Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And that’s where we’ll pick up next week!” I say, internally bracing myself for the chorus of groans that invariably follow that declaration. No one ever wants our weekly D&D game to end. But, as I glance at the clock, it is already past 10:00 and I know for a fact that at least one group member still has studying to do before tomorrow’s classes. And I promised I’d be there too.

“Hey, great session!” says Frank, wandering up to my table as I finish putting away my books and fold up my DM screen. I hurriedly flip over my note pages so as not to let him read my campaign secrets.

I smile. “Thanks.” He knows how much this means to me; I had been terrified my first few sessions as a DM, but I’d like to think I’m starting to get the hang of it. I’ve taken quite a bit of inspiration from watching Critical Role, but as I’ve gotten more comfortable behind the screen, I’ve begun to experiment more and find my own style.

Frank stands by my table as I scoop notebooks and minis into my bag. Besides just being an overall sweet person, my best friend is waiting to walk with me over to the library, where I promised I would study with him.

Finishing putting the last of my stuff into my backpack, I sling the bag over my shoulder and stand up, picking up my viola case that I had brought having just come from rehearsal, and we begin the walk to the library. It’s not far away, but the campus is dark and still snow-covered despite the weather beginning to warm up at the onset of spring.

The library is one of my favorite places on campus. It’s a beautiful building, the high ceiling and dark mahogany desks and bookshelves lining the walls giving it a rather stately, majestic medieval fantasy feel. And, best of all, it is almost always perfectly silent.

We sit down at one of the desks, Frank setting down his bassoon case and pulling out his thick chemistry textbook and a spiral notebook from his backpack. He opens the textbook and begins to read, stopping to jot down some notes every so often.

I had brought along the novel assigned by my literature class, a surprisingly enjoyable read for being a mandatory assignment. I take it out of my backpack and open to where I had left off. The story pulls me in immediately, the characters and scenery coming to life through elegant prose and vivid descriptions.

Time has no meaning when I read; I have to remind myself to look up every so often to make sure it’s not dawn by the time I remember I exist in this world. Once, I glance up only to see Frank face-down in his textbook, fast asleep. Smiling to myself, I remind myself to tease him about it later. For now, I go back to my book.

I can feel my eyes growing heavy as well, the urge to sleep fighting my need to keep reading. I rest my head on my arm, leaning on the table, but I keep going for as long as I can, just one more chapter, I’ll wake up Frank after I find out what happens to the king…

I never do find out what happens to the king. Before I’ve finished the chapter, sleep wins. My eyes fall shut, and the book drops from my fingers. I would be embarrassed, but it’s not like I’ve never fallen asleep in the library before. I’m here so often, and the walk back to my dorm feels so long when it’s this late and I’m half asleep already, that sometimes I don’t even bother, and just use my backpack as a pillow and pass out on the dark wood desk hugging my viola case. This happens often enough that my mom jokes that she shouldn’t be paying this much for room and board just for me to sleep in the library like a hobo and not even use my dorm. But there is something comforting about the library, something almost familial. I wouldn’t sleep here every night, I don’t sleep as well as I do in a real bed and I invariably wake up with a sore neck and back and a red mark on my face from where it pressed against my arm, but sometimes a nice nap in the library is just what I need. And today is one of those days.

My body relaxes as I allow the darkness to overtake me, slowly slipping into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

The first thing I feel when consciousness begins to reclaim me is a strange tickling sensation on my face. Instinctively, I try to move my head away from the feeling, but it seems to follow me, tiny soft points of contact brushing across my face. Still half-asleep with my eyes closed, I mumble something incomprehensible, figuring Frank is just messing with me. On nights when we both fall asleep in the library, he usually drifts off before me, but also wakes up before me, and sometimes his methods of letting me know it’s time to wake up are less than pleasant.

A shiver through my body brings me to the realization that the air is much colder than it should be in the library. It’s not unbearable, as the outside temperatures would be, but it’s strange. Perhaps the power went out?

Eyes still closed, I attempt to stretch myself to an upright position, but my back is inflexible. Maybe falling asleep at the desk was a bad idea after all, I would’ve been so much more comfortable in my dorm room…

I rub my eyes open, ready to gripe at Frank for tickling my nose.

But I’m not at a desk. I’m not in the library. I’m lying in a field of grass- which explains the tickling- in a small forest glade with trees stretching up around me on all sides.

What a lovely dream I’m having.

At least, that’s what I think, until I look over and see, about ten feet away, another figure beginning to stir. He turns towards me, rubbing his eyes. It’s… Frank. But not. His backpack is there, his bassoon case beside him, and all his familiar facial features are there- his dark brown eyes, currently squinting from drowsiness; his disheveled black hair that always sticks up just so when he falls asleep at the desk. But his clothes…

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” His sigh brings me back to the moment as he evidently takes in the situation. “Caught us sleeping in the library, thought it would be funny to dump us out in the woods?” He glances up at the sky. The sun is bright and warm; it must be nearing midday. “I bet I’m late for my chemistry exam,” he groans.

But something seems off to me. Really, really off. “It can’t be,” I begin slowly, attempting to stand despite my stiff, inflexible back. “It’s supposed to be much colder than this. There was a foot of snow on the ground yesterday; there’s no way it would’ve melted overnight…” My gaze diverts back to my friend. “And what the heck are you wearing?”

He has on a brown top, what looks like leather, under a loose longsleeve robe of mottled deep purple. Baggy gray pants are tucked into boots which also appear to be soft leather, as is the belt wrapped around his waist. He clutches in one hand a large stick, about his height if not taller, of a light brown wood, mostly straight but a little gnarled. Some sort of blue gem is embedded in one end, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was glowing faintly. He looks quite ridiculous.

“Me?” Frank-not-Frank asks incredulously. “Have you seen yourself? You’re shiny.”

I look down to find my whole torso covered in glistening silver. No wonder I can’t move my back- I’m encased in metal. The armor extends in a leather skirt-like pattern past my belt, over which I have my own blue and white robes. My pants are similar to my companion’s, albeit a little less baggy, but my boots are almost knee-high and reinforced with metal, as are the gauntlets on my arms. A large oval shield lays beside my backpack and viola case, the same blue and white as my robes.

But the strangest part is the oddly heavy pendant hanging from my neck. I hold it up and look at it, and find it looking back at me. It’s a circle of deep metallic blue, about three inches in diameter, with an inscription inlaid in silver depicting three very realistic eyes, one set directly above and in the center of the pair, each with a roughly cut amethyst serving as the iris. Realistically, it should have freaked me out, but instead I feel myself filling with an unexpected calm, as if this is meant to be here.

As I stare at it, trying to decipher the symbol, I hear a strange, startling clacking sound, almost like some bowling pins getting knocked over. I look up sharply and see a baseball-sized shape hovering in front of me, almost spherical but not quite; it’s shaped more like… a die. A d20, to be exact. And the number on the top is a 7. As I’m still coming to terms with this, a small number appears, floating in the air beside it, stating “+9”.

Seven plus nine is sixteen, but what does that have to do with…

Suddenly, recognition of the eye symbol hits me. The pendant in my hand is a symbol of Ioun, goddess of knowledge, from the Exandrian pantheon. But why do I have it? What’s with the die? And what is going on? Nothing else makes any sense, but that piece of information is now crystallized in my mind.

“Did you just see that?” I asked Frank-not-Frank.

“See what? The weird eyeball thing? Yeah, that’s been there the whole time. Why?”

“No, the floating die. It rolled in front of me, there was a number next to it?”

“The what? I… think you might be hallucinating.” He looks at me skeptically.

“It was right here…” I point to where the die had appeared in front of my face, and as he stares at the spot intently, trying to figure out what I had seen, his face suddenly shifts to one of slight shock. He focuses on a point in space, looking baffled, but I don’t see anything.

“There’s… a die. It says 16. Now there’s a… +1? So, 17?”

I stare at the spot he is looking at, but see nothing, nor had I heard the sound that had accompanied my roll a minute before.

“Well, there’s the die you were talking about, and… what’s wrong with your ears?” He says suddenly, focusing intently on my face.

“My ears? I can hear fine. But I didn’t see any-”

“No, they’re, like, shaped weirdly.”

I quickly bring my hand up to touch my ears, briefly startled by the flash of light reflecting off the metal-reinforced gauntlet on my arm. They’re narrower than I remember, and they come to a slight point at the top. “Wha…?”

Fake-Frank finally asks the question we have both been thinking- “Where the heck are we?”

“It’s gotta be a dream,” I say decisively, reaching down to pick up my things. I carry the shield in one hand and my viola in the other, with my backpack- I hadn’t even tried looking to see what was inside yet, but it’s incredibly heavy- slung across one shoulder. “There’s no other logical explanation. I’m dreaming. You’re part of my imagination.” We begin to walk through the forest, down a path that intersects with the small opening in the trees.

“But, if this is your dream, why am I experiencing this too?” Fake-Frank kicks at a rock, sending it skidding along the path.

“Carl Jung’s collective unconscious?” I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“At least it’s nice out,” my friend offers, always one to find the positive.

He’s right; back on campus, this walk would have been uncomfortable at best, potentially dangerous at worst, with frigid temperatures and chilling winds cutting through the protection of a jacket and blowing powdered snowdrifts across the sidewalks. The air here is warm, but only by comparison. It’s cool enough to feel pleasant on my skin as we walk and walk, though my torso is sweating and overheating in the confines of the metal armor.

Small patches of snow occasionally dot the landscape, mostly in the darkest parts of the shadows of trees, areas that stay cooler than the rest of the ground. By contrast, the sunny areas are lush with vibrant green grass and tiny, unfamiliar flowers. Wherever we are, it seems to be the dawn of springtime. As confused and worried as I am, even I must admit the landscape is beautiful. It’s like… something out of a story.

Of course. I fell asleep while reading a fantasy novel, sitting in the library studying with Frank. This seems a completely logical course of dreaming that might occur from those circumstances- lovely landscape and fantastical attire and armor, with my friend along for some journey, whatever this is. That’s settled, then. It’s a dream.

But, I ponder as a slight breeze makes me shiver a little despite the bead of sweat I feel dripping down my back, when have my sensations ever been this vivid in a dream? To see a full field of vision this clearly and in detail, to hear the soft chirping of unfamiliar birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze, to feel the ambient air temperature and every slight interaction of object and skin, to smell the dirt and the grass and the newly blooming trees- heck, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a sense of smell in a dream, and each instance was brief and had some strong meaning tied to it. But this…

We emerge from the trees, and the landscape ahead changes abruptly. We find ourselves standing at the edge of farmlands, almost as far as I can see. In the distance, over vast plains of what appears to be recently planted crops, is a wall. When I try to make out more detail, I am once again startled by a clacking sound as a die rolls in front of me. It lands on a 6, but the number beside it says +7. Still, I am unable to make out much of the distant wall rising above the farmlands and small houses between here and there.

“I think there’s a city up there!” says Fake-Frank, pointing towards the wall.

“Is… that a good thing?” I ask.

“Well, what else are we gonna do, sleep in the woods?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, earning a sigh in response. “Well, we could!” I protest defensively.

“Is that really a realistic option, though?” As if answering his own question, my friend continues walking forward, along the path towards the farmlands and eventually the city.

“I guess that’s a no,” I sigh, and walk quickly to catch up with him.

Chapter Text

The huge double doors built into the wall stand open, allowing us passage into the city. On the other side, we find a world completely different from the peaceful forest and farmlands we had been walking through for much of the day. The streets, full of people walking and talking and laughing, are bordered on both sides by rows of buildings. Carts wheel by bearing food items or sellable goods, and vendors shout, advocating for their products. It’s loud, and it’s too crowded. Almost overwhelmingly so. I glance at Fake-Frank, but he doesn’t show any sign of understanding my plight. He never has. And so I readjust my grip on my shield and keep moving forward.

Despite how I had felt about our attire earlier, I now feel glad for it- we fit in relatively well with our armor and robes, much more so than if we had been wearing jeans and sweatshirts like we had been back on campus. Even my large shield isn’t too out of place; heavily armored guards occasionally wander through the streets in full plate mail, with weapons held not in a threatening position but at the ready.

“Where are we going?” I ask my companion.

He shrugs. “I was going to ask you.”

“Let’s make it quick. I can’t deal with… this,” I gesture to the surrounding street, “for forever.”

He nods. “Should we try to find a place to stay for tonight?”

Right. A place to stay. With no money, no idea where we even are, somewhere in an unknown land where nothing makes sense and everything is strange and unfamiliar. I groan internally. We should’ve just stuck with the woods.

“Yeah, I guess we should, but how are we going to know where is a good place? And what’s safe?”

Before I can stop him, Fake-Frank is walking up to a complete stranger, one of the town guards no less. “No, don’t… You can’t just…” I try to pull him back.

But it’s too late.

“Excuse me, sir, where can we find a good place to stay here? We’re… new in town,” I hear him say.

The guard looks at him, then at me, then down at the cases in our hands. “You musicians?” he asks in a vaguely Southern drawl.

Fake-Frank looks at me, and we both nod slowly. What does that have to do with the question?

“Well, I know the Scholar’s Respite is lookin’ for sum musicians at the moment, they’ll prolly give ya free room and board in exchange for performin’. Maybe even a decent wage if yur lucky.”

The Scholar’s Respite. Well, that sounds reputable, at least. And we could use the money.

“And… how do we get there?”

The guard points to the crossroads ahead of us. “Yur gonna take a left at that road up there, follow it for quite a ways ‘til ya get to the Erudite Quarter. Yur gonna wanna turn right at the white marble tower, and keep goin’, and the inn’ll be on yur right. Got it?”

Erudite Quarter… why does that sound so familiar…? I could’ve sworn I’ve heard that name before… but where?

My friend nods. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure.” The guard gives a single nod of acknowledgement, late afternoon sunlight glinting off his helmet. 

“So, turn left here, right at the white tower, and it’ll be on the right,” I say quietly, as much to myself as to Fake-Frank, after we had walked away in the direction the guard had indicated.

He nods, following the road as it goes off to the left.

We walk in relative silence for a while. Speech would be quite difficult anyway, considering the bustle of the city noise around us. The road seems to parallel the outer wall, keeping it to our left as we walk, and after a time, the noise dies down a little, the crowds thin out, and the shops and buildings are less clustered together.

Further still, and we enter what seems to be a lush garden. Among the newly budding trees and flowers, the atmosphere is much quieter, almost peaceful. Other people’s paces are slower, their conversations more hushed. We pass a beautiful marble fountain, which features a statue depicting two figures dancing together, one a beautiful young woman with long, wild hair adorned with leaves, the other an armored figure with a hood shrouding the face.

A river runs just to our right, wide and swift, with more buildings and shops on its opposite bank. As we exit the garden, it begins to turn away from the road and head deeper into the city, while we continue to parallel the outer wall.

We continue on for quite a ways, through an area that seems to be more sparse relative to where we first entered. As we pass through this area, the architecture begins to change. Where before the buildings were more temporary-looking, many of the shops closer to tents in their construction rather than buildings and even the permanent structures looked a little haphazard and whimsical, that style begins to give way to buildings much more solid, stoic, and imposing. Most now are varieties of stone rather than wood or cloth, sophisticated and elegant in their construction. Back where we first entered the city, a white tower would have stuck out like a sore thumb; here, we almost miss it.

We are walking along when suddenly something moves in front of my face. A die roll.

“Wha-” Startled, I stop, which isn’t a good move in the still somewhat crowded streets.

“Everything alright?” asks Fake-Frank, looking a little concerned.

The die lands on a 14, with a +7 beside it totaling 21.

Immediately, I look up and see what we were about to pass by- a tower, a few stories higher than the rest of the buildings, made of a pale stone. Just before it, a road intersects with the one we have been walking on.

I point to the building. “There’s the tower. This is where we turn.” I shake my head quickly. “Sorry, I’m still not used to these dice in my face.”

“I’m not sure I ever will be,” he says as we begin to turn down the road to the right.

“Alright, now keep your eyes open for the… what was the name of it? The Scholar’s…”

“Scholar’s Respite,” my friend confirms.

With my roll of 21, I am able to spot it quickly: a large building, three stories high, built primarily of wood, making it stand out from its mostly-stone neighbors. A sign on the front of the building declares its name, with a symbol of a quill and a pair of round glasses lying unused beside a bottle of ink.

I gesture to it with my head. “There it is, that’s our place.”

I find that I don’t need to shout to be heard here like I did in the area of the city we had come from. Though this area is still very populated, the atmosphere is quite different. The people walking by are focused, dignified, reserved. Though conversations still ring out and carts still drive by, there is a distinct lack of shouting or raised voices. People talk in normal tones, if they talk at all; many keep to themselves as they go about their business, walking at brisk paces.

Pushing open the door to the Scholar’s Respite, the interior is warm and cozy in nature. Wooden tables are scattered throughout the large room, many of which are occupied by people sitting together, laughing and talking over meals and drinks. The energy is a little less restrained than it is outside, but still much calmer than in the first area of the city. At the far side of the room, a wooden bar area is also occupied by people, some talking and some sitting quietly to themselves.

The woman behind the bar, who is quite short and stout, dressed in a brown apron with a long reddish braid down her back, notices us enter immediately. “’Ello! What can I do for ye today?” she calls out good-naturedly. Her accent is thick, but I struggle to place it- perhaps Scottish?

Then, looking down and seeing the cases in our hands, her expression changes to one of intense interest. “O! Are ye musicians?”

We begin making our way closer to the bar so as not to shout across the room. I nod, while Fake-Frank says, “Yes, we were told you’re hiring.”

The woman grins. “Ye were told correctly! It’s been a migh’y long time since we’ve ‘ad live music in this establishmen’. Most folk ‘ere in this part o’ town, even the ones that play, are just too busy mos’ of the time.” She dries her hands off on a cloth and holds one out to us, offering a handshake. “My name’s Helva, I’m the owner of the Scholar’s Respite. And you are…?”

Though normally I’m perfectly content to let my friend take charge in social situations, I am the one who accepts her handshake. Her hand is large and meaty in proportion to her short body, and her skin is rough and callused against mine as she shakes my hand firmly. I find words coming out of my mouth that I hadn’t put there. “I’m Korakiel, and this is my friend Siveldor.”

What? Where did those names come from? I know I didn’t make them up on the spot; I don’t have a gift for that sort of thing. They seemed natural flowing off my tongue, as if I’d known them my whole life, though I’m sure I had never heard them before. I can feel my companion’s confusion burning into me from the side, but I don’t have any more answers to his questions than he does. The only answer I get is a feeling of warmth on my chest, right where the symbol around my neck rests against my armor.

“Huh,” says Helva. “I’ve never ‘eard of ye before.” It’s not rude or suspicious, only full of curiosity.

“We’re… new in these parts,” I say.

“Well, I’m sure ye’ll build up a fine name for yerselves soon enough!” says the barkeep cheerfully. “For yer services, I’d be willin’ to offer ye a room and meals for every day ye work, as well as a small earnings on top. How about one gold piece per day?”

Gold piece? Sure, ok, that’s a form of currency, but I have no idea what it’s worth, or whether it’s a fair wage. And I’m pretty sure Helva isn’t well-versed on the exchange rate of US dollars.

But she’s offering free food and a roof over our heads, which is really all we need right now. So I nod. “Sounds good.”

She grins. “Excellen’. Well, I’ll give ye yer room now, let ye get situated. Ye look like ye’ve had a long journey. How about ye rest tonight, and ye can get star’ed tomorrow?” She ducks under the bar briefly, disappearing for a moment before popping back up with a key in her hand, which she holds out to me. “This’ll be for ye, ye’ll be lookin’ fer room 205. Up those stairs just there, third door on the left. Ye can come back down whenever ye want some dinner.”

I take the key. “Thanks. We’ll be down in the morning to play!”

“Lookin’ forward t’ it!” Helva says with a hearty laugh.

I walk up the stairs with my friend in tow, unlocking and opening the door to our room. I breathe an internal sigh of relief to find that there are two beds; otherwise, knowing us, we would’ve been arguing about who got the floor. The room is simple but tidy, with the two beds on one side and a desk on the other, just beside a door, open, leading to a small bathroom. On the far wall, green and white plaid curtains frame a glass-paned window that looks out over some more buildings, bathed in a golden evening glow as the sun sets on the horizon.

As soon as I close the door behind us, my companion turns on me. “What was that all about? The names?”

I shake my head, just as bewildered as he is. “I have no idea. I’ve never heard those names before, and I didn’t come up with them on the spot. They just… sorta came out of my mouth. Somehow felt like the right thing to say.” I place my viola case on the desk and sit down on one of the beds with my backpack beside me.

“Well, I guess those are our names now,” he says. “We have to be consistent about it.”

I still can’t shake the odd feeling I have about those names. Somehow, it feels like… well, like those have always been our names. Which is weird, because they weren’t. We had names back where we came from. I’d never heard these names before until they were coming out of my own mouth. Which is weird by itself. I’m not sure how to say any of that out loud, though, so I don’t. I merely nod in agreement, hiding my confusion by fiddling with the opening of my backpack. “Yeah, consistent. We don’t want people thinking we’re trying to run from the law with fake identities.”

“What was I again?” he asks.

“Siveldor,” I reply immediately- again, without even thinking about it. How am I doing this?

“I’m not really sure that fits me,” he says with a slight laugh. “It’s kind of a mouthful.”

“Yeah, well, so is Korakiel. But hopefully it will help us blend in, and not make us look stupid?”

I open the backpack, idly curious about whether my novel is still inside. Unsurprisingly, given the rest of the day’s events and discoveries, its contents are completely different from the backpack I had with me back in the library.

Immediately upon opening it, I find a ball of spiked metal on a stick. A mace? Why do I have a mace? I know that wasn’t in there before. Upon closer look, it is covered with tiny scrolling letters in a text unfamiliar to me, and seems to glow with a soft purple light. As I touch the leather-wrapped hilt, the letters flare faintly brighter.

The clattering roll of the phantom die startles me out of my head. It lands on an 8, but the modifier that appears a second later is a +13. Immediately it hits me- this mace is magical. It blasts the minds of enemies with knowledge powerful enough to break them.

“Magic?” I say aloud, not even really understanding the knowledge in my own head. Since when has magic been real? But continuing to stare at the mace only cements the statement in my head.

“Magic?” echoes the newly-dubbed Siveldor.

“Yeah, apparently this mace that’s in my backpack for some reason is magic.”

“Says who?” My friend crosses the room to stand beside me, giving a curious glance to the weapon I hold very cautiously.

“The… voices in my head?” I offer. I don’t have any answers. I’m really not sure where all this knowledge is coming from, other than maybe being some sort of result of the phantom die. As if we were characters in a D&D game, whose knowledge and abilities are controlled by a roll of the dice…

Siveldor gently takes the mace from me and inspects it more closely. I can see from his expression the moment he experiences a die roll too. A moment passes before he hands the weapon back, shaking his head with resignation. “Yeah, it’s magic. Seems pretty powerful, too.” He sighs. “I didn’t get any cool stuff in my backpack, just a couple of books and some ink.”

I laugh disbelievingly as I pull the next item out of my backpack. “Want a crossbow?”

“No thanks,” he gives a slight laugh. “I don’t think I’d be able to use it.”

“Me either,” I shrug and put it back, digging through the rest of the contents. I find an ink and quill set, a change of clothes, a knife that looks useful for woodcarving, some rope, a bunch of thick sturdy wooden sticks wrapped on one end in cloth, and some food. But no answers.

“Huh?” Siveldor’s voice brings me out of my backpack search.

“What is it?” I ask, wandering over. My friend’s nose is buried in a book with deep brown bindings and slightly worn pages.

“This is my handwriting. But I know I never wrote this.”

He points to the page, upon which I can see slightly smudged ink scrawled in a familiar messy script. I know my best friend’s handwriting, and this is definitely it. But the writing speaks of fire, of light, of illusions, of strange rituals and gibberish phrases.

“Weird.” I check the front and back cover, but they’re just plain dark leather, with no hints towards the origin or contents of the pages within. “I don’t know. That’s odd.” I pause, before continuing suddenly, “This whole day has been odd. We don’t know where we are, heck, I’m not even sure what we are. We don’t belong here, but I have no idea how to get back. Do you?”

Siveldor shakes his head. “I missed two tests today already, plus that really important rehearsal for orchestra. We’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back.”

If we get back, I think to myself.

Outside the window, the sun has set, cloaking the land in darkness save for lights in the windows of buildings. But, I notice, the land here is far darker than the cities I’m used to, the urban lights fewer and farther between. And as I look upwards into the night sky on my way to close the curtains for the evening, I glimpse, among the unfamiliar pattern of stars, a small, reddish crescent just beside a large pale one. The whitish one is too large to be the Moon, and the red one far too large to be Mars.

I rub my eyes in disbelief, but when I open them again, they’re both still there.

“Look,” I point up at the sky, beginning to struggle out of my armor.

Siveldor comes to the window, mid-yawn. “What is it?”

“There are two moons.”

He blinks a few times, just as shocked as I am. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means that wherever we are… we aren’t on Earth.” A shiver runs down my spine.

“This has got to be a dream,” he mutters, closing the curtains before turning back towards his bed.

I can’t disagree with him. It’s the only theory we’ve had that makes any sense. But somehow, as I carefully climb under the covers of the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room, with a shining metal breastplate and a shield and a backpack full of archaic and apparently magical weapons beside me, I can’t help the strange growing sensation that this is not a dream at all. Somehow, this is very real. 

Chapter Text

I don’t sleep very well. My mind races all night, waking me often, and the little rest I do get is fitful and dreamless. I finally wake for good when the curtain slides open, letting bright morning sunlight stream into the room. Siveldor, already awake, stands on the other side of the room, his back to me as he faces out the window, picking up his instrument case.

“Morning,” I yawn, rubbing the blurriness out of my eyes.

“About time,” he laughs quietly. I narrow my eyes at him, but say nothing.

As I continue the process of waking up, I hear the sound of a zipper, and then a long pause. “Ummm…”

I sit up, looking over to where my friend stands before his instrument case. “What is it?”

“What… is this?” He pulls something out of the case that looks like a log. It’s about three feet long, made of a beautiful light brown wood, and vaguely… bassoon-shaped. Though it looks more like a small child’s first rendition of a bassoon after having only seen one once: it’s wildly out of proportion, with a very short bell and a body that is too wide for its short length; and it only has a row of finger-holes instead of the usual chaotic collection of metal keys and rods. The thin tube of metal he pulls out next is almost bocal-shaped, but again, just not quite right.

“What happened to my bassoon?”

A wave of near-panic hits me. I never checked on my viola yesterday…

No longer nearly as sleepy, I jump out of bed and rush to my case. Opening it, I find that, sure enough, the instrument inside is definitely not my viola. Like Siveldor’s bassoon, it is roughly the right shape, but not quite. The sound holes are misshapen, and the curvature of the instrument’s body is off. It does have a bow, though, and checking the strings, they seem to be tuned in the familiar way.

“I think I can still play, but… what happened?” I sigh, taking the instrument out of the case. I suppose, given the rest of the recent changes to our possessions, that the modification of our instruments shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“I think I can make it work,” he agrees. “But what are we gonna play?”

Crap. I hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m sure we can figure something out? Worst case scenario, we can always just play some old orchestra music. No one will know.”

“I guess,” he says, still sounding very unsure. “Should we go down, then?”

I pull my outer robes on, not bothering with my armor. “Sure.”

This is going to be a disaster.

Helva is waiting for us behind the bar when we walk downstairs. The tavern is open and a few patrons sit at tables eating, but it is not nearly as occupied for the breakfast hours as it was in the evening. “Ah, there ye are!” she greets us. “Why don’ ye have a seat an’ eat some breakfast before ye start playin’ fer the day?”

“Oh, thank you,” I say, sitting down at the nearly vacant bar. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was until the mention of food. Siveldor sits down beside me as the redheaded tavern owner slides us each a plate of roasted sausage and biscuits.

“Wha’ can I get ye to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Siveldor replies immediately.

“I’ll have water as well,” I agree.

“Ah, not really morning drinkers, I see,” she notes as she fills up two wooden mugs and passes them to us.

“Thank you,” I nod and begin to eat.

The sausage is wonderfully crispy and tastes like it was cooked over a wood fire- which, given the circumstances, is entirely likely- and the biscuits are warm and buttery and delicious. I finish my plate surprisingly quickly, as does my friend.

“Where should we set up?” I ask as Helva comes back over to clear our plates. “Breakfast was wonderful, by the way.”

She grins. “Thank ye. I’ll have ye play righ’ over there,” she points to an area in one corner where the floor is raised a step, acting as a semblance of a stage. “Le’ me know if ye need anythin’!”

“Sure thing,” nods Siveldor. Wiping our hands clean, we set up our instruments on the stage area. I rosin my bow and tune my strings, trying to ignore the odd shape of the unfamiliar instrument. My friend’s strange bassoon, I notice, doesn’t take nearly as long to set up as usual; it appears to not come apart at all but fit into the case in a single piece. Soon, our instruments are out and ready to go.

“Do you need me to get you a chair?” I ask, accustomed to my bassoonist friend needing special assistance with his instrument.

“No, I don’t have a seat strap,” Siveldor replies. He looks perfectly calm, but having known him for many years I’m pretty sure this is as close as he gets to panic.

“So, how are you going to play? Standing up?”

“I’m going to have to,” he shrugs. “This instrument is small enough, I think I can manage.”

A pause as we both get ready to play, and then he turns back to me. “What are we playing?”

“Uh…” I pause for a long time, considering. “You know that one duet we played a while back? The one that sorta sounded like a sea shanty?” I suggest. We haven’t touched it in a year, and we don’t have any sheet music, but it might be our best option.

He gets a look on his face as he tries to remember the piece, but slowly nods. “I’ll try.” Taking a reed out of his water cup, he lifts the instrument to his lips, and we breathe together, ready to play.

Just before hitting the first note, I hear a now-familiar clatter, and a die rolls in front of me. Based on my friend’s reaction, he sees one too. My die lands on a 12, with only a measly +2 modifier, for a total of 14. My performance is passable, but is by no means great. The piece is rusty and the instrument unfamiliar; I stumble over a few notes, and struggle to pick up on the intricacies of playing this strange new viola, but never badly enough to be noticeable. Siveldor seems to be doing better than me, hitting every note in its place and encouraging me along when my memory slips. He seems to be adjusting to the newness better than I. I wonder to myself what he rolled.

The tavern’s few morning patrons clap politely when we finish. Great, now we have to find something else to play.

“Should we just do one of our orchestra pieces?” I whisper. “I’m kinda feeling Tchaikovsky.” The 14 I rolled makes me a little nervous though- or does it reset for each piece we play?

“Sure,” he nods.

I bring the instrument back to my chin after rolling out my neck, and cue him in. Once again, the phantom die lands in front of me. But this time, it lands on a 20. My eyes widen; 20 is good, right?

Rather than fading out of existence as the dice have been doing, it begins to glow with a soft golden light, then seemingly gets sucked into my instrument. That was weird.

Siveldor seems to be struggling to control his strange bassoon-like contraption far more in this more technical piece than in the last. I don’t envy his position; the fingering technique must be all new, aside from the fact that the instrument responds and behaves in ways he has not yet learned. Plus, he probably rolled poorly. Meanwhile, my total of 22 carries me through the piece with ease, even nailing the most difficult passages. I find myself wishing that I could do something to cover for my friend.

The moment the thought enters my mind, something happens. I feel a tingling sensation in my hands, and my instrument begins to shimmer.

Suddenly, bursts of sparkles like tiny fireworks flash around us, matching up with our music- showers of blue, red, purple, silver, filling the stage and dazzling the tavern. The audience gasps in wonder and surprise; even Helva stops wiping plates for a moment to stare, her eyebrows raised. I am no less shocked than they are. Where did that come from?

As soon as the piece ends, with a grand finale of colorful bursts, earning much more enthusiastic applause than our previous performance, the tavernkeeper approaches us, looking impressed. “Why didn’ ye tell me ye were magic musicians?”

“I… I didn’t know, myself. I’m just as surprised as you. I’m not even sure how it happened.” I look down at my hands, as if I would find the answers etched into my skin. But they’re just as pasty, ungraceful, and unremarkable as always.

Her face falls a little. “So… ye don’ know if ye can do it agin?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I could try, but…” It would probably take another nat 20, I think to myself.

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

The remainder of the day passes almost agonizingly slowly. We find ourselves having to scrounge for music to play; occasionally we take turns playing solo works we had learned on our real instruments back home, just to add extra length to our painfully short repertoire list. Some of our flashy and higher-rolled solo pieces earn more enthusiastic applause, but there are no more random bursts of magic from either of us.

The crowds pick up throughout the day, with a clear spike in activity around what I assume is lunchtime, and another much more sustained one at the end of the day. We play during these, and afterwards, once the crowds have mostly died away, we eat our meals.

It is quite late by the time the evening rush dissipates and Helva comes to tell us we’re done for the day.

“Nice work today,” she says, handing us each a bowl of stew as we take our seats at the bar. “I’d forgotten wha’ it’s like to ‘ave live music ‘ere.”

We eat relatively quietly, both Siveldor and I too tired to engage in much talking with each other, and the tavernkeeper occupied with closing down for the evening, whistling to herself as she wipes down tables and washes silverware. No one mentions it, but I can sense the elephant in the room- the magic incident. The burning question of what happened, and how, weighs heavily on my mind. I go over the details over and over- the natural 20, the Tchaikovsky piece, the thought of wanting to help my friend, the tingling in my hands… but nothing makes any more sense than it did before.

My deep thoughtfulness doesn’t go unnoticed by Siveldor. On the unusually quiet walk up to our room, his voice startles me out of my thoughts. “You ok?”

“Huh?” I blink, shaking my head quickly to clear it. “Oh, yeah. I’m just trying to figure out what happened earlier. You know, with the magic.”

“Yeah, what was up with that?” he asks. “Because it would be really cool if you could do it again.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, it would. But I don’t know how I did it. The only thing I can think is that I rolled a nat 20 right before it happened. Maybe it was just luck of the dice?”

“I don’t think so,” he says thoughtfully, opening the door to the room, “I rolled a 20 and that didn’t happen to me. I just played really well.”

“I don’t know, then.” I set my weird-viola case beside my bed, next to my backpack, and stretch myself out on my back, relieved to be relaxing my sore muscles for the first time all day.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with my weird book,” Siveldor, busy cleaning out his instrument, says nonchalantly. “I think it might have mentioned something about magical spark effects.”

I sit bolt upright. “You what? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

He shrugs. “I just remembered.”

Digging through his backpack, he pulls out the dark leather-bound book and hands it to me. I immediately start flipping through it, searching through his messy handwriting for anything familiar.

It doesn’t take me long to find it; it’s on one of the first pages. The heading of the section says “Prestidigitation”. Like… the D&D spell?

As I read the surrounding material, it appears to discuss possible effects, one of which is the magical sparks from earlier, and then goes on to detail a list of steps. It sure looks like a spell.

I follow the steps outlined on the page, speaking gibberish words and performing an odd series of gestures to the best of my abilities.

I wait.

Nothing happens.

I sigh, roughly handing Siveldor the tome back. “Your book sucks, it doesn’t even work.”

“Oh.” He frowns sadly. “What if I try?”

“Go for it,” I say sarcastically, pointing out the section of text I had been reading.

My friend squints at the book for a moment before beginning the same process I had, with the same nonsense syllables and strange hand motions. I sit back, expecting nothing to happen.

But suddenly, a puff of air blows across the room, snuffing out the torch on the wall and leaving the room in darkness.

“Umm… did you do that?”

“Yeah, I think so?” Siveldor’s voice emanates through the darkness. For being completely pitch-black, I am surprised by how well I can see. I can make out everything in the room perfectly clearly, including my friend, who, based on the way he stretches out his hands for something to hold onto, seems to have much less visibility.

“How come it worked for you and not for me?”

“I don’t know, maybe… maybe it’s because it’s my book?” From anyone else, the comment would’ve sounded accusatory, but I know my friend well enough to know that it wasn’t intended that way.

“But I did the same thing earlier, without the book.”  

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’m gonna sleep. Maybe we’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

 I watch him attempt to climb onto the structure in front of him, only to realize that it’s actually the desk. I hear him mutter “you didn’t see that” as he stumbles around the room, eventually finding his bed.

Is it really that dark in here? I have no trouble navigating the room to get to my bed. Laying face-up feels really good on my sore back, and, still exhausted from my pitiful sleep last night, I quickly slip into peaceful unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

It isn’t long before the topic comes up. About a week into our employment, as we sit at the bar eating our dinner late in the evening, Helva, who has grown increasingly fond of having someone to chat with as she cleans up for the evening, asks the question.

“So, where are ye from? Ye said ye were new ‘round ‘ere, so where ‘ave ye come from? Where’s home for ye?”

Siveldor and I look at each other, freezing as if caught in a lie. How are we supposed to explain? We don’t even know the answer ourselves.

“Uhh… you’ve never heard of it,” I say dismissively.

“Ye’d be surprised,” she walks back over to the bar, throwing her cleaning towel over her shoulder. “Lot of folk from all across the realm come ‘ere to study. I’ve ‘eard of lots o’ places.”

I glance over at Siveldor, but he speaks before I can make eye contact. “Minnesota?”

“Minnesota…” The word sounds foreign in her mouth. I can see her thinking, searching her memories for any recollection of the name, but after a moment, unsurprisingly to us, she shakes her head. “Nope, sorry, never ‘eard of it. Where is tha’, exactly?”

“North of Iowa? In the United States? South of Canada?” I try different descriptions, each earning a blank stare and a slow shake of the head from Helva. It’s not surprising, but confirms the fact that we really are in a completely different world.

“I’ve never ‘eard of any of those places. How did ye get ‘ere, then?”

“We don’t know. We just sorta… appeared here, just outside the city, the day we found our way here. We don’t know where we are, or how we got here, or how to get back to where we came from. I don’t think it’s anywhere in this realm.”

She gets a thoughtful look on her face. “Seems like yer lookin’ fer answers, then. Good thing ye know where to find ‘em.” She gestures to my chest area, where my heavy pendant- which I had identified as a symbol of Ioun- is hanging. Ioun… the goddess of knowledge.

“Myself, I’m more of a follower of Moradin, but I respect ‘er,” Helva continues. “If ye want answers, she’d be the best one t’ ask. In fact,” she consults a thick ledger behind the counter, “Wild’s Grandeur is in two days. Not many folk ‘round ‘ere celebrate it, but I like to get ou’ for a wee bit an’ enjoy nature. The inn’ll be closed that day, so ye’ll be free to visit Ioun’s temple if ye wish.”

“O-okay.” I look over at Siveldor for confirmation.

He nods respectfully. “Thank you.”

I can feel the excitement and anticipation flash between both of us as we realize: we might be finally getting answers.

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

The morning of Wild’s Grandeur, which is apparently a nature-related holiday, dawns cool and wet. The sky is overcast with gray, and a light rain falls.

“The Wildmother is displeased with the city,” Helva notes as she pulls a hood over her head. We do likewise with the hoods of our robes, though the material is anything but waterproof.

The tavernkeeper has agreed to show us the way to the temple before heading out of the city for the day. She leads us along the road that we had travelled on our way into the city, out of this area of fancy stone buildings and back through the loud, busy region filled with shops and vendors. We pass the gate that we had entered the city through and keep going along the inside of the wall, through areas we have never seen before.

Soon, we leave the bustle and energy of the market area and come to a new section of the city. Here, the buildings are simple, practical, uncreative. There is an air of strict discipline that I pick up on even before we pass what appears to be a training ground, where individuals in some sort of uniform shout orders at other individuals in a different uniform.

“This is the military distric’,” Helva says quietly. “This is where the guards and the military are housed an’ trained.”

We walk a little while longer before reaching a bridge that crosses over the river running through the city. On the other side of the bridge, we come to yet another different area of the city. A few blocks away, we can see huge spires and domed roofs towering above the smaller buildings that stand before us. We stop briefly at a crossroads, the path to the right leading out of the city.

“Welcome to the Temple District,” says Helva. “This is where I’ll be leavin’ ye. If ye keep going, then take a lef’, ye should eventually find it. Mind ye, it’s no’ a very large or impressive building compared with many o’ the other temples, but ye should be able to find it. If not, just ask aroun’, I’m sure someone’ll help ye.”

I nod, and Siveldor says, “Thank you.”

“Good luck!” The tavernkeeper waves, then takes a right, heading out the large gate in the city wall.

We keep going straight through the misty rain, then take a left, just as Helva had instructed us. We now find ourselves amongst the high, grand buildings that I can only assume are various temples. Two are much larger than the rest- one that gleams pale silver and the other made of finely cut stone, both immense and magnificent in construction. There are a number of smaller, yet still sizeable, structures- one built of a jet-black obsidian-like stone laced with fine gold trim, one shining with a golden glow from within, and yet another surrounded by lush trees and flowers and vines.

Some of the buildings are smaller still. One further down the street catches my eye, barely the size of an average living room, made of a simple yet well-constructed gray stone. Its architecture reminds me of the buildings in the district we are staying in, but much smaller and humbler, not even trying to give the pretense of competing with its neighbors.

And above the door is a symbol of an eye.

“There it is, that’s our place.” I point at the tiny building and begin to walk towards it.

“Are you sure?” Siveldor asks, following me as I navigate through the somewhat busy street.

“Yes.” I don’t know why I’m sure, but I am. There is no question in my mind that this is the right building.

As we approach, before we have reached the door, it opens. A woman in long blue-and-white robes rather like mine stands behind it, a warm smile on her face. She wears no armor, but bears the same three-eye symbol around her neck. “Ah, Korakiel. Please, come in; the Mistress is expecting you.”

“How… did you know my name?” I ask, my steps growing hesitant.

The woman laughs softly. “The Knowing Mistress reveals many things to those who listen.” She closes the door behind us. “Which, I understand, is why you have come today. You seek answers.”

I nod, surveying the room. Purple-hued fires burn in braziers in the corners, emitting a soft glow that gently illuminates the room. The walls are lined with shelves and shelves of books, newer volumes and ancient dusty tomes and yellowed scrolls alike sharing ownership of the space. On the other side of the room, a beam of light from a window in the ceiling pierces through the room, casting a round patch of sunlight in the center of a circular rug.

“Oh, but of course you do not know my name,” says the woman in the robes. “I am Althaea, I am the keeper of this temple. It is small, but it serves our purposes. If you wish to commune, I will show you the way.”

“Yes,” I nod again. I find myself both intrigued and nervous to speak with a goddess. What if I say something wrong and she gets mad at me?

Althaea guides me through the process of initiating the link. I am to kneel in the patch of light and close my eyes, and hold my holy symbol and focus, imagining the connection between myself and Ioun and attempt to call that connection into a semblance of reality in my mind.

I kneel awkwardly, the metal plating on my boots digging into my legs and restricting my ankles from bending like they should. Grasping the emblem around my neck, I close my eyes and focus. I’m not sure what to think about; I know nothing about Ioun, so what connection could possibly exist? But I try. I concentrate on the feeling of the metal pendant in my hand, and imagine reaching out with my mind.

For a moment, nothing happens. All I see is the darkness of my closed eyelids, and I kind of feel like an idiot.

But then something changes. My vision shifts. Startled, I open my eyes, but I don’t see the inside of the temple anymore. I am standing in a huge library, with row after row of bookshelves as far as I can see in all directions, infinitely long and infinitely tall.

Before me stands a woman, more than twice my height, her form awe-inspiring. Long, shining silver hair frames a wizened but kindly face. She wears blue and white robes much like Althaea and I wear, but hers fade into strips of parchment at the base as they flow away from her form, gently rustling in a nonexistent breeze. Something about her reminds me of my grandmother; perhaps the sharp spark of intelligence in her startlingly purple eyes, the same color as the amethyst in my pendant.

She smiles down at me welcomingly, as though I were an old friend. “Greetings, Korakiel. I have been awaiting your visit.”

“H-hello,” I bow my head respectfully, if awkwardly. How am I supposed to greet a goddess?

If she is offended by my unorthodox introduction, she shows no sign of it. “I have seen the confusion in your mind. You have many questions for me. You desire answers, clarity, understanding. These are good things to seek. I will grant them to you according to the needs of the present. Some knowledge should be freely given; other knowledge must be earned.”

I nod. “I understand.”

She smiles. “I know you do. Now, ask your questions. What knowledge do you seek?”

“Uh…” I sift through my many uncertainties, trying to figure out where to even begin. “Where… are we? We aren’t on Earth, are we?”

“No. You are not. But you know this place. You would recognize it if you had seen one particular landmark. Alas, you have passed it twice, and twice you have missed it.”

I furrow my eyebrows, confused. How could I already know this place? I’m certain I’ve never been here before; Ioun herself even said that it isn’t on Earth.

Seeing my confusion, she says, “I will show you.” She stretches out her hand, and the library vanishes, replaced with the noisy, crowded thoroughfare we had walked down upon first entering the city. The scene drifts past slowly, as if I were walking down the street, but then it shifts right, towards one of the shops on the side. It’s a multi-story wooden building, extravagantly decorated with fine billowing silks of pink and purple.

But what makes me stop and stare dead in my tracks is the sign above the door.

Gilmore’s Glorious Goods.

“We’re in… Emon?” I whisper. How is this even possible? I thought the world of Exandria was fictional. “How did we get here?”

“You were summoned,” she says simply, our surroundings returning to the infinite library. “Your presence was needed here, so you were brought forth, through the barriers of universes and realities.”

“So… is that how we have to get back? ‘Through the barriers of universes and realities’?”

“I cannot yet instruct you on how you are to return to the land you came from. You still have a role to play in this world. I assure you; you will return. But you must accomplish many things before you do. This is knowledge that must be earned.”

I nod slowly, my mind working hard to process everything I have been told so far. So, if we’re in Emon, does that mean… “Where are we in time? What has happened, what has yet to happen?”

Ioun smiles. “You will find out in due time.”

“Does this make us… NPCs? Or are we… being played by someone somewhere?” Have I become a pawn in some grand game of D&D? How does any of this work?

“You are neither,” she says. “You are unique in this world, because you are not being controlled by outside forces. You are yourselves, with some… necessary modifications.”

“Like our names? And our clothes?”

“Yes. I granted you the equipment you would need to begin this journey, and placed names inside your mind. Your previous names would have been unfit for this world.”

“No offense, but… they’re kind of a mouthful?” I trail off timidly, cursing myself internally. Never insult a deity, what are you thinking?

But Ioun does not appear offended. “To you, they seem so, yes. But they were chosen intentionally, with a purpose. In particular, your name, Korakiel, is of Elvish origin.”

“Elvish…?” I subconsciously bring my hand up to my strangely shaped ears.

“You became a half-elf when converted to this world.”

“And Siveldor…” I can’t think of any strange features of his that would suggest a D&D race.

“Your friend remained a human. Such was the nature of the process of conversion.”

I think for a moment. The idea of being characters in a fantasy world of D&D makes many things clearer, if not fully make sense. I’m still not sure how any of this is possible. But the fact that it is clears some things up. But there is still one more big question that weighs on me heavily.

“The other day, when the thing with the magic happened. What was that?”

Ioun waves her hand, and one of the scrolls, glowing with purple energy, moves on its own off the shelf and towards me, coming to rest hovering in the space in front of me. “As I have mentioned before, when you came to this world, modifications had to be made to stay consistent with the… mechanics of this reality, for lack of a better word. You were given classes that correspond with your existing abilities and occupations, and the magic abilities that go with them.”

The scroll unfolds, revealing a weathered-looking page with familiar markings on it. A character sheet. The name at the top says Korakiel, and in the space where the class is written, neat handwriting has scrawled “Cleric 10 (Ioun- Knowledge) / Bard 1”.

I glance briefly over the rest of the sheet. Charisma stat of 7 hurts but checks out. My breastplate and shield give me an armor class of 15, factoring in my negative 1 Dexterity modifier. But my Intelligence is maxed out at 20 already. Whoever built me really min-maxed- but not the right stats. I’ve never played a cleric before, but I’m pretty sure they primarily use Wisdom, which is only a 16. My stats are definitely accurate, but I can’t help but think they’re inefficient for my build. My +5 Intelligence, the most useless stat in the game, will most likely go to waste. And who the heck would make a bard with a Charisma of 7?

In the box on the right, I catch a quick glimpse of features- Darkvision. Channel Divinity. Divine Intervention. Down at the bottom, a list of all my possessions. To the left, a list of proficiencies, and a whole bunch of languages. Common, Elvish, Celestial, Draconic, Dwarvish, Primordial, Sylvan… are those all languages I know?

The scroll keeps going. The next page is the spell sheet. I have two different spell save DCs and attack bonuses, presumably for my two classes. Neither are great, but my cleric abilities far exceed my bard abilities with a DC of 10.

The cantrips listed below each have a small marking beside them indicating what class they come from. My cleric cantrips are Light, Mending, Sacred Flame, Spare the Dying, and Thaumaturgy, and below them are my bard cantrips, Prestidigitation and Vicious Mockery. Yeah, that checks out.

After that, in the first-level section, bard spells are listed- Disguise Self, Dissonant Whispers, Speak with Animals, and Unseen Servant- and then only two cleric spells, Command and Identify. Levels 2, 3, 4, and 5 each only have two spells listed under them, and level 6 has a spell slot available but no spells listed at all. Where are all my cleric spells?

Oh. Right. Clerics are prepared-casters. I’ve never played a prepared-caster before, but I’ve watched enough Critical Role to know how they work.

As I stare at the page, thinking of the cleric spells and what I would be able to prepare, my head begins to spin. It feels as if a door were suddenly unlocked and I am now able to access hidden information, as knowledge floods my mind. Magic. Spells. Spells to harm enemies, to heal and aid allies. The powerful words and elaborate rituals necessary to carry them out.

Ioun’s voice pulls me out of my mind. “I have given you knowledge of the spells available to you. You will discover more as you grow more powerful.”

“T-thank you,” I manage, still processing everything I was just given. The scroll rolls itself back up and floats back to its previous place on the shelf, its glow fading. “So, when that magic happened the other day, that was from my bard abilities?”

The goddess nods. “Yes. That moment was granted to you to show you your magical capabilities, which you might otherwise have never discovered. You are now able to cast it whenever you wish.”

“And what about Siveldor? I suppose he’s a wizard, then?”

“Correct. As for his learning of magic, his spellbook should guide him with everything he needs. He also has one level as a bard, which I will grant him the knowledge to use. But he is not a man of the faith; his answers come from his mind alone.”

I nod, bowing my head slightly. “Thank you. I think my questions have been answered.”

But Ioun continues. “There is one more thing.” Her form bends down lower, closer to me. She examines me like a scientist inspecting an unusual species of insect.

“You are very… interesting to me, because you possess something. Not a material item, but knowledge. You know things, about the future, about people and their history and their secrets, that should not be possible for a mortal to know. This knowledge comes not from me, nor from any magic, as it normally does. Instead, you have seen it yourself- what is to come. That is why I have chosen you to be my cleric, even though your abilities may have been better suited as a wizard.”

What the heck is she talking about? I don’t feel like I have any special knowledge. I came here, to Ioun’s temple, seeking answers to the most basic questions of existence and reality. I barely know what’s going on right now; what does she mean by this ‘gift’ of knowledge of the future?

“With all due respect,” I reply slowly, “I think you must be mistaken. I don’t know the future; the only knowledge I have was given to me by you, just now. I came here asking you for answers because I didn’t even know where I was. How is it that I supposedly have this supernatural knowledge?”

The goddess smiles. “You will discover, in time, this knowledge. When you meet them, you will understand what I have said. You will understand the power you wield. Now, go. Return to your work, and perform well. I have much to attend to, and so do you.” The library, and Ioun with it, begins to fade.

“Wait!” I call out. “Meet whom?”

But I get no answer. A dazzlingly bright light begins to fill my vision, growing brighter and brighter, obscuring my surroundings until it becomes too painful to look at. I squeeze my eyes shut until I feel the light fade.

When I open my eyes again, I am back in the temple, kneeling painfully on the carpet in the warm sunlight, clutching my holy symbol. Siveldor and Althaea stand before me, the former with an unusually worried expression on his face, the latter perfectly calm.

“Are you ok? Your eyes were glowing purple! What happened?” asks my friend.

“I assure you, that is a normal part of the communing ritual,” says Althaea patiently. Turning to me, she asks, “How did it go? Did you receive the answers you seek?”

I nod and shrug at the same time. “For the most part. Thank you.”

Standing up and rubbing my sore ankles, I turn to Siveldor. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

I tell Siveldor everything Ioun told me about where we are and what we can do, though I leave out the part about my supposed “gift”, since I am still unsure of its validity. I find myself trying to predict the future in any mundane way I can, from next week’s weather to who will win a drinking game, but I feel no internal sense of surety in my predictions, and the outcomes prove me wrong more often than not.

But of our magic, there is no doubt; between my prestidigitation and his minor illusion cantrips adding pyrotechnics and visual flair to our performances, we quickly gain a reputation of putting on fantastic shows. The Scholar’s Respite has never been busier, with more and more people coming increasingly farther distances to see our little group perform. Helva, greatly pleased with the business boom, has increased our pay to two gold per day for our superior entertainment, as well as for the services of our magical invisible servants to help her with the growing burden of running such a popular inn.

The next several months pass comfortably, as we continue to play our instruments and entertain audiences with music and magic. Spring fades into summer, hot and humid from Emon’s location by the ocean, and summer fades into fall, the leaves turning brilliant shades of fire as the air gradually cools.

One evening, having finished performing for the day, we sit quietly at the bar with our plates of bread and meat as we normally do. This is the one time of day that the inn is actually less busy than before we arrived, since we are no longer on duty this late in the evening. I have dispelled my unseen servant by this time, as Helva no longer needs the assistance when only a handful of other occupants scattered across the tavern are left finishing their meals and drinks. She cheerfully dries plates as she talks to us, often asking us about life in Minnesota. I suppose it isn’t every day you get the opportunity to speak with someone from a completely different realm of existence. We, for our part, ask her about Tal’Dorei; if we are to live here indefinitely, we might as well know as much as we can. We discover differences in the organization of the calendar, the structure of government, and the makeup of the population. The tavernkeeper seems shocked that we had never encountered a dwarf or an elf before our "relocation".

It is a particularly chilly evening; frost has begun to gather on the ground outside, and though Emon has not yet seen snow this fall, the weather tells me it can’t be far off- a few weeks, perhaps, at most. The tavern, however, is warm and bright, a cozy haven of comfort with its homey atmosphere and cheerful stone fireplace crackling.

Suddenly, the door slams open- not overly forcefully, but enough to gather immediate attention in the previously quiet room, a cold draft blowing through to herald the new arrival. This is not a busy time for the tavern, and the few patrons that are still here are finishing up their food and drink as Helva gets ready to close up for the evening. It is quite late; why is someone just entering now?

Upon further glance, the newcomer appears to be a guard, but his cloak is red and he wears brass armor. His red shield bears the symbol of the city. He marches forward stiffly, formally, not bothering to look around the room, solely focused on his destination. I glance at Siveldor beside me, suddenly nervous. Are we about to be apprehended? For what? It’s not illegal to do magic here, is it?

Arriving at the bar, the guard addresses Helva in a curt, but not hostile, tone. “I have instructions to deliver this to a Siveldor and Korakiel.” From the bag around his shoulder he produces a scroll, rolled up neatly with a red ribbon and held with a golden wax seal.

Helva, busy drying a cup, nods her head towards us. “Tha’ll be them righ’ there.”

The guard turns to us, holding out the scroll. “A message from the Sovereign.”

Hesitantly, I take it. What in the world…?

Siveldor, beside me, bows his head. “Thank you.”

The guard makes no acknowledgement of his words. “The Sovereign awaits your prompt response.”

I nod. “Will do.”

With that, the armored man turns on his heel and marches back out of the tavern.

“What was that all about?” Siv asks once the guard has closed the door behind him. “Were you expecting a letter from the Sovereign?”

“No, I wasn’t.” I groan. “I’m tired of questions!”

“Well, a’ least this one’s got an easy answer,” says Helva, gesturing to the scroll with the half-dry cup still in her hand. “I’d recommend opening tha’ in yer room. No’ tha’ I don’ trust my patrons, but… a letter from the Sovereign?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

I finish my last bite of the warm fresh bread and look at Siveldor. “Wanna go open it?”

He nods. After saying goodnight to Helva and heading upstairs to our room, I sit down at the desk and open the scroll.

---------

Greetings Siv & Kora,

Sovereign Uriel Tal’Dorei II wishes to formally request your presence at a grand diplomatic Feast at the Palace of the Sovereign on the Eighteenth of Cuersaar. The Palace is willing to offer you each a sum of ten gold pieces in exchange for an evening of your services as musicians and entertainers during this Feast.

Please send a reply to the Palace as soon as possible indicating whether you accept this offer.

Formal attire is required.

Cordially,

Sovereign Uriel Tal’Dorei II

---------

I glance up at Siveldor, who looks back at me, wide eyes and bewildered expression mirroring mine. We’re invited to a royal feast? Our shock silences us for a moment.

Finally, my friend speaks. “We should probably check with Helva to make sure it’s ok.”

“Good idea.” I nod, standing up from the desk, and we head back downstairs.

“Back so soon?” asks the tavern keeper, surprised.

I show her the scroll, which she takes a moment to read. Once she finishes, she looks up, impressed. “Congratulations, tha’s quite the opportunity! Of course, I’ll give ye that day off for tha’.”

“Quick question… when is the eighteenth of Cuersaar?” I ask, a little awkwardly.

“Today’s the eleventh, so the feast is in one week.”

One week… we’ll need to find outfits. We’ll need to come up with a setlist, and coordinate our visual components, and… suddenly I feel very overwhelmed by the whole thing. Are we really good enough to perform for the Sovereign?

One thing is for sure: our clothes aren’t.

I turn to my friend. “We need to go shopping.”

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

Helva gives us the next morning off so that we can purchase the necessary items for the feast, with the promise that we will be back by the midday rush. She was also kind enough to point us in the direction of a good place to buy dress clothes in Abdar’s Promenade, the central market area of the city we have passed through several times now.

“What about this one?” Siv asks, holding out a pale purple gown in my direction.

I make a face. “Not really my color. Now, this…” I pull out a deep green fabric from the rack, only to see that the dress is strapless. “Ugh. Not my style.” I put it back.

My friend sighs. I don’t blame him. Going clothes shopping with me can be a frustrating experience; I'm very picky about what I wear. He’s already picked out his deep blue suit jacket and sharp khaki pants and gotten them fitted, and is now idly looking at shoes while I still have yet to decide on a dress.

Pawing through another row of gowns, one of them catches my eye- it has sleeves. It’s a pale blue, almost turquoise, with a modest neckline and long gauzy floor-length skirt that slowly fades to a deep midnight blue at the base, shimmering as though it were full of stars.

“What about this?” I call to Siveldor, who is already finalizing purchase of a pair of shiny black dress shoes. We have accumulated quite a sum of gold pieces over our many months of working for Helva, so price is hardly a concern. The outfits also aren’t nearly as overpriced as some of the ball gowns back home.

He turns to look. “Perfect.”

Honestly, he probably would’ve said that no matter what I showed him, if only to end the shopping.

Slipping the gown on in a small, dimly lit changing room, I make my way over to the tailor, a young dark-haired elven woman, for adjustments. As always, I will need the hem taken up and the sleeves slightly shortened, but other than that it fits rather nicely.

I find a pair of elegant soft leather boots that will suit the occasion much better than my metal-plated ones, and we are finally finished, with a promise to return in three days to pick up our altered items.

Before we head back to the Scholar’s Respite, we have one more stop to make. Heading deeper into the city, we arrive at the gates to the Cloudtop District, where guards in brass armor and red cloaks, much like the one who visited the inn, stand like statues at the gates, spears in hand.

I nudge Siveldor forward, handing him the scroll on which we had written our intent to perform at the feast. “You’re better at this than me.”

He shoots me a look somewhere between frustration and disappointment, but takes the scroll and approaches the guards. “Good morning, we have a message to deliver to the Sovereign.”

One of the guards looks over at him and takes the scroll. He opens it and briefly looks over it. “Ah, the hired musicians. Excellent. I will make sure this gets to the palace.” He turns and opens the gate a fraction, and, after a muffled conversation with someone on the other side, hands off the parchment and returns to his position.

“Just out of curiosity, what is this feast for?” Siv asks. “What’s the occasion?”

Now it’s my turn to be frustrated; midday is approaching, and we don’t want to be late returning to the inn. We don’t have time to engage in social interactions with the local guards.

The guard who took our scroll shrugs. “I don’t know much. Seems like some foreign leaders are coming to discuss building a bridge or something. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. They don’t really tell us all the details.”

I freeze, my eyes widening. There is something about what the guard just said that pulls on something in my mind. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I don’t think it’s good.

My friend shows no such reaction. “Well, thank you!” he says, starting to make motions towards leaving.

The guard gives him a curt but polite nod in response, and Siv turns to go. I walk with him, but my mind is elsewhere. Sovereign Uriel… a diplomatic feast… foreign leaders… building a bridge…

My discomfort must be evident on my face, because I am soon startled by a concerned voice asking, “Kora? Is everything alright?”

“Huh? Yeah. I just…”

I stop dead in my tracks. The bridge. The feast. My gift. It finally clicks.

I know this story. I’ve seen this before- this happened in Critical Role. We seem to have arrived in Emon at a point on the timeline I'm very familiar with. That must be my supposed “gift of foreknowledge”- we have apparently somehow found ourselves inside the events of the Vox Machina campaign.

And I know exactly where it’s going tonight.

The Briarwoods.

“Oh, shoot.” My eyes widen in horror.

“What is it?” Siveldor pleads, looking quite worried now.

I glance around, making sure no one is listening, as I start walking again. Where do I even begin?

“There’s one thing I didn’t tell you about what happened at the temple of Ioun. One thing she said that I haven’t mentioned to you. I thought it was a mistake, but…” I kick a rock in the road.

“She told me I have this… gift. I have knowledge I shouldn’t be able to have. She told me I know people’s secrets, and that I have seen the future. I had dismissed it, because I didn’t feel like I had any special knowledge, I wasn’t able to predict the future, but… this feast…”

“What about it?”

“If I’m right, which I pray I’m not… you’d better hope you can wear your armor under that suit. If this is what I think it is, we’re going to need it.”

Chapter Text

The day of the feast approaches swiftly. I have filled Siveldor in on everything he needs to know about the Briarwoods- the murder of the de Rolos and subsequent capture of Whitestone, their necromantic and vampiric abilities, and the fight that might go down if this feast is what I think it is- just in case; the closer we get to the day, the more sure I am in my heart that this is indeed the infamous feast that begins the fight against the Briarwoods.

We spend the morning of the eighteenth of Cuersaar getting ready. I make sure to prepare a good mix of the spells I have at my disposal, and advise Siveldor to do the same. I am disappointed in the limited availability of damage spells on the cleric list, but thankfully, of the few I do have at my disposal, I am able to deal a decent amount of radiant damage, which I know I will need against Sylas. Mainly, the spells I have prepared are good for healing or protection; my wizard friend has much better damage spells.

Siveldor buttons up his blue and gold coat over his leather armor, while I strap on my gleaming silver breastplate over my dress, though I leave off my left pauldron for ease of playing my viola da braccio. My armored boots, which I have decided to wear after all, peek out a bit from under my long skirts when I walk. The armor is conspicuous, but hopefully will be interpreted as a costume- simply part of the show. I don’t want to wear a dress at all, given the potential for combat, but the Sovereign did specifically state the requirement for formal attire.

“Ok, so here’s the plan,” I spin around to face Siv, ready to walk through one more debriefing before we leave for the palace.

“Yes, I know, we’ve been over this twenty times,” he groans.

“I’m sorry, I just, I want to make sure we both know what to do.” I pause, wiping my damp hands on my skirts. “To be honest, I’m nervous. Tonight has the potential to be quite literally deadly for either or both of us. We could die. I just want to make sure we go into it knowing what we’re doing, for the best chances possible of both surviving and being helpful.”

Siv rubs his forehead. “So why are we even getting involved if this could have so many negative consequences? Wouldn’t it be better if we just play our music, like we’re supposed to, and walk away with our lives and not a charge of terrorism for assaulting foreign diplomats?”

“The Briarwoods are evil, Siv! Were you not paying attention when I told you what they did to Whitestone? If we can help get rid of them, we have to!”

He sighs. “Ok, ok. But this better not have too many consequences. I swear, if you go and get yourself killed…”

I smile. “I won’t. And I won’t let you die either.” My holy symbol pulses with a warm healing glow. “Now, what’s the plan? I want to hear you say it.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Siv groans. “We play and do our show and everything during dinner. At the end of dinner, whenever the Briarwoods get up to go back to their room- if they’re even here- we put our instruments away and go outside to the courtyard, and stand under the window to their room. Someone falls out of the window and then we fight the Briarwoods. And supposedly a group of "heroes" with questionable morals will show up to help us… eventually. Sounds like a really solid airtight plan with no possible flaws.” He rolls his eyes.

“Was that… sarcasm?”

“Yes!” my friend exclaims. “We’re going to go in, during a fancy banquet that the Sovereign himself invited us to, and immediately ruin the night and break his trust by trying to kill some poor random nobles based off what you ‘know’ from some show you watched like three years ago! If you’re wrong, we get in huge trouble. If you’re right, we could die. This is stupidity!”

Well, when he says it like that, it does sound pretty stupid. But I’m confident that I’m right. If the Briarwoods are absent, no plan will be enacted, and I will admit my incorrect guess while recalculating where we might be on the timeline. But if they are there, then it must be the scene from Critical Role. How could everything line up to be so similar, and not be the same? In what messed-up alternate timeline would the Briarwoods exist as benevolent, kindhearted souls not to be fought?

Mentally scanning my list of spells, I have an idea. I have a spell that allows me to ask a single question of a deity- I will be able to know for sure whether tonight is in fact the feast where Vox Machina first battles the Briarwoods, or if I am, as Siv believes, projecting too much into the current situation from having watched Critical Role.

I pull a stick of incense out of my backpack, and, lighting the tip of it with a cantrip, I drop to my knees and close my eyes. Thankfully, Divination is a ritual spell, so I can cast it without using a spell slot for the price of spending ten extra minutes concentrating on it. Time is a luxury I have at the moment; spell slots are not.

The ten minutes wears on, as I hold my holy symbol in one hand and the burning stick of incense in the other, focusing intently on my question, coming up with the best possible phrasing to avoid any miscommunications and maximize the information I am able to receive. The room begins to fill with a rich, smoky scent almost reminiscent of a variety of cooking herbs mixed with the sweet musk of aged paper. Just as the flame begins to wear down almost to the point of burning my fingertips, a gentle cold breeze sweeps through the room, extinguishing the burning incense. I open my eyes; I am back in the library where I first spoke with Ioun, many months ago.

The goddess herself stands before me, still wearing the same deep blue and white robes with fluttering parchment. She smiles. “Your incense is appreciated. You have a question for me?”

I nod. “I would like to know; this feast we are attending tonight. Is this the feast I think it is, when Vox Machina first encounters and fights the Briarwoods, or will it be… different from my expectations?”

She cocks her head slightly, looking almost amused. “You ask an interesting question, because the answer to both is yes. This feast is indeed the beginning of Vox Machina’s conflict against the wicked Briarwoods. In discovering this, you are beginning to understand the extraordinary gift you wield.”

Her smile shifts a little, becoming more thoughtful, almost cautionary, as she continues, “But it will not be all that you expect. Your presence in this story, by its very nature, has brought change. The story remains, but elements may be shifted, altered. All may not be as you remember it.”

Before I can even open my mouth, a searing flash of light momentarily blinds me. When I open my eyes again, I am sitting on the floor in my room in the Scholar’s Respite, my pendant in one hand and the still-smoldering stub of an incense stick in the other. That was short.

Siveldor, standing before me, shakes his head, his eyebrows creased together in concern. “Kora, you gotta stop doing that with your eyes, it’s freaking me out.”

“Doing what?”

“They were completely blank, no irises or pupils, and glowing purple! How did you not notice?”

I shrug, looking at him with severity. “I communed with Ioun. My suspicions are confirmed. We’ll be fighting the Briarwoods tonight.”

Siv’s face grows grim as he lifts his staff. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

I grimace. “So was I. And it’s almost time for us to go.” I glance out the window; the sun is high in the sky. The dinner isn’t until sundown, but we are to arrive early to make sure we are set up and performing by the time the guests arrive.

I’m shaking as I slip my enchanted mace into my bag- the only reason I would be using it is if I were face to face with Sylas Briarwood. And as cool as the magic weapon is, I’m not sure it would provide sufficient protection against a vampire. I shiver just thinking about the bloodthirsty fangs sinking into my neck. My armor protects my neck, but only so far.

And then there’s Delilah, who is arguably even more terrifying with her powerful necromantic magic. One spell from her can flat out kill, or worse, permanently render one unable to think. And Siveldor, as a wizard, has both a lower armor class and fewer hit points than me; he is vulnerable. Which means I need to do everything I can to protect him.

Who knows what might happen if one of us dies? Maybe it will send us back to the real world. But maybe we’ll just be dead, and our unusual status in this world might have questionable compatibility with resurrection magics. It’s not a risk I am willing to take. Not if I can help it.

I pack everything I own, including my robes and regular clothes, and advise Siv to do the same. Once everything goes down tonight, who knows if we’ll be able to come back to the tavern? Either way, it’s better to be safe.

We wave goodbye to Helva with a tight, forced smile as we set out towards the palace, the sun bright overhead. We walk in silence, stoically, both individually coming to terms with what is about to transpire.

Once we reach the gates of the Cloudtop District, we show the guards the scroll we had received from the Sovereign, and they open the gate, allowing us passage into the district. The houses here are quite large and extravagant, with well-kept exteriors and neatly manicured lawns. Guards wearing the special red-and-brass of the palace patrol the streets at a slightly higher rate than in the rest of the city, though no one stops us as we walk towards the palace, the huge building at the top of the hill.

It isn’t until we begin to ascend the steps leading up to the palace that the guards begin to take an interest in our activity. “Hey! What are you two doing here?” a voice barks from the top of the stairs.

“We’re the musicians for the feast tonight,” Siv calls, holding out the scroll in a nonthreatening pose.

The guard takes the scroll and looks it over very carefully, seeming to inspect it for legitimacy. Roll well, we have nothing to hide, I think to myself. Finally satisfied, he gives a sharp nod and hands it back to us. “Good. You’re early. One of the servants should tell you where to go and what to do once you’re inside.” He pushes open the tall, heavy wooden doors, bidding us to enter the palace.

The interior of the Palace of the Sovereign is breathtaking. We are greeted by the high ceiling of a grand foyer area, the walls decorated with numerous fine paintings and illuminated by golden wall sconces that appear to burn with an arcane fire. Servants in red and gold uniforms scurry about with a sense of urgency as preparations are made for the grand feast tonight.

One of the servants, an older woman with white-streaked brown hair pulled into a tight bun, approaches us. “Are you the hired musicians?”

“Yes.” I nod. “What would you like us to do?”

“We have a room for you to keep your things; it is just down that hallway on the left. You may unpack your instruments and prepare, and I will come let you know when we are ready for you to begin performance. You will start off here in the foyer as the guests enter, and then you will be playing in the dining area during the feast. Is everything clear?”

We both nod, and find our way to the indicated room, where we set down our cases and bags on the small wooden table. It isn’t a large room, but big enough for us to warm up and keep our cases. Hopefully packing up in here won’t be too time-consuming later tonight when seconds count.

I pull out my viola da braccio, rosining the bow before I softly tune the strings. I have grown rather fond of the instrument over the last few months; it is certainly different than the viola I’m used to, but its unique quirks and personality have grown on me. Sure, it sounds terrible when played too high up on a string, and it’s a pain to hold in the proper position, but it has been a rewarding challenge.

I run through a few basic warmups- open string exercises, Schradieck, scales, a few tricky passages of music- while Siv does the same on his dulcian. We then come together for a group warmup, playing some scales together before getting started on a last-minute rundown of our show, both musically and visually.

A few hours pass, spent alternating between rehearsing and relaxing, before the maid who had spoken to us previously opens the door to our room. “Guests should be arriving at any moment. It is time to go.”

Siv and I look at each other, following her out the door and back to the foyer, where an area has been prepared for us to perform. The sky out the window is lightly shaded in yellows and pale oranges with the sun hovering above the Ozmit Sea when we begin, starting off with some more atmospheric music until a larger audience has arrived.

Guests slowly begin to trickle in throughout the late afternoon. One of the first to arrive is a woman in a very fine blue gown, her golden hair worn in two braids on either side of her fair face. My eyes widen. Allura.

Shortly afterwards, another familiar face enters: a short man with a clean-shaven head, dressed in browns and blacks with a dark cloak around his shoulders. This must be Seeker Assum.

My heart begins to pound in a strange way, suddenly nervous standing here before these council members, performing. It’s like playing for celebrities. I know so much about them, I know what they can do, I have a lot of respect for their powers and abilities… and here I am, face to face with them in the flesh, my instrument under my chin, attempting to show them what I can do. Which is pathetically little in comparison.

Now that more guests have begun to arrive, we begin the main show. Casting Thaumaturgy on myself to project my voice over the soft hum of conversation, I step forward to make an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen! You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in the Palace of the Sovereign. Are you ready for the show??”

A few soft cheers and claps. Allura glances over, seeming mildly interested; Assum looks like he couldn’t care less.

We begin a livelier tune, this time beginning to interject some cantrips for added flair- some fireworks here, a phantom drum beat there, the occasional flashing lights. If we’d been doing nothing else tonight but performing, we could’ve used our unseen servants and Siv’s Animate Objects spell for a larger band and extra effect, but we can’t afford to waste any spell slots before the battle.

The sun is beginning to sink into the sea, the sky aflame with reds and oranges, when a die rolls before me. It lands on an 11, with a +7 modifier; this must be a perception check. Glancing up, I just notice Seeker Assum slip back out the door, closing it behind him.

I continue playing the exuberant tune and recasting Prestidigitation every so often, maintaining the show, but I keep an eye on the door.

A moment later, he returns, but he’s not alone. A group of six other people trail behind him.

Six very, very familiar people.

A gray-skinned Goliath with a beard adorning half his face and the other half clean-shaven, towering above the group with his figure and muscles, looking very disgruntled to be wearing a tapestry as a toga.

A flamboyantly dressed gnome with a twinkle in his dark eyes, his purple shirt open in the front.

A red dragonborn with glasses and deep blue robes clutching a crystal-tipped staff.

A young redheaded woman in a forest-green dress with antlers crowning a pale freckled face.

A half-elf with blue feathers ornamenting her dark hair pulled back into a thick braid, a quiver of arrows strapped across her back.

And… well, according to my eyes, her twin brother, a dark-haired half-elf wearing all black with a cloak around his shoulders. But I know who he really is, and as I think about the illusion, it fades a little to my eyes, revealing the white-haired human dressed sharply in a blue-gray suit underneath the disguise.

I watch the group follow Assum into a room, closing the door behind them. I catch Siveldor’s eye, and I hear him whisper in my mind, Is that them? The group we’re supposed to be allying with?

Yes, that’s Vox Machina, I reply telepathically. The short bald guy, Seeker Assum, isn’t part of their group but he’s also an ally. Except, I suddenly remember, when he gets charmed. For the entire fight.

The wizard raises an eyebrow, and I watch him recast the Message cantrip. So, he’s not an ally then, at least not when we need him. Yikes, he looks like someone I would not want on my bad side.

Indeed. He’s a bad-a. He is not to be harmed in the fight, though. Maybe I’ll be able to restore him from the charm. I did prepare Greater Restoration today, though I had intended to use it to cure a different effect after the fight.

A few minutes pass as we continue our show, and Vox Machina is still in the room with Seeker Assum, debriefing.

You’re sure this Assum guy is currently an ally? I hear Siv’s voice in my head again. They’ve been in there a while, he could have killed them all and snuck out-

Before he even has time to finish the message, a muffled horn call sounds. The palace doors swing open; I can just barely see the top of a carriage pull up to the bottom of the steps.

A moment later, the door to the room Assum had led Vox Machina into opens, and the Seeker exits, Vox Machina following him, very much not murdered. The group steps outside, into the gathering dusk.

The sound of carriage doors opening and closing rings out, and then footsteps. A few moments pass before the new arrivals, flanked by guards, reach the top of the stairs and enter the palace.

My blood runs cold.

The man is tall, strong, with short brown hair and a well-groomed goatee. With his fitted black suit trimmed with gold and red, he could be called handsome. But I know better. Walking beside him, arm in arm, the picture of domestic elegance, his wife wears a black and blue dress, beginning almost at the top of her neck and ending in a simple yet flattering floor-length skirt, her dark auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun.

The Briarwoods have arrived.

Chapter Text

Delilah is watching me.

I can feel her dark hazel eyes bore into me as we continue to perform; it feels as though she can see straight through me, into my soul.

But when I glance over, she is only watching passively, appearing mildly entertained by the music and lights while engaged in a soft conversation with Sylas.

“Wait in your quarters, be ready, the meal should be ready within the hour,” says one of the servants as a few of them help carry the Briarwoods’ bags. “If you would be so kind as to prepare yourselves, relax, unwind, set up your rooms. You're to stay for a few days at the very least. But we shall call you when the meal is ready.”

Sylas turns to him with a nod. “I greatly appreciate the information. Just come to our room and let us know when the food is ready. Now, come, my dear.” He begins to lead Delilah up the stairs towards their room.

I try to listen in on their conversation, but between the music right under my ear, the general buzz of conversations filling the room, and the natural 1 I roll on my perception check, I have no luck.

Vox Machina has followed the Briarwoods inside, and is now standing in the foyer. The twins- or, rather, Vex and Percy- are both observing keenly, Vex keeping an eye on the Briarwoods as they disappear up the stairs, no doubt reading their lips, while Percy scans the rest of the room. Tiberius is deep in conversation with Allura; the rest of the party stands around engaging passively.

I tear my gaze away from crowdwatching to make eye contact with Siveldor as we play the last few notes of our latest piece, making sure we end together. We finish with a flair and a burst of illusory flame, to the scattered applause of the few paying attention.

“You guys are pretty good,” says a voice, much closer to us than I expected, causing me to startle a little. It takes me longer than it should have to locate its source; the top of his head barely crests my field of vision. “Of course, I’m better.” The gnome grins, adjusting his wide-open collar.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you offering to join us?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, with a little scoff of a laugh. “I’m here on very important business. But I figured I could stop to ask the name of a beautiful lady such as yourself.” He gives me a sultry smile.

Though I am not at all interested in this laughable, cocky little man, I feel my cheeks flush at the flattery all the same. “I- I’m Korakiel. I go by- that is- you can call me Kora.” I wince internally as I roll another natural 1. Plus my -2 charisma, for a grand total of negative one. Tonight is just not my night. 

But the gnome doesn’t seem to care. “I’m Scanlan Shorthalt. But you can call me anytime.” He winks.

I actually laugh out loud, which, judging by his expression, is not the reaction he was expecting. “Ok then, Anytime,” I snort, earning a chuckle from Siv. While initially taken aback by his honeyed words, they don’t fool me; I’m sure he uses the same lines on any girl he wants to get in bed with. And I’m not about to fall for it. I have better things to do.

So instead, I change the subject. “What instruments do you play?” As if I don’t already know.

“Oh, mostly I sing. But I’ve also been known to play flute, shawm, viol… I suppose you could say I’m good with my fingers.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Scanlan!” says a new voice behind him, exasperated. I look up to see the half-elven ranger glaring down at him. “Not the time.”

Then, turning to us, she says with a winning apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, dears, he’s had too much to drink today.”

A muffled “Have not!” earns the gnome a swift elbow to the stomach.

“You two play wonderfully,” she continues. “I’m Vex’ahlia, by the way. And this is my twin brother, Vax’ildan.” She pulls on the disguised Percy’s hand, who, startled from his intense focus of scanning the crowd, quickly turns toward us.

He gives a forced, slightly troubled smile and a wave, clearly far away in his mind. “Hello.”

“I’m Korakiel, and this is my friend Siveldor,” I say politely, pointing to him with my bow. Now that I’m more comfortable in the conversation, I have no issues with the introduction.

“Well, we didn’t mean to distract you!” says Vex, still smiling at us while her boot ever so subtly comes down forcefully on Scanlan’s foot. She ignores his yelp of pain.

I stifle a laugh; the group’s antics rarely fail to amuse me. “It’s not a problem. We needed a break anyway. But,” I glance around at the servants and patrons, worried that they might get upset that we stopped, “we should probably go back to, you know, playing.”

“Of course, of course,” says Vex reassuringly, beginning to steer Scanlan away from us. “It was lovely meeting you, darlings!”

I smile. “You as well.”

You’ll be seeing us again very soon.

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

Eventually, the ringing of a bell resounds from down the hall- our cue that dinner is ready. Siveldor and I act immediately, picking up our instruments and equipment and moving towards the great hall, wanting to get to our places ahead of the crowd.

We are led by a few servants into the great hall. The room is impressively huge, with the capacity to seat many dozens if necessary. But for now, only one of the large tables is set up to receive guests; it looks to seat about twenty. The table stands beside a large grandiose fireplace, and on one side of this fireplace is a small raised platform.

One of the servants guides us to this platform, and we set ourselves back up for the dinner portion of the performance as the guests begin entering behind us. We are to play a fanfare for the entrance of both the Briarwoods and the Sovereign and his wife, and will begin our show after the introductory announcements.

I keep a keen eye on Vox Machina as they quietly bicker about where they will be sitting at the table, stifling a giggle as a servant brings what can only be described as a medieval booster seat for Scanlan.

No sooner has everyone found their seats than the servant standing at the doors to the great hall steps forward and announces, “Please, if we might rise for our guests Lord and Lady Briarwood to join us at the table.”

That’s our cue. Siveldor and I make eye contact, and breathe in to begin the Briarwoods’ fanfare, right as I hear a familiar gnomish voice say, “I am risen already. I’m standing already.” I try my absolute hardest to maintain my composure as the door opens, and the Briarwoods, arm in arm, slowly enter the great hall.

We play the fanfare until they arrive at their seat at the far end of the table, and then stop, awaiting the next entrance. The Briarwoods take their seats quietly, with a smile and acknowledgement of the guests at the table.

A moment of silence passes before another servant announces, “And would all please attention be given to our sovereign Uriel Tal'Dorei the second and the Empress Salda Tal'Dorei.”

Everyone rises to their feet as we begin our fanfare for the Sovereign and his wife; everyone, that is, except most of Vox Machina, who look around awkwardly before realizing the custom and quickly standing as well.

When the royal couple reach their seats, they give a nod, and all the guests bow low to the ground, Vox Machina again reacting a second later, unfamiliar with the traditions of the high court.

At the conclusion of our second fanfare, everyone sits back down. Sovereign Uriel looks around, smiling at the guests around the table. “Thank you, Lord and Lady Briarwood, for making the journey across the lands so that we might meet in person, finally. Please, allow me to introduce our dining party and esteemed council of Tal'Dorei.”

He goes around the table introducing, beginning with the dark-haired, muscular man sitting nearest to him. “Arbiter Brom Goldhand. He is the master of law of our city, and is responsible for maintaining all of these grand people of our fair town in the realm of safety and order.” Brom gives a respectful nod to the Briarwoods.

Next to him, Uriel indicates the blond elven man wearing a dark suit. “We have Lord Riskel Daxio. He is our head of planning and construction; has overseen many of the expansions of the city, and is a trusted friend of mine.” It is all I can do to hold my tongue as Riskel gives the Briarwoods an acknowledging smile. I know his secret. But I can’t say anything. I force my smile to remain as the Sovereign continues to move on with his introductions.

“We have the Arcanist Allura Vysoren: one of my trusted advisors, one of the greatest arcane minds of all of Tal'Dorei, and the overseer of all things arcane within our city.” The golden-haired wizard blushes a little, embarrassed by the high praise.

“We have the Guardian Tofor Brotorus, a fierce warrior and currently the master of defense in our city and hopefully for a long time to come." The silver dragonborn gives a scoff; everyone is put off by it, but they're also seemingly used to it. The Briarwoods do not appear offended.

“And my lovely wife, the Empress Salda.” Uriel smiles at her as she gives her acknowledgement to the Briarwoods.

Then the Sovereign turns to the other side of the table.

“We have here within our midst, as well: Vox Machina, a team of intrepid adventurers who rose up and saved my family’s life and very well the city of Emon and have since proven very useful to our territory.

“Grog Strongjaw, a goliath of…” he gives the barbarian a strange look, “interesting dress, but strong of heart and blade.” Grog attempts a curtsey while seated, but ends up hitting the table instead, bumping a few drinks nearby to spill over the edge a little.

“We have Vex’ahlia, half-elven maiden with a bow as swift as the fastest eagle.” Vex looks at the Briarwoods with a smug smile.

Looking next, he says, “We have here Vax’ildan, blades quick and eyes sharp, not a whisper passes his ear.” I bite my lip, trying not to react. I know the truth. And I’m fairly certain the Briarwoods can see through the illusion.

Slight confusion crosses Uriel’s face as he looks to the next chair, until its occupant stretches as tall as he can to make himself visible. “Ah! There you are! Scanlan Shorthalt, a performer known far and wide. A wit as clever as you’ve ever seen. His songs are whispered through taverns across the land.”

“We have Tiberius Stormwind-”

“I’m from Draconia!” Tiberius interrupts.

“Hailing from Draconia, which,” he looks across to the Briarwoods, “the kingdom you hail from originally not being far off from Draconia, perhaps you’ve had some dealings with the Stormwinds?”

The Briarwoods give a nod. "Yes, we have seen them in the past. We’ve heard many good things.”

“We’re pretty cool,” Tiberius notes.

“We have over here, Keyleth of the Ashari, if I am correct on that? She is a denizen of the natural lands and protector of all things nature within Tal'Dorei.”

“Hi.” Keyleth gives an awkward smile and a tiny wave.

“There was one more…” says Uriel contemplatively, eyeing the empty seats.

“Two, and they could not be in attendance,” Fake Vax informs the Sovereign.

“Yes, ill,” Vex adds.

“They were running around. They got diarrhea.” elaborates Tiberius.

“Wonderful.” Uriel forces a smile.

He then turns his gaze on us. “We also have two wonderful musicians performing for us tonight, Siveldor on the dulcian and Korakiel on the viola da braccio, am I correct?”

I freeze, my eyes wide, as suddenly the entire room turns their attention on us. Thankfully Siv covers for me with a respectful smile and a small bow. “A pleasure, Your Majesty.” I copy his gesture awkwardly. Darn -2 charisma.

Uriel addresses the Briarwoods again. “Welcome, and thank you.” He reaches over and takes a small glass and clinks it with his silverware, and the servants immediately start pouring wine into everyone's glasses. The atmosphere relaxes slightly, and the previously silent guests begin to fall back into casual conversation.

I look at Siv: now that the announcements are over, it is time for us to perform again. He dips his reed in water as I adjust my instrument on my chin, and when we are ready, we begin to play. Not wanting to be too overbearing for the conversations, we have chosen mostly ambient-type music, and we play lightly, with more subtle visual embellishments.

Throughout the dinner, I try to keep one ear open to the conversations happening around the table. The Briarwoods talk across the table with Uriel, discussing the proposed bridge construction and trade routes, and the attempt on the Sovereign’s life last Winter’s Crest, while the rest of the guests speak mostly among themselves.

My ears perk up when Vex interrupts, inquiring to Lady Briarwood.

The conversation comes to a halt as Delilah turns to Vex. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, what was your name again?”

“Vex’ahlia.”

“Vex’ahlia. Absolute pleasure to meet you. Delilah.”

“You as well. I notice your dress is quite lovely. It doesn't look like a fashion that I'm used to seeing. Where do you hail from originally?” Vex asks.

“We hail from Wildemount. It's quite a ways from here. The continent to the far east,” says Delilah.

“Really, I’m not familiar.” If I didn't know better, I'd never be able to detect the hint of sarcastic venom in her voice. 

“You should come by sometime. We haven’t been home in a number of years, having to tend to Whitestone, but we have quite an elaborate homestead there. We’d love to have you come stay with us if you ever find yourself in that side of the world.”

“I would love to visit,” the ranger replies with diplomatic innocence. “How long have you been at Whitestone?”

“We’ve been at Whitestone for the better part of-- I can’t even remember.” She looks to Sylas for an answer.

Lord Briarwood responds, "Best I can recall, four or five years. It was an unfortunate mantle to pick up, but we’ve done what we can in honor of the passed de Rolo family.”

I glance at Percy under the arcane disguise, but if he reacts to the mention of his family, I don’t catch it.

Scanlan jumps into the conversation, addressing Sylas. “Lord Briarwood. Down here, hi.”

“I’m sorry, I-” Sylas snaps his fingers, and a servant moves a large pig platter out of the way that was blocking the gnome from his vision.

Grog, noticing the platter being moved, says to the servant, “You can move that over here actually, thank you.” When the servant complies, the goliath happily begins munching on the meat.

“Lord Briarwood,” says Scanlan, now that the obstacle between him and Sylas has been removed, “we may share a mutual friend or acquaintance of some sort. My father was a prominent doctor, and he may have studied medicine with a fellow that you know named Dr. Ripulah, Ripley? Dr. Ripley? Do you know such a person?”

These guys are too shrewd in their information extraction, I think to myself. I could never be on their level.

“Yes, actually,” Lord Briarwood replies. “Dr. Ripley is one of our esteemed physicians in Whitestone. Yes, recently come into some land herself, although she has been on holiday for some time. Following her own research as doctors are wont to do.”

“Are you close with her?” asks the bard.

“I wouldn’t say close, but she's been a friend at times, and she was one of the few that came with us from Wildemount over to Whitestone and has helped us restructure and maintain and help facilitate the blossoming of a city without a leader.” All true, but with the underlying motives twisted to make them look like heroes. The worst kind of lie, because it’s just true enough that it can’t be disproved.

“She sounds wonderful. Well, when you see her next tell her that my father, Dr. Jeff Shorthalt, said hi.”

“Jeff Shorthalt, I will be happy to pass that along.” If Sylas detects BS, he shows no sign of it.

Then Percy speaks up. “Lord Briarwood, I am not familiar with Whitestone. How did you become caretaker of such a place?” he asks with a pretense of innocence.

The whole room goes quiet aside from our music, the council members shifting uncomfortably. The merry, lighthearted tune we have been playing suddenly seems highly inappropriate. I glance over to see if Siv wants to change to something more fitting, but he seems completely oblivious to the nature of the discussion at the table.

“It’s alright,” says Sylas reassuringly, patting the hand of his wife. “We became very close friends with the de Rolo family about ten or so years ago. Actually, the first time we met is an interesting tale, if you want to tell it, please.” He looks to Delilah.

“All right all right,” Lady Briarwood says, looking far too at ease. “They were taking a brief vacation east to Wildemount. Apparently, they had not traveled and they brought their family with them, a whole gaggle of small children. They were coming this direction. Now our homestead is on the western outskirts of Wildemount so one of the first places you traverse before going into the kingdom proper.

“However, the family, the de Rolo family had been caught in a bad downpour, a storm that had blown in and made travel rather impossible, and apparently they stopped not far from our homestead. They came to our front door asking for shelter for the evening, and we were happy to house them. We gave them dry clothes, food for the night, and well, a rather fast friendship was forged. As we quickly began to notice they weren’t just rabble of the street, they themselves were highborn as we were and in a very dire circumstance.

“So we let them in; they stayed for but a week. We showed them about the western side of Wildemount and let them on their way. And since then we've had many different years we've spent together as families going on various journeys and trips together.

“But as time went on, we got busy on our own and separate ways, and we hadn’t spoken in a while. They were in the process of discussing the building of the Uriel bridge about five years ago, and we were going to meet with them about pursuing this venture as a joint-- well, when the disease took them. The family passed on.

“We were surprised that they would’ve considered leaving Whitestone in our name, and we couldn't say no, at this point. To carry on their legacy, I felt, was important enough let alone the memory of that to carry on the building of this Uriel bridge. I thought I really wanted to spearhead the wishes of Frederick.”

I feel physically ill as Delilah finishes her twisted tale. I have no idea how much of it is true, but I know at a minimum how much is false.

“That is so courageous of you,” says Tiberius to the Briarwoods. With a natural 20 plus 7 on a perception check, I just barely hear him whisper, “Do you want me to Fireball her now?”

This proposition is ignored by the rest of Vox Machina.

Percy is stoic throughout the whole story. I watch his face closely for any visible sign of recognition or fury, but he remains impressively neutral. At Tiberius’s remark, in an apparent fit of courage, he stands to his feet and declares, “A toast, then!” His smile doesn’t appear unnatural at all. But I know how much he is forcing it.

“A toast,” agrees Delilah. I don’t like the way she is smiling at him- like the smile of a crocodile eyeing a piece of fresh meat.

“To gracious hosts,” the disguised gunslinger manages.

“To gracious hosts.”

I shiver at the exchange, as Percy watches Delilah and Delilah watches Percy. The tension is well-concealed, enough that others don’t notice, but I can feel it. I can’t imagine what it must take to stare at your torturers and the murderers of your family, and put on a cordial smile. Percy is well-measured. But I know he is on thin ice.

The meal continues, and conversations shift. The Briarwoods begin speaking with Uriel about exports and other diplomatic matters; Tiberius attempts to flirt with Allura as they discuss her completion of enchanted earrings. Fake-Vax offers Vox Machina’s service to the Briarwoods in reference to a danger in the woods that had been mentioned earlier, and Scanlan, still in his pretense he mentioned earlier of his father being a doctor, inquires about the disease that supposedly killed the de Rolos, but no further important information is revealed.

Soon dessert is served, and I start to realize just how hungry I am. We haven’t eaten since before we left the Scholar’s Respite this morning. If I’m hungry, Siv must be absolutely starved; he eats like a bear. Maybe we’ll get to eat once all this is over. If we survive.

Conversation is light now, with Vex offering to give the Briarwoods a tour of Emon and admiring Delilah’s dress, and Scanlan asking if anyone wants to play a game of Jenga. But the tension still hangs thick in the air; the Briarwoods are much better at hiding it than Vox Machina. I can feel the adventurers’ energy, their desire to wipe the calm smiles off the evil nobles’ faces. You’ll get your chance. Not much longer now.

As we see dessert is close to gone, we ramp up our show a little bit, as a grand finale to conclude the feast. We have prepared a little skit in which a musical dual is augmented via magic to appear as though we are fighting, portraying me as a strong knight and Siv as a cunning mage. We battle on, exchanging illusory swings of a sword for superficial spell attacks, weaving melodies between us, until, with a dramatic fast scale and a mighty thrust of my sword illusion, I appear to pierce the wizard through the heart and triumph. The guests applaud, and we clasp hands and take a deep bow, grinning.

As the applause dies down, Uriel stands up, getting the attention of the guests. “My apologies, me and my wife find that rest is in our future. Please, feel free to walk the halls as you see fit. Thank you again, Lord and Lady Briarwood, for joining us, and we're excited to continue this venture. Good night to you all.” Empress Salda stands as well, and takes her husband’s arm as they exit the room.

Lord and Lady Briarwood also stand up. “On that note as well, I think our meal has come to an end,” says Sylas. “We appreciate your hospitality, and we wish you all a fine night.”

I look at Siveldor. This is it, this is where we leave and prepare for the battle. We quietly exit the room as Tiberius and Scanlan entertain the Briarwoods a moment longer with some dancing flames and flute music that sounds suspiciously like the Cantina Band song.

Walking quickly down the eerily silent and empty halls, we find our cases and pack up our instruments, and then grab our bags, getting out what we need. Siv grips his staff, and I pull out my mace with one hand and my shield with the other.

“Should we leave our instruments here…?” I ask, pained. “I don’t like the idea of leaving them, but I don’t want to bring them into combat…”

“They should be safer here, I think,” says Siv. “They’ll return them to us. Probably.” He turns to go.

“Wait.” I grab his wrist. “One more thing before we go.”

Through my contact with his arm, I channel protective magic into him, casting Death Ward. “Just in case. You’re not dying on my watch.”

“Thanks.” Siveldor smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his worried eyes.

“Now let’s go.” I lead him out of the palace, towards the courtyard. A stone road encircles the palace, on which I can see the Briarwoods’ carriage and horses- at least, I assume it’s theirs, as there are no other carriages in sight. This must be the right direction.

Light. I can see a dim light coming from one of the windows. That must be the Briarwoods’ room. I point this out to Siv, and we quietly walk over to stand beside the stone wall of the palace, underneath the window. Trying to stay hidden from the guards and any passersby, we roll for stealth. Not good. A 6 on the die, for a total of 9. Based on the way Siv is stomping around and tripping on bushes, he rolled even worse.

I wish I knew what was going on in that room up above us. I know it takes some time before Vax manages to escape, but I’m not entirely sure how much. The last thing we want is for one of the council members to spot us on their way out and question why we’re standing here; I know our stealth isn’t good enough to stay hidden if anyone were to glance around.

It happens very quickly.

I barely catch a flash of bluish-purple energy coming from the window. I can physically feel my pupils dilate as I grip my mace and shield tightly, reaching for Siveldor. “Get ready-”

Before I can even finish speaking, the unmistakable sharp splintering crash of glass shattering rings out through the still night.

Looking towards the broken window, I spot the dark blur plummeting towards the earth, and I hear Vax’s- the real Vax’s- panicked shout as he falls.

“Jenga!”

Chapter Text

The half-elven rogue, with his quick reflexes, tumbles to a landing, uninjured from the fall, though I can tell he is hurt from the altercation in the Briarwoods’ room. Blood drips from his neck where Sylas’s fangs pierced him, and his skin appears oddly cracked and withered. He rolls back to his feet and keeps running.

Glancing up, I can see Delilah in the window, her momentary surprise at Vax’s perilous escape turning into a cruel smirk.

But before I can do anything, the now-familiar sound of dice clattering teases my ear as the phantom icosahedron tumbles in front of me, and for a second, I swear I can hear the faintest trace of Matthew Mercer’s voice saying “Roll initiative.”

The die lands on a 12, minus 1.

I feel myself freeze in time as the world moves around me. I watch, unable to act, as Lady Briarwood mutters under her breath and sends a wave of energy out towards Vax as he runs. He suddenly stiffens, his body locked in place, unable to move, sending him falling over onto his face from the momentum.

At the same time, Sylas leaps out the window, landing on his feet next to Vax’s paralyzed body with a deep thud. He grins as he stands over the rogue, his fangs now evident, shining in the moonlight. Ready to kill.

I can’t let this happen.

As I think this, I feel my body engage, as the rest of the world comes to a halt. The Briarwoods and Vax are motionless in their poses, and even the fountain in the courtyard has frozen in place, water droplets suspended midair. Only Siveldor retains his motion, looking towards me, as confused as I am.

“I guess it’s our turn,” I say. “What did you roll for initiative?”

“Eleven,” he replies.

“We got the same initiative then,” I note. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s kick some brass!”

With that, I use my movement to charge towards Sylas with a shout, raising my mace. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and only one thought repeats itself in my head: I have to get between him and Vax.

Almost as an afterthought, I cast Shield of Faith on Siv behind me as I run away from him, giving him a bonus to his pitifully low AC. Although, with Delilah, armor class doesn’t matter much.

The vampire and rogue aren’t far from me. Positioning myself in a protective stance between the two, I swing my mace towards Sylas, the purple-hued glow of the runes etched across its surface flaring to life. Let’s see what this sucker can do.

As I go for the strike, the die before me rolls for an attack. It lands on a 13, plus 7, for a total of 20. There is a moment of hesitation, almost suspended animation, while I wonder nervously if a 20 hits.

In the background, I see Siv wave his hand, and a rock flies upward and crashes into Delilah.

My mace strikes true, slamming Sylas across the chest. New dice are rolled, cube-shaped dice with six sides. The first, a deep gray color, rolls a 5, and displays a +3 modifier. The next two, both shimmering bluish purple, roll a 2 and a 1, with no modifier. Lame.

The vampire unfreezes from the weird time warp, growling in pain as he clutches his head from the resounding psychic shock of the mace’s strike. Still, the damage wasn’t great, and all it seemed to do was make him angry.

“Delilah, dear, aren’t these the musicians from the feast?” he shouts.

“Yes,” comes her calm, calculating reply. “I knew something about them was… off.”

She then throws herself from the window, following Vax and Sylas… and falls flat on her butt with a loud “Oof!” I unsuccessfully attempt to choke back a chuckle; Sylas whips around to glare at me.

But Lady Briarwood isn’t done. Looking down at Vax on the ground, she says with mock sympathy, “When we mark a target, he does not escape, I’m afraid.” With that, she blasts another spell at his paralyzed body; I watch the energy drain from the half-elf’s eyes as he falls unconscious, his previously stiff form going limp and lifeless.

No! I was supposed to stop this! But I can’t move, frozen in the combat order.

Just then, Seeker Assum, who had been hiding in the Briarwoods’ room, leaps out the window, sticking his landing and rushing forward towards the fray, yelling “No!”

He attempts to stab forward with his blade, but Sylas easily deflects the blow. Assum instead reaches for Vax and begins moving the unconscious rogue away from Lord Briarwood. As he does, Sylas strikes at Vax’s body, dealing a further blow to the already fading half-elf. A little blood trickles out of his mouth, but he does not stir.

Lord Briarwood locks eyes with Seeker Assum, and says calmly, “This quarrel is not with you.”

The Seeker relaxes his grip on Vax’s body and stands a little taller, looking back at the vampire with a slight flash of yellow in his eyes. “My apologies, I did not mean to meddle.” He steps aside, away from Vax.

Now Sylas turns back to face me, the only problem left on the field besides Siv standing behind him. He sneers at me, baring his fangs. “You don’t even know what you just walked into. But now there is no escape for you either. Better start saying your prayers, little girl.”

But his turn is over. As the vampire freezes in time, I feel my body able to move again, and I grin.

“Very poor choice of words.”

I don’t hold back. I reach upwards towards the sky, and bring it back down in a fist, calling down a Flame Strike, one of my highest-level spells. A beam of light streaks down from the heavens, exploding into roaring flames all around Sylas.

He manages to dodge out of the way of the brunt of it- whether he made the saving throw or used a legendary resistance, I don’t know- but the holy fire still sears him, causing him to scream in agony. Cube-shaped dice fill my vision, rolling a total of 24 points of damage, probably reduced by half because he succeeded the save. 12 points of damage for a 5^th-level spell slot is pretty lame, but it could be worse. And it dealt radiant damage, the undead’s weakness.

Sylas backs up a little, and I catch a glimpse of surprise and maybe a little fear in his eyes, only increasing as he watches Siveldor blast Delilah with a lightning bolt. Clearly, we are not the defenseless musicians he thought we were.

I move to position myself once again between the Briarwoods and Vax. Using my bonus action, I grip my holy symbol and send a fragment of healing magic into the rogue. Two little golden pyramid-shaped dice land on a 4 and a 1, plus three. It isn’t a lot, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough to bring him back from the edge of life and death.

Vax begins to breathe deeply once again, sitting up and groaning. He locks eyes with me, the source of the warm healing magic. “Who…?”

“We don’t have time for that right now. We’re here to help,” is all I manage to get out before I freeze once again.

Suddenly, a whistle pierces the air. Followed by a scream. Something shoots past my face, and Lady Briarwood shrieks in pain as she is once again surrounded by a bright blue electrical field. I look over to see Vex’ahlia rounding the corner of the palace, her bow in her hand, letting loose another shot towards Delilah, this one bursting into flame as it finds its mark in the evil wizard’s flesh. The ranger has seen her brother’s condition, and she is angry.

Lady Briarwood, for her part, is not about to take this assault lightly. She brushes off the lightning and the fire, and then glares at Vex with a cruel gaze full of hate, extending one finger in her direction. A beam of black energy sparks from her fingertip, slamming into the half-elven ranger’s chest, sucking out a part of her life force and leaving her gasping and shivering.

But as this happens, the rest of Vox Machina begins to arrive. Tiberius, flying, appears in the broken window everyone had jumped out of, along with a large eagle carrying a gnome, who begins to sing, administering more healing to Vax. Grog bounds around the corner after Vex, roaring at Lady Briarwood, who merely looks at him with a curious chuckle.

Scanlan sings again, “Hey there, Delilah, won't you listen to me because I'm about to cast a spell on you. Ooh! Oh!” I recognize the Suggestion spell he is attempting to cast on her, but she shrugs it off, merely glancing up in annoyance.

Isn’t there one more member of Vox Machina who should be here?

Then, a deep, powerful, bone-chilling shout rings out across the courtyard.

“Sylas!”

I look past Lord Briarwood to the shadowy figure who has just rounded the corner, holding a large piece of machinery. BOOM! One shot hits Sylas in the back of the shoulder, spraying me with deep red liquid as the bullet comes out the other side and narrowly misses my face.

“Hi Percy,” says Vax, on the ground, weakly.

Sylas turns angrily towards this new assailant, as Percy, no longer disguised as Vax, reloads his rifle. Fear and pure hatred both flash in the gunslinger’s eyes, fighting for dominance, as he finds himself staring at the face of the man who killed his family, destroyed his city.

“Would you look at that, dear?” Sylas says to Delilah. “The pup yet lives.” They share a condescending chuckle.

But Percy uses this opportunity to shoot Lord Briarwood right in the face. BOOM! A chunk of flesh is blown off, exposing bone underneath. Sylas grunts in pain, but the intensity of his hatred is not diminished.

Seeker Assum, evidently now charmed, fires two crossbow bolts at Grog, the biggest and most obvious target. The first bolt goes wide, but the second one strikes, though the barbarian seems almost entirely unphased by it.

Meanwhile, Lord Briarwood is glancing around, looking for his next prey. He growls at Percy, but the white-haired gunslinger is much too far away to be dealt with now. However, standing right in front of him, I am a very convenient target. Especially considering how much damage I dealt to him on my last turn. My eyes widen as his huge form lunges towards me. I hold my shield up to block, but he simply pushes it aside, grabbing my shoulders roughly and pulling me towards him.

I cry out in pain as I feel needle-sharp teeth rip open my skin just above my armor. A cold sensation spreads from the spot, as though my very life were being sucked out. I can feel blood beginning to drip down my neck and collect under my armor. A small number appears in my vision: -21.

That sucked.

Almost as soon as the damage total fades away, another die is rolled, a d20 that lands on a 13, with a +2 modifier. I worry that this might be a saving throw against an enemy effect, but with the total of 15, I feel the maintenance of a connection between my holy symbol and the glittering barrier around Siveldor as he raises his staff and shoots a shimmering green arrow towards Delilah; she dodges, but the arrow explodes into sickly yellow-green mist, some of which splashes onto her, melting some skin. Of course, it must have been a concentration check to maintain Siv’s magical shield.

It's my turn again, but, trapped in Sylas’s iron grip, there isn’t much I can do. I struggle against his grapple, kicking and biting at him, until I roll an 18 plus 1 on the die, which is enough to allow me to break free.

Unfortunately, that was my action, but I still have just enough turn left to cast Spiritual Weapon. I conjure a huge spectral mace, matching the smaller one I grip in my hand, right beside Lord Briarwood, bringing it down in a swing towards the vampire.

With a spell attack roll of 15 plus 7, the mace hits. Two damage dice are rolled, landing on a 5 and a 6, plus a modifier of 3 for a total of 14 damage. No longer interested in being anywhere near Sylas, I turn and run, earning a sharp blow to the back of the head from one of his strong hands for 6 damage.

Mid-run, as I make my way towards the group, I freeze again, my turn ending. I watch the eagle coast out of the window and set Scanlan down on the ground in front of the Briarwoods, before morphing back into a thin, red-headed half-elf and sending another Healing Word to Vax. The rogue, now sufficiently recovered for the time being, clicks his heels together and stands up, sprinting faster than should have been possible past me and towards his sister, who is in the process of chugging reddish liquid from a glass vial.

Vex fires off two arrows towards Delilah, but she dodges them both, smiling calmly, looking almost amused. “Honey, we’ll deal with them. Worse comes to worst,” she says softly to Sylas. Then she locks eyes with Tiberius, who is still hovering near the window, ready to fly down into the fray. “But you.”

I feel a sudden cold weight in my stomach, realizing- remembering- what is about to happen. Powerless to stop it. 

“I'm Tiberius Stormwind!” he says merrily with a little wave.

She narrows her eyes in cruel amusement. “Yes, indeed you are.”

Her eyes flash, and then there’s a moment, as the red dragonborn looks back at her, that seems almost like a battle of wills. For an instant, the world goes still, as the two are locked in a silent, invisible combat- a combat of the mind. I hold my breath, though I already know the outcome.

Lady Briarwood prevails. Tiberius, yelping with pain, falls to the floor in the Briarwoods’ room, all sign of intelligence gone from his once-scholarly disposition. He drops to all fours, flicking his tongue like a lizard, and scampers out the door back into the palace hallway, grunting at the guard on his way out before disappearing from sight.

Gosh, that spell is overpowered. Fortunately, it will prove to save Vox Machina someday. But for now, I grip my holy symbol, making sure I save a spell slot to restore him after the battle is over.

Meanwhile, Grog charges towards Sylas, throwing his flaming hammer at the vampire. It hits with a satisfying clang of metal on metal, leaving a slight burn mark on the front of his suit. The Goliath pulls on the chain attached to the hammer, and it flies right back into his hand, Thor-style.

Scanlan, somehow left at the front of the group, sweats nervously. “Oh. Hello. What a lovely dinner we had- Lightning!” Delilah starts to mutter a counterspell, but the gnome’s magic overpowers her. A bolt of bluish white energy shoots towards both Briarwoods, who dodge but are still caught in the blast.

He then begins to sing something that sounds suspiciously like the Lion King in the direction of Keyleth, but is quickly interrupted by the same angry, powerful shout as before.

“Sylas!”

Percy has put away his rifle, strapping it to his back. He now holds a smaller gun, his Pepperbox, which he fires rapidly at the vampire. The third shot misses, piercing only shadow, but the first two strike true, blasting chunks of flesh from his arms. Flesh that quickly starts to grow back in. Darn regeneration ability; in my attempt to escape Lord Briarwood’s grapple, I hadn’t managed to deal any radiant damage to him during that round.

While Seeker Assum, whom I think we all forgot about at this point, somehow manages to fail to hide, Sylas pulls out a huge sword from seemingly thin air. My eyes widen; this sword is not good news. I’m glad I got out of his melee when I did.

Instead, Lord Briarwood lunges towards Grog, trading two slashes of his sword for a hammer hit as the vampire backs away upon the completion of his attack. The goliath doesn’t seem any worse for wear, besides a few minor scrapes, but he has a high constitution and rolled well. The rest of us might not be so lucky if we find ourselves on the business end of that thing.

But the world freezes again as Siv’s and my turn comes back around.

“Fall back! To Vox Machina!” I call to my wizard friend, who reluctantly steps back from his confrontation with Delilah. He hurls a baseball-sized sphere of energy at the wizard as he runs, but misses entirely, and the ball explodes with a loud boom as it hits the ground behind her.

I fire an upcasted Guiding Bolt at Sylas from my position near the group, praying that my gamble on a level 4 slot wouldn’t be wasted.

Ioun, it seems, answers. With a 17 on the attack roll plus my +7 spellcasting bonus, the beam of radiant energy slams into him, for an unholy- or should I say holy?- amount of damage- six of the 7 dice roll above average, for a total of 31 points of damage. The holy light burns into him, searing his already-fried flesh; this damage I know won’t heal.

Just for good measure, I go for a bonk on the head with my spiritual mace, but even with the advantage imposed by the Guiding Bolt, a total of 15 to hit falls short; Lord Briarwood, despite being horribly burned by radiant fire, manages to dodge out of the way. Oh well. Still a good turn.

Keyleth raises her staff, and a frigid wind blows through the courtyard; sleet and ice begin to pelt down from the sky and coat the ground all around the Briarwoods. Vax, drinking a vial of reddish liquid similar to his sister’s, offhandedly flings a dagger towards the evil nobles, but it goes wide. He steps back towards Vex, who fires two arrows at Sylas. Apparently, these are holy arrows, as they further burn and scar his skin as they hit their mark and sink in.

Lord Briarwood, after all this, is not looking well. His skin is scorched and burned, his eyes defiant but tired. But I know Vox Machina doesn’t get the chance to finish him yet.

Delilah, slipping a little on Keyleth’s ice, puts her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “My dear, I fear it’s time that we make our leave.” And with a flash of purple energy, they both vanish.

Scanlan immediately turns to the rest of the group. “Vex, does your Hunter’s Mark tell you where they went?”

The ranger focuses for a moment. “They’re not that far, they’re just around the corner. They’re right there! Do we want to keep fighting them?”

“He’s ragged! Go!” insists Vax. “If we’re ever going to get them, we need to get them now!” He turns to the gunslinger. “Lead the way, Percival!”

We all break into a run in the direction Vex indicates, rushing around the corner to see the Briarwoods’ carriage pulling away, gaining speed.

“Close the gates!” shouts Grog.

Boom! With another furious shot from Percy, one of the wheels splinters into pieces.

The air blows cold as Keyleth summons another sleet storm; the now three-wheeled carriage slips across the ice, careening out of control, until it crashes to its side and skids to a halt.

The palace gates slam shut at Grog's request as the carriage door opens, the Briarwoods climbing out onto the icy ground. Lord Briarwood stands up angrily, Delilah at his side. She looks to the group- to Percy in particular- with a cruel, condescending smile. “Well, at the very least, I think you should come visit us sometime, Percy. You’re always welcome back home. It’d be nice of you to visit your family once in a while.”

I can’t say I blame Vex for shooting an arrow at her to wipe that stupid smile off her face. The arrow pierces Lady Briarwood, then explodes with a burst of smoke and shrapnel from the wooden carriage.

When the air clears, the couple still stands there, still alive and definitely not out of tricks. Delilah wraps an arm around her husband and whispers, “It’s alright.” With a hand gesture and a faint whisper, they vanish. And this time, there is no tracking them.

The Briarwoods are gone.

Chapter Text

With the disappearance of the Briarwoods, we are all left standing, exhausted and hurt, trying to come to terms with what has just happened. I press my hand to my neck, wincing, trying to stem the gradually slowing flow of blood from the bite wound.

The more I think about the fight, the more something about it bothers me. Something wasn’t right. I didn’t notice it in the moment, I was too busy trying to survive, but…

I am pulled out of my head by motion out of the corner of my eye. Percy has separated from the group, stepping up to the carriage driver, who is prone on the ground, burned and injured badly from his proximity to the tail end of the battle.

“Please, please spare my life, please. What do you want from me?” he gasps as the gunslinger approaches him.

“What do you know?” growls Percy, holding the gun towards him.

“About what?” he asks.

“Percy, no-” I try to interject, remembering what comes next, but it’s too late.

BANG! The young man screams as his fingers are blown off his hand, spraying crimson across the cobblestones. “I’m sorry. I don’t- look-” He trembles as he catches sight of the bloody stumps.

“You’re from Whitestone, yes?” Percy asks, still in a fury.

“I am,” the driver says quietly. “You don’t know what it’s like. I had no choice.”

“Well, you do now.” He reloads the gun, and aims at the man’s other hand.

“Please don’t, please,” he whispers.

“Frederick de Rolo.”

“Yes?”

“Where is he?” Percy growls.

“He’s gone. He’s gone, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Lady Johanna.”

“They’re all gone. Sir, they all–”

“Julius de Rolo.”

“I don’t know.”

“Vesper de Rolo.”

“I don’t–”

“Whitney de Rolo. Ludwig de Rolo. Oliver de Rolo.” I can feel my heart breaking as he names his family members one by one. But he never mentions Cassandra.

“Your family is gone, sir. They were taken. They were killed. I’m sorry.”

“You will tell us everything you’ve seen.”

“They’ll find me, sir. They’ll kill me.” The man’s eyes are wide with fear.

“No, they won’t. Because I will kill you first.” A shiver goes down my spine. “Tell me what you’ve seen. I want you to spend the rest of your life making up for the things you’ve allowed to happen.”

With that, the white-haired man strikes the prone figure's head with the barrel of his gun, and the carriage driver falls unconscious.

“We can put him in our cell. We’ll bring him to Greyskull Keep,” says Keyleth nervously, beginning to cauterize his bleeding fingers with her flaming hands to stop the flow.

Guards are beginning to gather out at the front of the palace, hearing the sounds of combat and screaming, and are looking very suspiciously at the group of armed individuals standing over the unconscious body of an innocent servant, the Briarwoods nowhere in sight. This is not a good position for us to be in. But we’ve thrown in our lot with Vox Machina now. Besides, if we try to make a run for it, that will only make us look more suspicious.

Vax holds his hands out in a surrendering pose towards the guards. “We saved Uriel, you will stand down now. Uriel would not be alive if not for the people around you now. Walk away.”

The guard gives him a look. “As far as we know right now, you, all of you, attacked two of our guests in the center of our own palace. They managed to flee. We’re going to investigate this. Currently we’re holding no one at immediate prison sentence for this, but–”

“You realize your lord would not be alive now were it not for us, don’t you?” Vax says, frustrated.

Keyleth interjects. “Also, you’re a common guard. I’m speaking because Tiberius would say this, and he’s not here right now because he’s a little stupid at the moment, but do not interfere with the businesses that we have already arranged with people who have higher authority than you. Back off.”

The guard looks at her for a second, then steps away. “I mean no offense. We’re going to investigate this. I mean no disrespect to you. You’ve been much aid to Emon. Just understand, this is a very peculiar circumstance. Please, we’ll call you when it’s time to get your opinions and your perspectives on the evening’s events. We need to go ahead and notify-”

The guard continues to talk, but at this moment, my attention is drawn to the sound of the palace doors being thrown open. Allura rushes out of the palace, quickly taking in the scene, and her eyes land on Tiberius, who had been stumbling around at the bottom of the steps. The dragonborn locks eyes with Lockheed and makes a pathetic little lizard whine; the little green pseudodragon flies over to Allura and seems to communicate something to her.

She steps forward. “Tiberius…?”

He breathes out a frustrated column of flame with a grunt.

Allura steps back for a second. “Tiberius, are you alright? You’ve been cursed by something. Hold on.” She takes his head and holds him in place, scolding him as he, agitated, won’t stay still. “Tiberius, calm yourself.”

She begins to inspect him, running her fingers up the side of his snout, then pulls away with a worried expression. “This is not good. This is very powerful magic. I don’t know if I have the capability of doing this really; you need a cleric. Please, sit tight, stay right here.”

I step forward a little, towards Allura and Tiberius. “Could I possibly be of some assistance...?”

The golden-haired wizard looks at me curiously, then glances down at the symbol around my neck. “Do you have the means to restore his mind?”

I nod. “I- I think so. I’ll need you to hold him still though.”

I approach Tiberius slowly, my hand outstretched. He panics, whining and grunting unintelligibly and trying to pull away, but Allura holds onto his arms tightly. “It’s ok, she’s here to help,” she says softly. Eventually, the dragonborn stops struggling, but continues to eye me warily.

I reach out and place my hand on the side of his head. My holy symbol glows warmly as I feel the cleansing magic of a Greater Restoration spell flow through my arm and into the smooth red scales beneath my fingers, and I watch as strange gray veins on his head slowly fade and intelligence returns to his previously vacant eyes.

I step back, the spell completed, and look at Tiberius. “Better?”

The sorcerer grunts in agreement. “That was… poppycock. Terribly inconvenient.”

“Yep, he’s better.”

“Thank you,” Allura nods to me, releasing him to return to the others.

I turn back towards the group, where Vax appears to be mid-panic attack. “-feel right, I think I need to go to a temple. I think I’m dangerous. You need to put me in the dungeon very soon.”

“I’ve read about this,” Scanlan nods. “We bury him under the ground for five days and five nights, all will be better.”

“No, that’s not how that works,” I jump in, shaking my head. “That’s not how any of this works. Vax, you’ll be just fine. A vampire has to kill you by drinking your blood for anything bad to happen.”

“How would you know?” Vex turns on me, her arms crossed. She gets a curious look on her face. “And who are you, anyway? You were there, in the fight. You helped us. Who are you?”

I glance at Siv, who speaks up. “I’m Siveldor, and this is my friend Korakiel.”

“We’re… musicians by trade,” I add. “We performed earlier at the feast.”

Scanlan nods. “I remember that.”

“They’re not just musicians, though,” says Vax, turning to the group. “They helped us in the fight, before the rest of you got there. She healed me. They saved me from the Briarwoods.”

Then he notices my blood-soaked neck, and the two puncture wounds just above my armor. “You were bitten, too.”

The group takes a step back from me.

“How were you there before us?” asks Vex, looking at me with suspicion. “How did you know where we would be?”

I freeze, trying to figure out what I should tell them- the truth, or make up a story about how we just happened to be passing by as Vax fell? I hate lying, and I’m terrible at it. But how do I explain being an entity from another reality?

“Well… I…”

Suddenly, a voice rings out across the courtyard. “All of you, stop your business.”

We all turn to see Uriel standing at the front of the palace, still wearing his robes and not looking pleased. “Am I to understand there has been a scuffle with my guests?”

“Your guests are vampires,” says Vex. “Look at my brother right now.”

“And me,” I add, showing him my bloody neck.

“And Tiberius is… an idiot,” Keyleth adds.

“I beg your pardon?” the dragonborn says, offended.

“He was healed,” Allura informs her, then turns to Uriel. “Sovereign, I can attest, there is something strange going on here.”

“I’m certain there is some sort of explanation for this,” replies Uriel.

“You invited vampires into your palace,” Vex says, growing frustrated.

“We will investigate,” says Uriel. “Look, the Briarwoods are esteemed guests of ours, and friends. This is going to be taken very seriously.”

“You can have whatever mages you want cast truth on me. Two of us were bitten. This threat is real,” Vax insists, pointing to his bite wound.

“The Briarwoods murdered the de Rolos and took Whitestone. I have proof. I was there.” Percy speaks for the first time since “interrogating” the carriage driver; his voice is subdued and rough.

“I know of this as well,” I concur, earning shocked gazes from everyone, Percy included. “He speaks the truth.”

“Then we shall have to have a conversation,” the sovereign concludes. “For the time being, take care of your own. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, find yourself back to the palace. I would very much like to speak with you. This… disturbs me.”

“I would recommend, Uriel, dis-inviting them for now,” advises Percy.

“We have earned your trust, have we not?” Vax adds.

“You have. As have they. We’ll talk tomorrow. Bring me what proof you have. This is a very, very serious thing you’re discussing.”

I nod, bowing with respect. “You have our word, sovereign. First thing tomorrow.”

With that, Uriel turns, and Vox Machina heads towards the palace gates. I watch for a moment longer as Uriel disappears into the palace, looking troubled. I’m sorry, I think, wishing he could hear me.

“Well, I think we should go to a healer anyway,” Vex is saying when I rejoin the conversation.

“If the mighty brain-fixer says he’s fine, then I trust her,” Tiberius counters.

“But she was bitten, too,” worries Vax. “What if she’s…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication is clear.

“Plus, we don’t know either of them,” Vex reminds the group. “What if they’re working with the Briarwoods? Spying on us? Don’t you think it’s a little odd that they were at the fight before us? I don’t know if we can trust them.”

“We’re not with the Briarwoods,” I say behind her, startling the ranger a little. “I serve Ioun. She told us of this battle, of what would take place tonight. We wanted to help. Besides,” I add, “The Knowing Mistress is fundamentally opposed to the entity the Briarwoods serve. If we were spies, I would not be using a cleric of Ioun as a front.”

“Sounds like something a spy would say,” Scanlan mutters.

I sigh; he’s not wrong. But I don’t know how to make them believe me.

“Look, we can go to a temple if you’d like, to get the bites looked at. I won’t even say ‘I told you so’ when they say we’re fine. After that, you can drop us off at the Scholar’s Respite in the Erudite Quarter and don’t worry about us anymore if you wish.”

“Alright,” Vax agrees. Vex reluctantly nods. So we walk to the Temple District, seeking out the small Temple of Sarenrae, goddess of redemption and healing.

The lights in the temple are low this late at night, but the gates are open, and as we approach, three clerics in white and gold robes come out to meet us.

Vex steps forward, a worried look on her face. “Please sir, I hope we’re not disturbing you, but we need your help again.”

The oldest of the three, who I remember to be Father Tristan, studies us for a moment, and then, sensing her desperation, beckons us inside. “Alright. Come, enter. Light the lanterns.”

As the other two clerics begin to turn up the arcane light of the wall sconces, Vex pushes Vax and me forward; her shove on my back is a little rougher than strictly necessary.

Tristan steps towards us. “What is wrong with them?”

“They were bitten by something… quite unholy,” says Vex.

“Oh.” He leans back, his worry fading. “The good news is, if you’re standing here, then most of the danger is gone. However, like any wound, there might be some residual infection.” He inspects the bites for a second, then reaches into his pouch and pulls out some herbs and presses them into our wounds, starting with Vax’s and then mine. I let out a hiss as the herbs burn a little bit.

“As long as this doesn't get infected, it should be all right. I assume, based on what you say, the nature of these wounds, that is some sort of–”

“They drank his blood,” Vex interjects.

“Vampirism,” the cleric nods. “From what I know of vampirism, it requires many tastes of your life force and bringing you to the threshold of death and beyond to truly turn you.”

“Listen, doc, I can't bite anybody here. Are you sure?” Vax still seems worried.

“Unless this is some unnatural thing beyond classic vampirism, you should be fine.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying anything- that’s exactly what I told them.

“Excuse me?” Keyleth interjects, eyeing the plant the cleric had used. “Do you actually have any extra of that glissfoil or any seeds that I could take with me? That way I can just keep up on daily disinfections.”

“Certainly.” He reaches into a pouch and pulls out a handful of glissfoil- a dried yellowish green leaf that curls in itself a little bit- and hands it to the druid.

“Thank you so much.”

“Well, is there anything else I can do to help you this evening?” he asks, clasping his hands together.

“Thank you for all your assistance,” says Scanlan. “Did you tell us a price for fixing Vax?”

The cleric waves him off. “That was a simple disinfection. There’s no price for that. We’re happy to heal here.”

“Thank you so much,” says Vex.

“Our friend Pike would be much, much grateful for your service,” Scanlan adds.

“Pike Trickfoot?” The cleric’s eyes brighten with recognition at the name.

“Yes, do you remember her?” asks Keyleth.

“She's in Vasselheim, restoring another temple of Sarenrae at this moment,” Vex tells him. 

A broad smile brings his face from deep melancholy tentativeness to shining warmth. “I had not known that our Lady had reach as far as Vasselheim. I’m happy to hear that she has continued carrying her faith to distant lands, and that she has recovered well since our last meeting.”

“She has. She’s thriving,” Vex nods.

“Good.” The cleric smiles. “Well, goodnight and adieu to you all.”

As the group leaves, headed for the tavern and then the keep, I linger a moment longer at the door. "Thank you, Father Tristan.”

He gives me a surprised look, a stranger greeting him by name. “How did you… oh.” He sees the symbol hanging around my neck, inferring the rest. “Good to see another person of the faith. Not many followers of Ioun left anymore.”

I nod, as if I have any idea what he is talking about, but a flicker of confusion crosses my face. Is it rare to worship Ioun?

I decide not to press the matter; I can hear the group getting farther ahead. So I give him a little bow as I take my leave. “May the Everlight shine upon us all. In these dark times ahead, we are all going to need it.”

And then I am gone, back out the door, catching up with the party as they head south through the city, towards the Scholar’s Respite.

Vax is in the process of recounting what happened in the Briarwoods’ room, what went wrong to land him in the position he was in when he called for aid, when a giant ball of brown fur comes bounding through the street right towards us. I recognize the grizzly bear immediately, but Siveldor, walking next to me, immediately aims his staff, panicking.

“Siv, stand down! It’s ok. He’s friendly.” I push his staff away. I would never forgive myself if any harm came to this bear; neither would Vex.

The wizard gives me a look, but lowers his staff back to its use as a walking stick.

The bear charges straight for Vex’ahlia, rubbing up against her with a happy bear sound.

The ranger runs her fingers through his fur. “Your uncle almost died! I almost died. Did you know I almost died, darling?”

The bear licks her face, then turns and licks Vax all over. “Oh geez, good to see you too buddy,” the rogue laughs.

Then the bear seems to notice Siv and me for the first time. He sniffs at us, then cocks his head with a halfhearted growl, as if confused whether or not to attack these strangers.

“Not now, Trinket,” Vex says, smoothing down his fur in calming strokes. “They helped us. They’re friends. For now.” She gives us a look that clearly says, mess with us and you get the bear.

I hold out my hand cautiously towards Trinket. The die rolls a 15 plus 7- an animal handling check, I suppose.

A 22 seems to easily succeed. He sniffs it, and then slowly pushes his nose under it, like a dog asking for pets. I smile and stroke his soft fur, rubbing behind his ears.

“Aw, he likes you,” says Vax, ignoring his sister’s glare.

“I’ve always been better with animals than people,” I admit, smiling as Trinket licks my hand.

Soon, we turn down the familiar street towards the Scholar’s Respite. But before we can even get there, I notice Helva standing outside the door, her arms crossed. She does not look happy.

Leaving Vox Machina a little way behind, Siv and I, exchanging a confused and worried glance, approach the tavernkeeper.

“Please tell me these rumors I’m hearin’ aren’t true,” she says in disbelief. “Lef’ ye alone for one nigh’, jes one, and ye go an’ try to kill the foreign ambassadors an’ get charged with treason?”

As we walk towards her, she gets a closer look at us. “Look at ye, yer all bloody. Ye did get in a fight. And where are yer instruments?”

I step forward with my hand out, trying to diffuse the situation. “We can explain. There’s been a misunderstanding. No one has been charged with anything yet. We are to talk to the Sovereign tomorrow. We were acting in defense; the Briarwoods are evil.”

My persuasion check totaling 10 says otherwise. Why am I the one talking?

“Regardless of who was a’ fault, the situation remains. Ye were in a fight at the palace, agains’ foreign nobles- guests of the Sovereign, no less. Tha’ doesn’ look good, even if ye were in the righ’. Which, I hav’ me doubts.” She gives us a look, half-stern, half-pity. “I’m sorry; I’m gonna hav’ ta let ye go. I can’ have ye stay ‘ere anymore. I can’ have this incident ruinin’ my reputation.”

“But- I- we-” My heart sinks through the floor as Helva turns and disappears into the tavern, closing the door behind her. Now what?

“So, I take it you’ll need a place to stay?” says a familiar voice.

I turn around to see Vox Machina still standing in the street a block or so behind us. They hadn’t left, and had witnessed the whole exchange with our now former employer.

“A-are you sure?” I ask, hopeful. “I mean, for all you know, we could be spies…”

Vax claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll take our chances. You have done us a great service today. It’s the least we can do.” He gives Vex, who doesn’t look particularly pleased, a pointed look.

I smile a little. “T-thank you. We promise to help you however we can.”

As we begin the trek through the streets of Emon towards Greyskull Keep, it finally dawns on me what was wrong about tonight.

Lillith. The servant girl who was actually a tiefling wizard, who showed up in the Briarwoods’ room during the fight, and whose presence resulted in a subsequent encounter with a mercenary known as the Broker.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

A soft knock on my door startles me awake late the next morning. I rub my eyes and open them to find sunlight streaming through the window. Groaning a little, I sit up and stretch out my stiff back. Siveldor had taken the singular guest room, leaving me to sleep in Pike’s currently unoccupied room; the bed, which would be luxuriously large for a gnome, is quite cramped for my half-elven form, short though I am.

Vex’s muffled voice comes through the door. “Kora? Hello?”

I groan sleepily. “Huh? Yeah?”

“Good morning, dear. Are you with Percy?”

“Percy? No, why?”

The door pushes open slowly; when I make no reaction in protest, Vex steps just inside the room. “Well, he hasn’t come down to breakfast yet, and neither have you, so we were just wondering-”

The voice of Scanlan interrupts her as the gnome walks down the hallway towards us, Grog in tow. “He’s not in his room, and his room is a mess.”

“He’s not in here, either,” Vex tells him. “Unless he’s under the bed…” she gives me a keen look.

I sigh. “Vex, I can barely fit in this bed and I’m short. Besides, I’m not interested in… whatever you think happened. He’s probably in his workshop.”

“That’s a good idea- wait, how did you know he has a workshop?” Scanlan looks at me suspiciously.

Crap. This is why I shouldn’t open my mouth when I’ve just woken up. “I… uh… we’ll explain later,” I stammer lamely.

Vex pauses for a moment, giving me a very intense stare with eyes narrowed. “Alright. But you’d better explain yourself, because right now, you’re creepy as heck. I don’t trust you. I’m watching you.”

“Noted. I’ll be down for breakfast.” Great, I’ve managed to make even my supposed allies in a fictional universe hate me. Nice going, “Kora”.

The others leave my room, allowing me to get dressed for the day. I strap on my armor, which has been cleaned of blood, and my boots, pinning my robe around my shoulders, and head downstairs to breakfast.

“…has good reason to hate-smelt,” Vex is saying when I approach. “He seems rather disturbed that the Briarwoods got away.”

“Yes. I feel responsible.” Scanlan frowns.

“I was a little bit preoccupied by watching him shoot a servant boy over and over and over again,” Keyleth says with a worried look.

“Morning.” I give a little wave from the doorway of the dining room. The conversation immediately halts as everyone turns towards me, some faces more friendly than others.

“We saved you some breakfast,” offers Keyleth, gesturing towards a full plate of food sitting before an empty chair between her and Siveldor.

“Thanks,” I smile, taking the seat and beginning to eat. The food is cold by now, but I don’t much care. I’m starved; this is my first meal since yesterday at mid-day, before we left for the feast.

“So.” Vex leans forward, her eyes narrowed. “Explain. Who are you, why are you here, how did you get to the fight before us, and how do you know so much about us?”

I look to Siv, but he seems just as confused as the others. What did you do? I hear his Message in my head.

I might’ve screwed up with knowledge I wasn’t supposed to have, I reply. What do I tell them? The truth?

He just gives me a passive shrug. Very helpful.

I take a deep breath. Truth it is. “Well… we aren’t from here.”

“No crap,” Vex notes.

“Where are you from, then? Westruun?” asks Grog.

I shake my head. “No. Like, we’re not from this realm of existence.”

The others at the table glance around at each other, shaking their heads slightly. It’s obvious that they think our story is too tall a tale to be true.

I nudge Siv under the table; I’m going to need some backup for this.

Thankfully, he gets the hint. “It sounds wild, but it’s true. We’re from a place called Minnesota, but one day, several months ago, we went to sleep, and when we woke up, we were just outside Emon. We’ve been making a living playing music for a local inn- or, at least, we had been, until last night.”

Vox Machina still looks incredibly skeptical. I don’t blame them; even in a world where magic is relatively common, visitors don’t just appear from other realities. Heck, we have been here for half a year and still don’t really understand it.

“So that still doesn’t explain how you were there at the fight. Or how you know everything else,” says Vex, pressing the matter.

“Yes, that.” I hold up my holy symbol. “I serve Ioun, goddess of knowledge and prophecy. She told me I have a… a gift of some sort. A gift of knowledge. I know much about the past, the present, the future. She told me about the Briarwoods and the fight that was to take place last night.

“I know about you, Vox Machina, because, well, you may have never heard of our world, but we have heard of you. The tales of your adventures and exploits are told far and wide for the few who take the time to listen. And I have. This is how I know what I know.

“I don’t know everything, but I know much.” As I speak, I cast Thaumaturgy, making my eyes appear completely blank with a soft purple glow, as though I were channeling divine prophecy. “I know all about the Briarwoods, who and what they are and where they came from. I know the whereabouts of the dragon that killed your mother, and exactly how he will die,” I say to the twins. Turning to Keyleth, “I know that your mother lives; you will reunite, but not for many years.” I dispel the cantrip and my eyes return to normal. "I could keep going, but I should probably save most of it for a better time." 

The druid gives a little gasp, her eyes widening with hope, but Vex still looks unconvinced. “And how do I know you aren’t just spouting total BS right now?”

I shake my head. “You don’t. I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I’m well aware of how crazy our story sounds; I’d think you were idiots if you did trust us. But keep your eyes open. You’ll soon find we have nothing to hide.”

Vax nods. “Alright. That sounds fair.”

“But we will be watching,” his sister adds.

I meet her gaze. “I expect nothing less.”

“Uh, shouldn’t we be going to see Uriel now?” Grog interrupts.

I nod, finishing my last few bites of breakfast. “Yeah, we should.”

“Is Percy coming?” asks Keyleth.

Scanlan shakes his head. “I think it’s best if we leave him alone for a while.”

I lift my shield- I have opted not to bring any weapons to this meeting, for obvious reasons- and we set out from the keep.

As we start to walk, Keyleth’s form shifts down into a white striped saber-tooth tiger and continues walking with us.

“Minxie!” Grog exclaims, and gives her a scratch behind the ears.

Vex speaks up as we make our way through the streets of Emon. “We probably should– do we have any sort of proof that the Briarwoods actually did horrible things and it wasn’t us attacking them?”

“Well, I’ve got these little scars right here.” Vax angles his head to the side, showing the bite wound, no longer bleeding but still very visible on the side of his neck.

“As do I,” I agree.

“And then there was what’s-his-name, Awesome Pants, who was there,” Vax continues.

“Seeker Assum,” Vex corrects him.

Scanlan continues, “There were those guards, too. There were guards outside the door.”

“They were incinerated,” Vax reminds him. “Plus, they were the Briarwoods’ guards, anyway.”

I speak up. “Assum is still under the Briarwoods’ charm. He will not be useful to us as a witness. Without... well, without Percy, our bites are honestly the best evidence we have.”

"Percy? But he kinda went crazy. He was shooting a servant boy when the guards arrived. I don't know that he would be an asset in this situation," Scanlan frowns. 

As he speaks, we reach the gates of the Cloudtop District. The guards at the gate let us in, and we make our way to the palace, walking in silence now. The palace guards, with nervous glances towards the saber-tooth tiger, lead us inside, down the main hallway and into the center of the palace, informing us, “Uriel is waiting within the throne chamber.”

Keyleth’s form shifts back to that of her half-elven self, much to the relief of the guards. “Oh! Lady Keyleth, my apologies.” They put their spears to the side.

Vax goes up to one of the guards. “Do you have a lost and found here? I have this really cool serpent-style belt. Sometimes it crawls around on its own. Sometimes it’s just a belt. And I lost it here the other night. And I’m really hoping– I mean, it ties everything together. Is there anyone I can check with?”

“Yes,” I step up beside him, “We left our instruments here as well, in all the chaos. We would really like them back.”

“Check back after you’ve spoken with the Sovereign, please. Thank you,” the guard says gruffly, continuing down the hallway.

Soon, we reach the main chamber. Two thrones stand on a raised platform in the center of the room, presumably for Uriel and his wife, but only one is currently occupied by the sovereign himself, who ushers us in. Seeker Assum, Allura, and the man I remember as Arbiter Brom step in, taking their places standing beside the throne, along with dozens of guards who enter and stand around the room at each exit point.

Once all the guards are settled and a really awkward silence hits the room, Uriel stands up from the throne and looks at us with an agitated expression, pacing slightly. “Thank you all for joining me. I must say, I am troubled by recent events, and I wish to speak to you regarding them before taking any action. I owe you that much for all you’ve done for me. Before you left for Vasselheim, you showed immediate interest in the Briarwoods. Percy in– Where is Percival?” He seems to notice the gunslinger’s absence for the first time.

“He’s not feeling well today after the events of last night, so he stayed behind,” Scanlan explains.

“Well, then please relay this conversation to him as soon as you see him,” says Uriel. “You exhibited interest in the Briarwoods before leaving for Vasselheim. I, through trust, did not inquire as to why. But upon your return, eagerly told you they were coming to this feast and invited you as part of the Council of Tal’Dorei to join this feast, as it was your request. I graciously followed through. You showed up. A meal was had. Questions were asked, although curious ones; I did not pry. Now I have since been notified, and seen a bit of the aftermath, that you, Vox Machina, and you,” he turns to Siv and me, “musicians I hired in good grace on the basis of your reputation, seemingly attacked our guests shortly— Please. Listen.” He holds up his hand in a calming gesture as several of those around me open their mouths in protest.

“Attacked our guests shortly after the meal in their own guest quarters. Forcing them to flee, after you destroyed the hallway, ruined their carriage, murdered two of their guards, two more outside, and leaving Seeker Assum to witness this entire process.” Assum gives a nod.

“You then tortured their carriage driver, and requested he be sent to the dungeon beneath your keep. Now, I am quite disturbed by the events of these past 14 hours, and I would like to hear an explanation. Arbiter, if you could please, prepare the space.” Well, now that he puts it like that, it does sound pretty unexcusable.

Arbiter Brom steps forward and pulls forth from underneath his robes a necklace that contains a holy symbol, rather similar to the one I wear. He grasps it, looks at each of us, and, with a subtle hand gesture, I feel a slight tingle across my skin.

“What the-” Keyleth hisses.

“It’s a truth spell,” I whisper. “Please, go with it.”

A die rolls for me, but I mentally wave it aside. Intentionally failing. I’m not afraid of this spell.

Uriel looks around at us. “So. I’ve said my piece for the moment. Explain.”

Vax steps forward first. “Uriel. With all respect, I needn’t remind you what the group of people before you put themselves through on your behalf and your family’s behalf. We almost lost one of our own. And if that counts for nothing here, then nothing makes sense. But if that is not enough, let us start here.”

“The Briarwoods are vampires,” Tiberius interjects.

“Actually, Lord Briarwood is a vampire. Lady Briarwood is a necromancer,” I correct.

“We had prior knowledge of the Briarwoods’ intentions before this evening,” Vax continues. “And I myself went to spy on them.”

“Here’s the thing.” Vex steps up next to her brother. “Percy doesn’t like them because they killed his family. They took over his home, after killing his family. He got away. He knows they’re scary. We’re trying to protect you.”

“And if you’re wondering how we know they’re vampires…” says Grog, elbowing me in the back and whispering, “Vax, Kora, this is your cue.”

“I will subject myself to any test, to any wizard or mage in this city who you know can ascertain the truth. To look through my eyes, to see my memories,” Vax insists. “I don't know a thing about magic, but there are people who do.”

“I will as well,” I agree, tilting my neck to show my bite wound. “We have nothing to hide.” I stare evenly into Brom’s eyes, knowing that he knows I willingly subjected myself to the spell. Hoping that, though the others may have resisted the spell, my honesty will be evidence enough.

“Cleric Tristan treated two of us last night for vampire-inflicted wounds,” Scanlan says. “I know this all looks really bad on the surface, and we did not want to cause any disturbance within these hallowed walls, but there was a danger, we acted. Perhaps too abruptly and without telling you.”

“We tried to get your attention. I called for you immediately. As soon as we knew there was danger,” Vex insists.

“And don't take our word for it. Anyone, have them look in here.” Vax taps his head.

“Also, while you are inquiring about him, you might inquire about Seeker Assum,” says Vex.

“If you’re worried about lies within your own ranks, I think you should start with him,” agrees Scanlan.

“In fact,” says Keyleth, “I actually might be able to help Seeker Assum, if you will allow me to.”

“He was mind-controlled last night,” Vex mentions.

Uriel looks to the halfling, then back at us skeptically. “I have had Assum at my side for the better part of 15 years. He is responsible, far more than your merry band has ever attempted, for keeping and maintaining the good and lawful state of this country.”

“Uriel, your own family was not themselves! And you know that! Look into my mind! Now! Today! You don't need to guess anything,” Vax implores.

“It would also do you well to show respect,” Uriel cautions. “We are speaking, half-elf. Now, I would assign Allura to such an endeavor. However, it has also been noticed that she has grown quite friendly and attached to your group, and in this circumstance, there is question. So you will be, in a few days, assigned an individual to this ritual of which you are presenting yourself.

“The Briarwoods, regardless of what you may think they may be, or we do– that will show in time– have shown nothing over the past five years but graciousness, and gone through all proper channels to establish this relationship between our city and theirs. Far more than the previous family ever attempted.”

“Well, one may smile and still be a villain,” Vax notes.

“That goes both ways,” Uriel replies icily. “Now, please.”

“Just let me do a quick restoration spell on Assum,” begs Keyleth. “If nothing is wrong with him, nothing will happen. It’s harmless, it can’t hurt. And if I am wrong, then we can continue on. We can have Vax tested. Please, it’ll take ten minutes. What can it hurt?”

“Up until last night, he was himself. Trust us that now he is not,” Vex says.

Uriel frowns. “There has been nothing about his behavior, at all, to insinuate any change of anything of the sort. And I have known the man for quite some time, before I even took this throne. However, I will, in the good graces and the relationship we forged, allow this. Assum, are you all right with this?”

Assum gives a nod, stepping forward. “Well, if this is to be how it is. Certainly.”

Keyleth reaches out, grasping the Seeker’s arms, and I watch carefully as she whispers under her breath and casts the spell. Assum draws a slight breath, and then steps back to his place by the throne.

Uriel looks to him. “And, Assum?”

“My stance has not changed,” says the Seeker. I know what he is doing, but it still hurts to listen to. “I know not what she is attempting or thought the situation was, but it appears to me that this was either misinformation or at least at the time being, hopefully, not a lie. But I believe Brom has taken care of that, yes?”

Brom gives a nod. “I certainly have hoped to.” His gaze lands icily on a few members of the group. I am not one of them.

“All right,” says Uriel with finality. “Here’s the circumstance: as it stands, I fear I must revoke Vox Machina’s membership in the council of Tal’Dorei until further notice, for the safety of our countryside and the current tension in our relationship.”

“Objection!” calls Scanlan, before continuing more simply, “That’s it. I just wanted to say that. Please continue. I just want it noted that we object strongly to this.”

“I understand,” says Uriel. “And this will only continue until all of our investigations are complete.”

“Are we still allowed free rein to roam about as we please? Are we under arrest for anything?” asks the gnome.

“You are not under arrest. You are revoked from the council, and you will be closely watched until our investigations are complete.”

“How long will your investigations take?” asks Vex.

He looks back to Assum, who says, “Well, depends on how quickly we can acquire the information; it could be weeks. I’ll do my best to make it thorough and quick.”

“Are we allowed to leave the city in that time?” the ranger asks.

Uriel looks back and says, “You may leave if you wish. Know that there have been precautions taken. Should you attempt to flee, we will find you.”

“And when are you to look into my mind?” Vax persists.

“We ought to speak to the Lyceum to find a proper individual of sufficient power and trust to do this, as Allura right now is being kept out of the scenario.”

“Are we allowed to speak with Allura?” Scanlan asks.

“If you wish. Outside of these chambers,” Uriel nods. “Do what you must to clear your name. I would like very much for this all to be true, what you’re saying. But do not flee. Do not give an inclination that you attempt to escape this judgment, for we will take that as a sign of guilt.”

“How will you tell if we are fleeing or just travelling?” I ask.

“That will depend on the manner in which you leave, and the timeliness of your return,” says the sovereign. “Should we conclude that your actions were beyond reason and the moral fiber of this council before your return, we will have no choice to put a bounty on your heads, should you not return. I really, really do not wish to do this. Do not make me do this.”

Tiberius steps forward. “No need for threats, friend. Are we done here?”

Uriel gives the group a pained look. “I want to believe you all. I ask you, show that my trust has not been misplaced all this time. Now, you may leave.”

“I look forward to the second parade you'll throw for us after our names are cleared,” Scanlan mutters smugly.

“Very well.” Uriel nods, and the guards open the doors for us, following closely behind us as we exit down the hallway.

Siveldor turns to one of the guards as we walk. “Excuse me. Kora and I left our instruments here last night. They were in a little room off to the left of the foyer. We would really like to have them back, since that’s kind of our job.”

He sighs heavily, and motions to one of the other guards who are walking with us. “Would you go fetch the instruments please? Make it quick.”

“I’m sorry,” Vax interrupts, “Have you seen a belt that is shaped like a snake? Sometimes it moves around on its own. And it answers to the name Simon, but usually it’s just a belt and looks really cool. Have you seen it? Is there a lost and found I can check out? It’s very dear to me.”

The guard gives him a look that says I’m so done with this BS. “I think you’ve got more important matters to deal with before you go looking for a belt, sir.”

“What? But- come on, please-?” Vax begs. But the guard ignores him.

The other man returns shortly, out of breath, carrying two familiar-shaped cases, which Siv and I quickly take hold of. “Thank you so much,” I tell him, doing my best to look desperate and grateful. It isn’t difficult.

The guards give no response, escorting us the rest of the way out of the palace. The huge heavy doors slam shut behind us with a very final-sounding boom, leaving us standing, alone, on the cobblestone street of the Cloudtop District, removed from the council, our prospects uncertain.

Chapter Text

“Keyleth, what happened?” Scanlan asks after a long moment of silence. “Your magic didn’t work?”

“No, it worked,” she confirms, looking troubled.

“But Assum lied,” the bard guesses.

“What does that mean?” asks Vex, frustrated. “Does that mean Uriel’s under their control? I don’t understand.”

“Is he playing some sort of long game here?” Vax wonders.

“It must mean that we have something to fear from Uriel. Or someone else close,” says Scanlan.

Keyleth frowns. “I don’t know who to trust anymore, to be totally honest.”

“Really?” asks Grog.

“It worked. I could feel it break,” Keyleth insists. “It worked, and he’s got some sort of long game. I don't know if it’s because he doesn't want Uriel to know, for whatever reason. I don’t know if it’s because he has some deeper, ulterior motive.”

“Do you think he was faking that he was healed, and maybe he wasn’t?” offers Vex.

“No.” Keyleth shakes her head.

“Uriel is under the Briarwoods’ charm,” I interject. “As long as the charm remains, he will be friendly towards the Briarwoods, and therefore hostile towards their enemies- us. Assum was cured of the charm, but he needs Uriel to think they’re on the same side here, so he can continue to have influence.”

“So, we need to bring back proof of them being vampires,” Grog suggests.

“Proof would help.” Scanlan nods. “Hey! Don’t we have a prisoner? Can’t we question the prisoner?”

 “The guy that Percy shot the hand off of.” Vex’s eyes widen. “Is he bleeding out? What if he’s dead? We’re so screwed!”

“I made sure,” says Keyleth, looking worried. “I cauterized his wounds, remember?”

“We should question him. He could have proof,” Scanlan says.

Just then, the palace doors open behind us, and brisk footsteps make their way in our direction. We turn to see Allura walking quickly towards us.

“What the heck happened in there?” Scanlan asks once she reaches us.

“Everyone– I don't fully know what happened last night, and–” She hesitates. “I just worry. I know not what happened here, and I heard what you said, and I honestly do not trust the Briarwoods myself either. There was something about that meal and the conversation, and their presence that put me off entirely. It was strange. And what you say makes a lot of sense. Vampirism is a bit beyond what I was expecting. I did sense some powerful masqueraded arcane essence from Lady Briarwood. Look, I would recommend for this to do your best to be thorough in this. Bring back any and all information you can. From the words I hear, you probably have at best a few weeks before this comes to a close. And if you don't have enough evidence to support your argument– well, I don't know.”

“Allura, all I know how to do is break locks, but I’ve seen these people do things with magic that have defied expectations. Why can no one look into my memory? You have looked across miles. Cannot anyone look into my mind and see?” Vax is adamant.

“You have to understand,” says Allura gently. “Not all arcane works that way. There are magics that can dabble in that realm, but none that specialize that here in Emon. Divination, yes there are elements of that. We can see the physical. We can see certain events. But to look into one’s mind is a different magic entirely.”

“Are there no spells that can divine if someone’s speaking true?” Vax pleads.

“That was attempted during that council, but after you left, Brom notified Uriel and the Council that many of you were resistant to the spell, and as such, it could not be verified.”

Vex laughs in disbelief. “Just tell us you’re doing it, we won’t resist it!”

“I told you guys to just go with it,” I groan.

“If we came back with proof…?” Grog begins.

“What sort of proof do you think they would accept? The head of Lady Briarwood?” Scanlan suggests.

“No, because it’ll disappear the minute we kill her or something,” says Vex, shrugging. “They’re vampires, I don’t know what they do.”

Allura thinks for a moment. “Interestingly enough, if an artifact or an item brought forth from them could be divined, that should tell all.”

“What sort of artifact? Like, a brooch? A handbag?” offers Grog.

“Are we talking about his teeth?” Vax asks.

“Is there still the remaining wreckage of their carriage? Is that still there?” Keyleth asks.

“The carriage has been disposed,” says Allura. “It’s been picked over, and there were remnants within the rubble of some sort of a sigil of teleportation.”

“I need to see that sigil,” Tiberius says.

“That, I believe, has all been investigated and kept under lock and key with Assum. You would have to speak with him. I would like to help. I cannot come with you. I’m working on something else at the moment. Ah!” She reaches into her pocket and brings out a few tiny blue bead-shaped objects.

Tiberius takes them carefully with a smile. “Thank you so much, Lady Allura!”

She gives him a careful look as he takes it. “Do your best to clear your name.”

“I shall,” the dragonborn assures her.

“I know you come of noble blood, and many of you stand to inspire many others of noble blood. As celebrated heroes of this city, there is a lot more on the line here besides just your well-being. There’s a lot of people in this town that look up to you.” Then the wizard straightens, her demeanor growing more formal. “Nevertheless, I’ve already said more than I should. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Allura.” Vex bows her head respectfully.

With that, the wizard pulls the hood of her robe up over her head and rushes off towards her white tower, towards the edge of the Cloudtop District.

Grog claps his hands together. “Let’s go make sure the prisoner isn’t dead.”

“All right. So wait. What are our avenues? We’re going to have to Columbo this. What are our avenues of finding proof?” Scanlan begins as we walk back towards the keep. “We have a prisoner we can question. Who knows if that will yield anything. And then, we might have to go gather evidence, which means leaving town against his word.”

“Well, we’re allowed to leave town,” Vex reminds him. “He said we’re allowed to leave. We just can’t look like we’re fleeing, so we tell them where we’re going. They can even follow us, I don’t care.”

“So we tell them that we’re going to the people that they’re trying to create a political relationship with?” Vax says skeptically. “'We’re just going off to invade your political allies.'”

“Oh come on! You half-elves, I swear!” says Grog, exasperated. “Have you never heard of lying before? We don’t tell them where we’re going. 'We’re going on a field trip. We’re going to pick berries'. But then we go there.”

“The only way we can go there is telling them,” Tiberius counters.

“I’ll have to agree with Tiberius,” I add. “We can’t lie to them. We have to prove we’re honest.”

“Well, let’s go check on this poor little dude in the dungeon,” Vax says as we near the edge of Emon.

“And then the next step will be to seek out Seeker Assum?” Scanlan offers.

As we approach the keep, there are two unfamiliar individuals standing at the gate. Granted, the bar on familiarity is pretty low for me and Siv, but the remaining members of Vox Machina glance at each other with hesitation as well.

“They’re our handlers, probably." Scanlan rolls his eyes.

“Grog, come on. Let’s go have a talk with someone.” Vax gestures to the barbarian to follow him as they walk a little ahead of us.

Grog lets out a loud whistle and shouts, “Who are these people in front of our keep?”

The half-orc guard standing at the top of the keep replies, “I don’t think they’re a threat.”

“Right. We’ll be the judge of that,” the goliath grumbles. “As you were.”

It takes me until I can get a closer look at them to remember who they are. They appear to be older, dressed in simple, worn clothes, functional rather than fashionable and smudged with dirt, with tan, weathered skin. Of course; these are the farmers. And this is about to be one heck of a night.

“Hello!” calls Vex, friendly but cautiously. “Who are you?”

The man steps forward, pushing up the small dirty glasses sitting at the end of his nose and says, “Hello, hello! Good afternoon, everyone! I’m sorry to be a bother. But unless my eyes and tales do deceive me, might you all be the heroes known as Vox Machina?”

“We are Vox Machina. I’m sure word of us has spread far and wide. We’re a pretty big deal.” Scanlan admits with a self-satisfied grin. “Why have you made this journey to us?”

The woman lets go of his arm and says, “We come to you humbly as representatives of the farming community just north of Emon’s walls.”

“Oh, I love farmers!” Keyleth interjects.

“I am Riley Klaus, and this is my husband, Ben.”

“Pleasure to meet y’all,” Ben says with a nod.

“Hi,” Vex smiles.

“You see, many of us here, we make our living through livestock and small crops,” Riley explains.

Ben adds, “Word is that the Sovereign will be calling down troops from Fort Daxio for a while, so the need for meats and fresh produce has been elevated.”

“Around this time,” continues Riley, “over the past two weeks, a number of our finest cows and sheep have gone missing. No struggle or mess or signs of dire wolves. Nothing! We suspected thieves, initially, but we sent up our neighbor's boy Kyle to watch over them until sunrise and he saw the culprit. From what he described, a giant bird, larger than anything he's ever seen or heard of.”

Ben then takes over the conversation, “Wings at least ten carts long, tip to tip. Just swooped down, he said, without sound and in one motion snatched up one of our most virile bulls. Mr. Simms, just gone like that!”

“Mr. Simms?” asks Keyleth.

“That was the bull,” Riley clarifies. “Kyle said he saw it fly northwest.”

“When did these birds start showing up?” Vex questions.

“About two weeks ago when the whole thing started to happen,” recalls Riley.

“Should this keep up,” Ben continues, “most of us will lose everything before the year is out. Now, we’ve talked with the leaders of the farming community this side of Emon. We’ve scrounged up what we could.” He pulls out a couple coin purses. “512 gold pieces, 37 silver, and 103 copper. That’s all we can spare.”

In a shocking turn of events, Vex pushes the bags away. “Keep your money.”

“Yes, keep your money,” Keyleth agrees.

“We can't possibly–” begins Riley.

“What about this?” Vax interrupts. “What if you supplied us with a small stream of produce for our servants here at the keep? For cooking, for feeding them, for feeding us when we’re here? It’ll be a sight less than 500; it wouldn’t be nothing. You could still give us something.”

“Yes! We could, we’d be more than happy to!” Ben says.

Scanlan steps forward now, holding out his hand in warning. “However, despite what my companion is saying, we are not agreeing to go after this winged beast quite yet. We hear your plight, and we sympathize, and we will do what we can, but we have very pressing matters right now. Is there a deadline of some sort? When is your next harvesting season?”

“I mean, there’s no deadline, but the longer that goes by, the more and more we lose by the night. Two weeks in and we’ve lost half of our livestock. If the creature is this big, I imagine it eats quite a bit.”

“And how long of a ride is it?” Vex asks. “Is it walking distance?”

“To… where?”

“To your farm,” Vex, Vax, and Scanlan say in unison.

“North side of Emon.”

“Oh, so real close!” says Vex.

“Yes.”

“We are friends of the elderly, obviously, and also of the farming community, so we are very interested in helping you,” Scanlan says with a scammer’s grin. “May we talk about it a bit before we decide how and when we would tackle this problem?”

They look at each other and nod. “Yes. By all means—if you could, please help us stop this beast from ruining our livelihood.”

“And can you please tell us how to get to your place,” Keyleth continues. “Do you normally stay there? Are you normally home?”

“We wander about the community, but we do have a homestead. If you look, it’s the large red wood and partially brick-based homestead closest to the city walls, on the north farm. Right outside of Emon. It's hard to miss, if you're headed that direction.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Kraut, as friends of the elderly–” Grog begins.

“Klaus.”

“Right, Kraut,” he nods. “Do they normally come at night, or have they ever abducted any of your sweet bulls during the day?”

“We’ve not seen it during the day. It’d be easier for us to identify if we had. Seems to only hunt at night.”

“And have they ever messed with a human?” Scanlan asks.

“Not that we’ve heard of. Not yet.” He gives us a sudden look of realization and fear, his wife stepping closer to him with an air of, oh my. Are they going to take us now?

“We’ll probably be by like tonight or tomorrow morning,” Keyleth offers.

“Yes. Tomorrow morning at the latest. We have a little bit of business,” Vex informs them.

“All right. Well, thank you,” Riley replies.

Vax takes Ben by the hand and says, “We will see you presently.”

“Well, thank you for listening to us ramble on, and we look forward to hearing from you in the next day,” he replies.

“You will,” Vex assures them.

“All right.” He pats her on the arm, and they wander off.

“Travel safe, Mr. Kraut!” Grog calls after them. I watch Ben stop, as if to say something, but then he just sighs and keeps walking.

“Oi, Cordell!” Scanlan shouts up to the half-orc guard.

“Yeah!” he replies.

“Remember when I told you not to let anyone linger outside the keep?”

“To be fair, the Klauses are well-known in the community,” Cordell replies. “They came here for business. I figured it was probably something you’d want to hear. I apologize.”

“By all means, use your judgment over the orders of your master. That’s fine,” says the gnome sarcastically.

“Scanlan!” Keyleth chides him.

Cordell bows his head sheepishly. “I apologize. I’m sorry.”

“Ignore him!” Keyleth calls back to the guard.

“We are here to help people!” Vex reminds everyone. “We’re here to help.”

The gates to the keep open, and we all begin walking inside.

“What is wrong with you all today?!” Keyleth cries in frustration.

Scanlan shrugs. “We had a really bad dinner last night. That’s all.”

And with that, we all head down the stairs to the basement, towards the little underground dungeon, to interrogate a prisoner.

Chapter Text

We arrive at the cell to find the carriage driver unconscious and hanging by manacles, covered in dirt and blood.

“He’s hanging?” Vex cries indignantly. She unlocks the cell door and begins releasing the manacles, as Keyleth and I step in with her, ready to heal.

Holding my holy symbol, I press a hand to his shoulder, administering a Cure Wounds spell, while Keyleth does the same. He comes to consciousness while Vex is inspecting his neck; the ranger soon notices he’s awake.

“Hey, there. Welcome back,” she smiles.

“Where am I?” he asks, dazed and confused.

“You are being held, at the moment, for your own safety,” she replies.

“For my own safety?” he echoes, looking down at his destroyed hand. “How?”

“Well, you were captured. We’re pretty sure the Briarwoods are going to be pissed that you let the carriage get hit. We’re just trying to protect you, really.”

“What’s your name, boy?” asks Scanlan.

“My name is Desmond. Desmond Otham. I am the son of a messenger, a courier of the de Rolo family.”

Vex kneels down on the ground in front of him. “Right now, everyone is at risk. The Briarwoods are bad people, you can attest to this, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Vex agrees. As if it was ever a question. “Can you tell us everything you know about them?”

“It’s not going to matter.” Desmond starts to tremble with fear. “They’re going to find me. No one’s supposed to get away.”

“You did!” Vex exclaims.

“There’s always a first time,” adds Grog.

But I can see this isn’t helpful; he still draws inward, clinging to himself in a familiar self-protective motion. My heart aches with sympathy. I take a seat on the floor beside him, opposite Vex. “I know this feeling. I have been stalked before, pursued for years by an ill-intentioned psychopath. He’s not as horrible as the Briarwoods, but… I know what it is to never feel safe, no matter how far you run. The feeling that somehow they will always find you. I had to move a thousand miles away and sign special restrictions not to disclose any information before I felt safe.”

“Is that true?” Vex looks at me sharply.

“A thousand thirteen, to be exact.” I nod. “Anyway, my point is, we promise you we will protect you to the best of our abilities.”

“Thank you.” He adjusts himself, sliding back, putting his back against the wall of the cell. “I don't even know where to begin.”

Grog pours some ale into a cup and hands it to him, but Desmond just looks at it nervously with a little shake of his head.

“No, it’s fine,” the barbarian assures him, taking a sip as though to prove the liquid’s innocence.

“Please don’t take offense if I don’t trust a drink from strangers who’ve, well, to be honest, put me in this position.”

“Alright.” Grog begrudgingly places the goblet beside him.

“What do you want to know?” the carriage driver asks.

Vex begins, “We want to know if the Briarwoods--”

“Are vampires.” Scanlan interrupts.

“Pretty much,” Vex agrees. “They’re vampires, right? I mean, they’re vampires.”

“All I know from the stories I’ve heard- mothers would tell their kids not to wander out at night because dark things crawl in the shadows. From what I know of vampires, they’re not supposed to go out during the day, right? But I’m sure I’ve seen Lady Briarwood walk in the sun many a time.”

“Only Lady Briarwood?” Keyleth presses.

“As I recall, yes. Lord Briarwood doesn’t make too many public appearances.”

“Have there been any strange goings-on in their residence?” Scanlan asks. “Sounds you’ve heard? People disappearing? Boxes coming in or out?”

Strange goings-on in Whitestone? That’s like asking if it snows in Minnesota.

“Look, my father worked for the de Rolo family before the Briarwoods came,” Desmond begins, settling in as if about to tell a long story. “My father vanished the night of their fall. My mother was taken in madness and lost to the night this past year. I was left alone. However, I knew the roads well between here and Whitestone and places between, growing up, traveling with my father. So I was made to be a coachman for the new nobles. I was paid, albeit little, and I was left alone.

“Now, when I say the new nobles, there were nobles that lived in Whitestone and worked along with the de Rolos, and they helped oversee parts of the town, the business, and the people. They had been there for many generations of their respective families, all under the de Rolos’ guidance. But the night the castle fell, those nobles were dragged out.

“It’s strange. I mean, after the brutality of that first night, it took days before the people of Whitestone knew what had happened. We saw the fires, we heard the battles, but no word of the victors until three days had passed. We were too scared to approach. By then, the Briarwoods called a town meeting. They explained their new rule over the town. A number objected, which is expected. Many strong-willed folk in Whitestone, those days. They were subsequently shot down at arrow-point. The rest were quiet. They then dragged out the noble families and executed them, gifting their property and titles to the various cut-throats and mercenaries they had hired, brought across the channel to help them take the town.

“They’re not just two people; they’ve used a lot of money and influence from wherever they came from and brought a whole slew of very dastardly folk, who have since been given the titles once held by the other nobles of Whitestone, living in their homes, taking their tithes and most of the profits made from the businesses they’ve forced us to continue to run from within the city. A number of families fled into the woods the night after the executions, using the shadows of a moonless evening to keep safe. They were all found hanging from the Sun Tree the next morning.

“They kept things going as they were, mostly: farming, logging, manning the white marble mines. Business went as usual, all filling the pockets of the new nobles and the Briarwoods. We were given food, kept our immediate property. As long as we didn’t attempt to leave, we were promised safety.

“That lasted for a few years, until the nobles grew bored. Twitchy. They began to abuse the people of Whitestone: scare us for fun, brand, cut, steal the children, leave them back, destroyed. They treat us like animals. Folks went missing. I was beaten so bad by my employer, Count Tylieri.

“But Lord Briarwood noticed, one night he was passing through the city. He saw wounds on my back when he was meeting with Count Tylieri. When he asked me in private how I got them, I couldn't lie. Couldn't resist him. He has a way of drawing the truth out of you. Now, he told me this unrefined violence was boorish to him and his wife. That was the last I ever saw of Lord Tylieri. Lord and Lady Briarwood took me in as their own driver and showed me Tylieri hanging from that same Sun Tree the next morning.

“I was thankful, then. In a strange way, life had been so terrible for so long, it was the first time I saw someone reach out and save me. They took me in as their driver after that. It was a better thing to be away from the anger and the fists of the thugs.

“But the more I got to know the Briarwoods, the more nightmarish I realized they were. Behind the walls of that castle was no longer a grand fortress that we heard it was. Seeing it, keeping watch and guard over our people. No, that was a domain of perverse magics and sacrilege, it was. The green fog drifting out from the ground where it stood. The same servants still run the halls, but they aren’t living. They’re walking vessels of undeath, their flesh slowly tearing away. The garden in back lies shriveled, a foul green mist forever pouring out. They’re excavating something in the dungeon, plundering pieces. A lot of their attention seems to be down there; I don’t know why. I dare not wander too far down. They bring up old things. Ancient things. Relics, books, bones.

“You live in that world long enough, you believe there is no way out. Death would be easy, though I’ve seen that death is no real end there. It’s just the beginning of a whole new terrible existence. A far worse fate.”

A chilling silence falls over the room as these last few statements hang in the air. Not even death can grant freedom from the Briarwoods and their twisted domain. I knew this already, but to hear it straight from the mouth of someone who has lived through it… I shiver.

Vex breaks the silence, speaking softly, with understanding. “If we keep you here, protected, would you be willing to tell your story to someone else?”

“Who would you want me to tell it to?”

“The emperor. The guards here. An army that could go and fight the Briarwoods.”

“Maybe,” he says miserably.

“This could be an option to save Whitestone, and you would have your freedom,” Keyleth offers.

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, still looking haunted. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what they’ve done. They’re going to find me.”

“Desmond.” I place my hand on his shoulder as my eyes flare purple. “I do know what it’s like. And I know exactly what they have done. We’re here to help.”

“We can protect you,” Scanlan says. “We are safe here in this keep, and you’re surrounded by very powerful allies now.”

“We’ve stood before them, and we did not fall,” Grog reminds him.

“They fled from us,” I add.

“I’ll think about it,” Desmond says uneasily.

“Would you like to stay in the guest room upstairs?” Keyleth offers. “You’d be more comfortable. You could get a good night’s rest.”

“Hey wait a minute-” Siv protests, crossing his arms.

“Far more comfortable. A little less safe. I’m going to put it out there.” Vex holds out her hands with her palms towards him.

His eyes immediately flash open. “I mean no disrespect, but if this is safe, then I’d rather stay here.”

“I think it is,” Vex nods. “And we will bring a bed down to you, make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t want you sleeping on the floor. That’s terrible.”

“You’re all being very accommodating,” he says, a little skeptically.

Grog replies, “You’ll get every consideration for protection. We value your info very much.”

“You’re also the key to our own freedom, so it’s important,” Keyleth adds.

“I’ll stay here for now,” Desmond decides. “I need to think on it. I’ve been promised such protection before.”

“From the Briarwoods?” asks Scanlan.

“From a few. And they’re dead. An enemy of an enemy doesn’t necessarily make them a friend, I’ve discovered.”

“No, but it can make them allies if they have mutual enemies. Of their enemies. It’s a little complicated.” Keyleth’s otherwise sage statement comes to an awkward ending. “Grog, why don’t you carry the bed down from upstairs?”

“Not a problem,” says the goliath. Then, to Desmond, “Keep the goblet nearby. It is very nice ale.”

“Would you like something to eat?” Keyleth asks.

“Yes, please.”

“We’ll have our staff bring down some food,” the druid assures him.

As she and Grog both head upstairs to fetch the assorted promised necessities, I feel a cold presence on the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

I turn around to see Percy, standing silently at the door to his workshop, apparently having listened to our whole conversation. He looks somber, sullen. But at least he doesn’t seem hostile, which is an improvement.

Vex notices me turn my head, and follows my gaze to the man standing by the workshop door. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” Percy immediately steps back into the room, the door closing with a slam.

“Give him time,” the ranger says softly.

“So moody!” Scanlan rolls his eyes.

“Keep him away from me,” Desmond says nervously, shrinking back away from Percy’s general direction. “Who is that?”

“He’s a friend,” Scanlan explains. “I know it doesn’t seem like it from the condition of your paw, but he’s a friend. He’s in the same boat as you, trying to stay safe from danger.”

“The Briarwoods destroyed his family, as well,” Vex adds.

I nod. “He’s an ally. He just… needs some time. He is not himself right now. For a few reasons.”

Just then, I hear the heavy steps of Grog returning with a whole bedframe carried under his arm. I really hope that didn’t come from the guest room. Not too far behind, Keyleth descends the steps with a fresh plate of food, which she gives to Desmond after the bed has been set up. He begins eating hungrily, with a surprising lack of the suspicion with which he viewed the ale.

After a few moments, Vex speaks up. “I do want to go check out that bird creature at the farmhouse tonight.”

I nod, grinning. “Definitely. Siv and I would be happy to assist.”

“Yes,” agrees Scanlan. “Have we stationed a guard down here?”

“We should. We have five or six,” Grog notes. Although, coming from Grog, numbers mean almost nothing.

“All right. I’ll go talk to Cordell.” Scanlan begins to walk away, then turns back. “That’s his name, right?”

“No, not Cordell. Let’s get somebody else,” Grog says.

“Get the crossbow guy that we like so much. The guy that’s the captain of the guards,” Vex suggests.

The guy that we like so much. I smirk to myself. I’d always shipped Vex with Jarett.

“Jarett?” asks Scanlan.

“Jarett, that’s it!”

“All right, we'll get Jarett,” Scanlan agrees.

We all begin to head out of the prison, with the exception of Vex, who stays behind to make sure Percy doesn’t try anything. Though I’m pretty confident that the danger has passed at this point.

We make our way towards a small tower, part of the back wall, in which is standing a figure, high above us. He’s a handsome young man, just a few years older than me, with a darker complexion and short, jet-black hair, well-dressed and wearing fine leather armor with a crossbow at his side.

“Jarett?” Scanlan calls up to him.

He leans over the edge of the tower and begins to speak. I listen earnestly; his accent is one of my favorites from the show. “Scanlan, it has been some time. It is so good to hear from you. What can I be of service for?”

“We need you to watch a prisoner for us, downstairs in our jail cell,” the gnome explains. “You’ll be guarding the prisoner to make sure he doesn’t escape, but also making sure he stays safe. He possesses information that’s very valuable to us. And one of the people who hires you might try to kill him, so if Percy tries to go in there, can you stop him without hurting either party?”

Jarett nods. “I imagine this would be very well-suited for my skill set. It will be strange to keep watch against one of my employers, but he’s been a bit sheepish around me anyway.”

“You think you could take Percy?” Scanlan asks.

“Well, I think I can at least talk some sense into him!” the guard grins.

“I like him!” Grog declares.

“Wow! Jarett, you’re ballsy!” says Scanlan. “Just out of curiosity, if he was running at you, what would you do?”

Vox Machina, or at least the part gathered around at the moment, laughs, but Jarett is completely serious-minded with his reply. “Well, first and foremost, I would dive in the forward motion, leg out, to put him off balance. This would be from a frontal melee…” The guard trails off, eyeing Scanlan suspiciously. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little bit!” the bard grins.

“Ah, gnomes!” He shakes his head. “Very well.”

“Do you need anything to help?” Scanlan asks.

“I have access to my own private armory, and I have utmost faith.”

“All right. Well, keep him safe and there’s an extra… five gold in it for you?” Scanlan says hesitantly. “I don’t know! Ten! Ten gold!”

Jarett shakes his head again with a laughing grin. “Gnomes.”

“I don’t know how money works. We’ll talk to Vex about it.”

The guard nods. “Certainly. Alright. I will do this.” He stands up and goes into the tower to start gathering supplies, whistling and calling for another guard to take over his watch in the tower.

Meanwhile, we all wander separately back into the keep to prepare for the evening’s adventure.

Chapter Text

“Keyleth!”

Grog’s voice breaks the previously peaceful silence the druid and I had been enjoying, each with our nose in a book, on opposite sides of the room. We hadn’t spoken to each other; I simply had walked in, sat down, and began reading, and Keyleth, for her part, hadn’t done anything to stop me.

“What?” She looks up, clearly annoyed. “I was reading. What?”

“Tibs got turnt up. Will you fix it?”

“How?” Keyleth asks, bewildered. That isn’t a phrase heard often, apparently.

The dragonborn himself wanders over, staggering, along with Vax who, I just realized, had been absent for the interrogation. “Vax gave me-” he begins.

“What did you do?” Keyleth scolds the rogue. Then, to Tiberius, “Why are you touching me?”

“Oh, I love protecting you, it is– and Lockheed is, he loves you, too–” the sorcerer slurs incoherently, leaning up against Keyleth.

“Don't touch me right now!” She pulls away from him, clearly disturbed by his drunken state.

Tiberius frowns, saying miserably, “See, ’m telling you, nobody likes me.”

“I gave him his first drinky,” Vax says apologetically, looking between me and Keyleth. “I’m sorry. Do you think you could pull him out of it? Either of you?”

“What?” Keyleth looks back and forth between the drunken dragonborn and the dark-haired rogue, trying to process the entirely out-of-character sequence of events that led to this situation.

“I thought he was going to say no! He didn't leave me any,” Vax laments.

“’S good,” Tiberius stutters, still slurring heavily. “Hi. How are you? ‘m Tiberius– Draconia. You are princess pretty face. He likes you, too.” He then promptly vomits all over his robes.

I step back in poorly masked disgust; I’ve always actively avoided alcohol and been quite uncomfortable around those who drink. But I guess, being with Vox Machina now, I’ll have to get used to it.

Meanwhile, Grog is watching the scene unfold with interest, riveted as though to his favorite cartoon.

“’M good,” the sorcerer holds up a hand. “Oh! Sorry. ‘d you need to go somewhere?”

“I am doing something else, a request that was already made previously, before ‘can we fix drunk Tiberius,’ so I’m a little busy!” Keyleth snaps, impatient with his antics. “Why don’t you go sleep it off, take a nap, and I will deal with you in a second.”

“’S it sleepy time?” he asks.

“For you,” the druid says sharply, grabbing his shoulders and turning him in the direction of the keep.

“Should I cast Fireball?” he slurs.

“Oh my gosh!” groans Keyleth. “I don’t know what to do with him.”

“’M going t’get a sandwich.” Tiberius nods to himself as though this is a profound statement.

“Ok. Go get a sandwich.” The redheaded half-elf shoos him away towards the kitchen.

Encouraged to get a sandwich, the drunk sorcerer staggers off.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group begins to gather downstairs to begin to plan for the evening. The biggest concern: keeping the keep safe while we are away.

“We have a few options here,” says Keyleth. “I can cast Hallucinatory Terrain to make this look like something else. I don’t think– I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I could conjure a few woodland beings for, like, extra bears. We could have some bears guarding the keep.”

Tiberius, returning with his sandwich, mumbles, “We have to just make Allura talk to us. She can fix everything.”

Grog immediately grabs the dragonborn in a headlock and covers his mouth. “Please continue.”

“I think that the Hallucinatory Terrain wouldn’t work,” Vax warns. “I felt like they could see right through me.”

“Yeah, they can see through illusions pretty darn well,” agrees Vex.

“Why don’t we just leave someone behind?” suggests Scanlan.

“Percy’s behind. He can defend for us,” Keyleth reminds us.

“Percy’s here and so are five? Six? How many employees do we have?” Grog asks. Then, to Keyleth, “Why don’t you make some extra bears that don’t hate us?”

“I can make some extra bears,” she nods.

Tiberius’s voice comes, muffled, from behind Grog’s large hand. “Put some little hats on them and make them cute.”

“Do you think you could fix him?” Vax sighs. “Because he’s a lot of firepower if we’re going to go–”

“What gets rid of drunkenness?” Keyleth asks.

“Maybe Restoration?” Vex offers, glancing over at me.

I shrug; I don’t know much about drunkenness, and certainly not how to fix it using powers I’ve only just begun to discover.

“Restoration would probably take care of it,” says Keyleth. “But I don’t want to burn a Restoration spell on your drunkenness.”

“You could also just give it a couple of hours. Drink a lot of water,” Grog suggests. “The bird doesn’t even come until night. We could let him wear it off.”

“So we’re going to let him sober up. We’re going to give him some coffee. And then we’re going to set off for the north farmlands at dusk,” Scanlan concludes.

“Oh, we should get some corn and other harvestments at the farms,” Tiberius smiles dreamily.

“I could make an army of bears…” Keyleth begins, before her eyes light up. “I have a better idea! Why don’t I conjure an elemental, and then I can cast Planar Binding on him and he’ll hang out for 24 hours?”

“Great! Do it. Make it done. Let’s go kill a bird.” Scanlan seems antsy to go.

“Lead with that next time,” Grog elbows her. “Don’t vampires hate fire? Can you do fire?”

Vax shakes his head. “Running water.”

“Ooh, water elemental!” Vex gasps. “Tiberius, remember that you–”

“He’s drunk!” Grog reminds her.

“I know,” she groans.

“Don’t talk to him,” advises Scanlan. “He won’t remember anything.”

As if on cue, the drunk sorcerer slurs, “I love how you shoot arrows at things’ eyeballs.”

“If I create a trap here, can you bind some magic to it?” Vax asks Tiberius.

“You can do anything with magic,” says the dragonborn happily. “You can make things go. You can make things stop.”

Grog covers his mouth again.

The muffled voice still continues despite the obstacle. “Grog is big. Scanlan’s small. Everything is great. Hi.”

“Keyleth, I like the elemental thing,” Grog says. “I think we should keep it in case there is an actual attack coming. Because it might just pass and then we waste it. Nobody came.”

“That’s true,” The druid nods. “To be fair, the castle’s being heavily watched by outsiders, as well.”

“It won’t be wasted.” I speak up for the first time. The group turns sharply to look at me. I continue, “There will be an attack tonight, in the early hours of the morning, when we return from the farm. Although, I don’t know if an elemental would be equipped to protect against invisible creatures.”

Vex crosses her arms, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “And how do we know you aren’t just trying to get us to waste our resources? You’re still on probation, girl. We don’t even know if you really are who you say you are. We don’t know if we can trust you yet.”

I sigh. “Alright. Your choice, then. But if I’m right- when I’m right- please consider this exonerating evidence.”

“Okay! Listen. Let’s just go.” Scanlan is bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly anxious to act.

“Can we leave Trinket to watch?” Vax asks.

“He’s going to go down in the prison with Jarett,” his sister nods. She whistles, and presently, the bear wanders down into the basement, promptly sitting down right up against the bars of the cell.

Vex knocks on the workshop door. “Percy?”

“Yes?” His voice is weary.

“Trinket’s out here. If you need anything, you just come out and you pet him.”

“Thank you,” comes the reply, though I doubt he’ll take her up on the offer.

Tiberius also wanders up to the door, mumbling incoherently, “Trinket. Percy.”

Over the next few hours, after periodically watering the dragonborn, we manage to sober him up. As the sun begins to set, we gather our equipment and head out around the outskirts of Emon, towards the north side of the city. We quickly find the house described to us by the Klauses and knock on the door. They open it, hesitantly at first, but eagerly once they see who is on the other side, gladly welcoming us and inviting us in.

“So glad you all could make it,” says Riley. “Have you decided? Have you given our community’s request some thought?”

“We’re here to help. We’re the heroes that you asked for,” Scanlan says proudly.

Grog nods. “We love old people.” I stifle a snort.

“Thank you. That’s really good of you.” Ben smiles. “We will happily provide you with fresh produce, going forward. We’ve talked to a few of the members of the community and we’re going to make sure that’s taken care of.”

“Where do you think we should stake out this bird? Where are your livestock kept?”

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud at Scanlan’s apparently accidental pun. There would be plenty more before the night is over. 

“The livestock are kept on the eastern side of this community. If you look about, say about half a mile out to where the actual residences stop being clustered together, you’ll see there are a number of large livestock containment areas. Hard to miss out there. We have pens for sheep; we have pens for cows; we have pens for horses, other beasts of burden. That whole vicinity is where most of these attacks seem to be coming. So that’s probably your best bet there.”

“And the biggest you have are the bulls, you said?” Vax asks.

“Bulls,” nods Riley. “We have a few big cows, as well. We’ve lost a few of them, unfortunately.”

“That’ll be all we need,” says Grog.

“Can one of us polymorph into a giant cow?” Vex whispers.

“Sure,” replies Scanlan.

“I could also talk to cows again,” Keyleth offers. “Maybe these cows will know something.” Then she addresses the Klauses. “You said your neighbor boy, Kyle?”

“Yes, Kyle’s the one who originally spotted it.”

“Where does he live?” she asks them.

“He’s actually the son of the man who runs most of the livestock areas over there. You can go and head over there. He’s probably still up, keeping his eye out in case it comes back.”

Thanking the Klauses for their help, we head out towards the livestock pens. For as big as the pens are built and their structure, they are noticeably sparse. The fact that it's only been two weeks and this many creatures are gone is a little disconcerting.

The nearby house has its light on, the windows glowing. Sitting in a chair on the porch, holding a crossbow across his lap, is a young man about Siv’s age, with rugged chin growth and disheveled dirty red hair. He sits there looking around in the sky, rocking back and forth in his chair, but locks eyes with us as we approach, tightening his grip on his weapon. “Who goes there?”

“Don’t worry, we’re friends,” Scanlan assures him, holding up his hands in a surrendering pose. “We’re friends of the Klauses. Mr. and Mrs. Klaus.”

“Okay. Okay.” He lowers the crossbow. “So you the ones they say was coming to help?”

“Yes,” Keyleth replies.

“We hear you have a keen eye, Kyle,” Vex says, apparently trying for some flattery.

He nods slowly. “I’ve seen some things, yeah.”

“Where have they been attacking lately?” Scanlan asks.

He points to the whole area in front of him. “Are you keeping watch now? Great. Thank you.” He stands up, turning to leave.

Keyleth holds out a hand to stop him. “No! Wait! Don’t leave yet. We need you. I was wondering if you had any more information about the creature.”

He stops and turns back towards us. “I mean, other than the fact that it was just a really big bird. Really big. Huge.”

“Do you remember any other details?” asks the druid. “Any other defining details other than ‘bird?’”

Kyle shrugs. “It’s hard to see in the moonlight.”

“When it picks up a cow or whatever it’s been picking up, does it strike with the beak or the claws?” asks Scanlan.

“Claws, and sometimes it takes two at a time, one in each claw, and just carries them away,” the boy replies.

“Have you managed to hit it with your crossbow?” Grog questions.

“I’ve missed,” he says, a little sheepishly.

“And you’re certain this is a feathered beast, or no?” Vax is probably afraid we’re dealing with a dragon. Luckily for us, we aren’t. Yet. I shiver, hoping we’ll be gone by the Chroma Conclave attack.

“Best I can see,” Kyle nods. “It’s dark out here at that time of night and it looks like a bird. It doesn’t make any noise and swoops on down and takes them away and flies off in that direction.”

Grog leans in close to him and says menacingly, “I’ve heard that those giant birds are attracted to red-headed, 19-year-old, scruffy-chin folk with crossbows.”

His eyes widen. “Well, I- I don’t want to be here, then. You guys can keep an eye out. I’ve got to go.” He tucks the crossbow under his arm and turns to leave again, more hurried this time.

“Wait! Before you leave,” Scanlan calls. “I’m sorry. I have an itch. And it can only be scratched with a cowbell. Do you have a cowbell anywhere around here? I just need a cowbell. Can I borrow a cowbell from you?”

Kyle gives him a look. “Your kid’s weird.” He keeps walking.

“I’m not a child!” the gnome protests, but he doesn’t listen, disappearing towards the house.

“Hey, there’s a cowbell, Scanlan.” Vex hands him one she found on the ground.

He takes it. “Great. It will help the ruse.” He pulls us all in towards him like a football huddle. “Here’s my plan: we’re all cows. Is that an okay plan?”

“I like it!” Vex grins.

“I’m into this plan,” Keyleth agrees. “But doesn’t that essentially make us the bait?”

“Yes, we’re our own bait,” confirms Scanlan. “Are you cool with that?”

“Well, here’s the thing, maybe a few of us should not be cows because only a few people are going to have the ability to turn out of being a cow once they are a cow, unless they take damage,” Keyleth points out.

“We went from all cows to pretty much no one is a cow,” Grog observes.

“No, Keyleth is definitely a cow.” Vex’s eyes widen as soon as she realizes what she just said. “No, I mean– I didn't– we didn’t mean like that. You’re very lovely,” she tries to cover.

“It’s okay.” The druid waves her off, though she looks a little hurt.

“Let’s do it!” Grog exclaims. “When else are we all going to be cows? Come on! Unless it kills them instantly, we’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to lay in wait with an arrow. All the rest of you can be cows,” says Vex.

“I think I’m better served waiting to strike,” Vax agrees.

“I can turn into a cow. I can turn someone else into a cow. Well, Polymorph is a concentration spell…” Keyleth thinks out loud.

“I can turn us all into cows,” Scanlan says. The tinkling of the cowbell in his hand adds an odd bit of mirth to the straight-faced conversation.

“Oh. Because you got that spell. The one that makes us look like anything.” Keyleth nods.

“Oh, we are not actually cows?” asks Tiberius.

“We’ll just seem like cows,” Scanlan says with a grin. “It’s cow-moo-flage!”

“We’re all cows!” Keyleth exclaims. “Just embrace it.”

“Alright,” says Scanlan. “Let’s go into the pen, and gather close to me!”

I open the gate, and we all walk into the pen quietly, closing the gate behind us. The sun has set by now, with the scene illuminated by the light of the moon. The cows are all clustered together underneath a rocky overhang for shelter, standing close together and mooing softly. Scanlan hangs his little cowbell around his neck, and we all circle around him. I am grinning like a madman in anticipation.

“I don't understand magic,” Vax mutters.

“Just go along,” whispers Grog.

The gnome begins casting the spell, and suddenly the cold night air swirls around us with a whoosh. My vision goes blurry, and after I blink a few times, I look around at the rest of the group… and they look like cows. We’re all a bit smaller than the average cow, except Grog, a large gray bull. The two black-furred cows with identical spots are presumably the twins. Siv, who was standing next to me, is a mottled dark brown, while Keyleth has burnt-orange fur. Tiberius’s reddish cow form still has a small pair of glasses perched on his nose. I look down at myself; I am a silvery gray cow with a large brown spot pattern on my chest roughly resembling my symbol of Ioun.

The little brown calf-sized cow across from me barks. “Oh, wait. No.” He laughs.

“You are so cute, Scanlan,” smiles Vex-cow.

“Okay, shall we go interview some cows?” asks Cow-leth.

“Let’s go talk to some cows,” Vex nods.

I give a pathetic attempt at a moo in agreement, and Vox Machina- now Vox Moochina- wanders further into the pen.

This is, quite possibly, the best moment we’ve had since our arrival in Exandria.

Chapter Text

Vex, Keyleth, and I awkwardly make our way over to where the cows- the real cows- are standing underneath their ledge, some sleeping, some eating, some just standing around, all clustered together for warmth.

“Which one looks like the alpha male?” Keyleth whispers.

“There are no males in this pen, because they are cows,” I say, straight-faced. Then I laugh; I can’t help it. This is such a ridiculous circumstance. And I love it.

Tiberius approaches one of the cows. “Hello, I’m Tiberius Stormwind from Draconia.”

The cow just looks at him blankly.

“Tiberius, just because you look like a cow doesn’t mean you can talk to the cows,” Keyleth says, holding back her own laughter. “The cows don’t understand Common. No matter if you look like a cow, they still don’t understand you.”

“Boy, if Uriel could see us now.” Cow-Vax shakes his head.

“We are ‘cow-nsel’ worthy,” Grog-Cow says with a laugh.

I notice Cow-leth start to cast a spell on herself. Right, Speak with Animals. That would be helpful. I do the same, humming a little tune as I do, as it is one of my bard spells. I decide to take a page from Scanlan’s book and invent a parody on the spot. “Gnome, gnome on the range, where the cows and the giant roc fight… where the bovines will fly, in a herd through the sky, and the steaks are high tonight.”

As the spell completes, the soft lowing of the cows turns into comprehensible mumbling. I catch a few phrases- something about grass, darkness, and giant sky-creatures.

“Hello, ladies. Good evening.” Keyleth’s cow-speech also sounds normal to my ears.

One of the nearest cows replies, looking up at her with tired eyes. “What are you doing? We’re trying to sleep.”

“I do apologize to awaken you.” Cow-leth bows her head towards them. “I was just curious if you could tell me a little bit about some of the events that have been transpiring around here lately? Mainly, the results of your kind getting killed?”

“My kind?” The cow looks at her, confused.

“Have you seen a giant bird flying around?” I ask, shifting my gaze to address all the cows in the near vicinity. “Anyone?”

A few of the cows shudder. “Yes. Haven’t you?” one says. “It keeps taking us. Why do you think we’re hiding under this?”

“Oh, sure,” Keyleth nods.

“Be careful. If you stay out there, it’ll see you,” another warns.

“Right,” says Keyleth. “Where, exactly? Where have they been– okay. Darn, cows!” She mutters the last statement in Common.

“Keyleth, what vital information have you learned?” Scanlan-calf asks, a little too merrily.

“I’ll get back to you in one second,” the frustrated druid shouts in Common. Then, turning back to the cows, which I’m sure must be extremely confused by now, she says, “Can you tell me anything about what it looks like?”

“It’s big and has wings. It’s fast, and it keeps taking us.”

“Does it seem to come at a certain time of the night?” I ask.

“The dark time.”

I sigh. As I could have remembered, this has led to nothing.

“Well, do your best to stay safe,” I tell the cows. “Hopefully after tonight the bird won’t bother you anymore. We’re going to try to stop it.”

“How do you plan to stop such a huge powerful beast?” The cow looks at us uncertainly. “A few have tried. They got carried away just like the rest of them.”

“Well… we don’t really know yet,” Keyleth gives a little nervous laugh. “But we’ll figure something out. We’re going to save you.”

“Hmm. If you say so,” the cow says, unimpressed. “But if you ask me, it’s stupidity. You’re probably going to die.”

Meanwhile, Vox Moochina is growing restless- Cow-Tiberius is pacing, the twins have their eyes and weapons trained to the sky, Cow-Grog is currently eating fistfuls of grass, and Scanlan is... pooping on the ground. Ugh. I look away. Siveldor is standing a few paces behind me, observing my cownversation; by the way his cow lips are pressed together and his cow cheeks puffed out, I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at what must otherwise sound like a very strange interaction.

After a while, the spell wears off, and Cow-leth and I return to the group, reporting back. “They’re cows. I forgot that talking to cows never goes well,” the druid groans. “Didn’t seem to know a lot. They’re simple-minded beasts.”

We all wander out to the open part of the pen, and wait. And wait. A few hours pass, and then Vex-Cow, her bow drawn towards the sky, gives a soft whistle.

“What was that?” asks Grog.

“I’m letting you guys know there’s a thing in the sky,” Vex hisses.

“Is it Jumanji time?” Tiberius asks.

“Not quite,” says Scanlan.

I can now spot the shadow in the sky as it passes in front of the moon. It doesn’t look very big, but I know it’s just perspective; this bird is absolutely massive.

It circles once. And again. With each pass, it gets lower and lower, and as it does, it appears bigger and bigger. Tiberius casts something, and his exterior crackles and hardens like stone. Vax-Cow vanishes into the shadows, daggers at the ready. Grog starts rage-eating the grass faster.

Keyleth steps away from the rest of the herd, into a wide-open area, making herself look available for the taking.

The bird circles, again and again, growing larger and larger still with each pass. Even the tales we’ve been told haven’t prepared me for the sheer size of this creature; it must have at least a 100-foot wingspan, if not more.

Tiberius holds up his hoof, with some sort of ring glinting on it, and apparently attempts to cast something towards the bird. The arcane energy shoots out towards the bird… and has no apparent effect. The dragonborn growls in frustration, which is an odd noise coming from a cow.

The bird goes into a dive, headed straight for Keyleth. I had intended to go too, but on second thought, I back up, hiding with the others. Part of it is a genuine primitive fear triggered by the attack of such a fearsome predator; part of it is the fact that I know if I am taken, I don’t have a safe way to get down if I were to fall.

The cow grasps Keyleth in its huge talons, and begins to fly away, back up in the direction it came from.

At that moment, a clattering sound alerts me to the roll of a die. Time to roll initiative.

With a 6 on the die, my initiative totals 5. Because of course it does.

Just like in the Briarwood fight, I feel my body freeze in space and time as everyone else takes their turns. Vex fires two arrows at the creature, both of them sinking into its huge feathered form. Grog throws his flaming hammer, but the bird is just out of range; the chain goes taut and the weapon is pulled back into the goliath’s hand. Vax runs forward and throws a dagger up towards it, but also misses, the blade spinning off into the darkness before blinking back to his belt with a flash. Keyleth, from within the creature’s talons, seems to try to cast something, but nothing happens.

Meanwhile, the huge creature continues to fly away from the pen, moving extremely fast. It quickly vanishes in the night sky, Cow-leth still held firmly in its claws.

“Keyleth, just get out of its hands and fall,” Vax shouts. “You can change. We’ll catch you; we’ll do something! Just fall.”

The cow-shaped druid just squirms in the grasp of the huge talons, unable to break free.

Scanlan then vanishes with a flash of purple light, the world’s most panicked One Direction parody ringing out from the direction the creature flew off in, and now I unfreeze, just as Tiberius mutters something and begins to rise into the air, going after the creature. Grog, Vex, and Vax begin to float as well, but Siv and I are still on the ground.

“Wait, guys!” I call, watching the rest of the party soar off without us.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t cast it on everyone. Too high level…” Tibs responds, his voice fading.

“Siv, can you cast Fly on us?” I ask, a bit frantic. I really hope he has it prepared; otherwise, I don’t know how we’ll catch up. “For gongs’ sakes, what did you roll on initiative?”

“I got a zero,” he groans. “Nat 1 minus 1.” He thinks for a moment, and continues, “I do have Fly, though.” Oh, thank Ioun. I decide to hold my turn until I am able to fly, and I freeze again as Siv now moves, casting the spell. The two of us take off into the air, catching up with the rest of the party as we fly off in the direction the bird took.

Though we are fast in the air, the creature is still much faster. We soon realize we won’t be able to catch up to it; the best we can hope to do is follow the direction we last saw it heading, with Vex’s tracking, and hope it comes to rest at some point. Fortunately, I know that it will soon reach its nest. In the distance, we begin to see a range of unusually steep mountain bluffs, and beyond it, the sea.

I listen very closely as we fly, and in the distance, I hear a boom. That would be the bird, having been polymorphed into a cow, falling all the way to the ground and turning back into its original form. We fly towards the sound, but are still quite a long way behind it. We can just barely see the creature take off again from the ground with a screech, quickly disappearing once more.

We soon come upon Scanlan and Keyleth, who are both flying in various beast forms, but still looking like cows. Reunited once again, we all proceed in our flight towards the mountains.

I enjoy this moment in a profound way. I’m pretty tired this late at night, but that just adds to the hilarity and wonder of the event. I never thought the peak moment of my life would be flying across a fantasy countryside of sheer-sided spire-like jagged peaks, the strong winds, refreshingly cool and reminiscent of the constant breeze back home, caressing my skin and whipping my hair around, as part of a squadron of what appears to be flying cows. This is fantastic.

“He came to a stop a little bit ahead of us,” Vex says suddenly. “Can we all try to stealth in?”

Cow-leth gives a screech that seems to be an agreement. Because a flying cow making eagle noises is definitely normal.

“We can try,” I mutter. I have proficiency in stealth, but with a base Dex of -1, it’s hardly destined to be a high score. And I’m pretty confident Siv’s is even worse.

Fortunately, I roll a 17, plus 3 for a total of 20. Unfortunately, the rest of the party does not share the success. Vex and Keyleth manage to stay pretty quiet, but the rest of the group, even the usually-stealthy Vax, moves clumsily, calling out to each other as they try to locate the creature.

Eventually, I catch a glimpse of wings folding up to rest, against the stone of one of the outcroppings. On a closer look, a shelf naturally built into the spire bears a huge construct, the shape of a nest but many, many times larger. Rather than built of sticks, entire trees and equally huge pieces of wood comprise its structure. It is in this nest that we are to find our bird.

“Did we just find like a mama bird and baby birds?” Vex whispers with a soft groan. “Well, let’s go, I guess.”

Chapter Text

We all make our way towards the nest, a herd of cows drifting through the sky. Something is rolled- perception, I suppose? I roll a 5, plus 7, for a total of 12. Not great. In the darkened shadow of the mountain above, I can barely see the creature sitting in the nest, its wings folded to its side, along with some other, smaller movement just beside it. I can’t see it clearly, but I know what it is.

As we get closer, his voice rings out from in the shadow. “Flying cows? Really? I care not for this insolence. If you’ve come to mock me or fight me, do it now! Or leave this creature alone!”

“What? Where are you? Who are you? Who said that?” Vex calls, most of the group looking around for the source of the voice.

“You’ve been stealing the farmers’ livestock,” shouts Grog. “Give us a reason not to kill you.”

The voice comes out again, “Your nature confuses me and your words seem ill-informed. If you’re not going to come to speak of discourse, I’m going to assume that you’re my enemy.”

Cow-Tiberius flies forward, landing on the edge of the stone ledge. His form shimmers and returns back to that of a dragonborn. “Is this big bird thing asleep?” he asks.

“You will not harm this creature, poachers!” comes the voice from the shadow.

“I’m not trying to harm it at all. I’m just seeing if it’s fine. If we could talk. I can’t see anything, and I wanted to cast Light so I could see something, but I don’t want to hurt your bird’s eyes.”

I land after him, casting Dispel Magic on myself as I do, returning to my normal appearance. The bird shifts a little in its nest, looking towards us with a soft snarl.

The voice begins accusatorily, “You come here masqueraded as whatever manner of beasts that you are–”

“Cows. We were cows,” Tiberius interrupts.

“After tormenting and severely wounding this beautiful creature,” the voice continues.

“We didn’t do anything to the creature. No, we were– This creature was stealing the farmers’ cows, and the farmers were saying, ‘You’ve taken our livestock,’ which is hurting the farm. We came to help them and we posed as cows, and then your bird took our–”

I step up beside Tiberius, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop his prattle. “There is no denying that this creature has been injured, and unfortunately, that is the fault of some of us. But we do not desire to kill it. We were investigating the disappearance of cows, which has proven detrimental to the farmers near Emon. If we can work out some sort of agreement…”

Now that I stand here, up close to the nest, I get a better view. The nest itself is comprised of a cluster of driftwood and chunks of shipwreck and carts and wagon wheels and even whole trees: pieces of wood scavenged from different time periods- some weathered, some more fresh- that have all been cobbled together to make this nest.

In the center of this, there up against the injured bird, is a small humanoid, currently in the process of doing a repeated hand motion and then touching. A hand motion and then touching. As a cleric by nature, I recognize this spell well- he is applying a perpetual string of Cure Wounds to the bird.

Cow-leth coasts in, landing next to Tiberius, who then lights up the tip of his staff, illuminating the scene. He attempts to block it with his hand, but the bird still turns away with a little screech of discomfort, flapping its wings instinctually as though trying to get away.

The humanoid entity becomes immediately visible- a gnome, his thin form dressed in hides and roughly crafted leather and furs. He has tousled, greasy black hair that hangs past his shoulders, covering a bedraggled and bearded face. He holds up his arm, covering his eyes from the light. “You!”

“Sorry,” Tiberius says. “I tried to not blind you. It was very dark. I’m sorry. Hello. We mean you no harm.” The dragonborn reaches out to Keyleth and dispels her cow form as well.

The gnome slams a small wooden staff into the ground with a foot stomp, and his entire body suddenly begins to shift and change into a dark, gnarled-looking, hard surface.

“Are you a druid?” Keyleth smiles. “I’m also a druid. I think our goals might be aligned.”

“Really?” he says skeptically.

“What’s her name?” she asks, looking up at the bird.

“This creature has no name to it yet. I, myself, am a protector of the wild, as you claim to be, as well. I have no tribe but the trees around me. I hear the whisper of the wind, and it calls for justice.”

“That must be nice,” I say softly, wistfully. “I come from a place far, far away, in a different realm of existence. Things are… different there. Human civilization has spread across the land like a cancer, far more than it does here. Buildings and machines and noise are everywhere. It is almost impossible to find any natural spaces anymore. I have a deep love of the wilds, the places of freedom and beauty. What I wouldn’t give to spend my days like this, away from society, caring for such a magnificent creature.”

“Then why do you follow?” he asks. “Why do you insist on harming this creature?”

“Because we were seeking justice for other people,” says Keyleth.

“Why? For the civilized folk of the city?” he questions. “You should know more than most. They sit there, taking beautiful creatures of nature, making them fat and formless and worth nothing. To slaughter them without life and purpose to their existence.”

“The life and purpose of their existence is to keep those other people alive,” Tiberius points out.

“And why is it not the same with this creature?” he argues. “If they cannot guard their livestock, why is it not food for this thing, as well? It is the natural life cycle that they’ve removed themselves from.”

“To guard their livestock would mean to injure and potentially kill this creature,” I note. “Just as it must eat to survive, so must humans. I understand the introduction of civilization has disrupted the natural order of things, but humans still have the same basic needs as any animal. I do not believe this beautiful bird should be left to starve to feed the humans. But should the humans, then, be left to starve to feed it? Perhaps an arrangement can be reached.”

But before the gnome can answer, Tiberius continues gruffly, “When one has an establishment, when one grows its own crop, and one steals something, it is considered a crime.”

“Well, when one is not part of that civilization, but the civilization of the world as a whole, which requires hunting for what keeps you alive, perhaps that does not sink or hang on my conscience,” he retorts.

“Fair point,” the dragonborn mutters.

“Let’s not let this escalate. Okay?” Keyleth holds out her hands in a calming gesture. “What is your name?”

“I was once called Byron,” he says softly. “I have not heard my name nor spoken words for many years.”

“My name’s Tiberius Stormwind from Draconia,” the dragonborn introduces himself. “And this is my friend Keyleth, who is also a druid, and this is Kora, we just met her a few days ago. And we also have a friend who is a gnome who sings songs and whatnot.”

Meanwhile, the bird, fluttering its wings as though stretching them, has lowered its head, gazing at us with huge black eyes, its enormous beak right beside us. Keyleth reaches out to touch it, but the creature retracts from her hand and begins to rear back into the nest in a defensive position.

Not taking defeat easily, the half-elven druid kneels down and produces a few small, dark berries in her hand. Slowly, she reaches out again.

The creature leans forward, moonlight glinting off the smooth exterior of the dark black beak. It sniffs. And the animal bites down, taking the berries and almost Keyleth’s entire hand with it.

“It’s okay. It’s all right.” She winces in pain as she retracts her hand, broken and covered in blood. She forces a smile. “That’s a good girl.”

She turns back to Byron. “That hurt. Now. Please listen to me. Please, please listen to me. We did come here to kill the giant creature.”

“I had assumed.” He crosses his arms, unamused.

“But upon seeing the situation, upon approach, realized the situation and decided amongst all of us that we did not want to bring such a great creature to its death.”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Tiberius adds.

He looks at us. “Well, shall you leave us, then?”

Keyleth nods. “Under one condition.”

“There’s always a condition,” Byron snaps. “You call yourself a druid, yet you speak like the civilized folk. I get the feeling that perhaps your connection to nature has not been tended to for some time.”

“No, she really knows her stuff,” Tiberius says. “I mean, we just fought this fire guy–”

Keyleth cuts him off. “Just because one can appreciate nature, does not mean that one cannot also appreciate humanity.”

“Well, this beautiful creature is the only surviving young of a clutch, bred by a majestic roc high in the Cliffkeep Mountains. Its mother now lies dead, slain by the brutal giants that wander those peaks. This young’un is all that remains of that clutch and the memory of that blessed entity.”

“That’s a young’un?” Grog whispers.

“This is a young one,” Byron echoes. “This new home serves us well. Abundance of feed. Lack of large, predatory creatures. I believe this is where we’ll stay.”

“Question,” Keyleth says, giving him a look. “If this is a young, adolescent creature, what do you think of the destruction it could cause once it reaches full adulthood? Are you okay with having that on your conscience? This creature could result in the lives of many. If you relocate out of town, just a few miles. Say like 50 or 100 or so because this thing’s really big.”

“Or just somehow get it to hunt somewhere else, that isn’t the farmers’ livestock,” I suggest. “If the prey truly is abundant here, you should be able to find somewhere else for it to hunt successfully. Otherwise, perhaps this isn’t as good a location as you claim.”

“I will help you,” Keyleth declares. “I will personally come with you and tend to their safety. And make sure that their location is proper and safe, and handled with respect. Then you will be out of the harms of poachers. You can live off the land, and you can be free and alone.”

“Do you think we came straight to this mountain range?” Byron growls. “Do you think this is the first nest we’ve constructed? Me and this lone survivor have scoured the length of this side of Tal’Dorei. This, as far as I can see, is the safest. It’s the most ignored by nearby civilization.”

“Listen,” says Keyleth firmly. “We are being nice. Don’t think that we will be the first. You will have more people come and hunt you and kill this, as this beast continues. How long do you think you can survive waves of mercenaries coming to try and kill this? We are the nice ones. I suggest you heed our warning, take our help, and save the life of you and your creature in the long run.”

“You have yet to provide a suitable alternative.” His arms are still folded in defensively.

“Oh! I might have an idea,” says Tiberius.

“There is an alternative. Tiberius can tell you of that alternative,” Keyleth says awkwardly.

“Yes! See, your creature is rather large and powerful, yes? You have a rather strong bond with him, which is quite unique with such a unique looking creature,” begins the dragonborn.

“I was setting you up for an awesome one-liner, man! You were supposed to be like, 'The other option is death,'” Keyleth whispers.

“Well, I guess there’s a couple of options, really,” Tiberius continues, ignoring her. “There’s this town Whitestone that’s pretty great and has a lot of livestock that this creature can consume.”

“Yeah… I don’t know about that.” I shake my head.

“Whitestone. How far is this Whitestone?”

“Wait! No! Hang on! No!” Keyleth interrupts suddenly. “This is getting out of control already. We are not going to push this creature on other people. I’m trying, alright? I’m working on it. I don’t want to push this problem off on a town that’s already being held hostage by vampires. That sucks!”

“Well, the other option was, like Kora was hinting at, perhaps you can form an agreement with Emon,” Tiberius offers. “I’m sure it would pay in livestock rather well for the protection of you, such a powerful druid, over at least a section of the land. In exchange for free food for your friend.”

I, for one, think this is a wonderful solution, but Byron seems unconvinced. “You, dragon man, are adorably naive of the ways of men and those that lie and deceive. I have yet to have met any civilized people who have kept their word when it came to creatures like this.”

Vex steps forward now, her cow form also dispelled. “What about Vasselheim? Not in the city, but outside of it. There’s plentiful forests, tons of giant creatures it could feed on. There’s so many monsters out there, they don’t hunt them all because there’s too many.”

“And there are strict rules against hunting anything that isn’t sanctioned to be hunted,” I add.

“It’s the best place you can go,” Vex agrees.

“Please, please listen to us. We’re only trying to help,” Keyleth begs. “Please believe me. I let this thing almost take my hand off, and I’m still standing here fairly cogently talking to you, so please take that as a sign of honesty. She’s right. We have friends in Vasselheim. We can contact the Slayer’s Take. We’re a part of their guild. We can tell them that you’re coming. They’ll not bother you. We can tell them they are not allowed to take out a contract on your creature. You will not be harmed.”

“And what’s to stop them from hunting down a majestic creature as rare as this one?” asks Byron, still very skeptical.

“Us!” says Tiberius, far too optimistically.

“You, who live here in Emon?” the gnome asks, giving him a look.

“Yes. No, us who are members of the guild.”

“So you also are monster slayers, who come here under the guise to slay this monster?”

“No! Not here. Other places that we’re forced to do it. But still we’re members,” the sorcerer tries to explain.

“It’s too much talk.” Byron waves him off, starting to turn away.

Then Scanlan starts speaking to him in a language I don’t understand- presumably Gnomish. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it seems to catch his attention.

He gives Scanlan an intense look, replying in Common with a sigh. “If we’re going to make this journey to where you say this Vasselheim is, how far is it?”

“Several days’ journey,” says the bard.

“It’s just across the water,” says Vex. “You could fly no problem over it.”

“Across the sea?” asks Byron.

“It’s across the sea,” Grog confirms.

“We can draw you a map,” offers Scanlan. “We can give you provisions. We’ll even make sure the farmers provide you with a few pieces of livestock to chow down on before the journey. A parting gift to fuel up before the big ride. We can give you papers to hand to the Slayer’s Take that will ensure that you’ll be treated fairly.”

Tiberius begins writing something on a scroll of paper.

The gnome druid looks back towards Keyleth, looks back at Scanlan, looks at Tiberius and I, looks up at the bird. He seems to be making up his mind in some way.

“Please. We really don’t need another death on our conscience today,” Keyleth says softly.

“Then looks like we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Byron gives us a grim look. “If you can assure us enough food to get across on this journey, we’ll make our way towards this Vasselheim. I pray on the solidarity between our kin, and our kin, that you speak the truth that resonates this moment. Because if it does not, may the fall of this entity and myself weigh on your conscience.”

Tiberius shows him the scroll, and then, once Byron finishes reading what he has written, the paper vanishes with a poof.

“As the sun rises, two sizable pieces of livestock to be placed at the boundaries of the usual hunting site,” says the gnome. “If those are there, and it is taken without any sort of aggression, we’ll take that as a sign that you are being honest, and we shan’t bother you or your people any further.”

I smile. “Thank you greatly. I wish you the best on your journey, and I will pray to Ioun to watch over you and ensure your safety.”

Scanlan bows deeply, and when he does, the cowbell around his neck creates an unmistakably mood-breaking clang-a-lang.

For a moment, I swear I can hear a slight, uncontrollable chuckle from Byron.

“If you’re up that way,” says Keyleth, “there’s a druidic tribe, a little village called Pyrah. They’re Fire Ashari. You can find their headmaster Cerkonos. He’s a friend. You might find your people there. Who knows? Maybe friends will do you good.”

“Ashari, you say?” He frowns. “My dealings with them have been mixed. Perhaps I’ll keep my distance.”

Vex quietly begins to reach down towards a few feathers on the ground, and earns a brisk slap across the knuckles.

“Can I have a feather that he dropped?” she asks.

“Why?”

“Because they’re beautiful. You have to admit they’re beautiful.”

He sighs, clearly done with us. “Elves. All right.”

“Thank you.” She picks up a few of the huge feathers, each the size of a canoe.

“Now go! Now! My patience wears thin. I’m through with talking words.”

“Sorry,” says Scanlan.

Tiberius and Siveldor, coordinating their actions this time, each cast another Fly spell over a portion of the party, preparing us to leave.

Vax, apparently behind him this whole time, appears over his shoulder and rejoins the group, earning a frightened yelp from Byron.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, and we all take off, coasting back to the north side of Emon once more. We reach the Klaus’s house and speak with them for a while, managing to convince them of the situation and what seems to be a mutually positive circumstance. They eventually agree it’s better to lose two cows than continue this.

“We can pay you for the two cows,” Vex offers. “How much do they normally cost, darling?”

“Maybe 40 gold each?” Ben replies. “They can be used for meat, they can be used for milk. Quite useful animals.”

“40 gold each to make up for the loss of your cows.” Vex hands him the money, unquestioning.

“Thank you so much. I greatly appreciate you helping with this. And you promise, this will–”

“Yes, just put them out in the open field,” Scanlan says.

“We’ll put them out there. Stake them,” Grog offers. “We’ll take care of it.”

And so, we take two of the cows- making sure not to select any of the ones Keyleth and I talked to earlier, because that just seems wrong. We bring them to the outskirts of the farm, outside the actual holding pen, tying a rope around their necks and hitching them to a post.

And we wait.

Eventually, the sun begins to rise across the eastern sky. As it crests, some of the farmers come out, anxiously watching from their homes.

Gradually, I become aware of wings beating in the air, as the roc approaches. It swoops down with a gust of wind from its wings and grabs the two cows, carries them up, and heads out over the Ozmit Sea. I stand and watch the magnificent bird flying over the sea, slowly disappearing over the horizon until it vanishes from sight.