#nemisis1509

P1, line 1 more, just after a meeting with

P1, line 2 Horn of Orcus

P1, lines 2-4 *The party’s first priority is to replenish the items used deep beneath the Greyspine Mines, and they make their way to the Abadar’s Promenade district in the midafternoon, warm sun on their skin, to a familiar, low building. [[[Note: Check the wiki, Crit Role Stats, or Critical Role Transcriptions for the correct spellings of places and people! I know fantasy names are often really difficult to make out, but there are a lot of resources available!]]]

P2, line 4 Abadar’s Promenade

P2, line 6 Vax stepped forward,

P3, like 1 confusion—how in hell’s name

P3, line 2 held by such a small shop?

P3, line 3 How, then, did a staircase lead upward?—but that moment of confusion passed

P3, lines 4-5 scents of the shop. The rogue ignored

P4, line 1 Sconces on the walls

P4, line 2 magical flames, which winking off of artfully

P4, line 4 purple robes wandered the shop

P4, lines 5-6 as they attended to other customers.

P5-8 (See beta note 1) “Brother,” Vex’ahlia murmured, “you should get that evil Clarota helmet checked out and see what good it does us.”

Vax’s lips curved into a grin as he reached up one hand and tapped the skull cap he wore. “You mean this one?” he asked.

“Yes,” Vex deadpanned, used to her twin’s antics. “That one.”

Keyleth moved a little closer and spoke softly to the rogue. “I think you should be the point man here,” she said. Those who heard the druid’s words murmured their agreement.

P10, line 1 “Start looking, start shopping

P10, line 2 an…arrangement.” [[[Note: There’s just an extra space in the original.]]]

P10, line 4 how eager he was

P10, line 5 and the druid

P10, line 6, hands to the rogue’s shoulders in encouragement.

P11, lines 1-3 she told Vax firmly. She frowned and licked the tip of her thumb, wiping an almost-nonexistent smudge from Vax’s nose.

P12, line 1 not in view, so he swept

P12, lines 3-9 *Vax’ildan’s trained eyes moved across the counter and beyond it, noting the beaded curtain that hung from the store’s back door. He noticed the purple cloth that concealed a case set in the dark wood of the counter, a case that very likely held small valuables, knick-knacks, and stoppered vials of potions. With a mental jolt, he broke out of his reverie and reached out, firmly tapping the service bell three times.

P13, line 4 as a hand briskly whisked aside the beaded curtain.

P14, lines 1-2 voice purred, and Gilmore’s familiar figure stepped

P14, lines 2-3 Vax took everything in, from the well-made purple robes

P14, line 4 hung around his neck, to the coarse

P14, lines 5-6 ponytail, to the wispy, braided goatee, all of which added to

P15, line 1 “Oh. Oh. You’ve returned,” he said at last.

P16, line 1 [[[Note: I saw another person make a note of the use of “hale,” and this word works perfectly fine here. The more common expression is “hale and hearty,” but there’s no need to change it!]]]

P16, line 4 lifting the rogue’s feet

P17, line 3 filled the rogue’s nostrils.

P18-19 (See beta note 1) “You naughty man, you just called me by my sister’s name. That is going to cost you.”

Gilmore blinked, flustered. “I—I said Vax! What do you mean? That’s ridiculous, preposterous, I mean—“

P20, line 1-4 *Vax simply arched his eyebrows cheekily and let Gilmore sputter his excuse. Vax knew what he heard, and he was more than willing to wait until Gilmore stopped squirming and admit his mistake.

P21-23 (See beta note 1) Tiberius interrupted Gilmore’s groveling. He said, “Actually, Vax, he was correct. He said your name correctly but mixed it with your sister’s. So maybe you owe him a little something.”

After Tiberius spoke, Keyleth couldn’t help herself, and words tumbled from her lips. “He said Vax’ahlia,” she blurted out, then mentally kicked herself, even as Tiberius chimed in again in agreement.

Vax glanced back at his friends and gave them a testy “shut up” before returning his attention to Gilmore, who was quite embarrassed by this turn of events. Vax patted the other man’s hand. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “We have come from far and away—you would not believe the shit we have been through. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you. What has been going on in this city since we’ve been gone?”

P24, lines 1-2 “Well,” Gilmore began, then turned to glance about the party behind Vax. “Obviously, you’ve brought

P24, lines 9-11 Perhaps even,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “perhaps even—get this—opening a second store in Westruun.”

P28, line 1 two more arcanists, and

P28, line 3 available items. We’re doing quite

P30, line 2 your investor, in a way.

P30-31 (See beta note 1) that’s a whole other discussion.”

Tiberius muttered and mumbled and shuffled his feet for a moment, then the truth dropped out between his fangs. “I just wanted you to talk to me for a little bit,” he admitted with surprising humility.

P32, line 3 after a moment, then

P32, line 4 “But yes. How about yourselves?” His voice

P33, line 3 for the Emperor—we’ve been

P34, line 2 levity. “I know

P35, line 4 shop about. My sister can

P35, line 6 around the city, get a bit

P35, line 8 The rogue paused

P35, line 11 you’ve heard, what’s on the wind.

P36, line 2 gears shifting in Gilmore’s mind. The rogue

P36, line 3 half-elven

P36, line 4 worry. Apparently no one

P40-42 (See beta note 1) Hastily, Vex lifted a hand. “Oh, we need to shop around first, of course.”

The purple-robed mage looked a little confused at first, but then he shrugged. “Very well,” he replied.

Percy spoke up, covering any awkwardness. “And we’re so curious about these interesting and fascinating things that you’ve developed in the several weeks it’s been since we’ve been here. We’d love to see what you’ve been working on.”

P43, line 1 Sherri [[[Note: Shout out to Crit Role Stats for the correct spelling!]]]

P45-47 (See beta note 1) “Would you be so kind as to see to whatever our friend need? These are Vox Machina, by the way; they are currently sponsored by Gilmore’s Glorious Goods Incorporated, and I would very much like to make sure that they are taken care of.”

The half-elf’s voice didn’t chance when she answered, “Yes, sir, I’ll make sure that happens.”

With a sweep of his hand toward Vax’ildan, Gilmore dismissed the matter. “So, shall we?” he purred.

P50, line 1 what I need,” he muttered

Beta note 1: There’s a little trouble with dialog formatting, which means that my paragraph system is a little wonky, but oh well. Something to keep in mind is that, most of the time, the actions that a character takes before, during, and/or after speaking should go as close to the dialog as possible. Paragraphs 5-8 are a good place to look for this. You have this section written as such:

“Brother,” Vex’ahlia murmured, “you should get that evil Clarota helmet checked out, and see what good it does us.” Vax’s lips curved into a grin as he reached up one hand and tapped the skull cap he wore.

You mean this one..?”

“Yes,” Vex replied, deadpan, used to her twin’s antics, “that one.” Keyleth moved a little closer and spoke softly to the Rogue.

“I think you should take point on this,” Keyleth said. Those who heard the Druid’s words murmured their agreement.

Luckily, this particular instance doesn’t prevent the reader from understanding who is saying what. Your dialog tags are clear, so there isn’t any confusion with that. However, while writing dialog, you should generally create new paragraphs every time the focus shifts to a new character. My edit turned out like this:

“Brother,” Vex’ahlia murmured, “you should get that evil Clarota helmet checked out and see what good it does us.”

Vax’s lips curved into a grin as he reached up one hand and tapped the skull cap he wore. “You mean this one?” he asked.

“Yes,” Vex deadpanned, used to her twin’s antics. “That one.”

Keyleth moved a little closer and spoke softly to the rogue. “I think you should be the point man here,” she said. Those who heard the druid’s words murmured their agreement.

All I really did was move the character’s actions closer to their dialog. (Well. I also listened to this part of the episode because “you should take point on this” didn’t sound right. But you get the point.)

Beta note 2: It is not necessary to capitalize a character’s race or class. The first reason is because the Player Handbook does not, and that’s pretty much the guideline. The second reason, in more thorough terms, is because a character’s class is like their job and their race (unlike race in the real world) is more like their species. It’s like if I introduced myself as Rachel, the Human Student. Or Judy in Zootopia introduced herself as the Bunny Cop. Or the vampire dad in Twilight introduced himself as the Vampire Doctor. (I’m sorry for the last one—it’s all I could think of.) It’s just not necessary.

Beta note 3: You used a lot of semicolons, and the majority of the semicolons are actually fine on a technical level. However, semicolons are typically pretty formal, and I didn’t think that they fit the tone of this piece, which is why I changed many of them to a more informal dash or turned the compound sentence into two sentences. 

The blazing, vicious cinderstorm that Vox Machina and their Fire Ashari escort had been fleeing was still spilling through the portal, but healer Pike’s first priority was the wounds everyone had received during Keyleth’s test. One tiny, ash-covered hand closed around the ever-present symbol of Sarenrae that hung around Pike’s neck, and the cleric’s whispered prayer drifted on the air to the ears of the injured. The healer’s small, gnomish form glowed with a golden light for the briefest of moments, as did the bodies of Vox Machina, and together they voiced a sigh of relief as their wounds closed and their burns healed.

The portal to the Fire Plane closed abruptly, choking off the hot, sooty clouds spewing from its mouth, the black fumes dissipating. In the silence, Cerkonos, Headmaster of the Fire Ashari, walked slowly forward and extended a hand to Keyleth as she sat on the ashy ground. For a moment, the Flamespeaker just stood, a stern and unyielding look in his dark eyes. Then Cerkonos spoke.

“You. You have the blessing of the Pyrah behind you.” The corners of the Flamespeaker’s mouth twitched upwards at the interruption of exhausted cheers that erupted from Vox Machina, and Keyleth’s own lips curved in a smile, part in relief, part in weary pride. “Go forth. Continue your AraMente, knowing we acknowledge your wisdom and ability.”

Exhausted, Keyleth voiced her gratitude. “That you, Cerkonos. Brother,” she said. The Druid reached out to grasp the Flamespeaker’s hand in midair, and with one powerful movement, Cerkonos pulled Keyleth to her feet. Cerkonos’ beckoned with his other hand and a nod to one of the Druids that had been keeping watch. The Fire Ashari stepped forward, offering Keyleth an orb of rough, black stone with fiery red veins of pulsing energy that seemed to move even the Cindergrove’s subdued light. Keyleth accepted it, and her breath caught in her throat as it’s magic, hot and heavy, pulsed against her palms.

“This is a Spark Stone,” Cerkonos said. “Rare, within the realm you just escaped; we’ve harvested but a handful over generations, as few have returned with them. This one is yours, Keyleth, to use yourself or bequeath to an ally. When crushed by the hands of one, their fists shall burn with the fury of an Efreet.” Jaws dropped among the party; this was a princely gift. Seemingly without thought, Vex spoke up, her eyes locked on the orb between Keyleth’s palms.

“For how long?” Cerkonos’ eyes moved across, and he remained silent for a moment; then the Flamespeaker seemed to remember that Keyleth, whom he now honoured, called this occasionally impertinent half-elf “sister”.

“For as long as you wish,” the Headmaster replied. “The choice is yours to whom this blessing is given.” Keyleth’s fingers curled around the Stone. For the Fire Ashari to give up such a precious and rare artifact…

“Thank you. This is a great honour,” Keyleth said simply. The younger Druid held the elder’s gaze for a long moment before Cerkonos turned to look at the rest of the group.

“Well,” the Headmaster said, “you are welcome to stay as long as you wish before you must continue on your journey.”

“I think a rest might be in order,” Keyleth sighed. “I’m exhausted.” Noises of agreement filled the air from the other members of Vox Machina agreed to rest with the Fire Ashari, and Grog wondered aloud if they could have graham crackers and chocolate.

“And also a lot of water,” Vex'ahlia panted, fanning herself theatrically with one hand.

“Water would be lovely,” Percy commented dryly as he put his mask away.

“Water,” Keyleth said dreamily. “Do you have water, Cerkonos?” The Flamespeaker’s face was blank with surprise for a moment before he replied.

“We can offer some-”

Tiberius interrupted the Headmaster’s words. “I have water,” the dragonborn said jovially, a heartbeat before pulling a flask from his bag and popping the cork. Water- fresh, clear and cold- sprayed into the air, drenching everything, including Vox Machina, the Fire Ashari, Cerkonos, and even the lava pit behind the group.

“Gah,” Percy muttered, turning away and lifting a hand to shield his eyes, but he wasn’t loud enough to cover Vex’s next indignant question.

“You’ve had an endless supply of water while we’ve been fighting Fire Elementals?” she asked in disbelief as the magical water continued to spray and steam rose around the party.

“Yes,” came Tiberius’ calm reply. For a moment, Vex stared through the magical downpour. Then the half-elf’s eyes met those of her twin, and in unison they sighed and shook their heads. “It’s mainly for drinking and such,” Tiberius added, slightly confused, as the water continued to pour. The sorcerer hovered the cork over the neck of the bottle. “Are we all done?”

Percy, Pike and Keyleth moved to wash the dust and soot of the Fire Plane from their skin and drink from their cupped hands. The Fire Ashari stepped into the magical rain as well, muttering about the length of time it took to gather water from the distant wells each morning. They procured cups and gratefully filled them to the brim before Tiberius stoppered his flask. Then, Vox Machina and the Druids saluted each other with respect normally only shown to fine wine, and drank, their parched mouths gulping the water down greedily.

Cerkonos led Vox Machina gently but firmly to the edge of the Cindergrove, and gave a nod to Keyleth as he rubbed his shoulder. “I must heal the wounds of my helpers, taken during your test. Do as you see fit; leave when you feel comfortable. And good luck.”

Keyleth folded one arm across her chest, fist over heart, and bowed. “Kaitiaki, brother.”

Cerkonos’ mouth was grim, but there was a smile in the Flamespeaker’s dark eyes when he replied. “Kaitiaki, Princess.” With that, the Headmaster turned, and was soon lost to sight among the trees of the Cindergrove, leaving Vox Machina behind on the edge of the small Druid village of Pyrah.

Grog’s deep, booming voice interrupted the contemplative silence the Flamespeaker’s exit had created. “Your people are fucking sweet,” the Goliath said as he turned to Keyleth. Any remaining tension was dispelled as most of the group exploded into laughter, and after a moment, Keyleth managed to thank the Goliath.

“Yes, I rather enjoyed that Fire Elemental myself,” Tiberius announced. Keyleth’s hands extended for a moment, and the Druid made a small gesture that encompassed the group.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Keyleth said, simply and honestly.

Vox Machina rumbled and muttered, before Pike saved them from having a maudlin moment.

“What does ‘kaitiaki’ mean?‘” the cleric asked.

Keyleth replied, “It is… sort of our salute. Um, it means… guardian. And brother. Brethren. So it’s like a high salute.”

Vex and Pike repeated the word a time or two, but Vax'ildan’s interrupted the impromptu language lesson. “And, not tomorrow, please; but where do you need to go next for this quest of yours?” the Rogue asked.

“Well, my last stop would be to the Water Ashari, in Aquus,” Keyleth replied, brow slightly furrowed in thought.

“Lovely name,” Vax responded dryly as he deftly avoided a thrust from Vex'ahlia’s elbow.

“But they’re on another continent,” Keyleth added, lifting one hand to push back her damp hair, which was drying fast Pyrah’s hot air.

“So that’s good,” Grog rumbled, “I don’t think we could take another one right now anyway.”

“A little rest is in order,” Percy said, brushing absently and futilely at the soot encrusting his clothing.

“I’m doing pretty good, actually; I’m kind of ahead of schedule,” Keyleth murmured after another moment’s thought.

“Wonderful. Let’s just take some respite,” Tiberius agreed firmly.

Vox Machina took a short rest at a hut in the small village; each taking their turn with the dragonborn’s enchanted flask to bathe and remove the worst of the grime. Keyleth spent part of their rest thinking about the Spark Stone. After some contemplation, the Druid concluded that there was no hurry to decide the Stone’s fate and stowed it safely away. Then, slowly, they made their way down the mountain range and gathered their horses.

After giving the animals a little feed, Vox Machina mounted, with Vex returning to Trinket’s back, and they began their journey back to Vasselheim. The three-day journey was filled with stories and songs; perhaps not as tuneful as they would have been had Scanlan been able to accompany them, but enjoyable nonetheless.

The uneventful journey ended after the group passed beyond the massive grey stone walls of Vasselheim; upon stopping by the Temple of Sarenrae, Pike discovered that the Priestess of the Raven Queen, who had been lifting the curse set upon the grounds had done her job and done it well. The grounds were now ready to be sanctified and rededicated to Pike’s patron deity.

The eager voices that had lifted from the Temple to greet them made the diminutive cleric blush; those that had been little more than strangers and fellow followers of Sarenrae a week ago were now clamouring for Pike’s attention and were showing a level of devotion to the gnome that made her a little uncomfortable. After greeting the other worshippers properly, Pike gathered together with the rest of Vox Machina, and words escaped her in a low mutter.

“What if I don’t wanna go back? What if I just want to stay? With you?”

“You’re an important figure to us as well, Pickles,” Vax said, humor coating the real sadness in his voice.

“You’ve done so much for our lives,” Grog began slowly, “maybe you’ll continue to do good in these lives.” Pike’s eyes met the Goliath’s for a moment, and her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“Well, debatable,” the cleric replied lightly.

“You can leave them at any time,” Grog added hastily, sweeping one massive arm through the air to indicate those who waited eagerly for the gnome. “And we’ll kick their arse and you can come with us.”

“At any moment at all,” Vex'ahlia added in a chuckle that ended in a noise that was suspiciously close to a sob, as Keyleth spoke up.

“You know where home is.”

“This was so great; being a part of this journey that you had,” Pike said, turning to the Druid.

“Thank you; I’m glad you came,” Keyleth replied simply.

“You are always a part of our journey no matter where we go, Pike.” Tiberius spoke calmly, but there was a world of unsaid feeling in the dragonborn’s eyes.

“Just keep the poo close,” Grog rumbled with a mischievous look in his eyes. Pike looked blank for a moment before Vex spoke up after flashing the Goliath a glare.

“I mean, I don’t know what it does, exactly, but…” Watching his twin flounder, Vax finished for her.

“Just put your faith in Sarenrae,” he said. Pike’s expression changed to a grin. These people were weird, but they were her friends.

“Okay.” For another long moment, the cleric’s eyes moved among the group. “Well, I guess I’ll go.” Pike’s eyes slid to Keyleth’s, and the gnome rested her arm across her chest, fist to heart. “Kaitiaki.” The Druid’s eyes brimmed over for a moment as her own arm came up and she returned the salute.

“Kaitiaki,” Keyleth replied. With that, Pike moved away but was stopped when Tiberius enveloped her in a scaly hug. When they stepped apart, Tiberius cleared his throat and tugged at his robes, slightly embarrassed.

“You were always my favourite gnome,” the dragonborn muttered awkwardly.

“Oh, thanks. You were always my favourite… well, dragonborn, I guess,” Pike replied, laughing. Tiberius laughed too and returned the thanks. Again, Pike hesitated, then turned away once more and headed for the excavation site. One of Vex'ahlia’s hands reached up to press against the dull ache lodged just below her breastbone.

“It hurts, every time,” the Ranger sighed. Grog rumbled in agreement, but Vax'ildan simply leaned against his sister for a moment in silent sympathy as they watched the small form walk away.

—

~Vox Machina walks the streets of Emon once more, after a session with the Council and the Sovereign of Tal'Dorei to decide the fate of the Horn of Orcus. Replenishment of the items used far beneath the Mines of Kraghammer is at the top of the party’s list, and they make their way to Avidar’s Promenade in the midafternoon under a warm sun, to a familiar, low but wide building.~

 “Oh. Oh. You’ve returned.”

“Gilmore.” Vax let his happiness to the see the other man hale(?) and well show in his voice. “You glorious bastard, how have you been?”

Vax simply arched his eyebrows and waited until Gilmore’s spluttered excuses were interrupted by Tiberius’ voice; Vax knew what he’d heard, and the Rogue was more that willing to wait until Gilmore stopped squirming and realize he was caught.

Gilmore gathered himself for a moment. “We have been doing marvelously; trade has opened up wide in Emon. We’ve had travellers from all over Tal'Dorei and beyond. It’s incredible.”

 “But yes; I’ve taken on two more Arcanists, and we’ve been in the process of designing some more interesting, wondrous items. We’ve stocked up on our available items; we’re doing quite well for ourselves.”

   “Very well,” Gilmore repeated. “Sherry!”

The rough wood of the hatch scratched against Vax’s cheek as he pressed against it, his twin silently grumbling and moving out of the way. Eyes closed, the Rogue concentrated, shutting out the tiny sounds his party made in the darkness below, lit only by the light from the Flametongue dagger and Keyleth’s burning hands.

Movement. Feet pacing on wood; maybe… four feet away, depending on the depth of the floor, off to the side. Low voices. A conversation – must be two at least. One of them was slightly familiar to the half elven’s ear; the fine gentleman Percy had fooled on the street? Yes, that was him. The other was completely unfamiliar.

“There’s no body right above us, but there’s people in the house,” Vax murmured as he moved slightly down the ladder so Vox Machina could hear him. “They’re either on another floor or in another room.”

“Just to be clear,” Grog rumbled as quietly as possible, “before we start; we’re killin’ everything, right?” The Barbarian ran in eyes over his party mates, almost in plaintive appeal.

“Yes,” sighed Percy softly.

“Okay; good. Do we wanna send like, one person out sneaky and then have a code word, like cheeto if it all goes wrong?”

“Last time we did that it went really well,” Keyleth whispered dryly and somewhat waspishly. “Didn’t it, Vax?”

“Did we do that before?” Grog asked, confused.

“We didn’t send anyone, I just-” Vax began, before being cut off by Percival.

“Let’s just go one room at a time.”

“One room at a time?” Scanlan hissed nervously. “We have get up through that hatch to go through, and there’s people up there!”

After a few more moments of quiet conversation, it was decided that Vax would slip up through the hatch and just ‘see what he could see’. Before the Rogue could mount the ladder once more, Keyleth slipped through the group, pressed a hand to his shoulder, and, after a moment, finally whispered, “good luck” in Vax'ildan’s ear.

The Rogue delicately pushed the hatch open and glided up into the darkness beyond, lowering the hatch silently and deftly. In the light of the Flametounge dagger, Vax saw he was standing in a room that looked and felt almost like a closet; it was perhaps five by ten feet in dimension, and full of hanging clothing. A door lead to another room; but the voices were coming through the wall to the Rogue’s left. The half elf slipped through the draping fabric, almost absently mindedly riffling the clothes and pocketing whatever change he found as he passed, and pressed one pointed ear to the wall.

“With everything that’s going on,” a voice said in the room beyond, “it’s honestly very frustrating. These people; unwilling to hold up their share of the bargain. I am beside myself; I’ve been doing my best to keep them in order, but I think at this point in time we need to do another show of strength if we’re going to keep them working as hard as we have been.” That was the one Percy had fooled, Vax thought to himself.

“Don’t worry; don’t worry,” an unfamiliar voice soothed the first. “We’ll keep it under control.” A pause. “At the very least we shall have to be ready. Prepared. If what Lady Briarwood says is true, we should be having visitors any day now; and I would hate to be caught flat-footed.” Vax bared his teeth in a grin. “So. We’re going to go ahead and gather our army; we’re going to make sure that the place is set the best we can – traps, alarms, whatever is necessary to make sure we are not caught off guard.” At this, the Rogue had to drive his teeth into his bottom lip and his nails into his palms to silence his laughter. When Vax had recovered himself, the Rogue lifted one hand to the earpiece that nestled in his right ear; one that connected him with the rest of Vox Machina waiting below.

“Everybody hold,” the half elf breathed, and returned his attention to the conversation on the other side of the door, where the older voice spoke once more.

“I don’t like the idea of there being any kind of conflict on our home turf. I wish they would just meet them out head on – cut them off at the head! Why do we invite them in here? That seems to be a dangerous circumstance.”

“We’ve got two gentlemen up here,” Vax'ildan whispered into the magical earring for Vox Machina to hear. The Rogue couldn’t help the slight, vicious smile that curved his mouth. “I think it’s time to start killing. Send up the Goliath.” All eyes in the cellar turned to Grog, whose lips spread in a smile of his own, the Barbarian’s eyes twinkling with look that was almost that of a young maiden facing her dramatic debut. Vax slipped into the room beyond the closet; it was a music room, well furnished, and made way for the rest of his party. The room was dim; the only light filtered in through the single window and the overcast sky that still dripped rain. The Rogue moved across to a door that stood ajar, and, spying a hallway, peered through. Glancing left and right, the hall’s only noticeable feature was a door that logic told Vax'ildan must contain the sources of the voices he’d been listening to. With a gesture and an unpleasant smile, Vax motioned to Grog and Keyleth to follow.

“Do you want me to create a diversion of some sort?” Scanlan whispered, to be met with a silent, stern head shake as Vax mouthed 'no’. As the Rogue almost pulled Keyleth and Grog into the music room, Vex'ahlia’s brows drew together and she glared at her twin. Keyleth caught the stare, and opened her mouth, then remembered they must keep silent and simply gestured in apology at Vex. Unfortunately for Vex, her stare was robbed of it’s usual power; the Seeming Scanlan had cast had given the Ranger, at her request, a pair of eyes that looked off in two different directions in the middle of a peasant grandmother’s old and wrinkled face. Instead, Scanlan focused on the Barbarian, and began to whisper a tune under his breath.

“Blood, glorious blood, Grog’s about to take some; dead dudettes and dudes, Grog’s about to make some…” It was just loud enough for Grog to hear; the Barbarian’s grin stretched even wider, and he hefted his Warhammer in his massive hands, giving Scanlan a nod. Then Scanlan looked down at the hatch and the bear who sat mournfully below, eyes locked on Vex'ahlia. “Trinket; stay,” the bard hissed, a second before the back of Vex’s hand slapped into the bard’s head. The bard winced, lifted and hand, and hid a smile. Totally worth it. After a moment, and another off-centre glare from the Ranger, the rest of Vox Machina slipped stealthily into the hall on the heels of the first three; all of them could now hear the voices within the chamber beyond.

Vax'ildan lifted a hand in the air, took a deep breath and clicked his heels together, activating the Boots of Haste the Rogue wore. At that sign, Grog also took a breath, and the Barbarian’s eyes became clouded with a red mist as he began to rage; seeing this, Vax’s grinned, adrenaline already coursing through his blood like a fine wine. The Rogue lifted one foot, took aim and with a single blow, kicked the door open and began to move.

The room beyond was well-lit and well-appointed; and five men, not two, were inside. The balding man from yesterday, three guards in dark leathers, and another male wearing black and blue armour – the colours of the Briarwoods. A fire gave warmth and cheer to an arrangement of armchairs and a small table to Vax'ildan’s right; the man in armour stood behind a broad desk that took up a good portion of the right hand side of the room. If it were not for the hardness in the stranger’s face, and the cruelty in his eyes, he might have been almost boyishly handsome, the Rogue noted as his trained eye moved about the room, taking in every detail. The guards stood, two to his left and one to his right in the far corner; and the walls against the door Vax had just kicked wide were covered in bookshelves.

Both the male in armour and the balding man wore identical expressions of shock and confusion; to their eyes, a motley mob of dirt streaked peasants had just knocked the doors inward, thanks to the gnome bard’s magic. Percy took the opportunity to dart forwards through the door, following the bookshelves along the door to the right, nestling in a corner of the room as he lifted the List and took aim. A single shot boomed out, and the guard opposite him swayed backwards from the force of the impact. Percival pulled the trigger again; then snarled in frustration as the gun misfired. With deft, practised skill and a flick of long fingered hands, the disguised De Rollo cleared the misfire and looked up; and for a moment, just for Percy, time seemed to stop.

Behind the desk stood Sir Kerrion Stonefell. Aside from a little more white in his brown hair, Stonefell looked no different; the years dropped away as rage and hatred welled up inside Percy. “If you’re lucky,” Percival noted in a voice that was surprisingly calm and even, “you die last.” Stonefell’s eyes grew even wider as his confusion mounted; he seemed to be having a hard time comprehending that a pack of paupers had just stormed into his office.

Grog, closely on Percy’s heels, rushed into the room and swung the Firebrand Warhammer down. With a sound that resembled a squeak, the balding man jerked out of the way, staring in shock as the hammer boomed against the wood of the floor. The man who had just attacked him resembled a portly butcher of middle years; he could do nothing but blink as the Warhammer slammed into his chest, making him grab the table behind him as flames licked up and over his chest from the magical properties of the Warhammer. The older man glared at the pot bellied figure looming before him. His lips curled in a snarl, and he yanked two short swords from his belt; Grog gave a smile.

“That’s the best thing you could have ever done,” the Barbarian advised in a rumble.

“I don’t know who you are,” the short sword wielder threatened, “but you’re gonna regret that!” Grog let the Firebrand answer as he swung again, smashing into his target for a second time. The wooden table behind the balding man splintered under the transferred force of the blow; Grog’s enemy only just managed to keep his grip on his weapons and his footing under the fury of the attack. An expression of fear crossed his face as the Goliath gave a deep toned chuckle.

As this was happening, Scanlan entered the office just behind Grog and paused somewhat off to the side, eyes darting around the room. The gnome’s gaze fixed on the guard who stood closest to him, and the bard lifted the Hand Cone of Clarity he carried and crooned a song through it that bored directly into the guard’s mind. “You’re as cold as ice; willing to sacrifice your boss…” The guard’s heavy crossbow came up, and for a moment, the possibility of failure crossed Scanlan’s mind as it pointed in his direction – and then it swung to point at Sir Kerrion Stonefell, and Scanlan gave a tiny shake of his head at his own foolishness. Of course it worked.

Vex'ahlia shifted around the door, and loosed with the Sky Sentinel Bow. As the arrow jumped from the string, it split into three, each sparkling with arcane force. Two of the arrows ploughed into the desk, the thunder magic they carried dissipating; the third slammed into Stonefell. Vex bared her teeth and cast Hunter’s Mark on her enemy as she nocked another arrow; it plunged into Stonefell, who grabbed it and yanked it from his flesh as crimson began to stain his armour. Shock was rapidly giving way to fury; so the Ranger ducked back into the cover afforded by the doorway as Keyleth bounded past and Scanlan shouted to add to the confusion. “That was my grandma!”

Vax'ildan shot forwards, almost beating his twin’s arrows to their target as jumped into the air and landed on the desk directly in front of Stonefell. The Rogue’s two daggers sank down, finding and exploiting a gap in Stonefell’s armour, and gouging deep into the flesh beneath. Crimson splattered the blades and Stonefell coughed up blood as Vax struck a third time; with the element of surprise on his side, he’d wounded Stonefell badly – but not badly enough it seemed as Stonefell reared back and lashed out with a foot, making Vax pull back on the desk’s wooden surface. One of Vax’s eyes drooped in a wink that was a copy of his twin’s; Stonefell snarled in reply and drew a pair of rapiers from matched sheaths at his side.

The Druid had transformed into a massive, white, winter-furred Dire Wolf, and charged at the only enemy in the room not under attack; her ferocity was such that the guard was knocked off his feet – a peculiar thing to watch, as the Seeming was still in effect. To all eyes watching, a small, slim peasant girl had exploded into the room on all fours and had sunk her teeth into the guard.

Percy took a single step forward as Keyleth rushed past and pointed the Pepperbox at the guard that still stood in the corner. The boom was followed by an impact he didn’t really see; the majority of Percival’s attention was on Stonefell. The guard still stood; so Percy fired and stepped again, driving the man back with a gout of blood spraying from the wound gouged in his shoulder and blood trickling from his mouth – and yet he still stood. The Gunslinger’s brows drew together in a frown as the guard panted in pain. “Fall, dammit,” Percy muttered, pulling the trigger a third time. All three shots took a matter of heartbeats; but to Percival, locked in that private place where the rage had gone from hot to cold and every heartbeat was more thunderous than the List, it was an irritating eternity until the guard was flung back, crushing a pot plant beneath his limp body as crimson blood and thicker things that normally live inside the skull splattered and streaked the wall. In that place that felt so calm and quiet, Percival stepped over to the corner, presenting his back to his gory handiwork as his eyes came to rest on Sir Kerrion Stonefell. For a moment, he held his breath, then squeezed the trigger.

The List boomed, the projectile streaking through the air to slam into Stonefell; somehow, it was… more. It carried more weight; and in that place of cold, calm anger, Percy understood it was the weight of his vengeance, finally coming home to its intended target. The Gunslinger narrowed his focus and reloaded the List, forcing out all other distractions and staying perfectly balanced in that place of cold, cold rage as he squeezed the trigger again. Others, Vex'ahlia and Scanlan in particular, noticed what Percy ignored – slowly, eerily, a thick, black smoke was beginning to seep from the Gunslinger’s form; from his ears, his eyes, his very skin; enveloping his gun arm and filling the air around Percy, silent and terrifying.

Stonefell’s cape had been set alight by the first blast impacting his shoulder; he looked up with an expression of mingled fear and curiosity. As the smoke enveloped Percy’s arm completely, another shot rang out and a chunk was ripped from Stonefell’s shoulder – pieces of bone were now protruding from the mess. Stonefell stared at the smoke shrouded form, the hand holding his rapier now clutching at his ruined shoulder, and a single word dropped from his mouth in his shock. “Ripley?!” Percy’s lips curved in a truly unpleasant smile; he lifted one hand and removed the Cap of Disguise that adorned his head and looked at Scanlan.

“Drop it,” Percy ordered the gnome. In that moment of inattention, Stonefell made a few passes with his hands, applying pressure to certain points in his body to staunch the crimson flow from his wounds and rejuvenate himself a little, and, baring his teeth in fury, launched a flurry of blows at Vax using both rapiers. Three of his four strikes missed in the aftermath of Percy’s shots to his shoulder; the one that landed was barely able to scratch the Rogue as Vax'ildan danced backwards on the table top. Growling in frustration at the failed attacks, Stonefell moved back towards the wall; Vax used the opportunity to throw a dagger in Stonefell’s direction. The force of it staggered Stonefell backwards; with a glare of hate the man reached up and slammed his fist against the wall; once, twice, three times.

Meanwhile, Grog had continued to focus on the balding man who stood in the centre of the room. He had cringed back, much to the Barbarian’s delight, and Grog had landed two solid strikes with the Firebrand, staggering his enemy even further. The short swords came up; and his eyes went blank with concentration. To Grog’s dismay, the balding man vanished in a swirl of misty energy to appear on the other side of the room beside Stonefell. He clapped a hand to Stonefell’s shoulder, and his lips moved as he muttered a spell; with that both he and Sir Kerrion vanished from sight, making the Barbarian growl in frustration.

Six seconds had passed, and yet Scanlan was suddenly left with no targets. Instead, the gnome called a reminder to Vox Machina to leave at least one alive to spread the message and rushed to the door.

“You’d better get inside, Vex,” the Bard advised the Ranger, “company is on it’s way.” Looking at the half elven woman, Scanlan smiled. “Vex be nimble; Vex be quick; Vex jump under Limbo stick; now you don’t know how you gonna react; 'cause now Vex has an attack.” Vex'ahlia couldn’t help a chuckle; most of the time Scanlan was amusing. Vex remembered the last look Trinket had given her as she stepped through the hatch; yes, most of the time. A frown of concentration and a whispered hint of a tune later, the corridor was filled with a reeking cloud of sulphurous gas, giving Vox Machina a defence against any trying to approach.

Vex lifted her bow and knocked an arrow, aiming for the guard pinned by Keyleth. When released, the arrow changed into a bolt of arcane lightning, slamming into the man on the ground. The guard’s body quivered and shook as the lightning coursed through his body, and small trickles of energy sparkled through the air, snapping against the skin of everyone within ten feet of the impact site. A waver in the air for an instant told the Ranger she’d hit one of the invisible targets, too, and she smiled in satisfaction as her twin attacked for the space, throwing daggers but hitting nothing but wall.

At that moment, Keyleth looked up from the guard she menaced, and the Druid’s quick mind took in the situation in an instant. Keyleth shifted, resuming her usual form and regaining the ability to use magic. Drawing a deep breath, Keyleth lifted her hands and murmured out an invocation. A purple, arcane dust drifted from her fingers and twined through the air between the Druid and the space behind the desk. Faerie fire glowed and sparkled, outlining both Stonefell and the balding man’s forms against the wall; and the Druid backed up, gliding away from the wild swing a rapier made in her direction, nodding slightly as her powers completely nullified Stonefell’s advantage.

The guard Keyleth had knocked prone staggered to his feet and lifted his heavy crossbow, pointing it at Scanlan and releasing the bolt. All the gnome had to do was duck a little and the quarrel soared over his head, coming to a wobbling, musical halt in the wall behind. The guard dropped the crossbow, drew a mace from his belt and ran to put himself into attack range against Grog, who grinned and hefted the Firebrand once more. His compatriot, the guard Scanlan had dominated, had been keeping an eye on Stonefell; when the invisibility was cast, he’d dropped his crossbow and reached for his own mace – when Keyleth’s spell had lit up the area, the guard had taken his chance to strike. The mace whistled down, crashing twice into the magically glowing form of the balding man; hoping to break his concentration and therefore break the spell that kept Stonefell from sight.

Chips of wood and stone exploded from the wall behind Stonefell’s outlined form as the List boomed again, but the second time Percy pulled the trigger he did not miss and more blood decorated the room and walls. Somewhere, a long way away, Percival vaguely realised that his body was now totally wreathed in a black, spiralling mist – and that he did not care. In time with the beating of his cold heart a voice whispered from inside that smoke. “Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.” One of Percy’s hands reached up and pulled down his ever present mask; it’s bird-like form terrifying and malevolent as it peered through the dark smoke. The Pepperbox pointed, almost of its own volition, making certain Percy had Stonefell’s full attention.

“This is for the De Rollo’s,” Percival announced, his voice eerily calm. “And let me say, you were the one I was least looking forward to.” The List boomed; the projectile trailed black smoke as it whined through the air. In the moment before impact, Percy could have sworn he saw an expression of horror on the visage of the shimmering apparition, before there was an explosion of blood as the lower half of Stonefell’s face was demolished. More blood and more brains splattered across the walls as the body of Sir Kerrion Stonefell collapsed to the floor in a messy heap, crimson slowly leaking from the wreckage.

For a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, no one moved; no one spoke. All eyes, friend and foe alike, were riveted to the terrifying entity that had just taken Stonefell’s life. A voice, audible only to Percy, was the only noise in the room. “Yesssss….”

Percival’s hand convulsively opened and the List clattered to the floor. With an almost desperate motion, the Gunslinger shoved his mask back with one hand while grabbing a letter opener from the desk with the other. Then Percy scooped up the List and crouched, like an animal at bay, and began scratching at the smooth metal of the gun with frantic motions.

“Percy’s havin’ all the fun,” Grog growled, a moment before shifting his massive frame and bringing the Firebrand down towards the guard who was attempting to menace the Barbarian. Mace and Warhammer met in mid air, a collision that sent both crashing into the guard’s skull. The guard was thrown back and onto the desk to lie twitching; perhaps already dead – Grog brought the Firebrand down for a second strike, turning his enemy’s head into paste and smearing it across the now messy wood of the desk.

The glowing form of the balding man attempted to flee towards the window, and, completely on instinct, Keyleth struck out with her staff. Wood collided with his face, teeth breaking from the impact; and he slumped to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. Scanlan moved up to the guard who was under his mental control, unsure of what to do.

“Tell him to tell them every thing’s fine,” Percy snarled from the floor, not looking up from his frantic scratching.

“Oh, yes, good idea,” Scanlan agreed, although he gave Percy a peculiar look before he focused his attention. “You there, guard; go tell everyone that every thing’s fine. Go into that stinking cloud out there and tell all your friends that every thing’s… hunky-dory.” With that, Scanlan realised that his concentration on the cloud had faded and he gave a little shrug as he looked towards the door; sure enough, the magic cloud had dissipated. Obediently, the guard left, walking out of sight down the hall; voices drifted back to Scanlan’s ears as Vax'ildan moved up towards the door. The conversation faded as the magically controlled guard returned and just looked at Scanlan, awaiting his next order.

“I want it said that this one should die,” Grog rumbled as he stood over the unconscious body of the balding man. “He has magic; he’s too strong. He can set better traps.”

“We could interrogate him, though; maybe get crucial information,” Scanlan suggested. “He’s an officer.” Percy shifted, not looking at anyone, and looted Stonefell’s corpse, grabbing one of the dead man’s rapiers’ to carve the groove he’d scratched into the barrel of the List even deeper. When Percival was satisfied, he finally, slowly, sank to his knees, then took a tailor’s seat on the ground as a deep breath filled the Gunslinger’s lungs. As Percy stared at the mark’s he’d made, the remainder of Stonefell’s name began to glow with a deep purple hue; after a moment, the light winked out, and the name was gone.

Vex'ahlia and Keyleth kept their eyes on Percy as Scanlan riffled through Stonefell’s desk; reading the notes he found quickly, there was some mention of Uriel’s Bridge, as well as a notebook. The bard’s fast fingers pocketed all of the papers as Grog began to bind the man who lay unconscious.

Vax'ildan shoved a cloth between the balding man’s teeth as Scanlan ordered his controlled guard to stand in the corner, facing the wall. Vex'ahlia opened her mouth in instinctive protest as Vax approached the helpless man; Keyleth used her Druid abilities to create a spray of colour on the wall in front of the guard – pretty flowers to see before he went to sleep. Scanlan moved up beside the hapless guard, feet moving and humming a distracting tune as Vax slammed the pommel of his dagger into the back of the guards skull, knocking him out cold and sending him to the floor, face down against the carpet.

Grog wrapped his Goliath hands around the balding man’s skull, and helped Keyleth remove and reinsert the gag after the Druid fed the older man a healing draught. Choking and hacking, the balding man came back to conciousness, remaining teeth driving into the cloth as he looked around wildly.

“Now,” Grog rumbled, “you’re going to listen very carefully as my friends ask you some questions. You’ll shake your head yes or shake it no.” Hesitantly and slowly, the bound figure nodded. “What are we going to ask 'im?” For a moment, no one spoke.

“Percy?” hazarded Scanlan – and received no response. Vax patted his twin’s shoulder and guided her forwards with a sigh. Vex'ahlia spoke first. “Where are the Briarwoods?” The gagged man’s eyes darted around.

“You’ve gotta do yes or no; he can’t do that,” Vax muttered.

“Oh. Are the Briarwoods in the palace?” Scanlan demanded. Muffled sounds were his only answer as the bound figure struggled to speak. “Just nod or nod,” Scanlan added dryly.

“I feel like this is very… I don’t feel good about this,” Vex murmured.

“Should we take the rag out?” Grog suggested.

“No,” was the short answer from Vex.

“He can do spells,” Scanlan continued patiently, and waited until the Goliath nodded.

“I just want to remind you that my friend over here can split you in half like an apple,” Vax'ildan said, meeting the bound figure’s eyes and gesturing to Grog. “Right?” The Barbarian didn’t wait; he simply used his massive hands to nod the head they held up and down. The balding man made muffled sounds of agreement, so Vax continued. “Have you seen the Briarwoods this week?” A nod and a muffled yes. “Do you like working for them?” A slight frown and a shrug.

“Do they know we’re here?” Vex asked sharply. The bound figure’s eyes shifted to the Ranger, and he gave a solemn nod and an affirmative noise.

“Are they in the palace?” Scanlan repeated, to be met with another non-committal noise.

“Do you know where they are?” Vex demanded, stressing every word. Her reply was a firm, mostly silent 'no’.

“Do they have pointier teeth than most?” Vax asked in a casual tone. Confused noises met this. Vax'ildan changed tack. “Is your life worth giving a little information?” Eager noises. “We want to know how to get into the palace without a problem.” More eager noises. “Got any advice? Now, I just want to remind you,” the Rogue added as he reached towards the gag with one hand and pointed to Grog with the other. “He can take your head off, your knees off, your cock off; anything, in half a second.” Grog gave the bound man’s head a little squeeze to bring the lesson home. “I’m going to pull the cloth out.” A whisper of a tune moved through the air, and suddenly the bound man was thrashing and trying to turn his head as Scanlan’s magic blinded him, causing him fight intellectually against his restraints. Vax gave their prisoner a light tap on the cheek to regain his attention. “I’m a big fan of efficiency, so I’m going to pull this rag out, and you’ve got about thirty seconds to start talking about something useful. Otherwise my friend is going to make you about six inches shorter.”

“Yeah; I'mma gonna turn your head into a dreidel,” Grog agreed cheerfully.

“So we’re going to start talking now, yes?” Vax asked over the muffled noises the Goliath’s threat had provoked. “In three, two, one,” the Rogue added, before plucking the gag from the bound man’s mouth. The prisoner inhaled raggedly and panted a few times before he managed to speak.

“Please don’t kill me; I can show you a secret entrance into the castle,” the bound figure panted. “I know a way in.”

“It’s not guarded?” Vex asked shrewdly.

“I don’t think so,” he gasped. “They’ve closed it off; if you can find a way through they won’t expect it.”

“Is it the one in the forest?” a cultured voice asked unexpectedly as Percy spoke up.

“There is one, yes, yes, one in the forest,” the bound man replied eagerly. “I can bring your to their project room, under the castle. What they’re working on. Please; don’t kill me.”

“What is the 'project room’?” Vex'ahlia queried.

“They’ve been working on something,” the prisoner admitted. “It’s… It’s hard to describe; I’ve only been there once. It’s… It’s beyond my interests, but it is part of the reason they even took this place.” There was a short pause, then Vax leaned forward.

“Lord Briarwood is a vampire,” the Rogue stated to an agreement from the prisoner. “What the fuck is Lady Briarwood?”

“She’s powerful; I’ll give you that. She scares me more out of the two of 'em.” And indeed, there was a slight tremble of fear to the bound man’s voice. Vex'ahlia’s lips curved in an unpleasant smirk.

“Is it hard to talk with no teeth?” the Ranger asked, her voice mildly polite and her expression one of vicious cheer.

“It’s harder than I expected, aye,” the prisoner replied. At this, Vex’s expression glowed with satisfaction and she gave an almost silent chuckle. Grog began to bend the man’s head back.

“Showing us won’t work. We need a location,” the Goliath rumbled as he slowly increased the pressure.

“It’s under the castle; under the city. All the caverns are there. I can show you how to get there; I’ve been there! They’ve taken me!”

“Do you know what they’ve done to the ground here?” Vex asked. Her answer was a confused expression, she tried again. “Do you know why nothing grows?”

“Stuff grows; it’s how we do the farming,” the prisoner responded.

“Stuff doesn’t grow, though,” Keyleth corrected. “Not like it should. What did they do to the land?”

“I don’t know; maybe it has something to do with what they’re doing under the castle.”

“And what exactly are they doing under the castle?” the Druid persisted.

“It’s an excavation; or they’re building something – I don’t know the details of it!” Vax spoke up in a drawl.

“You have no idea what they want?” The prisoner huffed in response.

“I’m just a peasant to them. I work with-” His eyes shifted across to the body on the floor. “Well, I worked with Kerrion…”

“How long have you worked with Sir Stonefell?” Percy asked softly, almost gently.

“Five years.”

“Were you here when he took the castle?” Percy’s voice was still so gentle.

“Yes, yes, I was part of the incursion.”

“Good,” Percy said crisply. “You’re very lucky; because you’re going to live.” Percy pulled out a map and spread it. “If you show us-”

“He can’t see anything,” Scanlan whispered.

“I know,” Percy snapped. “Drop it. Drop the seem, drop the blind.” Scanlan sighed and relaxed his grip on the magic, returning sight to the prisoner and their usual forms to Vox Machina. The prisoner now looked around wildly as Percy spoke again. “Look at me.” The words became harsher. “Look at me.” The bound man’s eyes locked with Percy’s. “You’re going to show me where on the castle is the secret entrance.” Percival paused for a moment. “Do you know who I am?” Their prisoner shook his head.

“No.”

“You will.” With that, Percy pushed the map forwards. “Mark it on the map.” The prisoner looked down at his bound arms for a moment; hesitating long enough for Grog to use his grip on the balding man’s head to shove it forward to the paper.

“Use ya nose,” the Goliath growled. Trembling, the bound man hesitated again, before wetting his lips and spitting on the paper.

“It’s right there.” Percival took only a moment to confirm the location; on the western side of the castle, it was roughly in the same area from which he’d fled all those years ago.

“I know where that is,” the Gunslinger murmured.

“That means we don’t need you any more,” Grog rumbled ominously.

“I could show you!” the bound man said, panicked. “I could show you where their project is! The tunnels – you need me!”

“I just want to ask,” Vex said slowly, “when do the Briarwoods come out?”

“Not often,” was the hasty reply. “Don’t need to; Kerrion does the work for 'em. Did the work for 'em.”

“Those giants; who controls them?” Scanlan asked sharply.

“Lady Briarwood; she’s the one who made 'em.”

“She’s the one who made them? Lady Briarwood?” Keyleth asked, a frown on her face, as another conversation began around her.

“Can I propose something to you?” Percy said to the other members of Vox Machina, and in reaction Vax'ildan shoved the gag back into their prisoner’s mouth. Percival’s words were short and brutal. “Mark his face; take his tongue; let him loose.”

“His eyes, too?” Scanlan wondered out loud in a dry voice.

“No,” replied Percy seriously, “just his tongue.”

“His tongue?” enthused the Barbarian. At Percy’s nod, Grog went to work, yanking back on the bound man’s nose with one hand, pulling the gag out and grabbing at the slimy muscle within the mouth with the other. A second to brace, and Grog pulled out a good pound of flesh to the accompaniment of hoarse screams. Those screams were immediately muffled by the gag as Grog stuffed the cloth back in their prisoner’s mouth, and, as it slowly turned soggy and crimson, Grog looked around at the horrified expressions that greeted him. “You said take his tongue,” the Goliath noted with exaggerated patience.

“He gets to live,” Percy said, still calm.

“Is that good enough for your message?” Grog asked the Gunslinger over the muffled howls and choking noises now emanating from the prisoner. Percy cocked his head, thinking for a moment. Then, as the party watched with a mix of wonder, horror, shock and awe, Percy pointed the List away and pulled the trigger, and, using the heat of the recently expended barrel, cauterised the inside of their prisoner’s mouth. The bound man thrashed and choked and screamed to no avail as Percy continued his bloody work, carving the De Rollo family crest onto the prisoner’s forehead.

Evenly, calmly, surveying his handiwork to the accompaniment of screams and disbelieving noises from his party, Percy finally spoke. “I say we let him run out the front door and we set fire to the house.”

“I’m good with that; I got this,” Grog announced, waving the chunk of tongue around.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Keyleth exclaimed, waving her arms, her eyes wide in shock and horror after the events of the last few seconds. The Druid’s gaze moved from Percy to Grog and back again, as she tried to form the words she needed to speak and push them past the images in front of her.

“I like that. I like that idea – a lot,” Grog rumbled, disappointed.

“You would, though,” Keyleth agreed absently, “you would.”

“Have we forgotten that this entire town is full of evil undead vampire people?” Grog complained.

“Are we also forgotten that this entire town is looking for us?” the Druid demanded, trying desperately to get back on track.

“They don’t know that we’re here,” Percy said evenly.

“They will after we set fire to the house and send a man screaming into the street with your symbol on his forehead!”

“They don’t know where we live,” Scanlan replied easily.

“We’ve got a guy painted all over this room; they’re gonna find out one way or another. Might as well do it with a little showmanship,” Grog encouraged the Druid, who simply stared, mouth open, at the Goliath.

“We’re trying to make everyone know that we’re here,” Scanlan reminded her gently.

“We’re trying to start a rebellion,” Percy added. Keyleth hemmed and hawed; Grog continued to encourage her to violence; and then Scanlan suggested that perhaps Vox Machina spend the night in the house before allowing their prisoner to leave in the morning.

“We can’t stay the night here,” Vex said sharply.

“Alright; just burn it, then,” Scanlan said, dismissing the matter. “Let’s get out of here.” The Druid’s eyes grew wide again and swung around to the rest of the group.

“Fellow half-elves; you look as horrified as I feel. How… What… What do you guys think?” Keyleth appealed to the twins.

“I feel like it’s a little stupid,” Vex said slowly, “since we have no where to go.”

“We can go back to our old hideout; we have the tavern,” Scanlan replied, meeting her gaze. “No one’s found it.”

“Percival; I know what you have been through, to an extent,” Vax'ildan said finally.

“I don’t even know what I’ve been through, to a certain extent, but yes,” Percy remarked dryly.

“We came here to wipe out a scourge on this city,” Vax continued as if Percival had not spoken. “Careful, lest you become the scourge you’ve come to destroy. These people have eaten shit for five years. I’m not saying that man was innocent, but he’s had a hard road. Everyone here has had a hard road.” Vax paused for a moment. “I am maybe willing to overlook what just happened for all the hardship you have had; but careful how you are walking.”

“Hey, wait a second here, Vax,” Scanlan noted, spreading his hands. “That was an enforcer. He kept the people oppressed – he worked for the Briarwoods and punished all of these farmers for not bringing enough taxes and enough tithes.” Vax’s reply was soft, but it carried.

“And are we going to turn into a killer because of it?”

“Well; that’s what a rebellion is,” Scanlan remarked, equally as softly.

“I do like killing,” Grog rumbled, almost absently.

“There’s no pretty way to do this,” Percy insisted. “I agree that there will be a moment for mercy but he did not deserve it.”

“I’m fully in support of burning down the house,” Vex put in, “but I feel like it might, you know… backfire a little bit.”

“Look, I agreed to start a rebellion; let the people have their uprising, but…” Keyleth drew a breath. “I… I’m with Vax. I mean, I was trying to tell you this before we even came here, Percy.” Now the words were tumbling out in a rush. “You don’t want to become the thing you are so desperate to seek vengeance on.” Percy nodded, listening. “How are we any different from the Briarwoods at this point?”

“Ah, we’re not fuckin’ vampires,” Grog growled disapprovingly, almost covering Percy’s small, disbelieving chuckle. “Look, what are our options, besides burning the house down. I’m open to other ideas.”

“We can just leave it as a symbol of our terror,” Scanlan suggested.

“I’ve marked him; I’m willing to walk away,” Percy remarked calmly.

“Where do we stay?” Grog asked. “The tavern? We have to find another building?”

“I know a barracks that’s not too far away,” Percy replied.

“I agree with you with burning the house down,” Vax said flatly. “Let’s find anyone who’s in here and get them out, but…” The half elf paused, obviously searching for words.

“I think they’ll get out when the house catches on fire.” Vax spoke over Percy.

“Your soul doesn’t need to be forfeit, Percival.” The Gunslinger paused himself, then gave a long, low sigh.

“Things are more complicated, now,” Percy said.

“Percy,” Scanlan asked softly, “is that last barrel for you?”

“No,” Percy replied. “And if it was, would I tell you?”

“No,” Scanlan said wryly.

“Why are things more complicated, Percy?” Keyleth asked hesitantly. “Clearly, we all just witnessed… what just happened.” Percival’s hands came up and rubbed at his face.

“That’s… That was… unexpected,” the Gunslinger noted, his voice muffled.

“Yeah, yeah, that,” Keyleth prodded.

“I, uh…” Percy gave another long sigh. “That’s a longer conversation than I think…”

“Yeah, these guards aren’t going to stay out long,” Scanlan interjected. “We should set the fire and get out of here.”

“Burn the house down; we’ll find a place to hole up; but Percy, we need to have that longer conversation.”

“Soon, but not now. Let’s go,” Vex'ahlia insisted. Finally, the rest of the group seemed to be in accord. Grog picked up the prisoner, and with a heave, tossed him out of the window to land in a crash of broken glass on the rain soaked grass outside. After a moment, he struggled to his feet, and ran off, his moans of pain still audible.

“Alright,” Keyleth sighed. “If we’re going to light this damn house on fire and make it a symbol, we’re at least going to make it cool and make it the message it’s supposed to be.” The Druid stalked over to Percy and demanded a copy of the De Rollo crest; surprised, he gave it. Then Keyleth’s form shimmered, and she shifted into her giant eagle form and swooped out of the window and into the rain. Grog threw the remaining unconscious guard and the body of Sir Kerrion Stonefell out of the window as well, and the rest of Vox Machina made their way back to the cellar they’d entered from.

Once there, Vex grasped a wine bottle, popped the cork with her belt knife and took a long swing, even as her free hand reached out to pet and reassure Trinket. Without words, Vax took the bottle from her grasp and helped himself.

Keyleth’s eagle form landed, and shimmered once more, shifting back into the slight half elven Druid. She concentrated for a moment, and an orb of fire began to roil between her palms. With precision, Keyleth used the flame to carve a massive, burning copy of the De Rollo family crest for the entire town of Whitestone to see. One ear cocked, the Druid listened to the door guards find their tortured prisoner; when Keyleth completed the crest, with a flick of her wrist she lobbed the orb towards the source of the sounds, and turned to scamper across the roof until she was above the cellar door, lifting a hand to touch her magical earring.

“Grog. Grog.” The cellar doors swung open; Vox Machina climbing into the drizzly day once more. Grog looked up and saw the Druid; Keyleth heard his puzzled question rumble through the earpiece link. “Catch me.” With complete trust, Keyleth leapt from the roof; the massive Goliath caught the dainty half-elf easily and set her to her feet. Then, as one, Vox Machina fled, jumping over the fence and making a clean escape in the alleys of the town, Grog scattering the Dust of Tracelessness behind them as fire bells began to ring over Whitestone.

Title and header Episode 22, not 23; AraMente to Pyrah

P1, lines 4-5 motley crew of figures—one, three, five, finally ten—finally explode

P1, line 5 Most of them

P1, line 6 bow-wielding, half-elven woman

P1, line 7 ground, landing in an

P2, line 1 cinderstorm that Vox Machina

P2, line 3 wounds everyone had received

P2, line 4 ash-covered hand

P2, line 5 Sarenrae

P2, line 7 The healer’s small, gnomish form glowed

P2, lines 8-9 Vox Machina, and together they voiced

P2, lines 9-10 as their wounds closed and burns healed.

P3, lines 1-3 *The Fire Plane closed abruptly, choking off the hot, sooty clouds spewing from its mouth, the black fumes dissipating.

P4, line 4 smile, part in relief, part in weary pride.

P4, line 5 AraMente

P5, lines 1-3 *Exhausted, Keyleth voiced her gratitude. “Thank you, Cerkonos. Brother,” she said. She reached out to grasp his hand in midair, and with one powerful movement, Cerkonos pulled the Druid to her feet.

P5, lines 4-5 Cerkonos beckoned with his other hand and a nod to one of the Druids

P5, lines 6-7 *The Druid stepped forward, offering Keyleth an orb of rough, black stone with fiery red veins of pulsing energy that seemed to move even in the Cindergrove’s subdued light.

P5, lines 8-10 *Keyleth took the stone, and her breath caught in her throat as its magic, hot and heavy, pulsed against her palms.

P6, lines 4-5 of one, their fists shall burn with the fury of an Efreet.”

P6, line 6 party:  this was a

P7, line 1 “For how long?” she asked. Cerkonos’ eyes moved to her

P7, line 4 that Keyleth, who he now honored,

P7, line 8 half-elf “sister.”

P9, lines 1-3 *”Thank you. This is a great honour,” Keyleth said. She held Cerkonos’ gaze for a moment before he turn to look at the rest of the group.

P11, lines 2-4 *Vox Machina agreed to rest with the Fire Ashari, and Grog wondered aloud if they could have graham crackers and chocolate.

P12, lines 1-2 panted, fanning herself theatrically with one hand.

P16, line 1 *Tiberius interrupted the Headmaster’s words.

P16, lines 1-2 heartbeat

P16, lines 3-6 *Water—fresh, clear, and cold—sprayed into the air, drenching everything, including Vox Machina, the Fire Ashari, Cerkonos, and even the lava pit behind the group.

P17-18? Umm…I want to move a line from P17 to P18, so I’ll just type out both parts to make it easier. “Gah,” Percy muttered, turning away and lifting a hand to shield his eyes, but he wasn’t loud enough to cover Vex’s next indignant question.

“You’ve had an endless supply of water while we’ve been fighting Fire Elementals?” she asked in disbelief. Tiberius’s water continued to spray, and steam rose all around them.

P19, line 1 came Tiberius’ calm reply.

P19, line 2 half-elf’s eyes met those of her twin, and

P20 (The entire paragraph…) *Percy, Pike, and Keyleth moved to wash the dust and soot of the Fire Plane from their skin and drink from their cupped hands. The Ashari Druids stepped into the magical rain as well, muttering about the length of time it took to gather water from the distant wells each morning. They procured cups and filled them to the brim. Once Tiberius stoppered the flask, Vox Machina and the Druids saluted each other and drank with a respect normally only show to fine wine, their parched mouths gulping the water greedily.

P21, lines 1-3 *Cerkonos led Vox Machina gently but firmly to the edge of the Cindergrove. He nodded to Keyleth and rubbed his shoulder.

P22, line 2 Kaitiaki

P23, line 1 Cerkonos’ mouth was grim, but

P23, line 2 Kaitiaki

P23, line 3 turned and was soon

P24, lines 1-3 *Grog’s deep, booming voice interrupted the contemplative silence that the Flamespeaker’s exit had created. “You’re people are fucking sweet,” he said as he turned to Keyleth.

P25, line 1 Fire Elemental

P26-29 (Some confusion with speech handles, so I wrote it all out again.) “Thanks for coming with me,” Keyleth said, simply and honestly.

Vox Machina rumbled and muttered together before Pike saved them from having a rather maudlin moment. “What does ‘kaitiaki’ mean?” she asked.

Keyleth replied, “It is…sort of our salute. Um, it means…guardian. And brother. Brethren. So it’s like a high salute.”

Vex and Pike repeated the word a time or two, but Vax’ildan interrupted the impromptu language lesson. “And—not tomorrow, please, but where do you need to go next for this quest of yours?” he asked.

P32, lines 1-3 added, lifting one hand to push back her damp hair, which was drying fast in Pyrah’s hot air.

P37, lines 1-2 at a hut in the small village, each taking their turn

P37, lines 3-6 *Keyleth spent part of their rest thinking about the Spark Stone. After some contemplation, she concluded that there was no hurry to decide the Stone’s fate and put it away.

 P38, line 2 Trinket’s back, and they

P38, line 3 Vasselheim

P38, line 3 three-day

P39, line 1 The uneventful journey

P39, line 2 Vasselheim

P39, line 3 Sarenrae

P39, lines 3-5 Priestess of the Raven Queen, who had been lifting the curse set upon the grounds, had done her job and done it well.

P39, line 6 Sarenrae

P40, line 1 voices that had lifted from the Temple to greet them

P40, line 3 Sarenrae

P40, line 4 attention and were showing

P53, line 1 “Just put your faith in Sarenrae,” he said.

P53, line 2 These people were weird, but

P54, line 3 Kaitiaki

P55, line 1 Kaitiaki

P55, lines 1-2 move away but was stopped

P55, lines 2-4 *When they stepped apart, Tiberius cleared his throat and tugged at his robes, slightly embarrassed.

P57, line 2 laughed too and returned

As part of this, she let the information go to Allura that a dark vision had come to her, saying that some sort of evil root was beginning to breed beneath Kraghammer and the mountains within. Kraghammer, which is the nearby Dwarven civilisation that Vox Machina has previously been denied entry into, is fiercely kept by the Dwarves; but Arcanist Visorin has been able to acquire the necessary paperwork and has offered the party a very substantial reward should they find the whereabouts of Lady Kima of Vord; and hopefully bring her back safely.

The only knowledge Vox Machina has as to the Paladin’s location is that she was last seen heading down into the mithril mines beneath Kraghammer; mines controlled by Lord Nosdoc Greyspine.

The party was ambushed on the path to Kraghammer by a party of roving Goliaths; but with some luck and the knowledge of Grog, bloodshed was avoided – but it left Vox Machina’s own Goliath muttering that the next time their paths crossed, it was going to end in someone’s death. Their paperwork was accepted at the gates of Kraghammer, and they gained entry into the city.~

An enormous underground metropolis spread through and down into the red-tinged darkness before Vox Machina. Intricate and beautiful stonework adorned the Dwarven city; sturdy bridges spanned across the massive three-tiered cavern that was Kraghammer, and along the lowest of the levels, foundries and forges billowed black smoke into the already thick air.

For a long moment, the party stood, drinking in the atmosphere and considering the fact that, for once, they’d just walked, unchallenged and with the appropriate paperwork, through the gates of a guarded city.

“We have to go find this Lord Greyspine, don’t we?” Scanlan said, his trained voice musical even over the noise and fume of Kraghammer.

Percy lifted a hand and spoke in his measure, cultured tone. “I think before we do anything we should find a place to sleep. Wouldn’t it be nice just to put everything down for a little while?”

“Yes,” Scanlan replied, an impish twist to his lips. “I’ve got a lot of booty I need to stow.”

Percy shook his head, turning away with a mutter, as Tiberius spoke up.

“Also, I would like to check out any places where they might have enchanted libraries and whatnot.”

“Do dwarves have enchanted libraries?” Vex'ahlia queried, tilting her head to the side in curiosity. Tiberius began to expound, and was cut off abruptly by Scanlan.

“Can you stick with us? You’re the only one of us who speaks Dwarvish.” Pike looked over at Scanlan for a moment, her expression slightly confused, but she let the comment slide. The gnome cleric had been quiet for a while; and as she brushed her fingers over her symbol of Serenray, Pike wondered if she was coming down with some illness – she didn’t quite feel like herself.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Vax'ildan reminded with dry humour.

“Well,” Tiberius huffed, “I’m just saying; put it on the list.” Vax looked around, and noted the two dwarven guards, wearing dark crimson and brass chest plates, decorated with a scar that slashed across the torso; they stood not too far away, awkwardly staring at Vox Machina as the party argued in the middle of the entry thoroughfare of Kraghammer proper.

“Tiberius,” Vax muttered, noting the expressions on the guards faces, “make with the Dwarf talk, please.” Vex'ahlia lifted a hand and delivered a wink and a wave, completely on instinct, as Tiberius stepped towards the dwarves.

“Hello, lads,” he said, the rough Dwarven syllables falling from between his fangs. “My associates and I were looking for a place of lodging for the night; a place of reputable… reputation.” In reply, one of the Dwarves turned his head and called out to the other in the common tongue.

“Ya hear that, Tibson? They’re looking for a place to stay.”

“Aye, is that right? It’s about time we had some new folk in town.” Tibson cocked his head, and an unpleasant smile curved his mouth. “Well, if you’re lookin’ for a place to stay, I’d say your best bet would be the Pig Pits.”

“This is the name of a place..?” Scanlan asked, horrified.

“Yeah, certainly,” Tibson replied, “tha’ Pig Pits. Ask for the Pig Pits; someone’ll show you round. That’ll set you to sleep for the night.”

Vex leaned forward a little, her own smile rather unpleasant. “It’s actually pig pits, isn’t it?” Tibson’s face cracked in a grin.

“It may be.” Keyleth frowned.

“I feel like we’re being hazed,” the Druid said aloud.

“What, no, no, not at all,” Tibson replied, with mock horror.

“Which way to the Pig Pits, sir?” Scanlan asked, a sigh in his voice.

“That way,” Tibson said, and pointed over and down past the central forge structure towards Kraghammer’s lower levels. Vex'ahlia’s keen eyes noted a patch of mud and the distant forms of real cows and pigs. With one hand, the Ranger reached into her waistband and removed a gold piece.

“Please, sir,” Vex said, extending the coin, “we’re looking for a place to stay that isn’t covered in mud.”

“Ah. Well, it’s good to see at least one of you speaks Dwarvish,” Tibson replied, and, reaching out, took the gold from Vex’s fingers and sank his teeth into the rim to test it before it vanished into his own belt. “Alright, now, if you’re lookin’ for a proper place to stay; you’re lookin’ for the Iron Hearth Tavern. That is just to your left up that way,” and with that, the guard pointed, “no more than half a mile off. Keep an eye out, listen for the laughter and the people who are very, very drunk. That’s your best bet.”

“Thank you sir,” Vex sighed, stepping back. Tibson gave her a smile, this one genuine, as one hand stroked his money pouch.

“No worries. The rest of you-”

“I like your armour, by the way,” the Ranger added, unable to resist trying to charm this dwarf further, one eyelid drooping in a wink.

“Thank you kindly,” Tibson replied, clearly confused and completely distracted from his train of thought as Vox Machina headed off in the direction of the tavern. They headed westerly around the cylinder that was Kraghammer; and, once they were within a block of their target, Vox Machina began to hear music, laughter and cheers. It appeared that they were headed for the central social environment of Kraghammer proper, and with varying degrees of relief and reluctance, they made their way to the Iron Hearth Tavern. As the party stepped inside, the smells of alcohol and burnt wood greeted them, along with the sounds of boisterous revelry.

“Yes!” Grog enthused as their eyes adjusted to the light. Luckily for the Goliath, the room was considered a vaulted ceiling by Dwarven standards and stood just over eight feet – the top of the Barbarian’s bald head was scraping the roof in places, but at least Grog didn’t have to kneel. The furniture was rough and obviously repaired several times; the source of that was possibly the brawling circle set into the middle of the large main area – at the sight of which Grog cracked his knuckles and grinned happily. The dwarves seated near the door grew silent, eyes bulging slightly as the party entered.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” the Goliath rumbled ominously. The dwarves looked at each other, and one spoke up.

“Well, it’s not very often we catch someone with that kind o’ a mug on ya. Let me buy ya a drink! Come sit down!”

“My kind of people! See you later,” Grog growled enthusiastically, shouldering up to the table. Vax'ildan looked around at the filled tables, and, with a mental shrug and a silent acknowledgement of how his twin would react, reached into his belt and pulled out a sack of gold, dropping it to the centre of one of the tables.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” the Rogue announced loudly, completely ignoring Vex'ahlia’s gasp and instinctive protest, “ladies and gentlemen, we have travelled from far away – we have just arrived in from Emon. We are fascinated to see your underground city, and to celebrate the occasion I would like to buy every Dwarf in here a round. Bartender!” All conversation stopped; the music faded to silence. Eyes shifted in the half-light, from the sack of gold on the table, to a well dressed but harried looking Dwarven woman who stood behind one of the Tavern’s bars with a towel draped over one arm. She stood, confused, before giving a loud huff and speaking to the entirety of the Iron Hearth Tavern.

“Well it’s about time someone around here had some generosity! Certainly!” Her voice dropped for a moment, her eyes focused on Vax. “Paid up front.” Then her voice lifted again. “Drinks all around on this half elven gentleman!” Cheers erupted, a sound that seemed to shake the very walls, and Vax found himself wading through the crowd to the bar the Dwarven woman occupied.

“I’ll need your largest bowl of ale for this one here, please,” Vax said with a charming smile, pointing at Grog.

“Cask. Cask of ale,” the Goliath corrected, motioning with his arms as if he held one already.

“No worries, Adra’s got your back,” the Dwarven woman said. “Be right back.” She walked off to a storage room behind the bar, and returned after a moment carrying a large barrel. The barrel was placed on the bar, and the Dwarven woman began to pour stein after stein of rich brown ale. A group of male Dwarves, obviously the bar staff of the Tavern, approached with trays and began to circulate with the free drinks – and it was just as obvious that this Dwarven woman was the proprietor of the establishment.

“Excuse me, ah, miss,” Scanlan began suavely.

“Adra, aye,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Adra,” the Dwarf repeated patiently over the noise of the Tavern.

“Adra,” Scanlan repeated, giving the word extra care. “You run a fantastic establishment.”

“That’s right, I do,” Adra agreed with a smile.

“Thank you for welcoming us, and allowing us to buy this round,” the bard continued.

“Of course! Patrons that come in and drop coin like that are welcome any time,” Adra advised, her smile becoming a grin.

“Well, thank you for your hospitality,” Scanlan managed, a little nonplussed. “Might we enquire about staying here the night? Do you have an inn with this tavern?” Adra reached under the counter and pulled up a large tome, placed it on the bar and began to leaf through it.

“Actually, we have openings right now on the second floor.”

“Several rooms, or just one?” Scanlan asked.

“D'you need them side by side?”

“It would be nice. Something with a little bed for me,” the bard added as Adra considered.

“Gile!” the Dwarf called out.

“Aye?” one of Adra’s Dwarven helpers asked in a long suffering voice.

“Get Stimson out'o his room; move ‘im to the third floor. We’re going to open a block for our new guests.”

“Aye, fine, fine,” the older Dwarf grumbled as he trudged off to the stair case.

“Alright; so I can get a room for each of you, and we’re lookin’ at eight rooms separately, that’ll run you, per evening, about twenty five gold pieces – does that sound alright?” Vex blew out a lungful of air.

Scanlan blinked in shock, and a voice squeaked, “Total?”

“Twenty five, total, aye,” Adra confirmed. Vex was shaking her head, as was Keyleth.

“We can bunk up, right?” the Druid asked the other half-elven woman, who agreed firmly. Other voices chimed in; Grog agreed to share with Scanlan and Percy with Tiberius. At this point, Vex'ahlia stepped up to continue the negotiations with a charming smile.

“Perhaps, then, fifteen gold in total for that.”

Adra visibly deflated, a sigh escaping her. “Alright; fair enough, fair enough. Five rooms it is. Fifteen gold per evening. How long do you expect to stay?”

“At least a few days,” Tiberius noted, shrugging.

“Let’s say a week,” Scanlan agreed.

“With an indefinite hold; we have business in the city,” Percy added, smoothly.

“Alright; well how about we pay the week in advance and I’ll give you a discount,” Adra suggested.

“How much of a discount?” Vex'ahlia queried sharply at the same time as Tiberius announced he loved discounts. Keyleth was frowning as Adra tipped her head to the ceiling and calculated figures aloud.

“Wait; I though we were going to be heading… south,” the Druid said hesitantly, gesturing downwards with one hand, even as Adra was giving her final figure.

“Let’s say that will be one hundred gold for the week, for all five rooms,” Adra announced with a smile.

“We’re pretty flush; I think we can handle this,” Vax murmured as an aside for his party’s ears only as he gestured to Vex to make the deal and earn Vox Machina some goodwill. However, Vex was frowning, and muttered something about doing the math wrong before she simply gave in to her party’s urgings and handed over a pouch of gold.

“No worries!” Adra crowed, taking the coins and exchanging the pouch for room keys before she set a quill and ink on the bar. As the members of Vox Machina one by one signed the register, with Scanlan signing for Grog, Adra spoke again. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like; ask questions, hang about – just make sure you don’t do anything stupid near the Carvers.”

“I do things like that all the time,” Tiberius supplied with the good cheer of a noble dragonborn as Vax frowned.

“I’m sorry, your Dwarvish is a little thick – near the..?” the Rogue asked.

“Carvers. CAR-vers. The CAR-VERS. Is this your first time in Kraghammer?” As one, the party replied with a single word.

“Yes.”

Both of Adra’s hands went to her temples as she sighed. “The Carvers are the ones who keep the law.”

“With the scar!” Vex piped up.

“Yes, the army,” the Dwarf replied with exasperated patience. “The Carvers.”

“Yeah, kind of like this,” Grog growled, pulling his furs aside to display the gnarled scar that ridged his muscular, pale grey chest. Adra blinked in shock and took a step back; the Dwarves to either side of the Barbarian were immediately enthused and cheered the Goliath, beginning to display their own. Adra pulled the eyes of the group back as she spoke again.

“Aye, well, anyway, the Carvers are… How do I put it..? A military class in this city. They run a very tight ship in the streets, so just be careful.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Percy said with dry precision. “Mostly, we’re just looking for Lord Greyspine. We have business with him.”

“Actually,” Vex interjected, “we might have business with you if you’ve seen a halfling come through.” Adra thought to herself for a moment with a frown of concentration.

“I don’t know. There was a halfling woman, but she was staying at the Firebrook Inn, on the bottom floor for a couple of weeks.” Adra’s head came up to see Vex nodding at the description and the dwarf cracked a smile. “There was talk about her; she got into a few fights herself. The one with the silver armour?” At the noise of agreement the half elf made, Adra gave a huff of laughter. “Ah, she was a firebrand if I’ve ever seen one. Right up my alley; I liked that one.”

“How long ago would you say this was?” Percy asked.

“Oh, a few weeks. I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Thank you. Perfect,” Percival replied, with a small bow of his head.

“Is there a, um… Is there a champion of the circle of fighting in the tavern?” It took him a while, but Grog managed to formulate and articulate his request. “Is there a reigning..?”

Scanlan interrupted the Goliath with a sigh of frustration. “Already, Grog?” the bard demanded.

“I have to know these things,” Grog rumbled. Adra rotated the cask that sat on the bar, displaying the words burned into the wood – Bolgus Brewery. The Dwarven woman hiked a thumb over one shoulder as well.

“That would be Bolgus; the one who supplies us with what you’re drinking. But I don’t think he’s… quite right… for fightin’ at the moment.” The Dwarf’s thumb was pointed at a figure, slumped over folded arms at the end of the bar. Long, grizzled braids adorned the older Dwarf’s head, and a massive, bushy beard was pushed out by his folded arms and quivered with every snorted breath the unconscious Bolgus made.

“My kind of Dwarf,” Grog muttered. “Alright, another time then.”

“Save it for a rainy day,” Vax murmured wickedly.

“Does it rain here?” Grog asked, confused.

“Ye said Greyspine,” Adra interjected, frowning.

“We’re looking to set up a meeting,” Percy answered, drawing Adra’s gaze.

“Which Greyspine?” the barkeep asked, scratching at her cheek.

“Lord Nosdoc Greyspine,” Vax replied.

“Oh, aye, he’s a business-type one; I’ve not had much contact,” the dwarven woman said with an expression of pronounced distaste.

“Who’s the friendlier Greyspine?” Tiberius asked, genuinely curious.

“The 'friendlier’ type would probably be the head of House Greyspine.”

“Wait, how many Greyspines are there?” Keyleth complained in confusion.

“Oh, several at this point,” Adra advised. “I’ve lost track; the family line’s been going for a while. However, of House Greyspine, currently IronKeeper Gradim Greyspine is the head of the entire city. Voted in, oh, ten years now, actually; he’s head of the Council.” Adra’s reminiscence was broken by Keyleth’s misunderstanding of the IronKeeper’s first name, and the barkeep finally overrode the Druid’s attempts with a muttered, “ah, speak the language.”

“I understood,” Tiberius announced.

“Adra, may I ask,” Vax interposed smoothly. “Obviously we have no Dwarves here in our little party.”

“Unfortunately,” Adra added dryly, to be echoed by Vex with a smile.

“You’re very welcoming; I appreciate that,” the Rogue rushed on, “but how welcoming would you say the city is to outsiders? Are we going to stick out like a sore thumb?” Adra tipped her head for a moment, then found herself nodding as she spoke.

“Probably,” the Dwarven woman said, drawing out the word. “Ah… As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I think, and as long as you keep the coin flowin’, and as long as you stay to the upper levels. The lower levels, you get to more of the business; the miners, the forges, the foundries. When you get to the business levels, that’s when the guard becomes heavier and people don’t like you poking into their money.”

“So the lower levels would have the mithril mines,” Scanlan said innocently. Adra gave the gnome bard a long look.

“Yes, the mithril mine.”

“There’s only one?”

“Yes, only one open currently, and has been for quite some time. Helmed up and run by House Greyspine; the Keystone Quarries.”

“We’re not really interested in that, our business is elsewhere,” Vax said hastily.

“Well, without proper business credentials on that, you’ll end up being questioned pretty heavily.”

“Sounds like a dirty business anyway,” Vax said suggestively, hoping that someone would change the topic considering the look on Adra’s face at even the mention of the mithril mines.

“Yeah, you gotta stay away from those miners, Scanlan,” Grog rumbled. “That’s a dirty business.” Adra’s eyes moved across, and it seemed she was about to say something; then Adra let it go, remembering all the coin that had changed hands that day. Vex used the lull in conversation to try and get the party back on topic.

“So, you said, Lord Nosdoc Greyspine is kind of a…” The Ranger made a face as if she’d eaten something sour and waited for the Dwarven woman to take the cue.

“Ah, well, there’s a reason he’s been put in charge of the mines, the businesses and the foundries,” Adra said, disapproval writ large on her expression.

“Where is he located?” Vex asked.

“If he’s not at home in the actual Greyspine Manor, which is a sprawling house that contains all sorts, he’s probably down by the Greyspine quarry itself, keeping an eye on the business there.” A nearby Dwarf, noisily swallowed his ale and spoke up.

“Eh, Greyspine; there’s been some troubles round there. A friend of mine works there; got a big nasty scar last week.” The Dwarf gestured, running a finger down and over his cheek. “Wouldn’t even pay 'im for his time off ta heal. It’s bull shite,” he added in a growl, thumping his tankard to the table top.

“How did your friend get this… nasty cut..?” Keyleth asked.

“He works there!” the mostly drunk Dwarf replied. “He said there was things pourin’ out'o the caves. Goblins and the like.” He looked around, attempting to focus bleary eyes as Vox Machina shared significant glances and murmurs.

“Goblins?” Scanlan said, and if it wasn’t for the look in the gnome’s eyes, it could almost have been considered an idle question. The dwarf waved one hand.

“Goblins are nuthin’. He says there’s somethin’ other than goblin’s pokin’ out through.” He paused, and lowered his brows conspiratorially. “I’m jus’ sayin’, that business is in for a serious problem if things dinna change.”

“Does your friend ever have drinks here?” Vex'ahlia queried, tilting her head to one side. The dwarf paused, then shook his head sadly.

“No. He’s been sober for two years. We’re not really friends any more,” he added, combing his fingers through his beard.

“I’m sorry,” Keyleth blurted, to which the dwarf shrugged disinterestedly and reached for another drink. Adra, with surprisingly speed and skill, slapped his hand away and told him he’d had his free one; with that the male dwarf grumbled and wandered off.

“Are there any mystics in this particular town?” Tiberius asked, taking his turn to question Adra. “Are there any that study the arcane arts?”

“Of course! What, d'you think dwarves are just a base line folk who brawl each other? Mind you, we do that definitely, but…” Adra thought for a moment. “What you’re looking for is House Thunderbrand. They are the ones, who, by blood, have the arcane arts in their family line. They run most of the enchantment processes in the city; the also train…” The dwarven woman interrupted herself this time. “They call it train, some of us call it more indoctrination; but, ah, they’re definitely the focus of most of the arcane arts in Kraghammer.”

“Thank you,” Tiberius replied with a courtly half bow.

“Thank you for your time, Adra,” Scanlan added, glancing around at the three deep rank of patrons that surrounded the bar, some waiting more patiently than others to partake of Vax'ildan’s largess. “Go on with your evening; we’ll seek you out if we have any more questions.” The dwarven barkeep waved them off and began pouring more drinks as Vox Machina moved away from the counter to strategise.

The blazing, vicious cinderstorm Vox Machina and their Druid escort had been fleeing was still spilling through the portal, but healer Pike’s first priority was the wounds her friends had received during Keyleth’s test. One tiny, ash covered hand closed around the ever-present symbol of Serenray that hung around Pike’s neck, and the cleric’s whispered prayer drifted on the air to the ears of the injured. The gnomish healer’s small form glowed with a golden light for the briefest of moments, as did the bodies of Vox Machina, and, as one, they voiced a sigh of relief as their wounds began to close and their burns to heal.

The hot, sooty clouds spewing from the portal were choked off and the black fume dissipated as the portal to the Fire Plane closed abruptly. In the silence, Cerkonos, Headmaster of the Fire Ashari, walked slowly forward and extended a hand to Keyleth as she sat on the ashy ground. For a moment, the Flamespeaker just stood, a stern and unyielding look in his dark eyes. Then Cerkonos spoke.

“You. You have the blessing of the Pyrah behind you.” The corners of the Flamespeaker’s mouth twitched upwards at the interruption of exhausted cheers that erupted from Vox Machina, and Keyleth’s own lips curved in a smile; part relief, part weary pride. “Go forth. Continue your Aru'Mente, knowing we acknowledge your wisdom and ability.”

There was really only one response, and even as tired as she was, Keyleth gave it. “Thank you Cerkonos. Brother.” Their hands met in mid air, and with one powerful movement Cerkonos pulled the Druid to her feet. With Cerkonos’ other hand and a nod, he beckoned towards one of the Druids that had been keeping watch. That one stepped forth, offering Keyleth an orb of rough black stone that held pulsing veins of dark and fiery red that almost seemed to move in even the Cindergrove’s subdued light. As Keyleth took it in her hands, magic pulsed against her palms, hot and heavy, making the Druid’s breath catch.

“This is a Spark Stone,” Cerkonos said. “Rare, within the realm you just escaped; we’ve harvested but a handful over generations, as few have returned with them. This one is yours, Keyleth, to use yourself or bequeath to an ally. When crushed by the hands of one; their fists shall burn with the fury of an Efrit.” Jaws dropped among the party; this was a princely gift. Seemingly without thought, Vex spoke up, her eyes locked on the orb between Keyleth’s palms.

“For how long?” Cerkonos’ eyes moved across, and he remained silent for a moment; then the Flamespeaker seemed to remember that the woman standing in front of him, whom he now honoured, called this occasionally impertinent half elf ‘sister’.

“For as long as you wish,” the Headmaster replied. “The choice is yours to whom this blessing is given.” Keyleth’s fingers curled around the Stone. For the Fire Ashari to give up such a precious and rare artifact…

“Thank you. This is a great honour.” For a moment, their gazes locked and held, before Cerkonos’ eyes swung to the rest of the group.

“Well,” the older Druid said, “you are welcome to stay as long as you wish before you must continue on your journey.”

“I think a rest might be in order,” Keyleth sighed. “I’m exhausted.” Noises of agreement filled the air from the other members of Vox Machina, with Grog mumbling something about a cultural Goliath food.

“And also a lot of water,” Vex'ahlia panted, as the Ranger theatrically fanned herself with one hand.

“Water would be lovely,” Percy commented dryly as he put his mask away.

“Water,” Keyleth said dreamily. “Do you have water, Cerkonos?” The Flamespeaker’s face was blank with surprise for a moment before he replied.

“We can offer some-”

The Headmaster’s words were interrupted by Tiberius. “I have water,” the dragonborn said jovially, a heart beat before pulling a flask from his bag and popping the cork. Water; fresh, clear and cold sprayed into the air, drenching everything - Vox Machina, the Druids, Cerkonos; even the lava pit behind the group.

“Gah,” Percy muttered, turning away and lifting a hand to shield his eyes, but not loudly enough to cover Vex’s indignant question as steam rose around them all and the water continued to spray.

“You’ve had an endless supply of water while we’ve been fighting Fire Elementals?”

“Yes,” came the calm reply. For a moment, Vex stared through the magical downpour. Then the half elf’s eyes met her twins’, and in unison they sighed and shook their heads. “It’s mainly for drinking and such,” Tiberius added, slightly confused, as the water continued to pour. The sorcerer hovered the cork over the neck of the bottle. “Are we all done?”

Percy moved up, as did Pike and Keyleth, washing the dust and soot of the Fire Plane from their skins and drinking liquid from their cupped hands. The other Druids also started stepping forwards, into the magical rain that sprayed from the flask. At the curious looks Vox Machina gave their expressions, one of them made a mumbled mention of the length of time it took to gather water from the distant wells each morning. Cups appeared and were filled before the flask was stoppered, and with a respect normally only shown to fine wine, Vox Machina and the Druids saluted each other and drank, parched throats and mouths absorbing water greedily.

The group was rather gently but firmly returned to the edge of the Cindergrove, where Cerkonos gave a nod as the Headmaster rubbed the flesh of his shoulder. “I must heal the wounds of my helpers, taken during your test. Do as you see fit; leave when you feel comfortable. And good luck.”

Keyleth folded one arm across her chest, fist over heart, and bowed. “Kytiake, brother.”

Cerkonos’ lips didn’t move, but there was a smile in the Flamespeaker’s dark eyes when he replied. “Kytiake, Princess.” With that, the Headmaster turned, and was soon lost to sight among the trees of the Cindergrove, leaving Vox Machina behind on the edge of the small Druid village of Pyrah.

Grog’s deep, booming voice interrupted the contemplative silence the Flamespeaker’s exit had created as the barbarian turned to Keyleth. “Your people are fucking sweet.” Any remaining tension was dispelled as most of the group exploded into laughter, and after a moment, Keyleth managed to thank the Goliath.

“Yes, I rather enjoyed that fire element myself,” Tiberius announced. Keyleth’s hands extended for a moment, and the Druid made a small gesture that encompassed the group.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Keyleth said, simply and honestly. There were rumbles and mutters from the rest of Vox Machina, before Pike spoke up.

“What does ‘kytiake’ mean?” Completely distracted from what might have been a maudlin moment, Keyleth replied.

“It is… Sort of our salute. Um, it means… Guardian. And brother. Brethren. So it’s like a high salute.” Vex and Pike repeated the word a time or two, before Vax'ildan’s voice broke in, disturbing the improptu language lesson.

“And, not tomorrow, please; but where do you need to go next for this quest of yours?”

“Well, my last stop would be to the Water Ashari, in Aquus,” Keyleth replied, brow slightly furrowed in thought.

“Lovely name,” Vax responded dryly as he deftly avoided a thrust from Vex'ahlia’s elbow.

“But they’re on another continent,” Keyleth added as she lifted one hand to push back hair recently saturated but drying fast in Pyrah’s dry, hot air.

“So that’s good,” Grog rumbled, “I don’t think we could take another one right now anyway.”

“A little rest is in order,” Percy said, one hand brushing absently and futilely at the soot encrusting his clothing.

“I’m doing pretty good, actually; I’m kind of ahead of schedule,” Keyleth murmured after another moment’s thought.

“Wonderful. Let’s just take some respite,” Tiberius agreed firmly.

Vox Machina took a short rest at a hut provided for their use in the small village; each taking their turn with the dragonborn’s enchanted flask to bathe and remove the worst of the grime. Keyleth used a little of the time to begin to think about the Spark Stone; then finally decided there was no hurry to decide the Stone’s fate and put the artifact away. Then, slowly, they made their way down the mountain range and gathered their horses.

After giving the animals a little feed, Vox Machina mounted, with Vex returning to Trinket’s back as they began their journey back to Vassilheim. The three day journey was filled with stories and songs; perhaps not as tuneful as they would have been had Scanlan been able to accompany them, but enjoyable nonetheless.

An uneventful journey ended after the group passed beyond the massive grey stone walls of Vassilheim; upon stopping by the Temple of Serenray, Pike discovered that the Priestess of the Raven Queen who had been lifting the curse set upon the grounds had done her job, and done it well. The grounds were now ready to be sanctified and rededicated to Serenray.

The eager voices that had lifted to greet them made the diminutive cleric blush; those that had been little more than strangers and fellow followers of Serenray a week ago were now clamouring for Pike’s attention, and were showing a level of devotion to the gnome that made her a little uncomfortable. After greeting the other worshippers properly, Pike gathered together with the rest of Vox Machina, and words escaped her in a low mutter.

“What if I don’t wanna go back? What if I just want to stay? With you?”

“You’re an important figure to us as well, Pickles,” Vax said, humor coating the real sadness in his voice.

“You’ve done so much for our lives,” Grog began slowly, “maybe you’ll continue to do good in these lives.” Pike’s eyes met the Goliath’s for a moment, and her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“Well, debatable,” the cleric replied lightly.

“You can leave them at any time,” Grog added hastily, sweeping one massive arm through the air to indicate those who waited eagerly for the gnome. “And we’ll kick their arse and you can come with us.”

“At any moment at all,” Vex'ahlia added in a chuckle that ended in a noise that was suspiciously close to a sob, as Keyleth spoke up.

“You know where home is.”

“This was so great; being a part of this journey that you had,” Pike said, turning to the Druid.

“Thank you; I’m glad you came,” Keyleth replied simply.

“You are always a part of our journey no matter where we go, Pike.” Tiberius spoke calmly, but there was a world of unsaid feeling in the dragonborn’s eyes.

“Just keep the poo close,” Grog rumbled with a mischievous look in his eyes. Pike looked blank for a moment before Vex spoke up after flashing the Goliath a glare.

“I mean, I don’t know what it does, exactly, but…” Watching his twin flounder, Vax finished for her.

“Just put your faith in Serenray.” Pike’s expression changed to a grin. They were weird, but they were her friends.

“Okay.” For another long moment, the cleric’s eyes moved among the group. “Well, I guess I’ll go.” Pike’s eyes slid to Keyleth’s, and the gnome rested her arm across her chest, fist to heart. “Kytiake.” The Druid’s eyes brimmed over for a moment as her own arm came up and she returned the salute.

“Kytiake,” Keyleth replied. With that, Pike started to move away, and was stopped when Tiberius enveloped her in a scaly hug. After a moment they stepped apart, Tiberius clearing his throat and tugging at his robes, slightly embarrassed.

“You were always my favourite gnome,” the dragonborn muttered awkwardly.

“Oh, thanks. You were always my favourite… well, dragonborn, I guess,” Pike replied, laughing. Tiberius laughed too, and returned the thanks. Again, Pike hesitated, then turned away once more and headed for the excavation site. Vex'ahlia found one hand reaching up and pressing against the dull ache lodged just below her breastbone.

“It hurts, every time,” the Ranger sighed. Grog rumbled in agreement, but Vax'ildan simply leaned against his sister for a moment in silent sympathy as they watched the small form walk away.