Before they arrived in town and met the magistrate and Serrell, Corbin reached for the Versatility ability to increase his Charm. He was still on edge about their motives, given the warlock didn’t need all these ritual components to transform him to begin with.

It was gone. Kyessy still hadn’t equipped his card. This meant he had three Terrifying Auras, a lot of Mimicry, and True Sight at his disposal… and that was it.

Disappointment and regret washed over him; he’d really screwed up on this one. For all the smart moves he thought he’d been making on the battlefield he sure wasn’t good at making or keeping friends.

“You could equip my card again,” he said.

“I don’t know why I would do that,” she responded evenly, “given that I’m just going to hand your card over to these three complete strangers.”

“Hey,” he said, jumping to the warlock’s defense for no actual reason he could understand. “You were a complete stranger when I asked for your help.”

The whole thing felt lame anyway. Serrell, Findell and Grotok were obviously using his desire to become a human again to advance whatever shady agenda they had, and he’d backed himself into a corner now. Dismissive, apathetic Kyessy was worse than the rage monster Kyessy. He couldn’t see a way to salvage the situation.

“You didn’t have a choice in the matter,” she said.

“Now I still don’t. Unless you’re serious about heading down south with me to the Parley, whatever that is, and reuniting with your people in the mountains. We can do that.”

She shook her head.

“These people are sketchy as nerf, like you said. We don’t have to–”

“Shut it. I’m giving them your card, and then you deal with the consequences.”

He fluttered up in front of her face. “Listen, you brought us here. Across the swamp, where I dealt with the fungus centipede, okay? Then I made sure your soul wasn’t locked in a crystal. And after that, I got you out of acid webbing. That wasn’t somebody else, that was me. You provided the danger, I saved us from it.”

He hadn’t meant to be so harsh either.

She bared her teeth at him. “Well, great news, you won’t have to babysit me any longer. I won’t need you to save my life now that we’re not constantly in danger I put us in. Get out of my way.”

He was scared though. He’d only been alone for about an hour after waking up. After that, Prissy. Now, Kyessy. He was afraid for his life, putting it in the hands of some magic-user he hardly knew. And what he did know of her was even more terrifying: mass murder, anchoring an entire town against attack, and her awful dripping aura.

“Kyessy–”

“My name is Kyesiara. We are here.” That was the clearest signal of the end of a discussion he’d heard thus far, and he shut his yap.

This was clearly the consequence of the both of them having low Charm scores. Yeah, that was it.

The walls of Denspire didn’t appear to have taken any damage from the onslaught of an army… at least not from the southeast, anyhow. The Fellwroth army had been attacking from the opposite direction. He flew up to get a better impression of the destruction, and found only one place where the wall had taken any damage: one of the guard towers now lacked a roof. Several homes inside the city walls had sustained minimal damage. The Fellwroth army was gone. All in all, it appeared to be a crushing victory for the people of Densmeer.

The guards alerted Grotok and Findell to their presence, and both of them strode out to meet Corbin and his familiar. Findell looked, if possible, double the fop he’d been when they first met him. That hair of his was swept up and over in a complicated wave, and Corbin was certain he had put glitter in it. His shoulder pads had poofy lace decor, and he had a cravat. Corbin wasn’t entirely sure, because he’d only ever read the word in fantasy novels and had never seen one in real life, but that frilly layered thing at his throat was probably a cravat.

Grotok looked no different than before, except that Corbin hadn’t seen his aura… nor had he caught sight of Findell’s. Both of them had those tentacle-like threads of gold reaching out through their auras and clamping down on the color; in Findell’s case an explosive, vibrant orange with highlights of garish pink. Findells reached out and grabbed onto Grotok’s muddy brown-red aura several times, only to be slapped brutally back. Neither of them made any outward sign they could see their auras, or the baffling interplay between them.

Corbin suddenly did not want to have Serrell transform him back to his former self.

“Kyessy–” he said.

“Don’t.”

“Welcome, welcome!” Findell said, and went in for a hug, but Kyessy’s demeanor stopped him short. He noted the orangey pink aura reach out towards her as well, only to be slapped back by her swirling, explosive green.

He turned it off again, not sure what to make of what he was seeing, aside from a general gut feeling of ‘that’s not good’. This was like he’d suddenly gained the ability to see people’s weird, surreal dreams as they dreamed them: the ability hadn’t made him an expert. Just because, for instance, you saw someone murder someone in a dream, or brutally beat someone, it didn’t mean they were a criminal outside their dreams.

Yeah, that was the sort of thing he needed to tell himself in this situation, truth or not.

“Have you collected the necessary components?” he asked.

“We wouldn’t have returned otherwise.”

Corbin looked between them for any sign of either guilt or offense out of Findell. He couldn’t afford to make these people angry until after they’d held up their end of the bargain.

“Look, we’ve gone and cleaned up your mess, saved your warlock, and collected your ritual stuff,” he said, knowing Findell wouldn’t be able to understand him. He just couldn’t stop himself. “It’s time you held up your end.”

Findell’s smile never faltered. He did, however, loop his thumbs into his suspenders again and rock forward on the balls of his feet like when they’d first met. “You must be feeling our relationship is pretty one-sided, and even though I can’t rightly say I understand your words, I fully understand their intent. You ready to be done with this and put Densmeer behind you?”

“I have enjoyed the hospitality,” Kyessy said, “but my species and my class are suited to life outside the towns and cities. As you said, it is time to put Densmeer behind me.”

Grotok just grunted.

“Well, then, your troubles are nearing their end. If you would be so kind, please follow me!”

***

Findell couldn’t seem to help himself on the walk over to the temple. It was Corbin’s first visit to a temple since he’d… what, reincarnated as a somewhat-PC? The temple itself was unlike most other structures he’d ever seen. First of all, it had a curving and sharp aesthetic simultaneously. Great, graceful curves led high into the air toward sharp, dangerous points at the apex of the building’s many corners. Each of the faces had a motif of engraving unique to some deity he didn’t know, and yet together they fit. Gestalt, he thought, calling up a term from… had he been an art major in university?

Ye gods, what had possessed him to choose art?

A number of curving staircases all led to a raised platform, where you could run a circuit around the temple, and leave offerings to the various deity walls. He noted a bowl at the base of the visible walls, containing some charred meat, some dried flowers, bits of fruit, and the unidentifiable remains of a dead furry creature. Candles also burned in various colors, flanking the offering bowls.

“Our very own Serrell is an accomplished transmuter, but she has many excellent talents and skills, wouldn’t you know it. The defensive perimeter surrounding the town is abjuration mixed with some… did she say evocation?”

Grotok grunted again.

The temple was, he was a hundred percent certain, larger on the inside than the building’s exterior led him to believe. And this wasn’t just because he was a raven, and everything seemed enormous, from Kyessy and Grotok on up. Immediately off to either side, where there ought to have been walls, inner sanctums of various gods stretched back.

“I have so many questions,” he said, but received no reply.

Guttering torches on his left illuminated a long hallway extending back at least fifty feet, where the stone flooring was replaced by dirt, wood chips, leaves and needles. The walls disappeared into thick forest. In the far distance, several robed figures stood with arms outstretched, circling… a ball of golden light. Swirls of radiance wound around it down below, and occasionally danced upwards in patterns that weren’t quite random.

Something in the trees shifted and growled a warning directly into his mind: It is considered rude to stare where you come from. You would be wise to discontinue.

Corbin flapped off and went to look at the other one, off to the right instead, and found a small alcove, possibly ten feet across and shaped octagonally, with a small monk seated at each wall. They all faced those walls too, without light, in the gloom.

Unmoving. Possibly dead?

Inscribed on the floor was a dull reddish sigil he couldn’t quite see. The more closely he looked at it, the more his eyes watered. Just as he looked away, he swore the symbol of an eye appeared in the center of the thing. When he darted another glance at it, it was gone.

He shuddered and decided maybe it was better he didn’t go looking into the affairs of gods and their followers.

Serrell stood in the center of the main hall, a room far larger than the exterior of the building suggested, with pure sunlight streaming down from above. This made Corbin’s mind hurt, since he was certain there hadn’t been large windows ringing the top of the exterior.

Really he should’ve been able to accept that gods existed, and they had the power to remake the world, or at least influence the making of a place dedicated to them. His formerly atheist brain was having a bit of trouble with this concept, however. It felt like his whole mind was being wrung out like an old dishrag, and new folds were being written onto the outside of his gray matter. Which raised entirely new questions about his physiology he didn’t want to answer.

If only he could be cavalier and stare down a god or two.

Serrell had a ritual circle set up near the center of this huge area, where a number of differently colored tiles came together in a golden sunburst. The circle had been done up on a large piece of stiff, off-white fabric, written on in a greasy black crayon maybe… up closer he could make out sparkles of different colors. The design included various shapes and runes, but a smaller central circle, a larger exterior circle, and a tiny circle intersecting the interior one. Hopefully where his card went.

“I’m relieved to see you,” the warlock said. “The Fens are perilous and I wondered if you would return.”

Corbin opened up his beak and decided against antagonizing the person responsible for changing his body shape.

“We have seen to the needs of the ritual, as you have requested,” Kyessy said.

“Here is a bit of a primer about transmutation,” Serrell explained. “One, a nexus of powerful magic is recommended for transformations… and temples are inevitably built on those ley lines, or the power of the gods is enough to bend them to suit, or create new ones all together.”

“That sounds dangerous,” he muttered.

“Incredibly… but gods being what they are, they take no heed to what might inconvenience us puny mortal folk.” She turned to Kyessy. “There’s one last troublesome bit… we need the authorization of the head priest.”

Kyessy let that statement hang in the air, and regarded Serrell impassively. In the silence of this gigantic room, Corbin could actually hear Serrell’s flame hair crackle.

“That authorization is most easily gotten from the head priest’s death, where the interregnum will allow us to perform rituals until a new head priest is named.”

“And you cannot do this yourself, because…”

“Reasons,” Corbin muttered. Not good reasons, he assumed. This whole thing was looking shadier and shadier by the minute.

“The head priest has retired to a nearby monastery.” Again, Kyessy remained silent, until this time Serrell’s face twisted in annoyance. “If you must know, while you were gone, Grotok discovered evidence that the head priest was a follower of He Who Slumbers. He is surely meeting with his co-conspirators and plotting vile deeds this very moment.”

Nothing out of Kyessy.

Findell rushed up beside the miffed warlock. “The city is under constant threat, or we would venture forth and crush him. Instead we must rely on you, good adventurer.”

“If the restriction is lifted, we can begin the ritual with your familiar the moment authorization is granted. The bird may stay.”

“What of instant resurrection, once the priest is killed?” Kyessy asked.

Serrell produced a wooden box, looking much like a cigar box he’d once had as a kid, which had not held cigars but pencils, and the faint but heady scent of tobacco.

“You may trap a soul in this box by clamping it shut on the soul as it escapes the body. You’ll need to be quick, and you’ll need to wrap the box in chains after closing it, so the soul is unable to escape.”

“Would you like to have Corbin accompany you?” Findell asked.

“No,” she said automatically, no trace of hesitation. Jeez.

Kyessy flinched as the quest menu appeared before her, as she always did. Then she nodded to him, and in the same flat voice, said, “I have held to my end of the bargain thus far, as have you. This is where we part, so my agreement can finally be complete. It has been a pleasure adventuring with you, Corbin Dogherty. Pleasurable ay eff.”

“Don’t take a relk’s tail in the face once you change back,” he heard in his mind.

“Uh… likewise.”

With that, she set his card carefully down in front of him and strode out of the temple.

***

Priscilla, super incredible cat lady and Shadow Walker extraordinaire, wasn’t sure she wanted to help the Rangers after they’d contacted her through some floady TV magic.

She liked Dane, honestly, and Guzman was adorable. The others she could take or leave, mostly for how inept they’d been. When she and her three new bosom buddies had followed the spiny jiddaras through the portal and found the group getting slaughtered, she almost wanted to allow them to die, just to teach them a lesson. She’d reconsidered, though, and was glad she’d done so.

By now the little guy Dane appeared to be in charge, because a quick inspect showed they were at level 9, and weren’t unclassed. Guzman now had awesome hand wraps, Daniels glowed with holy magic, Niederhauer had a nifty sword at his hip, and Rivera… hadn’t changed.

They’d done it, which meant Dane had broken their hard-headed selves, and built them back up from nothing. Like Corbin had done with her.

She and her three new buds followed the Rangers’ directions to this endless dungeon of theres, laughing and enjoying themselves the whole way through. They really enjoyed the way the levels challenged their tactics. The slug things and the clay golems were all a treat. The bosses were even more of a treat. She made level 11 by the time they reached Sir Gigglesworth, and faded into the background as soon as her three companions engaged the huge psycho clown. While the others damaged it and it regenerated all the damage, she watched. And watched. They were still enjoying themselves, though level 3 was significantly harder than the first two.

Then Rinna warned them he was running out of mana points and they’d need to hurry this along. Hale was covered in cuts and scrapes, some healing up just as fast as he got them, others being opened anew. And Drell, as always, jumped and twisted and flipped with his blades flashing every which way.

But they weren’t doing it…

Finally she realized the balloons on the ceiling were flashing with power any time Sir Gigglesworth (seriously, she loved that name) needed to regenerate.

Pop pop pop went the balloons, with Priscilla holding her breath, while the others kept the boss busy. Pretty soon it was the clown who was on the back foot. He couldn’t regenerate any longer.

A minute later, she stabbed poor clownyface in the back of the head, and he toppled to the ground, still somehow laughing.

Gross.

She slumped against the wall for a few moments after that, and her companions did the same.

“Good thing you had the brains to look for those… what were those bright orbs?” Rinna asked.

“Nerfin’ orbs,” Drell muttered.

“Balloons,” she said.

“Diabolical balloons,” Drell said, full of both contempt and joy.

The clown had was in the process of melting into a puddle the color of white greasepaint with dribbles of red mixing in there. It was still laughing… and this was what they’d have to get through in order to loot the thing.

“Would you look at that?” Hale said, and held up a fake nose. “This goes on my nose… as armor?”

It squeaked, and Drell collapsed onto his back laughing, kicking his feet.

A short time later they ventured down the stairs to set eyes on Dane and his merry band for only the second time. The little gnomish was staring at her in sullen silence, a fact she missed out on until after offering to squirt him with the fake lapel posie she’d looted.

One of their friends was gone. Really gone. Priscilla wasn’t one to dwell on these sorts of things, and didn’t now. It was a shame, but not her problem.

The nine of them settled down in the slashed and burned aftermath of the lair where their buddy had somehow gotten the permanent axe, and Dane started grilling her on The Five.

“You’ve seen The Five in the flesh, right, Priscilla?” he asked.

“Four,” Niederhauer said.

She was lounging in Rinna’s lap grooming herself, and she could plainly see how jealous he was. Honestly it was pretty awesome.

When she nodded, he went on. “How long before you think we can go after them?”

She considered this. The Five ran a whole city. The one guy, if you believed him, had engineered running water and flush toilets for the castle and several of the rich districts of the city. And she’d seen the tiefling rogue in action, if only for a few heart-stopping moments before Priscilla fled through the portal. What would it take to beat The Five? A lot of luck, heaped on top of a lot of skill.

“Few months. Maybe level twenty-five or thirty, if’n we all got a banger of a plan an’ git lucky.” Although, with this forever dungeon, they might make level twenty-five or thirty in a handful of excruciating weeks.

Rivera’s eyes burned with indignant fire. “Months?”

“Months?” Niederhauer echoed. “Did you say months?”

“What happened to the fifth one?” Rinna asked, steamrolling the dragon man. “They’re supposed to be The Five, but you keep saying four.”

“We had a man on the inside who took her out,” Daniels explained.

“What happened after that? Why didn’t he get the other four?”

Daniels shrugged. “Command lost contact with him after that.”

Priscilla sat up, tail twitching.

“Do you know how he did it?” Rinna asked.

“He teleported her bed to the very edge of the anomaly… HQ reported she was pulled out of the anomaly on a luxurious four poster,” Dane replied.

“Right to the edge of the anomaly,” Daniels finished for him. “Killed her too. So when she respawned she was being dragged outside the anomaly by our people. She’s a Canadian citizen so it’s… been a bit of an incident.”

“Wish he could’ve finished the job,” Guzman added. “We wouldn’t be in here looking at months of this.”

“What’s this guy’s name?” Priscilla asked. Dane felt a flash of jealousy for no actual discernible reason.

“Corbin… Donnelly was it?”

“Dogherty,” Priscilla finished. “Corbin Dogherty.”

“Wait, you know this guy? What happened to him?”

Priscilla told them. The story took a surprisingly short amount of time, given how close she felt to the poor bird. By the end of her story, jaws were on the floor. Two minutes later they had the crystal ball on the floor between them, and were staring in confusion at a peacock mantis shrimp.