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Chapter Text

Ashton probably thought he was being subtle, but Imogen had seen. The Bells Hells were walking outside into the bright sunlight for the first time that day and as soon as the light hit their eyes Ashton gave an almost imperceptible flinch and their already tense shoulders wound even tighter. Most would not recognize these signs of an impeding or already present migraine, but migraines were one health condition that Imogen knew well.

Imogen studied the genasi as they gang walked through the town to whatever shop the others needed to go too now. She wondered absently why he did not just say something and take a break if he was hurting but reminded herself that he is the strong tough barbarian of the group. “You are also being a hypocrite” her own voice rang out in her mind. No matter. It was obvious that this would not end up well. Ashton’s shoulders were still even more tense than usual, his gait seemed to be wavering a little, and she could tell from the way his head hung just a little his eyes were trained on the ground. Another beam of sunlight hit the group and seemed to bounce off the crystal covering the hole in Ashton’s head and a burst of light flared within the head as she had seen only a couple times before.

That must be the issue. Head injuries were always difficult and could stay with someone long after they happened. She had seen another child when she was growing up who fell out of a tree, hit their head, and would occasionally have ‘fits’ as the adults called it for years after before they died during one of the fits. Ashton probably had similar effects from their fall, not ‘fits’ but migraines and headaches. It made sense, she knew how hard they could be to manage especially when a sense such as sight or hearing betrayed you and stabbed your head with every new sensation.

Imogen was taken from her thoughts as a cold but comforting hand found its way into her’s and she glanced over to see the bright smile of Laudna who was giving her a quizzical look. Imogen smiled back at the other girl and squeezed her hand gently trying to convey that everything was fine. Laudna wasn’t taking it however and brushed their shoulders together again.

“I’m fine. Just watching Ashton,” Imogen told Laudna in her head.

“Oh! What’s up with him?” Laudna replied and started to study the genasi in front of them.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Imogen sent back.

“He is looking a bit more tense than usual. Oh, he just flinched at that noise!” Laudna continued her investigation as a door was closed loudly nearby.

“Ya, I think he may have a migraine. But leave him alone. If he needs us, we’ll be here but otherwise let him keep it to himself,” Imogen told her friend who nodded back. They walked hand-in-hand for a few more minutes watching the others. Orym keeping an eye on Fearne to make sure she didn’t get herself into more trouble. FCG and Chetney leading the way to their destination. Ashton still trying to play off the pain that they were in, that the others seemed not to notice.

Soon enough, the Hells Bells were at the store and the others were starting to head inside when Imogen saw Ashton lean against the wall by the door, obviously trying to act as sentry for the group but also taking a break. Imogen and Laudna looked at each other before Laudna went in with the others and Imogen stood next the large rock person.

“How are you?” Imogen spoke into Ashton’s mind as to not let any of the others hear their conversation. Ashton startled a bit before relaxing back into his tense state, looking out at the street but not focusing.

“I’m fine. Why are you out here, go join the others,” Ashton’s rough voice responded.

“I recognize the signs of pain, especially when it comes to heads you know,” Imogen stated getting straight to the point, how the other liked it.

“I’m fine. This happens sometimes. I just have to deal with it,” Ashton’s voice sounded gruffer.

“We don’t have a lot to do today, and the others will be just fine if you want to rest,” Imogen replied cautiously.

“No. I don’t deserve to rest. It’s just a stupid headache. I’ve had enough of them since the fall to know how to deal with them. I have to just keep going,” Ashton tried to convince her, but their thoughts tapered off near the end.

“You don’t always have to be strong you know?” Imogen said softly which caused the other to grunt.

“You don’t understand what it’s like around here. You are either strong or dead. There is no in between,” the genasi argued before trying to stand straight from their leaning position, presumably to head inside to the others away from this conversation, and had to grip onto the doorway as they swayed slightly.

Imogen reached out and grasped the hard bicep attempting to provide stability. Ashton slowly reached up and squeezed the bridge of his nose, a familiar motion to Imogen.

“I can just tell the others we’re going to go back to the tavern. No one will care,” Imogen sent to Ashton quietly to which he just nodded, apparently the pain becoming too much. Eternally Imogen sighed, glad that she had gotten to him.

“Ok, let me just let Laudna know,” Imogen murmured.

“Laudna, I’m going to take Ashton back to the tavern to rest. Just tell the others that there were too many people for me or something.”

“Alright, I’ll let them know,” Laudna’s sweet voice came through Imogen’s brain in reply. Imogen looked at Ashton and smiled turning back towards where they had just come from, her hand still on Ashton’s arm.

He looked down at her, his eyes unfocused, as he whispered, “Thank you. I have struggled since the whole, you know,” they tapped the crystal keeping their brain in their skull.

Imogen nodded, “Believe me, I understand what it’s like to have what feels like millions of needles poking into your brain. We don’t have to talk, let’s just get back.”

Ashton nodded in understanding before asking, “How did you know, not even Letters usually picks up on it?”

Imogen smiled up at the larger person and went, “Your shoulders are more tense than usual.” Ashton grunted softly before closing his eyes against the light and allowing the purple-haired girl to lead the two of them back to the sweet darkness of their tavern room for a much-needed rest. They may have trouble sometimes, but that did not mean that they were weak, and Imogen silently vowed to show them that one day at a time.

Chapter Text

Orym walked steadily towards the bow of the airship breathing in the cool air that always seemed to warm his heart. Being high in the air was a feeling that Orym had adored and always would. The others, especially Imogen, seemed to be unsteady and unnerved by the height and the sight of the ground so far below them but Orym relished it. He looked out at the sky that was slowly turning bluer than pink as the sun rose in the sky. The morning had always been the time of day that Orym appreciated the most. It was when things were quiet, most people were asleep or too tired to do too much and the calmness helped Orym focus.

When he got to the railing at the edge of the ship, he stood still for a moment looking out at the sands below them and the lilac shade that the sky was turning between the blue that accompanied the sun and the orange and pink of the early morning. Slowly, he took a deep breath enjoying the feeling of the air filling his lungs before releasing it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out some rope. Part of him did not want to use the rope and not feel tied down to the ship, but he also knew that if the others saw him doing this even with a rope they would freak, especially Imogen who did not even like the gondolas in Jrusar. A small smile crept onto his lips as he thought of Imogen’s face as Fearne rocked the machine. Fearne didn’t mean it maliciously and they all knew that, but Imogen still fell for it every time.

The smile stayed on his lips as he tied the rope securely onto the railing and then onto his ankle. Once sure he was secured to the ship he jumped lithely up onto the railing. Silently he stayed still allowing the wind to blow across his skin, through his hair, rejuvenating his spirit. He took another slow and deep breath relishing the feel of the breeze hitting his face, feeling like home.

Then, quick as lightning, he drew his sword with one swift movement. Moving with the wind he started to move through his practiced movements. It felt like his sword was a part of him and as he stepped through the Zephyr’atom he allowed his movements to follow the wind. When the wind speed so did, he, when it slowed so did he. The wind moved around him welcoming him in their arms as he conformed to their ebbs and flows.

His feet moved lightly along the railing as his sword continued to move with the wind. With each step, he felt a bit lighter as his foot would leave the edge and only a small part of him connected to the world that a small part of him longed to leave.

After 20 minutes or so, he slowed his movement to a stop and just stood on the balls of his feet almost like he was ready to jump, though he never would. He let his arm and sword drift down to his side as he stared out at the sky, though not really seeing it. His brain took him back in time to a moment that felt so long ago now when he was first learning the Zephyr’atom.

The young halfling stood in the afternoon sun looking up at the half-elf form of Derrig slowly moving through the forms as Orym and Will watched intrigued. Derrig had promised to teach the two how to ‘write on the wind’ as he put it. Orym watched closely as the older man took swift steps while moving between stances. His eyes struggled to follow the sword as well as the rest of the form as Derrig continued his demonstration of the swordwork.

After what felt like no time at all, Derrig stopped and stood still looking at the two. Orym felt like he was not ready. Everything had gone too fast; he hadn’t processed everything. Derrig bent down to pick up the two wooden practice swords that he had produced for Will and Orym passing Orym the slightly shorter one.

“Alright, let’s start,” Derrig said calmly and Orym’s hand almost started to shake before he focused on the figure in front of him moving into the first form allowing the two to mirror him before correcting them when needed. They continued through form after form following the same method of mirroring and corrections.

Some time past, that felt both like too long and no time at all to Orym before Derrig looked up at the sky and told them that would be all for the day. Orym couldn’t help but feel a bit discouraged. It felt like he had messed up so much and that the work he had seen from Derrig at the beginning of the lesson was so far away.

Derrig must have seen Orym’s shoulders slump a little as he reached out and put a hand on his shoulder before saying, “You are doing great. All you need is more practice. I practice every day. It’s how we stay safe.” Orym felt a warmth enter his heart as he raised his head to look into his father figure's eyes and smile slightly before nodding. He glanced over at Will who was also looking happily at his father. ‘This would be the start of something great’ Orym decided right then and knew that just like Derrig, he would practice every day to protect those he loved.

Orym smiled sadly at the memory remembering Derrig’s words “It’s how we stay safe.” That may be true, but it hadn’t helped six years ago. He and Will had both practiced every day since then and yet when those shadow assassins came the practice was not enough. Orym had been injured and Will had died. Orym felt a single tear be blown off his face by the wind as he thought of his husband. Part of him knew that it wasn’t the practice that had caused the tragedy, but Derrig’s words rang in his head every time he thought of that day.

Orym took another minute to feel the familiar wind on his skin before whispering, “I still practice. I’ll stay safe, for you.” He saw the smile of Derrig and loving eyes of Will in his mind as he yet again made the promise that he was trying his hardest to hold.

Softly, before he turned to get off the railing and to the rest of his day, Orym murmured, “I miss you.”

Chapter Text

Orym had always been a self-sacrificing idiot. It’s what made him so good at their job and part of what made Will fall in love with him. Once you gained his loyalty, no harm would come to you if he had a way to stop it.

Will knew this from years of watching, practicing with, and loving Orym. The tendency had gotten the halfling into more trouble than Will liked, but he also understood. Orym did not have a lot growing up and held a fierce need to protect those that he did have. When the two of them had joined the Tempest’s guard, they had known the risk. Their line of work had the risk that you would not go home every night. That being said, neither of them expected it to actually happen, especially not for Will to be the first to go.

Those shadow warriors were tough and many. It was never supposed to end how it did, but it did. Will and others were killed. Orym and many had been injured. Before his death, Will had not been sure what he believed surrounding an afterlife, but what he got was good enough for him. He watched as his love struggled to continue without him. That wasn’t what he wanted, but at least he got to see Orym.

Silently, a specter that no one could see, Will watched as his little moon healed barely before having to burry Will’s body. He watched as a week went by where Orym could barely function except when he was at work. He watched as the Tempest called Orym into a meeting a day two weeks after the tragedy.

“No one will blame you if you need to go somewhere else,” the Tempest said softly to the taught half-ling who barely acknowledged her words. “Everyone grieves differently. You do not always have to be strong. And… Orym, I can see this is not the place you need to be right not.” Will watched as a couple of tears slipped down his love's face.

Orym reached up and brushed the wetness aside before replying, “I can’t leave them. My mom. Wi…Will’s family. They can’t lose both of us.”

The Voice reached a soft hand out and rested it on the shorter man’s shoulder, “You can’t protect them if you are hurting as well. They aren’t losing you.” Orym broke then and cried softly as the taller half-elf drew him into a hug.

Will watched as that night Orym packed a bag inside the home that had been theirs and left looking back just long enough to take in the sad sight before heading out into the world.

As Orym traveled, so did Will, staying right with him. He watched just like Catha above him. His big moon looking down on him. Will watched as Orym went from village to village, seemingly lost, not sure where he was really going. He watched as Orym continued to practice every chance he got back, just like they had once done.

The days blurred together until one night. Will did want to be able to have his little moon see him again, but not this soon. He watched as Orym stood silently on the edge of a cliff staring out into the void beyond, tears slipping down his cheeks. Will wished with all his heart he could just come up behind Orym and hold him from behind as he used to.

Orym whispered, “I miss you so much, Will. I can’t do this without you.” Will’s heart clenched if he still had one, death was confusing. Orym had always been self-sacrificing and never hesitated to put himself in harms way for others, but Will never thought his little light would turn to this extreme. Of course, they never thought that any of this would happen. Slowly Orym swayed in his spot on the edge of that cliff before sighing and turning to return to his little camp, wiping the tears away.

There were a few other moments like this one that scared Will, but mostly Orym seemed to be alright. Will wanted to hold Orym once again, but not if that meant that he would be dead. That was not a thing that Will wanted for his love.

Years passed and then Orym meet the Crown Keepers. To say that was a wild ride was an understatement. Even through the chaos of that journey and the close calls that accompanied it, Will was glad. Orym had not let himself get close to others since he left Zephrah. It was nice to see him become protective of the others just as he had before. It meant that his Orym was still there under all the hurt and pain.

Then came the message from the Voice of the Tempest telling Orym that there could be a lead. Will was nervous as he saw his love start to fall back into that void that he had just barely pulled himself out of. However, this time Will was glad to see that he trusted the others to help him out. Once they figured out who was going to accompany Orym, he told them while on the journey.

Fearne, Dorian, and Orym sat around a small fire on their way to Zephrah, where Orym had not returned to in years. Fearne was feeding Mister a few bits of wood that she took off of sticks in the fire, Will found the satyr interesting.

Dorian studied Orym who stared down at his blade as he sharpened it. Will felt a small pang as he recognized the look in Dorian’s eyes as the same look he had once had when watching Orym. But, if Orym moved on that was for the better. Will had been dead for six years now and he didn’t want Orym to just suffer for the rest of his life due to him.  The blue genasi reached a hand out and set it on the pummel of Orym’s sword, causing the half-ling to look up, his eyes looking a little wet in the firelight.

Dorian smiled softly as Orym as he asked softly, “What are we doing? I know you said your boss has a new lead on something, but what? You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but it would help us to know.” Fearne looked eagerly at Orym as the small man took a deep breath and moved his left hand to his right shoulder absently brushing the lines of the moon tattoo that always made Will smile.

“Six years ago, there was an… attack on the Tempest. They were gray assassins and when we killed them, they just dissolved into nothing. We… lost several of us. I was injured. There were no leads and I couldn’t stay. I just couldn’t be there at the time. Part of me this entire time has been looking for those who did that, but I’ve had no luck. So, hearing that there might be a lead, I need to know,” Orym trailed off as Dorian rested his hand next to the half-ling though not touching.

“Did you know those who died?” Fearne asked quietly. Dorian sent her a sharp look and Will shook his head; the woman meant no harm.

Orym took a shaky breath as he replied, “Yes. They were my co-workers, my friends, my…” A choked noise stopped Orym’s words as his fingers dug into the tattoo and Will wished as he had many times before that he could hold his husband again.

“You lost someone close to you. Didn’t you?” Dorian asked slowly, gently putting his hand on Orym’s and attempting to pry the fingers away from the shoulder before the nails drew blood, a sight that Will did not want to see again.

Orym cried softly as he told them while looking up at Catha, “His name was Will. He was… is my husband. He’s been gone for six years now, and I still miss him like it was yesterday.” Fearne moved other to the men and wrapped her arms around Orym as he cried, and Dorian held his hands. Will watched, glad that Orym had these friends.

Will followed them as they went to the Tempest and then made their way to Jrusar. He watched as they meet the others of the Bell’s Hells. Will winced as Orym found new people to throw himself in the fray for. He was eternally grateful for Fearne and Dorian though, as they did their best to keep Orym safe, though it’s hard as he sacrifices himself for all the others.

Will watches as Orym says goodbye to Dorian and sees Orym’s heart break again. He watches as he learns of his new friend Laudna’s backstory. Will watched the woman intently as she said that “The worst thing that ever happened to me has already happened.”

He watches as one night he opens up to Chetney when the little gnome asks about the moon tattoo.

“It’s to help me remember my husband.” Will watched as Chetney struggled to comprehend what Orym meet and Orym’s face as the message was understood.

“Will. His name was Will. Still miss him. It’s been… uh. six years. I still miss him.” Orym told the tiny man and Will watched sorrowfully at his love.

“Changed my life though. For the better.” If Will could cry, he would be at that moment. When he was alive there were so many times that he thought he wasn’t doing enough and here Orym was singing a different tune. “You know what though? The time we had was real good. I’m not going to lie, I mean most nights, I miss him, but the time we had was real good.” Will watched sadly as his love say the words that Will knew from following the past six years were hard for Orym to say.

The rest of that journey went by in a blur for Will and although he watched, he can’t say anything really caught his attention until that storm. Orym and the Hell’s Bells had gone to Bassuras and now in the middle of a sandstorm Will had to just watch as member after member went down. He watched as Orym went and stayed down and he was torn. Part of him was so excited to be able to actually see his husband again, but also, this is not what he wanted for Orym, for any of them.

When he saw that Fearne, after being brought back was going to bring Orym back, as it should be, it wasn’t his time. Will still knew he needed at least a moment with his little moon.

Will smiles sadly as Orym turns to look at him. He had longed for years to be able to face his husband again, but not like this. Will could see the worry and guilt fall off of Orym as they made eye contact but knew this couldn’t be it. They both hear the voice of Fearne, begging him to come back, and Will knew it was time.

“You’re not done,” Will said softly.

“I really wish I could stay,” Orym replied tearfully.

“I’ll still be here,” Will promised.

“Oh, I miss you so bad,” Orym told his husband.

“There will be a time. I look forward to it,” Will told Orym.

“Say hi to Derrig for me. Say hi to dad.”

“I will.” Will reaches out and embraces Orym like he wanted to so many times while watching him but knows it cannot last. “Now, go.” Will throws Orym into the shaft of light back to the living where he can only watch his love as he continues to LIVE.

Chapter Text

The Mighty Nien sat around a fire at their campsite for the night. Beau sat on one side of the fire stealing glances across at Yasha who pretended not to notice as she flipped through her book silently touching each flower she had pressed between the pages. Caleb sat by Beau reading yet another book and occasionally looking at the lovestruck monk with amusement. On the other side of Beau sat Jester and Veth sat whispering to each other and giggling quietly. Fjord was off gathering more firewood and Caduceus was focused intently on brewing the tea in front of him.

Beau continued to stare at Yasha as Jester playfully elbowed her in the ribs saying, “It’s not polite to stare. I mean, we all know Yasha is your type, but come on.” Beau glared back at the blue Tiefling as her face flushed. Across the fire, Yasha buried her face into her journal to hide the heat creeping up her face as well.

“Oh, come on Jester. If we’re going to nag others for their preferences, let’s talk about Caleb,” Beau shot back causing Caleb to choke on air.

“What? What about me?” Caleb choked out.

Beau rolled her eyes and said, “Come on, we all see there’s something between you and Essek.” The girls started giggling as Caleb’s face turned as red as his hair.

“Ni…Nien,” Caleb stuttered out causing Jester to start laughing louder.

Beau chuckled and pushed her shoulder against Jester’s as she asked, “What about you?”

Jester’s face flushed purple as she stammered, “I… I don’t know what you mean?”

Veth chimed in, “We all know you like Fjord.” Jester started to refute the claim but just then the half-orc returned with an armful of wood, at which Jester’s face flushed even deeper and her stuttering became almost unstable.

Fjord looked around at the rosy faces and asked hesitantly, “What are you all talking about?”

“Nothing!” Jester tried to interject but Veth added at the same time, “We’re talking about types.”

“Oh,” Fjord replied, his face burning along with the others.

Yasha noticed that Cad still was not paying much attention to the group’s conversation and decided he should be included. So, she asked, “What about you Caduceus?”

Caduceus looked up with a hum, “Huh?”

Beau replied bluntly, “What’s your type?”

Cad looked confused before returning to the kettle in front of him, “Of tea? Well, this is one of my blend…”

Veth interrupted with a laugh and said, “No, type for a partner.”

Caduceus looked surprised around at the other Nein who was watching him intently. “Oh. I… I guess I’ve never really thought of it before.”

Jester looked a little confused and sad at his reply before asking, “Haven’t you ever thought someone was cute and wanted to kiss them or something?” Caduceus stayed silent for a long moment with a contemplative look on his face.

“No, I don’t think I have. I mean I can look at someone and see that they are pretty, like you Jester,” Caduceus started to explain.

“You think I’m pretty?!” Jester exclaimed before Beau elbowed her saying, “You know we all think you’re pretty.”

“Anyways, I can objectively see when someone is pretty or handsome, but I don’t really care or think about doing anything like kissing or anything like that. I guess that could be weird but that is how I am,” Caduceus finished his explanation leaving the group in silence as they processed. He looked down at the now-finished brewing tea and started to pour each of his mates a mug. Slowly, the others returned to their conversations or books along with their tea.

Soon after they headed to bed after Caleb erected the hut and Caduceus volunteered to take the first watch, which the others allowed him gratefully.

As the others set themselves into their spots to sleep, Caduceus busied himself with brewing another cup of tea for himself and then stared out into the woods surrounding them.

‘Am I messed up?’ the thought ran through his head as he thought back to the earlier conversation. Sure, he had grown up at the Grove and not a lot of people were around beside his family and families as they came to bury their loved ones, but that was never a good time. He thought back and contemplated, had he ever felt anything for anyone such as what he had heard Jester or Beau talk about? Or how Yasha spoke of her lost love?

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of one moment, one person, who had caught his attention or caused him to feel anything but familial. ‘You are messed up then. Everyone feels something.’ A voice coursed through his mind, and he shook his head trying to clear it. It wasn’t as if he never loved everyone. He loved his family, he loved the Nein. He loved the Wildmother. He just never felt love such as the others depicted and he wasn’t sure he would. Did that make him wrong? Did that mean he was broken?

Caduceus was so entranced by his thoughts that he did not realize anyone else was awake before Fjord sat beside him and set a hand on his arm. Caduceus looked over at the half-orc with confused eyes.

“Are you alright?” Fjord asked the firbolg with a look of concern in his eyes.

“I… I am. I’m fine do not worry about me,” Cad replied before turning his head back to the trees.

“You don’t have to you know?” Fjord continued and at a small grunt for Caduceus elaborated, “You don’t have to be fine. But you also don’t have to have feelings for anyone, ever. The others shouldn’t have pushed you earlier.”

Caduceus appreciated the sentiment, but he shook his head before quietly replying, “No. If everyone has a type then why don’t I? Does that mean I’m messed up or broken?”

“Nein,” the voice of Caleb came from behind them as the wizard came to sit with his fellow males. “Not everyone has sexual or even romantic attraction to others. I’ve read about it. If you don’t have feelings or a type, that does not mean you are broken or messed up. It’s just how you are.”

Caduceus breathed in deeply and let out a small shuttering puff of air along with a tear that he didn’t realize had come to his eye. Hearing it from these, his friends, reassured him that he wasn’t wrong for how he was. Fjord slung an arm over Cad’s shoulder and Caleb set a hand on the firbolg’s leg gently.

A soft breeze came through their small camp. The breeze was warm in the cold night air and carried with it the flowery and earthy smell that Caduceus always associated with the Wildmother. It was almost as if she was trying to reassure him as well.

Softly Caduceus breathed out, “Thank you,” to Fjord, Caleb, and the Wildmother.

Fjord squeezed him in a one-arm hug before saying, “How about you go to sleep and I’ll take over watch?” Caduceus thought for a moment before nodding and heading to where the others were laying along with Caleb.

Caduceus laid down and with a small smile and the consolation of the others in his mind, he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

 “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. Another failure. I guess we’ll just have to teach you another lesson, won’t we,” Trent Ikithon’s voice bounced around the room as Bren is strapped to the familiar table. He hated this table and wanted to struggle but knew that nothing good could come from the struggle.

He tensed as his arms were strapped tight to the table with the leather cuffs and his sleeves pulled up to reveal his forearms, already covered in scars, both new and old. Slowly the older form of Ikithon came into Bren’s field of vision with a sharp knife in one hand and a glittering green crystal in the other.

His lungs seized as he watched the knife lower to his forearm and find a yet untouched area of flesh. Bren watched fixated as the blade touched down and was dragged down and beads of bright red blood bloomed from the wound. He bit his lip as the residuum neared the open skin, knowing any noise would be taken as yet another failure and cause even more pain.

 The green element touched the blood and Bren’s back arched as he felt the power course through his veins. The power he did not want. But even as his body felt like it was on fire, he stayed silent.

After minutes that felt like eternities, the pain subsided, and Bren’s body relaxed. His vision cleared to see the face of Ikithon looking down at him, “I hope the lesson takes this time.” Bren knew it was actually a threat, and also recognized that no matter what he accomplished, it would never be enough, and he would end up here for another lesson soon enough.

Suddenly, he was in a familiar town, where he had been born, not grown up, no. His parent’s home standing in front of where he stood with Astrid on one side and Eadwulf on the other, the lanky form of Ikithon in front of them.

“This will be your final lesson. Your final test. You know what to do,” Ikithon ordered before stepping aside to allow access to the home where Bren’s parents waited. Bren’s hand lights on fire and…

Bren, no Caleb, sat up with a strangled noise pushing its way out of his throat. He was covered in sweat even in the cool night. Frantically, he looked around, seeing nothing but darkness for a moment, his brain to entrapped in the nightmare, no memories. Trent’s voice still ringing in his head, “Another failure. Another lesson.”

Caleb fumbled to his feet and stumbled out towards the darkness that surrounded him, not registering as the arm of Nott fell off his lap or how his dome popped when he left the radius. He needed out, from what he wasn’t sure. From his brain? From his memories? From himself?

He stumbled until his hands found the rough bark of a tree in front of him and he slid down to his knees, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness only to see the bandages wrapped tightly around his arms. Caleb struggled to remove the cloth raps as his hands trembled, but eventually, he got them off. They fell to the ground, and he stared down at the scars, the lessons, he had gained, learned. Without thought, his right hand came to rest on one of the scars on his left forearm, the same one from the memory he had just relived.

His finger dug into the skin surrounding the thin scar that was pink with age. Slowly the skin reopened, and Caleb watched for the second time that night as beads of deep red blood blossomed and trailed down his arm toward the dark dirt he knelt on. Watching it, he felt like he was far away. That this wasn’t really him or that he was in another memory. The hand in front of him strayed from the open wound and traveled to another scar, working on reopening it as well.

“Caleb?” a soft voice came from far away to Caleb. He knew that voice but didn’t know how he did. His gaze did not waver from the bleeding arm. He heard heavy, strained breathing, and wondered where it came from. The sounds of soft footsteps approached and then a soft gasp.

Suddenly another hand appeared in his line of sight. This was a different hand. Not his not Ikithon’s. No, this hand was green and had long claws. The hand slowly grabbed the hand whose fingers were still prying at the bloody skin. The other green hand reached and slowly lifted Caleb’s chin from its downward position to look at the individual.

He saw standing wide eyes terrified a small goblin girl and suddenly Caleb was thrust back into his body. All the pain from the reopened scars along with the burning of his lungs that had not been properly intaking breath for the last, how knew how long, hit him like a boulder. He flinched back from the goblin, Nott a small voice tried to remind him in his head, his back hitting the tree. His breath became even faster, and his vision started to blacken around the edges.

Nott quickly let go of Caleb’s chin but kept a grip on his hand to ensure that it did not go back to its destructive rampage. Caleb stared at the little goblin, his ears ringing so much that he couldn’t hear the words she was saying even though he saw her lips moving. Slowly Nott brought the hand that she was still holding to her chest and continued to breathe deeply and evenly.

A small part of Caleb’s brain reminded him that he was supposed to follow Nott’s lead and match his breathing. He struggled to regain the function of his own body. His lungs not wanting to respond. His brain racing, the memories burning a familiar hole in his brain. His vision going fuzzy. His ears ringing loudly.

After what could have been several minutes or several hours, Caleb’s breathing finally calmed to a semi-normal rhythm and his vision and hearing cleared. Before him, he now could see Nott. Her eyes were worried but relieved to see him back with her. Beyond her was Beau who he vaguely remembered being on watch staring, fists clenched by her sides.

“There you are,” Nott breathed softly, smiling sadly at him.

Caleb tried and failed to return the smile as he replied, “J…Ja. I’m sorry for the fuss.”

“No, don’t you dare apologize,” Nott reprimanded him softly. Beau was now beside Nott in front of Caleb holding a small container of something in her hand. Caleb looked at it with a curious look.

In reply to the look Beau spat out, “It’s just some healing cream I have.” Caleb flinched back hitting his head on the tree at the tone in Beau’s voice. Nott elbowed the monk in the ribs and Beau looked down.

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you Caleb,” Beau said softly, trying to leave the anger out of her voice.

Nott chimed in, “No. We’re mad at whatever caused this.” Caleb nodded slowly looking between the two girls. And slowly extended his injured arm towards the monk who unscrewed the balm and slowly started to spread it across the blood-streaked mess.

“Let’s get these back on,” Nott said calmly as she picked up the bandages from the ground and tried to brush some of the dirt from them. Slowly, Nott rewrapped Caleb’s right arm.

Caleb watched the two work from a place deep within his brain. “Just another lesson,” he muttered not realizing he was saying it out loud until Beau’s hand instinctually wrapped tighter around his wrist, to which he flinched yet again.

Beau quickly released him as she said, “Sorry. But Caleb. No lesson should involve this.” Caleb looked at her uncomprehending.

Nott set her hand on his shoulder whispering, “She means that lessons should not hurt you.” Caleb cocked his head to the left silently and the two girls sighed returning to their work of fixing his mess.

After they were finished Beau stood up and offered a hand to Caleb who stared at it for a moment before Nott grabbed his other and stood as well. Caleb finally reached out to grab Beau’s hand and swayed as he stood up. Beau wrapped her arm around his shoulders allowing him to put his weight on her. They slowly headed back to the others who had somehow slept through his entire ‘episode’.

Nott pulled him back down to where he had been sleeping before and forced him to lie down, curling up at his side.

Beau looked down at them and said, “Try to get some rest, ok?”

Caleb slowly nodded and turned his gaze to the goblin at his side, drinking in the present hoping to fend the past off for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Fresh Cut Grass seemed to have two purposes in creation, healing and discerning the properties of magical items.

Soon after Dancer woke him up, they found the talent he carried for recognizing magic and it’s abilities, she added his monocle. He didn’t actually need it to be able to use his skill, but it did look really cool they had to admit.

In the time that FCG was with Dancer they were tasked with identifying objects often. After all they would regularly head to dumps and scrap piles searching for parts for Dancer’s newest project. Most of the time nothing came of the items that he looked at, but there were a few notable exceptions.

One time they found a long blade attached to a large metal cylinder and would fit perfectly into FCG’s arm if he wanted such a weapon. Dancer took some interest in it and had Fresh Cut Grass discern if there was any magic to it, which there was, but only a little. Sadly, at least to Dancer, the weapon would not connect well with any her other creations and FCG refused to use such an attachment. Dancer was able to get a nice amount of gold for it, however.

Another time they found a smashed up, but still useable breastplate. Dancer inspected the piece of metal closely before handing it to FCG for discernment. He looked at her questioningly, but she just said that she wanted to know why someone would leave it in a dump. Fresh Cut Grass’s monocle came down and he found that it was a good set of armor, but it came with a curse. Dancer just shrugged off that fact and figured if she used it as scrap for a project everything would be fine.

Once Ashton saved Fresh Cut Grass, their ability to identify the magical properties went unused for a while as Ashton just didn’t see much use for it. After a while Fresh Cut Grass almost missed it, like he was missing a part of himself.

So, it came as a relief when the Bells Hells appeared in their lives. Not only was it nice to have more people that Letters felt they could rely on but also more magic. Throughout their adventures, FCG started to get back into the hang of the skill he hadn’t used in months.

It felt nice to identify the sending stones or look and realize that the helmet Ashton stole from the museum was just that a helmet. He enjoyed having the part of his back. Sure, his main purpose was healing, but it was also helping and if that meant telling the others what objects were magical and what that magic could do, then he would do just that.

One night Ashton approached the aeormaton as he lagged behind the rest of the group watching intently. They were heading back to the tavern they were staying in after a shopping trip that had involved three different identifications from Letters.

The earth genasi playfully punched the little one’s arm as he said, “You know you don’t have to identify everything that they ask you to? That isn’t you job.”

FCG looked up at their friend and replied, “I enjoy it. It is my purpose to help.”

Ashton’s gaze narrowed for a moment before they sighed and shrugged, “I guess if that’s how you feel.”

“Absolutely! I would identify a ring or sword for any of you. You are my friends. And I would definitely identify any furniture needed, never can trust those things. Unless made by Chetney of course,” Fresh Cut Grass said cheerfully.

Ashton chuckled and threw an arm around the aeormaton and led him to speed up to join the rest of the group. Fresh Cut Grass felt a warmth in his chest, happiness, was that possible, at the reassurance that something he loved to do would not be taken from him.

Chapter Text

Ashton leaned of their hammer’s pummel with the head resting on the floor of the entryway to the large house the Bells Hells were searching. He watched the others as they discussed what to do, uninterestedly. They had already searched the entire first floor of the building and just needed to decide whether to head upstairs or downstairs first. Honestly, they were bored and the only reason they were still there was the promised money.

The group had been staying at the tavern in this town on their way to their next destination and the night before while they were drinking chaos erupted.

The tavern was lively with chatter and the Bells Hells found themselves in the corner, drinks in front of each, besides Letters of course. Ashton was considering starting up another game of What the Fuck is up with that when there was a pick-up in noise.

Instinctively he turned towards the front of the building and found a crowd gathering around a couple that had just entered. They were an older half-elf couple. The woman on the couple was crumpled on the ground, blood streaming from a would on her head and frightened tears streaming down her face. Her husband stood leaning against the wall by the door looking winded and holding his arm like it was paining him.

Everyone was quickly coming to the couple’s aid and FCG started to roll over to help, Ashton followed his little friend along with Orym, the rest watching from their table intently. Letters came in front of the woman and with a touch of their hand to her head and a murmured word, the wound was healed. The woman looked up at the aeormaton with a look of wonder in her tear-filled eyes. Fresh Cut Grass proceeded to roll over to the man and heal him as well.

Ashton and Orym just stood near the woman and man, watching to make sure nothing happened to FCG.

The barkeep was over with a glass of water by now and the large half-orc kneeled in front of the woman handing her the glass with a quiet question, “What happened Sylbella? Triston?”

The woman, Sylbella, started crying even heavier as her husband, Triston, pushed himself off the wall and looked around at the gathered crowd, “We were attacked.”

Ashton couldn’t hold back the snort that came to his lips, “Obviously. But by what?” Surprised the entire crowd looked at the barbarian intruder who just shrugged. It wasn’t a bad question after all.

Sylbella found her voice and said, “There were these huge… huge bats. I think they are still in our home.”

Ashton, in his liquor-loosened state, chuckled and said, “Bats? That’s it?” And then quickly flinched as Orym elbowed his ribs.

Orym stepped towards the woman and said, “I am sorry for my friend. How do you know they’re still in your home.”

Triston turned from glaring and Ashton to the half-ling and replied, “They did not follow us. And even if they were not still in our home, I do not think I can go back in there without knowing.”

Orym nodded and smiled sadly at the man, “Understandable.”

The barkeep helped Sylbella to her feet as she said, “You can stay here tonight. We can have someone check out your place tomorrow.”

Triston replied, “Thank you,” bowing his head to the half-orc, then turned to the crowd saying, “We will pay handsomely to whoever clears our house of those devils.”

Orym and Ashton looked at each other with a quick look but before either of them could say anything a light voice from behind them, the voice of Imogen said, “We’ll do it for you.”

Triston nodded gratefully to Imogen before leading his wife upstairs after patting FCG on the head like he was a dog.

Ashton stomped back to the table with Imogen, Orym, and FCG following.

“Why did you do that?” Ashton snapped at Imogen.

Imogen raised an eyebrow at them before replying, “It’s money, and are you afraid of some bats?”

Ashton growled in the back of his throat, “No. They probably aren’t even in there.”

Chetney rolled his eyes, “Then we get money for no work. What’s your problem?”

Ashton folded his arms over his chest and grumbled, “I just think it’s a waste of time.”

FCG looked at their friend and took the tankard of mead in front of the genasi away saying, “And I think you’ve had enough of this.”

Ashton glared at Letters but just sat silently the rest of the night as the others discussed what they would do the following morning.

And that was how Ashton now found himself standing in a large entryway looking for bats that they doubted were here in the first place. Bats didn’t live in this area, why would they suddenly attack this couple? But whatever, Chetney was right, it was money for no work.

Ashton tuned back into the conversation as Orym said, “Alright, we’ll head upstairs first as the bats would most likely be in the basement where it’s dark, but we need to check everywhere.” The others nodded and started to head up the stairs. Fearne and Ashton were lagging a bit behind when they heard a thumping coming from downstairs. The faun and genasi looked at each other, then at the door to the basement, then up at their group members already turning a corner on the next floor.

Ashton gestured at the basement stairs with his head and said, “Even if it’s bats, we can take it. We’d get out of her sooner.” Fearne looked conflicted for a moment before walking towards the door, Ashton following right behind her. A part of them knew it wasn’t smart to split between up and down, but it would be faster.

The basement was dark, and a fluttering could be heard throughout the room. Ashton shrugged to himself, ‘Maybe there were actually bats down here.’ Ashton looked up at the ceiling as he and Fearne got to the bottom of the stairs, sure enough, there was at least one bat as two beady eyes stared back at him.

“Hey Fearne, you know what bats usually don’t like?” Ashton asked lightly.

“Hmm,” the faun replied messing with one of the many flowers on her staff.

Ashton smiled at her, “Fire.” It seemed like just that word made Fearne’s eyes alight with the flame that he knew she kept at bay a lot of the time. The little head of Mister popped out from her mass of hair with a small hoot.

Without thinking or looking Fearne shot three flame blades up at the ceiling hitting three of the bats who fell unceremoniously to the ground and shrivel into ash. Mister followed suit throwing his flaming poo at another two causing them to fall as well. That left just one bat, who realized what was happening tried to fly for the safety of upstairs, but Ashton hit it with one swing of his hammer.

With no more noise in the room Ashton and Fearne started laughing and Ashton picked up the only body that wasn’t burned to ash.

“That wasn’t so hard. Let’s go find the others.” They lead the way back upstairs with Fearne praising Mister behind them.

Once they got back up to the entryway, they heard the familiar sound of a battle from upstairs and both Ashton and Fearne started running upstairs to their friends. ‘What the fuck could they have done now?’

The rest of their group was found in a room that appeared to be an office that was now in a state of disarray. Orym stood on top of the desk, sword out and he looked ready to strike. Chetney was in the corner with wide eyes. Laudna lay on the floor unconscious. Imogen was just finishing sending one of her bright purple lightning bolts at their enemy. FCG was nowhere to be seen. Papers, clothes, and books lay strewn around and the others seemed to be fighting, was that a wardrobe?

Of course, more animated fucking furniture. Ashton felt the memory of how they had first met course through his veins and felt the gravity around him condense What the FUCK was up with furniture lately? With one mighty swing of his hammer at the wardrobe, Ashton let all his fury and frustration of the past couple of days out and with the aid of his increased gravity smashed the wardrobe in, suddenly it coughed up FCG and fell, luckily hitting neither FCG nor Laudna, to the ground. Mister jumped on top of it and set the corner of it on fire, just to be sure.

FCG reached out and touched Laudna’s hand healing her as she gave a gasp and her eyes opened.

Ashton looked at the others before saying, “What the fuck is up with that?” Several of them started talking in unison, Imogen turning to glare at Chetney, Orym climbing down from the desk, Laudna getting to her feet.

“Please, what just happened?” Fearne’s soft voice broke through the chaos.

Imogen replied, “We were checking out this room and that idiot,” at this she pointed to the gnome in the corner, “decided to touch the wardrobe without checking for traps first.”

“It is a beautiful WOODEN design. How was I supposed to know it was going to try to kill us?” Chetney said angrily, throwing his hands up in the air.

“We’re the Bells Hells. Furniture hates us,” Laudna said with a voice that seemed to drip with sarcasm.

“So, you guys almost got defeated by a wardrobe, while Fearne and I defeated what we came here to defeat,” Ashton said holding up the dead bat in his hand.

Orym looked with narrowed eyes at them, “I thought we agreed not to split up?”

Fearne shrugged, “We heard a noise, you guys were already upstairs, and besides bats hate fire.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” Ashton grumbled.

Orym said disappointed, “Still, we don’t split up unless we know we are doing so.”

“Whatever you say, captain,” Ashton mockingly saluted Orym.

Imogen just shook her head and started to head out of the room, “Let’s just go get our prize and ask why they didn’t tell us about this fucking thing.”

They all started to head out, but Ashton realized FCG was still standing in the middle of the room staring at the downed wardrobe.

“What’s up?” Ashton asked the aeormaton.

“Why is it always fucking furniture?” Letters asked looking up at Ashton.

Ashton started laughing and wrapped an arm around the shorter being, leading them away, “I honestly don’t know. And don’t want to.” Bells Hells headed out of the house and to their next adventure.

Chapter Text

Laudna never wanted this. She had never wanted to be like she was. It’s not her fault that her hometown was taken over by those cursed Brairwoods. It’s not her fault that she just happened to look like one of their enemies. She was just a simple farm girl that happened to have a few special abilities.

When the Brairwoods invited her to a feast, she was ecstatic and her parents maybe even more so. It felt like an opportunity to at least get a good full meal for once. The opportunity for food was not worth what came after.

Sometimes when she closed her eyes, Laudna could still feel the rough hands of the guards pulling her away from the table as Delilah calmly said, “Thank you for your contribution. Take them away.” The memory of being pulled down that hallway as she struggled and fought for her life will always haunt her. Being thrown into a room and beaten. Clothes being thrown at her and a boot kicked her ribs when she failed to put the clothes on fast enough. The last of her living memory was of two guards holding her down while a third cut into her ears to ‘make them the right shape’. That is when she died. She can admit it, she died.

Minutes, hours, days, and eternity later, Laudna did not really know as there is no sense of time after death, Laudna was thrust back into her body. Her vision came back to a sight she had never seen before, she was high up and could see most of her hometown below her. She looked up as much as she could with a noose tied around her neck to see where the rope led, which was right up to the branches of the Sun Tree. She flailed and struggled to get out of the bonds that held her in place, but she watched as more and more corpses, her brethren?, ravaged the streets and those living still there. She saw as the rest of the corpse fell when their creator, animator, fell as well. That is when she knew Delilah was gone, but why wasn’t she as well?

She saw a group of people was lauded as heroes, and she guessed she did look similar to the half-elf girl with the bow. She saw as Cassandra de Rolo took control and Percival left with his group. Once they were gone the townspeople needed to clean up. Slowly the townspeople started to clean up the bodies and take her and the others down from the tree. None of the other corpses were still up and moving, but here she was.

The townspeople freaked out when she started moving. She understood why they were afraid, after all, they had just gotten out of a battle with the corpses that lay in piles around the tree. What she didn’t expect however was for her people, the ones she grew up with, to chase her out of her home. She knew what she had become was wrong. That Delilah had done something that never should have been done. Laudna knew that the people of Whitestone needed time and so she ran.

Laudna grew up on a farm, so she had some survival skills. The first town she came across she tried to enter and found herself surrounded by angry and frightened people. She ran again.

So, after that first time she would build herself small huts in the woods surrounding towns and only venture into town in heavy disguise to get things she couldn’t make or find in the forest. She truly tried her best to stay away from the living. She knew that she looked horrifying now. Especially, after she started hearing Delilah’s voice in her head. The first time it happened was the scariest.

Laudna was in the woods beyond a small town, searching for some edible mushrooms near her little shack when she heard a voice clear in her mind. It was a voice she had heard before, if only briefly, and haunted her dreams.

Delilah hissed, “Of course, this would be the only one left.” Laudna stood up with a crack of her spine, her head whipping around searching for the source of the voice. She reached over with her left hand and pinched at the frail skin on her right forearm, hoping to wake from this nightmare.

“Oh, it’s not a nightmare, my fair child,” the voice returned in her mind. Laudna froze and closed her eyes silently wishing for it to stop.

“It won’t stop. You’re stuck with me until you free me.”

“Why would I do that?” Laudna spat out, her teeth gritted.

“Because I made you. You owe me.”

“No. I don’t owe you. You killed me,” Laudna panted clutching at her head, trying to rip the voice from her mind.

“It was for a greater good, my dear. A necessary loss.”

“No. No. NO!” Laudna screamed into the forest and Delilah grew quiet, but Laudna stood shaking in the same spot for hours, clutching at her head, her fingers gripping absentmindedly into her shaped ears.

The next day Laudna decided to leave hoping, though her heart felt heavy, that moving to a different environment would make Delilah leave her alone. Of course, it didn’t work, and Delilah was soon back in her head, taunting her for thinking that a little thing like a new place would fix this.

So, when a rat found its way into her latest hovel, she decided to befriend it and the rat seemed to like her. She named him Pate de Rolo. Pate because it was cute and de Rolo because she would talk to him when Delilah tried to invade her mind, so he was saving her from Delilah just like the de Rolos had saved Whitestone.

She loved her little rat friend but should have been more careful. One of the few times she headed into the nearby town, she forgot to make sure that Pate didn’t try to follow her, which he did. One of the women of the town saw the rat and started screaming and stepped on Pate’s head, killing him, before Laudna could save her friend. Laudna was understandably upset, but what happened next was not what she wanted or had ever done before. The feelings of hurt, pain, and anger coursed through her body, and she felt her bones cracking and black ooze out of her eyes as a veil covered her face. The woman who had just killed Laudna’s only friend ran screaming, as did all the others around them. Laudna picked up the little dead body and ran back to her hovel.

Along the way she tripped on something, and she found it to be a dead raven, or at least its bones. She took a second to look at Pate’s body, missing his head, in her hand back to the raven and grabbed the skull, promising herself she could fix this, but first she had to gather her stuff and run. She got her stuff just in time because the men of the village came into the woods to her little home, and she watched from a short distance away as they burned it to the ground.

Her life continued like this, living on the outskirts, just her, the rat-raven combo puppet of Pate, and Delilah’s voice in her head. Sometimes she messed up and caused the townspeople to run her out. Other times she just felt like she needed to leave like it wasn’t the right place. Other times she stayed long enough to become a local legend of sorts. No matter what she always ended up alone and running.

That is until one fateful day. She had been staying in a small hut outside the farming town of Gelvaan for some time. This was one of the times when she became folklore, though it seemed, from the little she had heard, she wasn’t the only legend among the town.

One day she was just sitting in her hut cooking a mushroom stew and quietly singing to herself when she heard a branch crack outside. She stayed still and silent, wondering if it was the townspeople coming to run her out or maybe just some kids daring each other to get close. It seemed to be the latter as there was a flurry of shushing and a couple of giggles.

Then one of the kids spoke and Laudna’s veins ran with ice, “I heard that if you throw a witch down a well, they won’t be able to get back up and will die down there.” Laudna didn’t like that thought and when she glanced out the crack in her door, she saw a group of strong-looking teenagers creeping towards her hut. She couldn’t fly or swim. So, their theory of what would happen if they threw her down a well would end up correct.

Laudna tensed ready to run but suddenly a horse with a young lady riding it came galloping and stopped between her hut and the teens. Laudna didn’t hear the lady say a word but soon enough the teens were running off back to the town, several with fearful looks in their eyes.

Laudna stopped to study the girl on the horse. She had long lavender hair and wore a yellow handkerchief around her neck. When the girl got off her horse and turned to look at Laudna, she smiled, something that Laudna was not used to. The girl’s light blue eyes twinkled as they meet Laudna’s dark ones. Something about the young lady calmed Laudna and she felt her body relax.

“Hi, I’m Imogen,” a voice sounded in Laudna’s head, and she flinched slightly a remnant of having a crazy woman taking refuge in her head. But this was different, the lady, Imogen’s, voice was sweet and felt warm instead of the sharp chill of Delilah.

Laudna replied out loud, “I’m Laudna. Thank you for that.”

The same voice spoke softly out loud, “You’re welcome. I heard those idiot’s thoughts as they passed my farm, and I didn’t think you deserved to be thrown in a well.”

Laudna grinned at the other girl and relaxed feeling as if this would be a good thing, which it ended up being. Imogen continued to visit Laudna in her hut and eventually when the Gelvaan decided they were tired of the two witches in the woods, Imogen left with Laudna, with permission from her father. At last, for the first time since her death, Laudna was not alone.

Chapter Text

Imogen lay on her side facing Laudna’s wrapped body. They were currently under Imahara Joe’s shop waiting for their chance to escape the city. Imogen was pretending to sleep while a few of the others also rested. None of them were truly resting, too tense from the battle that had gone so horribly wrong and listening closely to every sound above them hoping to stay safe.

Imogen stifled a sob with her hand which she clenched into a fist and covered her mouth with it. This was her fault. Otohan had been after her. The others were just collateral. If she had just given herself up first Laudna wouldn’t be lying dead across from her. So many of the others went down as well. Fearne, who had to come back to help save the others. Orym, who deserved to live, the group's little fighter. Laudna deserved to be here with the rest of them. If anyone deserved to be dead right now, it was her.

Imogen unclenched her hand and slowly reached out to lay it on the arm of Laudna’s form. A part of her just wanted the other girl to roll over and smile at her like they had done so many times on their journeys. Laudna was Imogen’s safe space and Imogen was supposed to be Laudna’s. But here they were, one alive one dead.

Imogen closed her eyes, images flashing in front of her eyes. Otohan’s blade going through Orym. Fearne collapsed in a heap, Mister looking confused and without direction. Laudna’s hand sticking up from under a pile of rubble. Rubble that Imogen had put there. She was the reason Laudna was dead.

What had happened? Imogen wasn’t sure but knew one thing for sure: it was fucking scary. Ruidus had taken over her. More power than she ever expected or wanted had rushed through her veins and when she came back to the real world, buildings were gone, Otohan gone, her friends there but three of them dead.

This was truly her fault. The hand that wasn’t on Laudna traced the lightning she knew climbed further than ever before up her arms. A sign of her mistakes. A sign of her power that she dreaded, feared. This was her fault and the others kept saying it wasn’t.

She had ran. She had thought they were running. She left the others and Otohan just took them down. If she had stayed and just let go like Otohan wanted, would they be where they are right now. ‘Not likely’ a voice in her head said sneering. Right, they wouldn’t be. She would be with Otohan somewhere and the others would be alive if not safe.

Ashton kept telling Imogen that they would fix this. But could they really fix this? ‘Not likely’ the voice repeated. What if dying for a second time meant it was permanent? What if Laudna could not come back? Imogen would have lost the first person since her ability to read minds had manifested to treat her normally and to love her.

Imogen wasn’t sure if she could survive without Laudna. What was she supposed to do without her? Imogen felt like she had never been without the creepy girl by her side. How was she going to go on?

The emotions had been building since the battle and now they overflowed. She jerked her hand back from Laudna and covered her mouth along with her other hand to quiet the noise of her sobs. She didn’t want to disturb the others, but also, they couldn’t be caught. The tears streamed down her face and pooled on the floor where her head still lay, facing the body of her best friend.

Her heart pounded in her ears and all she could focus on was the blurred image of Laudna in front of her. That is why Imogen didn’t hear as a small half-ling crossed the room to her side until a soft hand touched her shoulder. Imogen shot up in surprise and turned quickly to face Orym. Orym who had died. Orym, who was back while Laudna wasn’t. Imogen didn’t think that he deserved to still be dead, but she also didn’t think Laudna should be dead. ‘If anyone should be dead it’s you,’ the voice hissed.

Orym quickly retracted his hand from her shoulder and looked directly into her eyes, “Breathe.” He almost seemed to breathe the word out. He made an exaggerated gesture as he took a deep breath in and then slowly let it out. Imogen looked at him quizzically as her sobs came more rapidly and the tears streamed down. Slowly, moving so she could see, Orym took her hands from her mouth.

Imogen watched him as he held her hands and again breathed out, “Breathe.” It was only then that Imogen felt the ache of her lungs that let her know she had not been breathing deeply at all as the sobs took all of it and in quick bursts. She slowly tried to match Orym’s even breathing while focusing on the feeling of his hands in hers. They were too warm. She was used to Laudna’s cold fingers wrapped around hers. The thought of Laudna caused the sobs that were subsiding to quicken again, but she soon had it under control.

After what felt like a lifetime, but was definitely only minutes Imogen’s breathing had steadied though the tears still came down her face like raindrops. She took her hands out of Orym’s to brush the tears away and told Orym in his head, “I’m sorry for that. You should be resting.”

Orym interrupted her with a shake of his head, “No, that doesn’t matter. You’re hurting and that is fine. I know how it feels.”

Imogen tilted her head studying the little half-ling, “I’m not sure you do.”

Orym sighed a little before replying, “I know how it feels to lose someone you love. I know how it feels to feel like it’s your fault. I was the exact same six years ago after my… husband Will died in the attack on the Tempest.”

Imogen’s eyes widened as she took in this new information, “How do you do it? How do you live without them?”

Orym grabbed her hand again and said, “You won’t have to worry about that. We’ll get her back,” and in response to the doubt on Imogen’s face he continued, “But if we don’t, and that is not likely. You take it day by day. Some days are worse than others. The nights are horrible. But you keep going because one day you will see them again.”

Something about how he worded it struck with Imogen and she gripped his hand hard as she asked, “You saw him again, today? Didn’t you?” Orym nodded a single tear tracing down his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m here. Fearne’s here. And we will get Laudna back. I promise.” Orym looked right into her eyes as he told her this and Imogen tried with all her heart to believe him. She smiled sadly and laid back down facing Laudna again. She would get her back, likely.

Chapter Text

Caduceus could see the connections that lay throughout the world. He saw how nature connected to and among itself. How the trees provide the right shade for mushrooms to grow. How animals found and created their shelters within the safety of trees, grasslands, and caves. How creeks and rivers connected the flora and fauna together, providing much-needed water. How the sunlight shined down on everything giving its heat. How the sunflowers turned to face the sun. How moths tracked lanterns similarly at night. Nature had its own connections within it, but it also connected to the people who lived among it.

He saw how beings cultivated crops for consumption. He saw how people hunted animals for meat. He saw how people depended on the nature around them. But, he also saw how people destroyed the nature around them. How they burned down woods for nothing but military advantage. How they destroyed perfectly good farmland by overusing the soil, or not taking care of it properly. The creatures of this world may have a tumultuous connection to the nature surrounding them, but one thing was sure. They would all come back to nature eventually. Caduceus had known this fact since he was small, a hazard of growing up in a graveyard.

The most difficult connections to see and track were the connections between people. Caduceus figured the reason these were harder for him to understand, besides it being more complicated, is that without the direct connection to nature, there was no connection to the Wildmother in the relations people had with one another.

Nevertheless, Caduceus had seen many types of connections between people in his lifetime. He had seen family; he had been and still was part of a family. Even if that family was broken at the moment. Caduceus hoped that if he could fix the nature relationships that were affecting his home it would also fix his family. He had seen love in the people that mourned at the Grove. He had seen enemies, especially after joining the Nein. He had seen the strange loyalty that some people had to the group of people that they considered their nation. Honestly, that was the hardest concept for Caduceus to grasp. Did it really matter where you lived in the long run? Did it really matter what species you were? It made no sense to him.

The main connection he saw and felt right now, however, was one of kinship and loyalty as he looked around at his friends. Over their adventures, Caduceus had seen the connections between the Nein form and strengthen, combining into one chain that may have broken a couple of times but was fully formed now.

He had once heard a saying; a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. As he studied his friends, we pondered the statement. Looking around, Caduceus honestly believed that there was no single ‘weakest link’ in this group. They all had their issues. Beauregard could be too blunt and had anger issues but was a strong fighter and good at finding information. Caleb was a genius and powerful but was haunted by his past and struggled to trust. Veth’s dependence on alcohol and aversion to water could hinder her, however, her ability to hide in the shadows was the best Caduceus had seen. Jester was bright and was the moral of the group even though she could be naïve and grumbled too much about healing for a cleric. Fjord was learning to trust the Wildmother and let go of his own past but held his own as a leader of the group. Yasha was a brute of a fighter and was still soft even though she was dealing with her past. And Caduceus himself? Well, he was the voice of reason in the group even when he struggled to understand what was truly happening.

Caduceus nodded to himself. They truly were a good group, a strong chain. They all had their weaknesses, but they helped each other and that made it so there was no weakest link, no place where they might break in half. Things had happened, but they had gotten past it and welded the links back together making their group and therefore themselves better.

Caduceus was glad these people had come to him for help. He would forever not be grateful for the death that led them to him, but he was glad that fate had turned out this way. They were a connection that Caduceus needed. It was what he required to get to the bottom of what was happening at his home and fix the weakening links of his family. He breathed deeply as a breeze that he knew innately came from the Wildmother as a sign that his thoughts were correct. Silently he thanked her for the life she had provided him and promised, again, to serve her. He knew that in any group he would see the links and try his best to not be the weakest one.

Chapter Text

Beau hated this. She hated the cold. She hated the pure white of the blizzard around her. She hated the feeling of her clothes. She hated the sleeves that were necessary, but honestly a nuisance. She hated how the snow crunched under her feet as they trudged along. She hated how they couldn’t just stop and wait for the dismal weather to pass because it had no sign of stopping and they didn’t have the time. She hated how the chill sank straight into her bones no matter what she did. She just hated this.

As she struggled through the wind and snow with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying in vain to keep any of the warmth left in her body, she looked around at the rest of the Nein. Most of them seemed to not be doing any better than her. Caleb looked more uncomfortable than usual, though his ever-present scarf finally fit into the surroundings. However, it made sense for the fire-prone wizard to dislike the cold at least this kind of cold, he had grown up in a pretty cold place himself. Veth was next to Caleb, trying her best to stay upright as her little body was being flung around with every gust of wind. Caduceus had his head bowed and even from here Beau could see that his fingers were looking a bit blue, and she absentmindedly wondered where his gloves were. Jester had originally found the snow fascinating, and she did love her adorable outfit, but the tiefling had come from the warm shores of Nicodranas so it was only a matter of time before she started to freeze. Similarly, there was Fjord, who was used to the open sea, and thus used to the wind, but not the snow that accompanied it here.

The only one in the group who didn’t seem to be too hindered by the dismal weather was Yasha. Beau watched in amazement as the large woman carried on, head held high even facing into the strong wind. Sure, Yasha grew up in Xhorhas, but Beau wondered how anyone could survive let alone enjoy this weather as Yasha seemed to be. Despite herself, Beau smiled softly watching Yasha. This was part of why she loved her. Yasha was amazing and could brave even this shitstorm. She didn’t let something small like snow or big like a fucking blizzard stop her.

As if feeling the eyes on her Yasha turned toward Beau and returned the small smile before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

Beau found her face heating up, even as her body seemed to freeze, and looked away before murmuring, “Nothing.”

Luckily, for Beau, not Veth, at that moment a particularly strong gust threw the half-ling into the snow face first. They all stopped, and Jester and Caleb bent down to help her up. She looked even colder than she had before now, and the snow-covered her and when she took off her earmuffs and shook her head a cascade of snow came down.

Caleb looked concerned at his friend before saying, “We should take a break. We aren’t getting anywhere like this.” Beau felt her heart lift at the thought of stopping for a bit.

They soon found an outcropping of rocks that provided enough cover for them to at least crouch and take shelter from the blustering whiteness.

Caleb took the initiative and created a small ball of fire that melted some of the snow off of their clothes and provided a nice warmth back to their extremities. Veth was shivering violently so Caleb wrapped his arms around her protectively, hoping to warm her up a little.

“Honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad if not for the wind,” Fjord grumbled. Beau nodded her head. He was right, what was really harming them right now was the wind, the snow itself was fine if hard, but the wind was brutal.

The Mighty Nein sat in silence for an hour, just trying to gather strength as well as warmth. Though part way through that hour Yasha stood and walked a bit away. The others looked at each other quizzically but decided to let the member who seemed to be doing the best in the circumstances do her thing.

Right as the hour finished, according to Caleb, Yasha returned to the group.

“I found a cave. It’s pretty small but big enough for all of us,” she reported. Beau sighed in relief.

Caduceus smiled and said warmly, “Let’s head over there then. We can’t keep going like this. It’ll be better if we wait till the wind dies down some.”

Caleb looked like he wanted to protest, but then he glanced down at the small body of Veth, who was still shivering, though not as badly, against him, and he nodded. With all of them in agreement and longing for a place to sit and shelter for a bit longer, they got up with Yasha leading them all to the small cave.

The cave wasn’t really that far away but with the weather, it felt like forever and took about fifteen minutes to get to. Once they arrived, however, they found a cave just big enough for them to all fit comfortably.

Even though there was no way for them to start a fire to warm up, being out of the wind and snow continually soaking them, they felt their bodies begin to warm again. However, Veth was still shivering slightly.

Beau glanced at Caleb who looked at the other human with a concerned air and Beau moved over to the other side of Veth creating a sandwich of sorts, hoping to give more warmth. Slowly the others realized what they were doing, and the pile grew. Eventually, they had Caduceus and Fjord behind them with Caleb and Beau sandwiching Veth and Jester laying across all three laps. Yasha sat at the edge of the cave entrance watching the others amusedly.

Beau silently gestured for the larger girl to join them and with a moment of hesitation, Yasha came over and sat next to Beau leaning into her. Even if they weren’t getting very much warmer, at least they had each other, and at least Yasha was right next to Beau.

Chapter Text

Caleb truly did not need a calendar. He always knew exactly what time it was, what day it was, for example he knew it was currently 9:26 at night and now it was 9:27 on the fifth day of Duscar, a Folsen heading into the weekend. He knew all of this without a calendar, so what need would he have for one? But here he was staring at a new, his new, calendar on his desk in his office at the Soltryce Academy.

It was a small thing. The size of a small book and bound in such a way that different flaps would stay open as needed. It included the current month and the entire next year. It was simple but beautiful in the small details put in the names of the months, the numbering of the days, and the labeling of the holidays for which the Empire celebrated. There were even little depictions of cats at the top of each page surrounding the names of the months.

As he stared at the little thing propped up on his desk, he couldn’t help but think of how he had acquired the object. It had only been the day before…

“Alright class, that is all for today. Do not forget to study for your upcoming exams, though I’m sure you will all perform well. You are dismissed,” Caleb told his class of older students. This was his favorite class, the one full of students who actually wanted to be there and were interested in the art of Transmutation.

He turned his back on the students as they gathered their stuff and left with little noise and an occasional “Thank you Professor Widogast.” He busied himself by gathering what he would need for the next group of students. After a couple of minutes, he thought he was alone, but was startled by a small clearing of a throat behind him.

He flinched from years of instincts but gathered himself quickly before turning. A student probably just wanted to ask him a question. When he turned, he found his favorite student smiling up at him.

This was a short half-elven girl with her short dark hair pulled back into braids, her dark skin seemed to shine in the light coming through the window, and her golden eyes glittered from behind her large circular glasses. She was one of his brightest students, but the other reason Caleb found himself appreciating her was the small familiar that always seemed to be found either rubbing against her legs or sitting politely in her school bag.

Caleb reached out to scritch the small gray cat behind the ears as he welcomed the young girl, “Hello Mareyra, what can I do for you?”

The girl, Mareyra, blushed slightly her cheeks turning a similar crimson that Caleb was so used to seeing on Veth’s face. She rummaged in her bag for a moment before finding what she was looking for. Caleb watched her curiously as she pulled out a small package wrapped in white paper and tied with a red ribbon that had been fashioned into a bow.

“What’s this?” Caleb asked her as she handed the bundle.

“It’s a gift. I made it and wanted to give it to you. You are my favorite teacher and I guess I just wanted to thank you for how you teach this class. I really love it. I hope you like the present. It’s not much, but it’s something. I know that the Day of Heart and Hearth is still pretty far off, but I finished making it and wanted to give it to you before I forgot and…” Mareyra trailed off realizing she had been rambling, “Sorry.”

Caleb smiled at her and chuckled softly before replying, “Do not be sorry. I will open it now.” He undid the small bow and unfolded the paper to find the small calendar. His immediate thought was of how he had no use for it, but of course, he would never say that to his student.

So instead, he smiled while running his fingers over a small cat decal that reminded him of Frumpkin and told her, “This is wonderful. The craftsmanship is amazing. Thank you so much for thinking of me. And I am glad that you enjoy this class, I enjoy having you in it.”

Mareyra’s eyes brightened even more if that was possible, and she smiled widely as she bowed slightly in front of him and turned to leave. “I’ll see you in class next week then!” she called back to him cheerfully as she exited the room.

Caleb smiled after her and set the calendar in his small bag so he would not forget to take it to his office with him that night.

Now here he was staring at the gift that sat on his desk. It was a beautiful gift and well made but that is not what his eyes were focused on. Instead, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the words that sat in the spot for today’s date, ‘Embertide’.

Caleb had known of the holiday of course, but he tended to stay away from any mention of it. It was a day of remembrance. A day of solemnity and respect for those who died in the defense of others. Of course, it would be a day that brought memories and feelings to Caleb.

For one there was Mollymauk. Sure, now there was Kingsley, who was honestly very cool, but he wasn’t Molly. Molly had died while they were trying to rescue their friends, and it was Caleb’s fault.

There were many other people that he could think of, but two that he considered to be under this category that not many others would agree with. The bright smile of his mother flashed through his mind. The warm embrace of his father seemed to envelop him in a warmth that quickly turned to burning cold as he thought of what he had done.

In Caleb’s opinion, his parents had died in the defense of others.  In the defense of each other and of Caleb, er Bren. Sure, at the time he had been led to believe he was acting for the greater good of the empire, but he knew better now. His parents did not need or deserve to die and as always, a part of him wished he had gone through with his plan to go back in time and save them, though he never did and now with the information destroyed, never would.

Those who did not know what truly happened would not be remembering his parents today. They would never know how their deaths had saved him. Their deaths caused his breakdown, and his imprisonment in the sanatorium, but it had also saved him. He would have become a Volstrucker and been stuck under Ikithon for more of his life. He would have never met Veth and the other Nein. He would never be in this teaching position and have the opportunity to look at this calendar and remember if it had not been for their deaths. So, yes, Caleb considered Leofric and Una Ermendrud’s deaths to be in the defense of others. Their deaths were in defense of him and in the defense of everyone who would have been destroyed if he had not been broken by it.

Caleb closed his eyes and imagined his parents standing in front of him and said with a tear slipping down his face, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

Fresh Cut Grass stared off at the retreating back of Dancer, questioning everything he had known about himself. Their head felt like it was spinning. Was he moving or was the world? Though the world shouldn’t be moving, it was flat and therefore could not spin. So, by that logic, it was him that was moving.

He felt a rough hand grip his arm and the familiar voice of Ashton, though it seemed far away, ask, “You alright, Letters?”

“Hmm? Oh, ya, I’m fine,” FCG replied shakily. Ashton’s hard tightened and they could feel the unbelieving gaze upon him.

“That was a lot. It’s alright for you to not be fine,” Laudna said gently looking the aeormaton in the eyes.

Her eyes were so full of understanding and compassion that FCG couldn’t take it and broke eye contact looking up at the sky.

Another softer hand grabbed onto FCG’s arm and the two people on either side of them started leading them away.

Fresh Cut Grass couldn’t help but wonder what else in his life was a lie. He had killed the others? He was the one-eyed monster? Pussy, Oatmeal, the others were all gone because of him? He was using parts of automatons that he destroyed? How was he supposed to help others if he was a mass murderer?

Soon enough, FCG felt his body stop as the others came to a stop as well. Absently, he looked around and saw they were in an alley close to Imahara Joe’s shop. He wasn’t sure why they had stopped until Ashton knelt down in front of him to look him dead in the eyes.

“What’s happening, Letters? You’re scaring me bud,” the earth genasi said gently. FCG felt bad for worrying his best friend. The person who had saved him. No, he hadn’t needed saving because he was what did it.

He felt the slight tickle at the edge of his brain that let him know that Imogen wanted access, so he gave it. Their mind was swirling, and they couldn’t make sense of it, so maybe they just needed help to organize it.

After a few silent moments, Imogen’s voice rang in his head, “It’s alright. You aren’t a mass murderer. This is a difficult situation, and we don’t know all the details. So, how about we go find some?”

Letters forgot that the conversation with his fellow telepath was in his head, and he replied out loud, “But, how can I fulfill my purpose if I don’t know when I could do that again? Is helping others even my purpose?” Ashton shook his head, concern showing in their eyes.

Orym came into FCG’s line of sight and said, “You may not know your past, but if helping is what you like to do, then you can make it your purpose.”

Fearne spoke up from behind him, “I mean I have a sketchy past and yet I’m still just doing my own thing. You can too.”

FCG turned his head to look at her as he replied, “I don’t have a soul, so how can I do my own thing?”

Imogen gently said, “I’m not sure if you have a soul, but you do have a consciousness and to me, that means you are living, which means you have a choice in what you do.”

Laudna smiled as well, “I mean I’m not exactly living, but you don’t see that stopping me, do you?”

FCG looked into her sparkling eyes as he felt a sense of, relief? “I guess y’all are right.”

Ashton started laughing suddenly. Letters turned to look at them.

He stopped laughing just long enough to say, “You know, Letters, you are the quintessential therapist. You want to help, you see the good in everyone, you listen carefully and remember a lot, and you have your own fucking trauma.” The rest of the Bells Hells, including FCG burst into laughter along with the genasi.

After the few minutes it took them to calm down, Chetney started to lead the group out of the alleyway saying, “Now let’s go ask Joe what he knows about you. I would do it, but your metal not wood.”

“Thanks for the obvious old man,” Ashton said rolling his eyes as the others followed the gnome. Ashton stayed behind for a moment with FCG and nudged him with his shoulder, “We’ll figure this out, ok?”

FCG nodded and hoped that his friends’ words were true, all of them.

Chapter Text

Caduceus looked out into the wasteland that was Xhorhas as the Mighty Nein walked steadily into the land. The firbolg was filled with a creeping sense of impending doom. He did not like the lack of vegetation, the lack of the Wildmother’s touch on the area surrounding him. He knew that Melora was always with him, but his current environment felt void and wrong as if her power struggled to reach this far land. He shook his head. He should not be doubting the Wildmother like this, she was his god and would not let him down.

Caduceus was thrown out of his thoughts by the sharp feeling of something hitting his ankle and the rushing of the ground coming to meet him. As he contacted the rocky ground his right knee felt like it burst into fire, the ligaments surrounding the joint screaming in agony.

“You alright, Cad?” Jester asked rushing over to help him. He sat up slowly and inspected the rock that had tripped him. It wasn’t even that large of a rock, he had just been distracted. He could tell that something was wrong with his knee, but also that he nor Jester should spare a healing spell on it. It was early in the morning and this land was full of dangerous creatures and enemies. A small injury like this was not enough for the waste of magic. Of course, he spoke none of his thoughts.

He grabbed his cleric buddy’s hand and allowed the teifling to help him to his feet. “I am fine. Thank you, Jester.”

“Of course!” the girl replied happily. Caduceus bent down and grabbed his staff from where it had fallen and stood up carefully. He took a step and his knee twinged. Instinctively his ears flattened against his head, and he carefully schooled his features so as to not let the others in on his pain. He did see a small moment of concern pass over Caleb’s features, but the wizard seemed to allow him to continue his charade.

The group continues their trek into the desolate and rocky land. Caduceus keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him, trying his best to avoid injuring the knee that protested with each step. He tried his best to make his use of his staff as a crutch as unnoticeable as possible, but from the several times that he felt concerned glances from his friends, he apparently wasn’t doing the best job of it. Caduceus’ tail flicked anxiously behind him as they walked.

It felt like forever before Caleb spoke up while glancing at the cleric, “It is noon. We should stop for just a few minutes.” Caduceus knew the only reason the others didn’t protest at all was because of him. They needed to keep moving, but here he was messing up their time. He didn’t deserve these people. He was supposed to care for them not the other way around. Still, he did welcome the small break.

They found a small outcropping of larger rocks to sit behind for a moment and sat. Each person grabbed a small snack or water from their packs, and Nott took a disturbingly long draft from her endless flask. Caduceus sat with his back against a rock and stretched his legs out in front of him and tried to inspect his aching knee without the others noticing what he was doing, which meant he couldn’t do much. His cursory inspection, however, found that his knee was swollen to an alarming degree, and from his healing knowledge, he knew that the longer he continued to walk on it without a healing spell or at least wrapping it, the worse it would get. Part of him wanted to just go ahead and heal it now, but the feeling of doom crept again into his mind and the thought of wasting a spell on himself felt like an irresponsible thing.

After about ten minutes the others started getting ready to head out again. Yasha came over and offered Caduceus a hand up, but he stubbornly refused the hand and got to his own feet, just managing to cover the hiss of pain that escaped his lips.

Caduceus could sense the frowns and concerned glances being fired at him from all sides but ignored it and started to lead them on their continued path, hoping they would just ignore him. This wasn’t the first and would not be the last time that Caduceus had been injured in some way and kept it a secret, letting it be. The problem was, none of those other times had been with the Nein and it was definitely easier to ignore injuries when you were alone.

In fact, a similar injury had once happened to him when we were the only one at the Blooming Grove. He sometimes had people come for healing and this had been one of those days. He had a couple with their young children, both of whom had high fevers, and Caduceus was worried about. This was early in his powers, however, and he had only two spells which he had used one of which on each child, but they still needed some extra help. He had left the little family in the house and went out to gather some much-needed yarrow, and in his rush, he ran into and tripped over a grave. His right knee, the same one that now hurt so badly, had been twisted in much the same way as it was now, but he had lives to save. The children had been alright after a couple more days of healing and caring for from the cleric, but this had also meant a couple of days of an injured knee with no healing to spare for himself. After the family had left, he tried to heal himself and it did work, but his knee was still not the same for weeks afterward.

One could say that this situation was different. He no longer had only two spells. He did not have an immediate medical emergency that required his spells. However, he could not shake the feeling of dread coursing through his veins causing his ears to twitch waiting for the sound of some enemy. If he took the energy to heal himself now and they got into a battle in which he couldn’t help the others he would not be able to forgive himself. The Wildmother had put him here with the Mighty Nein to protect them, what was he if he could not perform that one purpose?

The sense that had followed him all day, was well-founded as not an hour later two udaaks appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

The two large, dark creatures came bounding toward the group, their red eyes shining with hatred. Quickly, the group prepared for a fight. Yasha lifted her sword as a vein in her temple throbbed with the telltale sign of the rage coming. Beau cracked her knuckles. Nott loaded her crossbow. Fjord summoned his falchion with a spray of seawater. Caleb and Jester both seemed to have spells on the tips of their tongues. Caduceus’ mind spun for a second wondering what would be most helpful at this moment and in a split second lifted his staff and brought it down calling his beetle friends out in a swarm of greens and browns.

No matter how prepared the Nein were, these creatures were tough, and handling two at once could be an even bigger problem. They did their best, however, with Caleb casting bane on both. A litany of hits from both sword and fist from Yasha, Beau, and Fjord. Several crossbow bolts and a gigantic lollipop. Caduceus’ bettles also managed to take a large chunk out of the beasts, along with a few casts of Vampiric Touch. The beasts were eventually put down by a nice cast of Firebolt from their resident wizard. Even as the beasts' howls quieted, the group panted heavily. They may have defeated them, but they had gotten their fair share of hits in.

There was blood streaming from Beau’s nose that she continually wiped away with her still-clenched fist. Nott’s fingers were bent in the wrong direction. Yasha’s right shoulder was dislocated. Fjord had a large slash down his side. Jester had a hand to her head inspecting a forming lump. Caleb honestly just looked exhausted. Caduceus’ knee throbbed in more agony as the battle had involved a lot of him moving as quickly as he could and a hit to the leg from one of the creatures. That accompanied by the new burning on his left side from newly bruised and maybe even fractured ribs, leaving Caduceus semi-breathless. Silently, the firbolg thanked the Wildmother for the sense that had plagued him all day that had made him keep his spells.

They all stood there for a minute as the creatures smoldered before Fjord said, “We should find somewhere to rest. We can’t continue right now.” The others nodded in agreement. Slowly they moved away from the creatures to a spot that had a few scraggly trees and sat down. Caleb immediately started casting the dome, knowing that they were too injured to continue at the moment.

Jester and Caduceus started going from person-to-person healing what they could. Well, Jester tried. She made it to Nott and held her hand as she asked the Traveler for help and the goblin’s fingers straightened. But as soon as she was done the teifling swayed in her spot and was caught by Fjord.

Caduceus hurried as best he could over to them, and Jester tried to get away from Fjord who just forced her to sit with her back to one of the trees.

“I’m fine,” the girl protested lightly as Caduceus inspected the wound on her head.

He clucked his tongue before saying, “I believe you have a concussion, my dear Jester.” Before laying a hand on her head and murmuring the familiar words to Cure Wounds, the lump shrinking but the girl still shook slightly.

“Just stay here. Rest,” the cleric advised his kin who just nodded.

Caduceus made his way back to Yasha, not bothering to hide the wince that came from the pain in his body. He shook his head slightly. He needed to focus right now. He needed to fulfill his purpose and care for the others. He found the large woman sitting next to Beau who had finally stemmed the blood from her clearly broken nose.

Caduceus inspected Yasha’s shoulder and grimaced before looking over at the monk and asking, “Help hold her still for a second?” The monk nodded in understanding and held onto Yasha’s uninjured shoulder while Caduceus grabbed her other arm.

“Alright, this is going to hurt but I need to set this. You read Miss Yasha?” Caduceus said looking into the different colored eyes of the barbarian who set her jaw and nodded. “Alright. One… Two… Three,” he quickly jerked on the arm setting it back into the shoulder socket. Yasha barely made a sound and only reacted as Caduceus used another spell to heal the wound.

“Thank you, Mr. Clay,” Yasha said quietly at which Caduceus nodded with a smile. He could feel that he did not have much power left but he turned to the girl beside him and studied her nose thoughtfully. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to set it and just reached out and healed it with a short prayer.

 He struggled to his feet and over to the two others that had not been seen to yet. Caleb was still casting so Caduceus went over to Fjord who was struggling to get his armor off. Caduceus helped him take off the breastplate and inspected the slash on his side, before healing it right up. Fjord sent a thankful glance to Caduceus as the firbolg made his way over to the wizard who had just finished his spell.

“Are you alright, Mr. Caleb?” the cleric asked quietly.

Caleb smiled at him and tried to say, “I am alright, herr Clay,” but was cut off by what sounded like a painful cough that had him clutching at his ribs. Caduceus quickly laid the wizard on his back and felt carefully at his sides, finding two broken ribs on his right side. With a quick prayer and the last of his magic, he felt the warmth of the Wildmother flow through him into the body before him and the ribs knit together and the wizard’s breathing evened out.

Caduceus sat back on his haunches, trying his best not to aggravate his injured knee, and surveyed his friends, they were all taken care of now. They looked tired and a little beat, but nothing that a good rest couldn’t handle. He thanked Melora once again that he had not wasted a spell earlier that day on himself as if Caleb had collapsed like that and he hadn’t had that last spell, things would be a whole lot worse right now.

With a small sigh, Caduceus went to stand back up and suddenly his vision went black around the edges and the ground seemed to be a lot closer than it had before.

When he opened his eyes, he found his head in Jester’s lap and a concerned Fjord barely in his vision. He could feel someone wrapping his knee and looked down to find Beau expertly wrapping it.

“What happened,” he wheezed out, his ribs straining as he took in enough breath for the words.

“You passed out! Why did you heal yourself? And of course, I just had to be out of spells,” Jester said sadly.

“My job is to care for you all. I come second.”

“Bullshit,” Beau growled out with a slightly harsher tug than necessary on the bandage.

“No. You injured that knee this morning. I know it,” Caleb called the firbolg.

“Duces,” Fjord said with a tinge of concern.

“I’m fine,” Caduceus tried to brush off and sit up before he felt a strong hand push him back down by his shoulder and he looked up to find Yasha with her good arm glaring lovingly at him.

“You can’t protect us, if you don’t care for yourself,” the small voice of Nott came from down by Beau.

“But, if I had healed myself earlier then Caleb would be in trouble right now. I used my last spell on him and he’s more important.”

“No. You are just as important as anyone else in this group. We would have figured something out,” Fjord said forcefully grabbing and squeezing the firbolg's hand.

“Don’t do this again, Ducey. Please?” Jester said sniffling a little.

He looked into his cleric buddy’s eyes and was surprised to see tears there. Why did they care so much for him? Was he really that important?

As if reading his mind Beau said, “You are important and we care for you. You may think it’s your job or purpose or whatever bullshit your mind is telling you to help us and not yourself, but it’s wrong. We help each other, ok?”

Caduceus blinked at her for a moment, his vision blurring as a few tears came to his eyes before he nodded.

Jester ran her fingers through his hair before saying quietly, “You can rest now. We will heal you in the morning.”

Caduceus nodded again and as if all he needed was permission his eyes closed and he slipped into a deep sleep with a warm feeling and new knowledge of his worth, at least from his friends’ point of view.

Chapter Text

It was a cloudy and yet sunny day in Rexxentrum when the twenty or so people gathered at the small house near the edge of the city.

In the small garden, there had been placed three rows of ten chairs each, split so there was a walkway with five on either side. The wooden chairs each had a blue ribbon tied around the back and the chairs along the aisle had small bouquets of Black Petunias, dark blue Wishbone Flowers, and white Lilies. All of these flowers along with many other well-cared-for plants could be seen growing in the background along the white fence that surrounded the yard and along the side of the small house.

At the end of the aisle, about fifteen feet in front of the front row of chairs stood a wooden arch that had a lattice of white and black painted wood. This lattice was threaded with more of the same flowers seen on the chairs.

Slowly the usually quiet house and its small garden filled with guests. From an outsider’s perspective, it would be a very strange assortment of people. The first to arrive was a pair of men, both tall and lanky. One had dark skin, short white hair, piercing violet-blue eyes, and was an elf based on the ears. This elf had a fancy set of dark purple robs with black accents on it and a brimmed hat that shaded his face. His partner had pale skin, reddish-brown hair that was back in a bun, and bright blue eyes. He wore robes similar to the elf’s but his were a deep maroon in color with gold accents and he had a green scarf wrapped around his neck.

Soon after their arrival came a small family of halflings. There was the mother who had dark skin with some blue-green tattoos across her face, and eyes and hair tied in a single braid that curled around to fall over her shoulder. She wore a yellow dress and had a necklace of what seemed to be buttons around her neck. Her husband had lighter skin, bushy brown hair that seemed to have been attempted to be brushed into submission and large round glasses. He wore a nice pair of black slacks and a blue button-up shirt. Between the two halflings, holding one of each’s hands, was a smaller and younger halfling who was obviously their child. He had shaggy brown hair and the same skin tone as his father and his mother’s eyes. The little one was wearing a mini version of his father’s outfit, but he also had a yellow vest on over the shirt. He seemed to be excited and tried to escape from his parents several times before they got inside the fence, and they let him run around a little. The five people sat in the middle row on the right side of the aisle and chatted while they waited, the small boy running around and letting out his energy.

Next came an interesting assortment of five. The first was a shorter blue teifling with curly hair flowing to her shoulders and a light blue dress with pink flowers over it and a necklace that held a small charm glinting from it. She was holding hands with a tall half-orc with dark green skin, black hair and beard, and the tips of tusks poking from his smiling mouth. He wore a green and blue outfit reminiscent of what would be seen on a ship at sea. The two of them were talking with another couple, who seemed to be the blue teifling’s parents. Her mother was a red-skinned teifling with similar hair to her daughter, just longer and crimson. She wore a sapphire long dress that seemed to shine in the sunlight like it was made of jewels. The man next to her was a water genasi with light teal skin, dark slicked-back hair and a goatee wearing a deep blue suit. Trailing a bit behind the two couples was yet another teifling, this one purple with a short hair cut and red eyes wearing a deep red jacket with long tails and black pants. They came in and took the row across the aisle from the first five.

Perhaps the most intriguing group was the next one of three firbolgs, two girls and a guy who looked to be siblings. They were all tall and thin with varying shades of short gray fur covering their bodies. One girl had darker hair pulled back in a bun and was wearing a forest green pantsuit. Her sister had longer hair died mostly pink with other colors peeking through and a dress of the same shade. Their bother had pink hair that was long and fell to one side of his head with the other shaved with swirled designs inlayed. He wore long light but not white robes with green and gold swirls embroidered in and long sleeves. The two girls sat in one of the back rows while their brother talked to the others.

The next group was the most anxious. It consisted of three humans. One was calm and collected with short shaved dark hair a muscular frame and a deep blue pantsuit. The two she was traveling with were a mother and son, both with darker olive skin, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. The mother had her hair up in a tight bun and wore an emerald, green dress that almost was too fancy for the environment. Her son seemed to be no more than 9 and looked slightly uncomfortable in his black pants, crisp white shirt, and a vest that matched his mother’s dress. The three settled into seats in the front row of the left. Soon enough, the halfling boy came over and the two boys were running around together.

Across the aisle from them, the chair closest to the aisle was already filled, not by a person but by flowers. There were flowers of all kinds and colors that someone could imagine gathered there. There was also a name printed in beautiful handwriting on the chair with white paint that read Zuala.

There were a few other people who came in and soon enough all the chairs were filled. The male firbolg moved to stand at the back of the arch and everyone in attendance quieted as the door to the small house opened and out walked the first of two brides.

She had a dark olive skinned; a muscular frame that was accentuated by her sleeveless white vest top that blended seamlessly with her flowing white pants with a cobalt blue sash wrapped around her waist. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a bun with a small crown of flowers that matched those on the chairs sitting on her head. Her blue eyes and smile both shown as she walked down the aisle to stand on the left side of the arch.

Following her came her soon-to-be wife. She also had a muscular frame, but she was lighter skinned, though she did have a dark blue line from her bottom lip to her chin, and she was taller. Her white hair was in a bob that framed her face, and she had a matching flower crown set atop her head. Her dress hugged her body and had flowers beaded into the fabric. As the dress reached toward the ground it changed from white to a stormy gray and finally the black, though with white parts that were reminiscent of lightning bolts. She also held a bouquet of flowers that matched the rest. Her eyes, one blue and one purple were wide as she took in the entire scene before joining her love at the arch.

It was a short ceremony without a lot of precedents and overseen by the male firbolg. At the end of the ceremony he said, “Well, that’s nice. With the power invested in me by the Wildmother, Melora, I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the brides.” The two women went in for a long-drawn-out kiss.

At this moment the small half-ling boy tugged on the sleeve of the red-headed human man and said loudly, “Ewwww, Uncle Caleb! Aunt Beau and Auntie Yasha are kissing. That’s so gross!” Which caused the kiss to break up as everyone in attendance started laughing heartily before clapping for the happy couple.

To any outsider, this was a very strange group of people assembled for a wedding, but those in attendance, they knew the truth. This was family.

Chapter Text

Jester had been aware that there were several races that were not liked in the Empire. She knew she was one of them. She had seen some of the looks but had managed to convince herself that their entire group was strange and that was the reason for their stares, not her specifically. Here, right now, however, she couldn’t refute the fact that these people hated her specifical for who she was.

The Mighty Nein were currently in Zadash and had needed to do a bit of shopping. To get done quicker they had split up and she and Mollymauk had split into a group. They had been successful in gathering their needed materials and had been heading back to meet with the others when it happened.

“You darling are a sweetheart!” Mollymauk barked out a laugh that melodized with Jester’s giggles. Those giggles were suddenly cut off by a small shriek from the girl as a hand was slapped over her mouth and an arm thrust across her chest, pulling her back into a dark alleyway that they had been passing.

Alarmed, Jester dropped the bag of pastries she was carrying, and the Danishes spilled out onto the dusty stone street. Her vision tunneled as she was jerked back into the shadows of the alley. She was pushed roughly against the stone side of a building, her back scraping against a sharp stone and she felt it split the fabric of her dress. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw a small gang of three human males surrounding her. They weren’t anything special, not guards, not particularly strong or tall, just regular looking, except for one thing. Each of them had a glare that spoke of hatred and vile thoughts on their faces, directed at her and only her. At the sight, her heart seemed to drop, and fear coursed through her veins, even though she knew she could take them.

The one that was not currently holding her against the wall pulled out a long, sharp knife and started to twirl it in his hand, Jester’s eyes following it carefully. He spoke in a low hiss, “You have a lot of nerve coming into our city, demon.” Jester’s heart speed up as her worst fears were realized, it was her race that was causing this event. The knife stopped spinning and moved toward the top of her head where her horns came out of her skull. She struggled against her captors as he moved the blade forward, but he wouldn’t have a chance to use it.

Mollymauk’s sword entered the back of the guy with the knife, exiting his front, and the life and hatred drained from his eyes. Molly withdrew the sword and the body slumped to the ground his swords came to hover in front of each of the other two of the gang. Quickly both of them dropped their hold on Jester and grabbed their friend before running from the two Tieflings.

Jester’s fear drained from her body and sadness replaced it, weighing her down and causing her to slide down the wall to sit on the ground against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her legs and started to cry. After making sure the idiots were gone, Molly dropped down in front of his kin and took her hands in his.

“Are you alright? Hurt anywhere?” Molly asked in a strained voice, panic starting to creep into his tone. Jester looked at him through tear-blurred eyes before nodding. “That’s not an answer, sweetheart,” Mollymauk gently coaxed her to confirm her well-being.

“I… I have a cut on my back from the wall, but otherwise, I’m just scared,” Jester almost whispered, too scared to speak any louder.

“Alright then, let’s get going back to the others,” Molly tried to get up and help her up but she shook her head, hugging her knees to her tighter. “Or we can give you a moment, that’s fine too.”

Jester shook slightly as the tears slid down her cheeks before she wiped them away, “Why do they hate us so much?”

Molly sighed before replying, “I don’t know. Honestly, our kind aren’t really welcomed anywhere and it’s not fair on any of us. We are how we are. It’s not our choice, but we can’t let it get to us.”

Jester nodded slightly, “I know, I’ve seen how some customers treat my mother and I’ve seen the looks from some people, but never the hatred from these guys.”

“I know. You’ve been lucky. Your mother managed to protect you from so much. Not everyone is like these, but a lot of them are pretty bad,” Molly said putting a violet hand on her blue one.

Jester used her other hand to wipe the rest of the tears from her face as she vocalized, “Thank you, for all this.”

Molly snorted as he helped her to her feet and slung an arm gently over her shoulder replying, “Of course, sweetheart. Us, horn people have to stick together.” Which prompted a laugh from Jester ss the two of them exited the alleyway and picked up the supplies that had been dropped on the ambush, including the sadly destroyed pastries, and started along their path again.

“We do. Still, thank you,” Jester said looking over at Molly.

Mollymauk looked her directly in the eyes, his red eyes meeting her purple ones, “I always will protect you, sweetheart.” Jester hugged him tightly and they made their way to where their friends waited.

Mollymauk did his best to keep that promise and died in the attempt.

Chapter Text

“Ah, fuck,” Ashton swore as he stood slowly from where he had been crouching to tend the fire they had made for the night.

“Hmm?” Imogen asked in a sleepy tone.

“Just need to stretch. Being made of stone can make the joints stiff, ya know?” Ashton said as they lifted their arms above their head, his shoulder making an audible cracking noise.

Chetney chuckled and repeated the genasi’s actions with a couple more cracks, “Try being over 400 years old.”

Ashton rolled his eyes as he continued to bend his different joints, each sounding like another crackle of the fire. “Whatever, old man.”

Imogen and Laudna both started laughing while looking at each other.

“Oh, what’s so funny ladies?” Chetney huffed.

Laudna popped her shoulder out of and back into its socket easily and followed it with the other as she replied, “Try being undead, boys.” The sight of the three caused the rest of the Bells Hells to start laughing.

There were honestly more sounds of cracking coming from the different joints of those three than from the fire.

Soon enough they started to settle in for a night’s sleep with Imogen and Laudna offering to take the first watch.

The two girls sat next to each other a little way from the still crackling fire, hand-in-hand. Imogen rubbed soothing circles into Laudna’s cold hand, feeling each bone under the thin skin. With the hand not already occupied, Laudna subconsciously messed with the gold cuff that covered her ear. Imogen watched her with a sad tint to her smile.

“You know you didn’t have to stretch like that with those two earlier, right?” Imogen whispered to Laudna.

“Ya, it’s all good. I honestly wanted to, and it was funny,” Laudna replied, her hand rubbing ever harder on the cuff. Imogen grabbed Laudna’s hand in her other one and gently pulled it from her ear.

“You alright?”

“I just… I don’t know,” Laudna admitted quietly.

“Does it hurt?” Imogen asked softly. She knew that the old injury bothered Laudna sometimes, especially when a storm was in coming. Laudna just nodded. “I’m sorry. You know you can take off the cuffs, right?”

“I guess, I just don’t want to freak anyone out,” Laudna said a tone of nervousness slipping into the normally light voice. Imogen flinched slightly. It had been her that Laudna had bought the cuffs for. Laudna was used to people staring at her for a lot of different aspects of her. When they started traveling together, however, was the first time Laudna had cared for others' opinions and Imogen had always gotten quiet or nervous when she saw her ears, so Laudna had bought some cuffs to cover it up when she got the chance. Imogen had tried several times to tell her that it was fine without the cuffs, she just needed to get used to it, that’s all. But Laudna had insisted that she would rather cover them for Imogen and other people’s comfort.

Imogen knew, however, that the cuffs just made the chronic pain that her best friend felt from the old wounds. With this knowledge, she let go of Laudna’s hands and slowly with her hands where they could be seen moved to remove the cuff that she had been messing with and then the second one.

In the lighting from the fire the scars that marred Laudna’s soft ears, created a point. Imogen stared at a scar that ran from the lob to the tip of the marred flesh. Laudna lowered her head in shame, but Imogen put her finger under Laudna’s chin and lifted her head to look at her.

“Never, never feel bad for your scars. It is not your fault. It’s that bitch Delilah and her stupid husband, not yours,” Imogen said with conviction in her voice. Laudna’s eyes filled with tears as she looked into her best friend’s eyes which were on fire with rage for her.

Imogen went over to their packs and grabbed the salve that Laudna kept for times like this and returned to their spot for watch. Laudna stared out into the wilderness so at least one of them was paying attention to their job.

Imogen slowly opened the tin and started to rub the thick paste into the scars on Laudna’s ears. As she did the woman started to relax into her touch. She continued to do so for both ears and then along some of the scars on Laudna’s arms.

“Thank you, for everything,” Laudna said quietly when Imogen finished.

Imogen smiled sadly at her best friend before replying, “Of course. You take care of me. I take care of you. That’s how this works and how it always will.”

Chapter Text

Most days at the Soltryce Academy were honestly boring to Mareyra. Don’t get them wrong, she loved learning especially about magic, however, it could be so boring how most of the teachers taught. She was at the point where she was a year off from being able to decide on her specialized track of magic and she could not wait for it. Most of the classes were so boring and she didn’t know if it was the teachers or the tracks or a combination of both.

Abjuration was interesting in theory and necessary for counterspells and canceling effects, but the Professor for the class, a human man with a bald head and monotone, was so boring that even those that enjoyed the class could fall asleep. Conjuration was fun and her little familiar Penny was proof that she both enjoyed the subject and was good at it. The teacher, however, was strict and had almost dispelled Penny the first time Mareyra had managed to conjure her just because she was small.

Necromancy just scared them. The thought of messing with the balance between life and death felt wrong on every level. Enchantment felt wrong. She didn’t want to be a person who used her powers to control others. That wasn’t the point of magic. Divination just was not their strong suit, and she couldn’t manage to get ahold of it, no matter how hard she tried. Illusion was alright, but not their favorite because she always felt better when she could hold something in her hands and illusion did not provide that.

Evocation was an interesting subject and the fact that it held both the power to hurt and heal had originally attracted her. When she got into the class however and witnessed just how much destruction it caused, she became scared, though it might be a good subject to learn but not as her main.

There was one class that was currently and always would be her favorite and that was her transmutation class. The subject itself was interesting. It’s not as destructive as evocation went further than conjuration, and was similar but more tactile than illusion. But most of all was the class and particularly the professor.

Professor Caleb Widogast was a young but incredibly smart and kind man. He had red-brown hair that he kept longer than any of the other male professors, along with a short beard. His blue eyes always glinted with a combination of wisdom, laughter, and a bit of fear at times. Most of the students didn’t pick up on that last part, but Mareyra was particularly perceptive. Professor Widogast was a fun teacher and his accent, though somewhat thick, was never bad enough for the students to struggle to understand him. He obviously loved his job and in particular the subject he taught, and he let the students see it every class.

It also helped that his class was interesting. He took the class on field trips when he could, even if it was just out to the grounds around the school. Even when they were in the classroom his classes were interactive and even the lectures were interesting with the examples and emphasis he put on aspects of transmutation. Then there were the times he had visitors.

One time they were in a lecture when a knock came on the door. When it opened a dark-skinned elf was standing in the doorway, his eyes glimmering with mirth as he smiled at Mareyra’s favorite teacher at the front of the class. For just a moment Mareyra could have sworn that she saw something, more, in Caleb’s eyes, something like love. The tall elf floated, literally floated!, to the front of the room and hugged the professor and whispered something in the red-heads ear before leaving apologizing for interrupting. At the end of class, the students saw Professor Widogast rush to his office, where they assumed the hot elf was waiting. That incident had left the academy in gossip for weeks.

Another time they were outside on the grounds practicing the spell Catapult, throwing small one-to-two-pound objects at each other. The reason for not being in the classroom was when Professor Widogast had taught this lesson to another group just a week before, a student had misaimed and accidentally broken one of the classroom windows. It just happened to be the time when a small convoy of members of the Cobalt Soul was coming to inspect how the Academy was doing, a yearly inspection that had been added when Trent Ikithon was arrested.

The group of monks were walking through the yard when suddenly one broke from the group and snuck up behind Professor Caleb who was demonstrating the proper form, yet again. She suddenly had their teacher in a headlock from behind and was giving him a noogie. Instead of surprise, he just sighed resignedly while the student’s gaped at the two.

“Hello to you to, Beaureguard,” their professor intoned with a roll of his eyes.

The monk let go of him and punched him in the arm before retorting, “You know not to call me that Cay. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes. Now you have work and I need to get back to teaching, alright?” Professor Caleb asked with a raised eyebrow and a quick hug to the human monk. It took a full three minutes for their teacher to gain their full attention back and it only worked when the monks were no longer in view.

These times with visitors only happened in Professor Widogast’s Transmutation class and Mareyra thought it may be part of the reason why she had taken to the class so easily. She, nor did anyone else, expect what happened during their midterm exam, however.

That day was a long one, most of their classes had exams, and Mareyra’s hair fell out of her braids by the time the class came along. She was sitting with the rest of the class focused on the test. The room was quiet except for the scritch of writing utensils and the murmur of some student’s talking themselves through questions.

Mareyra had just reached the last question, ‘What component is necessary to be able to cast Barkskin?’, the answer being a handful of oak bark when it happened.

There was a sudden sound and breeze of wind throughout the room and Mareyra looked up just soon enough to see a dark green cloak disappear from around the three individuals who were now in the classroom. One was a blue teifling who wore a short dress and had ribbons hanging from her horns. There was a tall half-orc standing next to her with a pirate’s hat pulled low over his brow. With them was a small half-ling woman in a yellow dress and pigtails. The sight of the three had the students staring and Professor Widogast jumping to his feet and running the few steps over to them.

“Sorry Cayleb, would have messaged but I couldn’t do both,” the teifling said with an unfamiliar accent.

The half-ling hugged the teacher’s legs and said, “We have to go do it again, ‘Leb. The world needs saved, again.” Mareyra’s mind struggled to keep up. Her professor had saved the world? She knew he was powerful and had weird friends, but that?

Professor Widogast looked out among the students and said, “Ah, shite. Well students I will have to ask you to not cheat while I get another professor in here, duty calls.” Mareyra quickly finished her last question and watched the chaos in the room unfold more as the four old friends ran out of the room. If they managed to save the world, again as the half-ling had said, Mareyra needed to ask Professor Widogast for the story. God, transmutation is so cool!

Chapter Text

Elyra hadn’t wanted to be a bandit. She just had ended up down on her luck and needed some way to get through. It didn’t mean she liked stealing from others. The truth is she was captured by this group in a way.

She had been on the road to Grimgolir from her home in Kamordah when it had happened. Elyra knew that traveling by herself was not the best idea, but she thought she would be fine. She was almost exactly halfway through her trip when she stopped for the night and that’s when they struck.

Don’t get her wrong, she had self-defense tactics, she needed them, but even the most skilled fighter can get jumped when they are attacked while asleep. Still, she had managed to injure one of the five men that attacked her before they got her down and took everything, she had on her. She was sure they would kill her or leave her to die without her supplies, after all, it was a long way to her destination and to her home. She was surprised however when the leader of the group of bandits Ulfarg, a tall muscular human with a scar covering his left eye, decided that he appreciated how she had fought back and gave her the ‘option’ to join his gang of bandits.

That had been a couple of weeks ago now and she had not found a way to get out of the situation yet. Every night Ulfarg had others though not her keep watch. He did not trust that she would not just run off, which was a fair assessment. They also didn’t allow her access to all her supplies, instead allowing her only parts of it at a time, though she was always allowed her sword.

She hated the group and wished she could find her way out of the predicament, but Ulfarg had a good hold on her and was not letting go any time soon. That is until they attacked one group of travelers.

They spotted the group when they stopped for the night, setting up camp along the edge of the road. It was a mismatched group of six people of different races. Elyra personally thought it was not a good idea to go for this particular group, but she knew that when Ulfarg made up his mind the group was going to do it. So, they hid in the woods and watched the group as they built a fire and ate their evening meal. Once they headed to sleep it would be time.

So, here they were now around one in the morning watching as just one person, a small halfling frame in a dress watched the road and occasionally, but not nearly enough, looked back at the woods where she and the rest of Ulfarg’s group waited. Ulfarg studied the one on watch for a moment before signaling the rest of the group to follow his lead.

Slowly Ulfarg crept up on the sleeping forms and grabbed the one on watch from behind, holding a dagger to her throat. The others gathered around and pointed a weapon at one or another of the figures. The little halfling let out a strangled sound, but even without that one of the others, a red-hair human sat up with a quick jerk and looked around at the group evenly, not scared in the slightest, until his eyes landed on his companion in the strong grip of Ulfarg.

“Ok, let’s just stay calm,” the human said softly with a strong accent as he raised his hands while looking directly at the halfling. Elyra saw that he had purposely hit the arm of the body next to him as he put his hands up and seemed to be conveying something through his eyes but said nothing. She had known that this was a bad group to try to steal from and honestly, she was just looking for a way out.

She looked down at the body the human had hit, the one she was pointing her sword at, and saw with a start a familiar form. It was another human, someone she knew from back home in Kamorda, Beauregard Lionette. Beau and Elyra had been friends in their youth before Beau’s asshole of a father had ‘sent her away’ as he put it. They had gotten into their fair share of messes and to be honest, Beau had been Elyra’s first kiss. As her dark green eyes met Beau’s bright blue ones that were now open, she knew that this group of bandits that she found herself with was screwed. Elyra smiled and stifled a chuckle.

Suddenly, Beau smirked back up at her and Elyra loosened her grip on the sword hoping that Beau got her message that she wasn’t really with them. Beau silently touched the arm next to her, it belonged to a blue teifling who at the touch groggily opened her eyes. Elyra realized that while this was happening, Ulfrag had been doing his usual threatening trying to get the valuables from the group. The idiot nor his cronies realized that the sleeping forms had slowly woken each other up. Well, that wasn’t Elyra’s problem, it was theirs.

As soon as the last of the group was awake, Beau popped up from her position with a flip from the ground that included a kick that hit one of the other bandits who dropped his crossbow. Quick as lightning, the teifling had touched the one on the other end and the skin on his legs turned black he tried to step back and fell to the ground. Seeing her chance Elyra turned on the bandit next to her but he was already staring at a wound that had appeared from the falchion in a half-orc’s grasp. Ulfrag yelped as the half-ling bit into his hand and the red-haired human set his pants leg on fire.

“Let’s go,” Ulfrag yelled as he ran back to where their stuff was, his main cronies following and Elyra just staring. She turned to see five people glaring at her and several different types of weapons pointed at her.

“Well, who do we have here?” Beau asked in a joking voice, “Why so far from Kamorda, Elyra?” At her words, Beau’s friends looked a little relieved but still held their weapons tightly.

“I was on my way to Grimgolir for a blacksmithing apprenticeship when those bozos ambushed me and decided I was a good fighter. I’ve been searching for a way out for weeks, but they had all my stuff, and I knew if I went by myself, it wouldn’t end well,” Elyra replied with a shrug, sheathing her sword.

Beau motioned to the others, and they put down their weapons and the muscular woman pulled her old friend into a hug. “Well just your luck we’re heading that way and you can travel with us.”

Elyra wrapped her arms around Beau’s back and breathed in deeply for the first time in weeks. “It’s good to see you again Beau.”

The Mighty Nein, as Elyra found out they called themselves, were definitely a better group to travel with than Ulfrag and his men. When she made it to her original destination a couple of days later she gave Beau one more hug and thanks to the others before going to start the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

“We need to go in two groups,” Eshteross says, and Dorian can feel his expression lockdown as his mind goes into overdrive. He knows what’s coming. He’s the only one that has the experience, and the training to be the other ‘noble’ to create a second group for this ball. So, when the suggestion comes from someone in the group, Dorian isn’t fully paying attention, he agrees knowing it’s the best course of action. He only comes back to his body from where his mind was racing as he feels Orym grasp his hand and squeeze it tightly. Dorian looks down at his shorter friend and sees the look of concern in his eyes. He attempts to force a reassuring grin onto his face but knows that he fails at least for Orym by the look in the halfling’s eyes that tells him that they will be discussing this later.

Dorian knows that there is more discussion and planning happening around him, but he can’t reign in his thoughts enough to focus on the present. His mind was wandering and racing. Moments throughout his childhood when he was forced to go to socials and balls. When he was forced to be the perfect son, the perfect socialite. When he wouldn’t do as well as his parents wanted, he would feel their wrath and disappointment for weeks afterward. Always being surrounded by people who expected the best or more from him. Never doing enough. He learned everything that his parents told him to, he practiced his socializing, he learned how to read people, and he created a face that could be used in any situation to seem ‘proper’. The only thing keeping him from floating entirely away was the small hand that still had a firm grasp on his. It was a familiar hand and that helped keep the memories away.

Soon enough, they were leaving but at the door, Eshteross stopped him and asked what name he should use. Dorian thought for a split second about just creating a new name, a new identity, but he shook his head. No, if he was going to use the skills that had been forced upon him as a child then he would use the name that came with those skills.

Dorian looked at the orc and said quietly but firmly, “Bronte Secondsun Wyvernwind.” Eshteross nodded in both acknowledgment and understanding. The group headed out of the manor and towards… somewhere, to be honest, Dorian wasn’t entirely sure as he had not been truly there for a while. The only reason he hadn’t just stopped moving was Orym’s hand tugging him along and now Fearne had linked her arm into his open one. Dorian was present enough to see the concerned glances pass through his new friends and wondered vaguely why they were concerned before it occurred to him that it was him, they were worried about. Dorian shook his head violently, trying to shake his thoughts back into submission, he shouldn’t be causing the others to worry too much. However, no matter how hard he shook his head his mother’s voice rang in his ears, “Is that how you behave? Pathetic.”

Dorian hadn’t realized how long he had been shaking his head until Fearne suddenly let go of his arm and instead grabbed his head stilling it. His vision shook as it reoriented itself to look into Fearne’s worried gaze.

He pulled away from the faun and choked out, “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you.” Fearne’s brow scrunched but Dorian looked to the others and started to walk in a random direction as none of them were moving, but Orym pulled him in another direction, so he followed.

Apparently, they were just heading back to the tavern they were staying at, the Sit and Spin? no, the Spire by Fire, or whatever. They sat at a table in the back corner of the busy business and had soup, bread, and drinks delivered to them. The others were discussing quietly, what Dorian was not sure about. He was too busy lazily stirring his soup with his spoon. As he did the vegetables in the broth floated to the top in stages just like his thoughts did in his head.

In his mind, he was back at a dinner with his family and a few other important families. He had only been about 8 at the time and long dinners with food that did not look appealing, no entertainment, and only adults being allowed to talk were hard for him. His parents on the other hand thought he should be just fine and well-behaved and show he was paying attention. It was the second course of the meal, a small soup of broth and veggies, and the 8-year-old got distracted by the floating celery. He had been playing with the food when his father’s glare registered in his young mind, and he looked up to see at least four of the adults looking at him. He couldn’t remember now if he had made too much noise with his food or had been asked a question, he hadn’t been paying attention to. What he did remember was the punishment after that night. The days of silence from his parents with only disappointed looks thrown his way. The weeks of lessons on proper etiquette. The pressure only increased as he got older. It was part of why he left.

Dorian was brought back to the present by a cold hand on his forearm. He looked over to find FCG looking at him, his head tilted in a show of concern and silent questioning. Dorian smiled, or at least tried to, at the aeormaton, and returned his gaze to his food that he realized now he had not taken a bite of and was cold.

Dorian decided enough was enough. The others didn’t need to see him like this, it would only worry them more. So, he stood and started to walk away, but before he could Orym’s hand reached out and grasped his bicep.

“I’m fine. I’m just going to head up for an early bed,” Dorian told the half-ling quietly. Orym studied him for a moment before letting go and allowing him to head upstairs. He went to the room they had been staying in for the past while on autopilot. When he arrived in the room he sat on the bed and stared out the window into the sky which was quickly darkening and was currently a dark blue almost purple.

He knew why he needed to bring out his old self, but he still hated it. He called himself Dorian because he wanted to see the world as someone who wasn’t Bronte. As someone who wasn’t always under the pressure and strict gazes of his parents. Someone who wasn’t from a well-known family and had to act respectable at all times. And yet here he was, going back into his act as Bronte, because that is truly what it was, an act.

He sat there for he has no idea how long just staring out the window and letting his thoughts flow through his head. There was nothing else he could do. Every time he tried to move it felt like the air was too thick and there was no way he could even lift a finger. He was numb and felt like nothing would fix that. He was floating and yet too heavy at the same time.

Dorian has no idea how long it was before the door to the room opened quietly. He didn’t react either he just continued to watch the sky outside, which was now fully black. He heard the soft footfalls of someone but didn’t look until the small form of Orym was in front of him. Dorian could tell that Orym was asking him something but honestly could not process anything around him. Slowly Orym set about taking Dorian’s armor off, making the motions obvious so that Dorian could see each step. Dorian tried his best to move his body to help, but he just couldn’t move through the thick air.

It took several minutes for Orym to get Dorian out of his armor, and he quickly did the same for himself before climbing onto the bed next to Dorian and dragging him to lie down. Dorian lay staring at the ceiling as Orym arranged the blankets around him. Fearne came in quietly while Orym set about the room doing something, Dorian wasn’t sure what. She and Orym had a short, quiet conversation and Dorian just lay there wondering what he had done to deserve his friends. “Nothing. You don’t deserve them.” A voice hissed in the back of his mind.

Soon enough his friends had joined him in the bed, Orym in the middle as always, but before going to sleep Orym looked Dorian dead in the eyes and said, “You don’t have to do it, you know?” Dorian shook his head and Orym sighed realizing that nothing would come of this conversation at the moment. The three Crown Keepers went to sleep, Dorian remembering all the mistakes of his childhood and the consequences, Orym and Fearne struggling between concern for their friend and the need to complete their mission.

Chapter Text

“Well, isn’t that odd?” a feminine voice came from behind the group. It was somewhat quiet as if the person was trying to not be heard by whatever, or whoever, they were talking about, however, Orym had been trained to always pay attention to everything around him, meaning he heard her words.

He turned to see a tall female elf staring at him and his friends. At his look, she blushed deeply and hurried away. Orym shrugged it off, she was right, after all, they were an odd group and most of them were odd individuals.

They continued on their way on their shopping trip, which went better than the others that Orym had accompanied the others on. That is until they stopped at the last store of the day. It was a small shop that boasted enchanted items on a big sign outside the shop. On the inside, the shop’s walls were covered in shelves with items covering them with small signs explaining what each item was. Orym had a feeling that at least some of these items were actually flukes, a sham to get the more gullible customers. Quickly the Hells Bells spread out investigating the store. Orym stood by the door keeping a watch on all of them, but especially Fearne, they did not need a stealing incident right now.

Chetney had immediately been drawn back to a rack of wooden objects. Imogen and Laudna were talking over a group of different rocks. Ashton was inspecting a wall of weapons, though the lack of hammers seemed to have him disinterested. Orym was glad to see that FCG had wrangled Fearne into a conversation with the small female gnome that owned the shop. Seeing that everyone was alright, he allowed his focus wander to a necklace near where he stood. The label said that the pendent could give the wearer a boost in speed for a minute each day. That could come in handy during battles.

Orym was about to call FCG over to find out if it was legit when a gruff voice from outside the open door caught his attention, “You’re right. It is odd.” Quickly Orym looked over to find that same elven woman from earlier but now she was accompanied by a tall half-orc male who had a scar over his left eye. Orym meet his gaze for a moment before the other smirked and Orym’s heart seemed to drop. There was something off, or as they put it odd, about these two. The pair walked off and Orym tried to convince himself that he was overreacting.

 The necklace that had caught his attention ended up being a fake, as had most of the rocks the witches looked at. Chetney did find an old wooden box that he was excited to refurbish with his own twist. Fearne still somehow managed to steal a small trinket without the rest noticing. Orym shook his head as she pulled out a little metal figuring that the gnome claimed could move on its own but smiled as Fearne handed it over to an excited Laudna who put the figure on Pate’s shoulders like it was riding the raven-rat.

Orym tried to forget the pair he had seen throughout the day but the sneaking suspicion that something bad would come of the elf and half-orc. That night they returned to the Spire by Fire for a meal and some drinks. They were just about to start a round of What the Fuck is up with that when his feeling came to fruition.

As Orym had been expecting something to happen and had already heard both of the voices when he heard the gruff voice of the half-orc it registered in his mind even though the typical noise of the tavern.

“There they are. That odd group.” At the sentences, Orym quickly looked around for where it came from. When he found the half-orc he was greeted by a harrowing sight. It was no longer a pair but a group. Three more forms had joined the elf and half-orc. They were all tall and muscular, one was a male orc with a large battle axe strapped to his back, another a female fire genasi was a sword swinging from her waist, and the last was an androgynous teifling who held two throwing knives in each hand. Orym thought it was ironic that they were calling the Hells Bells an odd group when they themselves were odd.

“Well, what the fuck is up with that?” Ashton asked unironically following Orym’s gaze to the group.

“I saw that elf and half-orc two separate times today calling us odd,” Orym said quickly and quietly while bringing his hand to his pummel as unseen as he could manage. Ashton’s hand edged toward his hammer and the others also tightened up.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Imogen asked softly.

“I didn’t think much would come of it,” Orym answered quickly as he watched the group head over to their table.

Ashton spoke first loudly looking directly at the half-orc who was heading the charge, “I hear you think we’re odd. I personally think you guys are too.”

The half-orc grunted in acknowledgment before saying, “My name’s Drogul. I will admit this is a weird group, but you guys are too odd for around here. What are you doing?”

Ashton let out a short laugh, “Minding our own fucking business. What is it to you?” Orym tightened his grip on his sword as the genasi stepped forward.

“Protecting our own. Now, why are you guys here?” the genasi spat out.

Orym really wasn’t liking this, but luckily the bartender had realized that there was some shit going down and signaled the bouncer to head on over. The large pachydan shape of Kalliyan appeared behind the four intruders.

Her deep yet feminine voice boomed out, “What is happening over here, Ashton?”

“Ahh, Kalliyan thank you for checking up on us. These fine people were just interrogating us on our movements while we were just trying to enjoy our drinks,” Ashton said loftily. At a look from the pachydan Ashton rolled their eyes and added, “No we have not done anything to them. They just think we’re odd.”

A loud laugh erupted from Kalliyan who said, “Well they’ve got that right, you are the oddest group I know, but you are one of our regulars.” She directed her voice to Drogul, “You can stay here at the Spire by Fire if you leave my friend Ashton and his group alone. We’re all odd here.”

The fire genasi went to take another step toward the table but was stopped by Kalliyan’s large hand on her shoulder steering her and the others away. The Hells Bells gave a thankful nod to Kalliyan as she led the group out and relaxed from their battle-ready state. Except for Orym who kept his hand on his sword, though a little looser. The others went back to their conversation and Orym tried to calm his instincts while keeping an ear and eye out for the group. After some time and another drink, he calmed down and the Hells Bells had a great rest of their night.

As they were heading to bed a couple of hours later, Orym looked around at the group and thanked his lucky stars, or moons, that he had found his perfectly odd group of friends.

Chapter Text

The Mighty Nein were now on their way toward Kamordah, a place that Beaureguard had honestly hoped they would never end up going. Why would she want to go back there? Sure she had grown up there and a lot of her firsts were within that area, but it does not mean that she had any desire to go back, especially with her friends who were like her new family.

And it was a better family. A family of people who loved her. A family of people who took their time to get to know her and had expectations of her but explained those expectations and the reasoning behind them. A family who didn’t pretend they were perfect to everyone around them and instead allowing everyone to see how messed up and strange they are. A family who put up with her and helped her see and change her bad actions. A family who would never sell her.

The real reason she didn’t want to go back to Kamordah was her father, the patriarch of the Lionetts. She would have been fine going back if it was to do anything but what they were planning on doing. She knew that it was necessary, fuck she had insisted on going because if there was a person who deserved to go back to her family it was Nott. Beau knew that her father had gone to a witch in his youth. She had heard the story so many times as a child, how could she not know? It had surprised her, however, that that which her father had mentioned so many times, the witch that in a way ruined her childhood in a way, was the same witch that had cursed Nott. They needed to find that witch, they needed to help Nott break the curse and become her old self, become Veth again, and if that meant seeing her parents and talking to her father, Beau would do it.

Anyways, the Mighty Nein were on their way to Kamordah, on their way to see Beau’s father, and she was struggling. They had stopped for the night and had a fire going which they all sat around. Beau could feel her friends, no her family’s, eyes on her as she stared into the flames, lost in her mind, in her memories.

It started out with her father retelling the story of the witch and her prediction for the millionth time, her mind searching for any clues that would mean she wouldn’t have to talk to him again. But it was no use and soon enough her mind wandered through more of her memories.

Her father told a young, probably five- or six-year-old her, that she had a boy’s name because that’s what he wanted, a boy not her. All the times that she had to pay close attention to his mood to know what kind of day she would have if he was going to explode at her for a small mistake or pick on her all day. The expectations he held over her head. She was supposed to be the perfect daughter, even though he wanted a son, but he never told her how to be a perfect daughter. How are you supposed to live up to expectations that you do not know of? You can’t. And every time she failed one of his expectations, he would punish her.

When she reached teenagerhood and realized nothing was going to change and that she would only ever receive negative attention from the man who was supposed to love her unconditionally. That is when she acted out, at least when she did, he would get a small amount of attention. She thought of the fights, the yelling, his getting in her face but not touching her. She knew now that her actions were not good and shouldn’t have happened, but nothing can change that now. She also knows that her father is not to blame for her own decisions, but he was responsible for her inability to trust authority. He was responsible for her time with the Cobalt Soul.

She remembers the night she went to the Soul vividly. The monks taking her from her room. Her fighting as best she could, but that was nothing to the monks. She was scared and thought that she was actually being kidnapped and held for ransom by her father or was being punished for her crimes. That all changed when she saw her father come out of his room and saw him nod to one of the monks holding her. He had wanted, no ordered, this. When he crouched down in front of her and called her his misfortune when he finally slapped her, the only time he hit her, she broke a little. The small piece of her that still wanted her father’s approval was gone. At the Cobalt Soul when she learned different punches, kicks, and moves to hurt someone, she sometimes pictured using them on her father.

And throughout all of this, throughout her childhood, her father had tightly maintained a strong hold on his image to the community. He was Thoreau Lionette, the greatest winemaker. He had the perfect little family, his beautiful wife Clara, and a strong daughter Beauregard. When she shattered that picture by acting out, he got rid of her. Beau didn’t deserve that, no matter how much her brain tried to tell her that it wasn’t as bad as she was making it.

She snapped out of her memories when she felt a hand softly touch her knee and a soft Zemmian voice say, “Beauregard.” Her head snapped to the right and found the familiar face of Caleb looking back at her, his eyes full of concern and understanding. Of course, he would understand getting stuck in one’s memories. Quickly she rose to her feet, shaking his hand off her knee, and started to pace around the fire, behind where her friends sat.

They let her pace in silence for a minute or so, sharing glances, before Caleb spoke again, “Beauregard, I know this may be a… dumb question, but are you alright?” She glared at him for a moment before continuing her pacing.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Beau grumbled.

Fjord stood and blocked her path before grasping her hands in his and forcing her to look at him, “It’s alright not to be fine. We don’t know everything, but we do know that you don’t have the best relationship with your parents.”

“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t matter. My parents are still alive,” Beau snapped looking from Fjord to Caleb, “I knew both my parents from the start,” her gaze switched to Jester, “My parents know I’m still alive,” Nott’s eyes bore into hers, “My parents didn’t leave me in charge of my home,” Caduceus’ eyes were sad, “My family did not kill any of my partners,” Yasha flinched slightly. “Sure, I didn’t have the best childhood. Sure, I wish I didn’t have to talk to my father. Sure, he lied to everyone about how perfect our family is and used me like a pawn in his game. Sure, when he got tired of my acting out because I wanted his attention, he didn’t take the time to get to know about me and instead paid the Cobalt Soul to kidnap me,” there were several sharp intakes of breath at this point in her rant. “Sure, the last time I saw my father he called me his ‘misfortune’ and slapped me. Sure, I have a little brother I haven’t met, and I hope to good my father isn’t doing the same shit to him. Sure, I’ve not had the best childhood, but that doesn’t mean I get to not be fine. So, Caleb, I’m fine.” At the end of her rant, she wrestled her hands from Fjord’s grip and restarted her journey around the fire only to be stopped by the large figure of Yasha before her. Before she could just go around the barbarian, Beau found herself wrapped in strong arms.

“You do not have to be fine. I would not be fine. And here this, Beau. If your father ever touches you again, I doubt he will have a hand to touch you with again,” Yasha said in her quiet low voice and Beau could hear the agreement to the last statement from her friends, no her family. She let herself break and melt a little bit into Yasha’s arms and was surprised to find a couple of tears running down her cheeks.

Suddenly there was a small body that ran into her legs, Nott’s arms wrapping around her. The rest of the Nein joined the pile and soon Beau was squished into a warm group hug.

After they broke apart, Beau found her shoulders being held onto by Fjord and he looked directly into her eyes before saying, “Do not downplay your trauma again. Yes, we are all different and had different childhoods, but that does not make yours any different and the effect it had on you any less.”

Beau nodded silently as she angrily whipped the tears from her cheeks before playfully punching Caleb in the shoulder, “Thanks for snapping me out of my thoughts.”

“Ja, anytime.”

Beau and the others headed to sleep with Nott and Caleb taking the first watch, Beau could sense the guilt that radiated off Nott, but felt it was unnecessary and hoped Caleb could take care of the little goblin, halfling? She lay on the ground staring up at the sky, taking in the stars she could see and wondering what would happen when they reached her hometown. She smiled as the sound of Yasha promising to protect her from her father filtered into her mind, calming it enough for her to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

One aspect of growing up in the Lavish Chateau with her mom meant that from a young age Jester had seen the effects of alcohol. Her mother had tried to shield her from as much as she could, but there simply wasn’t a way for Marion to protect her sapphire from all the realities of her job.

This means that Jester had seen plenty of drunk and disorderly people, though they were tamer than in other taverns and pubs due to the prestige of the Chateau, people can still get very rowdy. Jester had watched Bludd throw out several people over the years due to their drunken state and there had been several who had tried to come onto the Ruby while drunk, which resulted in a removal.

There was one incident that had stuck with Jester for a long time, and she thought probably would forever. This was the event that caused Jester’s mom to become even more of a recluse and tighten her grip on Jester for a while. Jester had been about five or six and she had hidden in her mother’s wardrobe as a surprise. She could see out into the room from a small crack between the doors of the wardrobe and watched excitedly as she heard the door to the room open, but quickly realized her mistake when she heard her mother talking to a client.

Jester watched as her mother lead a human gentleman into the room and the two of them sat on the seta in the center of the room, the Ruby pouring the two of them a glass of red wine each, Marion not touching hers but just holding it. The man drank his greedily and thinking back now Jester was sure the man had consumed other beverages while downstairs but had seemed sober enough for her mother to agree to entertain him. The Ruby continued to talk to and entertain the man as he drank his second glass and Jester peered out from her hiding spot.

What happened next Jester will never forget. The man set down his glass and leaned toward her mother and tried to kiss her. The Ruby gently pushed him back and told him that she needed to prepare for his entertainment. The man flew into a rage, fueled at least partially by the alcohol, and reached out and grabbed the Ruby’s wrist. Jester couldn’t hold back the gasp that alerted both of the adults to her presence and the man stomped over to the wardrobe, dragging Marion with him.

Jester was blinded when the light of the lantern hit her as the man flung open the doors. He grabbed her by her braid and dragged her out of the wardrobe onto the floor Jester tried to catch herself and felt a crack as her hand reached in front of her and contacted the ground. She let out a sharp cry but managed to keep quiet as she had been taught otherwise. The enraged man then flung the Ruby to the ground beside her daughter and slapped her across the face yelling words that Jester could not remember.

Jester’s memory does get a bit fuzzy here from the pain of her broken wrist, but she does remember her mother calling out to Bludd in panic and the large minotaur bursting into the room and wrestling the man to the ground before the two female tieflings and then carrying the still angry man out of the room.

As soon as the man was out of the room Jester blacked out and when she woke up she was laying in her mother’s large bed with her mother curled up in a ball next to her, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. Jester looked over and saw that her still stinging arm was propped up on a pillow beside her and Bludd’s large form greeted her. He told her quietly that a healer had fixed her arm and that the man had been banished from the Chateau.

Marion opened her eyes at the sound of Bludd’s voice and she hugged her daughter tightly apologizing profusely for what had happened. She promised right there and then that she would be more careful about who she entertained, that she would never let another of her customers to ever touch her sapphire, and told Jester that she would not be going into the world at all. At the time that was fine by her, the man’s angry red face still fresh and the sting of her newly healed arm reminding her of the dangers. Jester silently promised herself that day that she would never become drunk and angry like that man.

Of course, she continued to witness drunk people in the Chateau, and she realized that there were different types of drunks. There are angry drunks like that one man, but there are also happy drunks who Jester finds fun and sad drunks. She didn’t say that she would never try alcohol and when she got into her late teens, she did try a glass of wine with her mother but found it was not to her taste. It was not sweet enough and the sweetness that was there was cut through by the sting of it sliding down her throat. She also did not like how it felt settling in her stomach or the weirdly warm feeling that spread through her body.

When she left her mother and went out into the world, she ran into more and more people who seemed to just want to get drunk. She did not truly like it but sometimes they were fun to watch and it was not like they were hurting her and now she had the Traveler with her so even if something happened, she would be fine.

With the Mighty Nein she did try a bit of heavier drink, heavier than the wine she had tried with her mother, and found that it honestly just was not good. Jester couldn’t find what the others saw in the drink, besides maybe Nott used it for the ‘liquid bravery’ effect some described. One thing that Jester was so glad for with her new friends was that after that first time, they never asked why she would order milk instead of alcohol. They didn’t question or pressure her and for that, she would always be grateful.

Jester snapped out of her musings as Beau clanged her tankard onto the table of the tavern the Nein was currently celebrating in. They had rid the town of a pack of dire wolves that had been terrorizing the woods surrounding them. The rest of her friends were drinking away and having a good time, besides Caduceus who sat with his tea silently watching the others, and Jester had a glass of milk in front of her like usual. Glancing around at her friends she saw that several of them were out or almost out of drinks and Jester’s own glass of milk was getting low.

Jester hopped up happily and said, “I’ll go get us all more drinks!” The others nodded or hummed in thanks continuing their own conversations as the cleric went up to the bar.

As soon as the bartender, a nice female half-elf, saw Jester, she busied herself in making another round for the heroes of the hour. Jester took the time to look around and see all the happy townspeople enjoying themselves around her. This was what she loved about what they did; seeing the happy people they saved made all the hardships worth it.

“Why aren’t you a cutie?” a slurred low voice said from beside her. Jester turned to see a tall male human who was obviously looking her up and down making her skin feel like a million bugs were crawling over it.

She pushed down her discomfort and smiled at the guy and politely said, “Thank you.”

“How about I buy you a drink? What are you having? Beer, rum, grog?” She flinched a little as the man leaned in and she could smell the liquor on his breath.

She stumbled a step back and kept a polite smile on her face as she replied, “I’m not drinking, and I would rather not have you buy me anything. Thank you for offering though.” Her mother would be proud of her politeness, she thought happily.

The bartender set a tray that held the round of drinks for her, and her friends and Jester turned to grab ahold of it. When she turned around, she found that the man was still standing there and now his face was turning an angry shade of red as he looked at the tankards on the tray she was holding.

He spat out, “Those definitely look like drinks. Not drinking, huh?” Jester’s smile wavered as the tone of voice along with the red face took her back to that time when she was young for a split moment.

She plastered the now strained smile onto her face again and said, “These are for my friends. Now if you will excuse me.” Jester went to push past him and towards the other Nein but found her arm, the same one that had been broken all those years ago grasped tightly in his large hand.

Jester froze and turned her head to look directly into the enraged face of the man just as he pulled her arm and the tray of drinks clattered to the floor as he tugged her towards him. She couldn’t seem to move, his angry face and the memories from years ago flooding her and causing her to freeze just like she had when she was a child. He pulled her to where her face was inches from his and the alcohol on his breath was intoxicating.

“You won’t get away from me that easily, sweetheart,” the man hissed, and Jester’s blood ran cold. Just then her arm was ripped out of his hand as Fjord held him a chokehold from behind and Beau punched him straight in the face. Jester could feel a new, smaller hand on her arm and another furry arm around her shoulders as she was led back to their table. Her view of what her friends were doing to the man was blocked by Caleb who stood in front of her trying to get a response from her.

Once they had gotten her back to the table, Caduceus and Nott sat her down, Caleb right beside them and the three surrounded her, blocking her view of the rest of the tavern. Caduceus softly took the arm that had been grabbed and inspected it for any injuries or forming bruises. Nott took her other hand as Caleb looked right in her eyes. Jester’s head was spinning, however, and every noise sounded fuzzy and far away. She could feel tears slipping down her face and could do nothing to stop them. Her body still refused to move.

After a minute Beau and Fjord joined the rest and at the sight of Beau’s bloodied knuckles, Jester’s mind snapped out of it. She took a deep shuddering breath and started to sob. Quickly all her friends were hugging her, but all she wanted was the warmth of her mother just like she had all those years ago.

Chapter Text

From an early age, Orym had been notorious for ignoring his own needs and forgoing breaks.

In his early childhood when all the other kids would be playing or taking breaks after school, he could be found either practicing his sword work or doing jobs for his mother around the house. He told himself that he needed to do more to help his mom as it was just the two of them and that it didn’t matter how he felt. The only people who could convince him to take a break were Will and his family, especially Will. Will was the only person who could get Orym to stop when he was overwhelmed and needed to take some time for himself, usually by literally carrying him away from the activity and to their little clearing in the woods. There were many days when Will would take Orym to that spot and the two of them would just lay on the ground and watch the clouds, sometimes talking to each other but usually Will talking about his day or nonsense as Orym needed something but would not feel like speaking.

When he got older and he and Will joined the Tempest Blades, Orym’s habits just got worse. Now that he had a job and purpose that was life or death taking time for himself felt even more wrong than before. Again, the only thing that could convince him to stop was Will. This was when the two grew even closer and finally became romantically involved. After they got married, it was slightly easier for Orym to take breaks when he was at home with Will. But then came the attack. Suddenly he no longer had his rock, the one he loved and that kept him together.

His mom and family-in-law tried to help, but Orym just couldn’t take it. When he took even the smallest break the feelings and memories would come flooding back. Will carrying him to their clearing. The two of them lay in their bed cuddling after a long day at work. The look Will would give him right before telling Orym to take a break, the look that said, ‘I can tell you are stressed and need to stop’. Orym tried to stay, he really did, it was just too hard.

When he was on his own traveling, he did his best to remind himself to take breaks at least sometimes, but it really didn’t work. He realized that it hadn’t worked after he collapsed during his third straight day of travel. That had been a wake-up call and Orym had struggled and succeeded in being kinder to himself over the rest of his time without a group.

Meeting the rest of the Crown Keepers was both a blessing and a curse to Orym. On one hand, he had other people to focus on, protect, and fight for again. On the other hand, it was far too easy for him to slip right back into his old habits. The entire situation with the Spider Queen had been stressful and during it, none of them had the time to rest or take a true break. However, afterward the others stopped, rested, and took care of themselves but Orym could not get himself to do the same.

It was like every time he stopped, his brain would keep going. Every time he sat down, he was still hyperaware of everything around him. Every night he offered to take watch and the others let him take one but required him to sleep for the rest of the night. Undenounced to them he lay there unable to sleep, the possibility sprinting through his mind, not allowing him to rest.

This continued for a week after their adventure before the others confronted him about it. They said he looked like death and with their help, he took a break and calmed down. It didn’t last long however as it was only a couple weeks later that word came from the Tempest saying she had a lead.

Orym will always be thankful for Dorian and Fearne coming with him because he isn’t sure he could have gone back without them, and they kept him in check. He could tell that he was heading back in the same exact direction as before, but without the others, he doesn’t think he would have stopped himself.

There’s only so much that others can do, however, and just like with the Crown Keepers, meeting the Bells Hells was a blessing and a curse. Orym loved having others to care for and protect, but it always took a toll on him, one that never seemed to stop. They were doing good and then Bertrand was killed and Orym did not sleep besides being knocked out for two full days. It was only when Dorian realized what he was doing that Orym took a break with a watchful Dorian sitting next to him allowing Orym to relax a bit.

But now Dorian was gone. Sure, Orym could still talk to him once a day with the sending stone, but it wasn’t enough. And Orym still had Fearne and the others, but Dorian was the one who was better at noticing when Orym got bad. The others besides Fearne hadn’t seemed to realize his tendency to overwork himself yet and weren’t looking for it and Fearne was a bit spacy at times, so it was easy to hide from her.

Dorian was gone and they were searching for the creepy Shade Mother and Orym just needed everyone to be safe, to be ok. He needed to know that nothing bad would happen, but that couldn’t be provided. It did not help that Fresh Cut Grass seemed to be doing the same thing as Orym, just worse at hiding it.

After they defeated the Shade Mother, they talked to FCG, and honestly, Orym knew that he was being hypocritical by confronting FCG, but they needed to be confronted. Luckily enough, they get through to FCG and the aeormaton goes into status with Ashton in the room. As Imogen, Laudna, and Fearne discuss the stone that Imogen had found, Orym found himself wondering.

He didn’t leave the tavern; he didn’t want to scare any of the others and after Bertrand that meant not going out like that. But he did wander the tavern. Orym wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but he knew he couldn’t stop. If he stopped something bad would happen. If he stopped someone would get hurt or killed. If he stopped it would be his fault. What, he didn’t know, but it would still be his fault. He needed to keep an eye out for his friends, they had been through too much and Orym needed to protect them now.

Orym found himself quietly pacing the hallway, counting his steps, counting the doors, watching each of the rooms his friends resided in, counting the lanterns on the wall, counting the number of breaths he could hear. He clocked every noise of the quiet tavern in the late night. The snores coming from rooms, especially Chetney’s. The clink of glasses from downstairs with the few patrons still enjoying their drink. The sound of water splashing back into a basin from the washroom down another hallway. The creak of the floorboards as a person returned sleepily to their room. Orym listened for any noise out of the ordinary, anything that would indicate some bad occurrence, something that could hurt him or his friends.

He isn’t really sure how long it had been since he started pacing. He didn’t know if it was minutes or hours, but he caught it immediately when the door to the room where FCG and Ashton was supposed to be asleep opened. Orym turned intently and watched as a tired-looking Ashton stood in the doorway looking back at him.

“What are you doing?” Ashton asked with a low grunt. Orym stayed frozen as he took in the sight of the green person who was looking at him intently if not a bit out of it. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure all he knew was he couldn’t stop. He needed everyone to be safe. He needed to protect his friends.

“Well?” Ashton asked, annoyed now, his voice growing a little in volume.

“I’m…” Orym stuttered his tongue feeling too large for his mouth and the words not coming to him. “I’m watching.”

“Ok… Well, we don’t need someone on watch here,” Ashton said, his voice lowering again as they approached slowly, understanding seeming to dawn on his face. Orym didn’t like the look and quickly took a couple of steps back.

“I know. I know. It’s just…” Orym trails off for a moment, his vision seeming off and nothing feeling real as he continues to back up from the approaching form of Ashton. “I need to know that you are all safe. I need to protect you.”

Ashton held their hands up as they stepped forward, slowly as if Orym was a scared animal. He guessed he was kind of acting like one. Suddenly, without realizing it, Orym’s back hit the opposite wall. He slid down it as his knees buckled and the pounding of his heart filled his ears as his breaths came in pants.

The next thing Orym was sure of was the large form of Ashton kneeling in front of him, light glinting off the crystal in their head. Ashton was holding his hands where Orym could see them, and he was thankful that the genasi hadn’t tried to touch him. He never wanted to be touched when this happened. He dug his nails into a wound on his leg that hadn’t fully healed from their earlier battle. The sharp sting of the pain helped bring his focus back in and allow his ears to hear beyond his heartbeat, even if his breathing was still what others would consider too fast.

“No, let’s not do that. Fuck,” the last word was muttered under Ashton’s breath as he reached out and slowly grabbed Orym’s hand taking it away from the wound before Orym yanked his hand back as if stung by the contact.

“Ok, no touching, that’s fine. But you need to breathe with me alright,” Ashton continued to talk as he tried to get Orym to breathe at a slower, even rate that copied his own. It took what felt like forever, but eventually, Orym’s breath slowed to a point that Ashton was happy with.

“Alright, now we are going to go to bed,” Orym opened his mouth to protest, “No, this is non-negotiable. You are tired, injured, and doing exactly what we just got on Letters for. If you really need the reassurance, I’ll keep watch from in the room, alright?” Slowly Orym felt all the fight leave his body and he nodded tiredly.

The two of them went back into the room where Fresh Cut Grass was stationed in the corner. Orym got out of his armor but laid his sword on the bed next to where he would sleep. Ashton saw the move and went to stand by the door, presumably to take watch as Orym needed in order to feel safe enough to sleep.

Orym climbed into the bed and with one hand wrapped around his weapon, he felt the exhaustion of the past few days catch up with him and tiredly he said, “Thank you.”

Ashton smiled grimly at him and said, “Of course, little dude. Just next time, take a break when you need it, and don’t push yourself to this.” Orym nodded even though he knew that it wasn’t going to happen, it just wasn’t in his nature to take breaks even when he needed them.

Chapter Text

Nott knew she needed to be quick. The others were counting on her. Caleb was counting on her. The thought made her hands tremble and she took just a second to regain her bearings, she couldn’t afford a single slip-up.

The Mighty Nein had been hired by a village they were passing through to return a small statue that a witch had taken and hidden in her tower outside of the town. The statue was apparently a sign of Pelor and without their symbol of the Dawnfather, their crops had been suffering. They agreed to defeat the witch and return their statue, for money of course.

The witch had been easy enough to take care of. They had caught her by surprise outside of her tower and quickly brought her down. Once she had woken up, they had asked her nicely, Fjord’s idea, where the statue was, and the old woman cackled as she pointed up towards the top of her tower.

“Up at the top. Good luck getting past all my traps,” she crowed and Beau who was just fed up punched the witch in the face causing her to pass out again.

The Mighty Nein had entered the bottom level of the tower and found a small kitchen area and a spiraling staircase that led up. They started to move towards the staircase when Yasha tripped some sort of trap and one of the large kitchen knives flew and embedded it in her shoulder. The group quickly backed up and taken care of the injured barbarian.

“There you go,” Jester said peppily as a bright pink light flowed from her hand into Yasha, closing the wound.

“How do we want to do this?” Beau asked.

Fjord hummed thoughtfully before turning to Nott, “Do you think you could make it up there?” Nott stared at the knife that lay on the ground where they had dropped it after removing it from Yasha’s shoulder. Her stomach twisted at the thought. What if something bad happened? What if she missed a trap and triggered it and there was no one there to save her?

“Nott?” the comforting voice of Caleb brought her out of her thoughts. He was looking at her with concern in his eyes. Nott’s mind switched directions and suddenly there was a new question. If they all went up and someone got hurt, would it be her fault for not going first? She couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for the other’s injuries. She was the rogue. She was the one who found and disabled the traps. She was the fast, sneaky, small one. The others could fight and do great things, but this was her job. Caleb was fragile and needed her to protect him.

Nott stood straighter as she made up her mind and drew her flask out taking a long draft. The ever-present alcohol filled her body with a familiar sensation of warmth and the liquid courage she had come to rely on filled her veins.

“Alright, I’ve got this. I’ll be right back.” Caleb squeezed her hand gently and the goblin hurried over to where the trap Yasha had triggered lay. She investigated the trap before continuing and found that it was a one-time deal, and no more knives would be coming for them.

She moved to the first step and looked closely at the first few steps looking for anything suspicious. As there was nothing, she moved up quickly, stepping lightly as to not hit any pressure plates that may be present. Nott made it to the first landing with no trouble. At the start of the second flight, she encountered a thin wire, similar to the one Caleb often used, strung above the step. She looked up and saw a set of three knives hanging from the ceiling. This may have seemed like a simple and foolish trap, but if Nott had not been watching for it and been as low to the ground as she was being a goblin, it may have worked. No matter, it didn’t work on her, and she quickly stepped over the line continuing up the stairs.

Nott made it up the rest of the second flight and missed the next trap. Part way up the third flight there was a step that seemed to have a crack running down the middle. Instinctively Nott tried to move closer to the wall to avoid the crack, but as she went by, she touched a brick in the wall that must have been a trigger because suddenly there was a thick green gas flowing from both sides of the wall.

Nott gasped without thinking and started coughing immediately. She could feel something bad, perhaps poisonous, running through her body, replacing the liquid courage from her early swig of alcohol. Her heart started to beat faster, and her mind raced. Should she go back to the others? No, she needed to make sure the others didn’t have to deal with this as well.

She pushed herself off the wall she hadn’t realized she was now leaning against and continued up the stairs. When she hit the next landing, she could see that there were only two more flights, but her head was starting to spin. Nott knew she needed to be quick, but the gas was causing her body and mind to rebel against her. She allowed herself a moment to breathe and started to climb up the next set.

The gas still in her veins muddied her vision and she missed another trap that caused a cross-bolt to come flying out from a spot in the wall. Nott was quick enough to get out of a direct line of hit, but her hand still had a crossbow bolt through it, and she could tell that at least two of her fingers were broken. ‘This is fine,’ she told herself as she quickly clambered up the rest of the stairs.

She was able to avoid the rest of the traps and reached the top of the tower. There was a door that she easily lockpicked and within was a study with a desk and bookshelves lining the walls. At first, she was drawn to the books, sure that Caleb would appreciate more reading materials. Nott shook herself out of it however when she saw what they had come there for.

The statue was sitting in the corner. It was about a foot tall, smaller than she had imagined, but had a masculine figure holding a sun out in his outstretched palms. Quickly, Nott rushed over and picked up the statue, and rushed back down the stairs careful to avoid all the traps on her way back down.

Once she reached the others, she was immediately bombarded by a concerned Caleb who took her injured hand in his own and examined the bolt. Nott could tell that he was saying something to her, but she could not make out what it was for the life of her. Her head was still spinning, even more now, and she guessed it was a combination of the gas and blood loss.

“I’ve got it,” Nott said drowsily and passed the artifact off to Beau before her vision went completely black and she knew of nothing around her.

Nott woke up what could have been minutes, hours, or days, for all she knew later. She was in a tavern room, probably one of the ones in the small tavern in the village they were in. There was a lantern glowing on the table beside the bed she was laying in and Caleb was sitting in a chair by it, attempting to read. Nott could tell that he was anxious by his shaking leg and the fact that his eyes weren’t actually moving over the page he was on.

“Hey,” Nott tried to say, but her voice came out horse. Caleb startled slightly and smiled softly at the sight of his small friend awake.

“Nott, how are you feeling?” Nott took stock of her body before answering. She was definitely feeling better than the last time she was awake. Her body was sore and her fingers hurt slightly but the room wasn’t spinning and the poison was no longer coursing through her veins.

“Better. What happened?”

Caleb sighed before replying, “You finished our mission, but you didn’t take care of yourself. You should have come back down after the gas, Nott.”

“But I did not want you guys to get hurt and I needed to be quick,” Nott protested but Caleb just shook his head.

“Nein. We need you, not the mission. And besides, you were and always are quick.” Nott grasped the human’s hand and squeezed it tightly, silently promising both of them that she would heed his words from now on.