Serrell the overly-sarcastic fire-blooded fae warlock wasn’t at the tavern. You’d think someone like that couldn’t possibly disappear into a town the size of Densmeer, which could hardly be any larger than two thousand people, but Corbin would be wrong. Super wrong. She’d vanished and he was going through paroxysms of anxiety and fear.

Quest Completed! – Rescue the Transmutation Specialist

She wasn’t who you imagined, but she’s safe and sound. Who knows about the status of your transmutation ritual, though? That’s certainly another Quest.

Reward: 2000 xp, and a massive party in your honor back in Densmeer.

“I don’t even want the party,” he groused.

They retired back to the tavern, where Kyessy immediately tucked into gods-knew-what stew, a brown concoction of unidentifiable muck. He wanted to imagine he would gag, but it smelled heavenly. She followed this up with several quaffs of some beer or another.

“Now,” she said.

“Now…?”

“We sleep.”

Serrell was a cold case, and getting colder. This town had over a thousand people in it, and not a single security camera anywhere in sight. She might be in her own garbage wizard mini-fortress by now, with egg launcher and mopper-upper golem and whatever other magical defenses they had he didn’t even know existed. She could be on her way to Denspire. She could–

“There she is,” Kyessy said lazily.

He turned and peered out the window. Grotok, the huge orcish sheriff, was speaking with his flame-haired fae warlock right outside. They seemed to have a friendly bit of conversation happening (given the way Grotok threw his head back and roared laugher at the sky, then clapped his hand over his mouth and shook his head, still obviously laughing), but it was too far off to hear anything, and the whole tavern’s worth of conversational murmuring got in the way. He zeroed in on her, and did an Inspect, but the game UI popped up with the following message:

Serrell, fae warlock

More information is not known at this time. It’s possible this subject has defenses of a magical nature or an item that interferes with Inspection. Why not increase your Inspect or Perception for more information?

“What the f–” he started, and stopped. The tavern doors were clever creations that would allow for smaller folk to get inside only by opening the lower half. The upper half could be opened and used as a sort of pick up window, as it was now. Corbin would’ve recognized Magistrate Findell’s creamsicle colored hair anywhere. He opened the doors and strode in with a wide, toothy smile.

“There are our saviors!” he called.

Kyessy’s mind twitched with annoyance, and he realized what it was: she was heavily introverted. She was a lone wolf by design, by need. She just wanted to be left alone to finish her awful stew and mediocre drink in peace, thanks much. She probably wanted to have nothing to do with Corbin after this ritual either. And that was fine, provided they got the damn thing done with, like, today.

“We’re going to be having a festival in your honor!” he shouted. “Drinks this evening compliments of the town coffers!”

Everybody loved that, and their auras briefly overpowered Corbin’s shield. They all flared brightly with excitement, which looked like sparklers around various places of their bodies, or little lightning bolts. A wave of nausea followed this, because he wasn’t ready for so much. He threw his control back up and banished all the auras before they caused him to puke into Kyessy’s stew. Not that it would’ve changed the look or flavor of it, but because it would’ve been rude.

“The next three days will see nothing but the best Densmeer has to offer.”

“No,” Kyessy mumbled. “No, please no.”

“And you two will be at the center of it all. You, the brave and steadfast tiefling ranger!” He turned to Corbin. “And you, the… bird.”

“Raven!” he said, and realized it wouldn’t matter. Findell couldn’t understand him and Kyessy was her typical unhelpful self.

“Who managed to assist the ranger in the execution of her duties despite having only a single set of wings.”

“I mostly saved her life!” he crowed.

“He can’t understand you,” Kyessy said. A moment later, she added darkly, “And I can. Best remember that.”

Findell wasn’t listening. “As Serrell is one of the finest casters we have available in Denspire, and she’s critical for the safety of this town, the people will rest easy knowing she is here.”

“And where is Serrell?” Kyessy asked, knowing exactly what Corbin wanted.

“She’s busy attending to her duties, setting up a series of magical wards about the town, should Fellwroth decide to attempt to subjugate us again.” He nodded toward the furious tavern barkeep, a squarish human woman with a whole lot of curly black hair and a tavern full of thirsty freeloaders.

“She’s still over there talking with deputy Grotok,” Kyessy said.

The good nature and cheer disappeared off Findell’s face momentarily, but was replaced after a moment by that cheerful, if embarrassed, grin. “Let me go get her back on task, if you’ll be so good as to give me a moment. I’ll be back in to discuss the festivities in more detail.” He held up a sheaf of parchment with a list written in tiny, illegible script.

He marched outside, waved Grotok away from Serrell, and pushed the warlock bodily away from the tavern, even glancing in Corbin and Kyessy’s direction for a moment before they were out of view. He reappeared a few minutes later, huffing and puffing.

“Those two are thick as thieves,” he muttered, and like before his grin reappeared as if by magic. “In any event, let’s have an event! Tomorrow, all day, we’ll host a series of games in your honor. I’ve a list here: farthest arrow shot by a short bow, an accuracy challenge, best of three arrows, we’ll have a bit of a hunt.” Here he held up his hand in front of his mouth as though it were a conspiracy of sorts. “A few of the hunters have trapped a swamp fetterer, and we have a few meadow hice that should make for some fun. Afterwards as the sun sets, some troubadours will be performing from their list of plays. I hope you don’t mind, but they haven’t yet collected your tale, so it will have to be one of the classics.”

Corbin could definitely get into the way Kyessy was sinking down deeper and deeper within herself, trying to make Findell stop talking by the sheer volume of her silence. He was there for every excruciatingly embarrassing second. Findell went on about the second day, and how they were going to have a couple of executions for the morning, including the nellwynian who’d attempted to murder her, and a young lady who had stolen from her master wizard’s estate.

Corbin got a bit bored by the end of Findell’s long-winded blathering… and even Kyessy’s discomfort had gotten stale, like chewing gum that had lost most of its flavor.

Grotok and Serrell were thick as thieves, eh? And Grotok was possibly covering for the nellwynian responsible for stabbing her in the back. Add to that Findell possibly sending them on a suicide mission against the Shardmage. Something was going on in this place and it was incumbent on them to figure out just what, before it got Kyessy killed. The orange-haired dandy didn’t seem capable of hurting a fly, but Corbin was pretty sure there were television shows all about that subverted trope. The two-faced diplomat could be just as dangerous as the obvious tough and corrupt sheriff.

Nerf it all.

Corbin squawked, and this succeeded in shutting Findell up for the moment Kyessy needed to excuse herself.

“I’m afraid I need to get some sleep,” she said.

“Understood, understood,” Findell said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

Breakfast was just ramping up, with some of the richer patrons receiving their eggs, toasted hunks of bread, and jams. Fitherberry? Sinterberry? He didn’t know and wouldn’t care until he became a human again, and enjoyed berries instead of rotting flesh and eyeballs. He was exhausted as well, and could do with some sleep.

“Are you going to do the same thing as last time?” he asked.

“Lock you in and be forced to come get you once I’m done sleeping?”

“Yes, that.”

“Absolutely. This place is a rilfex’s nest.”

Which made both perfect sense and no sense at the same time. Nice.

***

Corbin and Kyessy needed to get a word with that nellwynian before he ended up at the end of a rope, or in a cage being repeatedly killed. Corbin woke up knowing this was on their itinerary today. Whatever else they did: drink wine, make merry, have toasts about their deeds, they had to slip off and see about a nellwynian.

The day started… or continued, rather, with Kyesiara reappearing outside the window with Corbin letting her drift in with the help of the totally inappropriate Wight Hood. It only took, terrifyingly enough, him tapping a single key against the warded window, for her to pass through.

“That’s not at all disconcerting,” he said.

“You are a fool then, because it is absolutely disconcerting.”

“There’s a magical language of sarcasm and dry humor I feel like you’re always near to getting, and then…”

She was staring at him, with just the barest hint of a smile.

“And you’re doing it right now. Good, good. Things can be funny. Allow things to be funny at times.”

“Nothing is funny, Corbin. My whole world has been reduced to numbers and cards, the dark presence in the north is most assuredly behind this portal, and the complete annihilation of Fellden. The destruction of the Denspire Fellwroth alliance, the subsequent factionalism and war only furthers His plans, and now he has not just one world to conquer, but two.”

“Okay, I get all that–”

“And even in this small town, nothing is funny. An attempt was made on my life. We are stuck in the middle of some conspiracy and I feel we are only fueling it somehow, with no way to know what it is, and no one to trust for accurate information. This is just like Denspire all over again.”

“Okay, look–”

“And perhaps worst of all is a celebration in honor of us doing this thing we now wish we could undo. That warlock was the death of dozens of people, Corbin. You know as well as I how powerful that makes this warlock. Which says nothing of the utter waste of life. Cooks, Corbin. She killed the camp cooks and the washerwomen, the squires.”

“Trust me, I know. I’m with you, a hundred percent, okay? I wish Prissy and your buddies hadn’t run off. We have to stick together and trust each other. I’m with you a thousand percent.”

“I propose we pay a visit to the nellwyian.”

He couldn’t smile except through their psychic connection.

They’d awoken in the middle of the afternoon, when the festival was getting decorated. The smell of baked goods wafted through the air, along with something very similar to cinnamon. Corbin wanted to know what it was, but had a fire to start.

Ten minutes later he joined Kyessy in the town hall’s stairwell. She’d phased right through the back wall behind where the receptionist would see, and waited for him to swoop in. The all clear was announced by the ringing of one of the temple bells.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

“I may have started a fire near one of the wizard’s homes,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “You do know that wizards are spiteful monsters, yes?”

“I know that wizards are some of this world’s worst people. They could do with a little discomfort.”

The frown was replaced by a dark smile. It was maybe the first actual smile he’d seen out of her, and he’d take it. She said, “Good work.” Together, they watched Grotok’s people sprint out the door from behind a stack of tables, then she headed downstairs. He stayed up on the roof of the building, within range to hear the whole conversation, and watch it in between surveying his flaming distraction.

Kyessy approached the jail cell, found nothing, and nearly panicked before discovering the failed assassin at the other end of the hall. This room appeared more like the sheriff’s office than a cell, given the thick rugs, the desk, and the brazier lit with a warm fire. The only indication that he was here against his will was the barred door with the heavy lock on it.

“Is this the sort of life an attempted murderer gets to lead?” she asked.

The nellwynian nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, and for the first time, Kyessy was able to lay eyes on him. He was just about three and a half feet high, so almost exactly half her height, in a room designed for human or orc-sized people. He reached about to her belly button. He also had a step stool that came to about belly button height so he could address her face to face. Almost.

He was handsome enough, she supposed, with straw-colored hair and startling green eyes. He had a hefty build, for a nellwynian, the type of thing you’d get after going to the gym for a few years straight.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said.

“I don’t know whether I should take that as an admonishment,” she said, and bent down closer to the bars, “or a threat.”

She produced her bow from her inventory and grabbed an arrow.

He backed off the step ladder and had to crane his neck to look at her. “What are you–”

“You’re not supposed to be here either,” she seethed. “Now tell me what I want to know or I spend the next ten minutes seeing how many times I can kill you.”

Corbin kept an eye on the fire he’d started. So far Grotok and the other constabulary were dealing with it pretty well, having started a bucket line. One wizard was at the wall of his property, screaming up and down about the issue. Corbin was waiting for him to actually do the work himself, of summoning a tendril made of water to put the fire out, but of course that would reveal that the wizard could do something like that, and wizards probably hated sharing knowledge, or being asked to do things that were outside their job descriptions, or merely doing work at all. Mostly he was watching to see how accurate Kyessy’s knowledge was, or if she was just a jaded curmudgeon in every respect.

But he kept an ear open.

“Who hired you?”

“I can’t,” he said.

“You’re slated for execution,” Kyessy informed him. “Public execution. In my honor no less. Of course, I can free you.”

“They’ll kill me. I can’t.”

“If only we had one of those truth-telling spells,” Corbin muttered.

“I’ll just have to save the mysterious they the trouble and kill you myself,” she said, and drew back her arrow. With a few MP, the single arrow sprouted into a dozen, all impossibly bunched up around a single end and bit of fletching. “First I’ll wrap you in vines like before, then set those vines on fire. You ever been burned to death?”

“Okay, wait!”

“Answers now or arrows,” she said. “Who hired you?”

“It was, a wizard. A wizard. She didn’t tell me her name.”

“How do you know she was a wizard?” Kyessy demanded.

“A witch then! You know, pointy hat, robes, imperious prick?”

“That does sound a lot like a wizard,” Corbin said. Across the market square, the wizard was gesturing violently with his arms from the burning house to his property. Full on red in the face enraged explosion. Finally, he stormed over away from where Corbin could see him, but soon reappeared with a massive, swirling ball of water hovering over his glowing hands. He lobbed the water ball up at the burning building, and most of the fire went out all at once.

“We’re about to have company,” he told Kyessy.

“What did she look like?”

The nellwynian twitched. “You’ll get the sentence lifted, right?”

“I promise,” she said. “Now tell me.”

“You don’t have a binding vow spell on you.”

“Tell me now!” Kyessy roared.

“Uh, fine, fine! Uh, human, she was human, really big compared with me, all right? Huge woman, hair kind of brown and kind of red… pale. Freckles.”

That sounded familiar. Corbin had people watched for hours the other day though, and he’d be damned if he could pinpoint the woman in particular.

“Come on out,” Corbin told her. The bucket brigade was just about done. Grotok was now involved in a shouting match with a disgruntled wizard, where the sheriff appeared bored and implacable, and the wizard about three shouts away from giving himself a stroke.

Kyessy turned on her heel and left.

“You’re going to talk with Grotok and the magistrate, right?” the failed assassin called down the hall. “You promised!”

“Hurry,” Corbin hissed.

She double-timed it up the stairs and out into the back area of the town hall, then used her last Wight Hood phase through walls of the day. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it at the festivities. He hoped (against all reason) that this festival in Kyessy’s honor wasn’t going to end in a bloodbath.