1


            It was quite late when they returned to Sandpoint, their visages weary in the mirror by the bridge. Their howling bellies were waylaid by the tantalizing smell of spiced foods coming from the Rusty Dragon's kitchen as they walked up the street, and they decided that seeking out the Sheriff at his home at night was unnecessary.
            Two good meals and a night's rest later, Durriken had seen to I'Daiin's injuries, and they were all feeling refreshed as they stepped out of the Rusty Dragon and into the bright and busy street. However, they were immediately approached by one of the town guards, a woman with a serious mien to rival Sheriff Hemlock's. She introduced herself as Nilly Ancera and saluted them grimly, explaining that the Sheriff had sent her to fetch them.
            She was silent and tense until they passed the last alley before the garrison. "My father was killed by the Chopper," she told them suddenly as they approached the door. "I hope you can stop that from happening to anyone else's parents." She gave them a hard stare, then another salute, before marching them on to meet the Sheriff.
            Sheriff Hemlock was in his cramped office with another man, this one covered in dried mud and sweat. He was an older man, with a curly white beard, wearing overalls and a straw hat. He had his face in his hands and was rocking back and forth, muttering.
"Mumble Mumble Scarecrow,
Alone in the maize.
Sleeping in the daytime,
A stitched man he stays.

"But when the moon she rises,
Up Mumble gets.
He shakes his hands at first
And moves his feet the next.

"And when the dog is snoring,
And when you’re fast asleep,
Mumble Mumble Scarecrow
Will find you good to eat."


            The Sheriff met them at the door, speaking in a low voice. "I'm glad you're here, deputies. This is Maester Grump. He came in early this morning with quite a story to tell. He's a farmer from a farm near Sandpoint. I think you should hear what he has to say."
            “Fair warning, sheriff,” Amrynn said by way of greeting. “Our encounter with Sevilla took a sinister turn, and he assaulted I’Daiin. Know as well that the powers at play behind these murders are tickling men’s minds to dance when a certain trigger is met. Such was our misfortune when Sevilla encountered I’Daiin.”
            “I do not wish to spread paranoia,” she said. “But be aware, and alert your people to use extra caution when dealing with anyone touched by this investigation.” She nodded knowingly in Maester Grump’s direction, out of the old man’s line of sight but so the sheriff could see that she very much considered this mumbling man a risk.
            "I'll let them know. This doesn't seem a dangerous situation to me, though," Hemlock rumbled back, his voice still low. "Maester Grump is in shock, but I don't think he's dangerous to anyone - much less the Heroes of Sandpoint."
            "This little town is certainly full of madmen, Sheriff. I wonder if something is in the water," said I'Daiin with a serious mien. "I would indeed like to hear from Master Grump, and also would like to speak with Guard Ancera. The Chopper killed many people, did he not? I wonder if there are parallels. I don't know much about the story of the Chopper. We have a Chopper, a Scarecrow, and a Skinsaw." The Shoanti crossed his arms. "Might want to just burn the town down and salt the earth," he muttered in a voice that still resonated.
            Devin's brow furrowed; thinking I'Daiin's frustrated musing ill-timed, given all the effort whomever or whatever was behind this was making to implicate I'Daiin.
            “After all that trouble we went through to save it?” Amrynn interjected with a smooth chuckle. “Fear not, sheriff. Being mauled by madmen just puts our Shoanti here in a foul mood. As does an elusive predator.”
            "I am not your Shoanti," grumbled I'Daiin under his breath.
            Apparently, the Sheriff agreed with Devin. He leveled a glare at the other Shoanti. "Considering that that's just what Nualia meant to do, I find your words to be in very poor taste," he said curtly. "As for the Chopper... people don't like to be reminded of the Late Unpleasantness, but if you need to know, we'll talk after you speak with Maester Grump."
            “Evil is more palatable when it has a name,” Amrynn added. “Several of which are being bandied about, but I imagine that all of those names lead to a single source. We must simply acquire the right information to find it.”
            “It would therefore help,” she said. “If arrogant jackasses like Dr. Habe were more compliant. He had the gall to question our authority. When you get the opportunity to explain his error to him, please be…thorough.”
            "If you'd asked, I would have penned an introduction for you," the Sheriff grunted. "Doctor Habe has the... confidence of a learned man, but he's a pillar of the community. I'm sure he'd cooperate if he knew who you are, and that I'd deputized you. He deals with people under a number of delusions on a daily basis; I suspect that can affect how you interact with people."
            Before Maester Grump could speak, the Shoanti's eyes lit up. "A Pack. And a Lord. Durriken, we've seen a wolfish creature of late, who serves a Lord. Let us speak of this later." He turned politely to face the farmer, a savage predator among civilized men and women, oddly leashed by his comrades.
            Devin started at the implications of what I'Daiin spoke. For all the talk of needing to speak of it later, Devin had to voice to confirm, "I'Daiin, you conclude Nualia was one follower of many; that the monstrous diety she followed has hands still clutching at Sandpoint?"
            "I conclude nothing," growled the Shoanti. "Save that the lowlands are full of crazy folk." His eyes glowered at Devin, although there was a glimmer of jest somewhere in their depths.
            Devin took that for all the answer he would get in present circumstances, but clearly his mind was turning on the pieces. Nothing was quite falling into place for him, as of yet, but maybe just having a background to put the puzzle together upon might help.
            He blinked a few times and his eyes refocused; he returned to the moment.
            "As you say, Sheriff, let's hear what Maester Grump has to say." Devin at least felt like they wouldn't be confronted with a random, disconnected bit -- everything has to be tied together, somehow, as Amrynn posited.
            As they crowded into the room, the farmer stirred, looking up for the first time. The distinct smell of booze greeted their nostrils. He then broke into frantic babbling, nervously muttering about walking scarecrows every few moments. Calming him required a few minutes of soothing, at which point he told a short but harrowing story, speaking of how the southern farmlands had become plagued by foul walking scarecrows that stalked the night. All the farmers knew that the problems were coming from the old Hambley place.
            "Things just ain't been right there for a few days now," Grump whispered, rocking again. His voice slowly rose as he continued, sobbing. "We thought we could handle it, so we went there. But when we got to the farm, those... things attacked us! They were folk we knew, but they... they fed like starving animals. On us! They didn't even always kill them first. I'm the only one. The only one that made it out. Me. They caught old Hando's boy. He wasn't but nineteen. Used to chase squirrels in my yard. I heard him screaming when they started to eat! They even ate the dogs!" he shrieked, having worked himself into a lather again.

2


            "We picked him up when he ran into town in the early hours this morning," Sheriff Hemlock told the party, closing the door on the inconsolably sobbing farmer. "I hope his story is just born of the moonshine I can smell on his breath... but I'm worried that it might have actually dulled his memories of what happened at the Hambleys'. The situation might be even worse than Grump knows. Can you investigate this? I can send four of the watch with you. I'd send more, but I don't dare leave the town any more exposed than it already is."
            I'Daiin stretched. "At last, something we can just scythe like wheat. Of course, Brother Viskalai, we'll help you. This is refreshing compared to mysterious maddening man-beasts. Let's kill something!" The Shoanti appeared to want to say more to his former fellow of the Storval Plateau, but for once, held his tongue. Stating Hemlock's name in Shoanti was probably enough to imply if this was back home, we'd cuff each other until bloody and then laugh about it over fermented mare's milk.
            Devin frowned, "We've got one lead to get ahead of this -- Foxglove Manor. If the source is there, these attacks could keep pulling us further afield, giving it time." He sighed, though, in resigned counterpoint to I'Daiin's enthusiasm, "But we can let zombies gather strength; let's go put them down, if they're to be found." Devin had his doubts, after the attack at the mill, and the disappearance of the assailant from the brutal scene.
            “If the source is there,” Amrynn echoed Devin’s words. “We will find it in due course.” She glanced back toward the room that held Maester Grump. Bergi would have had comfort and aid for the man, song and witticism to blunt the edges of his trauma. Amrynn had no such inclinations. Her gifts were chaos and fury, despite the iron grip with which she reined in both.
            Her eyes then rested momentarily upon I’Daiin. She was more like the Shoanti than he realized, but he had still seemed a bit off since Rhaina’s departure from the front lines.
            Her eyes then switched to Devin. She supposed she would be equally ragged if Devin were to have fallen from the picture. All dealt with chaos differently.
            “For now though,” she said. “Each threat as it arises. Let us salvage what we can of the bravery of Sandpoint’s farmers.”

3


            They set out with the four promised guards - Nilly Ancera among them. Unimpressed by I'Daiin's overheard comment about Sandpoint, she marched tight-lipped and eyes forward. The other guards were Jubal Nakrimor, a dark-haired man who had volunteered and seemed eager to fight; Quera Yngar, who gave Devin and Amrynn a long, considering look before beginning their trek; and Merin Vargil, a stout middle-aged woman who proudly recounted tales of her nine-year-old twins as they walked.
            “Any of you unfamiliar with fighting the undead,” Amrynn stated, her tone instructional. “Know that typical attacks or injury are many times meaningless against them. With conventional weaponry, the head is your primary target, followed by the legs for mobility and the arms as weapon threats.”
            “Stay at range whenever you can,” she added. “Against the smell if nothing else.”
            This information seemed to give them pause; at least, Jubal and Merin quieted to chew it over. Nilly and Quera had a quiet discussion at the back of the group as they walked; Amrynn's sharp ears caught Quera's whisper that the human guards, Durriken, and I'Daiin might be better suited to this task, since elves were known to be more frail.
            The unseasonable heat beat down on them as they left the Lost Coast Road after passing the Ashen Moor and Brinestump Marsh, and wandered onto the better-smelling paths of the hinterlands, far past the path that led to the Sanatorium. A maze of dusty dirt paths led through field after tall field of farmland, stretching all the way to the Whisperwood Moor to the east. The Hambley place was right at the edge of the Whisperwood, though, about six miles from town, and not far from the road.
            The town guards gave the forest uneasy glances as they walked down the wide path, before the view was lost between towering cornstalks. The corn bent in over the path, making tunnels that seemed oppressive, though they did cut some of the heat of the noonday sun - much to the relief of the relatively heavily-armored guards. Even Merin stopped talking, listening to the sounds of birds and chirring insects that were all that could be heard in the hot silence, besides the sound of their own passage.
            The path split ahead of them, fields of corn on all sides; a path left, right, and straight ahead, with a figure dangling to one side of it. Stretched out on a simple frame, oversized farming clothes hung loosely from it, and a wide-brimmed hat hid the scarecrow's face.
            Jubal took a deep breath, and said, "I can go check it out if you want." Nilly and Quera nodded, stepping up beside him, while Merin kept an eye behind. All of them had crossbows raised and ready to fire.
            “Appreciated, but no need,” Amryn said. Then she caught Devin’s eye. “I’d test it with fire, save the nearby crops. Perhaps dab it with something a bit more caustic?”
            I'Daiin perked up at the mention of burning something--the Cinderlands burned down most things to clean ash--but noticed the guards frowning at him and refrained from saying anything further.
            “Stand ready,” Amrynn said to the others, holding her quarterstaff in striking position.
            Devin made a throwing motion, and a glob of some viscous ooze went flying toward the scarecrow, striking its leg. The goo quickly ate a hole through the cloth, revealing straw within, which was similarly eroded as they watched.
            The guards chuckled, amused at their own concern only moments before. Still smiling, Jubal asked, "So, which way do you think we should take? I don't think any of us have been to the Hambley place before."
            "I doubt many people have. A shame, what Crade does to his family," Nilly agreed, her short-lived smile fading. "He isn't poor, but his family lives like they barely have two coppers to scrape together. I don't think they do much entertaining."
            "Corn mazes," I'Daiin said, thoughtfully. "We grow popping-corn as the lowlanders do. When you're in a maze, always keep one hand on the side of the maze, and always go that way. Left, then left again, and so forth. So, we go left, and keep our hands on our weapons. Unless you've got a bow or you're left handed," he said with a grin.

4


            It wasn't long before they came upon another branch, with another scarecrow glimpsed hanging limp upon its frame at the end of their row. The guards looked at Devin expectantly, no longer as nervous as they had been.
            Devin nonchalantly threw a fresh ball of seething acid at this scarecrow, expecting no reaction other than singed fabric and dead-grass stuffing, much as the first.
            As he approached within range of the scarecrow, it abruptly began to thrash and moan! Making hideous choked gurgling noises, it struggled mightily to free itself from its frame.
            Devin’s shortsword suddenly found itself in hand, but he didn’t strike. If this was a monster or a trap, it wouldn’t be bound to the frame as it was.
            “Calm; let me cut you down; stay still and bide,” he advised. He circled around behind the frame and, with a glance to ensure his compatriots were ready for what might happen next, set to cutting the ‘scarecrow’ free from the frame.
            Amrynn’s own long blade snaked free and reached out, kissing Devin’s short blade with an almost intimate scrape of steel, before he could start cutting. She shook her head when he looked to her.
            Devin knew enough to trust Amrynn and his friends when they caught wind of danger and advised caution. He delayed for the moment, but still appeared anxious to get the man down from the frame.
            “Patience for a moment,” Amrynn said. “We have seen too much ritual and oddity of late to free something so unknown.” She circled as she spoke, eyeing the scarecrow more carefully and looking for sure sign of its nature, blood, flesh, anything that promised life instead of unlife.
            If this was one of the farmers, he'd survived for hours tied to that frame. He would survive a few minutes more. Devin kept his shortsword out and circled the scarecrow opposite Amrynn, taking similar note.
            Amrynn and Devin considered. The sun beat down on the scarecrow, raised as it was above the corn. Its body shook as though palsied; the groans coming from it slowly growing identifiable as female. But neither Amrynn nor Devin knew what signs to look for, should they be looking for undeath. Its struggles grew more violent; it wrenched at the bonds holding it tied. Beneath its sackcloth face, fevered eyes glittered.
            “I can’t see a damn thing through all of that filth,” Amrynn said in frustration. She backed away and prepared for the worst. “Can you climb up and remove the head cover first?” Her apologetic look conveyed her understanding of the ludicrousness of her request.
            "Halt! Who goes there?" Merin's voice cracked like a whip back where she stood with the others, and Quera whirled from the spectacle to join her in aiming her bow up the cornrow path. Jubal and Nilly started, but kept their crossbows trained on the moving scarecrow.
            Approaching from up the path was a familiar face, and Merin and Quera relaxed, lowering their crossbows again.
            Then Amrynn turned toward the ruckus behind them, eyes squinting. “That’s…Rhaina,” she said. “Well one step in the right direction then at least.”
            Amrynn finished her incantation and summoned a snippet of the weave to protect her as she turned back to the mystery scarecrow.

5


            The previous week had flashed by like a dream. Not only did she feel totally relaxed, but she had finally found what she had looked for since leaving her mountaintop tribe; a home.
            Amieko was a wonder to the young Paladin; she was a smart and witty as she was beautiful, and their friendship was a temporal anchor for Rhaina. Her faith had never waned, and in that she had and continued to entrust her soul, but she now had a keeping place for her heart, and the desire to wander, which she had thought would be her life long path had been replace with a sense of belonging in this small seaside community so beset by dark forces that it was.
            The lady of light had brought her here and she knew that it was not only to protect those who dwelled here, but those brave comrades ahead in whom she had discovered friendship and comradeship; along with an unquenchable hatred of evil.
            As she drew nigh she saw there attention was focussed on what seemed to be a macabre looking scarecrow whose movements didn’t seem to be entirely caused by wind.

6


            Animated scarecrows, what will evil think of next? Rhaina drew near enough to call silently upon Saranrae’s grace to show her any evil influences present. She gace the archers whose crossbows were inclined in her direction a look of disbelief, before she greeted her friends. “So either this is a source of danger, or you have become fixated by scarecrows? Which pray tell would it be?”
            "Some of both," Devin replied to Rhaina, and tossed a smirk to Amrynn for her request, but he could see the need for caution. He sheathed his shortsword and circled behind the scarecrow, judging the strength of the wooden bracing it was upon. To his eye, it was sturdy enough that he could climb it. Reality bore that out, as he climbed up the pole from behind, ignoring the struggles of the person or creature hidden under the shabby scarecrow clothing. At first he had trouble finding purchase, but then he pulled himself up to where he could climb more easily.
            "Welcome back, cousin," said I'Daiin with a grin. "Keep a weapon ready." He did the same himself, choosing his long Lucerne hammer. "Devin. Don't let that thing bite you. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. If this is...infectious...in any way, you should be careful." That being said, I'Daiin moved into position at the scarecrow's side, ready to stave in its head or chest if need be with a swipe of the hammer.
            The sun beat down mercilessly, as though it were still summer. The choked noises emerging from the scarecrow were interrupted by a coughing fit; then intelligible words grated from its throat.
            "So... thirsty..." the woman croaked. "So... hungry!" With a final, mighty heave, the twine holding her bound snapped, and she fell to the ground, wobbling on weak legs. She reached out an entreating holed glove towards Amrynn and I'Daiin. "You... don't understand... the heat..." The smell of old sweat and stink was appalling up close.
            "Who are you?" Nilly called out from where she stood; the guards had prudently elected to remain where they were, even though Jubal was slowly edging closer. Merin had lowered her bow entirely, a look of horrified pity on her face.
            "Careful," Quera hissed suspiciously.
            The scarecrow-woman coughed again, waving for Amrynn to come closer and hear her out.
            By Devin's measure, no mundane human woman, weakened and dehydrated, would've been able to snap that twine on her own. Her choice of words and emphasis did her no favors, nor did her actions, that she had not already taken steps to immediately cast off the confining hat and sack face and scarecrow accoutrements.
            Amrynn had drawn the same conclusions as Devin. Nothing about this creature’s behavior was normal, especially its words. Fleeting images of vampires came to mind.
            “This reminds me of the Feather Runner’s Tale,” Amrynn said with a wry twist to Devin as she sheathed her sword. “Do you remember that one? By Avernus Tram? You know, the one where the boy fetched cockatrice feathers for the pitiful beggar only to find out…” She paused, then added, “Oh, but wait, I wouldn’t want to spoil it for the rest of you. Suffice it to say, the beggar in question was faaar from what he seemed. You should read it some time.”
            Devin's smile was brief but genuine, momentarily disconnected from the scenario, "Not one I've read, but one I now look forward to encountering."
            “As for you,” Amrynn turned her cold gaze upon the scarecrow. “Heat I can deal with. Why don’t we find out what’s really going on here.”
            Her voice summoned the wild energies about her, and she leveled her hands toward the wobbling figure. The air between them crackled with cold as what moisture there was crystallized, before the wave of frigid energy washed over and surrounded the strange creature.
            "Yesss... the cold..." The woman untensed in relief, drawing herself up a little more straight even as frost and unnatural snow settled on her farmer's clothes and all around her. She looked at the party, the eye-holes in her sackcloth head turning to take in everyone.
            Devin hopped down from the pole about the same time the scarecrow-woman did. At her words, he drew his shortsword again, and cautioned with some due empathy, "We will get you water and aid, but at this moment, your life /immediately/ depends upon you settling to rest on your knees where you are, then removing the hat and cloth binding your head. Be at ease."
            The woman reached up and pulled the sack from her face, her hat toppling to the ground along with it as she let it fall. Beneath it, the woman's face was drawn and sallow, her eyes sunken, her hair falling out in clumps, leaving the remainder stringy and thin.
            The guards gasped. "That's Naya Grimble," Jubal exclaimed. They lowered their crossbows in horror at her condition. "Naya, we're going to-"
            Rhaina's gaze fell upon Naya with Sarenrae's sight, and found malice in her heart.
            Naya looked at Devin, and smiled. And laughed. It was a horrible, croaking sound that emerged from her parched lips. "My life? My life? My life belongs to His Lordship!" She rushed at I'Daiin, lips thrown back to reveal gums receded so far, her teeth were all too long.
            I'Daiin, who had been standing ready for just such an attack, swung his long lucerne hammer and smashed it into Naya's ribs with a terrible snapping sound, knocking her aside, but she scrambled back toward him like a spider, shrieking, "Come join us, great one!" Inside the reach of his weapon, she leapt straight up to wrap her arms and legs around him, and bit into his neck, her jaws unnaturally powerful. The big Shoanti felt his muscles contract, stiffening, leaving him paralyzed in her grasp.
            The guards yelled as one and ran towards them, but there was little they could do with bows in hand. "Jubal, help me get her off him!" Nilly ordered, her face pale. "Merin, Quera, keep an eye behind us!"
            Amrynn gave ground reflexively as the scarecrow made its abilities manifest. Speed, and claws, and the horror of that touch were motivation enough for her to summon her arcane energies once more. That forces were at work to create such monstrosities reminded her of the potency of that which they faced. Lamashtu may have only been the tip of this malevolent iceberg.
            Her arms snaked in their rhythms, and searing bolts of energy raced from her fingertips to blast unerringly into the raggedy creature engaged with her allies.
            Naya was thrust away from I'Daiin by the force of impact from the bolts, which burned a path clear through her, so that for a few moments, sunlight could be seen through her body. She tottered back a few steps, a look of confusion on that sallow face.
            Frozen to the spot, I'Daiin could not even move his jaws to scream as the scarecrow-turned-ghoul savaged at him. He managed to roll his eyes, wide like that of a cow to the slaughter, as Rhaina and Devin came at his tormentor.
            Having sensed the malice in the creature and deducing it’s nature Rhaina knew action to save her cousin needed to be swift. Forgoing her greatsword given the tight grip the creature had upon I’Daiin, she moved with all her speed to engage the Ghoul, using her fists. “Sorry am I that our meeting again is in a time of trouble, but I am pleased to be here when needed. Beware it’s bite dear friends, it carries a foul disease,”
            "By the gods!" Devin cursed. She was unnaturally quick and unnaturally strong; he could only imagine what frustration was coursing through I'Daiin. "Naya's dead! It's a ghoul!" Devin rushed up with his shortsword and drove in. There was significant risk to I'Daiin in doing so, he knew -- a shortsword was not a weapon of choice to disengage two entangled combatants -- but there was greater risk in inaction. He almost yelled out for I'Daiin to hold still to make it easier to strike the ghoul... then realized that request might be in poor taste.
            The friends converged on the woman, and in very short order, she was no longer among the undead. The guards dragged her away from I'Daiin, then rushed over to see why the Shoanti wasn't moving, shouting excited orders and questions to each other while disregarding the lot.
            When I'Daiin finally felt the clench of his muscles lessen, the guards' relief was almost as great as his. "I don't understand," Merin said, looking whey-faced at Naya's remains. "She... she was just one of the farmers..."
            Jubal made the sign of Desna between himself and the body, while Nilly spoke softly to a shaken Quera.
            Devin stood slightly aside with Rhaina, and asked significantly but quietly, "Disease?" His tone implied that if they needed to return to the town immediately to see to I'Daiin's health -- if time was of critical importance -- Devin would do his best to help drag I'Daiin to such aid despite any protestations I'Daiin might make about his constitution.
            Devin looked about the corn. The day seemed altogether too pleasant, too idyllic, for what had just happened -- what had been happening.
            "Well, that's just lovely," said I'Daiin, and followed with a few choice Shoanti words that would have turned the corn around him to popcorn if there were any magicking to them. "Can you cure it, Rhaina? I'd rather not catch whatever it has. And let's get these things from afar. It got in under my guard damnably fast, e'en with a long weapon." He slapped at the bite and winced. "Let's get through this. I'd sell a herd of horses for a few pikes or long spears. Damnable biting thing. Rhaina! You go in front, and you as well, Devin. Detect unlife or evil or something. We are being stupid here."
            "'Afar' works only once we're certain it's not a person that can be saved," Devin sighed. The tactic was valid but, risk or no, he wasn't too keen on testing future scarecrows' humanity with the points of arrows. "But, yes, knowing how fast these things are -- it'd make sense for only one of us to get closer to check." Devin presumed that'd be himself, and he was fine with that.
            Sensing that Devin was trying to be discrete Rhaina turned to face him and spoke at an equal volume “I have little experience with it, but ghouls do carry a disease that is referred to as Ghoul fever.”
            I’Daiin apparently heard and asked if she was able to heal it. “No but let me clean the wound. Have a seat cousin, while our elven friends keep watch.” She will use some water from her skin and took a bit of salt from a small pouch in her backpack. “This might sting a bit.” She grinned as she applied some salt to her hand and then to the wound. “It’s a good thing I like to salt my food. That didn’t hurt did it?” She asked even though she knew he would never admit it even if it did.
            She moved in front of him and examined his eyes .”If you start to feel warm, you tell us. It could be a sign of fever.” She stood, drew her bow and strung it. “Let’s see if we can keep them at range,”
            Amrynn had been leaning in and looking at I’Daiin’s wound until Rhaina’s suggestion. The lean elf turned and strode away and around the pole site, coming to stand near the fallen creature.
            “Why bind them so?” she mused aloud. It seemed inefficient and pointed more towards ritual or demoralization tactics. Or maybe a warning or a punishment?
            “So many questions,” she said, drawing her blade. She swung it to separate the thing’s head from its shoulders.
            “Let whether she will rise again be not one of them.” She cleaned and returned her blade, joining Devin in whatever scouting direction he chose.
            Realizing that the scarecrow pole itself would afford him a view over the corn if he climbed it, Devin made that endeavor once more. Poking his head above the unharvested stalks, he could see the roof of a house and barn off to the west... but which path would lead them there? The buildings appeared to rise from a sea of cornstalks.
            Devin jumped down from the pole, manifesting whole again from the half of him that hadn't been up above the thick, bowed corn stalks. "There's a barn, and the house, that way," Devin pointed west. "Middle of the field. Can't get to it from the field's edge. Through is through. Can't tell where the paths lie; it's all corn."
            "Rhaina. Lead us. The moment we see a damned scarecrow, you get to the edge of your evil-detecting range and tell us if it's an unlife or just a dead body, or worst, a living person set to bait us into attacking something we shouldn't. If it's evil, we decorate it with arrows. no one approach a scarecrow until our paladin tells us what it is, damn it to all the fires of the Hells. Let's move!" I'Daiin's last phrase was somehow a mix of a bark, a growl, and a whisper. He had bound his bite, and held his hammer menacingly in the grip of his tanned fists.
            As one of the paths before them lead west, Devin gestured that direction as his suggestion. If it dead-ended, he presumed they could keep pushing through the corn until they found another path to use to get their bearings.
            A sigh escaped Amrynn. She bid the group pause with the look on her face. “While the home may well be the source and our final destination,” she said. “Did we not come here to scourge the area of the unliving?” She gestured with a thin arm to the carcass and the pole at hand. “I would not wish to leave such as these -anywhere- to be found by -anyone- else,” she urged. “Or worse, to converge upon us in force should the farmhouse prove equally vexing.” She shrugged to convey that she understood the distasteful nature of rooting out all vile elements in the field, if the party simply wished to aim for the heart.
            Devin summed up his thoughts for getting to the house, first, in one word, "Survivors."
            "There could be survivors in the fields, strung up like that," Merin pointed out, shuddering a bit at the thought. The middle-aged woman looked as though she might be regretting so morbid an assignment.
            The town guards seemed divided on the issue. Jubal and Merin were of the mind that all of the "scarecrows" should be found, and any living people rescued, while Quera and Nilly believed that the best way to deal with the problem was to tackle it at its root - likely the farm, as those in the party had said.
            Amrynn sighed again, fingers running over her eyes to clear away the field grit. She was nodding agreement to all speakers. “I tire of playing the puppet,” she said. “Delay and distraction and misdirection. You are right Devin, of course, that we should fly the arrow’s course to the heart of the matter.”
            The elf turned her countenance toward Merin, “And I fear there will be suffering no matter the course we choose. Stay strong. We will save as many as we can.”
            “For now though, to the farm,” she acquiesced, nodding in the direction originally suggested.
            "I have been bitten, so let's to the house before I turn into a large bald ghoul, shall we? We'll be able to climb on the roof and survey the fields as well." The Shoanti turned and followed Devin without a further word.
            “I too favour the direct approach and deal with what is likely the greatest threat first while we are strong” Rhaina spoke in agreement with Devin’s words “I will keep wary for any signs of evil, which may require momentary stops when there is uncertainty” The Paladin added.
            Devin nodded, grim and determined. They had been one step, one day, one event behind this entire time. Led to arrive just a little too late at one nightmarish scene after another. Pawns distracting pieces upon the board while a larger, unseen strategy built unopposed.
            Walking as they discussed the matter, they soon approached another intersection, decorated with another scarecrow. Rhaina prayed to Sarenrae to see into its heart, but felt no response, or at least no feeling of evil from the dangling scarecrow. The path continued past it to the southwest, while the split led to the northwest.

7


            They passed two more scarecrows hanging limply, no warning given by Rhaina as to their intent. The unseasonably warm sun brought out the chirring insects, and the only sound was them, the clink of armor, and the scuff of booted feet on the soil as the party walked. The breeze above the corn stirred the rustling stalks, but in the paths below, the earthy air was still.
            Ahead, there was another crossroads, paths running north and southwest, this time with two more scarecrows dangling. Rhaina signalled the others - these innocent-looking rags held ill intent.
            This time, the guards all readied their crossbows, ready to shoot the scarecrow at the party's signal.
            "One at a time, with that evil detection thing you do," said I'Daiin. He loaded a sling stone. "No one move closer."
            Devin nodded and reached behind himself to pull his shortbow to hand from its pouch at the side of his pack. He nocked an arrow and drew back, leveling the arrow’s tip at the nearest scarecrow, pending Rhaina’s confirmation that both of these were undead to be dispatched.
            Amrynn followed suit, trusting in Rhaina’s judgment. She unslung her own crossbow as they neared the menacing pair of scarecrows. Before loading the weapon however, she wrinkled her nose in thought.
            Rhaina eyed the scarecrows, and nodded to the others. Then she drew her arrow back and shot at one of them together with Devin. Their shots went wide, disappearing into the corn.
            The scarecrows jerked, and began thrashing on their frames, trying to break free.
            Once close enough, Amrynn snapped her fingers toward one of the scarecrows and uttered, “Affitt!” A tiny bit of flame, and then some smoke, began to waft from the hanging figure, and Amrynn waited to see if the fire would catch. The little fire seemed to have trouble catching on the thick fabric, but the tiny flame didn't go out. The scarecrow emitted muffled noises from behind its sackcloth face, sounding alarmed.
            Without a word, the Sandpoint watch patrol moved up beside Amrynn and cranked their own bolts back, and grimly sent them flying at the thrashing figures. Only one of their bolts hit the mark, but it was as if the scarecrow didn't notice it at all, continuing to twist and writhe to free itself of its bonds.
            The twine finally snapped, dropping the two to the ground, one after the other. The one who had been shot dangled a bit too long, but the other, this one in a dress, rushed toward the party, ripping off the sack that covered her head as she went, revealing that she was gagged - and just as ill-looking as the last ghoul they'd encountered.
            "Nellie Fortuna, stop where you are!" Jubal ordered, his voice steady despite the sweat at his brow, but she ignored him, her eyes glazed and hunger writ so deep on her face that it seemed a primal, terrifying mask.
            Rhaina strode forward, her bow singing as she pulled back and released its powerful string. Nellie didn't even blink as it ruffled her hair in its flight past, the gag pulling her lips back from teeth that seemed too long. She seemed to be trying to say something, but what was indecipherable.
            "Hells!" spat I'Daiin. He rushed forward and flung his sling bullet at Nellie, heedless of the people in front of him. His sling bullet glanced off her skull with an audible crack, and she slowed momentarily as though confused.
            Devin took one final shot with the shortbow before tossing it aside and drawing his shortsword. There was no time to move; he used all the short time he had to try to put one more arrow into the ghouls before they closed completely. His shot hit dead center, and would have killed the farmer had she not been a ghoul already. Instead she kept coming, despite the bolt that was lodged deep in her chest. Ripping the gag from her mouth, she shrieked, "His Lordship told us about you!" I'Daiin could swear she was looking at him, not Devin.
            So fast! Amrynn gave ground as the undead thing raced for her. Her mind regressed to I’Daiin’s rigid, paralyzed form. Her reflexive training kicked in, and she summoned the destructive energies at her command. “Fan out!” she cried in alarm to the nearby militia, waving them away. Arcing her arm forward, she sent forth the unerring bolts to tear into her foe.
            Nellie's head exploded like an overripe melon as Amrynn's blitz of magic corkscrewed around the guards and smashed into the ghoul moments before she reached them.
            "Fan out where?!" Jubal protested as he and Nilly, now ahead of the others on the path, dropped their crossbows and drew their swords. Nilly gagged, having gotten some dead flesh on her face, and wiped at it frantically even as she pointed her sword at the thing that had been a man.
            I'Daiin then entered his raging trance and bulled directly at the man-ghoul, aiming a shoulder to knock him over and deal him grievous harm. The guards exclaimed as I'Daiin nearly bowled them over in his eagerness to enter the fight. Trying to pull the sack off his head, the ghoul never saw him coming. There was a terrible crunch, and then the hapless sack-headed man was in the air, mowing down the corn as he flew back a good fifteen feet.
            He did not rise from where he fell.
            Jubal and Quera cautiously approached the body, swords ready, as Nilly sheathed her sword and used both hands to scrub at her face, and Merin collected their dropped bows. "I wish my husband was here to see this," she muttered.
            Jubal yanked the sack off the man's head, and Quera identified him as Bogo Whitford, yet another local farmer fallen to the predation of the undead. There were terrible bite marks all over his arms, bites that bore a horrible resemblance to human teethmarks.
            The branching path through the unharvested corn led north and southwest from where they stood.
            Amrynn called ahead to the fevered barbarian, “I’Daiin, take the head off please. We don’t want any of these to rise again.” She then looked at the guardswoman to see if she was joking. When it was clear that she was not, the elf cocked a sour eyebrow. “An odd proclamation, wishing a loved one into the path of such creatures.”
            "That's not what I meant," Merin protested, aghast. She glanced at Quera, back at Amrynn, and shook her head. "You're an odd one, no mistake," she muttered.
            Amrynn incanted reflexively and translucent white gloves covered her hands as she began to clean the errant filth from herself in quick swiping arcs. She glanced up at the splattered guard and offered her a similar, cleansing treatment with an upheld hand.
            Nilly accepted the cleaning gratefully. "Thank you," she said with real relief. She looked at the bodies, her lips twisted. "The troubles in Sandpoint usually don't involve wearing anyone's remains."
            After the worst of the gore was cleaned away, Amrynn took a few readied steps toward the next section of path toward the farmhouse. “If these are the warnings,” she said. “I cannot imagine what awaits us ahead.”
            I'Daiin, breathing heavily, drew his magic longsword and hewed the head off the ghoul, and for good measure, the other one with the ruined head. "To the farmhouse. Hey, Amrynn. If I get ghoul fever, do the same for me, will you? I'll hold still." He gave a macabre grin. "All right. That system worked well." He cleaned off his sword on some corn husks, then re-sheathed it and loaded his sling again. "Rhaina, after you," he said, bowing deeply.
            Rhaina led them down the southwestern path, Devin having confirmed that that was the general direction the farmhouse lay in. Within three hundred feet, however, they came to another juncture, this one leading northwest, southwest, and southeast. Discounting the eastern path, that still left two choices that either might lead them to the farmhouse, or to other unguessed-at horrors.

8


            They continued to traverse the mazelike paths of the cornfield, working to near the farmhouse, nerves increasingly on edge as each rustle of the corn suggested something was sneaking up on them, when up ahead they spotted another scarecrow. When Rhaina informed them that it held no taint of evil, they proceeded to walk past it... but as they passed below it, it began to moan and jerk, as the others had.
            "Gods, I was hoping there'd still be someone alive in here," Devin voiced. Prudence demanded adding, "Bows and blades and spells ready, just in case." As before, Devin went to scale the rear of the post holding the 'scarecrow.' With feet braced and holding on to the pole with one hand, he drew a dagger with the other. "Calm; we're here to help," Devin spoke to the scarecrow, but minded the party's posture and readiness before proceeding.
            "Be careful--the person could be on the verge of becoming a ghoul." I'Daiin still had a sling stone ready. "You in the scarecrow! Speak if you can."
            Only weak, muffled noises emerged from the bag hiding the scarecrow's head.
            Once the party had readied as they would, Devin set to getting loose the sackcloth from about the figure's head, such that he could carefully free it and toss it aside with use of his dagger's point and edge, trying to do no harm to the hopefully-person beneath. If his efforts weren't penalized by something undead snapping at him with pointed teeth and hungry eyes, he was prepared to wait again until the party prepared to help the person down, then began to cut bonds free.
            The hiss of distaste from Amrynn’s mouth echoed that of her blade coming to hand. She circled slowly as Devin worked to free the writhing figure. “I’m beginning to develop a particular distaste for the mind behind this torment,” she said. Her head shook in disgust and disapproval as she positioned herself for an optimal strike on the would-be threat.
            Pulling the sack from the scarecrow's head revealed a pale and sweaty woman of middling years, deep circles drawn around her eyes. She was gagged, as the previous "scarecrows" had been, and when Devin pulled the gag from her chapped lips, she croaked, "Please... help me... my husband..."
            "That's Lettie Guffmin," Jubal offered quietly from where he stood ready to shoot with the other guards.
            Lettie offered no resistance as Devin cut her bonds, dropping into I'Daiin's arms limp as a rag doll. Merin set aside her bow and knelt by the farmer as I'Daiin set her down. "She looks terrible sick," Merin said, not quite getting close enough to touch Lettie. Lettie closed her eyes and moaned.
            "Water... please... my husband..."
            Jubal glanced back from where he was keeping a lookout. "Her husband is Horran. Where's Horran, Mrs. Guffmin?"
            "Took him," Lettie croaked. "Took... everyone. All of... us."
            Amrynn stood at the ready, her eyes never trusting what she was seeing. This atrocity, this ritual, might only need a little more time to complete its transformative work on this latest scarecrow victim. Still, she unfastened her waterskin from her belt and extended it toward the woman. The keen sword was in her other hand, but she swept it to the side for the moment.
            “Here, water,” she said, offering it to whomever would aid the scare-woman to drink. “Who? Who took you? And where?”
            Merin took on the task, helping Lettie sit up enough to drink. The farmer drank the water greedily, so much and so quickly that she coughed a bit. Her voice still rasped when she spoke again, but not as badly as before. "The scarecrows took us," she said weakly. "I know how it sounds, but it's true! We knew something wasn't right on this farm, but... but we had no idea..." She began to weep quietly, exhausted. "I don't know where any of the others are... maybe they ate them, too."
            Amrynn asked the questions Devin himself had been wondering. He waited until she had answered those before he added one more, with an explanation. “We have found several others, bound to stakes as you were. They had… turned. No longer human. We are relieved you are still yourself. Can you tell us what they did to you, or what they tried to do?”
            "Oh gods. Oh my gods. Horran...!" Lettie reached for Devin with a trembling arm, pulling at his sleeve with all the strength of a kitten. "Please, not Horran! M-maybe he's out here, like me!" Slowly, a new idea dawned in her, and she looked at Devin with horror. "Wait... like me? Oh, gods! Am I going to turn into some kind of monster?!" The tears that had trickled before flowed freely now, and she clutched at Merin for support. "Is that why I'm sick?!"
            Merin gave the party a helpless look. "There, there," she murmured awkwardly, obviously acutely aware of how useless the comforting sentiment was. The other guards were silent, as horrified as Lettie herself.
            "How quickly can we get a healer here?" said I'Daiin. "We will have multiple people with...fever, to treat." I'Daiin tried to not look menacing and crouched down to speak to Lettie. "Lettie, it is very dangerous here. We are going to save everyone we can. Merin, one of your people needs to get the survivors out to safety and hang back. Choose someone who can be a strong anchor. Lettie, is there a cart or something that rolls around here? Can you walk? We may need to roll people out. And if you know the way out of the maze, that's also helpful." I'Daiin scowled. "The rest of us should not tarry. We have a farmhouse to investigate."
            The guards exchanged looks. "Two of us should go," Quera said. "So we aren't such an easy target if something finds us in the fields." They stepped aside to draw straws while Lettie answered I'Daiin.
            "There's probably a cart at the farm, but oh! No!" Lettie covered her eyes and shook her head, trembling at the thought of returning to the farm where she had seen such horrors. She did, however, tell him which way to go to reach the farm through the winding cornrows.

9


            Merin and Nilly came back to help Lettie up, while Quera and Jubal stayed with the party. The guards' pace was extremely slow with the exhausted and deathly sick woman to more or less carry out with them, but off they went.
            "Pharasma, watch over them," Quera breathed as she watched them disappear into the corn.
            Amrynn did not watch them head toward town. She stood tall and picturesque, looking in the direction where the farmhouse lay. Their path would be the more challenging by far. A doubtful grimace covered her face.
            “Where there is one survivor,” she said, leaving the remainder unspoken. After a few moments she added, “Though I suspect to save the most lives, we should deal with the heart of the matter swiftly.”
            With Lettie's directions to find their way through the fields of tall corn, the party plodded on past whispering stalks and mindlessly chirring insects in the unseasonable heat. Jubal and Quera seemed jumpy, and their demeanor grew no less tense when the farmhouse and barn appeared at the end of one of the oppressive tunnel-like paths through the corn.
            The light seemed harsh beyond the corn, shining down on the unremarkable farmhouse, the L-shaped barn built around a twelve-foot-high stone head depicting a helmed warrior, his face a stern model of determination (at least, what could be seen of it beneath the moss that made his features hard to discern), canted slightly to the left.
            "That's the Stone Warrior," Jubal whispered. "Mr. Hambley used it as part of-"
            There was a sudden rustle behind them, and when they looked back at where Quera had been watching their backs, she was gone.
            "Quera!" Jubal exclaimed, slinging his crossbow and drawing his shortsword. "Stop! Let her go!" He took a step into the corn in the direction of the rapidly receding sound of rustling stalks.
            Devin, shortsword still out, wheeled about, “What the hell?!”
            Quera had been taken; Jubal was clearly of mind to pursue into the corn; Devin gave Amrynn and I’Daiin both a quick, determined look. They’d come into the corn to rescue survivors and discern what happened. Right now, pursuing the path whatever had just taken Quera was leaving would meet both objectives – they would not leave Quera to whatever rampaged this homestead.
            “We pursue, but we stay together!” With all the work the malefactor had taken to trestle up the taken into scarecrows, that they might now be drawn into a more-elaborate, readied trap seemed almost a resigned certainty, but Devin wasn’t willing to count Quera as lost.
            Waiting only long enough for an acknowledgment of course from both Amrynn, I’Daiin, and Jubal, Devin joined the rush into the corn in pursuit.
            Amrynn started after Devin almost immediately but drew up short at the other militiaman. She turned and waved I’Daiin ahead of them into the corn. As the big warrior barreled past them, Amrynn said, “Hold still.” She finished her incantation, touching part of Jubal’s outfit.
            “We’ll not lose sight of you too,” she said as the man’s garment began to glow with a radiant light. “Now follow the Shoanti! Keep him in sight!”
            She all but shoved Jubal into the corn then and followed close behind as the chase began.
            I'Daiin sprinted in the direction where Quera had disappeared, his thews pumping at a rate unparalleled by those of mere civilized men and women. As he ran, he scanned for signs of the Sandpoint native and her supposed captors: a broken cornstalk, a bit of disturbed earth. Lifegiver, guide me, and burn these foul unlife, he thought as his feet pounded the soil relentlessly.
            So focused was the Paladin on sensing for trouble ahead that the cry from their rear caught Rhaina completely off guard.
            As she spun about her height allowed her a brief view of the direction of flight and she wasted little time putting her bow away and giving chase; her long legs and well trained gait allowed her to quickly react and close the distance. “If we can close cousin I will attempt to trip our kidnapper”
            The party pursued into the corn, I'Daiin mowing down the stalks in his path with the others following in his wake. Even slowed by the infernal crops, and moving more slowly in order to track the kidnapper, it didn't take him long to burst out into the open on a path, where three farmers were crouched around Quera, trickles of blood dripping down their chins.
            "Comp'ny, Bosh!" one woman grinned, her teeth crimson. She wiped at her chin with a careless arm, smearing the blood more than cleaning it away.
            "Well, let's welcome him, Dora!" Bosh, a middle-aged man who looked like he should have had a ruddy complection rather than such sallow skin, rose and threw his arms wide. "Have you come to join our feast, sir?"
            "His Lordship will welcome you into the fold!" a third, skinny woman laughed, exchanging a sly look with Dora. She wiped her hands on her already-grimy dress, leaving red stains.
            "Prob'ly not them others, though, Anesha," Dora said as the three rose. "But he'll prob'ly welcome 'em into his belly!"
            All of them were clad as scarecrows, and a bit of straw still stuck out of their clothing here and there. Quera lay unconscious, a bright red bite mark bleeding on her cheek, and other bites visible on her exposed skin.
            Devin's brow furrowed as his gut twisted. Some of the farmers were still sentient and were /embracing/ what they'd become? This, he hadn't been prepared for... mindless undead, he could understand. But what could subvert their minds, permitting them to retain their identity and reason, but so equally destroy them?
            Devin gave a short, sharp whistle to get his comrades' attention and gestured with the ready point of his shortsword towards the corn, just behind the scene and a little off to the side. "Two more." Five in all, that Devin counted. "No quarter." From the episode at the sanitarium against just one crazed, infected man, he knew this would be a brutal fight.
            “I see them,” Amrynn answered Devin’s warning. She pointed with her staff to indicate the direction and help triangulate for the others before twirling the weapon and holding it before her.
            She readied herself for the unnatural speed of the creatures and prepared to haul off on one of them when it drew close enough.

10


            The journey through the cornfields had been a strange and ominous one for Cosmin Strof?. It was one thing to return to Sandpoint - a memory of such joy and such blood. It was another to hear that Sandpoint was in the midst of another murder, another dark spot upon the coastal village.
            It was a horse of a different color entirely to be walking alongside a tiefling with a Chelish accent to investigate the trouble that Guardsmen Merin and Nilly had directed the two strangers towards. Yet, such was the whim of Shelyn - the story would go where it wanted, not where the author intended. So it was that Cosmin found himself once more embroiled in the troubles of his little hometown, a town he had once thought he would never see again. He had barely arrived on the outskirts of the village before spotting the members of the town watch dragging a farmer back from the fields. That had certainly caught his attention.
            He cast an eye over at the electric-blue daughter of the Hells that had accompanied him towards danger. She, like he, had barely arrived in Sandpoint before insisting to join in the hunt for these "adventurers" that were helping the town and the kidnapper they sought. Cosmin felt relieved that at least he wasn't heading into the unknown alone, though he wasn't quite sure what to make of the woman who introduced herself as "Bid'ja" just yet.
            In himself he was most assured, though - donned in the raiment of a true warrior of Shelyn, his silver songbird sat elegantly above his rose-colored armor, an oversized starknife lightly twisting in his strong hand as the aasimar and tiefling stalked through the stalks, following a path that had been hewn through by someone (or something) else. He had left his horse, the loyal Lalea, with Merin and Nilly to take to Sandpoint: he figured they could use the steeds assistance in getting the sickened farmer back to town.
            Noise was heard ahead. Cosmin crouched just a touch slower than Bid'ja. There were voices in the corn. Ones that sounded ... wrong. Cosmin grasped at the holy symbol about his neck, whispering a quiet poem to The Eternal Rose. Before them were warriors decked in arms and moving as a troop: those had to be the adventurers that town watch had told the two newcomers about. Beyond them were three ... abnormal people. Cosmin recoiled reflexively from just their very voices - their inner beauty was as tainted as their appearance, an atrocity to the masterpiece that was Shelyn's arts. His celestial eyes spied two more of the foul things beyond the open field, leading Cosmin to tapping Bid'ja lightly on the shoulder to mark them out.
            " Five in all," he whispered to his new ... partner, he supposed. She had been eager enough to lend her bow towards the trouble at hand, and Cosmin had to respect that from a stranger. But she carried herself in a bittersweet way: assured of every step she took and yet constantly looking over her shoulder.
            Curious.
            Before he could leap into action, one of the adventurers whistled sharp and clear - they were prepared for combat. So, too, would he then.
            " You are not alone, heroes of Sandpoint!" Cosmin called, his voice lyrical and pure as a heavenly choir, " Two more join you this day!"

11


            At first, Bid'ja traveled close on the heels of the aasimar, planting her soft-soled boots calculatingly between flattened stalks so as to mask as much sound as possible. She applied as much stealth as she could, taking advantage of the thick foliage and low-set sun to mask her presence.
            When she had first approached the town watch at Sandpoint, it was with the intent to ask after Elear'a, the elven daughter to her late mentor, the Ranger Yaarde'ar. However, their low, intense tones as they exchanged words with the aasimar she now accompanied had warned her that the mournful news she was tasked to deliver to the unsuspecting woman would have to wait. Someone else was in immediate peril, and she did not hesitate to volunteer to join the rescue party. She left her horse and equipment behind with the watch, bringing only her weapons and potions with her for lighter travel.
            The only thing she knew about the man she traveled with was his given name, Cosmin, and that he glowed with the light of heavenly angels. He looked otherworldly in every way except for the intensity of the very mortal pain behind jewel-blue eyes. That grief was the only thing Bid'ja herself trusted in a disingenuous world like this one.
            The tiefling kept her tail curled against her thigh and her cowl low over backlit eyes as she crouched down next to Cosmin, nodding at his words. She spoke low under her breath, "The stench of ghouls...avoid their bite at all costs, they spread their own affliction that way."
            Her stomach turned at the sight of the girl that had already been victimized by them. If she was beyond salvation, Bid'ja might have to put her down herself.
            She spotted the other adventurers just as they readied their own attacks. One was alarmingly large, a good head taller at least than the others even in the bladed stance that he was. The other two had elven looks about them, but neither of them remotely resembled Yaarde'ar. She intuited that there was no way either of them could have been his kin. Her search for Elear'a would continue.

12


            Distracted by the lurking evil behind the corn, or perhaps by Cosmin's announcement, Rhaina hesitated, and the farmers took their chance to charge at I'Daiin. Lucerne hammer whirling, he smashed Bosh in the chest, caving it in with a horrible crackling sound, then completely obliterated Anesha and Dora's heads in a rain of gore as they came for him. The two farmers lurking in the corn burst out to attack him as well; for that, the first man also had his chest stoved in - then the three men were on I'Daiin, biting and gnawing. The mighty Shoanti roared and threw them off like a bear shaking off water, but their teeth had managed to find purchase in his tough skin here and there, and trickles of blood seeped down from the bite marks.
            The moment Cosmin rose and called out to them, Bid'ja was swiftly moving the other direction like a wayward shadow, flanking her impromptu companions to line up clear and unfettered shots from hopefully an unseen direction.
            Her agility allowed her to position her shot at a dizzying speed, but it still wasn't enough to head off the initial attacks from the undead. Baring her fanged teeth in icy fury, Bid'ja appealed to the accidental god as she drew back on her longbow, "Destroy that which spreads suffering, and put a swift end to this plague."
            A soft aura glowed from the arrowhead as she loosed it, the projectile hissing through the cornstalks towards Bosh, his arms widespread in welcome leaving a healthy-sized target to strike.
            Bosh, occupied with I'Daiin's deadly defense, never saw the arrow coming. One moment he was gathering himself up from the ground - the next, Bid'ja's arrow sprouted from both his temples. He dropped without another word; a benediction from Cayden Cailean.
            Cosmin stepped forward, brandishing both the beautiful winged-cut of his starknife, etched as it were with poems and requiems to The Rose, and his holy symbol, warding it at the foul and horrid undead.
            " Miserable creatures of filth and blood! Your ugliness stains the sacred garden of The Incorruptible's Nirvana! By Her Eminent Grace, not a single one of you revolting monstrosities shall lay a claw upon a servant of Shelyn: your final end shall be as beautiful as you are grotesque!"
            With that, a radiant rainbow burst from Cosmin's holy symbol while the whistle of songbirds echoed through the cornstalks. The light swirled around the aasimar, whipping his platinum hair about and darkening his already richly-azure eyes. When the aura reached his crown, it began to spiral back downwards, wind sweeping with rose petals and colorful plumage. Simultaneously, the starknife in his hand began to coil with glowing, green vines, vines that grew sharpened thorns ready to cut down the wicked and the repugnant.
            " Face me, monsters! And you shall know what it means to face Cosmin Strof?, warrior of Shelyn!"
            Even as the shadows gathered around him, with a flick of his free hand Devin brought the dagger from his forearm into his palm, flipped it, and send it streaking at the nearest ghoul, wisps of shadow trailing in its wake like smoke.
            His dagger took the other young farmer whose chest I'Daiin had staved in in the eye, and he, too, dropped without further fuss. Amrynn stepped forward to flank the last scarecrow-farmer standing, snapping his head back with a blow from her quarterstaff.
            If I'Daiin was surprised at appearance of Cosmin and Bid'ja, he didn't show it. His eyes were only for the red-mouthed ghouls, and those eyes blazed with an instantaneous white-hot rage. "Die!" he shouted simply, swinging his long hammer to smash the nearest of his foes. "Moh tshamek! Die again!"
            The last farmer stood no more chance than Anesha and Dora had. Gore rained down all around them, pattering onto the fallen bodies of the five ex-farmers.
            “Sweet sisters of the round,” Amrynn said upon seeing I’Daiin’s display of savagery. Then just as quickly she followed it with a warning.
            “I’Daiin! Enough!” she shouted, steering clear of his hammer’s arc and waving off the newcomers until she was sure I’Daiin realized that they appeared to be friendly.
            And quite an appearance it was. They looked a colorfully mismatched pair at first, but also seemed to fit neatly into each other’s graces. Amrynn watched them as she tucked her staff under one arm and began cleaning the worst of the gore from her with her lingering magics.
            Sides heaving, spattered with ghoul ichor, I'Daiin let his rage drop. "Well," he said to Cosmin and Bid'ja, "I am I'Daiin, of the Sklar-Quah. Are either of you healers? I and Quera here are in danger of ghoul fever. Ssth," he hissed as he inspected the new humanoid toothmarks in his bronzed skin, "I rather prefer love bites to these."
            Jubal spat bad blood from his mouth, then rushed to Quera's side (making a large detour around I'Daiin, just in case) to check that she was all right. "Bitten, but breathing," he reported grimly, sheathing his sword and bending to gather her up. "It looks like she took a crack on the noggin, too." He paused as he gazed at the newcomers - an unlikely pair. His eyes lingered uncertainly on Bid'ja, then he squinted at Cosmin. "Uh... aren't you...? Welcome back to Sandpoint," he sighed with some irony.
            " Jubal," Cosmin nodded once in greeting to the member of the town guard, the aura of his Goddess's blessing still swirling about him, " Uh ... thanks. Not exactly what I had in mind for a homecoming ..."
            Indeed, the blood that soaked clothes and stalks alike was eerily familiar in ways that the aasimar rather not think about. Instead he set himself to the task at hand, noting that the so-called Heroes of Sandpoint and one Bid'ja had made short work of their foes. Cosmin smiled tightly - though he was glad no harm had come to anyone else, he also couldn't help but feel that the raging power of his beautiful patron could have been put to better use than a brilliant light show.
            “Heads! Take them off,” she called to the others. “If they still have them.” She cast a wry glance at I’Daiin as she drew her sword and worked her way toward a fallen scarecrow who hadn’t been beheaded outright.
            “Rhaina,” Amrynn said, nodding at the fallen farmer. “It looks like Quera might need some of your attention.”
            The dashing priest took sight of the arrow that stuck from Bosh's skull, striding over solemnly to the dead monster. He regarded the fearsome Shoanti that had cleaved violently through the beats, holding up his hands in an offer of peace.
            " You fight with the fury of an oratorio stentato battaglia!" he praised I'Daiin, taking mark of the man's Shoanti tattoos, though he could not place them.
            " Surely a credit to all of Northern Varisia, abil! Abil."
            Though his tone was brought, Cosmin's voice was low: the situation was still a dark one. Crouching next to Bosh's destroyed form, Cosmin sighed and twirled his elongated starknife into his hand. It glinted in the light emanating from his form, revealing that the traditionally pointed blades of the weapon were instead elegantly curved, made to slash instead of stab. It was also large, far too large to be thrown in the way of Desnan warriors. But, it suited his grip finely: what sort of Varisian would he be without such an iconic piece of steel?
            He laid a hand upon Bosh's downed form, closing his gem-like eyes.
            " May the soul you once had find peace within the Garden of eons, and may it never recall these moments of darkness and blood. May your next canvas be more pleasant, and may your next song be a soaring hymn instead of this sanguine dirge."
            Cosmin's sword laid upon Bosh's neck. " In Shelyn's name, thus I sing."
            With a quick, forceful cut, the blade removed the ghoul's head. Cosmin made the sigil of The Eternal Rose before him while flicking the blood from his blade. With a forceful tug, he ripped Bid'ja's arrow from the vessel's crown, somewhat surprised at the durability of the arrow. Rising to his full height, he waved the tiefling over, holding out the shaft for her.
            " Elegant shot. Well done, vanator."
            His angelic gaze turned next to the downed girl, the one that the group had been looking for. There was instruction for one of the team to see to her, to which Cosmin held up a glowing hand.
            " I can heal the flesh if it is needed," he offered, sighing at the ghastly bite mark upon Quera, " But if the disease has taken hold, I cannot see to that ..."
            It took a moment for Bid'ja to recover enough to clear the stunned expression from her blue face, her favored arm still raised from releasing the draw, the string of her longbow's vibration quietly increasing in pitch until it came to a stop. It was over before it had begun...
            The tiefling quickly lowered her aggressive stance and smoothed the cloak at her neck, or perhaps she was trying to paw her heart downward from her throat and back behind her ribcage where it belonged. She had never been so grateful for someone's interference as she was for Amrynn's, when the tall, lithe female waved I'Daiin's savagery back under control.
            Then there was the mysterious Cosmin, whose summoned glow was as bright as it was otherworldly, and made the skeptical Cheliax question whether he was from this plane of existence at all? She approached the golden figure with more trepidation than she had the ghouls, and hoped her own hand was half as steady when she took the proffered arrow from his.
            At the sound of I'Daiin's approaching tread, Bid'ja's eyes rose to meet his...which meant her head had to tilt back at a near-uncomfortable angle, and the cowl of her cloak fell back from her curled horns. But, she was stubbornly insistent that she would never avert her gaze to anyone upon meeting them, so long as she remained a free tiefling.
            "Well met, I'Daiin, and to your allies as well. I am Bid'ja, a hunter passing by this way on a messenger mission. At the timing of my arrival, I only just learned from the watch of the town's trouble, or else I would have been here much earlier to lend my aid."
            "...Though it appears, you are an army unto yourself, and no aid was needed. I have healing items on my person, but they would only mend flesh, and might impede any healing attempts at the greater threat those bites have promised. Unfortunately, I have just overheard, my glowing companion's abilities would only yield similar results."
            She lowered her gaze with a mixture of pity and revulsion for the girl cradled in Jubal's arms. "...To be fair, my talents tend to go towards a different sort of cleansing...after all hope is already lost."
            She jerked her chin towards the blood-soaked grasses around them. "The field is tainted, and risks any unwary bird or creature whom might try to harvest it. The whole crop needs burned to ash."
            Amrynn sidled up to the conversation between Bid’ja and I’Daiin. She nodded and smiled at the newcomer.
            “You should have seen him a few minutes ago,” she said. “Frozen in place like a majestic, tattooed statue.” She thumped the heel of her fist with camaraderie upon I’Daiin’s shoulder, and then cleaned the worst of the filth away from his wounds with her magics. “I daresay these ghouls paid the price for their brethren’s luck in paralyzing him.”
            “We all have our moments though,” she said, eyes staring into the distance. Then she was back.
            “I’m Amrynn,” she introduced herself to the tiefling. “Rhaina is the other Shoanti, and Devin is the one moving on dancer’s feet.”
            “I fear crop management will have to wait,” she said, raising her voice to include Cosmin. “This field is rife with these creatures, and we’re trying to reach the farmhouse with due haste to search for survivors. We’d welcome another pair of hands once Quera is seen to.”
            Bid'ja gave a curt nod to Amrynn, agreeing quickly. Amrynn and the others would understand the situation better than the aasimar and herself, and she had no issue with delaying damage control if it meant there was a bare chance that someone else was still in immediate jeopardy.
            "Bid'ja, well met," said the towering Shoanti, checking to see that his hammer was ready for another go-round. It appeared no worse the wear for a few emergency trephinations on less than willing patients. "Hmph, well, there's nothing for it, then, but to kill more unlife. As for burning the field, we should clear it of people and former people first. My Quah is well versed in the ways of burning."
            "We stick together," he growled. "Carry Quera--any victim becomes a potential enemy if left alone. They're trying to pick us off." He raised one meaty hand cupped into a conch shape to his lips. "Ghouls! Moh tshamek! Pte kauru iljok-jok shoan d'ko vieh! I crushed your friends' skulls for you! Come by if you want the same!" he shouted into the corn.
            "Bid'ja, you're one of those tieflings, aren't you. I saw one near Kaer Maga. Are you from there?"
            "Cheliax, actually." If there was any flincing at this admission, Bid'ja's voice revealed no signs of it. However, her eye-contact had broken.

13


            Between Cosmin and Rhaina's ministrations, a shaken Quera walked with them back through the path of broken cornstalks. She retrieved her dropped weapons on the way, not quite willing to look anyone in the eye.
            The party regarded the farm sitting in the lazy noonday heat beyond the shadowed corn-tunnels. At first glance, there was nothing amiss there; but on closer inspection, dark stains pooled here and there in the dirt, buzzing with flies, and nothing living other than the crows on the roof gave an indication of their presence. No cats, no dogs, no chickens, no geese... nothing. No movement, no sound.
            To their left, the farmhouse sat, curtains drawn before all the windows. To their right, they could just glimpse the edge of the barn door, thrown wide.
            "We're down one evil-detector what with Rhaina guarding our 'guards'," said I'Daiin quietly. "Amrynn's right--you don't want to look like a lovely statue. Bites hurt and we may die from them in a while, but the touch that freezes all movement is what's truly disadvantageous. Let's try to stay alive. Weird new people--cast any magicks you can to help us, if you can. Damn, I miss that bard and that smug elf."
            “I can be smug if you like,” Amrynn said to I’Daiin, before returning her gaze to the farmstead.
            “I think it unlikely our approach has gone unseen,” Amrynn said, tucking a few stray hairs behind one ear. She shared a glance with Devin. “Barn first?”
            “If we move into the nearby corn rows for a bit,” she added. “I could generate a convincing enough illusion to hopefully draw out whatever awaits.”
            “Unless there are alternative options,” she said, primarily looking at the newcomers.
            " By all means," Cosmin waved his open hand to Amrynn, his other still brandishing his stylized starsword while peering through the hazy midday glare.
            " While my talents with a pen are peerless when it comes to introducing misdirection and twists, my gifts from The Rose focus far more on confronting the ugliness in Golarion directly," he explained with a measure of pride in his voice on both accounts.
            The aasimar's pristine blue eyes drifted to his planar counterpart with a slight raise of his eyebrow, silently asking if perhaps she had another idea. The silent gesture was coupled with his honeyed voice.
            " This is not exactly what I thought Sheriff Hemlock had in mind when he set out the call in Magnimar. I thought it was trouble with goblins, or bandits, or ... Well." He sighed. He let his eyelids slide closed, a light sheen of sweat forming upon his brow to make his bronze skin appear even more polished.
            " Truth be told, I did not see myself coming back to Sandpoint."
            Cosmin paused. His voice hardened to chiseled marble while his jaw clenched.
            " Ever."
            Like that, it passed. Velvet and fire creeped back into his tone.
            " But, I assure you, my 'magicks' will burn the weeds away from this garden. Let's hide as - Amrynn, was it? - suggested. I'd prefer to face these dihanie in the open."
            Shelyn's Critic flashed a smile at I'Daiin.
            " Alas! Had I known the man was born with a hammer in his hand! I used The Maiden's grace to protect me from these foul creatures' touch, but I cannot do so again today," he lamented, his grin turning a touch wild with a rapid shift in emotion, " But The Incorruptible will bless my blade come the next movement, so I'll just have to be the more graceful danseur, adevarat?"
            Bid'ja gave a sideglance towards Cosmin, recognizing the scarcely buried bitterness in his tone when he spoke of his hometown, and wondered just how much grief this place has been suffering from, and for how long? Her lips pulled back from her fanged teeth, hating that she, herself, was bringing yet more news of mourning to some poor, yet unmet elven girl, residing somewhere around here.
            To Amrynn, Bid'ja gestured for the woman to proceed. "I have nothing so subtle in my bag of tricks as illusions. It sounds like our best bet for avoiding innocent casualties."
            "I have no idea what he just said," grunted the Shoanti, indicating Cosmin, "But I find an ambush to be a fine idea. Amrynn, I will be ready." He trotted into the corn rows. preparing a sling and stone.
            To Bid'ja, he shrugged. "I used to hate the Cheliax. We had a fine cleric from there, though. Amismara. She smelled good. There," he said to the air, "said her name correctly." He grinned to no one, and then his grin evaporated. "Er...anyhow. I did not intend to bring up bad memories," he said after a moment, realizing he had totally missed something about Cheliax and the blue inquisitor. "We menfolk need to be knocked over the head at times." Figuring he'd probably stuck most of one massively muscled foot and leg down his mouth, he crouched and awaited Amrynn's magicking.
            Amrynn watched I’Daiin move off toward the corn and cocked a smile at Bid’ja. “Destructive and overt,” she said to the tiefling. “You and I’Daiin will get along swimmingly.”
            “Everyone move into the corn field please,” she continued, addressing the group. “Then draw up and position as if we are waiting for something. Devin, I’ll ask that you linger behind us a bit, and then disappear as well as your able.”
            She continued to talk as they weaved between stalks, fishing a scroll from her pack as she went. “I will need to concentrate for the duration, so will remain stationary once we have taken up our position.”

14


            Amrynn took them far enough afield to catch glimpses into the barn proper. There she drew up and motioned for them to crouch. She sat on the ground in concentration and waited a minute or two before beginning her casting. Then she summoned the energies to hand.
            At first there seemed to be no change in the eerie vista, then a figure appeared between the open barn door and the building’s corner. The figure, roughly resembling Devin, paused there, as if thinking, then he gave a simple, quiet bird call, as if in signal.
            Then he crept stealthily along the barn door, peering around its edge and into the gloom. After a few heartbeats of study, the Devin-figure crept around the door edge and moved quietly into the barn.
            By the simple expedient of moving farther back into the corn, Devin soon vanished from sight. Meanwhile, Amrynn was reasonably certain that she could see dark stains on the barn floor, even from out in the corn. There was also a ladder leading up to a hayloft.
            Moments after "Devin" had entered the barn, the party saw pale hands curled into claws swipe at the illusion, accompanied by hair-raising, inhuman snarls. Low voices argued for a moment, then fell silent, and nothing further emerged, but the illusion had served its purpose - there was definitely someone, or something, in the barn. More than one.
            A breeze brought with it the smell of corruption, courtesy of the baking summer sun that made even the shade of the cornrows stuffy.
            Amrynn winced and recoiled as the undead things snatched at the phantom Devin. With such concentration, one couldn’t help but react when the illusion was accosted. She maintained her control however, wanting to test those who watched from the house as well.
            "Do we truly think there would be survivors in there, unbitten and uneaten? I still wonder if we should just set the barn ablaze," growled the Shoanti quietly after phantom-Devin was interacted into oblivion by overly willing maulers. "It would drive the things out into the open. There could be traps and hiding spots in there."
            While the others discussed the best way to deal with the creatures lurking in the barn, Amrynn walked the incorporeal doppleganger around the edge of the barn and had it approach the house in furtive bolts. The image completed its journey by waiting near the water trough, hiding behind one corner and observing the farmhouse.
            All was silent on the farm as Devin's doppelganger laid the bait for another revealing attack. Nothing came out from the farmhouse into the baking noonday sun to challenge him. Only insects buzzed and chirred, and birds called in the distance.
            "We should move," rumbled I'Daiin. "Survivors, and Quera and I, we'll need clerics soon." He unslung his hammer. "Amrynn, anything else in your arsenal before we move forward?"
            Bid'ja cursed under her breath in the slave-Halfling tongue before switching back to Taldane, keeping her voice to a quiet growl. "They're sticking to that barn like flies on rotten meat. Makes me wonder if they're protecting something."
            She reached out to lightly touch I'Daiin's wrist, intending to stay his charge for just a moment longer.
            "Wait...I know none of us want to storm in blindly like this. Maybe I can get close enough to a window to at least see what we're dealing with. I'm light on my feet, and I don't...smell as much like the kind of flesh that they're accustomed to eating."
            As was common to the tiefling race, Bid'ja exuded a slight whiff of brimstone from her skin, rather than the more salty balm of sweat.
            "...Maybe they won't sniff me out."
            " If they do," Cosmin chimed in, strikingly vibrant eyes narrowing against the glare of the noon sun, " We can use that to our advantage. Either you'll get their attention and we can ambush them once they reveal themselves, or we'll draw out the bait once you find your perch, venator, and then we'll draw the ghastly creatures' grazing claws while you put that bow of yours to use."
            He nodded in affirmation to himself and the group, tilting his head to the large Shoanti man.
            " Regardless, whatever we do, we need to do it now - I'Daiin is correct in that we are on a time limit."
            Amrynn released her concentration on the illusion she had summoned with a petite wince. She rubbed two fingers against one temple and shook her head slightly.
            “Not my usual channeling,” she said dismissively, rising to her feet.
            “I am inclined to believe as I’Daiin,” she said. “I find it difficult to believe that the appetites of the beasts we’ve encountered would be stayed long enough to hold prisoners.” She stared at the barn with a combination of longing and remorse. Then she sighed.
            “But to raze the farm without first checking would be irresponsible,” she added. “So, Bid’ja to the south, Devin to the north. Spy what you can, then move to close the barn doors at the same time. Perhaps we can trap or divide however many lurk inside.”
            “The rest of us will prepare to engage whatever emerges,” she concluded, readying her crossbow for the next series of events.
            Devin nodded, and quickly he and Bid'ja headed out, out of view of the barn door, to either side of the open doors. Bid'ja saw no windows, but easing between the door and the outer wall, she peered through the crack between them.
            Five men and women were huddled together amid a swath of carcasses both human and animal, whispering with sharp gestures at each other and the door.
            Suddenly, three of them looked up, cocking their blood-smudged heads like dogs. They had heard something.
            Bid'ja's teeth flashed briefly in a grimace as a number of ghouls lifted their heads in unison. Despite her attempts at stealth, somehow she, her ally, or both, had still alerted their enemies to their presence.
            The tiefling didn't waste time with woulda-coulda-shoulda's. She immediately raised her longbow, acting more on instinct than conscious thought, and fired an arrow towards one of the ghouls whom had not yet lifted its head from its meal.
            Her arrow zipped through the impossibly narrow space between the barn door and the wall, punching one of the women in the chest. The ghoulish woman gawped at the arrow that had sprouted out of the burlap of her scarecrow clothes like a strange weed, then around, unable to comprehend where it had come from.
            "Choke point! Don't let them out!" shouted I'Daiin, and ran towards the door, hammer out and ready.
            " For the Eternal Rose!" Cosmin of Sandpoint cried, moving forward to support Bid'ja, Devin, and the others as combat was joined.
            Devin also moved - but unlike the others, he didn't move to the barn opening, but away from it. He chose a position near where I'Daiin and Cosmin were running past, spinning to face the barn from what would be behind the Shoanti and the Varisian.
            Then the ghouls poured out of the barn.
            Speed was against them with these creatures. Amrynn didn’t hesitate, releasing her readied bolt into their midst. If they could distract and disorient enough, perhaps they could split the pack.
            “Here they come!” she warned.
            Her bolt whistled past the deceptively quick man who emerged first, who despite his harvest-trained bulk managed to bring himself to a halt before skidding into range of I'Daiin's lucerne hammer. "It's you," he breathed, holding his arms out to stop his fellow ex-farmers from passing him. His eyes were fever-bright in the sunlight and shot with dark lines. The two others who joined him, a friendly-faced man (apart from the bloodstains on his face) and a middle-aged woman with one shoe missing and red-crusted arms all the way to her elbows, gasped when they saw I'Daiin as well.
            Before she'd even seen if the projectile had struck its target, Bid'ja was already nimbly on the move, readjusting her position further back from the barn doors before uttering words of damnation against the vile abominations. Her longbow and arrows seemed to shimmer with a barely-visible aura as she once more lifted the weapon, took aim with a fresh arrow, and released.
            This arrow missed, going just a hair wide as Friendly Face dove down to roll, dark-stained scarecrow sack-cloth clothes flapping in the dust.
            Stepping forward, I'Daiin drove his hammer down on the first man, pulping his ribs with a series of blows. Bulky staggered back, snarling, though that treatment would have killed a living man.
            Stepping out of the cornfield, the priest brandished his starsword and grasped the songbird pendant around his neck, touching his weapon to it.
            " By Her Heavenly Grace, I call upon the power to destroy these abominations! Through Her Favor, may the Divine cleanse this vile darkness from the world and set its canvas anew!"
            The prayer set Cosmin's weapon ablaze in a fiery rainbow of swirling color that left arcs of prismatic light in its wake with every movement. Thusly prepared (and with I'Daiin moving to take the front), he called out to the others.
            " Get behind me! I'Daiin and I will hold them at bay!"
            With that, he brandished his blade, prepared to take on these new foes
            Devin followed up with a blob of liquid flung as though it were a ball - it missed Bulky and hit the barn door, immediately burning a smoking hole in the wood. Amrynn fired another shot, but in her efforts to avoid hitting her friends, she was unable to get a good angle of attack.
            Bulky, now considerably less bulky with a strangely lumpy torso, stepped inside the arc of I'Daiin's long-handled lucerne hammer and sank his teeth into the Shoanti's tough hide. I'Daiin could feel his muscles cramping into frozen stiffness almost immediately, and was unable to defend himself as the man sank his clawlike fingers into his flesh as well.
            "His Lordship is expecting you," the man gloated, fresh blood staining his teeth.
            Meanwhile, Friendly Face had regained his feet and tore after Bid'ja, his expression out of place with his intent. "Don't you fret, miss," he soothed, stalking after her. "This won't hurt for long, trust me." His teeth clicked shut on her armored shoulder as she tried to evade him, and there was an unpleasant skirling sound as she tore free - but at least she hadn't been injured.
            The two ghouls who had been taken by surprise came running out of the barn as well - a lanky man with dark hair crusted with filth from when he'd been killed, and an outraged young woman with Bid'ja's arrow still stuck in her chest. Spotting I'Daiin standing frozen with a snarl on his face, they exchanged looks, then ran at Cosmin, circling him in an effort to hem him in. The last farmer, One Shoe, leapt forward to tackle him as the others feinted.
            It was clear, however, that vicious though the undead were, they were not trained warriors. Cosmin simply moved aside, and the woman stumbled past him, unable to change direction after she had thrown everything into her rush.
            "Tarnation!" she cursed, glaring at the pale-haired Varisian. "Why don't y'all stand still a minute?"
            "His Lordship's got plenty room for all o'ya," Friendly Face offered with a smile. He had a trustworthy sort of demeanor, and strings of raw meat stuck in his teeth.
            "Shut up an' put 'em down, Muller," Bulky wheezed. His burlap shirt had dark stains on it, not quite red, where I'Daiin's hammer had struck him. "We got the one His Lordship wants."
            "Now, there ain't no call for language, Horgan," Friendly Face Muller said with a hurt expression.
            How do they move so fast? Though she pivoted on her foot and jerked her torso and hips away from the ghoul's approach, Friendly-Face Muller still managed to rake his rotten bite against her armor. Bid'ja considered herself swift, but she felt like she was living a nightmare of slow and sluggish movement by comparison.
            Within a flash of hellfire, this fight had already left them at the disadvantage. Ghouls clustered around them, I'Daiin was terrifyingly still, and the creatures were supernaturally dodging bolts and arrows alike.
            Bid'ja desperately wanted to fire an arrow through the trustworthy face of the ghoul in front of her, his sincere smile merely a painful mockery of her own gullible youth, but both Cosmin and I'Daiin were surrounded, and she feared losing another ally to their paralyzing bite.
            The tiefling retreated a step, backing away from Friendly-Face...then rapidly swiveled her body around to aim and fire another arrow at the female ghoul, whom she had shot before.
            Even with One Shoe in the way, her arrow cracked through Arrowshot's skull, and the woman dropped like a sack of potatoes. One Shoe gasped, and turned a glare on Bid'ja. "You dirty birdie! You'll pay for that!"
            Cosmin grit his teeth at the swarm of undead literally spilling out of the barn. After sidestepping one attacker to avoid the same fate as poor I'Daiin, Shelyn's guardian called upon his goddess' benevolence once more while fuming at his foes.
            " Whatever 'Lordship' you serve will soon share your fate: a final death for thee, and a beautiful one I shall make it."
            Bathed in holy and radiant light from his glowing weapon, Cosmin struck - the woman that had fallen past him finally felt his full, righteous wrath as he twisted his whole body into a thorough slice across the undead's entire torso. His glowing starsword left iridescent arcs in its wake, filled with bursting color and, he prayed, a sanguine spray of blood to complete the rainbow.
            His starsword cut deep, but rather than a spray of red, an unpleasant and stinking darker liquid followed the path of his sword from Spiky-hair's chest. Spiky-hair grunted at the impact of the blade, jumping back a moment too late to avoid the oversized starknife.
            The momentum of his cut carried Cosmin into a deft, retreating step towards Bid'ja, interposing his body between her and the rest of the Ghouls. He assumed that given I'Daiin's condition the creatures would focus on those who still drew breath and could fight, rather than those who posed no threat at the moment.
            " Lady of Light, Goddess of Glorious Music, ward your humble artist that I may craft masterpieces in Your Name!"
            With speed, Cosmin whipped his holy symbol in front of him, his prayer invoking a swift response: A burst of choral music from his amulet that coalesced into a single, reverberating disc: a golden halo that sang as it moved around its conjurer to keep the touch of the ghouls at bay. He raised his weapon again into a guard, the blade twisting and turning in his practiced grip to continue its colorful floryshe through the air, eyes watching for each threat and preparing to turn aside their attacks.
            One Shoe swiped at him, but again, proved herself woefully less capable in the combative arts, snatching her hand back with a scratch dealt by his starsword.
            "Concentrate on the wounded ones," Devin advised, whirling his arms in another arcane gesture to summon forth a globe of acid. Taking his own advice, he directed it, once more, at Horgan, whom I'Daiin had nearly crushed. Horgan proved himself canny enough to duck behind I'Daiin's huge figure, and the acid splashed on the dirt of the barnyard, bubbling and seething. Devin backed away, towards Amrynn, as he unlimbered his bow.
            Anger fanned the banked coals within Amrynn as her mundane weapon proved useless against the ravagers. As the misshapen villagers swarmed over the others, she broke from the cover of the corn and darted across the open terrain. She held onto her crossbow for now, but it dropped largely forgotten by her side as words of power growled from her lips.
            Streaks of searing white energy leapt from her long fingers and hammered into two of the undead scarecrows.
            Horgan grunted as one of the streaks of light hit him leaving a charred spot on his shoulder - but the other burned a hole clear through Spiky-hair's gut, and the ghoul dropped, clutching feebly at his stomach before the unholy light left his eyes.
            "You folk oughta stay away from decent people," Horgan growled with no trace of irony. The ghoul looked to be in terrible shape; the dark stains were spreading on his scarecrow sack-shirt, and Amrynn's bolt of light appeared to have dislocated his shoulder.
            Whatever drove the ghouls, Horgan was feeling it keenly. Despite his wounds, he charged Cosmin, his dead flesh feeling no pain. His teeth snapped shut on steel - Cosmin parried the attack, flinging the farmer away with a cut to his cheek as warning.
            "Get 'im, Bess!" Muller cried - but he still went after Bid'ja, cornering her against the cornstalks. She twisted away from his grasping hands, his long nails ragged and grimed, but he managed to sink his teeth into her arm, all the same.
            One Shoe Bess took advantage of Cosmin's momentary preoccupation with Horgan to tackle him and sink her teeth into his neck. He managed to shove her away, but not without her taking a chunk of his flesh with her. She scratched at him with her nails, but they skittered over his armor fruitlessly, and he managed to drive her back with a few swings of his starsword.
            Spells flew around them and dazzled in Bid'ja's vision. She could hear the watery voice of the bulkier ghoul, and intuited his condition had worsened, but his conviction just as powerful as before.
            The terrible scrape of claws against metal was like music to her ears, indicating that her nearest companion was blocking the attacks of multiple assailants, but a spray of blood told her that at least one severe attack had made it past the aasimar's defenses.
            In silent agreement with Devin's urging, she raised her bow to take aim at the standing ghoul that was grievously wounded...
            ...Burning pain shot up through her shoulder and neck. The tiefling yowled through clenched teeth. There was no helping it now, the cursed creature had latched on, and she had no choice but to fight him off. Besides, the bulkier ghoul had now lunged towards Cosmin, shielding him from her line of sight.
            Her tail uncoiled from beneath her coat and lashed out towards the ghoul's eyes in an attempt to make the vile thing flinch back. She just needed to move far enough away to draw on her bow once more, though she knew she would have to drop her guard in order to get any distance.
            At the risk of another horrid bite, she retreated as fast as her feet could carry her towards Devin's side. Muller snapped at her like a rabid dog - and howled angrily as one of his teeth broke on her armor.
            Sensing she had gone as far as she could, she spun around once more and fired her arrow at the ghoul that beset her.
            The pain in her neck and shoulder threw off her aim - Muller was able to dive aside before the arrow struck him. "No call for that, missy," he told her as he rose, dusting himself off. "We ain't gonna hurt you. We're only gonna kill you." He sounded so reasonable.
            Cosming Strofa put a hand to his shorn neck, his bronzed skin stained scarlet as fresh blood poured from the wound. With one hand trying to keep his vital essence in and another still whipping his Varisian blade about to try and stay alive, The Songbird's Shield let out a feroce note of pain and fury, his angelic vocal cords turning anguish into a wailing, dissonant chord. With hope fading fast, he caught a blur of blue in his periphery: Bid'ja had made her move.
            So, too, did he: with his tonal shield of divine protection throwing solid waves of resonating sound at the ghouls' claws and fangs, his blade lashed out once more, slicing the air with a conductor's precision. The downbeat of the cut fell not upon the woman whom had dined on celestial flesh, but instead on Horgan, Cosmin seeking to split what I'Daiin had already caved in. The Starsword gleamed in the ghoul's eyes, an invocation of Shelyn brightening as it neared his skin and the magic within it glowed: "I Am The Ardent Heart of Justice; I Am The Vigilant Flame of Love."
            With a spray of foul substances, he shore through Horgan's already half-pulped body. The man staggered back, letting out a long groan that began as fury, but ended sounding more like relief, as he fell to his knees, then to his face in the barnyard dust.
            Cosmin once more disengaged from any immediate reprisal, the rainbow arc of his blade continuing to dance along the hazy midday light. Blood flowed fresh from his wound as he pushed his body through the adrenaline-soaked seconds of battle, causing him to wince, but he still placed himself directly in between Bid'ja, the rest of his mobile allies, and the ghouls.
            " All you've had is the overture," he grinned a touch unhinged at One Shoe, wiping the hand away from his wound and flicking the blood on his fingertips at her, " Come, and we'll compose the entire opera. I the ending is to die for - the woman unable to reach the man she chases."
            His jewel-toned eyes flashed maliciously as he set himself once more into a defensive posture, sword weaving a threatening thread in front of him.
            " I do so love bittersweet endings. Don't you?"
            "You don't understand! His Lordship commands it!" Bess wailed back at him, fury writ large on her plain face, turning it ugly. Despite she and Muller now clearly being outmatched, neither of them showed signs of second thoughts.
            "It is not for him to command us," Devin retorted, firing an arrow at Muller. The ghoul's luck was infernal, for he managed to duck behind Cosmin at the last instant, avoiding the arrow as he had avoided Bid'ja's.
            Amrynn tracked the ebb and flow of blood and magic on the battlefield, and while the numbers were now in their favor, too much of the former had already been let. Now was not the time for subtlety or measured investment of the latter.
            She saw Bid’ja moving to break free of Muller, but Amrynn’s magics did not come quickly enough to aid the tiefling. Perhaps she could still buy the newcomer some time though or additional distraction at least. Already these new faces shed blood for Sandpoint, a testament to the disease which still rooted so deeply in the very soil that now drank of their life.
            Amrynn’s arm continued to whip through the air lashing out with bolts of searing energy, each one hotter than the last as the fire within her kindled further. Two flashes of light snapped through the air, corkscrewing around Cosmin to smack into Bess and Muller. They yelled, perhaps more in the expectation of pain from what memory still clung to them than in true pain in their dead flesh, but there was no denying the scorchmarks the blasts dealt them.
            Muller frowned, looking up at Cosmin. "That ain't right," he protested, lunging forward to maul him - but a shimmer of rainbow colors abruptly sparkled before Cosmin, and Muller cried out in surprised fear, shying back from Shelyn's protecting grace.
            Bess took a less direct route, circling past I'Daiin's frozen form to harry Cosmin from a different side. With Cosmin distracted by Muller, she leapt onto his back and bit him again! The sound of a chunk of his own bloody flesh being greedily swallowed right next to his ear would haunt his dreams, no doubt. He spun, throwing her off, but she still crowed with delight at the taste of his blood, her expression nothing human.
            Again the Musetouched howled, again did the crimson flow from his neck, and again did he rage at the indignity of it. Flowing with fury and fervor, Cosmin gave Muller his back - the ghoul could continue to deal with the ward of Shelyn for all he cared - and set his sights on the monster that had now tasted divine flesh twice.
            Heartened though she was to see the effectiveness of her companions' attacks, so too did her insides burn with frustration at the disconcerting ghoul whom dodged arrows. But the sense of urgency outweighed everything else as Cosmin continued to be ravaged by the accursed creatures. With each wound he took, his unearthly glow seemed to flare ever more brightly until Bid'ja was nearly squinting against the swirling color. I'Daiin had yet to stir, magnifying her concern for the large man, and Devin shared her foul luck in striking their enemies down. Only Amrynn seemed fresh on her elven feet, but how long could the spellcaster keep going until she, too, reached exhaustion?
            Bid'ja did not beg prayers from her Accidental God, as that would suit neither Him nor her particularly well, but she did dig deep into the dark judgments of her own soul to drown out the distress she felt for the wellbeing of those around her. She had to make this shot count, and think of the consequences of their battle after it was over. She raised the artful bow and took aim down the arrow, gritting her teeth against the pain in order to hold the shot steady.
            "Find release in the depths of the blackest void, for it will end the wicked ways of your tainted existence..."
            As Muller turned his attention on Cosmin, Bid'ja once more fired on the ghoul. Her arrow knifed through the air, punching through Muller's temple up to the fletching. Her bowstring reverberated audibly as the ex-farmer toppled, his trustworthy face gone slack. A sigh of air escaped him as he settled into the hot farm dust.
            Bess let out a scream of fury. "Look what you done!"
            Feeling the loss of blood to the point of his knees going a little weak, the graceful priest let the power of his goddess flow into his free hand, setting it ablaze in a burst of color.
            " By The Rose blood is spilled, By the Spill does the soil drink, By the Soil does life bloom," he prayed placing the hand to his wounds. Colorful plumage flowed from his touch, the feathers laying upon the holes in his neck and then blending into his skin, replacing what had been lost.
            Though the deepest parts of the divots Bess had ripped from his flesh filled in a bit, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle, still there remained painful bite holes from where she had sunk her teeth into his pale skin. Still, the rainbow shimmer in the air around him remained - perhaps Shelyn, in Her divine wisdom, was telling him something.
            Healing himself was not his only concern, though. Cosmin kept himself firmly rooted in front of Bess, his eyes clouded with divine anger.
            " Rage, O Songbird - Sing of your devout's rage, beautiful and passionate, that brings incalculable pain upon thine foes, that pitches countless souls of villains into Pharasma's Boneyard, And leaves the wretched to rot that their bodies may once more grow idyllic life in your eyes, as Shelyn's will is done!"
            Prayer and Power flowing through Cosmin, he struck again, Starsword still gleaming with holy light and prepared to cut down Bess and all like her, that the innocents of Sandpoint and beyond would be spared their nefarious influences.
            Bess fell back with a cry, a deep wound in her abdomen leaking sluggish black liquid from within her scarecrow rags. "His Lordship will know of this!" she threatened, sounding near tears with anger - but there were no tears for the dead, no more than there was pain from mortal sources.
            "Let there be no doubt of that," Devin growled, trotting to where he had a clear shot at her. So forewarned, however, he was unable to strike her, her infernal reflexes unmarred by the near-deadly wound Cosmin had granted her.
            Rage coalesced within Amrynn, the fire beginning to take on a life of its own. Words came unbidden to her lips as she continued to tap the vein of gleaming essence that coursed through her. As she orbited the carnage, her crossbow dropped and swung forgotten behind her on its shoulder strap.
            Each hand lashed out in turn, over and over, the syllables hissing from her lips as the bolts sizzled through the air. With relentless ease, she sent white hot streaks of the Weave hammering into her foe.
            The gray silver of her eyes began to glow with resonant power, and she showed no sign at all of fatigue. Beneath those glittering orbs, teeth materialized in a wicked grin that only asked for more.
            The sizzling bolts smashed Bess to pieces, the farmwife rent limb from limb by the sheer force of the rageborn impact. Cosmin was spattered by some of the resulting spray of black, rotting blood, but the others were spared by distance.
            Insects chirred peacefully in the following silence, the noonday sun beating down to make the living sweat. The corn rustled in the faint breeze, giving nothing away.

15


            A few breaths later, the vicious cramps that had seized up I'Daiin slowly eased, releasing him from his statue-like stillness. Devin also relaxed a bit, lowering his bow.
            "Well done," he told the others, but there was a smile in his eyes for Amrynn when he looked at her. Seeing the ire with which she looked for another threat, he stepped closer, a hand out in a calming gesture. "I think that was the last of them. At least, out here."
            Amrynn wasn’t finished. The bodies may have fallen, but there would be more. There were always more. She stalked toward the corpses and made motion to skirt by Devin.
            The half-elf grabbed a hold of Amrynn’s wrist and was a bit taken aback when she all but wheeled on him. Three of his fingers release in a staying gesture, but the thumb and pointer remained locked around her thin appendage. He said something quiet and simple to the enraged sorcerer.
            Amrynn’s countenance remained dark, but the fire slipped from her eyes, returning them to their typical burnished steel. She yanked her hand free of Devin and straightened a bit.
            “Help see to the wounded,” she said in clipped tones. “I’ll deal with the fallen.” She drew her blade as she turned and went about the grisly task of taking heads where they were still intact, perhaps relishing the strokes a little more than was necessary.
            Devin raised his hands in surrender, not wishing to re-stoke the rage that he knew ate at Amrynn's soul. To see this much corruption in the world was bad enough, but to do so with the senses of an elf, one with her legacy... he had only an inkling of what she must be going through - perhaps not even that. He understood, though, that words would not soothe her, and quickly moved to check on Cosmin, Bid'ja, and I'Daiin. The thick sound of chopping meat followed him.
            With her cowl low over her her lowered eyes, and her bow hanging from her limp arm stained with her own blood as it dripped from her shoulder, it appeared as if the strange tiefling had lost all heart once the battle was done.
            On the contrary...she was paying close attention to their surroundings, listening, sniffing...watching.
            If not for the silent desolation of the farm - not a chicken clucking, no children laughing, no lowing cows, naught but the buzz of flies - she would have said that all breathed only idyll. The sun beat down on her cowl, as though determined to make her take note, but her eyes drifted to the susurrating cornfields. Psithurism aside, she could detect no sound or movement that suggested they were not alone.
            In her silent observations, it did not escape Bid'ja's notice that there was friction between Devin and Amrynn. Her words to him were chilled and hard, which was discordant from the wamrth that he had reached out to her with.
            Perhaps his attentions were unwelcome and intrusive. Bid'ja had to tamp down on the surge of protectiveness that made her fingers tighten on her weapon. She didn't know enough about the situation to make such assumptions, yet.
            Since the elven female had already taken upon the dark task of verifying the ghouls had released their grips on the lives they had stolen, Bid'ja turned her focus onto their own casualties. Withdrawng a slender and tapered rod from her sleeve, she approached Cosmin first, the Priest looking the worst of them; though it was a hard call, given how heavily covered in fresh and rotted blood as they each were.
            It was all Cosmin could do to keep from falling on Bess and flaying her rotted flesh with his blade, the whirling fury of Shelyn still gracing his sword and armor. It was an anger born of love: terrible and beautiful to behold. Cosmin loved the grass and wheat, now stained with wretched gore. He loved the bright sun, now an unwilling witness to savagery the likes of which Sandpoint was all too close with. He loved life, which the slain ghouls had corrupted. They and their 'Lord'.
            His hand cupped his bleeding neck once more, wincing at the pain. Bess had torn out chunks of flesh, marring his chiseled visage and spitting in the face of the sculptor. The fact that his Rose's grace was not enough to to restore his skin was worrying: He knew well of the plague that ghouls carried within them. A minor panic brought an unnatural sweat to his brow, glistening his bronze features all the more.
            Was he infected?
            Bid'ja rested her hand on Cosmin's arm to draw his attention before lightly touching his sternum with the narrow tip of the instrument. Though the wand was unremarkable, even humble, in its dull-grey appearance, it glowed just the same with the released magic upon contact.
            Then she stepped over to I'Daiin with considerably more caution, standing in front of him with her neck craned to see if she had his permission to repeat the same ritual as she had with Cosmin.
            The twitch of her tail revealed the anxiety that the tiefling's expressionless face masked.
            "This will only mend flesh, not purify any corruption we might be afflicted with. We need to find the services of a true healer and recover before we seek out the source of this blight further."
            " Agreed, but not yet," Cosmin spoke up, nodding at the cerulean tiefling and admiring her dedication in seeing to her allies first. Amrynn, too, showed fortitude in cleaving the undead so that they would never rise again. The priest, therefore, set himself to his part in the play, withdrawing his tool of aristry: a heavy, leaden coin for each of the deceased, stamped with the swirl of Phrasma on one side and the flowing, beautiful feather of Shelyn on the other.
            With purpose, Cosmin knelt before each of the slain, performing the oblation and last rites for his enemies.
            " May your soul travel beyond, luminous and unburdened," he recited the litany as he had many times before, " May the pain of this world be your muse for peace in the next."
            Each body received a coin in its mouth, the Varisian trying not to scowl or retch at the stench of black blood and the rotten meat still clinging to horribly decayed fangs. Each coin was followed by the sacramental sign of Shelyn. It was clear that the Varisian placed great emphasis and gravitas on the ritual, and would not be detered from pursuing it to its completion. Only once it was completed did he see to his new comrades-in-arms, a small blessing from Cosmin causing water to cascade from his hand and douse his tainted blade, washing it clean of tainted blood. After looking at his outfit, he sighed and turned to wash that as well, soaking his outfit but managing to get the most of the stains out. The sun would surely dry off the assortment of tunic, scarves, and capes shortly.
            " We are here to find someone, are we not?" Cosmin finally recalled, the meeting of the Heroes of Sandpoint and Bid'ja for that matter now little more than a hazy blur in the aftermath of violence.
            " We cannot return until that is done."
            The thirsty earth drank down the filthy water Cosmin washed from his clothes and body. Slowly, slowly, I'Daiin's muscles loosened, and he found himself able to speak once more.
            "I don't know who you expected to find out here... not one of the missing farmers, I hope. We came looking for trouble... and I'd say we found that. Not a good trade," Devin said. He gazed at the ghouls that were now nothing more than dead farmers once more, farmers laid to rest by Cosmin.
            "That was a kind thing you did, master Cosmin," he said, respect in his tone. "Not many would give last rites to the undead, much less if they'd been attacked by them. Even Pharasmins." He considered that for a moment, then added, "Maybe Pharasmins in particular." He clasped Cosmin's shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement.
            Cosmin returned the gesture on Devin's opposite side, giving the man a warm smile despite the grim circumstances.
            " Even the undead were once like you and I," he reasoned in his honeyed voice, " Shelyn teaches that we were all once a blank canvas: how else are we to create new works unless we can wipe away the oils once the time has come to paint anew?"
            He paused for a moment. A quizzical look spread over his jewel-toned eyes before focusing with crystal clarity when he caught the part of Devin's words that had confused him.
            " Cosmin will suffice," he half-asked, half-stated, grinning wryly. " I don't own you just because I shed blood for you," he teased.
            "There's still the barn to look through, with the hayloft, and the farmhouse. Not a pleasant task, but there could be survivors." Devin glanced sidelong at Amrynn where she was standing over the last ghoul she'd decapitated. "Living survivors," he clarified dryly.
            Amrynn cleaned her blade as she moved to stand before I’Daiin. The hulking Shoanti dwarfed her, though not so much in height. Her elven eyes were only a few inches below his, but his mass was almost twice that of the willowy elf. She eyed him from toes to teeth.
            “This will not do,” she said. “We need your hammer. In motion. Constantly. Especially if you are this monster’s chosen one.” The anger was draining from her and her tone was gliding more toward the academic. She turned her head toward Cosmin.
            “Does Shelyn grant you the ability to remove such paralysis if you request it of her?” she asked.
            The Mustouched shook his head, his platinum hair casting smooth shadows upon his features as it shifted into new positions.
            " While She is My Patron and I her willing Brush, I have not taken up her cause long enough to channel her greater miracles. I was a student of the blade in my youth and a writer after that - I have only dedicated myself as The Songbird's Sword as the most recent movement in life's concerto."
            His fist clenched around his starsword, then relented with a sigh.
            " Perhaps soon - though I am not the only one with a connection to the Divine," Cosmin noted, his glinting eyes sliding over towards Bid'ja. Her prayers and beseeching towards The Accidental God had not escaped his notice.
            Amrynn turned to face I’Daiin again. “If not, we will need to acquire scrolls, or a wand, which will,” she said. “They would be well worth the investment.”
            I'Daiin stretched his arms and hands, making sure they were actually his own. "Bitten enough times to give me ghoul fever," he said in a low voice, glowering. "Whatever sorcery you can find to keep me from turning into a Sunsbedamned statue e'ery time we meet those unliving, I'll take it, and atone for it later. As for this 'chosen one' nonsense, I suspect it's a strategy to make us uneasy and off balance. Think nothing of it." He gave a dry chuckle. "Unless they strap me to an altar and start carving at my liver--then perhaps think something of it."
            Amrynn seemed to notice his wounds then for the first time. “Hold still,” she said, incanting briefly. “Let me clean the worst of the filth away.”
            Cosmin flicked away the water from his starsword, finally letting the power in it go. With a hush, the colorful swirl around its elegantly curved blades faded away, leaving only the shining steel behind. Carefully, the priest settled the weapon onto his back and tied it down with a criss-cross of belts custom suited to the occassion.
            " If you all weren't looking for someone ..." he trailed off, before once more turning his attention to the tiefling.
            The tiefling held a befuddled expression for a moment, glancing down at the ignored offer of the use of her wand, then tucked it back away out of sight in her blood and filth-stained sleeve.
            The blatant disregard of her direct interaction with the others shouldn't surprise her, but she supposed the past few years in isolated company had made her forget how the general public normally treated tieflings. Alas, it seemed quite obvious to her now that the bigotry from Cheliax would carry true to the rest of the realm as well, as she was looked upon as little more than a farm tool, or not looked upon at all. The old elf that had been her mentor must have truly been a unique case, even in one of his old home towns such as Sandpoint.
            She sidestepped out of the way as Devin brushed past her to speak with the Aasimar, and as the elf coo'd soothingly to the barbarian and cleansed his body. Bid'ja's unanswered words to them continued to hang awkwardly in the air, until she finally took the hint and turned away from them to see to their surroundings on her own, allowing the others to discuss their own strategy without her unwelcomed interference.
            She supposed her recommendation to rest and recover their spells and bodies had been outvoted, but then, a slave never had a vote in the first place, did they?
            " You. You were," Cosmin declared, recalling their brief conversation prior to stumbling upon the Heroes of Sandpoint, now that the confusion and chaos of battle was gone.
            " You were looking for someone, in Sandpoint. I suppose the quicker we finish here, the faster you can get to that , dreapta?"
            With a quick wave of his hand towards I'Daiin as Amrynn attended to him, Cosmin began to trudge off towards the barn, wary of what horror may have awaited him in the simple farmhouse.
            " Not sure why anyone would willingly go to Sandpoint," he mused aloud, unwittingly sing-songing his words thanks to his celestial parentage, " There's a reason I left, after all."
            And there's a reason I returned too, I suppose, the poet mulled internally, finding a bittersweet drama in the development.
            There was a pause in her movement, one hand still grappling with the stalks of corn as Bid'ja turned to reply to Cosmin. Her mouth parted in anticipation of the explanation. But she stopped herself, as the Aasimar's back had already turned away and he marched towards the barn, only to be intercepted by the elf.
            The tiefling shrugged, guessing he wasn't really interested.
            The morose news she had to deliver would not grow any more stale in the next few days, anyway. It was not as urgent as keeping the still-living safe.
            From Amrynn’s position in front of I’Daiin, she moved to intercept Cosmin before he crossed closer to the barn which would undoubtedly serve as abattoir. She held up a staying hand in his path, equal measures barrier and request.
            The poet stopped in his tracks instantly, his flowing clothing fluttering forward briefly from his momentum before sliding into stillness. He cocked his head at the woman, a nightingale's warble of curiosity in his throat.
            “A moment if you please,” the imperious elf said, then added with an intelligent twist of the mouth, “Or, an interlude if you will. Your aid has been welcome, but we must palaver before we venture further.” She waited for the others to fan into position before continuing.
            “We are the remaining vanguard of the Heroes of Sandpoint,” she said. “Some regroup, some have tired, some…have fallen. We investigate the vile occurrences that surfaced in town and have now bled over to this farm. We do not walk this path lightly.”
            “If you would continue to walk it with us,” she said. “We would know your heart in truth, at this moment.” She glanced around and addressed all of those present, “Have we resources enough to carry on? Enough to see this through?”
            Bid'ja could not help but flinch once more as Amrynn's flowery speech cut through the unnatural silence of the farm. It was as if the tiefling's last words that she herself had spoken to all of them, which had explicitly stated the the need for them to heal and recover before continuing, had never even been uttered to begin with.
            Her teeth clenched against her forked tongue in resignation. For the sake of what was right and moral, she would see this terrible blight cleansed to the bitter end. But a part of her was as eager to complete the task for the sake of escaping these townsfolk and their vanguard as it was to obliterate the threat to their lives.
            She yearned for the solitude of a ranger's life, where social segregation and apartheid couldn't muddle it.
            She straightened away from the path that would lead back to the town centre and watched Devin, Cosmin, I'Daiin, and Amrynn, grudgingly waiting for them to make their decision, with her earlier opinion already having been plainly excluded.
            Cosmin Strofa bowed his head with a silent prayer for the fallen that Amrynn had mentioned. With a sigh that placed a great weight upon his shoulders, the man's head shook slowly. Deliberately.
            " Sandpoint keeps claiming more and more," he lamented in dirge, " It's bad enough it steals the lives of those it gave birth to. My condolences that your friends were laid here."
            His chiseled hand clenched tight as he made sure his eyes met the elf's.
            " I did not choose to return to Sandpoint lightly - your fight is my fight, whether I wish it or not. I've avoided home for far too long, and every artist must regard their first works sooner or later."
            Cosmin looked away suddenly; morose and sullen. " No matter the scars they leave."
            Like that, his emotions brightened again: a smile was back on his lips and he ran a hand through his bright hair to push it out of his gaze.
            " Well then. This day has already pushed me close to my limits, but I can still carry my blade, and I don't end operas early just because things get difficult. I'm not Chelish after all."
            He paused. Blinked. Offered Bid'ja a wry grin over his shoulder.
            " No offense, of course," he admitted, remembering the woman had admitted she hailed from Cheliax ... though she had been remiss to talk of it, it seemed.
            " But while I am ready to carry on for my home, what about you all?" he asked, turning a bit to each member of the 'Heroes of Sandpoint', " Why bother with this little Varisian village? Why do you risk your lives for her?"
            Amrynn’s face drew tight as she finished her declaration, though the nuance was probably oblivious to all save Devin. Her countenance shifted slightly, and she glanced around at those arrayed about the farmyard. Something was off. One by one she tracked the location of each living soul.
            Her gaze narrowed perceptibly as she located Bid’ja, her mind racing in recollection. ‘Had the tiefling spoken earlier? Even offered aid?’ she thought. She believed the beautifully colored woman had indeed made a gesture toward the collective, but the specifics of it were lost in a shadowy blaze of light and smoke.
            Warning flares went off in Amrynn’s subconscious. If this demon-blooded woman was innocuous enough to cloud simple judgments, there was no telling what she could be capable of, if she directed her will accordingly. The elf’s gaze shifted warily to Bid’ja’s colorful counterpart then. ‘Were they working in tandem? A perfect blend of distraction and obfuscation?’
            “Hold,” she said aloud. The icy tones of her voice were crystalline, easily alerting Devin and I’Daiin to potential trouble. “We need a few moments to recollect, to verify our collective purpose in this endeavor.”
            Amrynn often chose the path of directness, near to the point of being blunt. Pressing her personality against the grindstone of Sandpoint for as long as she had only honed that edge.
            “Bid’ja,” Amrynn called, still not liking that particular word on her lips. “Would you join us please?” She glanced between Cosmin and the blue-skinned woman.
            “The two of you share no history?” Amrynn asked, seeming to recall the like having been mentioned but wanting confirmation all the same.
            " I would have remembered her," Cosmin admitted with a small grin, giving the tiefling a small nod, " A vanator with dour eyes and luminescent skin? The verses practically write themselves."
            He shrugged unhelpfully - In truth, Bid'ja did seem to ... glide under the eyes, so to speak. While his voice had been booming and a cascade of color had surrounded him during the fight with the ghouls, it was only now that Cosmin took in the corpses left behind, riddled with arrows. Her marksman's eyes had been instrumental in keeping the party safe ever since she had arrived with Cosmin within the cornfields, yet they dropped their targets almost unceremoniously. None of the aasimar's flash and show, just elegant, unceremonious precision and lethality. In a way, it had to be a gift, a trick, or spell of some type - Even in the midst of pitched combat, Bid'ja had let loose none of the rage of Amrynn and I'Daiin, none of his own fervor, none of Devon's utterances and curses. Just quiet vows of animity and the creaking of wood and horn as the string was pulled back yet again. Which, in and of itself, that was odd - He knew he had heard her ask for the blessings of The Accidental God. How could one so unassuming be blessed by a deity so boisterous? Truly something strange was at work, but Cosmin assumed that it was a benevolent weirdness.
            The Priest let out a breath - the entire realization was a bit of a shocking one. He was certainly glad that she was on their side.
            " But no, no history - I practically ran her over when we arrived near Sandpoint together, both for different reasons. I because I answered the Sheriff's summons."
            He thrust his chin towards Cayden's Tabkeeper.
            " She is looking for someone. In Sandpoint. The second the guards we met said that there was trouble further on, we both agreed to come help, and set off. We haven't even been to the village proper yet."
            “Bid’ja,” Amrynn said. “You are clearly well-versed in the art of stealth. It is in your movements, your carriage, so much so that it has become a part of you. I could barely hear you crossing over here. Do you possess any obfuscation magics as well?” Her tone was informational, but she made a mental note to examine the tiefling with her own magics when the opportunity arose.
            Amrynn thought about how to word the next question for a moment, but then realized the other woman’s reaction would be more telling if she just posed the simple question racing in her mind.
            “Did you speak a few moments ago?” Amrynn asked with a mix of genuine and confused tones.
            Cosmin tilted his head. What a strange question, of course she had! He had responded! ... Hadn't he? Shelyn's Sword frowned, his nose scrunching as he became suddenly lost in thought. He knew he had been consumed with the barn house, eager to cleanse the taint that had settled over the land near his home and see to it that the ghouls had no others captive. And ... Bid'ja had touched him. He followed her former motions with his own hand, first to his opposite arm, then to his chest, where magic had flowed from her simple wand to help mend the horrid work Bess had done to his neck.
            Had he been so single-minded that he had forgotten to thank her? To address her concerns that infection and worse may have spread to the Heroes of Sandpoint?
            Cosmin mimicked Amrynn's intent, facing Bid'ja with just the slightest crook to his head, and a twinge flash of horror at the idea that his devotion towards the Songbird had gotten in the way of her tenets of art appreciation.
            "Did I-....?" Bid'ja's expression of confusion could not have been more sincere, as she glanced back and forth from Amrynn to Cosmin. Both of them being quite a bit taller than herself, she felt something like a child trying to explain herself to her parents.
            She nodded at Cosmin's words as she approached them on Amrynn's bidding, verifying his side of the story that this was, in fact the first time they had met, but she didn't quite know how that was related to what was being implied in regards to her stealth abilities. Had she ever been aware of any self-inflicted conjurings that would obscure her presence from others? She didn't think so...only the natural-world abilities taught to her by a ranger came to mind.
            She replied to Amrynn's question first, confirming she had spoken. "...Yes, aloud enough that I thought I had been heard and was dismissed. Clearly, that wasn't the case."
            There was neither a hint of embarrassment nor resentment in her tone, the answer being stated as matter-of-factly as one might observe the rain. She scratched at her horn with a clawed finger, tilting her head slightly to the side. "I've never considered that it was caused by something supernatural, before. My mentor had never made mention of an absence to my presence. Quite the opposite, he said I was irritatingly difficult to ignore. But then, he knew me before I became an avatar for Cayden Cailean, and the both of them combined did instill with me other strange abilities..."
            She gave a shrug. "I suppose it's something I will need to explore and be aware of, now that it's been brought to my attention. It isn't of pressing importance at the moment, however. Neither is the girl I am searching for."
            Amrynn listened to the speculation and consideration with her uncommon attentiveness. She did not like the notion that something had escaped her critical eye, and a thing so obvious yet. Whatever mysterious notions there were that were being bandied about, her greatest concern was that she had lost sight of events due to the fire raging within her. She had come dangerously close to unleashing it completely and was now concerned that other side effects might have come into play.
            Not only would she need to keep an eye on Bid’ja, she would need to keep an eye on herself as well.
            “You came to us when we were in need and offered yourself,” she said, turning to include Cosmin in the gesture. “Blood and magic. Do not think us so callow as to openly dismiss such generosity.”
            She took a poignant step toward the tiefling then and craned her head down slightly. “On the flip side of that particular blade,” she said with a quiet ferocity that bespoke of past experiences along the same lines. “Do not be so easily dismissed.”
            Bid'ja turned to Cosmin, directing this reply to him. "I carry sad news of a relative that passed, and nothing more. That is what brought me to Sandpoint, but such news can wait a while longer until these ghouls and the source of them no longer plague the town."
            Devin crouched at the disturbed soil in front of the barn, not so much to divine the past few days' events but -- with splayed fingertips upon packed earth -- to figuratively ground himself and consider the moment. The exchanges, combat and words and developments alike, had all come quickly. He appreciated that of all encountered in this soured field, Cosmin and Bid'ja had arrived with concern and stalwart aid. Devin was not a skilled diviner of mettle, but the years had fostered an overdeveloped knack for minding his back, and he was both surprised and mildly amused that their arrival had caused him no concern.
            He looked to Amrynn, then to Bid'ja, then to Cosmin, and thought better than speaking for any of them in an attempt to reconcile the moment and continue.
            At length, Devin rose, and from where he stood looked about to calculatingly consider the exterior of the weathered structures.
            "We've no good accounting of who might be here, who should be here," Devin mused aloud, looking about at the scant remains of the ghouls. His words were now to the group, "I'd rest easier knowing we'd called and cleared the buildings of any adults or children cunning enough to have concealed themselves from the ravagers. Before we burn fields."
            At Devin's approach, Bid'ja took a step back to allow him into the conference and could not help but agree, though her forked tongue flickered with reservations.
            "I think you're right, we do have to make sure we are not abandoning any innocents. But it begs the question, in our current condition with magics spent and wounds fresh, how do we defend them and ourselves if we run into more colonies of undead?"
            By her tone, Bid'ja's words were more rhetorical, a concern spoken aloud that she felt they could do little about. They could not leave it to chance that they were leaving survivors behind.
            "Just allow me to retreive my arrows before we start flinging open any doors..."
            "Continuation of cautious search tactics, then," Devin nodded, taking heed of the wounds received and expenditures made to get this far. Taking a cue from Amrynn, Devin gestured to the air in front of him, darkening the space and forming it with focus and his hand, then expelling the darkness like chipping away a mold to leave a concentrated humanoid-form of light standing before himself, of approximately the same size. "Not of the same fidelity as yours, but of little effort to send ahead as much as needed."
            “Always use your best bait first,” Amrynn said with a half-smile.
            "Two or three positioned outside as the trap; two or three of us cautiously searching the interiors, with at least one decoy ahead. Any afflicted found, we retreat in haste to the trap, trying to draw them out to open space. Repeat, until we are certain the buildings are clear."
            “Take Bid’ja again,” Amrynn suggested, the pair matching well in movement and guile. She glanced up questioningly at I’Daiin, knowing the Shoanti would choose his own path, be it vanguard or reinforcement.
            “Cosmin and I will hold here and wait for your call.”

16


            The barn held the fetid stink of a slaughter pen gone to rot. For good reason - the gnawed carcasses of all manner of farm animals, and farmers, lay spread about in the dim light from the open barn doors.
            Here, the ghouls had held their grisly feast.
            As Maester Grump had told them, even the dogs had suffered the fate of their families, struck down where they had stood their ground to save their masters, but in vain. Bid'ja climbed the ladder to the hayloft, but found it empty - perhaps a bit of a relief, considering what she could have found.
            That left the farmhouse proper.
            Devin directed his faintly glowing figure to float in front of the house, parading it back and forth a bit.
            After their dangled bait of the man of light gave no result, Devin and Bid'ja cautiously approached the farmhouse. All the windows were shuttered, except for the ones on the second floor, where the curtains were drawn. Devin, hiding behind a trough of stale water between the house and the barn, thought he saw one twitch, as though someone had been peering out. Bid'ja peeked around the back, spotting a back door with a dusty path that led to the farm's well through the dry grass.
            The farmhouse was as silent as the rest of the farm, a lone rocking chair creaking in the hot breeze on the covered porch. The air was heavy despite the breeze, with a feeling of foreboding.
            The smell of carnage still clung to them all. Even the magic couldn’t rid her of it completely. Amrynn swallowed thickly, unsure of when she would be able to eat again. She followed Devin’s signals, moving slowly to keep them in sight, but interjected before their final approach.
            “I’Daiin, a moment,” she said, incanting quickly and touching fingertips to him. A nimbus of light pulsed from him briefly. “Only a short bit of resistance against their blight.”
            Then she met Devin halfway and afforded the same guarding to him before allowing them to continue on into the front ranks. Bid’ja was too far to risk.
            Devin nodded succinctly, "Thanks." He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be necessary but appreciated her foresight in warding them.
            Amrynn withdrew and turned a half-smile on Cosmin. “I’ll work left and support Devin. Fade right once clear of the barn and do the same for Bid’ja.”
            Amrynn returned her attention to the house. “They know we’re here,” she said. “We might as well announce ourselves. I’Daiin, can you open those shutters and let some light inside?”
            "Movement, second floor window," Devin reported, though as Amrynn had suggested I'Daiin move forward to open or smash the first-floor shutters, Devin held position for the moment until I'Daiin had had an opportunity to do so (or not) and return back to the group. As long as the party coordinated, with the open space around the house, the party had the advantage.
            "I'll climb the face and cut out the second floor curtains," he suggested, prepared to do so only once nothing had responded to opening the windows on the first floor from the outside, and with the party prepared and regrouped such that they wouldn't be vulnerable on two fronts.
            He kept a mindful eye and contact on Bid'ja and her position, where she was warding the rear of the house versus anything trying to flee into the field.
            While Devin and Amrynn approached the front of the house, drawing the attention of whomever might be inside, Bid'ja inferred it would be best to flank them silently, to approach from a more subtle position in case they needed support on their flanks and the advantage of surprise on their side. Even if there were innocents in the house, there was no telling how they were armed, or how they would feel about a creature that for all the world resembled a blue-skinned demon barreling in on them.
            Focusing on the lightness of her tread and the careful dexterity of her long fingers, Bid'ja tested the accessibility of the back door.
            Treading softly and slowly, Bid'ja crept to the back door, and gently tested the handle. In these goblin-ridden parts, even farmhouses often had locks on their doors, and this one was no exception - but the door was unlocked. It creaked open ever so slightly at her touch. She was rewarded with a whiff of the most wretchedly vile smell of rot she had ever experienced, coming from inside... along with the quiet sound of stealthy steps. They stopped somewhere near the back door.

17


            "Inside the house!" Devin yelled forward, by way of introduction. "We're here to get you safely away from here! These fields will be burned! If you can get to a window, get out now and run to us."
            There was the briefest moment of continued silence, before a young man's voice cried out, "Help us! We're trapped!"
            Amrynn processed the data quickly. She sensed no duplicity from the second story, saw no reason for him to have cried out unless what he had said was true. Her hands worked of their own accord, loading her crossbow as she sidled sideways.
            “That means enemies on the first floor,” Amrynn voiced aloud. “Lying in wait.”
            She caught Cosmin’s eye and said, “Not to worry. We’re in communication with Bid’ja.” She held up a staying hand to his question. “We’ll explain later.”
            "I've lost sight of Bid'ja," Devin communicated through the spell-enhanced whisper. "Bid'ja; what's happening behind the house? Don't go in alone."
            Her foot was a hair's breadth away from crossing over the threshold when Bid'ja received the telepathic message, and she carefully withdrew back a step. She whispered as quietly as she could manage in a return message to Devin.
            "...I'm not alone. ...Someone is here with me."
            Someone...or something. They were in no condition to fight further, but with someone trapped in the house, what choice did they have? She retreated back far enough that she felt safe enough to raise her bow and notch and arrow, setting her aim at the opening of the back door...just in case something decided to come through it.
            Amrynn's lithe frame focused back on the farm house, words tumbling from her lips. The bolt cradled in her crossbow flared to light. “I’Daiin,” she said. “Breach us an opening, and I’ll shed some light inside. Quickly now.”
            "Devin, do you have rope? You should climb before I smash this window," said the barbarian with unusual restraint. "I'm a fair climber myself. We could both go up rather than dealing with these unlife on the first floor...hmmm..." he said thoughtfully. "If I'm bitten again, I won't distract them for long. No, you go up, and Amrynn and I will do what we can down here."
            "Don't split up," Devin cautioned all through the link; his recipients mostly intended to be Bid'ja and Devin. "We don't need to storm front and back; alone, one bite with no support, and you're dead. I'll climb and hold while Amrynn, I'Daiin, and Cosmin draw the attention to the front door and lure them out. Bid'ja, shoot anything that runs out the back; stay at range. When it all starts, I'll see what I can within the second floor. No unnecessary risks."
            To I'Daiin's inquiry, Devin patted the bottom of the tight-strapped pack upon his back and nodded. Devin took a moment to loosen one pocket's strap, from which we drew out one foot of silk rope. His fingers deftly crafted a palm-sized loop in the end of it with a slipknot, and then tucked the rope back into the pocket. If he needed it, he could draw the looped end of the chained rope out and quickly throw it over or around something within the second floor to secure a descent for a less-adept climber or rescue.
            With a moment's discerning eye upon the face of the building, Devin picked his route, approached the building at a crouched run as much away from the first-floor door and windows as he could, and scaled up towards the upper floor, intending to hold and peer inside the window before entering. At least if he got paralyzed by something, he could fall to "safety" outside.
            The curtains moved slightly on the second story as Devin and I'Daiin approached; it could have been the wind, had there been any. The side of the farmhouse proved a bit harder to climb than Devin had been expecting; he nearly slipped after climbing halfway to the second story window. I'Daiin rushed toward the farmhouse in the meantime, hammer drawn, preparing to smash the window. Swinging his hammer over the rocking chair on the porch, he was rewarded by the crunch of broken shutters as he smashed the first floor window to flinders and splinters.
            The smell of death billowed from the house, along with a few stray flies, but nothing jumped out the window to assault him. Lifting aside the curtains inside away with his hammer, he saw the inside of the house was dim, with a waiting silence; I'Daiin could see a table and a chair within, near the shuttered porch window, but no sign of any foes.
            Devin, braced upon the side of the building, heard the whistle of the lit bolt pass underneath him. He looked back to give a quick, 'Ready,' nod to I'Daiin. Once I'Daiin and Cosmin made their move to the front, Devin would climb the last bit to the second floor window.
            I'Daiin wrinkled his nose at the charnel stink and peered up at Devin. Muttering under his breath, he brought out a flask of oil and flint and steel. He glanced at Amrynn. "If I go in there's a very good chance I'll get paralyzed again. Let's smoke them out, eh?" He looked up at Devin again to ascertain his progress.
            ‘Hold just yet, I’Daiin,’ Amrynn whispered to the barbarian. ‘Hold. There may be children or wounded above. We do not want to race against flame unless necessary.’
            Amrynn’s words caught Devin up short, and he looked about and then down, catching I’Daiin’s gaze and ferreting his intent. Devin’s wide-eyed and tight shake of his head echoed Amrynn’s sentiments – please don’t blaze the building as the opening move.
            Devin was looking down at I'Daiin in turn as he reached for his next handhold - and his grip slipped. He fell back to the ground, but agile as he was, he landed on his feet, skipping the indignity of landing on his posterior in addition to falling. In a trice he climbed back up the wall, this time keeping his eyes ahead.
            Throughout the ordeal, Cosmin had kept pace with the group as they conducted their investigation of the farm house. Though light on his feet, the Musetouched was never exactly one for going about unannounced: far better to let those with a manner of stealth scout out the building before the party made its move.
            The call of voices from the structure, however, had left him uncomfortable: on the one hand, people could absolutely be in danger, and his every instinct towards protection told him to kick down the door, slay whatever evil threatened the innocent, and then get those people to safety. Yet, his fingers brushed softly over the missing flesh of his neck: those creatures had spoken too, spoken so politely while they had tried to gnaw on raw flesh. Who was to say this was not a trap?
            Worse yet, Cosmin could feel that Shelyn's Song had only a few stanzas left for him until the next morning: he had perhaps another trick or two up his billowy sleeves, but beyond that he wasn't sure they were prepared for another fight. Not unless the hulking Shoanti went unscathed in the opening exchanges and was able to bring that fearsome hammer of his to bear again, as he had upon their first meeting.
            As his newfound allies did their best to get a better view of the situation, Cosmin did what he did best - approach from the front and draw attention. Whatever was inside no doubt heard I'Daiin making short work of a window, but he wasn't quite so sure if they were aware of Bid'ja on the other side. Bid'ja whom the group seemed to have a secret way of communicating with - surely some manner of spell or the like. Bid'ja whose arrows would hopefully put down any assailant before they came into range.
            If Devin was going through the top and Amrynn was keen on illuminating the first floor, Cosmin was prepared to walk right through the front and muster whatever remained of The Songbird's spirit within him. His starsword twirled expertly in his hand, letting go of the handle and instead lightly circling its curved blades with a rhythmic, centrifugal motion. He stopped on the path to the front door, keeping his distance so that whatever was inside would have to come to him, but he decided to do a little prodding of his own.
            " Stranger!" he called out, hoping to get the attention of the inhabitants on the second story upon himself and not his allies, " What is your name? And what traps you, what is in the house with you? I, Cosmin Strofa, The Light of The Incorruptible Rose, am here to help you, but your assistance is necessary to secure your safety!"
            He awaited an answer: anything in reply, at this point, may have proven useful.
            "I'm Loris!" the young man called back plaintively. "There's... there's scarecrows in here!"
            Cosmin was certain that he saw one of the curtains, in the right-hand window, twitch slightly.
            The bone-dry cornstalks rustled in the faintest of breezes, but Cosmin was certain that the breeze had come after the twitch.
            Amrynn’s crossbow bucked as she released the tension, sending the glowing projectile streaking toward the shadowy farmhouse interior.
            She watched the progression of both men as she cocked the weapon again, scanning the area behind her quickly. Then she drew another bolt and loaded it, but kept the crossbow trained on the second story this time.
            Her lit bolt cracked into the wall, shedding light on the interior of the house - and on a farmer, a woman in the baggy clothes of a scarecrow, at the far end of the room - right near the front door. She jumped, then scuttled out of sight, away from the front door.
            But that was not all Amrynn's keen eyes picked up. Though only dim light reached around the corner of the wall she had shot, it was more than enough for her to spot a man sprawled on the ground, unmoving.
            I'Daiin waited as Devin carefully climbed the last distance up to the windowsill on the second floor, and opened the curtains there. In the dim interior, he saw a door to his left, and another on a diagonal wall ahead. The diagonal wall opened into a hall that he couldn't quite see all the way down from his angle, but to his right he saw a banister and the top of a flight of stairs.
            Cosmin's jaw set firm. He believed the voice above, Loris, and now Amrynn had revealed the danger below. The Heroes of Sandpoint may have been spread thin, but Cosmin knew he could not sit idly by while the corrupt threatened the light of life. Akin to Bid'ja, but unable to see his counterpart's actions, he knew there was only one thing left to do.
            " I'm going in," he told Amrynn, starsword twirling once and then stopping rigidly in his grip, " Hopefully our vanator on the other side got the same idea and we'll catch them between us."
            Cosmin strode towards the front door, bold yet his feet soft upon the earth, keenly aware of the danger inside the house and what the Ghouls had done before. Cosmin strode right up to the front door, took a deep breath, and put his boot to the wood to break it down and invite the demons inside to try and mar a true servant of beauty.
            He also hoped the loud entry would take the focus off his other compatriots, giving them the time and distraction needed to get into place and secure the farmhouse swiftly.
            The door slammed open to reveal two farmers, sallow women in scarecrow rags with old smears of blood on their faces and somehow inhuman eyes... maybe it was the unholy expression of hunger when they saw him. One of them was near a staircase leading to the second floor (the one I'Daiin had frightened away from the door, unbeknownst to Cosmin) - and the other right by the door, and ready for him.
            Or, rather, only ostensibly ready for him. In practice, the woman jumped as the door hit the wall, then hopped into the doorway to attack Cosmin, but her uncoordinated swipes and snaps couldn't penetrate his expert defense.
            The other woman rushed forward, but wasn't able to reach him as the other blocked the door. "Lona, get outta the way!" she snapped, casting wary looks at the far window as she tried to edge through the doorway.
            "Don't take that tone with me, Margret!" Lona began - but then Cosmin spun his oversized starknife in a whirlwind pattern that gashed Margret so badly that she was nearly decapitated. Eyes wide in astonishment, she clutched at her throat reflexively, though only a thin spatter of blackish rot flew from her sliced neck with no heartbeat to push it out. Lona gasped, almost as shocked as Margret.
            There was a patter of footsteps from above Cosmin's head, then a thump as a young woman of similarly unsettling appearance dropped to the ground by the porch steps. "We got one!" she crowed, climbing the steps to menace Cosmin from behind. All her attention was on the priest, rather than on her erstwhile astonished companions.

18


            It was eerily quiet. The sight down her arrow did not so much as tremble, paralyzed in place as she stared into the inky blackness beyond the back door hanging ajar.
            ...Nothing.
            Suddenly, there it was. She could hear the distant shouts of her companions, calling out to...someone? A survivor? There was the crash of breaking glass, a window perhaps, and then a flash of light from deep inside the farm house, too deep to reveal anything from the back door.
            Bid'ja muttered a halfling curse deep in her throat. Whatever was inside, it was not coming out this way, but she could not risk leaving the back door unguarded and allowing whatever unholy thing was inside escape unchecked.
            She couldn't let it go after the others, or get a hold of a hostage, either, assuming there really was a survivor somewhere inside.
            There was only one thing left she could do. She cautiously closed the distance between herself and the back entrance. She hesitated only a half-second, praying to her Accidental God that the flash of light inside had served as a suitable distraction to any abominations within, then passed over the threshold as silently as she could.
            The tiefling was going in.
            Though time seemed to stretch interminably for Bid'ja, in truth it had been less than a minute since they'd begun their approach to the house. Her mentor would have had choice words for her impatience, but he wasn't here. Her companions were, and they might need her help -
            There was a loud bang and sudden voices from within. It was now or never.
            She stepped forward - and was immediately struck by the most vile stench she had ever had the misfortune to experience, drifting from within. She couldn't imagine what could possibly rot into such a hair-shedding, eye varnishing, gut-emptying chungus of a stink.
            But her determination was stronger than steel.
            Reflexively she stopped breathing through her nose, and only took shallow breaths through her mouth. It saved her from the stomach-churning strength of the stench. Even then, she could almost taste the putrid smell, but though her eyes watered a bit, she eased the door further open and peeked within.
            A kitchen, as she had surmised from the placement of the door. There were signs of a struggle: broken pottery, splashes of dried blood.
            And, of course, the man lying still on the floor, flies swarming over his body. He had been terribly mutilated, with some kind of sigil carved into his bare chest, and a scrap of parchment pinned to the lapel of his pulled-aside shirt.
            Even from where she stood, she could see the name scribbled on the scrap. 'I'Daiin.' A glance to her left showed her a farmer standing by the window in the living room, prepared for any who came through.
            There - to her right. A man with a haughty bearing and neat, if not quite fine, clothes that no scarecrow would ever be granted, leaning against a table and listening to the sound of invasion. If he noticed the stink, he didn't seem bothered by it. Bid'ja took in his details while his attention was distracted by the ruckus coming from her left. He had only one ear; something hanging from a leather cord about his neck, but whatever it was, it was tucked into his shirt; his un-calloused hands were smudged with bloodstains around the nails, and his nails were so long, they could only rightly be called claws. He was holding one hand up in a gesture to wait, and had the air of someone who expected to be obeyed.
            He hadn't noticed that the door had swung more open yet, but if she stepped inside there was no way he could miss seeing her.
            Bid'ja stopped where she was, and voiced the incantation of a spell. As she spoke, the man's eyes snapped to the doorway, and he came out from around the table to approach her. She could feel the unholy stink of putrefaction rolling past her like a greasy miasma as he came closer, though he didn't appear rotted as, say, a zombie did. From his darkly gleeful expression, he did not mean well. Amrynn spotted him momentarily as he moved through the kitchen.
            That was borne out when he tried to bite her. She whipped her bow at him, making him flinch back, and then her bow burst into flames, flowing outward from a glowing rune that seemed branded into the wood where none had been before.
            "Botheration!" he frowned, though he didn't seem worried to be facing her alone... not yet.

19


            Amrynn reported what she saw in clipped whispers as she fanned wide again. The crossbow leveled until she caught sight of Cosmin, then she held her ground and remained at the ready.
            ‘One ghoul seen on the lower floor, female,’ she said. ‘Toward the rear. One figure down, looks like a casualty.’
            ‘We’re spread thin out here on three side,’ she added with a note of caution. ‘Careful.’
            As she rounded the corner, she took in what had happened in a moment. Cosmin was surrounded! And though one of the women facing him appeared to have a deep gash in her neck, the others menaced him from two sides. Even as she looked, a young man dressed in the same bloodstained scarecrow rags as the other farmers climbed out of a window on the second floor, hurried to the porch overhang, and dropped down to the yard, landing in a crouch. She took a shot at him, but the bolt did little more than startle the boy as it buzzed past his head. He snarled at her, but joined the young woman on the steps, menacing Cosmin.
            Devin took Amrynn's bolt and the activity on the first floor to be his cue, and pulled himself through the window to stand within the interior. He brought forth the Dancing Lights spell he'd been planning, illuminating the landing/hallway of the second floor midway down length of the house.
            There were two more curtained windows in the hallway, and his bobbing lights revealed shabby wallpaper and bare floors. As he moved toward the hallway, more windows and a large room came into view, the door hanging open - probably the master bedroom. It seemed similarly decorated with cheap, near-threadbare appointments, from what he could see.
            He could hear the sounds of combat below, but on this floor, all was silent.
            On the porch, Lona tried again, and failed again, to strike down Cosmin, while Margret seemed wary to approach him again, but lurked at the edge of his reach, ready to step in should he fall. The young woman, whose otherwise fresh young face was contorted with abominable hunger, stepped onto the porch and tried to jump on Cosmin's back, but as with Lona, it was obvious that she relied on her supernatural hunger and strength to kill, and despite their cunning in setting up this trap, they had no real idea of how to fight... but now, Cosmin was truly surrounded, with no easy escape. With their fearful paralytic powers, they only had to be lucky once.
            Luck would not aid them against the Righteousness of Beautified Conviction, however - the inept attacks of the Ghouls were naught before the colorful flow of cloth around Cosmin as he twisted and parried aside their blows. Zealous anger overwhelmed him - anger at the goddess Urgathoa for giving birth to these vile spawn, anger at the lives cut short that otherwise could have made Golarion a more alluring place for all. It was an anathema to him, to see the artistry of the Gods' creation twisted and marred by the pox of undeath.
            It had to be ended. With crashes and calls from inside the home, the Sword of Shelyn assumed that Bid'ja, the stoic vanator, must have made her move as well. She could have been in trouble - he had to move through his current foes to see to her.
            " Blessed Rose!" Cosmin cried to the sun amidst the claws of monsters, " Grant me the power to make anew! Gift this artist a sword that strikes true!"
            With a burst of power, once again Cosmin's Starsword flared to life with whirling, prismatic color wrapping around the quartet of sharpened blades, hiding the brackish blood that had spilled onto them. The blade, radiating and humming with the holy energies of The Songbird, lept outwards in a fearsome slash towards Margaret, whistling through the air in a bird's warble to sunder the woman's neck cleanly and end her wretched existence.
            Her head flew from her shoulders in a clean arc, and her body fell to the floorboards, released into death once more.
            "Margret!" the younger ghoul screamed, her face drawn and bestial.
            Inside, the one-eared man pulled his lips back over his teeth - one couldn't really call it a smile - and lunged for Bid'ja again, but no matter where he aimed - her arm, her shoulder, her neck, her torso, her head - she either stepped aside or blocked it, the sharp thwack of wood or leather on flesh meeting each blow, each step measured as she backed away into the sunlight.

20


            Sheer force of will kept Bid'ja from succumbing to the smell as she fought off blurring vision.
            The tiefling took quick mental note of the parchment with I'Daiin's name scrawled upon it and any other identifying marks on the gruesome corpse before quickly casting her spell. At the sound of her runic words, the finely-dressed man (a man, she noted, whom struck her as something not quite the same as the ghouls they had already faced), swiveled around to face her.
            "So much for my supernatural ability to go unnoticed," Bid'ja muttered bitterly. And though her attention was on him, someone else caught her attention through her peripheral sight.
            She shouted out quickly as she thrust her fiery bow into the face of her attacker, hoping against hope that her warning would be heard by the others.
            "LIVING ROOM WINDOW, FIRST FLOOR! THERE'S ANOTHER!"
            And yet! The sounds of women shouting and a sickening strike against flesh floated towards her from the front door, alerting her that somehow, whether by devine accident or design, one of her allies had entered the building at the same time.
            Her attacker might not be alone, but neither was she.
            Bid'ja's quick feet danced back away from her target, just far enough to allow her to raise her bow and fire.
            Though the stink rolled after her like a film of rotting grease on every breath, finally she stepped far enough away that she could suck in an only slightly putrid breath. But when she snapped off a shot at the one-eared man, her eyes were still watering enough that she misjudged which way he would duck - and missed.

21


            Devin caught the tail end of some unsavory Elvish dialect as Amrynn switched her thoughts over to sending whispers to those she could, him foremost among them. Her words came fast and laced with fire.
            ‘I count at least four -- FIVE -- enemies!’ Amrynn hissed. ‘Some from the second story! Cosmin is swamped!’
            She gave ground to widen her field of fire and started right in with her magical lashings, the crossbow dropping askew. She targeted the last of the ghouls slavering after Cosmin, hoping to draw the creature’s ire.
            “Bring your wickedness here,” she willed out loud as two bolts raced from her and punched into the lifeless flesh.
            Or rather, they punched clean through the young man's abdomen, in a spray of dark blood and chewed red meat of unsavory origin. It would have been a deathblow for any living man... but the ghoul only howled in outrage, shaking a fist at Amrynn in a strange parody of the life he'd left behind. Still, he sagged a bit around the hole, and was obviously in much worse shape than he had been.
            It didn't draw him away from Cosmin, as Amrynn had hoped, but the ghoul was so enraged that he missed his chance to step up and flank the priest, simply lunging at him instead. Cosmin threw him off before his scrabbling, dirty claws could find purchase, but he suffered yet another bite, and the taste of blood seemed to affect the young man like he was a shark, sending him into a frenzy of snapping.
            "Upstairs is clear so far," Devin whispered through the magical link, confident that his voice would be heard by the intended recipients, but would be drowned out by the sounds of combat enjoined for all others, especially the foeful others.
            He crept further down the hallway until he could peer around the corner through the open door. Devin's hand gripped the hilt of his shortsword, holding the blade warily forward.
            "Loris!" Devin spoke sotte voce and firmly into the room, knowing these words would also carry to his compatriots through the spell. "If you're undead, I'm going to be very upset; but if you breathe, come to me; we're leaving, right now."
            No answer met him; there was only the faint creak of the floorboards underfoot as he approached the master bedroom.
            A disheveled bed; a few trinkets; a chest, no doubt for clothes. There was little enough there, everything indicating the Hambleys were just scraping by, but one of the floorboards creaked loudly when Devin put his weight on it.

22


            "Get behind him!" Lona raged at the young man and young woman who surrounded Cosmin with her. But it was she whose grasping claws froze him to the spot.
            Crowing with delight, the young woman jumped in at the helpless warrior-priest to tear out his throat with her teeth.
            Bid'ja was having considerably better luck against the one-eared man. Though the stench rolled out over her again, she was ready for it this time, and through agility and liberal application of whacks with her bow, kept the man at bay. He was beginning to look quite annoyed.
            She felt the breath leave her body, and refuse to re-enter. She couldn't be certain what it was about the sounds of battle from the front of the house had triggered this feeling of despair, but instinct told her they were losing the battle.
            "Cosmin..."
            His lyrical voice could no longer be heard. The choir of song had stopped. Tears once more blurred her vision, but it had nothing to do with the stench that permeated every inch of this room.
            She retreated back once more from the man's swift attacks and fired another arrow, cursing him and his ilk with every ounce of her being, for every day of her miserable existence, for every loss she suffered, for every reason why a lonely elderly ranger refused to grow close to anyone up until his last breath.
            Her arrow thunked into his chest, and whether it was due to her curse, or to the holy flames that seared his flesh, he clearly felt it. A look of shock and disbelief crossed his face, and he yelled, "Took! Hershwin! Get out here!"
            The approaching knock of solid farmer's boots on wood came from the house, and the man Bid'ja had seen waiting by the window ran out in front of the stinking one-eared man. He raised his fists in a pugilist pose before catching himself, and flexing his fingers, tipped with thick, ragged nails.
            "Don't you worry, Mr. Craesby," he said, as confident as he surely had been in life. "I'll git her."
            He was joined by another man, this one seemingly a bit elderly before he'd died. Both of them had eyes that suggested things seen that could drive men mad... and perhaps, had. In them, it had birthed only hunger.
            "Devil woman," the older man hissed, in astronomically ironic repugnance. His black-vein-shot eyes had pierced the darkness within her hood.
            "You don't have to eat her! Just kill her!" Mr. Craesby snapped.

23


            Where had he gone wrong, Cosmin wondered, as his life ebbed away.
            Blood seeping from his neck, washing the wooden porch with carmine carnage, he quickly realized that he was, in fact, somehow not dead. There was no garden, no song of birds, no roses waiting to greet him. The hazy noon sun still hung in the sky, and he could hear the sounds of struggle around him. The gasping breaths of ghouls. The rage of Amrynn and her arcane reprisal. Further sounds from beyond - claws on steel. The twang of a bow. A desperate struggle of hunter and fearsome predator.
            It all came in waves to Cosmin Strofa's ears, even as his face remained paralyzed in abject pain and terror, his body slumped to the ground ungracefully, as the dead did not fall beautifully like in the poems but instead collapsed in mangled heaps, felled and eventually forgotten.
            He could barely breathe, the ghoul's toxic touch stilling every muscle. His eyes were kept open against his will, filling with dust and forced to watch what he feared would be a swift end to their story - three heroes and two strangers whom would be feasted upon by the undead. It was a tragedy worthy of Ustalav, but not Varisia. Not his fair homeland.
            But then, why wasn't he dead? Cosmin was ... confused. He had seen the way the ghouls had experienced practical ecstasy at tasting his angelic flesh - why had they left him be? Why not finish shearing his throat and be done with it? Were the creatures so wretched, so miserable that they toyed with their meals, prolonging their agony as if to reduce the wine of blood to its finest flavor?
            ... No. No, he realized. That was not it. They couldn't tell he yet lived and breathed. They assumed him finished, no further threat, free to dine upon him once the others were similarly harvested.
            No.
            Not like this, he told himself. Not like this at all. Not again.
            Not like Elear'a. Not like the others cut short by The Chopper.
            Despite his paralysis, Cosmin began a titanic struggle against his condition, not caring about the holes in his celestial body, nor the frankly disturbing amount of blood he had lost. He could still stand. He could still fight, if only he could break free of the ghoul's accursed hex.
            Sandpoint had already claimed far too many - he wouldn't allow it to take any more.

24


            When Cosmin’s radiant life song was so violently ended right before her eyes, the fury within Amyrnn erupted. That such a spectrum of beauty would be so savaged, was the final breath of madness across her soul. The coals within her could only be agitated so many times before the flames came to life.
            “No, enough!” she said, her voice rising to a menacing roar with each syllable. “I. Will. Have. NO! MORE!!”
            Then her world simply went white. Casting the crossbow aside without concern and readying a wand for action subconsciously, the lithe elf stepped into a combative stance, arms hanging low. Her hands and eyes glowed white with energy. Arcane words slithered from her lips in the tongue of dragons, and her hands lashed outward, sending energy flying at the dead, again, and again, and again.
            Her fury, translated into pure arcane force, was terrible to behold. The white light went screaming for the ghouls, corkscrewing through the air, no mercy for the merciless. The first finished the job of blasting the young man in two, and he fell to the ground in pieces, with a look of relief. The others hammered Lona, who screeched in terror as holes were detonated in her dead flesh.
            I'Daiin could wait no longer. With a roar of challenge in the Shoanti tongue, he tore around the corner and vaulted onto the porch, launching himself to stand over Cosmin. He swung his serrated sword with rage that echoed Amrynn's, and Lona, too, was released from the burden of undeath with a small spray of rot.
            The young woman, the only ghoul in one piece left on the porch, screamed. It was a horrid reminder of her humanity - it sounded like any girl's scream when met with the certainty of death, full of terror.
            "MR. CRAESBY!" she shrieked a moment later, taking off toward the cornfields.
            "No Loris, yet; one room left to check; flame the house; on my way," Devin reported back through the link. Torn between enjoining the battle underway and making one last attempt to affirm they weren't about to burn the sole survivor of the farm house alive, Devin moved quickly back up the hall to the angled doorway and threw it open. "Loris! Move!" Devin's mind was already on getting back outside to the battle. If Loris still made no appearance, Loris would have to see to getting out on the porch roof, himself.
            The only answer from I'Daiin was an unintelligible growl, but that was better than the silence from within the room. A desk, two chests, and two unmade beds, one piled high with crumpled laundry. Devin's lights bobbed into the room, and only then did he realize the "crumpled laundry" was just the scarecrow rags bunched together with the sheets and blankets, covering a young man. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, reflected in the lights, but he made no response - he was bound and gagged, and his bruised eyes were closed.
            Around the back, Mr. Craesby wasn't feeling well. "Meet me at the creek," he snarled, wincing as he tried to pull out the arrow in his chest as he made good his escape; his clean clothing now soiled with dark, rotted blood. He ducked around the corner of the building, heading for the fields.
            Bid'ja's tail lashed at empty air as she spun to face the two new threats, the horrid stench finally fading just enough for her to take in a gasp of real air. This "Craesby" fellow might make good his escape, but it would only be a temporary reprieve. His execution was carved into his life's tablet as surely as her arrow had carved into his flesh.
            Fury made her reckless, the inquisitor pulling two arrows in one draw from her quiver. Each arrow burst into flame as she pulled them back against her bowstring. She hissed through her teeth with icy intensity.
            "When you strike angels down from on high, the devil is all you have left to face...and there shall be no mercy."
            The younger man was only grazed by her arrow, but he howled as the fire ate into his flesh. The older one, the one who had called her devil woman as though he himself wasn't an affront to reality, demonstrated the behavior of the damned before devils - he screamed as her arrow plunged into his lungs, and holy fire burst from between his teeth.
            Neither had to agree to flee - they simply took to their heels into the dry cornfields, the younger one nearly falling down the well first as he stumbled into it, then fled.
            “No more,” growled Amrynn through clenched teeth as she began giving chase to the fleeing undead. Her strides carried her across the farmyard with elegant, searing purpose. Her voice pulsated with the archaic summons of power in between breaths, and her hands continued to shape the raw energies of her will. She did not slow as she hurled the lances of fire into the rancid abominations headed for the cover of the corn fields.
            Her will given form could not miss. Twice her bolts smashed into the fleeing ghoul, cutting short her wailing - but she didn't fall, staggering on towards the dubious safety of the corn.
            I'Daiin saw the world through a sheen of red, her fleeing back the only other colors in the world. With a wordless shout of challenge, he vaulted over the porch railing and charged - but was too late to stop her. The breeze brought him a stomach-turning whiff from nearby as he reached for the young woman, and caught only a few strands of hair.
            Cosmin's abrupt silence, Bid'ja's shocked sorrow, Amrynn's rage, I'Daiin's roar... Devin was in the wrong place. Satisfaction at finding what might be Loris was hollow and fleeting, and his brow furrowed skeptically for what he quickly took in -- moments ago, Loris had freely called for aid, when Devin was just outside the window. Clearly Loris hadn't been gagged at the time he had done so. Or there was someone else in the room that Devin couldn't yet discern. He counted a trap as the much more-likely scenario.
            "Damn it all!" Devin cursed aloud, frustrated beyond measure at his elections, for naught. He could spare no time to be certain of the boy's condition, truth or deceit. He had to get to the fight. Devin quickly reported even as he turned for the window he'd entered by, "Boy, bound; upstairs bedroom; where's the fight?!" Those were all the words he could spare in two bounding steps before he dove through the second-floor window he'd entered by, tucking and rolling to take most of the fall, and regained his feet as quickly as he could...
            Not knowing the situation with the others, but fearing the worst, Bid'ja immediately cried out in response to Devin's bellow, the sound muffled by the floorboards above her head. "TO THE FRONT!"
            Devin's only acknowledgment was a muffled grunt as he hit the soil and rolled out, trying to regain his feet.
            Light-footed as a cat, he rolled to his feet (noticing I'Daiin's abandoned pack in passing) and sped around the front of the house. He took it all in at a glance: Amrynn stalking toward the foe, one hand raised in a claw as if to tear the heart of the ghoul from its body. Ahead, I'Daiin running after a young woman with familiar-looking craters blasted in her scarecrow clothes. A glimpse of a man, likewise fleeing into the corn. To his right, Cosmin lying blank-faced and still, staring at nothing with a terrible wound in his throat. Of Bid'ja, there was no sign.
            Then the dry stalks rustled as the ghouls dove into the fields, I'Daiin frothing at their heels.
            Beads of ice clung to Bid'ja's temples, dampening the short, jagged strands of navy hair beneath the cowl. The world around her shook violently as she stared down the sight of her arrow at the retreating ghouls, flames licking at the wood without burning it.
            ...No. It wasn't the world that trembled. It was her hands. Such righteous fury within her was pumping bucketloads of adrenaline into her blood, her mind screaming to go after them. Chase them down. Tear them apart. Murder. Every. Last. One.
            And what was stopping her?
            Amrynn came to a scuffling halt at the corn. Her mind flashed for an instant toward setting it ablaze, but the thought was quickly dashed. The fire would never catch the fleeing dead, plus I’Daiin had just plunged into the reedy sea after them.
            “I’Daiin! Wait!” she cried out but fully expected the Shoanti to crash after the fleeing beasts until one side or the other was undone.
            "I'Daiin!" Devin yelled. "They've broken; they've ran! Don't pursue into the fields! We need you back here!" Devin's mind was already working towards the next encounter, and swearing from this series of encounters and the nature of what they faced, they'd need to carefully consider what preparations they could make or tactics they could change to not just rout the next foes, but decimate them.
            Seeing Cosmin down and knowing moments mattered, Devin veered to the porch and came down hard in a crouch next to Cosmin. As unskilled a healer as he was, Devin could recognize through hard-cost experience the indicators of ghoul's paralysis on the man. Despite himself, Devin winced, but it prompted no hesitation, and he put a flat palm upon Cosmin's chest. The weak rise and fall of Cosmin's breathing, and the matching dulled pulse of his heart, rose a matching relief, and Devin spoke through the magical link they all still shared, "Cosmin lives. He needs a healer. Doing what I can."
            Unheeding of their words, the enraged Shoanti plowed into the corn, and disappeared from view in seconds.
            Amrynn hissed and turned back to the farmhouse. She was enraged, but not mindless. Her gaze snapped between the corn and the building again. Her fingers curled into ragged fists, and she swallowed the dragon once more. She saw Devin move towards the house then, and she darted that direction herself.
            Seeing Cosmin, her jaw clenched. He was a symphony of blood, and yet, he was still beautiful beyond measure, a crimson tapestry of life. She knelt and swung to her pack. “Here, wait, I think I have--” she started. “No, hells. My supply is gone,” she said to Devin, her own potion loops hanging empty.
            As Devin searched, she called out, “Bid’ja! I think we’re clear. It’s Cosmin. Hurry!” She then bent to stemming the worst of the blood flow with her delicate fingers and whatever cloth she could use to compress.
            So focused was Devin that it was only when Amrynn's hands joined his own in their efforts to tend to Cosmin that her words belated reached his cognizance. "His heart's strong; the blood is stemmed; through his own resolve or faith more than anything I've done. It only looks as bad as it could've been." His own spoken reassurances notwithstanding, he kept pressure from his hands applied to cloth over the worst of the wounds, as Amrynn was doing.
            He looked up and met her eyes, and just as quickly slid his eyes over her, briefly leaning this way and that to the reach of his arms without removing his hands from Cosmin to be able to reassure himself she had no injuries, herself.
            "I think there might be one more, upstairs. A boy; maybe the one we heard call out, maybe not; maybe alone, maybe not; is bound and gagged and unconscious on one of the upstairs beds." Again, his words were for all the party, through the spell.
            The ice cracked, and the cold sweat finally broke loose, trickling down her skin. Bid'ja took an involuntary sharp breath and feared she might choke on the stench that still lingered within the kitchen.
            They're alive!
            Relief washed over her even as she began to swiftly turn and dash towards the inner door and towards the sound of Amrynn's voice, though it felt like she was running through water. Her muscles couldn't move fast enough.
            I'm not alone. I'm not alone, this time. Save lives now, serve justice later.
            She burst into the entry, her eyes skipping past the dead ghouls to scan over Devin, Amrynn, and finally, Cosmin, whom lay prone and unmoving.
            The flames surrounding her bow snuffed out of existence as her fingers released their grip on it, and it clattered to the floor with not so much as a scorch mark. She knelt down next to the other two, the wand she had used earlier already in her hand, drawn from her sleeve in the blink of an eye. She touched the tapered end to the center of Cosmin's brow, careful not to interfere with Amrynn's and Devin's efforts to stem the trickle of fresh blood from his open wounds.
            "How did I'Daiin fair? Did he go upstairs to see to the boy?"
            At understanding the intent of the wand and Bid'ja's ministrations, Devin slid back and rose back to his feet, clearing space. The wand would do more than his hands could.
            Bid'ja's face visibly grimmaced as she recalled the grisly scrap of paper pinned to the body in the kitchen. "...I believe there is a message for him in the other room, but I fear I could not ascertain its meaning."
            She reached towards Cosmin's cheek, as though to reassure herself that life still flowed through him, but when she caught a glimpse of the stark contrast between her blue, clawed fingers and his gold-touched skin, she quickly withdrew it, as though she regretted the act.
            It was an impossible thing for Cosmin Strofa - to at once be alive whilst looking so clearly as to have passed on. Amrynn's and Devin's assistance was both a blessing and absolutely infuriating to Shelyn's Baton - it was frankly endearing to see new comrades rush so quickly to his side, but he himself knew he was alive with no means of telling them otherwise. No way to demand they leave him and chase down the ghouls, to stop the plague before it spread. His brashness and arrogant audacity had left him near-death, and now their quarry was fleeing. Woe, he thought. Woe to the artist who rushed his work, rather than give it the delicate time it so needed to become a masterpiece. Shelyn had punished him for his hubris, sparing his life only to make the lesson stick - a smudge in the oil that could never be corrected.
            Then there was a clatter. Wood against wood. And then the vanator appeared, her covered brow coated in a light sheen. She had been exerting herself - she had been in grave danger, Cosmin realized. Danger he more than likely had caused. The paralyzed muscles of his throat tried to form words but it was all he could do to draw in air, feeling constantly like he was somehow suffocating whilst still being able to breathe.
            The wand touched against his skin and the curative magic inside began to flow - a warm, comforting feeling that spread from his head down, leaving his skin positively glowing in reply. The flow of blood lessened, then ceased. Muscle restored itself over the ghastly hole in his body, reforming slowly at first and then rapidly closing the wound until all that was left was his angelically-illuminated bronzed skin - the galatean figure finally restored to its creator's idealized perfection.
            But he still couldn't breathe. He still couldn't move. His jewel-toned eyes stared up hard at Bid'ja's soft indigos, shrouded as they were. Cosmin willed his eyes to move, to convey gratitude, to display utter thanks, to show something other than the loss and horror he had felt when he was felled. Her hand reached for him and still he felt his body fight every desire to move. A deep, silent growl vibrated in his chest, angry at his own weakness.
            Weak. Always so weak. Even after years of serving as the vanguard of The Songbird, it was still never enough. What a pitiful creature, he thought of himself: descended from the Heavens and yet always thrown to the earth.
            When Bid'ja's touch retracted, Cosmin finally drew in a large, deep, startling breath. His muscles had loosened.
            With frightening speed considering his former state, his hand shot upwards and grasped her wrist to stop her from pulling away. His hold was firm - clearly his radiant soul was alight again. Cosmin's eyes found her own and held them, forced them to look upon him as he smiled. Weary, desperate, and embarrassed, but a smile all the same: utter gratitude and relief could not have been painted more clearly.
            " Thank you," he stated simply, letting his hand drift down and hold her clawed fingers in his own as if there were nothing remarkably different between their two appearances at all, " Thank you, Bid'ja. For a moment I ..."
            His voice was hoarse as it trailed off: the damage to his throat, even magically repaired, would take some time to soothe over. Cosmin tried to force himself to stand, but a touch of the ghoul's curse still remained, ultimately leaving him faltering. With a sense of humility, he relied upon his companions to help get him back to his feet. Collecting his fallen weapon, he once again went through the process of cleaning it with conjured water, the simple task being something to focus on as he hummed and hawed to make his vocal chords work again.
            " Are you hurt?" he asked of Bid'ja first - he had seen well enough that Amrynn and I'Daiin had made short work of his assailants without a scratch - then turned his caring gaze to Devin. Then to ...
            " ... Wait, where's ,,, Where's I'Daiin?"
            Amrynn had used her magical finesse to pluck the worst of the grime and filth from Cosmin’s wounds, facilitating the magical healing that stemmed from Bid’ja’s efforts. Gratitude washed over them all as the songbird of Shelyn pulled through, but fire returned to Amrynn’s features once more now that he was mended.
            The tall elf rose and cleansed herself with several rigid swipes of her arcane laced hands. She glanced off in the direction of the fields into which the ghouls fled, and her jaw muscles knotted into rippling biscuits on her cheeks.
            “I’Daiin chases his prey through the corn, and he is fleet as a deer when like this,” she said, shaking her head. “There will be no catching him.” She took a deep breath. “Either he will have them,” she stated flatly. “Or they him.”
            Then she was back to business. She drew her sword, and said, “We need to see to the boy.” Then she paused and quirked an eyebrow at her blade, realizing the poor timing of her action and speech. “Not -- I didn’t mean,” she started, then waved off the confusion. “I will stay here with Cosmin and manage the fallen. You two check on the boy upstairs.”
            "No; we stay together," Devin sighed with relief and resolve, no stubborn reprimand in his voice. Cosmin was back on his feet. There was no purpose in splitting up again, and favor in not. Enemies could still be near.
            Devin stepped off the porch and eyed the corn, hoping to see I'Daiin halted at its edge, warily guarding its farmhouse delineation from further incursion. He drew his own shortsword to hand, echoing Amrynn's sentiments to remain alert. The range of the Message spell was limited; if I'Daiin was more than 40 paces or so away, they'd no longer be able to hear him, and vice versa.
            He explained as he turned slowly about, surveying the venue anew, mindful for further potential threats, "The boy is unconscious. I suspect subterfuge. 'Loris' called for aid while I was at the window. A fraction of a minute later, I find a boy bound and gagged on the bed. It could not have been the same as who called. There is either another ghoul in that room, or the one who lured with the call is dead amongst these corpses, and the boy has been unconscious for some time. Either way, caution, not haste."

25


            Under Bid'ja's ministrations, Cosmin's horribly torn throat filled in with raw flesh, easing his rasping breath and voice; then that flesh was hidden again by skin as flawless as it had been before, not even a trace of his (or the ghouls') blood remaining after Amrynn's incantation.
            I'Daiin had not returned, but knowing that they had little chance of catching up to the fleet barbarian, whose voice no longer sounded in their ears, they ventured upstairs to where the boy lay in the tangle of sheets and rags on the bed, breathing shallowly. They attempted to wake him, but by his bruises he had been knocked about some little bit, and Amrynn uncovered nasty bitemarks on his arms and legs. He was sweating and shivering; they feared it might be ghoul fever.
            As they debated what to do, Bid'ja heard steps outside. It was I'Daiin, returning from the fields, a bit the worse for wear by the fresh blood on his arm.
            "I took down one of them, but the most incredible stink heralded some foul magic," he complained as he squeezed through the door into the boy's room. He glowered at them, daring them to challenge his explanation. "It allowed one of them to get behind me and bite, and by the ancestors' bile, I was frozen like a river in winter again! They tried to drag me somewhere, but couldn't get me far before I began to stir." He spat on the floor, and grinned. "They ran. Wise of them. They could not handle me frozen, they would have died when thaw came. Died again."
            He frowned, then gestured at the sick boy with his serrated sword. "What of this one? Must he be dealt with?" There was little sympathy in his gaze. In his opinion, people who fell ill were of weak character.
            With all the turned undead downstairs dispatched and beheaded, as Amrynn had advocated as a precaution, they were left with the boy and the note as the unknowns.
            "Killing him would be the smart thing," Devin mulled, "but I've no heart for it if he could yet be saved, or if he manages to pull through this. Something must be different about him; they couldn't have needed all this, each time." If the boy carried contagion, and was only in the process of turning, then taking him to Sandpoint would be to introduce spreading death within the heart of the town. For that matter, though, something so far had kept the turned from encroaching into the town -- surely at least one could've made it into the town, if they'd desired, and started spreading ghoul fever there? So something may be preventing that, as of yet.
            "Your name was pinned to the shirt of one of the ones downstairs," Devin informed I'Daiin, first from what Bid'ja had first reported as they'd reconvened, and again as they'd all seen as they were ensuring the corpses stayed inanimate, following the fight. "They continue to taunt."
            "Sandpoint; we take the boy with us; take a house outside the edge of town. Hold him there; arrange to bring what aid we can to him."
            Amrynn sheathed her clean blade and exhaled. She walked to the window and leaned through it, scanning the maze of corn beyond.
            “There may yet be others,” she reiterated back into the room. “Still crucified in the corn. To leave them invites further anguish. I would see this festering sore cauterized once and for all.”
            She came back in from the window and said, “But I appreciate our current reserves as well.” She walked over to the Shoanti and eyed him.
            “You they sought to capture , not kill,” she said. “Still the chosen one apparently. So I believe you could get this boy safely to Durriken and the others for care. The rest of us can work on sweeping the corn, and you can rejoin us as fast as your feet will carry you.”
            “Unless of course,” she finished, quirking an eyebrow. “There is something telling in that note left for you…”
            “It seems our wont is to chase the plague, not arrest it,” Devin sighed. “We need to get back to the town. All. But I will look.”
            "Together, then," said the Shoanti. "Let us not forget, I've been bitten several times myself. If I leave with the boy one or the other of us can get picked off like rabbits in a burn gully. And by all the bloody gods, I'm tired to death of getting frozen in place by these unliving curs."
            He nodded to Amrynn and Devin both. "We'll come back with torches. And oil. I prefer fire to playing hide and seek with ghouls."
            With a gentle hand on Amrynn’s shoulder, Devin asked her to clear the window. He paused to resumed the Message spell between the same members of the party as he had before, then climbed out the window and worked to ascend the roof – the farmhouse was the tallest structure available, for practical purposes. Devin hoped he could see the overall lay of the corn trails from the vantage, as well as spot any other clearings or junctions that might have more afflicted affixed as macabre sentinels. He intended to report what he saw through the spell’s link.
            Devin's clever thinking bore fruit. Though the corn bent over the paths, creating tunnels more than trails, he was able to see where the corn hung and guess at the paths underneath - and he could see a number of scarecrows still hanging on their poles here and there, as well as the empty poles from where they had dealt with hung ghouls.
            What was more, he could see someone letting one of the scarecrows down, while others thrashed on their poles beside in the heat. Devin had an inkling of whom it might be.
            From the rooftop, through the spell, all heard Devin sigh. It was a few seconds' thought before he spoke again.
            "I see them. One of the paths goes right to them, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. I also see the route back to town, and several other mounted 'scarecrows,' we have not yet encountered." Devin turned about, committing the routes to memory as best he could, establishing a mnemonic and visualizing each junction within an imaginary grid upon the landscape.
            Amrynn drew a deep breath upon hearing Devin’s report. So many yet hanging. She squinted out the window again, not liking what she saw. Liking even less what she smelled.
            "Let us at least check on the two directly in our path back to town,” her tone conciliatory. She was pushing them, and she knew hit. Her own legs trembled slightly as the adrenaline, and power, leeched from her blood. “We can manage that much more.”
            Devin climbed down, standing upon the porch roof outside the bedroom window.
            Concurring, Devin shared his own thoughts, "If we run at them, now, maybe we could catch them, maybe not. Their numbers have increased by four. They're relatively unhindered by the corn, whereas it blinds us. We found not a single poled person alive and unturned; there is little to gain in checking the seven more still in the field. I know the route to town. Let's get the boy out of here."
            Amrynn was shaking her head. "You're forgetting Lettie..." She mentally searched. "...Guffman. We pulled her down in time. Hopefully Rhaina got her the attention she needed when she escorted her back." No accusation, just information.
            Devin sighed and nodded, acquiescing the point, accepting that the weight of events may have colored his memory, forgetting one of the momentary bright points.
            She moved over to I’Daiin and reached into a fold of her garments, producing the madman’s note addressed to the Shoanti. “This first though,” she offered it to him with two long fingers. “It may alter the road ahead.”


            Devin intervened, holding up a cautioning hand and wincing a moment even seeing the note in Amrynn's hand. "Poisons and spells. Chasing plague; walking into traps. What's one more?"
            "I'Daiin -- you've no need to defend yourself versus these scrawls. The author obsesses over you, or wants it to be appear so. Since you came to Sandpoint, have there been any interactions before the first note, any dealings in your past, that you could conceive someone might twist like this? I leave the question open; maybe as we walk; though I know it's weighed on you since the first note we found."
            I'Daiin grunted. "Who can say? I did some hunting along the way in Varisia. Found my way into Sandpoint and joined up with Bergie and the first wave of loons to try and solve this place's problems. For all we know, they are trying to wear me down, like a trick. Curses sometimes work that way." The barbarian shrugged his massive shoulders. "You'd think they'd bite me less if I was so precious to them."

26


            With everyone agreed that they should take the young man to town, it was left to I'Daiin, as the strongest, to carry the feverish lad. They set back out into the cornfields, always heading north on the shadowed paths. All around them, the cornstalks whispered, setting their nerves on edge. Was that the sound of something following them? Was it the wind? Without Rhaina, there was no way to be sure.
            Amrynn had retrieved her crossbow from the yard and had walked mostly in silence as the group snaked through the sinister corn. The blight upon Sandpoint crept further afield and continued to grind against the collective will of its people. A malaise spun around each of the heroes of Sandpoint, the resultant web causing strain and sluggishness that was palpable. She never realized how valuable Bergi’s presence had been. Even in the darkest recesses of the goblin stronghold, the buoyant halfling brought an air of levity and promise that had thrummed as an undercurrent. Now, bloodied and battered, the party all but walked a dirge.
            She interposed herself into the comfortable space between Bid’ja and Cosmin and said, “Thank you both. For giving what you have thus far without question. I do not know if I would have done the same. You see, I require rationale. You rely on your spirit.” She took a cleansing breath. “And I envy you both that.”
            " Spirit is all well and good," Cosmin agreed, his hand still rubbing against the soreness of his neck. His jeweled eyes watered from the touch: the skin was still tender, despite Bid'ja's curative magic.
            " But I suppose caution and willpower go far better together than separated, no?" He grinned as well as he could at the Tiefling, noting how despite being outnumbered back at the farmhouse, she had not only held her own but managed to do so with nary a scratch. Truly, her God had an eye for her, Accidental or not. " It'll be ... good, to see Sandpoint again, though, Amrynn."
            Cosmin blinked a bit, clearing his vision beneath the harsh sun. He wasn't quite so committed in his words as he had been when discussing the little village: the warrior poet was not entirely sure what he felt towards Sandpoint, only that he felt something. " Though I'd pray for a rest, that's for sure. A wand can only go so far."
            “We will sit when we return,” Amrynn continued. “As I would like a detailed recounting of this green man you encountered, Bid’ja. But more to the point, all of your questions will be answered as best we are able, and proper introductions will be made, and we will want to know of your abilities and preferences and will return as much in kind.” She smiled at them.
            “Though we’ve bled and battled and been through so much together already,” she said. “I look forward to meeting you both.
            " Likewise," the Aasimar smiled back, genuinely pleased that it seemed the fighting and bleeding was done for the moment.
            " Though you and I shall be meeting as well, won't we?" he addressed Bid'ja, raising one of his chiseled brows.
            " A scant chat in the cornfields before all this madness I'd say is hardly a 'greeting'. And I, too, am curious of this message you bring to Sandpoint. I wonder if it's for anyone I know ..?"
            Soon enough, they spotted two more scarecrows sagging across from each other above the path, in the hot sun.
            Devin's shortsword was in one hand; a dagger was poised to throw in the other. Fatigued by the gauntlet of enemies, Devin called the shadows to himself as they spotted the scarecrows they'd anticipated they would; his senses reached out just a bit further, his reflexes became just a bit sharper, and his balance shifted, wary for any attack.
            He stood near I'Daiin, and the boy I'Daiin carried. The 'pack' had demonstrated a recurring interest in separating I'Daiin from the party and making off with him.
            "I can approach; get them down from the poles," Devin offered, but didn't move forward until it was clear someone was willing to stand charge near I'Daiin.
            When the scarecrows came into view, the angular hardness settled onto Amrynn’s features once more. She watched Devin assess and begin, and then she added her own recommendations.
            “Bid’ja,” she asked with a nod toward the Shoanti. “Shadow I’Daiin please. Cosmin and I will watch the boy.” She had I’Daiin place the farmhand on the ground, and then brought her crossbow up toward the scarecrows in anticipation of the worst.
            Cosmin's shining starsword of Shelyn was already in his hand, deep breaths keeping his nerves calm as the thought of fighting more ghouls rattled him. In a flash, he was back on that porch: sprawled, bleeding. Dying. The smell of rot, the blackness of the beyond ...
            He blinked. Set his sights on his new comrades in arms. With a cautious hand, he laid his palm on the smaller Tiefling's shoulder cape before she strode off.
            " May Her caring hands weave your fate for the better," he blessed Bid'ja, his hand glowing softly with prismatic light and imparting a touch of Shelyn's grace and mercy unto the Huntress, " And may your eyes aim true once more , vanator."
            With a small salute to her and I'Daiin, Cosmin took up watch with Amrynn, curious as to why the Elven woman had asked him, clearly a capable sort, to stand guard over a child. Before he could object, she was already explaining.
            “He may stir with ill will if these others call to him,” Amrynn said sidelong to Cosmin after the others had advanced, conveying that the Shelite had not been relegated to guard duty. “If he does, I will need you here.”
            " Let us pray that does not happen, then," Cosmin offered, his eyes following the advances of Devin, Bid'ja, and I'Daiin. Slowly did they drift over to the boy, worrying over his condition. If , if he gave into the infection worming its way into his blood ...
            Cosmin gripped his weapon tighter.
            No.
            That would not happen, he told himself. He would not bring himself to ... to that.
            His thoughts brushed briefly against the idea that even his own Angelic ichor might have been corrupted. What if it was not the boy they were to fret over, but himself ..?
            " I've little left if this goes sour," he admitted quietly to Amrynn, " But I've still a sword arm, and I've still a devotion that has yet to be answered. Hopefully it will be enough."
            Confident that the party assembled had his back, Devin stepped forward, sword and dagger still held at the ready. He squinted against the day's glare, trying to ascertain from a modest distance if the thing upon the pole was stuffed, ghoul, or yet human. "We've driven the pack from the farmhouse; they've left you."
            For the average eye, it would have been difficult to say; like the other scarecrows they had encountered, unliving and undead (and, of course, one living, if only just barely), the rag-and-straw stuffing poking from arms and legs made these too bulky to say if flesh and bone lay beneath. Nor did the sackcloth heads give anything away... and yet. Devin thought he glimpsed pale flesh through the eyeholes of the near one, whose head lolled to the side limply.
            "Ho; if you're going to leap down and bluster and gnash teeth, get it over with; we tire of dispatching your ilk." With the reply was anything less, Devin sheathed his shortsword and dagger and stepped around behind the pole, giving it a couple paces' berth. Behind the pole, he stepped forward and with a kick planted his boot against the pole's back to give it a good shake to gain any reaction he could from the creature perched upon it.
            The pole shook hard, making the scarecrow's head loll forward instead of on one shoulder. It twitched, slightly - not violently, as the others had, but clearly no trick of the eye. Its arms and legs jerked a wee bit in spurts and fits, cramp-like... but whatever lay within made no sound.
            The other scarecrow dangled motionless.
            "Alive," Devin reported and cautioned alike with singular verbal efficiency. He scaled the pole from behind, as he had before, and worked to free the figure from its bindings.
            Once the sagging scarecrow had been cut down, and the sackcloth face pulled from its head, it revealed a man - but his eyes stared dully at nothing, despite the fitful jerks and spasms that had led Devin to his conclusion. Cosmin judged that they had come too late for this farmer... from the bites that marked his arms as though he had defended himself from wild animals, he had died of ghoul fever, and lay in the twilight zone between living and dead.
            But perhaps not for much longer, the spasms seemed to indicate.
            Approaching the other scarecrow showed similar results. A woman this time, flies already buzzing about the congealed blood on her. Her teeth slowly gnashed, her head drifting in the direction of motion around her, but her eyes were filmed over, her body pale and cold.
            A distant rumble trembled in the air, almost beyond hearing. Amrynn and Bid'ja picked up on it first: an end to the unseasonable heat lay to the west, in the form of cooling rains. It was doubtful that the clouds would reach them today, but the ominous sound added to the eerieness of the softly rustling cornstalks, the memory of death and decay in the cheerful sunlit barnyard.
            "If we cut off their heads, will they stay dead?" I'Daiin looked uncertain, wishing Rhaina were around, turning to Amrynn, then Devin and Cosmin. "The author of this cruelty must be stopped," he grunted, pulling out a long sword, ready to end the proto-undead of their miseries.
            Devin seemed not to hear, standing still, contemplative, as undeath worked to make these fair people's bodies rise again to foul purpose. His mouth was tight, his eyes pained, and his brow furrowed.
            I'Daiin's draw of steel snapped Devin out of his reverie. He belatedly nodded acquiescence to the necessity and drew his own shortsword to contribute to the task.
            "Sandpoint," he said simply, afterward. Get the living there. Wash the reek of the fights from themselves. He had to wonder to what greater purpose the harassment was meant to accomplish for the aggressors. Were they accumulating numbers to make a greater push for Sandpoint proper? What would they hope to do with it, if they took it? Surely the region would not permit an undead militia to hold a coastal city unopposed. What was in Sandpoint that they wanted? He didn't have any answers.
            Amrynn wandered a few steps away as the near dead were put out of their final misery. She stared through the corn toward where the other crosses would be, dancing soon with their grim marionettes. Her blood still sung with power, and she winced involuntarily as she swallowed some of the raging torrent once more.
            “We dance like puppets,” she said with a growl, echoing her thoughts and the displays of their recent predators. “This new menace drawing us to the show only in time for the twisted finale. The whole business reeks of ritual and preparation, where we are being shunted away from the true need. We must augur a better path.”
            “And we must warn those of Sandpoint of these events,” she said turning toward the others. “And of the straggler undead in the outskirts.”
            It would have been easy to get lost in the maze of cornstalks once more. However, since Devin had judged which way they should go, and Bid'ja could concur that they were heading in the right direction, they eventually made it out of the fields with no harm to anything but their frayed nerves. Out in the countryside once more, they walked back to town... now fairly certain that something was following them.
            Glancing back over his shoulder as they reached the mirror-signpost by the bridge into Sandpoint, Devin saw a handful of figures standing in the road some distance away. Too far to recognize, but he felt certain he knew who - or at least, what - they were.
            Devin took a second look back, and arrested his stride towards the town with an unhurried turn to face back to that group of trailing undead. He drew his shortsword but kept its point casually low. With his free hand, he tossed forward a small ball of blue and green flame; it materialized two paces in front of Devin as a humanoid figure, oddly colored -- unwell, corrupt, reminiscent of the glowing man he'd heard described -- but stoic. He paused, letting the watchers in the distant ascertain the scene. Devin strode up to his own crafted flame-figure, paced about it once, surveying it dismissively, then quickly slashed it through, reversed, pierced its chest with his swordpoint, reversed again, and swept once more through the figure's neck. The figure collapsed to the ground and dissipated as dull, sickly green embers on the wind.
            Devin looked back up to the road, and leveled his swordpoint towards them. A promise, a message of Sandpoint's own, for them to take back to their master. He sheathed his shortsword and entered Sandpoint with his friends.
            The figures watched the party enter the town, then melted back into the bright fall countryside.
            To the west, thunderclouds rumbled over the bay.

27


            They found the town in a minor uproar, people scurrying about on their errands quickly, and staying away from the alleys and shadowy spots. There were fewer people about than usual for a Toilday, and though those who saw them appeared relieved that the Heroes were back, the air was permeated with fear.
            Something had happened.
            Alarmed, they took the unconscious and shivering lad they had found to the cathedral, questioning a few of the townsfolk along the way, and a patchwork picture began to emerge: the bodies that Sheriff Hemlock had mentioned bringing in from the barn near Cougar Creek... they had come alive, with a horrible hunger spoken of in whispers, which the party knew all too well.
            "They killed Marnie and Beckett! Would have killed more if they hadn't stopped to..." the man they were speaking with looked positively ill, as though he wouldn't keep his last meal down for much longer. "It's a good thing that stranger was here! Helped the Sheriff and the guards put them down." The man shook his head, impressed; then he hurried on, giving a wide berth to the alleys.
            At the cathedral, Father Zantus was summoned to help with the young man they brought in. "Ah, Rhaina brought some others in earlier. They'll be cared for," the priest promised, his brow furrowed with worry. "I think you ought to see the Mayor." He gave Bid'ja and Cosmin a curious look, adding, "Or you're welcome to stay for services, of course."
            "We don't have time, Father, unless your services involve unlife-purging and long spears," said the Shoanti. "Seeing the Mayor is a good idea. The whole town is threatened. We moved in haste and on an obvious road, and we were followed. Everyone should shutter their doors and windows and we need a citizen's watch.
            He turned to Amrynn and nodded. "We are being played here, like stones on a shax board. Someone keeps moving us around. However, we cannot afford to not play, not just yet. If we prevent entry into the town, perhaps we could go a-hunting." His expression turned predatorial, reminding all who noticed of what the Shoanti truly were.
            "We need to regroup; eat; rest; or we would've stayed longer in the fields and put more down. I agree we need to stop fighting the battles the 'Pack' presents on its terms. We need some weapon that can purge their rot, or protect against it, and we need a path to their heart that skips their feints." Though it seemed unnecessary to add, given the town's rising experience with the turned, Devin suggested to Father Zantus, "Keep the wounded bound and guarded, until you know they're well?"
            "Guarded, yes, but is being bound really necessary?" Father Zantus asked, lines of worry creasing his face. "I can ask Sheriff Hemlock to leave some of the town guard here, but for their comfort in their extremity of sickness..." He trailed off as he took in their expressions. "Very well. They will be bound," he sighed. "We will care for them as well as we can."
            "This is Bid'ja; this is Cosmin. They met up with us at the fields; we wouldn't have made it back here without them. They're friends; I speak for them; I think we all do." Devin said. Amrynn nodded and murmured strong Elven assent and offered the new pair another nod of gratitude.
            "If you've been helping the Heroes of Sandpoint, I believe that vouches for you," Father Zantus said with a smile, though he couldn't help trying to see into Bid'ja's hood. "Anyone who can help is welcome, honestly. Our little town has seen more than its share of troubles." His smile faded as memory played within his mind.
            Addressing Bid'ja and Cosmin to complete the introductions, Devin said, "Father Zantus. You also heard mention of the Sheriff; Hemlock; whom we're working with in limited authority. I don't know of the 'stranger' we heard word of on the way in, but if one of the stranger's first deeds on arrival was help put down undead within the town, they're worth meeting. Mayor Deverin and the Sheriff will both be waiting for word of what we found at the farm."
            "Citizen's watch would be the Sheriff's domain," Devin noted to I'Daiin, not disagreeing in the least with the need to organize a militia -- the town was under siege. "But towards the coming storm, Father, if you've any further means or blessings or insights or allies to help in Sandpoint's cause... the undead at the farm could've overwhelmed us. Something prompted them to break and retreat, but had they pressed, they were stronger than we were."
            Amrynn cocked a thin eyebrow. She didn’t give voice to her disagreement, but she had, in fact, felt as if she had just started hitting her stride when the undead had chosen to withdraw from the field. She knew her reserves had limits, but she had not seen an end to them in that recent whiteout of power. Goosebumps ran up her spine at the remembered surge of energy.
            "Not just in number, but in corruption and the force they drew from it. I think we're feeling a bit overmatched and unprepared." Devin finished.
            "I can pray for you," Father Zantus told them. "What's more, the power of Desna will bless the water in the font, and I will make it available to you before the other citizens. I expect there will be some demand for it, once the scope of this problem is known."
            "How quickly can I take a few quantities of it? In whatever containers you can spare." Devin asked.
            "Come tomorrow, just after dawn. That is when our morning prayers are done. Desna bless you all," Father Zantus intoned, gesturing in the form of Desna's butterfly over Devin's heart. Devin's first reflex was to step back at the reach, but he stilled his retreat into little more than a waver. Father Zantus was not a threat and meant no harm, and politely didn't intrude to a full touch. Devin watched to recognize the gesture for what it was; a well-wish of luck and good health.
            "Thank you," Devin nodded, sincerely, though feeling oddly off-balance and uncertain how to react. "We'll see you in the morning. Stay safe."
            Father Zantus didn't remark upon the slight motion back that Devin made, but smiled, his sun-weathered face set in lines of kindness. "And you as well, Heroes." His eyes were troubled as he bade them goodbye, and ushered the acolytes in with the wounded and sick.

28


            The door to the Mayor’s office was closed, and the desk at which her personal clerk would normally have been stationed was notably absent of said clerk. A number of books, papers, and scrolls were evident on the desk, and an open inkpot suggested that the clerk hadn’t been planning to be away long. The sound of voices from beyond the door indicated that it might not have been closed completely, as neither voice was raised much above conversational volume, but both were clearly audible.
            “By all the gods and devils, Kendra! You had hells-damned ghouls -” The man’s voice through the door was an easy – if passionate – baritone. It cut off, however, at the pointed clearing of a female throat.
            “What? Oh. Sorry,” the baritone said, ”Lady Mayor-“
            “That is not the issue,” the woman’s voice was easily recognizable as that of Sandpoint’s mayor, Kendra Deverin. She sounded tired, strained, and… possibly just a bit amused. “You’re supposed to be a priest. Didn’t you say that? With that language, I must say I have some trouble believing – “
            The baritone voice snorted, and the mayor’s voice chuckled.
            “Right then,” the baritone said, “I know a lot can happen in twenty years, Kendra, but how is it that there are ghouls allowed to stroll around the town as free as birds, with no one prepared for it? Is it common practice to keep ghouls unsupervised in the barracks now? And speaking of birds, what happened to all the Stoots? Every single one I knew about seems to have been chopped or burned away, and no one will tell me a damned thing about it, or why. The only thing that made anyone look more uncomfortable than asking about the birds was asking what had happened to old Jarvis himself!”
            “The Late Unpleasantness,” Mayor Deverin said, her voice even more strained, “is difficult for everyone to talk about. It’s… it’s been... difficult.”
            “The late what? What’s happened in this town, Kendra?”
            There was silence for the space of a few heartbeats. Then, the mayor spoke, her voice soft.
            “A lot has happened, Bardek. And I’ll be… well, not happy to tell you about it all, but I will be willing to catch you up on everything, once the current problems are resolved, how about that? Will you help with the...”
            “Ghouls,” said the baritone – Bardek. “Undead. Stronger than skeletons or zombies. More clever, too. Usually too clever to be walking around in broad daylight like that.”
            “Yes. The ghouls,” Mayor Deverin agreed. “As you say, they should not have been here. Something or someone is…” she cut herself off with a deep sigh. After a moment, she began again.
            “There are some adventurers. They’re helping Belor -Sheriff Hemlock – figure out what’s happening. I trust them, he trusts them, which says a lot. They’ve really stepped up to aid Sandpoint, when they’ve had no obligation to do so. I appreciate all that they’ve done – most of the town does – but, well, perhaps you can assist them? It…” Her voice became softer, quieter. Almost tentative.
            “It would mean a lot to me.”
            “Adventuring heroes?” Bardek said, his voice sounding amused. “You’d like me to ba-“
            Whatever else he was going to say was drowned out by the sound of Mayor Deverin’s clerk, as that worthy bustled up to the door to the Mayor’s office, hands waving, as if frantically brushing away invisible cobwebs, before knocking on the door, while giving the Heroes of Sandpoint a sideways glance.
            “Ah, Mayor Deverin, the Sheriff’s ‘special deputies’ are here to see you.”
            “Excellent,” came the Mayor’s voice, muffled through the door, though she had clearly raised it to be heard. The door opened shortly thereafter, revealing the mayor and a human man, apparently in his mid-thirties, his features a mix of Chelish and Taldoran beneath his short brown beard and shoulder-length brown hair. His traveler’s clothes looked plain and worn but sturdy, as did the sheathed rapier at his hip.
            “Ah,” Mayor Deverin said, “Bardek Marczak," - she pronounced it 'Mar-shack' - priest of Cayden Cailean and my childhood friend, may I introduce the ‘Heroes of Sandpoint…’” There was a brief hesitation, as her eyes fell on the new additions to the party, “… and some friends.”
            "I am Kendra Deverin, mayor of Sandpoint," she said by way of introduction. She looked at Bid'ja and Cosmin expectantly.
            Bardek smiled at the group, raising a battered copper mug in one hand, in a sort of a toast of greeting. "Pleased to meet you all."
            The heroes of Sandpoint filed into the room with the chiseled form of the tattooed Shoanti at the point of the vanguard. One side filled out with shadow and steel, all dark colors, angular bone structure and aloof poise. The other side was a rainbow cascade, all natural vitality and rich colors amplified by fluid movement and grace.
            Magic had cleansed the worst of the day away, but little could conceal the fatigue which draped over them. There was little mirth in their eyes, having payed witness to unforgettable sights only a few hours old. The striking elven woman near one of the Shoanti’s shoulders was the first to speak, though she was anything but verbose.
            “Amrynn Gamirdren,” Amrynn introduced herself with a nod. “A pleasure.”
            Bardek gave Amrynn a nod in return, and another slight lift of that battered copper mug. It was clear now that they were closer, that the mug was not empty.
            Firmly in the wing of shadow, Devin was slow to speak to the exchange, instead trying to ascertain this new development. Fatigue and suspicion wore plain upon him -- most new developments had come fast, without warning, and many of late were ill. His half-elven glance went to Cosmin and Bid'ja, themselves 'new developments,' that had worked out well thus far. The Mayor had introduced Bardek as a friend. Sandpoint could use all of those it could gather. Perhaps word had spread, that the town was besieged by undead, and this all marked the day further aid had begun to reach it.
            Devin took in the rapier at the priest's hip; it was hard to tell at a glance if it was as used to being drawn as it was being worn in tribute to Bardek's patron. Bardek didn't have the air of one given to pretense. Devin concluded the rapier was practical and ready. He relaxed a little. The number of people in the room prompted him to step further out to the side and lean lightly upon one of the simple side tables, giving him an easier view of all present. He put his hands to either side upon the lip of the wood.
            "I've raised a mug or two to Cailean," he nodded. "Name's Devin." Devin, for one, didn't seem to fit the popular appellation of a hero; just a practical person in a difficult time. "Are you experienced in fighting ghouls, or otherwise arresting their spread?"
            Another nod, and another motion of the mug. Then a small head shake at Devin's question. "Less experience with the undead," Bardek's baritone was easy and thoughtful, "mostly slavers the last few years, and the odd Inquisitor or Hellknight." He glanced at the Mayor briefly, "Giants, before that." He shrugged, his expression serious. "I know enough not to leave ghouls or those infected with ghoul fever alone in a barracks room, though." His tone was not accusatory, or even angry. Tired, perhaps. "We put them down, but not before they'd surprised some folks. That... that wasn't good."
            “No, I imagine it was evil in the extreme,” Amrynn said to the newcomer. “Thank you for assisting here while we were responding to a rural threat.” She shifted her gaze slightly to land on Deverin.
            “Albeit with untimely results,” she said. “The Hambley farmstead is lost, mayor. Ritualistic acts in the same vein as those of the mill claimed many before we arrived. We dispatched upwards of a dozen of the fiendish risen, but half again as many at least fled to the winds, and the surrounding farmlands are in danger.”
            “But considering recent local events,” she added. “I believe it safe to say that every citizen in the region is at risk.”
            The bearded priest of Cayden Cailean suddenly looked much less relaxed.
            "While that is bad news, one farmstead would be a tragic, but not unacceptable loss, if the threat had been contained," Mayor Deverin said, her demeanor grim as she stood behind her desk. "We have lost farms to the predations of monsters before, and dealt with them. But those were isolated incidents - goblin raids, bugbear predations. If this problem will spread as you suggest... Sheriff Hemlock told me of Maester Grump's story. Over a dozen farmers went to deal with the threat... and if what you and he say is true, then we lost them all. Worse, they have become the very threat we fight against." She covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Our militia is made up of farmers and craftsmen. Will they be able to cut down people they know? Their neighbors, their friends? Even family?"
            “And we found another note. Continued fixation with I’Daiin. Doesn’t make any sense,” Devin sighed.
            “Maybe we should start from the beginning, here,” he suggested. “Cosmin, Bid’ja, you’ve thrown in; maybe you can see something we haven’t. Bardek, if you’re standing for Sandpoint, too, we need to run through what we know as a group. In fairness, I’m late to the game, myself – much of this predates my arrival here, and my rescue from the Thistletop goblins.”
            “Mayor, do you have a map of the area? Might help, putting places to events. For all of us.”
            Bardek did what he had not yet done since the Mayor had opened the door - possibly out of politeness - prior to this moment. He actually took a drink from his mug. A deep drink. Then he nodded. "Yes. Kendr- ah - Mayor, do we have a map?"
            Without waiting for an answer, Bardek looked intently at Amrynn. "How sure are you of those numbers," he asked. "That's more than thirty people you're talking about. I've been away for a long time, but if there's a single farmstead within a day's walk that has more than eight or ten people living on it," he shook his head, "no. If you're sure it's more than thirty, then we're either being invaded, or most of the farmers and their families have already been turned, and there's no way that's a random occurrence."
            Amrynn stiffened as she turned to face Bardek. There was a chill in her eyes as they narrowed ever so slightly. “Do you remember how many have tried to kill you after a day of battle?” she asked, but almost as quickly as the question had been cast, he saw regret skitter across her features.
            “No,” she said more quietly raising a hand before he could reply. “My apologies. This day…has been grueling beyond measure. One moment.”
            Amrynn’s gaze shifted way and she fell silent. Her eyes darted around in her sockets, seeing nothing of the room at hand, as she did a quick recount of events in her mind. Bardek did not like how many times her gaze darted to and fro nor the quantity of time it took. When she looked back at him, her jaw clenched slightly before she spoke.
            “I believe my initial recounting was…conservative,” she said, waiting for Bardek and the mayor to absorb that tidbit before continuing, confirming rough calculations with her allies with affirmative nods as she spoke. “Near to twenty crucified about the corn maze and left to succumb to the fever. Several roaming packs as we navigated the corn. The bunch in the barn, and then those in the farmhouse with their wretched leader.”
            “And those were the ones we saw ,” she added for emphasis. “And understand. They were laying in wait for us. Our enemy knew we would come and had the strength and confidence to try to end us. We are farther behind in this conflict than we truly know.” She exhaled a long breath.
            “Upon reflection though,” she concluded. “I believe we ended more than we scattered, but that is little consolation.”
            "Amrynn speaks true. It's been a hard day. And the unliving are likely following us. We need to shutter Sandpoint, send out riders to warn farmers--but not to stop for very long. This place is under siege by a very stealthy enemy," said I'Daiin. "If this...infestation is not stopped...the entire town is at risk of being turned. Someone should go by ship to send help from Magnimar," he said, in a very un-Shoanti, but rather practical, quiet musing.
            He looked straight at Bardek. "This is not random. They are engaged in warfare. There is some 'Master' about who keeps sending me love letters; I haven't written back." The Shoanti's teeth grinned like a huge feral cat. "There's still the matter of the incidents at the sawmill, which may or may not be related. Something yet unseen is sending these messages and organizing the ghouls. We don't have time to seek those answers yet; the first order of business is to ensure that they don't infiltrate Sandpoint itself. I would set guards at the bridges and be ready to set fire to them; put a line of strong warriors along the peninsula. The Farmlands..." He lowered his massive head. "I am not sure what we can do."
            "I will send word to the farmers to come into town," Kendra said, her face drawn, "but I don't think all of them will. They can be stubborn." For some reason, she gave Bardek a significant look.
            Bardek simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "You have to be stubborn to be a farmer. Otherwise the dirt wins."?
            Bardek looked back and forth between Amrynn and I'Daiin briefly, then nodded, and finished the contents of his mug in one large swallow, before hanging the mug from a hook on his belt.
            "Bridges won't work," he said. "You know ghouls can just walk or crawl across under the water, right?" He gestured vaguely at his chest. "No need to breathe. You'd just be trapping everyone without a boat, and creating panic.
            "We saw that, at the sawmill. The tracks seemed to come out of the water," Devin nodded contemplatively.
            "The army won't come - not in time. Gods and devils, the rumor in Magnimar was that the Sheriff came down a few weeks back to beg for reinforcements to fight something that had already invaded the town, and he got sent back with a couple of raw recruits. The big-wigs in Magnimar have too many other things fighting for their attention." Bardek shook his head, took a deep breath, and met the eyes of each person in the room.
            "I don't mean to sound pessimistic - in fact, I think you've probably put your finger on the solution already. I just don't think going on the defensive is it." The cleric nodded his head at each of I'Daiin and Devin. "You've both mentioned some sort of contact from a leader or master, yes? It sounds like we need to hunt this being down to stop whatever the master plan is. Then we can focus on cleaning up the rest of it." His gaze turned to Mayor Deverin. "Can Hemlock and the Guard keep the peace in town while we do that?"
            "Belor is doing the best he can," Kendra said. "He can call in the militia again, if it's needed - and it sounds as though it is. But as you said, we can't expect help from Magnimar." She had gone to a side cabinet and rummaged through it, now laying the results of that search on the table.
            "This is a map of the surroundings of Sandpoint," she told them, unrolling a large parchment, which nearly covered the entire desk. "I'm afraid I cannot give it to you, as it's the only one I have. However, you're welcome to look at it here whenever you need." The map was detailed, right down to showing the paths that led between the farms on the outskirts of the moor.
            Devin looked at the map spread before them, trying to place where each of the events had taken place. He was somewhat discouraged at the number of waterways and corresponding amount of interior shore that represented. Too much to walk and check for areas of high-traffic tracks into or out of the water.
            "Only via notes left. We have all those with us?" Devin asked I'Daiin and Amrynn -- he wasn't certain if they'd be fastidiously collecting them as they'd gone; maybe there was something to be seen in putting all the notes together. "Plus one lunatic at the asylum."
            "Cutting across the field to whomever's leaving the notes sounds right, yes -- stop being led around and go to the heart of it. Trouble is, the author hasn't identified himself. Toying."
            "I'Daiin -- the author knows you by name. Met you or heard of you significantly at some point. Let's say met. They're here, in Sandpoint -- all the events, all the notes have been around here. They're influential and able to move about without raising direct suspicion. They affiliate with ghouls; they mutilate people. Let's assume it's no one we are regularly talking to."
            "Who've you met since first entering this region around Sandpoint who might fit?"
            "Who have I met? Ah hah haa haa!" I'Daiin gave a large grin. "While sober ? I've met many a person in this town. There's no indication that this person actually knows me. They could be watching us using magicks. Never did like those twisty arcane magicks." He crossed his arms.
            "But very well. Let's go out in search of this master. I wasn't planning to hide , after all, just because they keep sending me flowers and bedroom notes." He shifted his swords and weaponry on his imposing frame. "If Belor and his supporters can defend the town, then good enough. After all, he's a Shoanti," said I'Daiin, his grin widening. "Terribly Taldane-ized name, though."
            The barbarian thought again. "Let's go talk to that damned asylum keeper. Why were his orderlies so odd? And let's talk to his patient. Aside from that, perhaps there's some associate of Tsuto's or some remnant of the bloody Lamash...no. Wait. Devin. I'm no priest. What sects or cults dead with the unliving? Can we find people like that in some dark corner of this town?"
            Bardek raised an eyebrow again. "It's been twenty years, but I can't see this town changing so much as to have active cults of the Demon Queen or the Lady Despair," he said, using the titles of Lamashtu and Urgathoa, respectively - and clearly not saying either of the evil goddesses' names. "Then again," he said, with an odd shrug, "I didn't expect to run into ghouls, either."
            Bardek looked to Devin. "If you know of someplace like what he's talking about, perhaps we should go there. If not, you've both mentioned the asylum now. That may be as good a place to start as any."
            Despite the conversation swirling about, the two planar-touched newcomers were locked in a whispered conversation: one that had begun almost immediately since returning to Sandpoint and did not seem to be abating.
            As it progressed, it was apparent that the subject matter was of a devastating nature to Cosmin Strofa: the man became visibly upset and misty-eyed, Bid'ja being the patient listener as he explained a piece of the past to her. The name "Elear'a" passed between them a few times - a flicker of realization casting over her indigo eyes while his jeweled blues closed tight at the recounting.
            It took some time, but it was clearly of importance to both. When it was over, the pair seemed to be of a like mind: Bid'ja, cautiously, laid a hand on the man's shoulder and he, as best he could, smiled in reply.
            At last, he addressed the group.
            " Apologies, comrades, for my inattentiveness," he began, his voice slightly raw: curious for the musetouched's melodic tones, " But it appears Sandpoint is worse off than I feared. I ... "
            " I have delivered my message," Bid'ja gently interjected, " And it seems the one it was intended for is no longer ... here. With such darkness about the village, though, I think my bow can be of use to the local guard."
            " And my blade," Cosmin agreed with her, nodding on, " This was my home once, and I cannot let it fall into ruin. But I would like to remain with Sandpoint for now - I can't abandon her in this hour. My thanks to you all for the bravery you showed in helping out my little village, but I feel it best that I - we - join in with the local militia to help prepare the town for the worst, while you set out to see about ending these troubles for good."
            He eyed them all, respect overflowing in those blue orbs.
            " Thank you once more: Please - save my people from whatever this way comes. I, and Bid'ja, shall make sure that Sandpoint remains safe while you do so."
            With a courtier's bow from Cosmin and a simple, short nod from the Tiefling huntress, the pair made to leave the building and go assist the villagers, that the Heroes of Sandpoint could be left to stop the evil that lurked around the tiny Varisian village with finality.
            The Shoanti seemed to relax his wide frame just slightly. "Sandpoint will be in good stead with you two guarding it," he said succinctly. "Now, back to that damnable asylum, and no mercies this time."
            "Well. Militia recruits?" Mayor Deverin asked, but it wasn't really a question. "I hope they can be circumspect about what they've heard here."
            Devin paused a beat. "When do you think the town can -- or will -- need to be told about what's really happening?"
            "I would shelter them from it completely, if I could. Sandpoint doesn't need another Unpleasantness... but it seems one has arrived, all the same." Deverin sighed. "You're right. We'll have to tell the militia what to look out for, or they won't be prepared - and we have to send out word to the farms to bring in all the families who will come. I imagine word will spread quickly, and a potential panic soon after that. Sheriff Hemlock will have his hands full, either way. I'm grateful that you're willing to get at the root of the problem."
            Devin frowned; defense of Sandpoint proper would matter little if the entire populace in its surrounding countryside was turned. Sandpoint would starve, its food and supplies cut off.
            "You need to do what you need to do," he conceded. "You'll see us through town often enough; we can share any word that reaches either of us. Mind the shores and waterway approaches."
            "Habe's Sanitorium is on a river," Devin acknowledged, looking at the map and tapping a finger to the northwest of Ahsen Rise. "When we go there, let's check the shores near it for unusual tracks..." Devin trailed off, the corner of the map catching his eye. His finger trailed across the map to the southwest.
            "The Sheriff can pen a letter of introduction for you as his deputies easily enough. That should smooth your way," Deverin offered.
            Devin nodded, "Would that include the authority to enter and hold Habe at bay while we delve the building and grounds? No harm or damage without dire cause, of course."
            "Hold the Doctor at bay? What do you expect to find?" Deverin shook her head, waving the question away unanswered as irrelevant. "You are deputized. I'm sure the Doctor will cooperate once he realizes that. As deputies, you may search as you will, within reason."
            "We're going here, not the Sanitorium." Devin's finger rested on Foxglove Manor. Mayor Deverin blinked at the sudden change of avenue.
            "All the bloody notes were signed 'Your Lordship,' including this last one, at the farm. Sevilla, the deranged man at the Sanitorium, also used the title, 'His Lordship.' But Sevilla also told us that the Pack is at or will meet you, I'Daiin, at the Misgivings. I've overheard in town that the Misgivings is a local name for Foxglove Manor, here." Devin tapped his finger again. "It's on the coastline, and on the Foxglove River. It's a run-down, abandoned estate. Maybe it's not abandoned; maybe it has a new Lord."
            "I was insistent we go to Foxglove Manor once before; I lost sight of that, got caught up in events. It's... what... six or eight miles from town? Two or three hours."
            "The first note we found was also signed 'Your Lordship,'" Deverin mused, pulling a scrap from within her desk and placing it for them to see.


            "The Misgivings?" Bardek's baritone sounded simultaneously surprised, doubtful, and thoughtful all at the same time.
            "That place had been abandoned for decades before I ever got to Sandpoint. Some wild rumors about the Foxglove family being crazy, and the place being haunted, or something. It's been another twenty years since then. I doubt much of it's even still standing." His eyes narrowed as he stroked his beard. "But that wouldn't preclude necromancy and other sorts of nastiness. There could be basements or something - even just a small cave would be enough of a hiding spot if everyone stays away from the place and counts any strange noises or activities as 'hauntings.'"
            Bardek nodded to Devin. "I think you might be on to something, there." He smiled up at I'Daiin, "Of course, it could be a trap, too. I've found it's usually not a great idea to go directly to where an enemy tells you they're waiting for you, but if the other option is to sit and let the rest of the populace of Sandpoint and the surrounding area be turned into ghouls, I think I'd lean towards option 'A'." Bardek's smile grew a bit broader, and just a bit nasty as another thought occurred to him.
            "And he won't expect that you'll have me with you when you come to visit."
            "Indeed," Devin acknowledged. "From what we've seen; what we've fought; we'll need all the swords and faiths and spells we can muster."
            “The only ill the sanatorium suffers from is a bitter king ruling a tiny kingdom…poorly,” Amrynn said, doing little to hide her distaste. “We’ll pay that lunatic another visit in time, but his role in these grisly events is circumspect at best. I warrant his only crime, other than pride, would be apathy towards the needs of Sandpoint.”
            “Foxglove Manor sounds promising though,” she continued, then flashed a smile at Devin. “Your introspection never ceases to amaze.”
            "Frustration and necessity," Devin shook his head, demurring. "Anything to start an offensive." He knew he could be wrong, but if he were, at least eliminating Foxglove Manor from consideration would take the first of three possibilities he could think of off the list.
            He paused, saw Amrynn as Amrynn herself -- as he knew her, and not just a fellow tactician at this gathering -- and reconsidered her smile, however brief, to him in that context. Some of the frustration melted out of him, the same as if she'd just put an arm about his waist or her hand to his. He returned a a fleeting smile of his own in private gratitude for her praise, and shared acknowledgment at this hope they may be about to turn the tide of this Sandpoint siege.
            Amrynn scanned the map and placed one long finger first on Thistletop and then upon Foxglove Manor. “The geography plays true as well. If I were coalescing strength at Foxglove, inciting the natives at Thistletop would prove a sound tactical distraction.”
            She sighed in frustration. “I believe it imprudent to leave immediately. Though I know if we wait, I know it, the fiend will play his next card before we depart! Such has been our game of late.” She took another deep breath. “Still, we must rest, equip and make preparations. My preference would be to leave several hours before dawn, planning on a dawn arrival in the vicinity of Foxglove Manor.”
            Devin nodded. "Even if there were an event between now and then, it'll need to fall to others to defend and respond. Cosmin, Bid'ja, Durriken; the town has many who are as capable as we are. We can't be distracted from this."
            "I've asked Father Zantus for holy water; with the aid the town's already committed to us, I hope we can have several containers of it by morning. If there are horses that could be spared, all the better," Devin observed as a question to the mayor, with a raised eyebrow, not presuming such would be at ready hand, but needing to ask nonetheless.
            "We cannot give you horses, but the mounts spared for the militia are yours to borrow," Deverin agreed.
            "Of course. And maybe a militia escort or two, to mind them; keep them safe; while we investigate the manor?" Devin asked.
            "I'll defer to the Sheriff's opinion on whether they can be spared, but I think it should be possible," Deverin nodded.
            "If Foxglove Manor proves meritless, we can readily reach the Sanitarium the same day. And if both yield nothing, I can think of only one other potential 'Lord,' we should investigate. Three leads that don't depend upon us bound and waiting for the next attack."
            "We need weapons to fight ghouls and undead." Devin stood up from leaning over the map, his hands taking inventory of what he carried as if he'd lost something in a pocket. Shortsword on hip; daggers secreted about his wrists and person; shortbow sheathed at the side of his pack; fingers rifling the arrows he carried, counting; touching the vials upon his belt and noting the empty spaces. "Alchemist's Fire; must be some here in town we can provision."
            "Bottled Solutions will have what you need, though you'll need to pay for it - Nisk Tander is a private citizen," Mayor Deverin cautioned.
            "I'll visit there this afternoon," Devin nodded, appreciating the guidance.
            That reminded Devin of one other recent event, about which he turned to Bardek. "Lamashtu had a cult here, yes. Had, past tense. Nasty business. Hard to discount the orbiting intrigues within a day's walk."
            The Mayor winced. "I had hoped the Late Unpleasantness would remain late," she muttered to herself.
            I'Daiin sighed deeply. "I should like some...armor. Rather tired of getting bitten and getting frozen out of a fight. This Pack--do we think it to be ghouls? It seems likely. Anything that can help resist those ghoulish touches would be useful." He smiled wearily at Devin. "You have the instincts of a true tracker. Be this trap or no, we should follow it. Far better than to stew in uncertainty."
            "I think we still have a lot of gold to our cause, from Thistletop's spoils," Devin noted, remembering the gold he'd left with Savah at the armory for the party's use. "If you can find something available immediately." That was probably some of the answer for restocking their weapons, too, like Alchemist's Fire.
            He suggested, "Three hours for errands? Ranged weapons. Reconvene at the Rusty Dragon?"
            "Do you plan on going out immediately after your shopping excursions, then?" Bardek's tone was more thoughtful than truly questioning.
            "No; just regathering for evening meal. We have rooms at the Dragon. In the morning, with horses," Devin nodded gratitude to the mayor, "and holy water, we ride for Foxglove Manor, arriving before mid-morning."
            "I have a thought. We might be able to bring along one more, 'unexpected weapon.' There is a woman that I traveled here with. I do not know her well, or whether she would agree to accompany us, but if she will, I believe she could be of great help. I ran across her a number of times in Cheliax. She was crew on a ship that helped us to ferry out precious cargo. I can vouch for her character, at the least. She was planning to visit the House of the Blue Stones. With your permission," he looked around the room at everyone - including the mayor - "I will see if I can convince her to lend us her aid as well. That would be two of us, then, that 'Your Lordship' and his 'pack' shouldn't be expecting. That could make all the difference.
            "For my say, help is welcome," Devin easily concurred. That the mayor knew Bardek gave Bardek credibility, which in turn gave his suggestion of an additional hand credibility.
            "I've not much to purchase, personally," Devin acknowledged -- crossbow bolts, Alchemist's Fire -- and looked to Amrynn and I'Daiin, both, for their thoughts on what they may need to acquire. "If we're to be five tomorrow morning, it may do us some good as a group to use this afternoon for martial practice and tactics." Devin could hardly believe, himself, that he was suggesting that degree of cooperation, but their lives were all on the line, and being quick on his feet and alert and reasonably prepared were all part of his individual nature. If nothing else he'd like to understand what Bardek and the new woman would tend to do in a fight, before they had real teeth and claws surrounding them all.
            "While the daylight holds, we could use the shore below the cliffs, off Water Street," he suggested. "Stick-swords and daggers."
            Amrynn nodded her head in kind to the notion of new blood, her delicate features fierce with determination.
            “Any who are willing to bend their will to Sandpoint’s cause will be counted as allies and friends,” Amrynn said to Bardek. “The darkness spreads swiftly, and we are ever seeking lights to shine against the shadow.” Though her tone was positive, she shook her head as she spoke to Devin.
            “Though well intentioned, we are beyond the particulars of a single foray into combative tactics,” she added toward her literary paramour. “We are all schooled enough to adapt as necessary once engaged. Plus, I would not wish to offer our adversary a convenient target by congregating with such passive intent. Let us scatter and reconvene when we wish to bring our forces to bear.”
            “Defensive bulwark at the front; ranged attacks from the rear,” Devin reiterated, summarizing his considerations for tactics to avoid paralysis from the ghouls. He nodded, accepting that the chaos of any encounter would trump preparation. For Bardek’s benefit, Devin added, “I can play either role, if it comes to it, and I hope it won’t.”
            “After I gather a few items, I’ll be at the Dragon.”
            Bardek shrugged. "Works," he said. "Though I like the idea of convening for dinner. Rather than put on a show - which our enemy could observe - we can discuss strategy and tactics over a few pints and some good food."
            He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Mayor, with your leave, I'll be off to speak to Kamala about lending her aid." Bardek looked around the room at the others. "Any of you are free to join me, if you like, but let's not all go together. It may be best if the enemy doesn't have too much opportunity to see us together prior to tomorrow's festivities."
            "I have nothing more to add," Mayor Deverin told them. She ran a hand through her short auburn hair pensively, but then nodded. "I hope you find the cause of this trouble soon. Find it, and end it. Good luck."

29


            The two women circled each other, dancing from the top of one of the 9 foot tall stone pillars to the next, neither even seeming to notice the drop to the sandy floor below though the tops of each pillar was barely large enough for two feet next to each other. The tall woman paused for a brief moment, waiting like a cat to pounce, then darted forward the space of two pillars, taking advantage of her exceptionally long legs to lunge at her opponent. Her shout reverberated off the stone walls as she threw a powerful strike at the other woman's chest, Wave Crashes Down, that would no doubt knock her off the pillars.
            But the other woman wasn't as off-balance as the tall woman had thought, and she pushed off her back foot to leap over her attacker's head, Crane Takes Flight, and alighted on the pillar behind her larger opponent to sweep her foot in a blindingly fast low kick, Swift Summer Flood, that tripped the tall woman's back foot out from under her and made her fall forward. The taller woman somehow managed to catch herself with one foot and each hand on a pillar, and she pushed herself backward knowing what was coming but she was too slow.
            The smaller woman ran forward and with her own echoing shout, jumped and landed with both feet, Roaring Boulder Slam, on the small of the tall woman's back. The smaller woman rode her opponent all the way to the swept sand floor, where the taller woman landed with a thud that knocked dust off the pillars. The victor quickly leapt to the side and put out her hand, a smile on her face. "Good match!"
            Kamala- her name meant 'perfection,' though she clearly had a long way to go- groaned as she rolled over. She only took a moment to catch her breath as she took Sabyl's hand. Given the size disparity- Kamala was well over 6 feet tall while Sabyl was nowhere near that- the sand covered monk was either not that badly hurt or her opponent was much stronger than she looked. Once she'd stood, Kamala smiled back at the House of Blue Stones's caretaker.
            "Plum blossom poles have never been my best thing. I'm too clumsy." This from a woman who'd been dancing over the top of the bluestone pillars like it was a smooth wood floor a few moments ago.
            Sabyl's smile widened. "And atlas stones have never been mine. That's why we train!" She clapped the much taller and larger woman on the shoulder. "You don't get to be your best self by ignoring what you're bad at."
            Kamala laughed and nodded. Looking down at her sand covered front, she shook her head. "I don't look much like my best anything right now."
            The smaller woman rolled her eyes. "Please." Kamala was well over 6 feet tall- she could almost reach up and put a hand on the top of the plum blossom poles- and built like a statue of an artist's idea of a warrior woman. And to make things worse, she was beautiful, with features that would bring a tear to that ancient sculptor's eye. That face looked like it belonged in paintings and poetry, not covered in dust and sweat. Even her odd coloring only made her exotic, not strange- nut brown skin and silver-white hair, with ice blue eyes that gleamed in the dark.
            Sabyl nodded at the door. "Let's clean up, then we can talk more about Winterwall Glacier. I found that account by Arvid Eagle-Eye I was telling you about, where he went twenty days and nights straight north into the deep ice until his supplies ran out. And you can tell me more about what your mentor told you about your bloodline."
            Kamala laughed and grinned. It was a good smile, a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile that could make a whole crowd lean forward to hear what a person had to say. "I'll try to remember more, but you've already gotten everything out of me."
            The two were walking through the front foyer, sweaty, dusty, dirty, and laughing as they heard the knock.
            Bardek stood at the intersection of Rat Alley and Glass Street, the sturdy door of a stone building in front of him. He looked off to his left - and up - at the large Glassworks building that gave Glass Street its name. He'd heard some of the Sandpoint locals mention something about a tragedy having taken place there recently, as well. He sighed, shook his head, and looked back at the door he'd just knocked on.
            "Back in '86-87," he said, though whether he was talking to himself or not seemed debatable, "this place was looked after by Enderaki Sorn. He was an odd duck, I remember. He always said things like, 'the enemy within is always more deadly than any enemy without,' and focused a lot on encouraging self belief." Bardek shrugged. "I guess that's to be expected of an Irorite. I wonder if he's still around."
            The priest of Cayden Cailean sighed, and his right hand settled on the head of an ugly-looking morning star that hung from his belt just behind his battered copper mug. His eyes closed, he took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. After a moment, Bardek seemed much more relaxed, as he stood waiting for an answer to his knocking.
            Before long, a sweating man in the simple clothes of a monk opened the door. Behind him the slap of flesh on wood, and vice versa, sounded from farther in the building, beyond the small indoor rock garden and screens. The path through the garden was laid with the eponymous blue stones. "Yes? What is your - oh, are you with the Heroes?" he asked, his demeanor becoming a bit more friendly as he spotted Amrynn.
            On hearing who they wanted to speak to, the man nodded. "Please wait here. Sabyl is training with Kamala now. I'll tell her you're here."
            It was only a minute or two before Kamala came to the door. She was tall- taller than Bardek- and muscular, which was easy to see since she hadn't bothered to actually put on the tunic slung over her shoulder. As she walked up, her silver-white hair and ice blue eyes gleamed in the relative darkness of the foyer. She was sweaty, too, and dirty with sand all over her front that looked like she'd only spent a moment or two trying to wipe herself off before coming to the door.
            She smiled at Bardek and put out a hand to shake with him. "Good to see you, Bardek! Come to collect on those beers I owe you?"
            "Ah," Bardek said, eloquently. He managed to shake Kamala's hand. "Beer. Yes. Definitely going to need a beer."
            He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. Opening his eyes again, Bardek gave Kamala a small smile. "There is also another matter. I was hoping you might be interested in helping out with a little challenge. It involves dead people, solving a mystery, and possibly learning a few long-lost secrets."
            Kamala looked curiously at Bardek. "I could be interested in a little challenge. I don't know much about dead people, mysteries, or long-lost secrets, but I can come along and reach tall shelves or open jars for you." She grinned at him and looked at Amrynn. "Who's your friend?"
            She reached out to shake with Amrynn as well. "Timon called you one of the Heroes of Sandpoint. I think Sabyl told me something about some trouble the town was having with goblins?"
            Amrynn’s handshake was firm, if delicate, a common enough occurrence among the long lived, but her fingers were a trifle chilly, especially to the recently exercised woman who dwarfed her in physical stature.
            “Would you be up for a lot of challenge?” she asked, a rueful crescent turning up the corners of the elf’s mouth. Before Kamala could respond, she released her grip and continued, the smile slipping from her face. “My name is Amrynn, and I am one of those who has been lending aid to protect Sandpoint, and I want no misunderstanding,” she said. “From either of you.” She flipped her gaze between the pair repeatedly for emphasis.
            "Ooh, a lot of challenge?" Kamala grinned at Amrynn and glanced over at Bardek to shoot him a brief aside before Amrynn went on. "Your friend knows how to sell an adventure."
            “The goblin raids from Thistletop were challenging in many ways, and messy,” Amrynn said, gaze drifting away in memory for a few moments before her attention returned. “But they were only a precursor, a feint, to what is now coming to pass. Make no mistake and hear me well. If you choose to sally forth from this serene path, I can only promise you a great deal of imperfection to confront on the road ahead.”
            "Life is imperfect. Only the gods know the serene contentment of perfection." Kamala glanced at Bardek again, a wry smile on her lips. "Some of the gods, anyway."
            A moment of silence crept by, then another, and she said, “Perhaps we could discuss further details in a more appropriate setting. Would you be our guest for dinner at the Rusty Dragon?”
            Seeming to intuit Bardek’s nature fairly well, Amrynn cast a sardonic glance his way and added with a chuckle, “And yes, we will buy you dinner as well.”
            Bardek gave Amrynn's warnings a properly grave nod, but it was clear that he wasn't dissuaded from his intent to lend his strength to the cause. At the offer of dinner, he smiled. "I hadn't expected to have my dinner bought for me," he said, "but I'll not refuse a kind gesture. This one," he indicated Kamala with a thumb, "lost a bet, and owes me a few beers."
            He turned to Kamala, and though the smile remained on his face, he somehow also managed to convey a serious tone. "I'd appreciate it if you joined us for dinner. Once you hear a bit more about what's on the table, you can decide whether or not you'll join us for anything else."
            Kamala laughed again and nodded at Bardek. "A few bets, but I eventually learned my lesson." She gestured inside. "Let me get cleaned up and I'll meet you there. I know where the Rusty Dragon is."
            Bardek gave Kamala a nod "I believe everyone will be gathering in another couple of hours. No rush."
            Then he turned to Amrynn. "I don't know if it will matter, as we came here together, but if the enemy has people watching you, it might make sense for us to separate now. I'll make my own way to the 'Dragon. We'll likely all be leaving together in the morning, and the surprise might be lost then, but better that the enemy have a single day to make plans, rather than all night as well - especially if he's sleeping during daylight hours."
            With that, Bardek sketched a half-bow to Amrynn and Kamala, smiled, and walked away. He headed East, down Rat Alley, before turning to his right, heading South down Main Street. As he walked, Bardek shot a look down Bent Street, just to ensure that no one was waiting for him there. Doubtful, as the intersection of two of the bigger streets in Sandpoint made for a lousy place to ambush someone. Still, his time in Cheliax had taught Bardek that one never knew where the watchers would be.
            Continuing South, the priest gave a wave to one of the ladies closing up the bakery. "Sandpoint Savories," the sign said. On the opposite side of the street, further South, Bardek passed a shop with a sign that depicted a goblin reading a book as big as itself. That gave Bardek a chuckle. As he looked past the sign, however, and across the intersecting Rusty Nail Alley, Bardek's chuckle faded. He gave the large stone building there a bittersweet look. Eventually, the look morphed into a smile, as he stood in the middle of the street, looking up at what had, for a short time, been his home. Turandarok Academy. In his youth (and still now, from what he'd heard), the Academy had been both a school for the town's children, and a home for those children who hadn't one of their own. Gods, how he had hated this place. Now, in seeing it again, Bardek also realized that he'd come to somehow love it, as well.
            He debated for a moment, but decided at last to move on. He wasn't yet ready to actually go inside again. To cross paths with old headmaster Gandethus - if the man was still alive, that is. He'd been a retired adventurer when Bardek was a teen, after all. Bardek let out a deep breath, felt a weight he'd been previously unaware of slip from his shoulders, and gave another small smile. He mimed raising a mug to the front door of the building, and walked on.
            Amrynn closed the engagement with civil goodbyes and turned to her own business within the town. She had entertained the notion of slapping Bardek and storming off, in case any confederates had been watching, but had quickly dismissed the idea as too rough a ploy too soon with the newcomer. Still, as she glided down the dusky street, a smile tinged her lips. He had suggested they not linger or show any further affectation toward the encounter.
            She made only one stop on her way back to her chamber, and then set to unraveling the mysteries locked in Lyrie’s spellbook. She loathed touching the ill-scented pages, imagining the horrors they had witnessed, but she would make the best of the writings as she could. If Lyrie could not atone, Amrynn would help her do so for the next life at least.

30


            When dinner time tolled from the cathedral, and the Rusty Dragon was full of people, gossip, and the scent of spicy capons and dark ale, the party managed to get a small table to themselves, not too near the stage where Ameiko sometimes sung. She wasn't there now, having gone to Magnimar before the latest trouble started, to be there for Tsuto at his trial and handle some matters of the Kaijitsu estate. Still, her staff knew their business, and people had gathered to speak of the rumors and the Mayor's preparations to call in the militia yet again, and the place was packed. Even I'Daiin was jostled now and again as people pushed through the crowd.
            Nevertheless, the mood under the smoke and music of the taproom was not really oppressed so much as concerned - despite that some people whispered that the Chopper had returned from the spirit world to haunt them.
            “By a wisp’s shiny nether regions, what a delightful hullabaloo!” a tiny, musical voice trilled shortly after the discussions had commenced. “Fire and fury but you’ve been busy!”
            A delightfully colored halfling sprung onto the bench and full-body hugged Amrynn. The squeal which came from her was almost painful to the ears. She went down the line and made quick work of anyone who would allow her to latch on. She almost flung herself into Bardek’s grip before realizing who he was.
            "Good to see you, Bergi!" Devin greeted her, returning the hug with no less comradery, though shy a little of Bergi's gusto.
            “Bardek?!” she said, her eyes wide saucers as she held him at arm’s length. “Oh my tinglin’ jingles, what are you doing back in town?! It’s me! BERGI!” Then she did fling herself at him with the intent of a reckless embrace.
            Bardek, for his part, managed to put his mug down just in time to catch the little halfling as she flew into his arms.
            "Bergi?" His question was muffled, but the expression on his face over the top of her head was slightly puzzled - until a look of realization dawned.
            "Bergi!" he said, "you were like, what? Ten or twelve summers old when I was last here. I'm surprised you recognized me."
            Bergi's ringing endorsement of Bardek served to put Devin more at ease; not that he was on edge, but until one knew, one never knew. Whatever reserve he'd held until he saw Bardek in the stress of a fight evaporated; Bardek was someone they could trust at their backs.
            Amrynn addressed the newcomers at the table, “Bergi assisted us in ferreting out the goblins of Thistletop. She’s a born and bred local who knows almost everything that goes on within Sandpoint. We may even need her help in the near future.”
            Bergi pushed away from her latest embrace and said, “Ooooh no. From what I hear, you’ve been doing plenty fine without me. All sauce and sizzle for the nasties walking about. Plus ,” she added with an ultra-serious air. “Ameiko’s left me in charge here while she’s away.” She nodded so furiously, the bow in her hair flapped up and down, threatening to shake loose.
            Bergi mooned over Bardek for a short time before working her way around to each person at the table, jovially discussing local events and the efforts of the townsfolk against the current swath of wickedness afoot. She unfortunately had nothing significant to offer toward the current investigation, but when Amrynn broached the subject of gear, Bergi piped right up.
            “My thoughts had been pickling about just th’ thing!” she said. “With my newfound responsibilities, both running the Dragon and keepin’ the townies chipper against the sly, I canna see me dodging out to the wilds anytime soon.” There was a hint of melancholy in her voice, but she just seemed so at home here.
            “Still, we all play our part, kennit?” she smiled. “I’ve already got the cloak and Mr. Bitey stacked aside for ya’, but I’ll keep the armor for militia work. Oh, and these,” she said as if almost forgetting and reaching beneath her skirts to fetch out a ring of keys. “These might not do ya’ anything, being Ripnugget’s and all, but I imagine they’ll jingle a better tune to you than just jangling around me fancies.”
            Bergi snorted laughter, and her colorful form whirled about for a few minutes more before she made her apologies and returned to the labors of the inn with a song on her lips. Amrynn watched her go and a renewed smile played across the elf’s lips. The stunning bard simply radiated so much life and light and wonder.
            “Even if she’s not with us on the front any longer,” she said. “Bergi still fights for the heart of Sandpoint.” There was a warm pause before she continued and said, “But we also have new friends among us.” She gestured, welcoming the newcomers to the table. “Please, eat, drink, and know you are among kindred spirits.”
            "Wow," Devin could only smile as he watched Bergi step off to other business. A few minutes of her brightness and Sandpoint's situation felt chilled no more than a moment's cloud passing across the sun, rather than an inevitable rising tide of undead.
            As if by providence, Kamala showed up just in time to be included in the invitation. Almost as tall as I'Daiin and broader across the shoulders than most of the men in the room, the statuesque, short haired woman drew eyes as she walked across the room. She was stunning, even in her simple loose cotton tunic and pants. The stranger nodded familiarly at Bardek and Amrynn, and smiled back at Bergi. "That's what I like to hear!"
            She turned her head to include the rest of the table in that smile. "I'm Kamala. Bardek and Amrynn asked me to stop by."
            "Devin," replied the dark-dressed half-elf, with a nod that still carried a little residual smile from Bergi's visit.
            A roar and a halfling giggle near the entrance of the Dragon indicated that I'Daiin had finally arrived from wherever he had been wandering. He swept up to the table, sporting both a purplish bruise on his face and a small white flower in one hand that he was busily tucking into his chain shirt. "Gift from that little imp--I miss her on the front lines, you know--oi, who the hell are you?" he said to everyone and then to Kamala in particular. "I didn't think they grew women this size around here!" His grin broadened, then wavered. "It's a damn confusing thing, trying to buy equipment! I had to start two fights, end three, and went to the wrong tavern twice. Shoanti ways are much simpler." I'Daiin, tellingly, didn't seem to have any new gear upon his person.
            Kamala grinned at the big Shoanti. She was nearly tall enough to look I'Daiin straight in the eye, and her muscles would put the average Ulfen raider to shame. "I'm not from around here. But they don't usually grow women my size around there, either."
            Amrynn laughed lightly at the atmosphere and concluded the introductions by gesturing around the table. “Welcome, Kamala,” she said. “The Shoanti is I’Daiin, and this is Devin. Please, join us.”
            “This is the possible ally of which Bardek spoke,” Amrynn said to Devin and I’Daiin. “She’s agreed to hear us out, though she seems willing enough to lend aid outright. Before we get to any grisly details, though, please enjoy some food and drink and a little camaraderie. The day has been a trying one.”
            Kamala nodded and smiled at all the people she hadn't met yet. She had a great smile, friendly and warm and open. It was almost enough to make someone forget just exactly how big she was. "I've been promised by two of you now a challenge." She pulled out a chair and dropped into it. "And I do love a challenge."
            "And a beer." She turned to Bardek. "If they're buying, I guess I'll have to cover those bets some other time. A shame." Kamala's smile turned into a grin as she looked around the table. "Thank you for your generosity. I know you're looking for help and I'm here to sign up, but it's nice of you to buy a girl a drink anyway."
            Bardek chuckled, gave Kamala a nod and a smile, and raised the mug in front of him.
            "Perhaps you should start at the beginning," Bardek suggested to Amrynn. "So that we can all be on the same page, as it were."
            “The beginning,” Amrynn echoed. She paused in thoughtful recollection, and then shook her head ever so slightly. “Time is too short, and I am too tired to recount from the beginning.” She smiled at Bardek and Kamala. “If it’s detail you seek, then Bergi can spin you a yarn to hold you fast ‘ere reap comes a calling,” she said, her smile stretching a bit further, having touched upon the halfling’s dialect, but then her face slowly drained of color.
            “Suffice it to say, a malevolence seeks to consume Sandpoint,” Amrynn continued. “First by riling the local goblin clans to a festering devastation, emboldened through the will of a wicked scion of Lamashtu .” And yes, she said the name of the horrific goddess, and there was a distasteful twang to it that she did not shy from. Her fist thumped the table in emphasis, and a rime of frost formed where her flesh had impacted the wood.
            “But we burned them away. Burned them,” she said. “With blood, and magic, and steel, we dug them out.” The thin elf took a deep breath and released it slowly.
            “Now this menace seeks to corrupt the farmlands, to starve the people out,” she said. “And we chase after them, seemingly always a step behind.” She ran a tired hand over her mouth in thought. When she picked up the thread again, her voice had quieted, aware of the many ears nearby. “Ritualistic killings and torture, in town and out, have brought a plague of ghouls to bear against the good people of Sandpoint. Yet we believe we have finally found a path toward the heart of the problem, and we move to investigate…that lead in the morning.” Her hesitation and careful glance around conveyed that she did not wish to risk sharing such delicate information in a public venue.
            “We have no right to ask,” she said. “And you certainly have no obligation to join our cause, but Sandpoint needs heroes to rise up, to continue the fight against whatever creature drives these dark forces. They simply must be stopped.”
            Devin listened, nodding at the appropriate points, with little more to add to what Amrynn succinctly spun of the present situation. She took the floor of the conversation with a natural grace and bearing, and he caught himself with half a smile for her that was perhaps inconsistent with the threats she described. He worked to keep his mind on the task and recounting at hand and brought his expression truer to neutral.
            When Amrynn finished, he added only his concurrence, "Well told. And for the morning, I'll share that we've an hour's ride ahead of us, but I have horses arranged."
            "You see?" Bardek said to Kamala with a smile.. "A challenge. And a mystery. A good cause to which one can lend strength, and sleep well for having done so."
            "I'm in, of course," Bardek said, turning back to the others. "I knew that at the mayor's office. Now that Amrynn has so clearly stated our challenge and liabilities, what are our assets?"
            Kamala had listened attentively as Amrynn described the challenges the group had taken on themselves. She nodded at Bardek's encouragement. "I'm in, too. I wouldn't ignore something like this when I know I can help. As for assets," she grinned and rolled her shoulders and balled her hands into fists, banging them softly on the table, "I don't carry much with me, but I know how to throw a punch."
            She gestured at Devin with a smile. "And we have horses, too."
            "Only your fists, eh, Kamala? Intriguing. You must be a dangerous warrior indeed," said I'Daiin with an appraising smile. "My mother is similarly dangerous," he added in a conspiratorial tone.
            Kamala grinned at the big man. "Well, not just my fists. Feet, knees, elbows, head, walls, floors, stairs, railings. Whatever's available. And I've got a pair of iron knuckles I'd bet you'd like. Remind me to show them to you later."
            “We have lost people, good people,” Amrynn reiterated to the newcomers. “Make no mistake, there will be mortal danger.” Seeing no change in the determination of either Bardek or Kamala, the angular elf nodded.
            “Very well,” she said with a smile. “Thank you, and welcome.” She turned to look for Bergi, but the halfling was already at her shoulder with a bright smile.
            “Bergi, may I ha--” Amrynn started, but Bergi held up a key in one small hand and arched up, placing a quick kiss on Amrynn’s cheek.
            “Keep ‘em safe now,” Bergi chirped in serious tones, but it was unclear whether she was talking to the old timers about the newcomers, or vice versa. Likely both, as she cast a wink at the group and spun back into the fray.
            She used the dish towel from one shoulder to rattail snap the backside of a lurching patron who had sloshed ale onto the floor. The man turned angrily, but the dish towel splatted squarely into his face. As he lowered it, the rage drained from his as Bergi pointed to the floor and laid into the man with a litany that was both charming and disarming. The man began sopping up his woes, and business in the Dragon carried merrily along.
            “We have a varied assortment of acquisitions at our disposal,” Amrynn said to those at hand. “Perhaps you may even be able to make something of the more…vexing items. Come, let me show you.”
            She then rose and lead those interested toward one of the rooms of the inn where an assortment of gear and sundries awaited - none other than Ameiko's own room.
            I'Daiin followed Amrynn after toasting Bergi with a fresh mug of ale. "Now, if only these unlife gholliwogs would just fight in an honorable fashion..."
            At the recounting and survey of the various items they’d gained, while he considered carefully and took one or two items for practical use, as a whole, Devin’s bent was one of individual resourcefulness, not things. There was the practical consideration of greater flexibility of movement, of tactics, of warding, even of weapons – truth to it, there were some beings whose nature defied harm from mundane tools. Edge was edge.
            Each thing taken carried the weight of its source. Would Lyrie’s twisted alliance with the goblins and Nualia always come to mind, each time he pulled the hood of the cloak she had worn up over his own head to ward the weather? She’d probably taken it as spoils from some hapless, well-off traveler overwhelmed by the goblins as he had been; it couldn’t be said to have been hers, as if it had been commissioned and crafted for her, but he remembered. Just as he remembered Ripnugget each time he drew his shortsword, though that… that was a hard-won spoil Devin had enjoyed claiming from the goblin’s corpse. Quickfoot’s shortbow, sheathed at the side of Devin’s travel pack, had a legacy and purpose to it. Though he’d never known Quickfoot, it felt right that the shortbow was still put to the good of Sandpoint.
            While perhaps not practical, Devin favored divesting much of what they’d gained, and arranging for commission of items to each comrade’s specific purposes and preference. Sandpoint did not have those resources, however, and Magnimar held little immediate draw for him. What they could use now, they should, that they have that later opportunity for such pursuits in the future.
            “To some, this room has more wealth than all of Sandpoint,” Devin mused somberly, looking about the impromptu armory, “more than I could even imagine. But it’s just things, and some with heavy stories. I think we’ve taken to hand what we think we can use for tomorrow. Let’s put the rest back under lock and key for now. We’ll need our own wit over anything else, here.”
            “Maybe we can coax a rousing story or song from Bergi if she’s not too afoot proprieting,” Devin confided with a smile to Amrynn, for she knew Bergi’s talents as well, “and all share a meal and wine for tonight. We’ve a challenging day tomorrow.”

31


            The next day, the unseasonable heat that had washed a tide of summer clear into Rova was gone. The clouds that had threatened a storm over the bay had arrived, but calmed to a dull blanket of dripping grey, a light rain turning the Lost Coast Road from Sandpoint to a muddy track. Rip Charg, the sturdily-built town watchman riding out with them, studiously kept his eyes on the road and not the hulking Shoanti in the undersized cloak, the hood drawn tight over his bald head. I'Daiin was perched on his heavy warhorse, Raz; the rest of them, on the garrison's borrowed mounts.
            With horses to ride, they made good time across the Pyre promontory, and had crossed Cougar Creek and were traversing the Ashen Moor with Brinestump Marsh on their right, when they came upon a toppled wagon, its wares scattered in the mud and weeds, and a woman lying facedown and motionless beneath the front wheel. The horse that had pulled the wagon was nowhere to be seen.
            Amrynn and Devin both noted splashes of blood, not just on her clothes, but on the ground. She hadn't been alone, though there was no sign of any other victim with her now.
            It was obviously a trap.
            "Hold up!" Bardek called out to the others - rather more loudly than needed. "My saddle is loose!" He immediately reined in his mount and hopped down, flipping up the stirrup and making quite a show of adjusting his saddle strap.
            More quietly, he said, "It may be the time in Cheliax, but I actually feel a little upset that they didn't work any harder to make this less obvious. There are ghouls behind each of the larger rock formations. I wouldn't be surprised if the body is also a ghoul. We've probably got about 10 seconds before even they'll be able to figure out that we've spotted them. We can charge, pretend to fall for the trap, or wait for them to come to us. But if either of them escape, they'll be able to tell the enemy about us, so I'd argue for tripping the trap and hitting them as hard as we can."
            The Shoanti nodded. "I see them as well. I'll get up on the wagon to draw them in. Fire at their ranks. Kamala, we are back to back on this one, eh?"
            Kamala nodded at Bardek and I'Daiin. "I see them," she said quietly. More loudly, she said "I'Daiin, let's go see if that woman needs help! I have this healing wand if she's hurt!" She was not a trained actress, but the tall Vudran woman only had to deliver a couple of lines. Kamala slipped Amrynn's wand out of the sheathe on her forearm and cast the spell within on herself.
            "Seven," Devin announced the number he could see, uncertain from the observations so far if others could see more threats or fewer than he recognized. "First time they've used tactics," he added to urge caution. "Which may include flanking."
            Of little mind to attempt subterfuge versus ghouls, Devin pulled his shortbow and nocked an arrow. "Hit and run; no melee; we have horses." Shadow manifested and flowed down his arm to envelope the bow.
            "One of them behind the right rocks is different. Concentrate fire at the nearest; the wagon, for now."
            Devin knew he'd decided and prepared no faster or slower than his comrades; this was no point in further delaying an opportunity to start cutting the ghouls down. He drew and loosed at the nearest ghoul he'd spotted at the wagon.
            “I think we all see them,” Amrynn scoffed lightly. “I echo Bardek’s sentiment. The ambush itself may be the trap. Tread lightly.”
            Amrynn turned her head to Devin and said, “Your tactics are not their tactics, my shadowy protector.” She inclined her head with a shrug at the giant pair who were dismounting and preparing to move toward the wagon. “They do not expect you to fight their way.”
            She turned then to the militia man and said, “I’m going to grant you a bit of magic to resist their disease. Protect the horses, flee with them if you must.”
            "Two to the left, two at the wagon, three at the right," Devin advised Bardek in the last moments, that he might pass that insight to I'Daiin and Kamela as well.
            The moment Devin took his bow into hand, the dead farmers hiding in the overturned wagon burst from their hiding place, scurrying to each side - presumably joining the other ghouls behind the rocks. The horses shifted uneasily, scenting the wind.
            “I think we all see them,” Amrynn scoffed lightly. “I echo Bardek’s sentiment. The ambush itself may be the trap. Tread lightly.”
            Amrynn turned her head to Devin and said, “Your tactics are not their tactics, my shadowy protector.” She inclined her head with a shrug at the giant pair who were dismounting and preparing to move toward the wagon. “They do not expect you to fight their way.”
            She turned then to the militia man and said, “I’m going to grant you a bit of magic to resist their disease. Protect the horses, flee with them if you must.”
            "She's right," Bardek said to Devin, "besides, there's no way to avoid melee here, 'specially if there's seven of them. I only saw two. If it's seven of them, they're not planning to just hit us and run. If we tried to stay mounted, they'd surround us, take down the mounts, overwhelm us in close. Those two get to the wagon, they'll have high ground, and we can back them up."
            The cleric of Cayden Cailean lifted up a silver flask, opened the top, and briefly splashed whiskey on everyone. "May the Lucky God share His Luck with us," he said, then gave them a wink and threw back a shot. The group felt a brief, spreading feeling of warmth, as if each of them had swallowed a shot of the finest whiskey ever known.
            Bardek then waited for Kamala and I'Daiin, drawing his crossbow. They'd likely need his support up close.
            "You two, probably best to cover the flank and hit from range, but do what works for you" he said to Devin and Amrynn, "Rip, you keep the horses safe. And like Amrynn said, don't be afraid to run away if you have to."
            "I'm not running," Rip insisted, looking a bit insulted. "I may not be an adventurer, but I'm still a member of Sandpoint's Watch." He hadn't been among those who went out into the fields with the group, and it showed in his lack of fear. Still, he accepted the reins of the loose horses.
            I'Daiin dismounted and stalked toward the wagon, drawing his lucerne hammer as he went. Seeing him move ahead, Kamala dismounted and followed, the twisted iron wand still in her grasp. Bardek followed, loading his crossbow.
            Amrynn swung down from her mount with reflexive ease and took a few steps forward to circulate some blood. She scented the wind briefly, and her nose wrinkled in response. Stepping out of the press of horses, she scanned for a target... but beyond the hints that had told her the ghouls were waiting, there was nothing.
            Devin forfeited his planned shot to dismount, instead. With three of the party on the ground already, and Kamela, I'Daiin, and Bardek all advancing, being on horseback would be both a disadvantage in what would be a melee, and would constrain Rip from being able to pull the horses back to a safe distance.
            "Pleased to protect; as often to be awed and saved, myself," Devin replied to Amrynn's affectation with a moment's wryness. His tactics were not the party's, indeed, do what works. "Friends and heroes are hard-won; this test /must/ fare well."
            "Now!" a male voice screamed as Bardek finally took cover behind the wagon, atop which an enraged I'Daiin and a calm Kamala stood. Devin, who had been waiting for a shot, fired when the one-eared man in butler's clothing - Mr. Craesby - appeared from behind the rocks to the right, but his shot went wide as the man ran forward. Farmers in torn and bloodstained clothing poured out from behind the rocks after him, running for the horses rather than the well-armed group by the wagon. Two of them ran flat-out, heading for Amrynn; the others were more cautious - and that would prove their downfall.
            On the surface, the pincer maneuver might have seemed like a good idea, but to those with real combat training, it was immediately apparent that whoever had planned this... just didn't have any. They were farmers and city-folk, not warriors, however fearsome they had become in death. They hustled along the rocks and weeds, spreading out screaming and shouting, the advantage of their ambush lost.
            Rip Charg looked at what appeared to be insane farmers charging, shook his head, and clucked to the horses. He trotted off a distance with them.
            "Huh," Bardek said, watching the ghouls shuffle and jog past his position, "that's..." he paused, waffling between whether the adjective 'idiotic' or 'stupid' was more accurate, then settled on "...unexpected."
            "Should probably get back there and hit them properly from behind," the former soldier said. "But let's not get spread out in 3 little fights."
            Amrynn chided herself, ‘How easy it was to forget how infernally fast these creatures were!’ The heat began to stir within her as her heart hammered and her adrenaline coursed. She fell back a few elegant steps as the undead careened toward her.
            Her delicate arms wheeled and shimmering energies coalesced along their length. She flashed them in arcs around her, and the glowing force draped around her lithe frame in a rippling weave of protection. Her own grin was feral as she straightened and waggled a finger at her adversaries.
            Her hands shot out, and twin bolts of the energy raced away from her. They danced smoothly around the two ghouls directly before her and cut through the air, hammering into her intended target, Mr. Craesby.
            She drew her longsword in a smooth clean arc, and the intent was clear. There would be no escape for him this time.
            "Get her!" Mr. Craesby snarled through clenched teeth, smoking holes leaving evidence in his once-neat outfit of Amrynn's magic. "For His Lordship!"
            Kamala looked over at the one different-looking ghoul, then back at the two menacing Amrynn, and shook her head. "Dammit. What a waste of a good ambush." She gestured at the two on the right. "Let's get the one who looks like the leader," she said to I'Daiin. She trotted toward the pair by the rocks, raising her voice as she got closer. "This has just been mistake after mistake! You should run now while you have a chance!" The big woman was shouting to be heard, and there was no fear in her voice, only determination.
            As she stalked forward, her hand dipped into her pouch and drew forth a piece of leather, which she twisted in the air while chanting. A thin shimmer grew around her.
            I'Daiin didn't bother to use words when Kamala made her suggestion. Instead, the hulking Shoanti barreled toward the west-most ghoul, seemingly head-first. A wordless howl exited his throat as he ran pell-mell at the undead thing.
            The dead farmer took I'Daiin's lucerne hammer to the jaw, and flipped end-over-end to land some distance away, rolling into the trees that girded the road.
            Bardek left the useless cover of the wagon, leaving his crossbow leaning against the wood. Moving unhurriedly back towards Devin and Amrynn, he strapped his shield to his arm as he went. When he was satisfied that was in place, Bardek scooped his flask from his pocket, saluted the nearest ghoul, flipped the lid with his thumb, and lifted the flask to his lips.
            After the arrow's fletching left the string, Devin's now-free hand dropped to his belt and snapped up and forward with one of the just-obtained vials of holy water -- knowing it could not harm Amrynn, he was eager to see its effect and splash upon the ghouls clustered in front of her. The impromptu grenade had barely left on its arc before Devin came back to hand with another arrow, sending it trailing after Amrynn's twin magical bolts to streak towards Craesby.
            Devin pivoted his attention to the three ghouls approaching slowly (by comparison) from his northwest. He smiled beneath a furrowed brow as his fingers contemplated reaching for another arrow, or his shortsword, given the ghouls' speed. His choice would be determined by how quickly the party was able to interpose itself into the ghouls' charge.
            The farmer's quick reaction to having Devin's vial lobbed at its head saved it from a direct hit, but both he and the woman behind him yelped as the bottle smashed into the ground at their feet, spraying their legs with water that burned their legs like acid.
            His arrow skimmed Mr. Craesby's cheek, drawing a line across it, and the thing that used to be a man flinched - but despite the bandages that wrapped him and the holes Amrynn had punched in them, he forged on. "Leave the chosen one, take the others one at a time! Do as His Lordship commands!" he shrieked as he charged towards Amrynn - and with him, the wind brought the most nauseating stench of putrefaction Amrynn had ever had the misfortune to encounter. It brought tears to her eyes and queasiness to her insides, but somehow she managed to keep herself from emptying her stomach then and there.
            The ghouls didn't follow Mr.Craesby's orders perfectly; they converged on both Amrynn and Devin, doing their best to avoid I'Daiin. Two women tangled with Amrynn, sinking their teeth into the elf, while the others had to content themselves with distracting the elf and half-elf. Aggie, the battered young woman from the attack at the Hambley farmhouse, looked fearfully over her shoulder as the rest of the party approached the knot of undead.
            Amrynn thrashed between her attackers, crying out as one latched onto her sword arm. Wrenching her limb away savagely, she left a sizable chunk of her forearm behind and dropped the blade in the resulting backlash. Her long fingers raked at the eyes of the other fiend that pierced her flesh, and the force of the swing spun her clear of the necrotic vortex as she nearly stumbled to the ground.
            Bloody rivulets dribbled down both pale arms as she wheeled and righted herself, but between her hands she had a piece of parchment stretched. Her eyes blazed with white fire as she spoke.
            “You really should do something about that stench,” she said. “No…wait. Let me .”
            “Ignarious fah-ROOM!” Her voice lashed out and white flames raced down her arms, consumed the scroll, and blasted forth in a blinding sheet of fire.
            The explosion dissipated with a suck of noxious air, but a cluster of fire crackled around each of Amrynn’s hands. Her sizzling eyes sought out the most deserving offenders, and she sent those arcs of energy crashing into their midst.
            The powerful gasses of the stench that surrounded Mr. Craesby were burned away in a foomph of exploding flame as their source took in Amrynn's fiery gesture. He leaned to leap aside, but too late; his clothes, bandages, and remaining hair caught fire in the wave of white-hot flame that Amrynn sent his way, and he collapsed into a smoldering pile of rotting flesh, dead for the last time. One of the two women by him jumped clear, screeching as she slammed her hands over and over on her charred dress, putting out the flickering flames - but Aggie was looking the wrong way, and took the brunt of Amrynn's wall of fire. Roasted where she stood, she went down.
            With blinding speed, Amrynn's second spell struck the man whose jaw I'Daiin had already broken, pounding him mercilessly. He stared at the craters that had appeared in his body, horrified... but he didn't fall. Whatever evil magics kept him from true death, they hadn't left him yet.
            All the dead farmers looked shocked, staring at Mr.Craesby's prone corpse. "What do we do, Horran?" one yelled, confused.
            Kamala laughed as her target ran for Amrynn. Not because it was funny he was attacking the other woman, just because of how messed up their strategy had been. The monsters had a purpose beyond just finding more people to eat. It would've been good to know that from the outset. "So much for tactics! Come on, big guy! Let's get some!"
            She sped toward the fray around Amrynn, screaming a war cry and leaping into the air at the last moment to launch a powerful kick at the stinking ghoul's back. Her boot landed square in the woman's back - and a loud snap of electricity flashed, blasting the farmer's chest into smithereens.
            Bardek winced. He'd underestimated just how fast these things could move, and now he was afraid he'd mistimed things. He didn't abandon his unhurried-seeming shuffle, but he did shuffle a bit faster. Drifting slightly to one side to follow the road around the rocks, Bardek judged the distance, nodded to himself, and then raised his silver flask - the copper mug of Cayden Cailean plainly visible on its side.
            "Hey," Bardek's baritone rolled forth, pitched to carry, "Here’s to beefsteak when you’re hungry, Whiskey when you’re dry, all the love you’ll ever want, and the Boneyard when you die!"
            On the last word, Bardek's tone turned hard, and power infused the syllable. It was as if the sun had caught the flask, and been reflected out in a circular wave of power that radiated out from the cleric. That wave of light passed right through all of the living, leaving them with a warm, if brief, glow and feeling of goodwill. Much as one would feel from a sip of 20-year-old whiskey. The undead, however, felt a heat of a different kind.
            When the light passed over the ghouls, their flesh sloughed from their bones - not completely, but in sagging bags, beneath which bone could be glimpsed. They screamed as one, all but the one that I'Daiin had struck earlier - that one simply dropped to the ground, the false life drained from his body by Bardek's invocation to the Drunken God.
            As Amrynn broke loose from the onslaught of ghouls and sent flame into their undead faces, Devin stepped with her, spun, and sent one more shortbow arrow streaking past her shoulder to try to drop another one. At that point, the time for bows was past, so he tossed it aside of the road and pull his shortsword to hand, back to back with Amrynn as he assessed which of the ghouls still stood, and protecting a route for her to be able to take one step further back onto the road and let him interpose between her and the remaining ghouls. A snap of his other forearm brought the dagger forth from his sleeve and he stood fast, ready to throw or melee if the ghouls pressed.
            Devin's arrow plunged into the eye of the ghoul he aimed at, and the man dropped like a sack of potatoes.
            "Run!" one of the remaining two farmers shrieked, and that's what they did, pelting pell-mell for the nearby cornfields.

32


            With a snarl, the barbarian raced after the more wounded ghoul. "We need one still moving! Kamala, give chase! Don't let them warn their master!"
            Kamala didn't hesitate or waste breath responding, she simply broke into a full sprint after the fleeing ghouls. She wasn't as fast as I'Daiin, though- something certain to annoy her- but thought she'd be able to catch up to the hapless undead.
            Bardek watched them go, debating briefly about grabbing his crossbow, or trying to at least pace them far enough to call upon his god again, but decided against it. Instead, the cleric moved towards Amrynn, to check on the elf woman's wounds.
            Devin didn't give chase; he was satisfied that the last of the ghouls had broken off. For all the advantage there'd be in taking down the last two -- or for the absence of chance any warning he might call might dissuade I'Daiin or Kamala -- all he cared about at the moment was that Amrynn was still on her feet. He put his shortsword back in its sheath but didn't yet spare the time to reload the dagger back up into his sleeve.
            He put his free hand on Amrynn's shoulder, both to dissuade her from joining the pursuit if she had such a crazed inclination, and to hold her still enough that he could step about and see for himself the extent of her injuries. It had been bad, he knew, but he still wasn't quite prepared for how ravaged her arms were. His already-concerned expression tightened with an empathetic wince; Devin was modestly reassured to see Bardek looking in Amrynn's direction as well.
            Just in case, Devin held forward a vial from his belt; if Bardek's aid proved to not be immediately available, he was prepared to insist she accept the potion towards healing her wounds.
            Amrynn wheeled on Devin a little too quickly at his touch, but the fire drained from her swiftly enough when she identified his countenance. She pulled from him and stalked a few steps after the fleeing undead. Pulling up, she seethed. She wanted to blast them apart, but thought better of sending any more energies after them right now. The road ahead promised greater need, and then there was--
            She glanced down at her arms and turned back to Devin, one leg almost buckling. She allowed him to steady her, but she waved off the potion.
            “I have something,” she said. “But first.” She snapped off an incantation and began to whisk away the worst of the filth. She grimaced as the magic scooped away the gobbets which had been forming in the pits of her flesh, but she wanted the wounds clean. Fresh blood welled into the holes, but not before she caught a glimpse of bone at the bottom of one.
            “Haven’t seen this much of me on the outside in quite some time,” she smiled at him, her own countenance even paler than usual. She saw Bardek approaching and held off on retrieving her own potion just yet. Inspecting the injuries once again, she growled, “If these leave bite marks…” She trailed off, but her tone carried with it the menace of a retribution that would go unmatched.
            Devin nodded, accepting her brief levity as necessary to helping keep her on her feet -- not from the physical wounds, but from the rushed fight that had suddenly been in their faces. She was far from out of the fight and had more in her if it had been needed; he could see that; but was just as glad it hadn't been necessary. Once Bardek reached them, Devin yielded Amrynn to Bardek's care.
            Devin reset the dagger into its wrist sheath, and walked a few steps away to retrieve his shortbow. A brief inspection, and he put it back in its sheath at the side of his pack.
            Bardek gave Amrynn an amused look. "I'd suggest biting them back, but the taste alone might kill you." He chuckled slightly, then raised a hand towards Amrynn's arm, without touching her. "May I?" He asked.
            "Do you have something other than whiskey?" she replied dryly but gave an assenting nod.
            When she indicated assent, Bardek gently lifted her arms and inspected the wounds. Then he retrieved a wand marked with the copper mug of Cayden Cailean, spoke a word that sounded suspiciously like the Draconic word for whiskey, and touched Amrynn on the shoulder, sending a feeling of warmth spreading through her body. Almost immediately, the pain of her wounds ceased.
            "Of course I have more than whiskey," Bardek said, as the wounds began to close. "Ale, mead, some blessed water, even a bit of acid." He winked at her, slipping the wand away, "But you probably don't want to be drinking that last one."
            Once Amrynn’s wounds were tended to, she retrieved her fallen blade, cleaning and sheathing it. Then she inspected the fallen ghouls, summoning the magics once more to search for anything that radiated power.
            "Thank you," Devin nodded to Bardek; the first words he'd spoken, albeit tightly, since before the start of the fight. Devin stood for a few moments, facing off in the direction the last two ghouls had fled, I'Daiin and Kamala in pursuit, his arms folded. He was trying to put the interlude to good use and reconcile what would've been sharp words if not a thrown punch if the opportunity had presented itself -- he was furious. The vestiges of the shadow-force he'd called to himself roiled about him, reflecting his mood. He knew he could as easily have been wrong about the encounter as right, but that Amrynn had taken the brunt of the cavalier fight that didn't need to have happened... he was tripping over not being able to solely blame the ghouls and their 'lord' for Amrynn's wounds. He knew he was being irrational, but he anticipated it would be a few minutes before his heart could catch up with his mind. They were all okay; Amrynn, now, again, too; and the encounter hadn't overly sapped the party's resources, nor did it require any change of their plans. Experience hard-won that may serve them all well. Maybe even forge them a bit more tightly for whatever came next.
            Devin closed his eyes and drew a few deep breaths. The shadows boiled off a few moments later, smoke on the light morning breeze. He trusted I'Daiin and Kamala would be back momentarily, as would Rip, with the horses. They could be off again soon.
            "The last few encounters, our would-be-nemesis took pains to leave I'Daiin a note to find," Devin explained to Bardek as he stepped up to help search the ghouls, after Amrynn made her initial surveys. Devin used a dagger, drawn from his belt, to check pockets or mundane possessions the ghouls might have on them. He wasn't happy that his nausea was starting to steel with dealing with ghouls and rotting flesh; he only grimaced a few times, and only had to back away and curl over to spit and clear his mouth of the stench twice.
            Amrynn found no trace of magic upon the decaying bodies, but Devin's search was more fruitful. Upon one of the men, he found a fine leather pouch that was clearly a remnant of the ghoul's earlier life, for within lay a set of slightly yellowed playing cards, well-worn but still fantastically painted, the colors still bright. Even a cursory glance showed the intricate detail of each card's painting. Devin suspected that they might be worth a pretty penny, to the right buyer.
            The others carried little of note, but Devin had saved the worst of the stinking bodies for last. He poked through the remains of Mr. Craesby, finding nothing of value on the one-eared man's body - but he did find something interesting, all the same. In his breast pocket, there was a folded note, and around his neck, an iron key on a leather cord. The key bore the imprint of a curious flower, surrounded by thorns.
            The least-wounded ghoul disappeared into the cornfields, out of Kamala's reach, but the most-wounded survivor of the ill-fated attempt at an ambush failed to outrun the long-striding Shoanti, and was quickly brought under control by him and Kamala.
            Kamala grinned at I'Daiin as she helped him wrangle the struggling ghoul. "You're quick for such a big man. We're going to have to have a rematch." She kept one knee on the back of the ghoul's neck and the other in the small of its back as she gripped its wrists up in what would be a very painful position for a living person. "Do you have rope? Tying this one at the neck, hands and wrists will be easier than trying to frog march it back to the others."
            Devin unfolded the note to find another missive from "His Lordship." The ink slowly smeared in the drizzling rain as he read it.
            Devin exclaimed in annoyance after reading the note, "Gah. More deranged ranting." He offered the note to Amrynn or Bardek, if they wanted to see it for themselves. "Feels like we're on the right path, though." He nodded toward the impromptu road blockade, "First time we've encountered them away from us investigating people or property they'd attacked. I'Daiin might care to see the note, too, when they get back."
            On dagger point, he held up the iron key and its flower-and-thorns motif by its leather cord. "Imagine we'll discover what this goes to once we get there." He scrubbed off the key in the rain-wet grass; more out of an impulse to rid it of incorporeal taint and lingering Craesby-smell than any need to physically dislodge ghoul-bits; and put it in a pouch for later, unless someone wanted to take a closer look at it. Chances are, if they found a lock, Devin would be the first eyes and hands on it, so would have first opportunity to identify something the key might match.
            "Last bit," Devin stated, showing the pack of playing cards he'd discovered in their leather case. "Nice cards. Never understood gamers, though." He tossed the pack of cards to Bardek, anticipating that if there were to be taverns encountered and games of chance, Bardek might well lead the charge.
            The search of the main fight concluded, Devin came up alongside Amrynn and insisted she accept a vial from him -- a different one than he first offered. "Antiplague. You took some nasty bites. I won't baby you, but if you feel ill or symptoms appear, take it."
            Bardek examined the writing, shook his head, and passed it back to Devin. He looked over the key as well.
            "I can probably clear up any diseases we encounter in the morning," he said, absently, while looking at the key. Then looked up, startled. How had he known he could do that? Bardek looked even further up, giving the sky a wry, semi-accusatory look. Then he shrugged and handed Devin back the key.
            Devin acknowledged Bardek’s ‘discovery,’ with a moment’s contagious wryness, but not to be ungracious, he still pressed the vial of antiplague to Amrynn’s palm. Better she have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. A lot could happen between now and the morning, and if Bardek needed his prayers to go to other ends because of circumstances, Amrynn would still have a chance of a cure at hand.
            Kamala called down to the group as they came over the rise with the ghoul in tow. "The other one got away, but we caught this one. For what it's worth."
            “Gods,” Devin breathed. He drew his shortsword back to hand, warily squaring off to their approach, expecting the ghoul to give up the ruse once it was close enough to slip free from its 'bonds' and strike. “They magicked?” Devin had to ask, looking to Amrynn and gesturing first to his own head, then to I’Daiin and Kamala – Craesby had been something more than a ghoul. Devin wouldn’t be entirely surprised if something worse lurked in the surrounding area, capable of messing with minds, and I’Daiin and Kamala had encountered it.
            He could gradually see the merit of I'Daiin's tactics, though. Those things were fast. Devin looked impressed they'd caught it.
            "It still know its name?" Devin asked with a call to I'Daiin and Kamala. Not to withhold on discoveries, Devin illustratively held up the folded note he'd found, gesturing with it as he summarized to I'Daiin before tucking it back in a pocket to keep his hand free, "Another note. Same rantings. Craesby carried it."
            I'Daiin grunted and chuckled at Devin. "I can read, you know. In two languages, even. I thank you for sparing me from another love letter from the Lordship."
            Devin grinned back, "Didn't imply you couldn't. And you're welcome."
            He yanked on the ghoul's ropes, bringing it to its bony knees, and kicked it roundly in the back. "Well, unlife, we'd best get to talking, so that we may send you to the Hells that much quicker. Speak, wretch."
            "Don't kill me, I ain't done nothin', it was Mr. Craesby made us do it," the dead farmer blubbered, or at least tried to, but no tears formed in his eyes. He squirmed in the mud of the road. "It's just I'm hungry, you don't understand, I got a family needs feedin', don't do nothin' harsh, now-"
            Rip Charg, who had returned with the horses once the ghouls had scattered, looked sick. "That's Abed Grotton," he said, staring at the ghoul. "I used to buy cider from him. I bought his cider at the Swallowtail Festival."
            "That's right, you know me!" Abed whined. "This ain't my fault!"
            Devin winced as the ghouls became human. He drew a deep breath and spoke with more compassion and grace than his normal manner permitted, outside of rare moments.
            "No one faults you for what's befallen, Abed. But you died. What you are now, you're a shadowed echo. Surely you -- the real you -- never wanted to eat people. But you can help stop this from happening to your family, to others. You wouldn't wish this on them, I know. To stop this, we need to know where you've been, what you've seen, who was there. We're going there, to stop it."
            "At the end, we can't make you the man you were, again, from before you died. But we can mercifully end what you are now, and share back with the town and your family that you were a good man, and you fought what you'd become, and had the will to hold it at bay and gain peace."
            The new woman nodded, though since she was holding Abed's leash it was hard for her to pull off being friendly. So instead she went the other way. "Abed, he's right. You're already dead. That means you won't die if I start to carve off your body parts. You think you're hungry now? How much do you think you'll be able to eat if I take your legs below the knee, your arms at the elbow, and your lower jaw?"
            She tugged on Abed's leash. "If you're nice to the friendly man, we might let you go back to your family. Or, at the very least, make your death quick instead of letting you starve until you go mad from the pain." The big woman leaned forward a little and gestured at Devin, Amrynn, and I'Daiin. "Those are the Heroes of Sandpoint."
            Kamala smiled at Abed, or at least bared her teeth in what a generous person might call a smile. "I'm not."
            The Shoanti's smile was practically beatific compared to the fearsome monk. "Answer quickly, ghoul. My blade is thirsty." To prove a point, he drew his masterwork sword and aimed it at Abed's left eye. "You don't need both of these, do you."
            Devin added, "Abed, they've lost friends to ghouls. We all have, and seen horrible things committed by those who don't have your strength, and let the hunger control them. I've seen people kill children, Abed. I've seen people drag others into the same hell you're going through. It's not your fault, Abed, but don't forget who you were, don't let it control you. Show them," Devin indicated I'Daiin and Kamala, "you're still Abed, a man who remembers and loves his family and his friends, and wouldn't want this upon them too. Help us stop it by telling us what you've seen."
            "I din't want none of this," Abed blubbered tearlessly, inching away from Kamala and I'Daiin. "I was just so hungry, you couldn't understand, they smelled so good!" True enough, his belly was quite distended. He reached out to Devin, imploring. "Don't hurt me none, please! I'm still me, Abed Grotton, like Watchman Charg there said! I been all around the farms, but it was Mr. Craesby said to do it! I couldn't say no, I just couldn't! None of us could! He had a way about him! Mr. Craesby said His Lordship wanted it! Can't argue with a noble, right? But I ain't never gonna do it again, swear! Mr. Craesby said once we was enough, we'd go to town. They's still hangin' a few at the Hambley place, once they come down, reborn is how Mr. Craesby put it, they're gonna go. Leastwise, Mr. Craesby told 'em to, but now he's gone, I dunno, I dunno! Gotta be a baker's dozen, waitin' near the Hambley place, 'less they got hungry again!"
            Bardek looked extremely uncomfortable at the suddenly dark turn the members of the group were willing to take. He was a cleric of a got of freedom, after all. Still, he was a cleric, and this was an undead abomination, not a living man, so as uncomfortable as he was, Bardek kept himself and his discomfort out of the ghoul's line of sight. He put one hand on the spiked head of the nasty-looking morningstar at his belt, took a deep, steadying breath, and then went instead to retrieve his crossbow and inspect the body near the wagon.
            Rip, looking sick to his stomach, went with Bardek, trying not to listen to the grisly tale emerging from Abed's lips.
            The body turned out to belong to a merchant, as far as Bardek could tell from her clothes and circumstances. She was quite dead... at least, so far. Though, she didn't have as many bite-marks on her as some of the other ghoul victims Bardek had seen. Almost none, in fact. It was as if the ghouls hadn't been that hungry.
            But then, the horse was missing entirely.
            Bardek squinted, then shook his head. "They ate the horse," he said to Rip. "That's... unfortunate."
            The priest caught the guardsman's eye and stood up. "We're probably going to have to burn her." He moved to inspect the interior of the wagon.
            Kamala nodded. "Good. Good. Keep talking. This baker's dozen by the Hambley place- does that include your group?" She gestures at the re-dead ghouls and the place where Craesby had stood. "Or is that just how many are there now?"
            "And one of you is a noble? Do you know where their lands are?"
            "Other than those places, do you know anywhere else other people like you and Mr. Craesby are gathering?"
            I'Daiin stood by, containing his impatience. He itched to remove Abed's head from its neck, but waited for the ghoul to give any further information before bestowing Pharasma's blessing on the nattering undead fool.
            "No more will be coming from the Hambley farm. We found what they did to that family, to those people; hung them up on poles, like scarecrows, in the corn," Devin explained for Kamala's benefit. "Even the kids. Craesby was a lunatic."
            "Well, you din't find all of us," Abed pointed out, his ravaged face hanging onto Devin's gaze. "Or we wouldn't've... we was so hungry..."
            Kamala's questions hung in the air, waiting for answers; they were the same key questions in Devin's mind, so he merely waited for Abed to tell of the what else he knew.
            "The dozen're still at the Hambley place. Waitin' for the last of the crop to ripen," Abed said sullenly. "Unless they head to Habe's. I ain't never met His Lordship, but Mr. Craesby said he's local."
            Amrynn had no interest in questioning a ghoul, seemed to actually abhor the notion by and large. So she walked down to the wagon, blade still in her hand and glinting in the daylight.
            Ensuring that the fallen merchant woman would pose no threat to anyone furthermore, Amrynn then cleaned her blade and circled the destruction, looking for anything that might still serve the community of Sandpoint against the horrific siege it endured.
            "We're done, then," Devin nodded, at understanding what was once Abed hadn't met His Lordship, didn't know his name other than the honorific, and didn't know where he was. "May the gods grant you peace, for whom you once were."
            Devin still had his shortsword in hand, but Kamala and I'Daiin were already standing ready and adjacent to Abed. As long as it was clear they'd make it quick and clean, Devin didn't intend to step in, but he stayed within his sword's reach to lend his blade to putting Abed down if it became necessary.
            Kamala glanced at Devin for a moment before shrugging. "If you want to say a prayer, Abed, you should do it now." She pulled a wicked dagger out from behind her back, slipping her fingers through the heavy guard. Wearing the guard over her fist like brass knuckles, the curved blade bent forward like a scorpion's tail once it was in place, a nasty looking slashing addition to her already deadly punches.
            "Hold his head down for me, I'Daiin." Kamala took a breath, set her feet, and with a startling shout struck the tip of her knife down at the spot where Abed's skull met his spine.
            "Now, hold on-!" Abed's panicked protest was cut short, along with the abomination of his unlife.
            Devin cleaned off his blades, counted the few arrows he’d shot as lost or immolated, automatically patted and inventoried his gear, and took the reins of his mount back to hand with a nod of gratitude to Rip for keeping the horses from bolting.
            At Rip’s suggestion of tending to the dead, Devin suggested, “We can pull the wrecked wagon off to the side of the road and use it for a pyre. There’s not time to bury them all, not if we want to put a stop to this.”
            Unless there are objections, Devin will set about helping do just that, and he’ll include even the ghouls in the pyre – they were all people once, too, and hadn’t deserved what had become of them, except for maybe Craesby, and there was little but ash left of him as it already was.
            Rip wasn't happy, telling them that the bodies should be returned to the Boneyard, or at least buried, but he went along with the party's recommendation that they burn the dead. Bardek said a prayer for the dead over the piled corpses before the pyre was lit, and that seemed to ease Rip's mind.
            Only after all the tasks were done; hopefully with less than half of an hour invested; did Devin suggest, “Let’s keep moving.”

The Second Cycle