Chapter 44: A Personal Account

"A sight for sore eyes."

Music

You watch as the various decorations, ornaments and casks of liquor throughout the cave fade from sight. There's a loud creaking from outside the cave, like bending wood and trampled grass. Yech stops his gesturing once the cave appears completely empty, and takes a moment to walk to a nearby spiderweb. To your amazement, he whispers something to a small insect within the webs, and then sets out without waiting for you.

"Ray. Here, boy. Come on. Let's go."

As you step outside of the darkness of the cave, you have to put a hand up to your eyes. Though it's obviously an illusion, a facsimile of sunlight and fresh air hits you for the first time in weeks. You adjust to the brightness quickly, and see that there is a clear path carved through the trees. Various flowers peek through the curved branches, arcing away from a flat and invitingly unobstructed path of soil straight through the center.

Ray looks up to you. His fear from earlier is replaced with his usual calm and loving temperament. Yech's back is visible just ahead, already setting off towards where the women made camp. He's quick to yell a few words at you to hurry up, but he seems quieter than usual.

Has he known where we've all been in his domain this entire time?

Ray in tow, you catch up quickly enough to Yech. The demon is whistling somehow through his bony teeth, and admiring the forest around him. You keep pace alongside him and the forest's new canopy. The sorcerer seems to have created the illusion of Grace. The brightly colored leaves and sun, the light rain and dew clinging to the leaves around you— fake as they may be— is a sight for sore eyes.

​

"Not bad, right?" Yech pulls a few golden flowers out from a nearby bush and sets them neatly on his things.

"It's remarkable." Internally debating if you should pick something for Ofelia or Celegwen, you decide against it, and smile as Ray eats several of them with delight.

"Thanks for getting my sorry ass out for a bit, Richard. I almost forgot what it's like to not be glued to a chair."

"Surely, Malimos keeps you informed of— of what happens in the ruins?"

"Bah, that old windbag wouldn't know a good time if it hit him in the face. It's impossible to tell what the fuck he's saying half of the time, anyways."

A laugh escapes you. It's hard to disagree. "He— he does like to talk. You must know each other well down here, after all this time—"

"What? Me and Malimos?"

"Everyone. I was under the impression that you all are related, somehow. The demons here, you all— you all seem to know of each other's activities in great detail."

"Shit, I mean— I guess so. The 'master of webs' or whatever-the-fuck loves running his mouth. It's been a few hundred years of nothing but that sick fuck's homicide and torture and blood sucking, but it's better than nothing. Something to listen to, I guess. Better than the birds."

"I was going to ask. Are they your doing?"

"Nah. Some were still in the ruins, way back. I've been breeding the little bastards ever since. Keeps me busy. Don't fucking give me that look, Richard, I'm not that soft. I'll fucking kill you."

"Of course you would, Yech. Tell me, are there any other interesting characters I've yet to meet here?"

"You cheeky fuck, you want me to gossip—"

"No—"

"Yes you do. Those women are rubbing off on you, and not in a good way— but you know I can't resist running my mouth either. I'm going to kill Mal instead. Remind me to."

"Of course. You— you don't think he would actually die, from all of this?"

"I don't know what the fuck else could kill the monster at this point. Maybe. He sure as shit hasn't shut up about you. Getting to understand why. Anyways."

Yech slows his pace. You both had been taking relatively broad strides and getting some proper momentum for Ray, but you assume a leisurely stroll alongside the shorter demon's steps. Based on his eagerness to speak, you get the impression that he's been dying to gossip for a few hundred years.

"...there's Rem. Remigius, I mean. Real special kind of sick fuck, that one. Makes you look as clean and innocent as fresh snow. Means well, but I wouldn't trust that slut as far as I could throw 'em. Doesn't know what 'no' means, if you catch my drift. You think I'm rude—"

"You are, Yech. To be fair."

"Shut the fuck up Richard. ...okay. Okay, you have a point. Really, though— the only one down here worse off than Rem has to be Beltoro. The fucker is absolutely insane. I don't know what their deal is—"

"Their?"

Yech looks to you and makes an odd gesture with his hands, as if he was imitating many of them. "It's not exactly a guy or a gal. Hands, Richard. Like fifteen hands. Twenty maybe? There's more every time I seem them. I don't know what the fuck their deal is. Creeps me out. Easily crazier than both of us combined. Be careful around it, okay?"

With a nod, you can't help but itch to put all of this down somewhere. "I don't mean to be rude, Yech, but would it be alright if I recorded some of this?"

"You fucking what now?"

You take out your journal, looking to the demon expectantly. "It's— it's sort of a— my hobby. The church asked me to record my findings down here, but I've mostly been doing it for myself—"

Yech groans, rolling his head back and making a proper fuss. "Do you ever talk about anything else? Shit, Richard, I thought I was single-minded but you're something special—"

You've already got a pen in hand, flipping to an empty page.

The demon groans again. "Alright. Fine. Fine. Fine! Let me see that, though. I don't want to tell you shit 'til I know what I'm working with here. I've got to have some artistic integrity, Richard. And if your hands shake as much as they do when you write as when you don't, this probably looks like shit."

You pull back instinctively. There's some personal things in there. Things about the Gods, and your church, and a very nice recipe from Ofelia. Not to mention the pages on all of the demons you've encountered. It's nothing that Yech probably hasn't figured out, but you're immediately protective of the gold trim and leather.

Holding the journal to your chest, you try to at least warn the demon before handing it over. "Are you absolutely sure you want to look at it, Yech?" You hate being so insecure, but this is personal. Timid excuses spill from your lips. "You— you'd probably hate it. There's things in here about the church, the Gods— the demons I've killed."

Yech frowns, and entirely stops walking. You stop beside him, trying to explain. "Killed— out of necessity and duress, remember— on the way down here. I've been fighting for my life, Yech. For my friend's lives. Even if these demons may or may not have been your allies—" The green in your eyes catches on the artificial sunlight, imploring your friend beside you. "I really do want your input. I would— I really want your help."

Yech crosses his arms, grumbling, huffing, and sniffing the air.

He doesn't have a nose, but he still sniffs at me? To think that I'm worried about being too dramatic.

"Fine. I'm too fucking curious after all of your fucking fussing not to look. I won't go crying about it, alright?"

"Alright. It's a little out of date. I've— I've been busy. Here." You eye the skeleton's hands— which you now notice are dry, gloved and very tasteful— as he snatches the journal away from you, and rapidly flips through the pages. "Be careful—"

His frown is intense, flipping back to the first page with more deliberation once he hears you. "I'm not going to fucking rip it, Richard. Calm the fuck down— what the fuck—?"

​

The demon leans in. "What the fuck is this—"

There's so much disgust written across Yech's face that you can't stand to even look at him. The nearest tree is much nicer. The branches and golden flowers smell lovely, the sun is shining—

"Richard." Yech is pointing firmly at the entries for Spirit. "This shit isn't true."

​

"I— I know, Yech. I didn't want to waste any paper, making a new entry somewhere— it's— it's important for me to have something to look back at, too—"

"Shut the fuck up, Richard."

Yech grabs you into a hug.

You are absolutely speechless.

He keeps you there, still looking over the page. You know he can't read it aloud, so his comments are a little disjointed. You appreciate it more than you can say.

"You're better than a demon, alright? You're way better than any of us sorry sacks of shit. Those assholes are lucky as shit to have you. You're better than them, too."

"...alright, Yech."

"You really don't look that bad, okay? You think your little whore over there would be shooting you those looks if you were that ugly?"

"..."

"Fine, don't fucking answer. Ungrateful prick. You'll get used to it!"

There's a long pause.

​

"Thirty-one fucking times. Unbelievable. You've been fucking counting here, you asshole. How old is this?"

"Seven years."

"This your blood?"

"Yes."

"Fucking brutal. You're brutal, Richard. Fucking— writing this shit with blood still on your fucking hands— I didn't see any tear stains. This is spit, you spit on that shit. Don't fucking take this shit—"

The demon pulls away, looking at the page more intensely still. He's pointing at the entry to Mercy. "You didn't have the fucked up sex— pain— I mean, any of this stuff before, did you?"

​

You can't look at him again. You really don't want to talk about it, but you know he actually can't speak about Her at length. A nod is the most you can manage, while looking as apologetic as possible. "I— I really didn't mean to offend you, or Idonea, or her daughters, or— or anyone. I— I don't know what's wrong with me, Yech. I'm trying to manage things as best as I'm able. I don't exactly know why Mercy is affecting me the way She has, but—"

"You're scared as shit, aren't you?" He's hugging you again.

Where is this coming from?

You don't want to reply, and hug him back— nodding again.

"Richard— fucking— shit— this is terrible." He's pointing to the entry next to Storm. "This is much worse than anything you could fucking show me about killing my fucked up neighbors. I knew you probably had it bad but— the fuck is this—?"

​

"I don't— I have no idea, Yech. I had never invoked Him before. I've never so much as spoken to the Father of His church. I don't know. It was— I thought I had died. It felt a lot worse than dying. I don't... I don't know."

The demon puts a head to his hands, still looking intently at the page. The entry behind your outdated inventory log— the blue ink— catches his eye. "What the fuck—"

​

Yech falls to his knees. You rush forward, catch him, and grab onto the journal. The demon is shockingly light, and you prop him back up on his feet in seconds, taking your journal back from him. He looks dazed, but not hurt. "Yech, are you— are you alright?"

"Give me a fucking second—"

"Alright— alright."

It takes a few minutes— keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him— but he looks back to you intently. "I couldn't read it, Richard. What the fuck is on that page?"

You glance down at your old Dream journal entry. It feels like a lifetime ago that you wrote it frenetically.

Watched over by an orc warchief.

With a gaping hole in your side.

Surrounded by the blood of demons and rushing water.

It's been there for weeks, and you had completely forgotten about it.

The text glares back at you.

You go pale.

Dream has blessed me. I saw before me a field of grain, and a beautiful woman standing under a red moon. I tried to call out to her. Black bile and blood stifled my words, and poured from my lips. Hands began to crawl over my body, up my throat, and inside of my mouth. A barrel of liquor tumbled down an endless staircase, colliding with a mountain of dead bodies. An owl flew overhead. Curtains drew shut before its wings, clipping them mid-flight. A small spirit was born and died. The woman turned away from me. I was falling, falling into a deep sea. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. The whole world was shaking. The moon turned black.

You're sweating, and look back to Yech.

He's kneeling over— hands on his knees— looking like he's going to vomit. Instead, he grabs a bottle of wine off of his luggage, and takes a huge swig of it before standing back upright.

Demons can't even speak of the Gods, and he's looked right at a vision from one. All things considered, he seems to be faring well. Either he is intensely more powerful than even Celegwen suspects— or the second-hand account of Dream's visit was a lot easier for him to endure.

With a crack of his neck— having emptied the bottle— he looks back over to you. "Richard. I mean it. What the fuck was that?"

"You couldn't read it at all, could you?"

"No. Fuck. I just saw blue. Just blue. It was scary as fuck— I need another drink. Fuck."

"Are you sure that you're alright...?"

The demon has his head in his hands, and sits down to better collect himself. He just waves a hand at you as he puts back another bottle of wine in obvious distress.

"I'm— I'm glad that you're okay, at least. It was a vision from Dream—"

Yech practically chokes on his drink. It's obvious that he's doing so out of disgust, and not out of surprise or for lack of air. You don't let it stop you. "I tried to warn you, Yech. So much has happened since I was visited by Him, I— I had forgotten entirely about the entry. I couldn't have known how it would have affected you, I suppose— but I can still read it to you. It might be uncomfortable, but you should be alright. It's second-hand. Not His direct word. That is, if you really want to know what it says—"

A very weary set of bones glares back at you. He gestures for you to sit next to him. "Yeah. Get your ass over here. Don't fucking skip anything, alright?"

You nod, reading the entry out loud. "...black bile and blood stifled my words, pouring from my lips—"

Yech almost immediately stops you. "Bile? Blood? Didn't you—"

"Yes. I think that— that is me invoking Vengeance on Idonea."

"Makes sense, but I don't know what fucking good it would do. Bitch is stronger than any of us. You know it didn't even work on Malimos."

"Yes." You wince. "...hands began to crawl over my body, up my throat, and inside of my mouth. Could this be the one you described— Remigius— attacking me?"

"You're already fucking confused. You're thinking of Beltoro. Rem is— well, Rem changes all the time, too. But not into hands. Unless that's what the customer is into— but try not to worry about it."

"A barrel of liquor tumbled down an endless staircase, colliding with a mountain of dead bodies. That's—" You glance to the keg being carted away from Yech's lair. "That's your barrel tumbling down."

"Wow, Richard, didn't know I was the man of your fucking dreams."

"That's— that's not funny, Yech."

"I know. I hate myself for saying it. Get on with the rest."

"I don't know what the owl and spirit parts are about. And the end—"

"Rem for the curtain, probably. Real showboat, that one. And maybe the girls, for the latter. You'd better not fucking get them hurt, Richard."

A cold sweat hasn't left you since you looked at the entry. There is absolutely nothing in here about Mercy, about the Relic, or your mission. It's blood, and demons, and death. "You don't think that the thirty-second—"

"I don't particularly care to. You'd better not have been fucking everything up even when you were asleep down here—"

"No. No. Looking at it more closely— I think this might have been a fate I avoided. Or a fate I've yet to witness. I don't know how well you were acquainted with Dream in life, Yech, but this does not have to come to pass. There's still hope."

Yech looks extraordinarily uncomfortable. You can't tell if he's in pain or is simply disgusted beyond words.

Isn't there?

Isn't that the entire reason I've made any effort to survive?

Isn't that what I'm fighting for?

You run a hand through your hair— wishing you had something to cut it with— and look to Yech with no small measure of weariness yourself. Your look tells him everything he needs to know.

He starts immediately fishing around for a glass to share with you. "Look, Richard— this— here, cheers—"

You're handed a full wine glass. The crimson seems a lot stronger than what you were drinking last night, but you are more than happy with the fact. "Cheers."

It's fantastic, like everything else Yech seems to favor.

Does that include me?

"This is pretty fucking concerning. You need to tell Idonea. If the girls are in any sort of danger, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. Look— you got anything else like that in there?"

"Nothing else from Dream. There's a page of Mercy's tenets—" Another groan, which you ignore. "—but everything else pertains to demons. I can't imagine anything else causing you any harm. I could set aside the tenets if you need me to."

"Yeah. Let me take another look. I need to set some shit straight."

It only takes a moment to remove the tenets of Mercy that you saved from the library, and to cover your visit from Dream with the page so that nothing is legible regarding the Gods. You hand the journal back over.

To your intense alarm, Yech takes out a quill.

"What are you doing—?!"

"Calm the fuck down. You don't have anyone's names in here except for Malimos, and there's a bunch of shit that's wrong."

"Wait. Don't— please. I cherish your help Yech. Truly, I do. But this— this is very personal."

The skeleton seems offended. He's twiddling his quill around, leering at you and simultaneously managing to tease as if he was going to jot down something.

Was his Catalyst actually the ability to get under people's skin?

You're quick to put up a hand, trying to placate him. "I mean no offense. You must understand— I would greatly appreciate it if you could still tell me. I can record everything, I just—"

"I get it, I get it. Calm the fuck down, I'm not gonna ruin your shit." The quill goes away. More liquor comes out. He looks far more comfortable reclining on the soil than you've probably ever seen anyone look before.

With a slow pull at the wine (which is seriously excellent), you try to relax a little bit and take your own pens out. "I'm listening, Yech. Thank you for the wine, as well—"

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. So, here—" He points to the very first entry, regarding Malimos' children. The bell spiders.

​

"They're not everywhere. Even Malimos isn't that good. This place is fucking deep, and he's too much of a psychopath to let anyone live who won't humor him."

You silently try and appreciate how patient and kind you were with the demon each time you've encountered him.

"They're not in Beltoro's lair, or Idonea's, okay? And this—" He gestures broadly at the centipede demon. "Her tits are way nicer than this, Richard."

"I—"

"No excuses."

You're blushing. It was difficult enough to try and have enough artistic integrity to put as much as you did.

​

Yech continues. "Her name is Offala, and the insect bit is pretty fucking smart. You didn't kill her, right?"

"I'm not entirely sure. She was gravely wounded."

"Yeah, well this 'Orgoth' probably saw to her. Threatened, maybe. Be careful getting out of here, the bitch is crazy."

You scratch in a few notes, as Yech flips the pages.

"Fucking Mondost."

​

"Mondost?"

"Very fucking capable sorcerer. He wasn't guarded by shit, he just liked to flex. Made those cinders you were so eager to burn half of us to death with. More of a pyromaniac than you probably are."

It's very difficult to not slip back into the memory of your fight with the greater demon. He was unbelievably capable, and it took everything you had to come to a stalemate with him.

"Shame, really."

You nod, sipping at the wine. Looking over Yech's shoulder easily, it seems that he's scrutinizing the lesser demon of mouths. "Her lips are way nicer, too, Richard. You're terrible at this."

"It was very dark, Yech. And I was in a hurry to write this all down."

​

"Nefret, Richard. Her name's Nefret. She's fucking sensitive. You bullied the shit out of her, didn't you—"

"It was in self-defense, and I didn't touch her."

"She was hiding in those walls, Richard. Hates being looked at more than you. Fucking bullshit."

There's a pause as Yech flips the pages again.

​

Your entry on the shrouded demon, and on the demon of ice and paint glares back at you both. You take a larger drink of your wine.

Yech puts a gloved hand to your shoulder. "The bastards deserved it."

You swallow hard, as you both deliberate over the entries in silence for a few moments. These demons took so much from you and your friends. You don't know what to say, or how to feel. You'd never had a Catalyst induced before. You'd never known of demons who could feed on memories. You barely escaped with your life.

"This 'shrouded' demon was Tsilorm." Yech's pointing to the skeletal demon. "His kids were fucked, but not as fucked as him—" His name has turned your stomach each time you've heard it. "Richard, don't go fucking fading on me now. Here, have some more wine—" You accept the addition to your glass without protest. "We'll come back to it. Try to relax."

Yech looks over to you with as much sympathy as a skeleton can muster. "Look, let's not dwell on it. They're dead. You don't gotta worry about shit." A gesture is made towards the demon of ice and paint. "This one— that was Menniath. Heard what he did to your elf bitch. You probably could have done worse to both of 'em. Let's see what else you got in here."

You nod with relief to move on, and growing dread.

"You remember me telling you this was Nehliht?"

The memory is hazy, but you distinctly remember how upset Yech was to hear of you cutting her to pieces and making her eat herself alive.

​

Yech shrugs. "You're a fucking bastard for what you did to her, Richard, but I'm not gonna harp on about it. I'm not a fucking woman. And look, these four?"

​

"Dalth, Ianthe, Verinox, and Melar— there's more where they came from." He's gesturing to the cactus-like demons. You nod, recalling both of your friends commenting on how many more patrols were still around Ostedholm's library.

The demon lord gets to the last entries. He makes a confused face, gesturing to the doppelganger. "Aside from how stupid this sketch of you is— I keep telling you, you really don't look that bad— who is this asshole?"

​

"I have no idea, Yech. He seemed to have been waiting for us, in the library—"

"Are you sure you killed him?"

"Ofelia, Celegwen and Ray tore him to pieces. I'm fairly certain."

"I wouldn't be so fucking sure. Anyways, you know by now this is Aurelius, right?"

​

"Yes."

"Idonea wanted to help keep you on your feet before you got here, but I get why you didn't trust her."

He points to the entry just above it. "Oh. The imps."

​

"Fucking shocked you made it out of there, even as bad off as you got. There's about thirty inside, and more than a hundred in and around the rest of the building. Plus the other humans. Pretty fucking impressive. Here—" The demon refills your wine again.

Is that bottle endless?

The journal gets closed and handed back to you firmly. You realize you haven't written down anything, merely having sat next to Yech the entire time and putting back wine while trying to not have a panic attack. You feel fairly warm— and entirely more relaxed than you should— given how much you've gone over.

Ray came over by your side at some point. You scratch behind his ears absently, glad to have him next to you.

Yech looks to you with a toothy smile. "Write that shit later. You got places to be."

No one is trying to kill you. There's nothing here that's going to force the Catalyst. Your friends aren't in danger. You aren't dying. There's no need to panic. Ray's right next to you.

Deep breaths. The wine smells fantastic.

The golden flowers around you are nearly as sweet as the wine, though nowhere near as soothing.

I can make the time. This is important enough to justify it.

"Just... just another minute, Yech."

The demon lord tops off your glass. You get the feeling that he genuinely does prefer everyone liquored up, but you aren't complaining.

Still, Yech looks to your reddened face with some concern. "These fuckers really got to you, didn't they?"

The warm buzz, your lowered anxiety— it's a lot harder to worry when you're full and in good company. "I just need a minute to write this all down. I'd like to get everything recorded now, rather than later. Best to not forget anything."

"Works for me."

You're remembering your old penmanship. Taking a few extra minutes to write out the names and information Yech has given to you borders on meditation. The steady scratch of the pen, the flow of ink, and watching the parchment transform into a new memory is all soothing (despite the contents of your script).

You try not to think too much about the implications of several of the demons still wandering the ruins— wanting for your blood— as you finish.

While the ink dries, you pull a bit on your belt and collar. Your face, your body, and the air all around is incredibly warm. Everything is a little softer. A little easier to not worry about. It's absurd to think that two days ago you were starving to death, on the brink of collapse. Right now you're handing back an empty glass, and looking to a new friend with sincere appreciation.

"We should get going. Ofelia and Celegwen have been waiting."

"You'd have better done me justice in your little diary, Richard. I don't want no fucking cut corners."

"I'll make a proper portrait of you if I ever get the time, Yech— but a sketch had to suffice."

​

"Fine! See if I fucking care." The skeleton leisurely gets to his feet.

Your head feels light, but you're not so intoxicated as to have a hard time standing. The two of you resume your walk, and this time at a much brisker pace. Ray is delighted to follow alongside you, skipping around at the illusion of fresh air and sunlight.

You all enjoy the silence together, until reaching Ofelia's and Celegwen's camp. It looks as if the sorceress dissipated all of the ribbons and animal paintings along the equipment. Her and Ofelia are both gathered around a small campfire, but they rise instantly upon seeing you both. No longer covered in paint and confetti, they at least seem to have cleaned themselves up. Strain is still evident on their faces. You offer a frown. Though you're happy to see them, they still look exhausted.

Why can't either of them try and relax? I explained everything to them both. There's no danger here.

Able to guess what had transpired without you saying a word, Celegwen sets to packing up their camp.

Ofelia walks over to you, arms crossed. Luckily, she merely shoots daggers at Yech while she speaks to you— seeming to make some attempt at respecting your earlier requests. "Good to see ya', Richard. Everythin' work out alright, then?"

"Better than I could have hoped for, Ofelia."

"You seem a little— well— never mind. Nice work. Where'd your robes go?"

"They looked terrible. This will do for now."

"It's not bad. Not what I'd expect, but not bad. Nice hat, by the way, asshole—"

Yech tips it to Ofelia with so much sarcasm you almost laugh. He drawls, "thanks, bitch! I know."

You try and make up for the insult. "Yech has been generous enough to give us some more supplies, an abundance of valuable information, and— and he will be accompanying us back to the abyss."

The homicidal glares Ofelia has been shooting to the demon lord intensifies. "Uh-huh. And I suppose those little demons are gonna be delighted to hear from a drunken old bastard—"

Yech puts his hat back on, sneering with disgust at the halfling. "Shut your fucking mouth, you half-baked whore. I'll go wherever the fuck I please."

The two devolve into another argument. You put a hand to your temples, looking out to Celegwen.

It's only taken her a few minutes, but she's already neatly gathered all of the spread around the old campsite. It looks as if they were never there. The elf beams at you, waving slightly before walking over.

In a low voice (under the shouting match between Ofelia and Yech), she leans over to you. "Hello, Father."

"...hello, Celegwen."

"Are you certain you wish to harbor this demon lord? I understand that you trust him, but I do have to worry—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then please stop questioning my decisions. His help has been invaluable. We need to get moving, and he's made our departure from his lair far easier than I could have hoped for. I've gathered some intelligence regarding the demons we've faced previously, as well."

Celegwen's ears perk up. "That is excellent news."

Yech and Ofelia stop arguing with each other long enough to bark at you and Celegwen.

"This whore is fucking insufferable—"

"Richard, you gotta do something about this guy."

"Can we get a gag or something, so I don't have to tolerate her bitching for the rest of the afternoon—"

"I'll fuckin' kill you, you drunk! Don't you dare touch me—!"

Celegwen offers you a weary and pained smile, going to gather the rest of her things without another word. She's leaving you to deal with your friends alone, of course.

Without a single acknowledgement towards Yech's or Ofelia's complaints, you walk after Celegwen. Your feuding friends immediately protest, making no effort to move themselves.

"Richard, what the fuck? Do you seriously expect me to listen to this asshole fer the rest of the day—?"

"I'm going to need a lot more than a few kegs to get through this bitch's accent. Where did you even drag up this low-life rat—?"

"Shut the fuck up, you moldy old fuck, do you think yer better than me or somethin'?!"

"I know I am! Why do you look so fucking shocked—"

You look over your shoulder. It's difficult to not smirk at how similar their attitudes are. "Try to enjoy the walk back. You only have to tolerate each other for the rest of the day— and you two are getting along just fine. Can't you see that?"

Their outrage is immediate. Ofelia explodes into a series of huffs, while Yech makes a show of getting out a flask the size of a small animal. It is also in the shape of a small animal. He drinks it right in front of the halfling's face.

You turn your back to them, with your heart unusually light. There's no need for Ray to be called after you. He's delighted to keep up as you approach the elf.

She's got all of the girl's things set aside, but little shouldered herself. It occurs to you for the first time that Ofelia might actually prefer to carry everything. Surely enough, the sorceress grabs only her staff, and immediately starts to using it as a walking stick.

There's a holler from Yech and Ofelia to wait up as you go off together.

Neither of you particularly care to listen.