Teague tried to stifle a yawn, then wondered why he bothered. This town was a bore.

Morris had spent minutes trying to convince the slackjaw patrons of Gannel’s Folly to get up in arms at the adventurers, but was having a hard time of it - they believed him, that was for sure, but not a one was willing to do anything to help. Teague assumed these farmers were accustomed to being lazy whenever it rained. There was a slight feeling of kinship there, though it dissipated when he remembered that the less the people around him did, the more he’d have to do.

And at this rate, he’d have to do half the work of ending these adventurers.

“…these heretics have desecrated the bodies of countless fallen heroes! People who gave their lives to protect this very land!” Morris was laying it on thick. “Imagine, their souls’ eternal rest disturbed to become the playthings of these barbaric heathens!”

A middle-aged man, grown fat with plentiful harvests, smacked his lips after a long drink. “Oh, yeah? Then why’re you tellin’ us about it? Why ain’t you running off to get ‘em?”

It was for but a split second, but Teague saw the smirk come and go from Morris’s face. Making a dialogue with his marks was usually a good sign. “Please, sir, were we more than two we would! But we are mere investigators - had we known we would discover them so close we’d have brought a battalion! Alas, were we to get reinforcements, the perpetrators might be gone! We need strong men like yourselves to help us apprehend them!”

“…Apprehend?” Scoffed another man, younger, looking very relaxed. “Be easier just to kill ‘em, eh?”

Morris nodded. “Indeed, sir, that may not only be prudent, but just! For why bother a judge when there can only be one sentence?”

That was met with various grunts of approval - more than he’d been getting. It was finally working. Teague wondered if it would be inappropriate to get an ale while this wrapped up.

“Now, hang on.” Another man spun on his stool from the bar. “So, why’s it gotta be us that takes care of the mess? How much do we pay in taxes every year for protection? If they’re as dangerous as you say they are, why don’t you ring the bell and have Rikston send in the AUTC?”

Putting an apologetic palm up, Morris said, “Regretfully, the Crysyx will need time to recharge, as it sent a contingent to Woodsedge recently - only confirmed invasions will be answered. And I regret that I must ask this of you - you, whose hard work is the backbone of the empire. But this call cannot be ignored!” Teague could feel Morris building up to his final point. “If these desecraters are willing to abuse the aged crypts of war heroes, they undoubtedly will have no reservations towards using the more recently departed! Who among us hasn’t lost someone - a father, a grandmother, a son? Would you wish their peace disturbed, their bodies controlled, for the perverse whims of miscreants?”

The mood of the room changed. People shifted in their seats, uncomfortably unable to reconcile the thoughts Morris’s words wrought. Hiding a smile, Teague mused on where the nearest torches and pitchforks were.

“You!”

The sound resonated throughout, and it took Teague a few seconds to realize what the word was - the word in and of itself was immaterial compared to the surprise and dread it carried. Heads rose and eyes turned as the source was discovered.

A man, taller than most, with a layer of extra weight that didn’t seem like it would slow him down, stood at the base of the stairs, face mirroring the emotional charge of the outburst. It dawned on Teague - a large human, one of the adventurers.

“Everyone stand back!” said the adventurer, raising a finger at Morris. “That man’s a necromancer!”

*******

The road leading north from Rikston comes to a cliff face with switchbacks rising to the top. Perched there, a welcome sight to the travelers that just climbed 800 feet, is the Weatherack Inn. Known for its breathtaking view of Rikston and both the sunrise and sunset, people often say the Weatherack is the most romantic spot within fifty miles, though lovers rarely have energy for amore after the climb.

Regardless, when Linore casually mentioned it might be good to pop in for the night, Kryx suddenly became very nervous.

Linore suppressed a smile. “Separate rooms, of course,” she added.

“O-oh. Of course.” Kryx nodded. “Unless…”

She perked up. “Unless…?”

“Well…” In trying to act casually, Kryx rubbed the back of his neck. This caused him to wonder why he thought that would make him come across as casual, which caused him to think what it actually made him come across as. By the time he worked that out, the pause it caused was more awkward than the neck rub. “Uh, it’s just, we have… f-finite funds, so…”

Linore rolled her eyes. Kryx was always so confident - except when it came to sex. She found it charming. When she didn’t find it frustrating, that is. “If you’re worried about money, you can stay at a less expensive inn. You could even camp outside….” She wasn’t about to let him get away with as horrible an excuse as ‘finite funds’.

“No! We can stay here. It’s fine.” He strode toward the open doors with purpose. “It’s the Weatherack, right? It’s a famous landmark, so let’s get some culture. And drinks.”

Linore knew it as false machismo for being denied. With a sigh, she followed. “You know alcohol is against school rules, right?” she teased.

“We’re not in school. And you know what Master Gerard says: ‘A little rebellion is healthy if it doesn’t become habit and you can get away with it.’ Letting ourselves blow off some steam is worth a minor breach.” He turned his head back at her and smiled.

That smile. She skittered up to him and entwined her arm in his. “Wow, spontaneously deciding to break a rule. What have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Is it really rule breaking if I’m following one rule that lets me circumvent another?”

“Quit while you’re ahead, stupid.” She kissed him on the cheek.

The Weatherack tavern room had a candle on every table. Couples leaned close to each other, if not for intimacy then for lack of light. Quiet words and the smell of wine-stained wood filled the air.

“Oh, the terrace is open!” Linore whispered, trying not to break the ambiance. Her heart was dancing - here, she was just another girl, arm in arm with a cute boy. No one knew who they were. No one cared. ‘Normal Incognito’. She’d been chasing a dream of limited normality for… quite a long time. “Try to get us a table with a view. I’ll get us drinks.” She sent Kryx off.

At the bar, Linore waited for an available member of the waitstaff. Two men were bearing down on a lone woman a few seats from her.

“You here alone?” said one man.

“How long you staying?” said the other.

The woman showed no signs of interest or intimidation.

“C’mon, you didn’t come here to be by yourself, did you?” said the first.

“Where you from, pretty elf?”

Linore did a double take. The woman was an elf; her ears just weren’t noticeable against her blonde hair.

The elf set her wine down. “New York,” she said.

The men smiled to themselves. “New York, huh?” said one. “Never heard of it. There a lot of elves in New York?”

“No,” she sighed. “Just me.”

“You want to tell us your name? Can we buy you a drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Leave.” Her voice was as ice, her demeanor as death.

The first man was about to say something, but the second stopped him. With a tilt of the head, he motioned toward Linore. She cursed herself for meeting his eyes. She looked away, passing it off as a general scan of the room.

Without a word to the elf, the men plodded along to Linore.

“Evening, little lady,” said the first.

“What brings you here by yourself?”

They moved to each side of her. Linore tried to keep her back to them as much as possible and showed that she was deliberately avoiding eye contact. “I’m with someone,” she said.

The men smiled. “Oh? Where is he?” asked the second one. They moved so close she could feel waves of body heat crash into her, the smell of alcohol and onions was carried by each of their breaths.

Fight it as she might, she started wilting under the onslaught. The heat, the smell, the proximity - she began feeling trapped. Was it worth it to Shocking Grasp them somewhere unmentionable? No, this was her first night as someone normal. No need to cause a scene.

As if to argue against that, something growled down in the darkest corners of her soul. She tensed to restrain it. “He’s… on the patio, getting us a table.”

“And he made you get the drinks?” said the first one, nonchalantly extending a hand adorned with gold and silver rings onto the bar. “How manly.”

“No, I… offered to get the drinks.” The growling got louder. She ordered it to quiet down—it didn’t listen. This was bad.

“Whoa, that guy has it all figured out!” laughed the second. “Having a beautiful lady willing to buy for him. Trust us - you don’t want a guy like that.” A jeweled bracelet suddenly came in view. “Let us get your drinks - you won’t have to pay for a thing.”

“Please, can I just… have some space?” It became a series of snarls, screaming to be let off the leash. Why was it acting up? These guys weren’t worth it.

“No, we need stay close to protect you from that user boyfriend,” snickered the first one.

“Yeah, it’s best if we don’t leave you alone tonight.”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll just go.” She tried to step away from the bar, but felt two searing hands against her shoulders.

“Sorry; can’t let you run off to someone so terrible.” The man guided her back, squeezing her shoulder appraisingly.

“Right. Wouldn’t be ethical.”

It became a roar, and it was all she could do to hold it at bay. The noise from her soul drowned out the world - she just withdrew into herself, shaking.

Blood pounded against the back of her eyes. What was going on? She could handle this situation if she didn’t have to hold it back. Why was it forcing this situation?

No, please, not here. I’ve done so well. My magic’s come so far. I’ve held it back for years. I just want a normal night. I don’t want to destroy what we have. Don’t let him know… how strange I am. I don’t want to scare him away. Stay put. Stay put. Let me find my own way out of this. Don’t force it. Let me pretend to be normal. Please. Please. Give me more time. Let me explain it to him when we’re ready. Don’t let him see my… my weakness.

Every breath she drew was filled with the heat and smell of the men. Distant, vague laughter was all she could discern of the world outside. The roaring was unabated. It thrashed against her will in frightening ferocity, warping the reigns she’d kept it on. She was trapped - not only by the men, but by a choice. Should she let it loose, possibly killing the men and destroying the inn, and definitely showing Kryx what she shouldn’t - couldn’t - show him? Or should she spend all her energy holding it in, unable to keep the men from taking her to some dark room and… doing what she’d been saving for Kryx?

There was a howling that rattled her soul to its foundation. She wouldn’t get to make the choice, it seemed. Her will strained and stretched and tensed until the howling finally… stopped.

She could breathe again, lungfuls of untainted air. Their presence wasn’t radiating into her. The howling subsided into a grumble - possibly a disappointed grumble, but that was the scariest thought yet.

“I said, leave her alone.”

It was the elf. She stood, arms folded, coldly staring down the men.

Linore couldn’t believe it. The elf was a skinny, pale slip of a girl, physically not much more mature than Linore (which could put her age at anywhere between 18 and 50 years, elves being the long lived fey-kind that they are). She wore light, loose clothes, had no weapons in sight and was easily a hundred pounds less than either of the men. That a stranger might come to Linore’s aid in spite of obvious danger was… was…

Well frankly, it was a concept never covered in Master Gerard’s lessons.

The men weren’t as impressed as Linore was. “You had your chance,” sneered one.

After a brief linger of contempt, the elf moved her eyes to Linore. “Would you like to sit with me while you order?”

The first man stepped between them. “This doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you—“

There was a flash of golden light. The man was on the floor with the elf standing over him, her arm outstretched at a finished right cross.

The other man gawked, then growled. “What did you do, you little bitch?” He menaced towards her. “You think you can—“

He stopped, suddenly unsure if any slight movement would dig the tip of the dagger at his neck further inside. The elf stood poised to make certain he knew that anything more than a slight movement would. “Take your friend and get out,” she said.

Hands where she could see them, he backed away slowly from the weapon. The elf looked down her nose as the man helped his friend up. He was about to say something, but thought better of it when he saw her face. They left without another word.

“I don’t… thank you,” said Linore. “And sorry. I’ve… never frozen like that before. I should’ve been able to handle it myself, but—“

“It’s fine,” said the elf, just as cold as ever. She went back to her stool to find a bartender staring her down.

He wasn’t happy. “I don’t take kindly to people scaring off well-to-do customers,” he said.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if you'd been at the bar to serve her drinks so she could go back to her friend.” The elf’s voice was unnaturally even. “Or did you have a deal with those men to make sure unsuspecting women would be kept here long enough to fall victim to them?”

The bartender’s lips tightened, then the three feet of bar between them shored up his courage. “Do you know how much those men spent buying drinks?”

Linore stepped in, gently setting a hand down between them. “Not as much as you would lose if this establishment got a reputation for being dangerous to women,” she said. The elf gave her a sidelong look, then nodded. Linore couldn’t have been more pleased. “But I’ll tell you what - I’ll help with those losses by buying a bottle of red wine.” She glanced to the elf then back to the bartender. “Three glasses, please.”

The elf held up a hand. “You don’t have to—“

“Yes, I do.”

Gerard’s lessons did include negotiation, and now that Linore was herself again she had little trouble convincing the elf to join her and Kryx for a drink, in spite of it having supposed to be a romantic evening. The bartender brought their bottle and glasses, and they made their way to the terrace.

“I’m Linore, by the way,” she said. “I never got your name, though.”

“Alice,” said the elf.

“I’m very glad to have met you, Alice.” Gerard had taught her that repeating a person’s name was endearing and helped when it came to remembering them. “Kryx should’ve had more than enough time to get a good table. He shouldn’t have any trouble getting a third chair, of course.”

Alice smiled - at least, the corners of her mouth turned up. It wasn’t quite enough to be called a smile. “He sounds reliable.”

“Oh, he is. And cute.”

“That always helps.”

Kryx had indeed found a table. It was right against the railing overlooking the plain below, mere feet from the cliff edge. Rikston and all its tiers were visible in the distance, and the sunset had turned half the sky to a dark red.

He was sitting comfortably, seeing how many times he could roll a coin he Prestidigitationed into existence over his fingers before it disappeared. It was a habit he did when he was preoccupied with something. He stopped and smiled when he saw Linore, then rose an eyebrow when he saw Alice and counted the glasses.

“Made a friend?” he asked, standing from his chair and offering it to his girlfriend.

“Kryx, this is Alice. She’s…” It would be a problem if she gave him any reason to doubt her ability to take care of herself. “…She’s great. I offered her a drink.”

He found another chair quickly enough. “Good evening, Alice. Did you know you come with the highest of recommendations?” He smiled and offered his hand, which Alice took. “Linore does not warm up to people quickly.”

Linore smacked him in the shoulder. “I warm up quick enough.”

Alice laughed, which surprised the heck out of Linore. Kryx saw her reaction to simple laughter and gave her his mocking ‘You’re a weirdo’ look.

“Sorry,” said Alice. “You two are just a really cute couple. Been together long?”

Linore blushed a bit and gave a shy glance to Kryx. “Well, ‘together’ together, no - it’s still new.”

Alice smiled, understanding a bit more than Linore realized she would. “Well, cheers,” she said, raising a dry glass. “I’ll let you two get back to your evening.”

“There’s no rush,” said Kryx, finally getting around to pouring.

“Right,” added Linore. “I promised you a drink, so let’s do that cheers properly, yeah?”

So it was. The girls took polite sips, Kryx took a hearty gulp. Once finished, he said, “So, Alice - what brings you to the Weatherack?”

Faster than if a spell of petrification was cast, Alice’s face became stone. “Just passing through,” she said.

The couple shared looks. “Oh, are you heading to Rikston?” asked Linore.

“No, I came from there. I’m on my way to Colme.”

“That’s the direction we’re heading,” said Linore. “…What do you have to do there?”

Alice contemplatively swirled her wine. “Something I need to finish.”

Another look was shared by the couple. “Well, we can go with you, if you like,” said Kryx.

“At least part of the way,” said Linore.

Kryx shook his head. “No, the whole way.” He turned to Linore before she could question him. “I received a Sendingfrom Master Everan just before you sat down. The captain we were meant to rendezvous with has been arrested for misappropriation of military force and is being held in Fort Gaine. We’re to collect the trinket from the evidence locker.”

“So we’re… not even going to even meet with her?”

Alice stood up. “You two have a lot to talk about, and a long night ahead of you. I’ll get out of your hair.” She walked away. “Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Linore called to her. Alice stopped, the points of her ears tilting slightly to show she was listening. “We can still travel together. Meet in the morning?”

Alice let in a deep, cleansing breath and held it. “Sure,” she said, finally. “I suppose I could use the company.”

*******

Heads darted back and forth between Morris and the adventurer. This might’ve been the best entertainment the village had ever seen, though even the patience that afforded had limits.

“You can’t listen to him!” cried Morris. “If he has magic to reanimate the dead, he has magic to enhance his words!”

“If my words seem to have an unnatural power it’s because they carry with them the truth!” said the adventurer. “You dare accuse me and my friends of necromancy? Two of us almost died putting an end to the evil you sowed!”

Morris was getting frustrated - Teague never thought he’d see the day. More than one unsuspecting peasant had fallen to Morris’s words and nobly done their dirty work for them. Morris was an expert at creating something from nothing, but he’d never encountered a beast like this adventurer; every point was countered, every flaw exposed, every listener slowly getting more irritated.

The faces of the tavern goers sank into frowns. Eyes glassed over in a lack of energy to follow the back and forth of a match that had gone on too long. Teague knew Morris would have to find some way to rally the locals to their cause, or the standstill debate would remove all concern for the subject.

“And who do you have to corroborate your story?” Morris pointed a hand accusingly. Teague saw where this was going - he’d want the counter-question of who could corroborate his own story, which would lead to it getting out that Teague was the Consul of Colme’s nephew. He set down his drink.

“I don’t know about corroborate,” said the bartender, breaking from the monotonous labor of cleaning glasses to lean out from the bar. The patron’s were all happy to have another voice in the conversation. “But those guys were carried in here by the military. Why would they help out a bunch of desecraters without arresting them? Are you sure you got your story right?”

Morris put a hand to his heart. “I swear, there’s nothing wrong with our ‘story’ - or as I’d prefer you call it, the truth. As I said before, this man has a powerful magic behind his words, and he must have used that to persuade those poor soldiers.”

“Unbelievable!” said the adventurer. “An entire squad of soldiers, swayed into carrying—by your ‘truth’—a group of grave robbing, corpse defiling necromancers to the nearest town for healing without so much as a friendly interrogation? Beyond that, I was unconscious the entire time I was with them - how could I use this so-called ‘powerful magic behind my words’ when I lacked capacity to tell the difference between a rock and a question?” The adventurer tightened a fist. “But you were crafty, I’ll admit. How you figured out to set fire to stone, I’ll never know—“ His head suddenly twitched, like he was trying to evade the advances of a mosquito. He recovered quickly. “But regardless, who do you have to corroborate your story?”

Slowly, Morris raised his hand, pointing to Teague. “This,” he put extra emphasis on the word, and Teague straightened up, hand ready to produce proof, “is Teague Halloway, nephew of the Consul of Colme.”

Teague stared at the adventurer, not wanting to miss any detail as the endgame unfolded. He waited for the indignation in the adventurer’s face as he denied the possibility.

But it wasn’t indignation in his eyes. It was almost like shock, but more subtle. Like an epiphany quietly stifled. “Gods, it’s him,” said the adventurer, with more sorrow than Teague expected. “This boy is related to the Consul of Colme? How could you—“ His jaw clenched for a second as though will alone wouldn’t keep him from vomiting. “I thought he was just a better preserved minion, but you…. You magically enslaved him into being your catamite?”

Teague wasn’t sure what a catamite was. Looking around, neither did half the tavern. The half that did—Morris included—were quite distraught by the word.

Morris stuttered. As if sensing him reeling, the adventurer added, “Such depths of disgust are only normal to a priest of Caven….” It seemed like it was said in a mutter, but it was curiously loud and clear enough for everyone to hear it.

“…Caven? Caven!” The bar goers repeated the word in hushed tones, and an energy began spreading through the room as a dozen conversations picked up: “Remember that priest?” “Screw Caven and all who worship him!” “Killed half my cattle for some evil ritual.” “Took that Gerard guy a week to get rid of him.” “Oh, you were too young to remember, this was years ago.”

One man, older, with a scar across his cheek stood. “Let me get this straight,” he said, staring at the adventurer. “You’re saying he,” with a point to Morris, “is a worshipper of Caven?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the adventurer put a penitent hand to his chest. “I thought it went without saying. After all, who else could have such flagrant disregard for basic decency?”

Teague watched as the room’s newfound energy began pulsing and reverberating between each listener, a frenzy on the rise. Caven was certainly an unpopular god, but who would’ve guessed he’d get this reaction? The adventurer, that’s who. Teague knew they should’ve come more prepared. With an offhand remark, he had coaxed more fear and rage than Morris’s words ever could.

“People, people,” Morris was the soul of soothing calm. He was always at his best when the odds were stacked against him. “Please, don’t listen to this rabble rouser! As I’ve said before, I am a mere investigator from Colme, and my partner—er, colleague, is nothing more than that. How could I—“

“Screw that boy with the withered dick Caven gave you?” Like lightning, the phrase pierced through the room. Teague had to take a second look at the adventurer. Out of everything he’d said, that might have actually been magic. Regardless, it stopped Morris dead in his verbal tracks, and gave Teague an idea of what a catamite was. “It was clear that you do! And we saw the altar! We heard you implore your dark god while you were… ugh, finishing.” He shook out his whole body like he was covered in sick. Then, slowly, he moved a pointed finger until he was staring straight down it at Morris. “I doubt you go anywhere without his unholy symbol on your person,” he said, every syllable a crafted ballistic missile.

All eyes went to Morris, who stared through slitted lids back at the adventurer. “On… my person, eh?” he said, apprehensively.

“Well, that certainly caused you to stall,” said the adventurer. He jutted his chin towards Morris. “We’re waiting.”

Morris shifted his face to an indifferent shrug and started turning out his pockets and pouches. It wasn’t long before he found something that glinted darkly in the lamplight of the room. Teague couldn’t make out the shape, but those close by stopped holding their breaths and drew up in slow, intense inhales.

“Anything you’d like to say?” growled the man with a scar from before.

Morris’s mouth hung open. “This… isn’t mine,” he said. With a flash, his eyes shot to the adventurer. “When did you put this here?”

“Me?” said the adventurer incredulously. “I’ve been standing here this whole time! You’ve been caught red handed, and yet you’re still going to pretend that you can fool these good people into swallowing your load of horse shit?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m no Caven worshipper! You must have a friend in the crowd, or—“

“Everyone in the crowd is my friend in that we’re all enemies of you,” roared the adventurer, his hand sweeping over the room.

Morris stood straight. “Utterly preposterous,” he said, mouth twitching as he looked down his nose. “This and all it represents mean nothing to me.” He tossed the bauble between him and the adventurer, out of Teague’s sight.

“I’m sure you’d say anything to save yourself,” said the adventurer.

A rapping metallic clatter came from the floor. The adventurer looked down, then leapt back in surprise. The patrons nearest him jolted upright and clamored to vacate the immediate area.

“What’s…” the adventurer held his hands in front of him defensively. “What’s happening? Did you cast some sort of spell?”

Teague and most of the patrons that couldn’t see rose and cautiously maneuvered to get a look. The dark metallic bauble, which Teague now saw to be a gold hand with an eye in the palm, was shaking on the floor. He only had a second to recognize it before it darted from the ground and zipped across the room.

Straight to Morris.

The large adventurer, face set in cold menace, marched close enough to Morris to make sure the difference in their height was noticeable. “You might be quick to deny Caven,” he said, “but he isn’t so quick to deny you.”

The bar patrons found themselves emboldened by the adventurer’s fearlessness. Four of the closest ones grabbed ahold of Morris.

“Wha—unhand me!” he said.

The adventurer turned to a citizen. “Does this city have a jail cell or a pillory or something? And make sure he’s properly gagged - it should keep him from using magic.”

“You’re all making a mistake!” Morris’s words, so calm and collected before, were lashing out in a frenzy. “I work for Colme! I’m—“ He was silenced with a fist.

“Not going to harm anyone again,” said the adventurer, shaking out his hand. For the first time, he smiled. “Book ‘em, Danno.”

Some people gave the adventurer confused looks for that, and a few just ignored it. One, however, a stocky bald man, gave a little snicker.

“Er…” said the adventurer. “Take him away.”

Morris, his face swelling with blood, turned his eyes to the adventurer one last time. Teague couldn’t be certain, but it almost looked as though a hint of respect shone through his sneer. Or maybe it was concussion.

The bar patrons surrounded the adventurer, clapping him on the back and offering to buy drinks. “Oh, gee, I wish I could,” he said. “But I need to get some water to my ailing friend. Maybe when I get back, okay?”

Teague was stunned. He’d never been without Morris before.

And he wasn’t about to start now. Given the jovial atmosphere, no one seemed to remember that Teague had come in with him. He couldn’t go out the front with that crowd, but there had to be a back exit through the kitchen. With a little luck, he could slip out to where they were taking Morris and free him before any talk of lynching started. He turned his back to the crowd and did his best to seem small. At least some good could come out of this - now when Morris tried to do his whole smarter, superior thing with him, Teague could bring up what he just now decided to call ‘that one time a whole town thought he was a gay pedophile’.

A pair of saloon doors hung at the entrance to the kitchen, on the far side of the bar. The bartender stood close by, pouring a large round of drinks. Teague’s fingers twitched. He couldn’t just sneak into the kitchen, it seemed. Not without a distraction. Or he could wait for the bartender to move, but he didn’t know how much time he’d have before someone would remember him. He’d have to play it by ear. Standing, he—

Something fell onto his shoulder and squeezed. Hard.

“I think you should come with me, sir.” It was the large adventurer. He gave a grin of questionable sanity as his fingers dug further into the flesh under Teague’s collarbone. “We simply must find a way to remove that horrible necromancer’s spell from you, mustn’t we?”