Our luck held.

Not a single instance of deadly reprisal manifested after the mimic consumed our old Ratkin guide.

Torug, alongside the urchins, continued to tail us from a distance, expressions betraying their anger.

Our tails didn’t bother us while we worked minor jobs for clients, though the home visits were disturbing. They would wake me at midnight with loud knocks at the door before fleeing. The Postal Guild would deliver packages filled with rat corpses and blood. Envelopes would appear under my door or in my pockets, containing ominous warnings.

No beatings, though. Nothing physical. They needed to prove they knew what we did in the dungeon.

That was more than perfect. Anyone who lived long enough in the Surveyor’s Guild’s basement could handle a few threats. That left getting my fellow surveyors upstairs. A feat that would require gold, which meant a visit to Nonasia after getting our transportation sorted.

Pitch couldn’t contain her excitement as we hired transportation and guards. We would meet them in two days, at a beach a day’s travel outside the city. Time enough to explain everything to Nonasia.

None of our hirelings remarked about the strange request, happy enough to be paid for what they assumed would be a straightforward job. On the trip home, Pitch’s excitement bubbled over as she took up her Pitchfork, ready to send me to Nonasia.

At my nod, she jabbed into my throat with no hesitation. Her laughter was genuine as she watched me die. Scamp.

Nonasia was there to greet us, alongside a new wreck. My eyes widened at the sight, even as my nose crinkled at the smell of her breath. Fresh meat and blood. Her attention turned to Pitch, who was vibrating with sheer enthusiasm to share the tale of the ratkins’ demise.

Something inside me stirred at the sight of the siren sitting like that. A predator amidst the wreckage of her hunt. Not fear, not quite. Awe maybe? The mimics' sex appeal was obvious, but it held nothing to the beauty before me.

She saw me looking and smiled, her sharp teeth a deadly reminder of what she was. A clear warning—look, but don’t touch. That was fine, as amazing as she was, she wasn’t my type.

When Pitch finished explaining, we planned our next moves. First, Nonasia dove beneath the island to get the rest of our treasure. As the piles of gold and jewels that littered the ground glittered in the sun, we organized and divide up what we needed.

It turned out to be near everything, provided we could shift the sellable items for a minimum of what they were worth. The Guild didn’t want people buying themselves out. It killed their business model.

Too bad for them.

With our treasure sorted, and the cart’s arrival not planned for a few more days, we relaxed. Nonasia took us diving once again, and we ate what she could catch as we shared stories.

When the time came, Nonasia didn’t vanish when the cart arrived. Instead, she waited with us. Her body was half out of the surf, tanned skin glistening in the sunlight. The halfling girl, and the lumbering human man, watched her with terrified expressions until everything was securely put away.

The three adventurers, currently acting as guards, clutched at weapons, hands shaking as they stared in open shock at the monster.

We needed her seen, needed to let them know she was out there. The ocean needed to be a dangerous choice.

Pitch didn’t stop giggling the entire time, and it took a considerable amount of willpower not to join her.

Nobody remarked on the siren’s presence at the beach the entire trip back. The youngest kept opening his mouth as though to ask, but one look at his senior stopped him. My eyes locked onto the older man, who simply nodded.

It was always nice to work with a professional. They knew not to ask such questions. Not that the trip was made entirely in silence, however.

Halfway into the trip, the halfling girl asked if we’d met any other monsters. A harmless question, and one there was no reason not to answer. The stories flowed freely, with the adventurers joining in partway through. She watched us, all wide-eyed, as we told stories of adorable slimes or flowering plant monsters.

There seemed to be an unwritten rule to stick to the cuter, safer stories. No need to scar the girl.

These lasted until we hit the gate, the guards waving us through as they looked enviously at the transported treasure chests. Couldn’t blame them. We were carrying more than they’d make in a year, multiple times over. For an extra fee, both the cart driver and the Adventurers were happy to wait as we detoured to jewelry and enchanting stores to sell off the gems.

Good prices the entire time, too. It appeared the shopkeepers were happy to buy good quality jewels in bulk. One shopkeeper, an elderly Elven man, paid extra for the knowledge of where we’d found them. He didn’t balk when we told him a siren guarded it, instead side-eyeing the well-dressed Adventurers outside the window.

Good luck with his attempt at gaining their services.

More gold changed hands to have them help me lug the chests inside. Hethrederin’s eyes widened at the sight as they placed the chests down with a heavy thunk, leaving with a hasty goodbye.

“Is that—” Hethrederin began.

“—Yes. If they agree. Pitch if you would?”

She threw a lazy salute. Hand outstretched to take the note we’d written the day before, she flew down towards the basement. The message was for Convon, who would explain the situation. We could buy them for everyone without asking, but that didn’t feel right.

Solutions were always being forced on the lower floor by those above.

They deserved the chance to make their own decisions for now.

The crowd’s chattering and cheers were audible minutes before they burst into the room. Pitch returned to my shoulder while Convon led the mob over to where the chests sat.

The elderly halfling gazed up at me, his eyes watering as he spoke.

“Are you sure about this, Leiko?” His voice wavered, close to sobs.

My gaze wandered around the room, falling on each of the awe-inspired faces. Zekkas stood out among the crowd. He looked healthy. Happy. No longer the bedraggled mess of fur and bone.

“I’m sure. Did you explain to everyone else or…?” My voice trailed off at the laughter that rippled through the group.

“Yes. We got the message. And yes. Everyone here agrees.” Convon said.

A smile tugged at my face, and Hethrederin matched it.

“How long will this take to count?”

Not everyone got badges.

An issue arose after the fifteenth metal ball arrived. There were no more available. The Council wrote a note saying they dispatched a runner to the Smith Guild for more. That would take time, however. Thus, whoever didn’t receive one would need to wait downstairs.

Not ideal. But it was what it was.

We discussed what we should do with the limited badges. Zekkas piped up that the oldest should get them, and none disagreed. With full agreement from the crowd, we spread them around, so the eldest all bore a shiny golden badge pinned to their chest. Convon nodded. They were ready, and together we marched up the stairs, ready to revel in free drinks and comfortable chairs.

***

Shock stilled the hands of the Bard, causing the golden harp to fall to her side. She wore a worried expression as she focused on the mob of recent arrivals.

Howard Stalker caught my eye, his lips pursing as he shoved through the crowd to head upstairs. To complain, no doubt. Too bad for him. This was all official. It would have been fun to sit in that meeting.

Barbarians would rage less.

The gnome butler passed around drinks with brisk efficiency. Though the wink he threw in my direction didn’t slip past me. Howard returned ten minutes later as Convon was finishing up a story about getting eaten by a hydra.

Howard marched forward, stopping an arm’s length away from me, face devoid of emotion. Pitch straightened on my shoulder, sensing my worry. My instincts screamed at me to go for my sword. My hands started moving, but an effort of willpower stopped them. Any aggressive move could end in disaster, depending on what The Council decreed.

He continued to stand in front of me without a word, his shaking fists kneading into his legs.

“Leiko,” He said.

“Yes?” My response was neutral. Calm. The same type of tone unruly clients had heard on over one occasion.

“Do you think you’re clever, invading our sanctuary like this? With this. Filth. Ones who can’t even stand on their own. This will cost The Guild a fortune. We need a cheaper option so—”

“—so go fill that option then,” My words were curt, and all around me, the previous basement-dwelling surveyors were standing. “I played the game. So did they. The Council may not like what happened. And if not? They can change it. Until then, Stalker, have a drink.”

A new client entering the room cut off his reply, causing him to stomp back to his seat. The client looked at me and gave an awkward wave.

“Hi, umm. I need a map?” He asked tentatively, and the charged atmosphere died down. Not gone completely, but lessened.

My professional smile snapped into place as he took a nearby seat. Once he was comfortable and supplied with a drink, he started his explanation. Though, a majority of my attention was on the others.

They continued to celebrate their promotion, but it was more subdued. They threw wary glances towards those who stood with Stalker’s lot. None of the older members of the upstairs club tried to start anything, some even greeted the new members. Whatever potential trouble was brewing wouldn’t come out today.

When my client got to the meat of the matter, the Dullahan, he piqued my interest. He wanted me to go ghost hunting. Allegedly, this undead would lead travelers to a desecrated temple near the edge of The Grey Morass. He wanted a map and whatever information on the ghost that my exploration picked up.

This would be a fun one.

He paid a large sum of gold as he left, and shot me a smile. Pitch remained on my shoulder as we headed for the door. Convon stopped us before we could get outside, his wrinkled hand resting on my arm.

“Thank you,” He said.

“It’s my pleasure,” My voice dropped to a whisper for the next part, no point riling everyone up again. “And make sure everyone remembers to wear their badges at all times. No point inviting trouble.”

His gaze flicked to Howard, buried in his tankard. “I’ll keep everyone on the lookout.”

No reason to tell him that wasn’t the trouble to expect. Anything that kept him alert would work.

“Thanks.”

With a handshake, he let us leave, and we started our trek out to the Grey Morass.

***

The information we received said she would turn up beneath a crescent moon. Which, luckily for us, was tonight. Pitch spent the journey through the city, glowering at any barrel or box we ventured near. It was worse during the first few days after the dungeon. Anytime she left the house, she would stab instead of glower.

Gold flowed from my fingers as the owners demanded payment for damages rendered.

When we arrived outside the city’s walls, she calmed down, happy to take in the sights as we walked the now-familiar path towards our target.

We picked a spot near the crossroads to set up camp. Pitch busied herself with killing any of the giant insects who flew too close. Carcasses littered the ground, none big enough to draw any stronger predators. The soft thump, thump, thump, of bodies hitting the dirt faded into the background as the image forming on my paper drew my focus.

Lines formed into shapes, and then trees. Darkness fell on the completed picture, a mass of rotting trees with round shapes peering out of them. While the slimes showed themselves, none approached. Their presence made me wonder how the war was going.

Nobody was whispering rumors around us. That meant, more than likely, someone paid for Adventurers to sort it out.

My bet was on The Bee Queen to take the win. She at least didn’t eat my corpse.

With my picture finished, and Pitch tired of slaying bugs, we sat together before a small fire and waited for our ghost. The night stretched on, though no signs of our quarry appeared.

Undead were most often found near the frozen mountains to the west, though some wandered eastwards. The local church of Thimzotl, God of Destruction, was merciless against any it found. Dark-robed clerics, hunting any that strayed from the necromantic cradle of power.

Well, that church and the King. He had made it a mission to have them exterminated.

Undead were rotting, foul creatures. Everyone who grew up in The Capitol heard tales of gore-strewn skeletons and moaning zombies from any adventurer you bought a drink.

After another hour of waiting, proved this would require a more proactive approach.

Pitch flew ahead of me, her beam of light playing across the puddles of muddy water that littered the ground. We stayed close to the road, circling around the same series of trees until her beam landed on something that wasn’t an odd tree branch.

There was no way to hold back my surprised scream. Pitch laughed at me as she approached the object on the ground.

A headless body lay in front of us, its foot caught on a tree root. My panicked searching found the head stuck in a tree, peering down at us.

“Can—can you get me down if it’s not much trouble? And maybe untangle my foot?” The head peered at me, its voice nervous. The skin was pale blue, Pitch’s light beam now pointing at it, the only reason it was visible in the darkness.

It took a moment for my breathing to calm down.

“Yes, um. Of course.”

Untangling her foot was more physically demanding, so that was my focus as Pitch pushed her head off the branch. It landed with a thump and a whimper before the two parts reunited.

Her presence before me triggered a sense of Déjà vu. Something about the brown hair and the green eyes, though mostly how the way she carried her head under her arm. Whatever she reminded me of, it refused to come.

Her smile widened as she noticed the golden badge pinned to my chest, and with a start, a realization hit me.

She was wearing one too.

“I’m Delilah. Nice to meet another fellow guild member. Are you the backup I requested? I keep meeting civilians instead,” Her tone had gone from nervous to powerful. A touch of command reverberated through the words, causing my back to straighten.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

Without another word, she started deeper into the trees. Her pace was brisk, though she stumbled often. An obvious side effect from carrying her head in her arms. “Did they debrief you?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Of course, they didn’t.” She sighed. “Westington was always an inconsiderate bastard. Fine, keep up and stay quiet. My weapon vanished.” She paused. “Somewhere. So if anything attacks, you and your pixie will need to defend us.”

Pitch hissed, but Delilah paid her no mind. Instead, she started our debriefing for whatever mission she went on before dying. Nearby was a desecrated temple of Thimzotl. A necromancer, Kuloth, camped there for a time and Adventurers wanted it mapped on the off chance it bore any resemblance to the foul mages’ current hideout.

My history class sprang to mind. Kuloth died around twenty years back. Did she even understand she was dead?

It was tempting to ask, but there was the possibility she would turn feral. Some undead did if you reminded them of their decaying existence. No need to have a raving undead after me, instead of one so polite. She continued to talk as we walked. Topics ranged from the mission to complaints about The Council members from their early days.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as we neared the building. It was crumbling. All that still stood was a single wall and a stone archway.

“Ready?”

My sword was in my hand, and she moved at my nod.

Time to complete her mission.

***

She gestured for silence as she led us towards a stairwell in the middle of what was once a courtyard. After crouching down, a pair of masterwork lock picks appeared in her hands, and she picked a lock that wasn’t present.

My eye caught the lock she was attempting to pick, rusted and open as it lay in one of the numerous puddles of rancid water that dotted the steps. My heart broke for her. What must it be like, stuck in an unchanging loop? Intelligent enough to understand what you needed to do, but lacking the understanding it was already done?

Pitch said nothing at the display, instead flying over to sit on the edge of the weather-beaten stone fountain. The basin held no water. Large cracks in the bottom made the reason obvious. The statue that would have graced the middle wasn’t present. Stolen or destroyed? An investigation of the area suggested the former. Not enough broken pieces.

Delilah’s yelling to tell us she’d finished got us back on track. Pitch returned to her place on my shoulder, and we descended into the necromancer’s lair. My dark vision spell fell into place, and with a whispered command, Pitch left her ring turned off.

No need to light a beacon for any lingering undead hoard.

The puddles splashed beneath my boots as the stale reek of death invaded my nose. Signs of death lay all around us, from piles of bones to decayed corpses.

My sword was heavy in my hand, but none jumped to attack. Whatever dark magic once animated these forces no longer flowed through these halls. Apart from whatever remained to bolster the magic that infected Delilah. Her situation was curious, though not currently harmful. A fact that, if our luck held, would remain true.

She was single-minded in her goal now, no more chatter of old tales passing her lips. Her determined gait took us down corridors and around bends with such precision, it was like she walked this path a thousand times before. With a quick glance at the worn stone, that might be the case.

We stopped a few more times. Stone archways that would have once held doors caused her to pause and once again produce her lock picks. We let her work, no point interrupting the process now.

A door sat in the final archway.

This was an original creation of Kuloth. Crafted with materials of the dead, rotting bone and milky white eyes that surrounded a blood-red ruby. At the door, Delilah turned to me. Her eyes met mine, and she nodded.

“Are you ready?”

My raised sword was enough of a sign of my agreement, and she pushed open the door.

Inside the room was — nothing.

An empty stone chamber whose floor showed signs of once hosting tables and cabinets that were no longer here. Someone was thorough in stripping the room of its contents before we arrived. Annoying. There was some hope we would find whatever was keeping Delilah trapped inside. A remnant of Kuloth or some sort of necromantic artifact.

My forehead smarted with the deserving slap at my stupidity.

The door.

While Delilah conversed with someone who wasn’t there, my attention returned to the gem. It glowed in the darkness and pulsed with an energy that felt sticky. Pitch swore at it and refused to follow me any closer.

Delilah started yelling. Curses directed at Kuloth echoed throughout the room. Threats and pleas followed, focused on the door fashioned from the monks’ corpses who died defending their home. The multitude of eyes stared at me, their lack of irises not diminishing the disturbing effect.

Bile rose in my throat as swiftly as my sword arm moved overhead. This thing needed to be destroyed. The correct decision would be to refer the matter to the Adventurer’s Guild. Though, they would kill Delilah on sight if they bothered to check at all. No treasure and no monsters? Both facts culminated in a low priority on their assessment list.

My sword fell. The gem broke. Delilah screamed.

Her body withered as the door fell apart. Her head toppled to the floor, green eyes focusing on me as she fell. They faded, turning milky white as ghosts of monks poured out from the remains of the door. They streamed past me, cold to the touch, as they fled ever upwards towards freedom. So eye-catching were the specters that Delilah’s body grabbing me from behind caught me by complete surprise.

Even as her body crumbled, her finger dug into my back, ripping and tearing my flesh. Feral at last.

At least she was free now. Free to rest, to retire. Free to stop being a living symbol of the arrogance displayed by The Guild.

It was obvious they abandoned her. None of The Council bothering to learn her fate. Proof they didn’t care if we never returned, golden badge or no.

When everyone got their badges, it was time to start work.

The Council couldn't abandon us all.

All we needed to do was coordinate the final detail with Nonasia. Good thing we were going to visit.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

Delilah is an exception. As far as I understand.

For the most part, Dullahan are hunters.

Deathless seekers of whatever their summoner desires.

The most famous story is, of course, of the lost head.

A beheaded traitor gets revived and tasked with wandering the world to find the head they lost.

There they learn life lessons and become whole.

These undead are smart, capable of magic, and know everything they did in life.

Unattended heads are useful on their own. As they see everything, Dullahan can use them as sentry points.

If you intended on dealing with a Dullahan, the head is a weak point. Steal it, break it, blind it.

If the head is in danger, the body will react more like a mindless beast than a warrior.

Use that to your advantage. Also, life magic is effective.