

Rashare led the investigation and achieved the highest result.

He found absolutely nothing.

Arcades found a bug.

A painting fell off the wall and nearly killed everyone from fright.

Lord Fernando casually mentioned that the estate was rumored to be haunted.

Everyone turned toward him.

"NOW you tell us?"

"It never seemed important."

Dutchman performed another Detect Magic ritual.

Several minutes later his eyes snapped open.

"There."

He pointed at a spot beneath the rug.

The group pulled it aside.

Nothing appeared.

At least nothing visible.

But Dutchman could clearly see an invisible outline.

A hidden door.

A magically concealed hidden door.

A magically locked hidden door.

Dutchman rubbed his hands together.

"Excellent. I have a spell for this."

Kai immediately shoved him aside.

"No."

"What?"

"No magic."

"It's a magical lock."

"Exactly."

Dutchman opened his mouth.

Kai grabbed the invisible handle.

The muscles in his arms tightened.

Witch-Tech enhancements surged beneath his skin.

Then he pulled.

The room echoed with the sound of wood splintering.

Metal screamed.

Magic shattered.

And with a mighty effort, Kai ripped the entire hidden door straight out of its hinges.

The lock.

The frame.

The enchantment.

Everything.

The door crashed onto the floor.

Silence filled the room.

Even Kai looked surprised.

He stared at the wreckage.

Then down at his own hands.

Then back at the door.

"Wow."

Nobody said a word.

Kai nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"Witch-Tech definitely did a number on me."

The revelation of the hidden chamber beneath Lord Fernando's manor left everyone standing in stunned silence for a few moments.

Even Kai.

And Kai was rarely surprised by anything anymore.

Lord Fernando stared at the jagged remains of what had once been an invisible trapdoor and slowly shook his head.

"I have lived here for ten years."

He pointed at the hole.

"Ten years."

Then pointed again.

"And that was under my bedroom the entire time?"

Dutchman shrugged.

"Happens."

"No it doesn't!"

Insight checks rolled across the table.

The poor air genasi wasn't lying.

He genuinely had no idea there was a secret room hidden beneath his home.

Which somehow made the situation worse.

Because now everyone had to wonder who did know it was there.

Dutchman immediately volunteered for the most dangerous job available.

Naturally.

The deep dwarf tied a rope around his waist while Kai wrapped the other end around his arm.

"Pull me out if something tries to eat me."

Kai nodded.

"Reasonable."

"If I scream?"

"I'll pull."

"If I scream twice?"

"I'll pull harder."

"If I scream three times?"

Kai thought for a moment.

"I'll assume you deserved it."

Dutchman sighed.

"Good enough."

Then he descended into the darkness.

The crawlspace was cramped, dusty, and smelled like seventy years of neglect.

His magical light revealed old beams, dirt-covered stone, and scattered debris.

And one very familiar autognome.

Gnomesguard was currently kneeling on the other side of the room, beside the damaged wall with tools spread around him, peering into the large gash..

He was muttering to himself while carefully repairing the section Dutchman had hacked apart.

The moment he noticed the druid, he pointed an accusing finger.

"You!"

Dutchman blinked.

"Me?"

"How dare you."

"You were the one yelling about architecture."

"Because architecture matters."

"It was a wall."

"It was a historic wall."

Dutchman rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile Gnomesguard continued carefully applying mortar as if he had personally sworn an oath to defend old buildings.

Then his attention shifted toward the bones.

The bones everyone had almost forgotten about.

The small skeleton lay partially buried beneath dirt and collapsed wood.

A woman's remains.

Gnomesguard looked closer through the gash.

"Interesting."

The table collectively groaned.

Whenever Gnomesguard said "interesting," things usually became terrible.

He began examining the bones with surprising expertise.

A Medicine check.

Natural talent.

Twenty-two.

The autognome slowly pieced together the story.

"Female."

Everyone listened.

"Adult."

He examined a rib.

"Approximately seventy-five years deceased."

Another bone.

"Wearing a dress when she died."

A pause.

Then his mechanical eyes narrowed.

"Oh."

That wasn't good.

"What?" asked Kai from above.

Gnomesguard pointed.

"Knife marks."

Silence.

"Several."

Another pause.

"Directly through the ribs."

Dutchman looked closer.

The cuts were unmistakable.

Not an accident.

Not natural.

Not disease.

Murder.

The woman had been stabbed through the chest.

Likely through the heart.

Then hidden beneath the house.

And forgotten.

For seventy-five years.

The mood changed instantly.

The goat mystery suddenly felt far less important.

Rashare folded his arms.

"So..."

He pointed at the skeleton.

"Do we need a séance?"

That was apparently the wrong question.

Because Gnomesguard immediately launched into a story.

"Oh, I've been in one before."

Everyone groaned.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"It was fascinating."

The autognome ignored every attempt to stop him.

"There was a medium, three candles, a talking ferret, and somehow an argument about municipal taxes."

"What does that have to do with…"

"I still don't know."

Nobody could determine whether the player was describing a past adventure or something that had genuinely happened to him.

And nobody was brave enough to ask.

Arcades finally stepped forward.

"Enough."

The aasimar closed his eyes.

Divine Sense.

Holy energy washed through the room.

The air became cold.

Very cold.

Everyone felt it.

Then Arcades opened his eyes.

"Oh."

"What?"

"There is definitely something here."

The room darkened.

The temperature dropped further.

A faint shape appeared near the skeleton.

A woman.

Transparent.

Silent.

Watching.

The ghost stood there for only a moment before vanishing.

Everyone immediately stopped joking.

Dutchman felt it next.

A pressure.

A presence.

A Charisma save.

He looked at the DM.

Looked at the dice.

Then shrugged.

"I'll fail voluntarily."

The table erupted.

"WHAT?"

The DM smiled.

"Oh no."

Dutchman grinned.

"I want to see what happens."

The ghost accepted the invitation.

Her spirit entered him.

Dutchman's body stiffened.

His eyes widened.

Then suddenly relaxed.

The room became silent.

Even Kai stopped talking.

Dutchman slowly turned his head.

But it wasn't Dutchman looking out anymore.

It was her.

The ghost.

Gnomesguard immediately stopped repairing the wall.

"Question."

The possessed dwarf stared at him.

"Are you friendly?"

A long pause.

Then Dutchman spoke.

Except it wasn't his voice.

It was hers.

Soft.

Sad.

Ancient.

"Put..."

The room went cold.

"...to rest."

Gnomesguard immediately shoved a notebook and pen through the opening.

"Can you write?"

The ghost took them.

Everyone waited.

For nearly a minute the only sound was scratching ink.

Then Dutchman's body slumped.

The spirit departed.

The dwarf collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Kai immediately pulled on the rope.

"Still alive?"

Dutchman groaned.

"Unfortunately."

He looked down at the page.

Then read aloud.

The room became silent again.

"My husband killed me."

Nobody spoke.

"He is dead."

Still silence.

Then the final line.

"Find a nice place to bury me."

A pause.

"Near water."

The ghost appeared one final time.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then slowly faded.

Gone.

At peace.

Or as close to peace as she could get.

Gnomesguard immediately raised his hand.

"I know exactly where."

Everyone turned.

"There is a cliff overlooking the harbor."

His voice softened slightly.

"I go there sometimes to think."

The party stared.

The autognome continued.

"It has a beautiful view of the ocean."

A pause.

"She'd like it there."

For once nobody made fun of him.

Lord Fernando promised to arrange a proper burial.

At his own expense.

The mystery of the hidden body had been solved.

At least partially.

But one question remained.

Kai finally voiced what everyone had been wondering.

He leaned toward Rashare and whispered,

"What does any of this have to do with the guy throwing goats?"

Rashare looked at him.

Kai looked back.

Neither had an answer.

With nothing more to do until morning to confront the goat thrower, the party headed toward the docks.

Arcades departed along the way.

Apparently he had become obsessed with designing a new card game.

Nobody asked questions.

They had learned their lesson.

The docks were bustling with activity.

Mission boards covered in notices lined the harbor.

Most involved guard work.

Merchant escorts.

Long sea voyages.

One involved a missing fisherman and his daughter.

Another requested guides for an expedition to a mysterious island.

Kai read the poster.

Rashare read the poster.

Dutchman read the poster.

"Treasure Island."

Everyone looked at each other.

Then simultaneously agreed.

"No."

Absolutely not.

That sounded like a trap.

While waiting for Brandon Seafield, the shark-man from before, the one Arcades flirted with and failed, the party decided to kill time.

Kai pulled out his new trident.

"I'm going fishing."

A respectable Survival roll later, he returned with three large sunnies.

Dutchman nodded wisely.

"Ah yes. The sunfish."

He stroked his beard.

"Close relatives of the goldfish."

Gnomesguard stared.

"No."

Dutchman blinked.

"No?"

"No."

The autognome launched into an increasingly scientific explanation involving fish families, body structures, and taxonomy.

Kai listened for ten seconds.

Then stopped.

The important thing was that they were edible.

Rashare joined the competition.

Using a bow.

Because of course he did.

Arrow.

Rope.

Water.

Fish.

Somehow it worked.

Two more fish.

Nobody questioned ranger logic anymore.

Then Gnomesguard wanted a turn.

Everyone groaned.

The autognome pulled out a net.

Then looked at Kai.

"Throw me."

Kai immediately agreed.

Twenty-two Athletics.

The tiny construct became airborne.

Twenty feet.

Straight into the harbor.

Splash.

The party waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Kai folded his arms.

"If he comes out holding another anchor, I'm leaving."

A moment later Gnomesguard surfaced.

Triumphantly.

Holding...

A boot.

And a rusty can.

Kai buried his face in his hands.

Gnomesguard examined the boot.

Carefully.

Scientifically.

Professionally.

After several minutes he announced:

"It is a very nice boot."

Nobody responded.

"Someone probably misses it."

Still nobody responded.

Then he looked at the party.

"Do any of you have a house where we could store it until we find the owner?"

A rare silence followed.

Kai looked toward the ocean.

"I used to."

Nobody pressed further.

Even Gnomesguard understood that answer.

Instead, the autognome carried the boot to the mission board.

Attached a note.

And proudly posted it.

IS THIS YOUR BOOT?

10 GOLD FINDER'S FEE

The party immediately walked away before questions could begin.

Nearly thirty minutes later, their contact finally arrived.

The massive shark-man Brandon Seafield lumbered down the dock.

He looked annoyed.

"A few adventuring groups already checked the location."

Kai grinned.

"Oh?"

"They found nothing."

Kai's smile widened.

"Those groups aren't us."

The party gathered their gear.

The sun was beginning to set.

The goat mystery waited for morning.

The strange hybrid creatures remained unexplained.

And now there was the site of the dead elf hybrid used to be by the docks that needed investigating.

For the first time all day, it felt like they were finally moving toward the real story.

Which, based on their track record, probably meant everything was about to get much worse.