I awoke, blinded by the sun on a massive sheet of hay-like flooring. Dozens of raventaur walked about attending to their personal business. I shielded my eyes and tried to find a point of interest to situate myself. I was still in Dark Talon, that much was certain, but where?

“Welcome back,” a dark voice crawled up my spine. I’d never heard it before, but for some reason, I felt as though I should have recognized it. I was reluctant to face it. “You sure have a lot of eggs in there.” He laughed.

The thought of whoever it was reaching for Hendrix’s egg was all I needed to find the courage to turn. I spun and recoiled at the sight of a tall, dark-skinned elf hunched over only inches before me. His hair was long, grey, matted, and sparse. His skin seemed unnaturally dark as if some sort of sickness had turned it that way. Scabs and pustules ran up the bare parts of his arms and likely continued along the rest of his body, though it was hidden by a black robe, trimmed with sickly green. He leaned on a gnarled staff that looked like the femur of some massive creature. It was charred at the tip, and the burn emitted a green smoke.

“Who are you?” My voice wasn’t as strong as I’d hoped.

The elf grinned, revealing yellow teeth that looked to have been sharpened. His eyes were faded dark circles barely visible behind a white film, like mold growth beneath the surface of rancid milk. He pointed a jagged, crooked finger to the pack over my shoulder. “That’s what you get for taking a fallen hero as your tank. He is but a shadow of his former self.” The elf laughed.

My eyes fully adjusted to the lighting, partly because the figure before me seemed to lessen its power with his presence alone. Many buildings seemed familiar, but I didn’t recognize any save for the Sun-Touched’s palace in the distance. I was in Leafveil. I was relieved to find that trusting Brinson had not backfired. Now I faced two problems. I couldn’t remember which building Max had taken me to the last time we’d revived Hendrix. My second problem was snarling right in front of me.

My instincts told me the elf was a level forty Necromancer. It was the first one I’d seen. Hendrix envied the necromancers as most of the stronger guilds used them as their support class over the bard. I couldn’t understand why. Just two minutes in the elf’s proximity had me wanting to hide in the inn with a blanket and hot tea.

Another adventurer joined him. A massive human male dressed in a lavish white shirt with rich black pants and hat came to the necromancer’s side. I recognized the human as Huck. He had interrogated me back in Firemane’s Run when word had gotten out that I held the princess’ diary. He was the tank for the Champions of Velour. Being this close to him, I noticed a black, wilted rose embroidered on his left shoulder.

A toadkin with brown, bark-like skin joined them. I recognized him from the city as well.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “Leave me alone. I have things to take care of.”

“Yes,” Huck chuckled. “I see you’ve got lots of friends to revive.”

“How did you get so many deaths in the Singing Caves?” The toadkin gurgled.

“The princess’ diary is wasted on a loser,” Huck said.

I shouldn’t have let their words get to me, but I was still feeling emotional from my friends' death. I just wanted to revive them to be off on the next part of our quest. “Where’s the building with the lady who revives eggs?”

The three members of the CoV laughed at my question. A female raventaur stood a few yards behind them, watching the exchange with a blank expression. I recognized her as Clerice. We’d met in Firemane’s Run when Hendrix had been questioning adventurers to learn of Wolfgang’s whereabouts. She was the guild’s healer, but she didn’t seem as amused by my ridiculing as her guildmates.

I turned and walked away. They weren’t going to help me—that much was obvious. I’d have a better chance looking on my own. At worst, I’d just have to walk into every building in town before finding the right one.

Their insults continued and increased in vulgarity even as I put distance between us. Huck and the toadkin hurled the insults, but it was the necromancer’s rotting laugh that bothered me most. I turned down a street and was finally out of their sight and out of earshot. I sat on a small bench and put my face in my hands.

A presence materialized before me. An old dwarf stepped out of the shadows and stood with a wide grin. I swiped my pack and held it in a securing embrace. The dwarf raised his hands in surrender. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just here to apologize for my guildmates busting your balls.”

“For what?”

“The insults.”

His name was Ratbite, scout of the Champions of Velour. I’d seen him back in the capital as well. What were they doing in Leafveil?

“It’s just how things go, you know?” His grin widened even further beneath his thick white beard. “We throw insults at up-and-coming adventurers to test their fortitude. It’s nothing personal, just a bit of fun.”

“Alright. Thanks for apologizing.” I didn’t want or need an apology. I just wanted to be left alone so that I could think for a moment.

He nodded and walked away but turned back after a few steps. “Oh. If you want to resurrect your friends, just place the eggs in that receptacle over there to the east. It’ll respawn your friends at their room in the inn or whatever bed they last slept in.”

“Thanks.” I looked around but couldn’t find what the scout was talking about. “Which receptacle?”

He threw his head to the side in a “follow me” motion. I did. He led me to the end of the street to an old steel box that looked out of place in the raventaur village. A small wooden sign beside the box read ‘Reclaimer.”

Ratbite must’ve seen that I was reading the sign. “Soul reclaimer,” he explained.

I nodded, feeling foolish once again. I couldn’t wait for a time when I’d know all of these things without needing others to point them out. I was the holder of the book. If I didn’t know something as simple as how to revive my friends, I would never feel worthy, nor would I appear worthy to the thousands of others who longed for my possession.

I gently placed my pack on the hay-like floor and pulled out Hendrix’s egg first. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

Ratbite opened the lid for me. I peered into the box and saw nothing but darkness. “Where does it go?”

The scout shrugged. “Some magic will remain a mystery forever.”

I held the egg over the box.

“Stop!” I immediately recognized Ucntcme’s voice.

I pulled the egg back to the safety of my chest.

Ucntcme appeared from the shadows much like Ratbite had. In place of a grin, however, she had a scowl. “That receptacle is for old weapons and armor you don’t want anymore. Dropping your friends in there will do nothing for them except give them all a true death.”

I glared at Ratbite. The old dwarf’s grin was unwavering.

“You’re still skulking around, are you?” Ratbite looked her up and down and chuckled. “You’re actually leveling up again? No guild, though. Going at it alone this time? What’s the matter, too afraid to trust?”

Ucntcme said nothing. She stared at the old dwarf with her hard eyes, but there was a slight tremble in her bottom lip.

“Well, I almost got a good laugh,” Ratbite said. “Take care, you two.” He took one step away from us and disappeared into the shadows.”

I eyed the scout, unsure if I should say anything.

“Don’t even ask,” she said.

I nodded.

“If you want to resurrect your friends, just bring them to the witchdoctor. Every town and city has one. Look for a sign of two serpents coiled around a staff.”

“That doesn’t sound very medical,” I said. “Sounds more like something an evil organization would use.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not.”

She disappeared just like that, leaving me alone again. I returned to the bench and held my pack close. I was alone, but I could have easily had two scouts nearby without any way of knowing. I was very much growing to dislike scouts.

“Grats on beating the dungeon, by the way,” Ucntcme’s voice sounded from nowhere.

It brought a smile to my face. Perhaps not all scouts warranted my dislike.