Mist's little room had a single window, and beside that a rough wooden chair. This was where she spent most of her time, sitting and sewing and gazing out. The view wasn't much, battle quarter's streets and buildings a uniform grey, everything big and bulky and functional. The constant rain didn't help. It hadn't let up for three days now, every day since that rare happy evening in the Blue Haven restaurant, every day since Nala had revealed her plan. Mist had heard nothing from the others apart from a message sent by Nala: 'Stay Inside'. She took this to mean that even her work at the infirmary was forbidden, that to venture out at all would be too risky. She'd sent a message back to Nala but received no reply, and after that she was too shy to send any more.

You'd think such horrible weather would make it safer outside, Mist thought, as she watched a pair of fighters hurry down the street. Nobody would want to go out in this.

Suppressing a sigh, Mist turned her attention back to her sewing. Hesitant exploration of her apartment building had revealed that the basement, aside from being cluttered with barrels and crates and piles of old sacks, was actually the entrance to some kind of dungeon. Mist hadn't been brave enough even to open the trapdoor leading to the dungeon itself, but tentatively smashing some barrels had yielded a few RoughRags. She wasn't particularly good at dressmaking and didn't have a lot to work with, but she was determined to do her best. Besides, she thought, as she drew needle through cloth, it's not as if I have anything else to do.

Once more Mist's gaze was drawn to the window, to the rain dripping down the glass in long lonely rivulets.

"Nala, what's going on?" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

Fauxgreen was sheltered from the worst of the weather by the thick canopy above, although this didn't stop heavy drops of cold water from falling on Praetorian. He was stomping along one of the quarter's many winding pathways, to his right a barely-visible building formed of shaped trees, to his left only mistshadows. Glowing white wisps swirled all around, dancing with the glow-lights summoned by the rain; they rose from damp grass and launched into the air, their every movement joyful and free. Perhaps they were some kind of insect akin to the firefly, perhaps they were a magical phenomenon, perhaps they were a living embodiment of the elven passion for nature in all its forms. Whatever their origin they were purely beautiful, and it would have taken a cynical heart indeed not to be delighted by them.

"Oh bugger off," Praetorian muttered, swatting a glow-light away. It bounced off a tree and fell to the ground; Praetorian only barely resisted the urge to go over and stomp on it. It had been two days since he'd been here last, and the memory of his last visit to the elven quarter of Bright Battle was not exactly cheerful.

Still. He had a responsibility to fulfil. Zombies, in his experience, did not simply rescue themselves.

"Ah!" he said, jabbing a finger forward. "There! Sly? Yes, it is you. Well? Anything?"

Sly was standing in a tree hollow being miserable.

"Got maybe a lead," he said. "Some guy heard a bunch of leafs had a human girl working for them, could be her I guess. Dunno which group it is, though."

"I suppose that's better than nothing. Are there many leaf groups around here?"

"Dude, there's like a hundred."

"Of course." Praetorian blew out a sigh. "Fine, let's start with the nearest. At least it's an opportunity to meet new people."

"New elf girls, you mean," Sly muttered, as he began leading Praetorian along a new path.

"My interest is not only in girls, there is a definite appeal in a certain kind of masculinity. Still, given the choice—"

"Kind of not comfortable having this conversation with you, dude."

"Ahaha, well then."

"Anyway, thought getting done like you did would've warned you, most of them are like that."

"Yes, that's odd, isn't it? Such extremes in personality—and such imbalance! For every winsome, sweet, delicate elf maiden there seem to be a dozen tiny psychotic painpeddlers. It's just as well I enjoy a challenge."

Sly led Praetorian into a building, then the two of them spent a productive few seconds shaking the wet from their cloaks. The interior was softly lit by discrete crystals, organic wooden corridors warm and inviting, the sound of rain drumming down outside bringing a comfortable closeness to the atmosphere.

"Ah," Praetorian murmured, taking in the elfishness of his surroundings. "What a delicate blend of the artificial and the natural, such a perfectly maintained balance. You are lucky indeed to come from such a culture, my friend, fortunate to have spent your formative years in such an environ."

"Are you kidding? Lamara doesn't have any of this tree-shaping weirdness, we build our houses out of planks like normal people. This stuff, it's just like, I dunno, showing off or something."

"Hm. Well. Nothing wrong with a little showiness from time to time. It's rather quiet, is there anyone even in here?"

"This is like for club rooms and workshops and stuff, I figure it's a good place to start looking."

"I bow to your experience and expertise."

"Dude, I'm just guessing."

Praetorian bowed anyway, and Sly waved it off with a gap-toothed grin.

"So like, what kind of name is Praetorian anyway?" Sly asked, as they started up the winding central corridor of the building, listening out for any activity within the rooms they passed. "Is that pretty common in Auldvyne or wherever?"

"Is Sly a common name in The Forest?"

"Heh, it's a nickname. Short for Slythaneile."

"How beautiful, it seems a shame to shorten it—ah, your sister also, Gloria, is that short for anything?"

"Glorianthianarysia."

"Such beauty in those twisting, turning syllables, I might liken it to the chaotic yet lovely nature of this very corridor—"

"Dude, I am totally messing with you. Gloria's just Gloria."

Praetorian stopped and blinked at Sly, then hurried after him.

"Aha, hah, but of course. Elegant in its simplicity. Ah, your name, though—"

"Yeah, that one's real. Man, there's a lot of rooms in this thing, huh? Just goes on and on." Sly glanced back at Praetorian. "So how about your name?"

"Part of my heritage I'm afraid. I am but the latest in a long line of Praetorians, our origins extending back into the dark mists of the unknown ages ... I shan't complain, though, not when my closest childhood friends were named Blodwich, Zephyrist and Runetalon."

"Heh, 'could be worse', yeah?"

"Indeed. Are those voices I hear from ahead? Perhaps down that side-passage—"

"Yeah ... hey, hang back here, okay? Some of these leafs, they get pretty weird about outsiders, there's this whole big thing about, like, humans mucking up nature magic, I don't get it but just ... maybe better for me to go ask by myself."

"Hm. Well. If you think that's best."

Praetorian watched Sly slope off down the passage, then let out a disgruntled breath as he leant against a smoothly curving wall, arms crossed, his gaze upon an uneven bit of floor—he could see where roots from beneath had pushed up the flattened wood. It even looked to be cracked, a thin dark line marring the otherwise smooth surface.

"Heeeey ... what's someone like you doing here?"

Praetorian smiled at the crack, then turned his smile on the girl who'd just spoken. She was tall for an elf, which meant the top of her head was just about level with Praetorian's pointy goatee, her spiky purple hair kept in check by a prismatic ribbon, her face soft, her skin dark, her delicately slanted amber eyes big and bright. She wore tight green shorts and a brown leather vest, sleeveless to show off her tattooed arms, the flowing lines reminiscent of leaves on the wind.

Praetorian's smile widened.

"Someone like me?" he said. "I wonder what you could mean by that."

"Y'know. Human. You guys don't usually come 'round here." The girl crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "Not scared of getting hunted?"

"Petrified. I do have a guide, although he has temporarily abandoned me—left me to the tender mercies of the natives, so to speak."

"Huh. Okay, whatever."

"Perhaps you could help me," Praetorian said, as the girl walked past. She stopped and looked at him, expressionless. "You see, I have a reason for coming here, I was separated from an associate of mine in this area. I'm currently looking to find her."

"Her?"

"Ahem, well, it's not like that, she's somewhat less alive than I'd normally prefer. Human zombie girl, tallish, long black hair in desperate need of a brush, blue skin, gloomy-looking, rather ragged and unappealing generally, and I imagine she'd be slightly untalkative ... no?"

"No."

"Oh well. Thank you anyway."

"For what?"

"Aha ... ha. For your time?"

"Mm-hm."

Praetorian suppressed a grimace as the girl walked away, Sly's voice not improving his mood much:

"Hey Praets, got a bite! We gotta move, though, sounds like our girl—oh. Hey, Lorna."

The girl looked back, her expression indifferent. "Hey, Sly. Missed that bow of yours yesterday, ran into a xylomid we could've used some help with."

"Oh man, really? Damn, daaaamn, those things are worth like three hundred merits, did you get it?"

"Nah, Jak got caught by its breath, ended up Confused and Berzerked, just started wailing on the rest of us. Total bust. Hilarious, though."

"Damn. Damn, I wish I could've been there!"

"You got your party stuff, right? How's that working out?"

Sly glanced at Praetorian, who raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah. Dunno. Okay I guess."

Lorna shifted her gaze from Sly to Praetorian, then back to Sly again.

"Uh-huh," she said. "We're heading out again tomorrow, Jak's got something lined up. We've got a slot free if you wanna come with."

"Yeah, thanks, maybe."

Lorna half-smirked at Sly, then turned to walk away.

"Come on, Praets," Sly said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go get our girl."

"Responsibility calls," Praetorian muttered, his eyes still upon Lorna's back. "Do you know, there are times when I sincerely regret being a necromancer."

"Necromancer?"

Praetorian stared at Lorna as she looked back.

"You're a necromancer?" she asked, turning properly now. "That'd explain the outfit..." She ran her eyes over Praetorian. "Cool."

"Yeah, well, whatever," Sly said. "We actually do gotta go now, gotta catch Fern before—"

"Now now, let us not be hasty," Praetorian said. "The zombie can wait, they're good at that, here and now—"

"Dude, seriously, there's like a time crunch on this thing—"

"Ah, I see, so it's fine for you to stand around chatting but the moment any interest is shown in myself and my profession—"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go anyway," Lorna said. "Meeting up with the girls, camping some gather points in the ruins, maybe snag a few losers. Love this weather, low-tiers think it's safe but~they're~wrong~" Lorna sang the last few words, then laughed. "Maybe see you around, 'necromancer'."

"Yes, perhaps!"

Praetorian waved at Lorna's back until she disappeared around a corner, then he allowed Sly to lead him away.

"Ahh ... what a refreshing young lady."

"Dude, trust me, do NOT get into that."

"No? You're cautioning me against her? Perhaps even forbidding me from pursuing her?"

"Just looking out for you, man. Lorna's crazy—I mean yeah, she's a scout, they're all nuts. Probably a class requirement or something."

"Mm, a scout. Flexible and quick—ah, and immune to the negative effects of weather, how cunning of her to exploit that."

"Yeah, to go hunt down low-tier losers like us."

"You make it sound so sordid."

Sly just shook his head, leading Praetorian through the corridor and past dozens of doors before they emerged onto the common once more. The rain had worsened while they were inside, the canopy above no longer any kind of protection.

"Over here!" Sly called, pointing, before setting off along a path. Praetorian followed, clutching his cloak around himself as wind-blown rain attacked from all directions.

"This can't be natural!" he called, but Sly didn't hear him, just kept walking, one arm above his eyes in an attempt to block the rain. Fortunately their next destination was close, and before long the two of them were once more shaking out their cloaks.

"Thoroughly, thoroughly miserable weather," Praetorian muttered, squeezing out his goatee. "I suspect foul play, those in charge of this place do seem to delight in making our lives as difficult as possible—a little cloud manipulation and presto, every student's life is just that tiny bit worse. Rather efficient when you think about it. Is this another club house?"

"Workshops," Sly said. He shook out his hair, pushed it away from his eyes, then looked at Praetorian. "Hey. You heard from Nala?"

"Hm? Yes, just once, she wanted to know what components I used in my crafting. I sent her a list but haven't heard back since. I suppose she had a similar enquiry for you."

"Yeah, about the places we go monster hunting. Nothing back from her though."

"Mm. She's not exactly the communicative type, is she? Let us just hope she's pursuing this plan of hers. Incidentally, didn't you say something about a time crush?"

"Yeah, we should get moving—guess you gotta come with for Amanda's sake but dude, don't do your usual thing."

"My 'usual thing'?"

"Like, y'know, talking and stuff. It's Fern Valleygreen's group she's with, that chick is dangerous."

"Wouldn't she be a leaf? Aren't they a type of healer?"

"Pureleaf, yeah, but ... I dunno, just don't get her mad. You don't wanna rile up Fern."

"Noted."

This building was different in layout to that previous, more open and airy, flowering vines growing over the walls and stairways, the second level looking down on the first. This was where Fern Valleygreen's group workshop was located, and this was where Sly and Praetorian found Amanda, standing beside a bench, head lolling forward, using her hands to mix something in a large bowl.

"Oh now REALLY, just WHAT is this?" Praetorian said, hurrying forward to Amanda's side—he took her arms and pulled her away from the bowl, inside of which was a vicious green and purple concoction. The mere scent of it caused a light choking fit in Praetorian, and he was forced to stagger away from both bowl and zombie, bent over double as he coughed the noxious vapours from his lungs.

"Yes, just come in and retch all over our floor, don't mind us," said one of the elves in the room, a dark-skinned girl with short black hair and narrow eyes, her figure willowy, her clothing leafy—similar to the other two also in the workshop.

"Sorry guys—uh, sorry Fern," Sly said, as Praetorian continued his choking fit. "Just gotta grab our girl there."

"Is it yours?" Fern said. "Huh. We found it lurching around in the commons—"

"Yoooooou," Amanda groaned, raising a stiff arm to point at Praetorian. "Wheeere weeere yooou?"

"Apologies," he gasped. "I found myself inconvenienced—"

Once more Praetorian collapsed into wheezing coughs, gesturing feebly at Sly to explain.

"Uh, yeah," Sly said, mostly to Fern, "so, Praets here was chatting up this chick over by the Life Palace but it turned out she was just, like, luring him into a trap or something. So he abandoned Amanda and made a run for it—"

Praetorian clawed at Sly's side, gasping out choked words:

"...be ... more ... flattering..."

"Uh, yeah, sorry dude. Um, so yeah, he took off and Amanda got left behind, and without a necro nearby she, uh ... well, you saw how she gets, right?"

"Wheeere weeere yooou?"

"Huh." Fern looked between Praetorian and Amanda. "Wanna sell her? She's useful."

"She..." Praetorian wheezed to a stop, breath catching in his throat. He took a few seconds to recover then, with slow dignity, he straightened, fixed Fern with a steady gaze, and tried again: "She is not for sale."

"WHEEERE WEEERE YOOOU?"

"Do shut up now, there's a good zombie. Now you," Praetorian said, his eyes still upon Fern, "have been using her in an entirely inappropriate manner. What's that she's been mixing, some manner of poison? Her hands are green!"

"And the rest of her is blue, big difference. Anyway, zombies can't get poisoned, they're immune—"

"Do not presume to tell me about zombies. Look at me. Look at my clothes. I am an Auldvynian necromancer of the Lily Valley. If nothing else, I know zombies."

Fern gazed levelly at Praetorian, then held out her hand—one of the other girls hurried to give her a vine-covered wooden staff.

"You starting something, deadspeaker?"

Praetorian swallowed.

"Aha, uh ... no, I wouldn't ... I'll simply take my zombie and leave, if it's all the same to you."

"Nooot yooours!"

There was a light thunk as Fern let the base of her staff rest against the ground, then she shrugged.

"Sure. Take it and go. Got enough VagrantToxin to last us all year anyway. She even earned a few merits for the crafting. So you're welcome."

Praetorian bit back a caustic response and instead bowed—which earned a cluck of the tongue from Fern.

"Out. Now. Before I take my zombiesitting merits out of your hides."

With as much dignity as he could muster Praetorian fled the workshop, ushering Amanda ahead, Sly sloping along behind.

"She was in a real good mood," Sly commented, once they were a safe distance away. "I've never seen her so happy. That stuff she had you mixing up must be pretty good, huh?"

Amanda shook her head angrily, or at least tried to—her movements were still stiff and awkward so she was forced to settle for a rattling growl. The weather outside didn't improve her mood, rain pelting down as hard as ever, the surrounding trees little more than hazy shapes.

"I suppose we should head for home, as it were," Praetorian said, over the sound of the rain. "There doesn't seem to be—oof!"

Sly looked back, eyes wide, as Praetorian fell against the path. Amanda had stopped ahead of him and held out her arm; walking into it was like walking into an iron bar. She turned to fix him with a sodden glare.

"Wheeere WERE you?" she growled. "WHERE?"

"L-looking for you, as I stated—"

"DAYS! DAYS I was there, like a, a slave! Mixing that horrible goo! I couldn't stop! WHY COULDN'T I STOP?"

"Uh, guys—"

"As a zombie your nature is submissive, without the guiding will of a necromancer—"

"Oh, so it's all you, is it? I have no mind of my own, only what YOU want me to do, is that it?"

"No, no, not entirely, I do exert a certain amount of influence but as you're currently demonstrating this control is far from absolute—"

"Guys—"

"Raise your hand," Amanda snapped. "Come on, do it! Raise your hand!"

Praetorian frowned up at Amanda, still sitting where he'd fallen.

"Now tell me to do it."

"I don't—"

"TELL ME!"

"R-raise your hand—"

Amanda's right arm went up, and her face became pinched.

"I can't cry," she said, "I can't even cry, can you command me to do that? Can you command me to, to not ... to not feel..."

Praetorian and Sly stared at Amanda, standing in the pouring rain, her hair stuck against her ragged clothes and her clothes stuck against her body, face buried in her hands, making a pathetic low rattling moan.

"Uh, Amanda ... uh..."

Sly trailed off, then looked down at Praetorian and offered him a hand up.

"There's, uh ... there's a message from Nala," Sly said, as Praetorian regained his feet. "You probably got it too, if you weren't, uh, you know. Uh, so, the, uh, the mission's today."

Praetorian glanced down at his BrightCircle, at the glowing words that appeared above it, clear even in the rain. He looked back at Amanda, who was staring at her own BrightCircle.

"Oh," she said, eventually. Her lifeless eyes went to Praetorian, but she didn't say anything further.

"Amanda," he said. "You may be having trouble adjusting to this new, ah, new existence—"

"Were you going to say lifestyle? Just shut up. Just don't talk to me. Just stay as far away from me as you can without me—"

Amanda stopped, and she turned away from Praetorian.

"We should go," she said. "They'll be at Mist's soon. I don't want to be late for this. I don't want to let my party down."

With that she lurched away. Sly and Praetorian glanced at each other, then hurried after her.