#rotrl

On the other side of the coin, however, I also spoke to Tabot after Nanel had retired for the night. I asked him to tell me a little about his god. I know what anyone else who’s a little learned does—that Aroden wasthe first of the Ascended gods, and Iomedae’s predecessor who died roughly a century ago. And yet, as I said to Tabot, a dead god cannot grant his follower the power to save a man from the brink of death—bringing him virtually to full health from death’s doorstep. So I wanted to know Tabot’s point of view.

Tabot didn’t seem to know anything more concrete than myself. He’d found a holy book of Aroden what he was younger, and something just felt right to him. Faith. That’s hard for a feline of science like myself to wrap my head around. Even my belief in Shelyn is grounded in what I can see. I can see the beauty in the world, and the beauty in other people, and how the power of a person’s creativity can sway minds or change history. I don’t have to blindly follow to understand and respect Shelyn’s teachings.

This…this is much harder for me to accept. On the one hand, it is undeniable that Tabot is being granted the power of a paladin. So clearly his belief grants him strength.  But Aroden is dead. A century ago every other follower of the god of humanity lost their power. Iomedae took his place in the pantheon. That is all fact, recorded history, there are people still alive who remember it. Iomedae being a god and not merely his herald is evidence of it. But then where is Tabot’s power stemming from?

Tabot doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t know what might revive a god, or if an aspect of Aroden survived, or if Aroden never died at all and was merely somewhere else—whatever that might entail. But he has faith in Aroden. And I suppose for that time being I simply have to accept that as the answer. I thanked him for healing me—he told me I should thank Aroden, so for Tabot’s sake I did. Either I’m thanking the being who granted Tabot the power to heal me, or I’m giving thanks into the void. No harm done either way, I suppose.

I eventually found my way to sleep, and the dawn of a new day.

In the morning we discussed what I suspected about Nualia, and were told a story of some local murders that happened not long before I came to town, by a man who came to be known as Chopper.

He was an artist, who carved birds into many of the buildings and other pieces of wood in town. His skill was famous, and anyone whose place was chosen to have a bird was honored. Then he went to live in seclusion, and not long after people started being murdered. Basically daily. Gruesomely, too. Their eyes and tongues were cut out.

The previous sheriff cornered the murderer and injured him at the site of his final victim’s murder, but was killed himself in the struggle. However the blood trail from his injuries led a certain other guard by the name of Balor Hemlock straight to the secluded island just off the coast where their famed reclusive artist lived. At first they all wanted to believe he was to be the next victim—but when they arrived to his home they found the gruesome trophies he’d taken from his victims, and they had to accept the truth. The man killed himself as a final offering at the foot of a shrine to a demon lord none dare to speak aloud. Given what we’ve found today I would be willing to place a bet on it being a shrine to Lamashtu as well.

I think I will be a bit more discerning with drawing Shelyn’s symbol on my sketches in the future, at least while we are in town. I do not want to dredge up bad memories, even accidentally.

We also talked about Nualia. I told the others what I knew—of her, the tragedy of her life in Sandpoint, and the eventual fire that supposedly took her life—and Nanel helped fill in some gaps in my knowledge, having lived in town longer.

With what we know now, it seems certain that Nualia is taking revenge on the town for her mistreatment when she was younger.

It’s such a tragedy. This didn’t have to happen. If someone had just treated Nualia like a person instead of like some holy prop with no feelings of her own, this could have all been avoided. She was just a child! It’s no wonder she’s lashing out now, after what was done to her. If you treat a person like a thing their entire life, you can’t suddenly put the burden of personhood on them the moment they do something wrong, and then expect sympathy from them the moment they hurt you in return.

…

I am going to give Mori the biggest hug next time I see her.

Anyways…I’m not saying what Nualia did was justified…necessarily. If the goblins had their way, they’d kill everyone. Even people who had nothing to do with what happened to her. Children, for starters. Like the child who was nearly killed by the goblin hiding in his closet. That’s not a theoretical, we saw the end result of what happened to the boy’s father. Oh yes, I’m sure Nualia could make an argument about how children were cruel to her too, but those are children. They don’t know any better. You can teach a child to do better, you don’t have to kill them over it. Any revenge that is going to involve child murder is, at best, misguided. At worst, completely warped and irredeemable.

I hope it is not the later. I really do. That poor woman suffered so much. She needs someone who can give her a new start.

But if she is too far gone…her life is not worth the life of an entire town. I’m sorry.

We knew what we had to do—Tsuto had tried to flee into a locked door in the basement of the glassworks. We still didn’t know how he’d snuck so many goblins in. The answer was likely beyond that door.

So, with Ameiko’s blessing, we returned to the glassworks’ basement. Tabot broke down the door—as Krysa felt their new lockpicking set was too new and shiny to muss up with this lock. Then he made a trek down a tunnel, which slowly grew darker as we clearly travelled somewhere beneath Sandpoint.

Nanel cast a spell on his fancy little flower, and it lit up the tunnel we found ourselves in. As we walked, we saw a tunnel off to our right. Nanel’s light didn’t fully illuminate the side passage, so Tabot lit a torch and tossed it inside.

As the light illuminated the rest of the dead-end passage, a nightmare creature leapt from the shadows of the tunnel and tried to clamp its jaws onto Nanel. Fortunately Nanel pulled away.

Krysa identified the horror—a Sinspawn. Something created with old magic. Ancient magic. Sin magic from the age of Thassilon ancient. The how or why of what a Sinspawn was doing in a tunnel under Sandpoint would have to wait, however, as it was not giving us a moment to contemplate.

The creature lunged at Nanel again—this time its teeth met flesh. Tabot stepped forward and struck the living nightmare of oozing flesh and gnashing teeth. I darted around and finished it off with a quick stab through where I figured its heart ought to be. The creature dissolved into a fetid pile of liquified flesh, only leaving behind the ranseur it had carried in its claws.

There was nothing else down the side passage, and as Nanel’s wound was fairly minor, we pressed on.

It didn’t take long for us to come upon a second side passage on the same side. Krysa—with their stronger night vision—told us they also saw another side passage further ahead, a little beyond where our light reached. We decided to explore the nearer of the two passages first. We had promised Ameiko that we would clear out the entire area, so it was best that we didn’t skip anything. We used a stick of chalk Krysa had handy to mark where we’d already been, to avoid getting lost.

This next passage was uncomfortably narrow, forcing us to walk single file. Nanel took the lead, and was the first into the next room—which was made of worked stone as opposed to being a natural cave like the tunnel we’d been in. He called back a moment later with some concern in his voice asking if any of us spoke ‘the demon language’. I don’t speak Abyssal, and I didn’t prepare a Comprehend Languages formulae today, believing that I’d likely need all of my formulae prepared to be combat oriented.

Krysa said they speak the language of demons, however. Clever little rat. Unfortunately, by the time they scurried to the front of the tunnel, the words Nanel had seen seemed to have vanished entirely. Nanel swore he’d seen writing on the wall, however, and we did not disbelieve him.

Something weird was going on, especially if there was writing from The Abyss on the walls.

We continued forward through more narrow passageways, until we found ourselves in a room with a grand looking statue of an enraged woman. It looked historical—possibly even Thassilonian if the trend were to continue—but she was not someone I recognized from any of my studied. Nor was the rune within her book, although it seemed to be a recurring motif within this place, as we saw it in a few other locations. So, it must have been important to the people who built this place originally. It was some sort of seven-pointed star. I know it isn’t part of the Thassilonian alphabet, but beyond that I don’t know what the rune actually is or means. Perhaps it is an ancient holy (or unholy) symbol, or part or some long lost magic? It could simply be a symbol that meant something to some small sect of people who lived in this part of Varisia, which only carried meaning for them. It’s hard to say when it comes to Thassilon. If it isn’t recorded, it is likely lost to time forever.

To our luck, the beautifully crafted ranseur the statue was holding was a real usable weapon, and hadn’t been looted in the centuries this statue had stood abandoned. Nanel took it, and has made impressive use of it.

Less fortunately for us, more writing appeared on the wall. This time I spotted it—and it was written in Thassalonian. It said “angry screams are still screams”.

Foreboding, to say the least.

The moment I looked away, the words vanished, just as the ones Nanel had seen did.

Not much further ahead, Krysa warned that they heard the sounds of more Sinspawn through the door. Our group is not exactly stealthy—Tabot’s armor is loud, and it is difficult for me to quiet my own movement given my cane. So we decided to try to rush them instead.

Except when we burst in, we couldn’t see any signs of the Sinspawn Krysa had heard. They were certain of what they had heard.

Nanel inched forward, to look down below a catwalk. And that’s when they struck. Both monstrosities had been hanging just below the catwalk, and they swung up and lunged at Nanel. Once again fangs met flesh. But Nanel gave back as much as he took, biting the one that got him and then slipping away as he also jabbed with his new ranseur.

Krysa put some bolts into one of the creatures, and I threw a bomb at it. Tabot slayed one with his blade after Nanel got another stab at it, and I slew the other with my own.

There was little else of interest in this room—it was one a jail, long ago, but now there was nothing but dust and bad memories lingering here. We did find that the back of one of the cells had crumbled and that a judicious use of force could remove the bars and lead right back to the tunnel we’d originally entered from. So we had a pretty good idea of where we were now.

There was another door on the opposite end of the room, stairs leading upwards that we’d passed in the statue room, or another hall that the previous hall had split out into. We decided we were going to leave the stairs going upwards for last, as that seemed likely to lead to the surface and possibly to where the goblins had come in from. We were not entirely correct in our conclusion, but it still proved to be a very smart call for other reasons I’ll get into shortly.

We decided to continue forward for now, and circle back to the other hall after we’d cleared out this branch of the underground. So we continued onwards, until we came to a terrible room full of implements of torture. It didn’t look like it had been used in centuries, but the implications of what the people who made this place once did was crystal clear. Even in ancient days, this was neither a pleasant nor good place to have been.

There were two doors out, each marked with that star sigil. Nanel checked one door while I checked the other. Nanel heard nothing where he was, but I heard heavy ragged breathing and the distinctive moans of the undead—many undead.

We decided to check Nanel’s door first.

This opened into a mostly empty room, with ruined books and papers strewn about. We did find a scroll that was still in usable condition, which I handed off to Krysa in the hopes they will be able to transcribe it into their spellbook.

We found three more cells, each with skeletons that were terribly deformed. It looked like the end result of a mutagen gone wrong. Or fleshwarping. I hope Laila would forgive me for making the connection, but it really did resemble the end result of some of the worst Drow experiments I’ve read survivors tell about seeing after escaping capture. Too many limbs, a ribcage that takes up half the poor creature’s body, and an enormous head the creature likely couldn’t hold up before it died. Probably in agony.

Whoever did this to them was cruel, and had no regard for the suffering of the creatures they inflicted this fate on. I can understand that sometimes things go wrong when trying to push the boundaries of knowledge. If all experiments went exactly as planned, they wouldn’t be experiments. But to force it upon others is twisted. If knowledge can only be gained through suffering then maybe we do not need that knowledge at all.

But I digress. There was nothing more in that room. Just more death and dust and memories that should remain buried along with those ruins.

So we decided to check the door I had listened at—the one in which we knew many creatures awaited us beyond.

We asked Krysa if they could sneak a little closer and get a look at what we were dealing with. They agreed, and slipped through the door and down the short hall ahead of us. Moments later they returned, their footfalls making virtually no noise. Krysa informed us that there was a strange goblin with three arms and a glowing sword in the middle of a bunch of obvious trap doors. The sounds of the undead were coming from beneath the trap doors.

I suggested Krysa and I take the lead this time, since it sounded like it would be difficult for Nanel and Tabor to safely get close to this unusual goblin. Krysa and I could both attack from afar. The others agreed.

I led the way, and threw an explosive at the three-armed goblin. The wooden traps around him caught fire, and the moaning sounds below grew louder. There was a scrabbling sound, like whatever was below was trying—and failing—to climb.

Krysa followed up with another shot of their crossbow.

For a wizard, they are quite adept at shooting people by non-magical means, I must say.

Tabot and Nanel came in behind us, spreading out and blocking off any means of running past us down the hall.

The goblin howled in rage and leapt across the gaps in the floor to take a swing at me with that glowing sword that looked a tad too large for him. However it scraped harmlessly against the shield I’d put around myself with a formulae before entering the chamber.

The others moved in, and the tragic creature did not get another chance to attack. He fell into one of the pits, landing atop one of the zombies. His glowing blade was dropped just at the lip of the trap, and we offered it up to Tabot. Being the Aroden worshipper and all. A magic longsword just seems like it obviously needs to go to him.

It did not escape my notice that this goblin had the same kind of mutations as those skeletons in the cages. So that means these experiments were not ancient history—they were still happening. They needed to be stopped.

 We contemplated killing the zombies in the pits, but decided we’d come back and do it in a bit—my shield was temporary and it would be best if we got into any more fights with it still up.

We went through the only exit and down a long hall, which split into a fork. There were stairs spiraling downwards. We decided to give it a quick glance and see how much it looked like we’d have to deal with beyond. I was dreading that this was only the first floor of many.

Fortunately, it appeared the stairwell was caved in.

Less fortunately, we heard a distant howling coming from somewhere far, far below.

There was something trapped down there. Possibly something that was trapped there purposely. Maybe it was even the reason this particular ruin was entirely forgotten.

We retreated back down the hall, deciding it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Or howling dogs, in this case.

We went down the other fork in the hall, and found a curious room. Various objects floated about the room, suspended in the air as if completely weightless and unbound by gravity. Amongst those objects, I saw a scroll, and expressed a desire to take it, as it might be a useful spell scroll. Krysa of all people told me no, they thought that was a reckless idea. They could tell the room had transmutation magic in it, and was concerned it was part of what was turning creatures into those mutants. I was not entirely convinced of that logic, as the mutants had been back in the other room, and this magic seemed unrelated.

Nanel did something quite clever to help determine what we should do. First he tossed a coin into the room. It floated as if weightless, much like the other objects. Then he placed another coin, without any momentum so it was just floating in place, and then a moment later took it back. Nothing happened when he removed an object from the room. He told Krysa that a levitation spell is also transmutation magic, and he believed that was all they were seeing. Based on his experiment, he concluded that was likely the only spell on the room, and that it was safe to remove objects from the room.

With Krysa’s mind eased, we began grabbing objects that looked useful—or expensive.

I grabbed the scroll, which was a Scroll of Burning Hands. Krysa grabbed a Wand of Shocking Grasp. We agreed to trade. I think I can make good use of that spell, as I get into the thick of things more than our rat friend. And then Krysa can add another good spell to their spellbook.

Nanel and Tabot snagged a very ancient (but clearly magically preserved) unholy text to Lamashtu, and a bottle of expensive wine.

That book didn’t bode well, especially given the Abyssal writing we’d seen in other rooms.

In this room, too. There was a band of red metal around the room, which sparked with black electricity, and occasionally seemed to form Abyssal or Thassalonian words. I saw the phrase I’d seen in the other room, about angry screams. And it seemed the phrases we’d seen in other rooms were scattered in as well.

So it seems somehow whatever that band of metal is, it’s sending these messages around the ruin. For some reason. Maybe it’s some kind of defense mechanism, meant to scare off intruders? Maybe it’s not even functioning properly, maybe it was meant to do something different but now all it does is spew out these phrases after thousands of years with no upkeep. Who knows?

We’d finally hit a dead end on this particular branch of the ruin. There was nothing left to do but turn back and choose another path we’d yet to clear. So we went back to the hall just before the room where we’d fought the two Sinspawn, and ventured down the hall we hadn’t yet travelled.

At the end of this hall was something not half foreboding. A shrine to the Mother of Monsters, Lamashtu. Any statue that had one stood there was long gone, but there was still a basin of fetid water at its base that Tabot warned us not to go near. He sounded really legitimately shaken by it, and I don’t much want to find out what happens if you mess with a Demon Lord’s shrine, so I kept my distance.

There was only one exit from this room. The air felt heavy and I think we all wanted out of this room as soon as possible—Tabot especially. The door in question had a heavy padlock sealing it closed, but we’d found a large key in the room with the mutant goblin, so we easily put two and two together.

I listened at the door first, and heard nothing. With the heavy lock in place, I believed it was likely nothing had been in or out of this room in a long time. So all we would have to do was sweep it quickly to make sure there was nothing left so we could honestly say we’d cleared everything out.

Oh how wrong I was.

When I opened the door, the room did, indeed, appear empty.

Before I could take a step inside, however, the air beside me shimmered. A summoning spell came to completion, and a goblin dog appeared directly to my left. Then a shrieking voice called out to us, ‘how dare we intrude on Her domain’—strangely it sounded like she was speaking the Catfolk tongue, but given that the others understood her as well I suspect Tongues to be the culprit.

A small creature with a feminine figure, curved horns, and bat-like wings appeared before a strange glowing pool of liquid on a platform above us across the room. Krysa identified her as a quasit, a type of demon. The demoness cut her hand and let the blood leak into the boiling pool. And from it, another Sinspawn emerged.

So it would seem she is the one behind those.

Before I could react, she flung a spell at me. I could feel my muscles try to lock up, but I willed my body to continue working through the effects of the spell. If I could will myself to walk on my bad leg for so many years, willing myself to move is child’s play.

And good thing too, because that goblin dog came for my throat. I dodged, and it only got my arm, but that would have been bad if I’d been unable to move. I backed away from the vicious hairless beast, then tossed an explosive at it in response.

Unfortunately, doing so took my eyes off the Sinspawn, which moved faster than I’d expected. Suddenly it was behind me and I felt a ranseur driven into my side. While I wasn’t looking a second Sinspawn had been created as well. And the tiny demoness wouldn’t be done creating these creatures until that pool quit its ominous glow—which only happened after four of those monstrosities had been birthed from those boiling waters.

The others weren’t slouching in helping to try to clear their numbers, though. Tabot and I stood side-by-side against two Sinspawn, while Nanel took care of two more with Krysa backing him up from the doorway. Things actually felt like they were going well, despite the numbers not being in our favor.

Then the little demoness Hex’d Tabot, causing him to drop his defenses, allowing a Sinspawn’s ranseur to hit its mark. A second Hex, and the paladin slumped over in a magic-induced slumber.

I was of two minds—the Sinspawn nearest Tabot was badly hurt, and Nanel was nearby. In theory either I could kill it, or Nanel could interrupt an attempt to kill the helpless paladin.

In theory.

I decided I didn’t like the odds. Instead, I slapped Tabot awake. He could take a cat nap later.

This apparently enraged the Sinspawn that very much was going to kill Tabot before, and it unleased its anger on me. I was forced to retreat behind Tabot to heal myself, as I think I had more blood in my fur than in my body.

Tabot managed to stand without the spawn surrounding him skewering him in response, his shield deflecting any attempt. Nanel was holding his own against the spawn he was fighting well—biting then retreating to stab with the ranseur. He is surprisingly mobile for a man of his size, and his tactic staying on the move seemed to be working incredibly well for him. Not to mention Krysa, who got first blood on the Quasit by tossing a magic missile at her.

Unfortunately, it would seem we were doing too well for her liking. Suddenly an aura of dread flowed through the room. In front of me, Tabot went rigid. I didn’t see Krysa—but that’s because they’d already run before I looked. A moment later Tabot had darted off as well.

Leaving me and Nanel alone.

I stepped to his side, to face the remaining Sinspawn back-to-back so we didn’t get any more nasty surprises.

Any bad feelings that were lingering weren’t important in that moment. All that mattered was that we both made it out of this alive—and preferably that the Quasit did not.

We had no way to harm her in the air. Her thick hide was too fire-resistant for my bombs, and Nanel didn’t have any means of fighting from a distance. Even if Krysa and Tabot hadn’t been seen into a magically induced panic, Krysa’s crossbow wasn’t strong enough to pierce her hide, and Tabot had dropped his shortbow and decided he only needed his sword somewhere along the way.

So the only way she was coming into range of my blade and Nanel’s ranseur was if her rage and pride were enough to goad her into it.

Nanel slayed a Sinspawn, his mouth somehow opening wide enough to fit its entire head inside before biting down.

I’m…not entirely sure what Nanel is. Because I don’t think he is entirely human. Humans cannot dislocate their law and open it wide enough to eat an entire living creature whole, as I have seen him do. I’m sure he would explain it as a boon from his deity—patron—thing—but that explanation can only go so far. If a worshipper of Lamashtu is warped beyond recognition by their god’s ‘boons’, they are called a monster. So what do you call Nanel if he is changed so much he is no longer recognizably human?

I don’t know. I don’t think I can answer that question. I don’t know if it’s even a fair question to ask.

I might have transformations into monsters on my mind tonight. Just a little. Between the mutant goblin, the shrine to Lamashtu, whatever is going on with Nanel, and…something else I haven’t quite gotten to yet. Something I’m not looking forward to committing to paper. It’s not been a good day, to say the least.

Anyways. Where was I? Yes, right. Nanel and I were fighting the three remaining Sinspawn. When thankfully Tabot and Krysa snapped out of their panic. Tabot charged down the hall and sliced through a Sinspawn that had been unlucky enough to have positioned itself in the doorway. A bolt shot past him, so although I couldn’t see Krysa in the next room, clearly the little rat had snapped out of it as well and was now taking pot shots at the Sinspawn.

The tide was turning back in our favor. And it seems that finally made the quasit snap. She dove from her place in the air and dug her claws into Nanel. The claws themselves didn’t seem to leave much of an injury, but the wound was a nasty shade, like she’d injected something into the blood.

I remembered one of the things Krysa had rattled off in the chaos of battle about Quasits. They have venomous claws. We would need to see Father Zantus about healing Nanel when all was said and done.

For now, however, she had put herself into position to finally be attacked. I darted in and tried to pin her wings so she couldn’t fly away, but she spun in the air and avoided my blade. Now I found myself on a pile of human skulls, fighting a demoness outside of a Shrine of Lamashtu. Sounds like it could be an art piece. Too bad reality was all terror and bloodshed instead of glory and heroics.

Tabot darted around and got a devastating sword swing on her. The tell-tale glow of a paladin’s Smite engulfed her with the attack, the holy energy burning the unholy creature.

Nanel repositioned around her, snapping at her and then swinging with his ranseur.

I felt a searing pain in my shoulder as the last remaining Sinspawn bit me and dragged its claws down my shield. I felt a flash of rage—everything that had happened in the last week boiling over. The loss of my home and place of work, threats on my life and actual near-death experiences, seeing horrific things I should only have to face in my nightmares. And then as quickly as it flared up, I snuffed it out. Anger had a time and a place, and this wasn’t it. Maybe when I was younger, I would have succumbed. Let bitterness take the reins, run the show, burn everything down just to get a hint of attention from the world.

But not now.

Krysa took care of the monstrosity at my back, and I helped slash through the demon in return.

The Quasit looked scared now. I didn’t know demons could be scared, if I’m being honest. She tried to cast a spell, but her focus was lost as she also tried to defend herself against any incoming attack we attempted.

That opening was all it took. Nanel skewered the demoness, called her a shish kabob, and then…well, ate her.

I’m no doctor, but surely eating demons and Sinspawn isn’t good for one’s health? One is a horrific experiment of a bygone age embodying human sin, and the other is the metaphysical embodiment of all mortal sin.

I did not bring it up to Nanel, but he did at some point mention something about having incredibly strong stomach acid.

Anyways, while I was licking my wounds, the others examined the room. Especially that boiling pool, which was no longer glowing. They identified it as a Minor Runewell. It would seem it’s an artifact that is charged when a particularly wrathful soul dies within a certain radius, and charges of it are used to create Sinspawn. Its radius also included Sandpoint, which we think has something to do with why the town seems so ‘cursed’ with violence and misfortune in recent years.

Tabot believed he knew how to destroy the Minor Runewell permanently, however, so it wouldn’t be a blight on the town any longer. It would have to be filled with boiling holy water for at least a full day and night to purify it.

That was not something we had time for, however. Perhaps Father Zantus or another priest in town could spare the time to watch over the destruction of this artifact in our absence. We’d killed this demoness, but there was still no hint of where Nualia was or where the goblins had come from, which had to be our priority.

The underground was virtually completely cleared out, the only place we hadn’t poked around yet were the stairs leading up that we’d planned to save for last. So, with the demoness dead, we ventured upwards, not thinking anything left lurking down here could possibly be worse than a Quasit and four Sinspawn.

That’s when we wandered into the torture chamber, and the Vargouille attacked.

It swooped down at us with a screech that resonated in my head and my bones and every fiber of my body. Despite what I said earlier about being able to will myself to move, this time I was frozen in place and at the horror’s mercy.

Tabot was the only person ahead of me in the hall—as Nanel was in no state to take the lead with all the poison the Quasit had pumped into his veins, and obviously Krysa wasn’t going to be in front to risk being the first target of attacks. Tabot, with his shield in hand, made the most sense to take point. Tabot stood steady, his shield held to block the creature from getting into the hall.

Unfortunately, the Vargouille was quick in the air. Tabot took a swing at it, but it still flew over him and straight at me. I felt its clammy skin press against mine in a mockery of a kiss, and when it pulled away it left a feeling of icy cold behind as it devoured something from within me.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to signal to any of the others that something had been done to me, but my racing mind could still think. I could try to remember what I had read about Vargouilles in the past.

What I remembered only stoked my panic further. If a Vargouille can render its prey helpless, it will administer a deadly kiss which over the course of 24 hours—sometimes much sooner—will transform the victim into another Vargouille. Killing the victim and leaving only the cursed monstrosity behind.

I was trapped in my own frozen body as I panicked and tried to fight against the paralysis. I had to get out of here. I had to get into the sun immediately. And then get a cure. Sunlight would slow the rate of the transformation—the curse did not progress as long as the victim was in direct sunlight. Which meant if I got out of the damnable ruin and the cave which housed it, I could buy myself time. Hours of time. Enough time to get a cure.

My first thought was Father Zantus. But the magic required to cure this was fairly powerful—beyond the reach of most small-town priests. So my next option was to hope that Vin had a scroll of Remove Disease in stock at his item shop—or could get one in before it was too late for me.

My mind was too preoccupied to really see how the fight with the Vargouille went. I don’t remember seeing a corpse so maybe Nanel ate it as well, I don’t know. The moment my body snapped back into my control I could feel the actual panic attack coming on, and I told the others I needed to get to the surface. Immediately.

The others, bless them, didn’t ask any questions. They immediately made a beeline for the top of the stairs, thinking it would be the quickest way out. Nanel even carried me. My pride might normally be a little bruised, but honestly right that moment I couldn’t care less, I needed to get into the sunlight as quickly as possible and honestly not being on my bad leg right that moment was a welcome relief.

Unfortunately, the stairs up led to another cave-in.

We didn’t wait around listening for sounds or thinking about if we could dig it out. We just immediately turned around and retraced our steps back to the Glassworks, and finally outside.

Once I was safely in the light of day and breathing fresh air, I had to take a moment to collect myself. I felt moments away from emptying my stomach right there in front of the Glassworks. It was hard to breath—it had been ever since the paralysis was undone.

But slowly I got my breathing back under control, and my heart didn’t feel like it was going to hammer out of my chest. Then I finally explained to the others what I had realized about Vargouilles—about what my fate would ultimately be if we couldn’t find a cure. I rambled a bit in my state, but got around to the point that I hoped that Vin might have a scroll we could make use of. Hopefully within our budget.

The others agreed we should go to the shop immediately, and Nanel carried me again. I was too tired to protest. My battered pride can recover another day.

And thank Shelyn and any other god that will listen (even Aroden if he’s really out there), Vin did have one scroll in stock. It was pricy, but we’d found enough treasures down in the ruins to make for a fair trade.

I handed the scroll off to Nanel. Scrolls aren’t really my area of expertise—alchemy might look like magic to some, and I can even logic out certain formulae from the arcane writings of wizards, but they are still two very different arts at their core. There’s a hint of familiarity to scrolls, but not enough for me to reliably make use of them.

This wouldn’t be in Krysa’s wheelhouse, either. The arcane and the divine don’t really…mesh, usually. And curing diseases or healing wounds with positive energy is not generally the sort of thing that can be translated into a wizard’s arcane powers.

Nanel, on the other hand, is a divine spellcaster. Of a sort. Not quite a cleric, but I suspected he should still have the basic knowledge necessary to use this kind of scroll.

He seemed a bit uncertain, but he read from the scroll anyways. And I felt something that I hadn’t quite noticed, something cold and oily, be banished from my chest—from where it had been clinging to my very soul. I hugged Nanel as tightly as I could and thanked him.

He, in no uncertain terms, saved my life. We’re even for what happened at the Glassworks and then some.

All three of them did everything they could to help me during that—even before they knew what was wrong, they jumped into action and got me outside with no questions asked.

I don’t think I have ever had anyone have my back like that before, besides my family. I am…caught a little by surprise, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the others just fine—disregarding any sore feelings towards Nanel at the time—but past experience taught me that only a very few, very special handful of people would bother with a disabled old cat like me beyond whatever they might need from me.

My brother was left for dead by his people—by his first family—because his wing was deformed. My sister might have ended up just like Nualia, treated like a holy object instead of a person, if she hadn’t had the sheer luck of being adopted by our mothers instead of one of the churches. My other sister, I don’t even know why the drow abandoned her on the surface, but she’s always been treated with suspicion by people up here. Even though she’s just a teen, and she’s never done anything worse than any other kid her age. Well, the human equivalent to her age.

Our mothers wanted us to be ready for the world, and wanted us to face it with optimism and faith in people—and I have tried to live by that. But at the same time, time and time again, it always comes down to us only having each other to rely on.

So…yes, it took me by surprise that the others helped without a single question, that they just trusted that something was truly wrong and decided that they were going to help fix it, even before they knew what it actually was. They could have kept clearing out the ruins—there were still those undead in the holes, and there was the stairway up to check further. They could have sent me on my way to get up to the surface on my own while they handled things down there like they promised Ameiko. And I could have made it on my own. It would have been slower, and more painful, and I don’t think I would have come down from my panic near as well without people there—but I would have managed, if I'd had to.

We’d heard a little about Tsudo in passing. He’s a half-elf, Ameiko’s older half-brother, and a bastard child seeing as Ameiko’s parents are both very much human. It was his birth that caused Lonjiku to declare Ameiko’s mother dead to him—although he apparently remained married to her and had a daughter with her, so what exactly that meant is unclear.

Tsudo had apparently been sent away to some school, never visited by any family except for Ameiko for most of his life. Until they, too, had a falling out. Then at their mother’s funeral he’d accused his father of killing his mother, and when Lonjitsu struck him, the boy left Sandpoint.

Apparently now he’s returned.

The letter said what we’d expected: that Tsuto had discovered that their father was connected to the attacks on the town, but he believed if they went to the authorities he would get himself off easy. So he wanted Ameiko to meet him at the glassworks at midnight, do a secret knock so he’d know it was her, and then they’d handle things together.

Seeing as Ameiko hadn’t returned, it seemed something had gone horribly wrong.

We decided to check the Glassworks first, as it was the closest between it and the Kaijistu estate.

Before we left, Nanel pulled us aside, saying he had something important to discuss before we left. He showed us the boxspring of his bed in the inn, upon which a name was carved—over and over. He told us he had a deity of sorts, which granted him his power. And this being had granted him a new form to take in combat. But to his understanding, taking this form would affect his mind somewhat—he said he might say some strange things.

I shrugged it off at the time. I don’t think I took it as seriously as perhaps I should have.

Having an ally not in their right mind in battle is dangerous.

Anyways. When we arrived to the Glassworks, the curtains were all drawn shut. The doors were all locked. There was smoke coming from the smokestack, but it smelled…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.

Krysa solved the problem of the door being locked, clever little rat they are. They picked the lock and we all slipped inside.

We heard sounds coming from a door to our left. Suspiciously goblin-y sounds. We burst in, and found a number of goblins playing with broken glass—and throwing human remains into the glassworks fires.

That’s what the smell had been. Burning flesh and hair.

And by one of the windows, their masterpiece—Lonjitsu Kaijitsu, propped up in a chair, encased in glass. Quite likely burned alive in hot liquid glass. Even for a man like that…what a horrific fate.

There was no time to linger on it, however, as we has a swarm of goblins to contend with. Our little gang worked together well, clearing out the first few goblins who were nearest us. It seemed like it would be another easy fight.

Then he showed up.

A half-elf with a bow and a passing resemblance to Ameiko. He spoke in goblin to the little bastards, giving them tactical commands so they wouldn’t just throw themselves at us blindly like the others.

Krysa was the first to realize that shooting him would be a bad idea—his stance indicated monk training, and likely the speed and practice to deflect projectiles. That meant my bombs were out of the question, too.

Getting to him to engage in close combat was easier said than done, though. He was shooting arrows at us, and there were still his remaining goblins to contend with. And even when we did finally engage him, he was incredibly fast. And he knew right where to hit you to make it hurt. Right where it would do the most damage.

When I engaged him, he stepped around me like liquid fire, until suddenly one of his goblin cronies was at my back and he was flying at me with precise punches that snapped bone and tore muscle.

At about the same time, whatever that plant form is that Nanel took shot thorns out everywhere—missing Tsuto, but empaling me. I snapped something at him that he brushed off, but I could only really hear the sound of my own heart pounding.

I could taste blood. Smell blood. Everything was tinged in red, like I was drowning in it. I could barely keep my balance—and I felt as though I was standing at the precipice of a black hole. If I fell in there would be no coming back.

Then all at once the pounding in my ears eased. The red in my vision faded. I could breath freely again. Tabot was at my side now, and had used his utterly impossible paladin abilities to stitch my wounds back together. If I couldn’t still taste the metallic tang in my mouth I’d think I’d only been imagining nearly dying a moment before—he’d healed me as effectively as any potion, if not more-so.

I hesitate to call it miraculous, but what else can you call a man pulling someone from the bring of death in the name of a god who is also, by all accounts, dead?

Tsuto saw the way the wind was blowing, as his last goblin flunkies fell, leaving him alone and outnumbered. He darted around my blade and out the nearest door. I ran after him, just close enough behind to see him disappear down a stairwell. The others were in hot pursuit.

As I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Tsuto trying to bring down a door at the end of the hall. He stopped and turned when he heard us. He stood his ground, ready to fight round two—there would be no surrender from him.

Tabot ran in and got a swing at him. Blood coated the ground. Krysa tried to get a shot at him to make an opening for me, but it went wide and he didn’t let his guard down. So instead of wasting a bomb, I darted around Tabot and skewered the man with my blade.

In his last moments he laughed at me. He said I’d made someone very upset, and that’s why I had a target on my back. Then he told me ‘she’s going to burn you, and then eat you alive’.

Then he slumped, his final breath used in cryptic threats.

I don’t understand. I still don’t. Who could I have possibly made so angry?

I think I know who this ‘her’ is though. Tsuto had sketches on his person, and writings. About an aasimar who wanted to burn away her divinity. The pictures depicted this aasimar with some kind of twisted demonic appendage, and spoke of her undergoing some kind of ritual to be reborn in a fiendish form. Tsuto seemed to have hopes that she would become something akin to a succubus—deceptive beauty masking the monster within—as he found her current demonic arm repulsive compared to her original angelic beauty.

It started normally enough. It had been a frustratingly loud morning with all the travelers from out of town here to participate in the Swallowtail Festival. As the morning wore on I eventually came to the decision that I could not concentrate in these conditions, and decided I might as well see what all the fuss was about. At the very least there would be a free meal involved.

So I made the walk to the town square—despite my leg’s protests that it would have much preferred me staying indoors and working as much as I would. I really should have taken something for the pain before I left home, but the noise had been so distracting. I hadn’t been thinking straight.

Thankfully I caught the smell of fish in the air—cooked fish with curry, being handed out as samples by dear Ameiko. If there was one thing that could motivate me to stay and see this festival through, it was Ameiko Keijitsu’s cooking. So I made my way to her stall, while the droning of people making speeches on the stage helped to silence the crowd somewhat. I only caught pieces of what was said. Sheriff Hemlock was his usual no-nonsense self and brought down the mood a bit asking for a moment of silence for those lost in the fire a few years back. I hadn’t been in town back when it had happened, but I paid my respects none-the-less. My heart does go out to them.

There was a bit of an awkward pause when Lonjiku Kaijitsu was meant to make an appearance and give a speech of his own, but apparently he had come down with some illness. Nothing severe, I hoped. I wasn’t terribly well acquainted with the man, but I do get vials for my potions and extracts from the glassworks from time to time. And Ameiko is a good woman, so I wouldn’t wish ill on her father.

Speaking of Ameiko, she greeted me and two other customers who had come to her stall at about the same time. One was a man I’d seen in passing around town before, Nanel. The other must have been a visitor from out of town, because I would know if I’d seen a ratfolk around before today. I later learned their name to be Kyrsa (actually крыса, but I have some difficulty replicating letters from the ratfolk’s language so for now I will be writing it how it is pronounced.)

Ameiko offered us a sampling of her delicious fish, and a strong ‘concoction’ she’d brewed up. I told her I was always interested in a new concoction. The other two customers seemed to decide to follow my lead, and both also agreed they wanted to try her new drink. Ameiko poured us three shots. I downed it. It burned, but compared to some of the things I’ve downed before in the name of science, this was easy to keep down.

Apparently the other two customers did not agree. They both looked rather queasy. I laughed it off and told Ameiko that stuff packed a punch. She decided that was a good name for the brew—punch. I can’t disagree. She offered me a jug of it, which I was happy to accept. Sometimes you just want something strong to finish out the day, and you don’t want to leave your quiet comfortable house to go get it.

…Well, not that I have that luxury now.

I am getting ahead of myself.

Ameiko asked if any of us wanted another. I agreed to the obvious challenge in her tone. Apparently the other two, despite both looking like another would send them running for a place to lose the fish they’d just eaten, did not intend to back down from the challenge if I was taking her up on it. They both agreed they wanted another as well. Ameiko seemed mildly bemused by this as she handed us another. I downed it with the same ease as before. It hit hard, but I knew how to handle myself. Nanel seemed to have mastered himself as well, as he looked less sickly than before and seemed like the alcohol had hit him less severely this time.

Kyrsa was true to my prediction, and went running for the nearest bushes.

I chuckled to myself, said my farewells to Ameiko for the time being, and went to find something else to pass the time. I eventually wandered into a crowd of people gathered around one of the local shop owners, Ven Vinder, who was running a game of trivia. Unlike many of the other games held within the festival, this one actually drew people in with the promise of a prize.

I think myself a well-read catfolk, so depending on the subject trivia would be…trivial.

And to my great fortune the trivia was a matter of numbers. A question of how many people live in the town of Sandpoint.

There are currently exactly 1240 people living in Sandpoint. I’ve counted.

Apparently my calculations had been right on the dot (and of course they were, I was very meticulous when I counted them all). As a prize I won a Cure Light Wounds potion—which he quietly admitted was probably not quite up to my own standards. That was a tad disappointing, to be sure, as I could brew these up with just a few hours and the right ingredients. But it proved vital later that day—sometimes it is not what we want that is actually what we need.

I milled about the festival for a while longer, considered returning to Ameiko’s stall for a bit but there were more people there now and I didn’t much relish the idea of spending time in a crowd. I eventually drifted to the edge of the festival and spent some time regaining my composure from all of the sounds and smells and people. It was all a bit overwhelming, to be sure.

As I returned, it appeared our local Desnan priest Father Zantus was about to make a speech and call us together for the feasting part of the festival. I was eager for that, if only in the hopes of getting more of Ameiko’s delicious curried fish.

Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.

Because as Father Zantus began speaking, there was a scream. And then chanting. Many voices chanting the same horrible verses. A goblin war chant.

Violence exploded around us. I had never seen the atmosphere of a place change so completely so quickly. One moment everyone was joyfully celebrating the festival, the next there was panic as the goblins descended violently upon any fleeing citizen they could catch up with. And the smell of smoke was in the air. They were trying to burn the town to the ground.

That little ratfolk, Kyrsa, was the first person near me to react. They spun around, brought up their hands, and a spike of ice flew across the square and impaled the nearest goblin. The goblin staggered forward towards Kyrsa, but his injury hampered his movements.

I didn’t get a look at how Kyrsa’s fight ended, because two more goblins were stalking their way towards me and a rabbitfolk in a tabard (with Aroden’s symbol on it?) with a blade in hand. I later learned his name was Tabot. Tabot the rabbit in a tabard. With Aroden’s holy symbol on it. Alright.

I called out to the goblins in their native language, informing them that they were being very disruptive and they should go away. The goblins jeered and one said since I spoke in their tongue they should rip it out. My tongue, I mean. Disgusting.

Well, I gave them a chance.

I changed my stance to put more weight on my good leg and pulled my blade free from my cane. Then I removed a volatile concoction from my belt. I hadn’t exactly brought this to the festival with intent to use it—it was something to work on if my hands got fidgety. Improving them, I mean, they were already finished. I wouldn’t throw a prototype in the middle of an actual battle where lives are on the line.

I tossed the concoction at the nearest goblin. My aim was imperfect, but both goblins were still caught in the radius of the explosion that followed.

The two singed goblins charged at me and Tabot. I didn’t see how things went with Tabot’s goblin, because the one that went after me was the one who had been slinging around threats. And they apparently intended to attempt to go through with them, as they slashed their blade across my face in an attempt to cut out my tongue.

I shifted around so I had both of the goblins in my line of sight. Something had peppered Tabot’s goblin with sharp thorns. Between that and the burns it had sustained from the explosive, that goblin was on its last legs. I decided to take a risk, hoping that Tabot would repay the favor in kind. I swung my blade at the more badly injured goblin and felled it—rather than the other that had just sliced me.

Tabot did, indeed, repay the favor. He darted around to my side and in one quick fluid movement he ended the last goblin’s life.

Well…last of that batch.

The chanting was still going, and we heard more sounds of fire and violence coming from the other side of the square. Kyrsa was the first to begin darting in that direction. They were the first to spot the chanting goblin and the two goblin minions with him—and they lifted their hand for a spell. Unfortunately, it appeared that the goblin chanter resisted whatever the ratfolk had cast.

I saw that this was going to be a fight of endurance not a sprint, so I drank my Mew-tagen, the modified genetics of a lion granting me greater strength and a hardier body.

As I approached the fight, Nanel dove under the stage nearby just in front of me. I hadn’t even realized he’d been in the fight with us until the split second I saw of him there. He may have been injured and trying to get away from the fighting for a moment to reconstitute himself.

It seemed he chose poorly, as two of the goblins ran over to crawl under the stage with him. Only one made it under. He yelled something, but I didn’t make out the words.

A moment later there was a scream—the goblin’s scream—a grisly crunch, and a sound like…something eating?

My fur was standing on end imagining just what else might be under that stage. Admittedly any thoughts of Nanel’s safety had fled my mind, I was just concerned about what kind of horror we might be facing next.

I barely registered it as Tabot charged past me and took out one of the other regular goblins. I risked a step closer to the stage, to take down the last goblin remaining that wasn’t the chanter.

The chanting stopped, although the sounds of violence continued throughout the town. The goblin seemed to have run out of stamina. It likely didn’t help that he now had a bolt sticking from his shoulder—courtesy of Kyrsa I assume, since they were the only one with a crossbow in the square in that moment.

Tabot tried to attack the final goblin, but his sword swung wide.

Something fast and made of writhing vines lunged forward from beneath the stage. It sounded like it spoke to Tabot, but it was hard to make out in the chaos of battle. What I know for certain is that part of the plant opened up and it was a big gaping mouth with too many sharp teeth, which tried to snap closed on the goblin.

The goblin avoided that attack too.

The plant thing seemed to be on our side, at least for the time being, so I dragged my way to its side and tried to stab the goblin as well—to equally poor effect.

The goblin stepped back and cast a spell, but it was ineffective.

Kyrsa shot the goblin with their crossbow again, and it struck true. A spellcaster and a good shot. Quite surprising for such a timid little thing.

Tabot and the plant continued to have little luck against this goblin.

I decided that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing time and again and expecting new results. So I stepped back, and instead of trying to stab the goblin again, I unclipped another explosive from my belt, and threw that instead. It struck true—right in the goblin’s shit eating face. It didn’t have a face, or a head, after that.

Father Zantus called us over, hailing us as heroes, and asking if we needed healing. I wasn’t at my best, and Tabot looked worse for the wear. So did Nanel, who reappeared a moment later apologizing profusely and letting us know he’d gotten into a scuffle with a goblin under the stage. I wondered if he’d seen the plant thing—which seemed to have slinked off somewhere, probably off hunting more goblins elsewhere in the town now that there were none here.

After Father Zantus healed us, Kyrsa informed us that they heard something coming from down the road. We were going to have to be ready for another fight. I quickly produced the two Potions of Cure Light Wounds I have—the ones that weren’t my Extracts—and gave one each to Nanel and Tabot, as they seemed the sort who got more into the fray. I don’t think Kyrsa got touched during that entire first fight together, despite throwing ice and shooting bolts around like a bringer of death.

We gathered together, ready for whatever was to come.

We weren’t expecting some ruffly nobleman and his dog to come running down the road with goblins in tow. The man begged for our help, then hid behind some barrels. Deciding he’d stick around for moral support or something.

What followed was a harrowing fight for many of us. Two goblins and a third atop a goblin dog ran into the square.

As I’m coming to expect, Kyrsa was the first to react. They shot a bolt at one of the goblins—which unfortunately got its attention.

One of the goblins on foot and the mounted goblin went after Tabot and Nanel. Both rider and goblin dog attacked Nanel with a viciousness I don’t think I’d ever seen in my life.

Nanel fell—not dead, but he was bleeding on the ground.

Tabot used his own potion of Cure Light Wounds to heal Nanel, waking him from the brink.

I used the moment to throw a bomb at the foot soldier—once again I misjudged against such small opponents, but it ended up being a boon as the bomb landed directly between the goblin and his mounted leader—catching goblin, leader, and mount in the blast.

I was feeling quite satisfied with myself, when I heard some worrisome sounds from where I’d last seen Kyrsa. I turned to see they were badly bloodied, barely still standing, with the other goblin foot soldier baring down on them. They had some sort of spectral armor cast around themself which had just saved them from a potentially leather blow—but who knows how long their luck would last. I decided to help luck along a little, and swooped in behind the goblin. I stabbed him through the shoulder—right around the same place Kyrsa had first shot him.

That got his attention. With his focus on me, Kyrsa could get a little breathing room.

The goblin and I exchanged blows—each just barely dodging around the attacks of the other. If the goblin had more finesse or I were more graceful on my feet, it might have been mistaken for a beautiful sword duel. As it was it probably looked more like a couple of flailing fools swinging weapons we didn’t know the hilt from the blade.

I found my opening when Nanel crept up behind the goblin. I requested his assistance, and he acquiesced. Nanel brought his quarterstaff down around the neck of the goblin, giving me the opening to stab it through the heart. The goblin laughed, saying I stabbed them both, but then looked up and saw Nanel was just fine. I pulled back, and told the dying goblin that I had enough fine control over my blade to keep from skewering an ally. Then I went looking for my blade’s sheath, because my leg was killing me and I really wanted my cane back with the fighting out of the way.

The nobleman came out from hiding and thanked us for saving him. He introduced himself as Aldern Foxglove. He proclaimed himself the most important noble in town. The others seemed like they might contradict him, so I simply stated that he was likely the *only* noble in town and won by default. He seemed to take this as a compliment.

I can see why my mother didn’t want a thing to do with nobility, if even a fraction of them are like this Foxglove fellow.

Once Foxglove was on his way—after telling us to come find him at the Rusty Dragon in the next few days so he could thank us properly—Father Zantus again heaped praise at our feet. Not really necessary. What else would we have done? We were in town, the goblins attacked, and two of us were from here. We were hardly going to sit back and let the place burn, if only in self defense and to protect our livelihoods. Although obviously the less loss of life the better. I am glad that our actions helped divert much of the goblins’ attention away from more vulnerable people.

After we spoke to Father Zantus and Ameiko (who offered us all free rooms at the Rusty Dragon for the next week), we naturally gathered up anything the goblins had on them. Since I have a good head for numbers I went through the gold they had, calculating how much we found on them. I suggested we split it evenly between the four of us, since we’d all played an equal role in fighting off the goblins. The others agreed. So we split up the gold, and I gathered anything the others didn’t want to go pawn off at the markets.

We did find one thing we wanted to keep though—a Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds. What in the Nine Hells. How did goblins get ahold of such a powerful potion? I’m not even skilled enough to make a potion of this quality yet and I’ve been practicing alchemy for years now!

The others decided it would be best if I held onto the potion, as the resident alchemist. I did not raise any arguments to the contrary.

Then we went our separate ways.

That should have been the end of things. Kyrsa and Tabot would move on with their travels, Nanel would continue doing whatever he does, and I would continue with my life.

That is not what happened.

As I finished in the markets one of the local messengers approached me. He told me he had some unpleasant news. He seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to be delivering this particular piece of news. I asked him to go on.

He informed me that my house had been burnt down.

I was shocked into silence, so he continued. Talking about things like how sorry he was, and how they would search the wreckage for anything that survived. I wasn’t listening. I was moving towards the street I lived on as if possessed, not all there. My feet moved automatically, dragging me closer and closer to what I didn’t want to see but also had to see for myself.

The smoldering bones of what I’d called home.

Everything was gone. My books. My experiments. My notes and journals and ideas—my hopes and dreams. All up in smoke. Just like that.

As I stared at the ashes, trying to process this, I saw something that stood out to me. Even in my worst moments, I have an eye for detail. And there was something out of place. I stepped into the wreckage, ignoring the messenger’s warning that I probably shouldn’t go digging through the rubble by myself. I dashed aside some ashes, and sure enough my eyes had not deceived me. There had been a wrapped torch placed within the house itself.

The goblins had been burning buildings from outside—maybe even throwing torches through broken windows—but this was set with purpose. This had been placed here by someone who wanted to make sure this building was reduced to cinders.

The pieces clicked into place in my brain. The goblins hadn’t done this alone. Someone else was pulling the strings. Someone who, for some reason, had targeted me specifically.

That feeling of unmoored loss and desperation were immediately replaced by one thing: determination. I was going to find whoever did this and bring them to justice. And I knew exactly the people to help me.

I made a beeline for the Rusty Dragon, knowing that the three I had allied with against the goblins were all staying there. And sure enough, all three of them were sitting at a table together in the common room. I made straight for them. Kyrsa asked me if everything was okay—apparently my mood showed on my face. I told them no, it was not. I went into detail about what had happened with my house. Then I asked them if any of them were planning on sticking around to look deeper into the goblin attacks. Tabot asked me why we’d look deeper into them—was there something to look deeper into?

I told him yes, and explained the evidence I’d found of someone working with the goblins. Once I was done, the others all agreed that whoever was in league with the goblins needed to be stopped before they made another move against the town. I also gave the others their share of the funds from the loot I’d sold. Tabot insisted that he only take a cut of his portion and I have the rest. It was a blow to my pride to take his charity, but I also did just lose virtually everything I owned except for what I’d had on me at the festival and a bomb launcher I’d found that a goblin must have dropped by the ruins of my home. If nothing else, extra funds meant more ingredients for potions which would go right back into helping bring down this traitor to the town.

I also made a proposition to the others, that if we were to work together for this, I could get them potions at half the price of what they could buy them for at the store—just the cost of materials. I would normally never make this offer—a cat has to eat after all—but these are extraordinary circumstances, and as I said above any potions I make right now will go towards our common goal.

After we’d hashed out these details, Sheriff Hemlock entered the Rusty Dragon and made his way over to us. He thanked us for helping with the attack, then voiced the same suspicion I had—that someone from the inside had set up this attack. I told him the evidence I’d found that he was exactly right. He told me that, for now, we should keep that knowledge between us. Seeing as we don’t even have any suspects yet, it could be anyone. We don’t want to clue in our little fire bug that we’re onto them until it’s too late for them to run.

With that agreed on, the sheriff told us that he’d actually come looking for the four of us for a separate reason. Apparently something strange was happening at the temple’s mausoleum to the former head of the temple, Father Tobyn. He was one of the victims of the fire five years ago, the one the Sheriff himself had alluded to during his speech. Father Zantus wanted to consecrate the crypt, but the sheriff had asked the priest to wait until he’d had ‘some adventurers’ take a look. Some adventurers were us.

We agreed to help, as the timing was a bit too coincidental to be a coincidence. Maybe our firebug had also done something to the crypt, and maybe there were clues. But it would have to wait for the next day—everyone was exhausted from the goblin raid.

Ameiko arrived about an hour later. She had a conversation with Tabot and Kyrsa—something about Tabot wanting a smaller room and Kyrsa wanting to sleep in Tabot’s room, and a lot of miscommunication about the intentions behind that. Tabot, being the absolute pinnacle of a paladin that he is, wanted a smaller room so that Ameiko could still rent out the big room to customers and make more money. Kyrsa wanted to sleep with Tabot because they were afraid of sleeping alone—or something along those lines, I quit paying attention and went up to my own room around that point.