You approach the monastery with the crusader barracks attached to it. Even a heathen could tell the difference at a glance. One was a serene building that inspired a feeling of peace and reverence. The other was a bar. Horton walks you into the barracks first.

“Lyrrica’s stuff is nice and all, but us crusaders have our own ways of dealing with a hangover.” The halfling says as he walks straight to the keeper of the holy spirits. “Two goblin venoms.”

You begin to protest that you need to hurry, but the halfling holds up his hand.

“If those priests haven’t already left for somewhere else, this is where they’ll be staying.” The crusader turns to the bartender, who you notice is rather gorgeous for a barkeep. “Dela, you heard anything about a group of red habits coming into town.”

The stunningly beautiful fiend looks at the halfling with a mixture of annoyance and long familiarity before answering. You wonder what’s behind that glance for a moment.

“Yeah a whole bunch of reds came to town with some blues. They’re staying here for a while too. Some big investigation. You can probably find them in the chapel. The paladins wouldn’t miss their prayers after all.”

You nod at the halfling for knowing his religious order’s habits. After a quick snicker at your mental pun, you clink glasses with the man and down the “goblin venom” in one pull. You immediately regret this as the substance burns it’s way down your gullet. It’s not just a little burn though, it’s a searing pain in your throat! The halfling looks unconcerned, if a little pained at his own shot as he holds out a chaser of different liquid. You slam the other glass and feel so relieved a rather inappropriate sigh escapes your lips. Trying to avoid the glances of everyone around, you ask Horton what he just made you drink.

“Um, goblin’s venom. Didn’t you hear me?” The crusader says as he spits into the spittoon at the base of the bar. You look at Dela, who gives you a nod.

“These holy cleansers only work on lethal toxicity.” The religious barkeep says with a shrug. “You just downed a lethal dose of venom to make sure you wouldn’t overdose on the cleanser.”

Before you can get good and properly mad at Horton for giving you a lethal dose of poison, the halfling hops off his stool and waves you along as he heads for the chapel. As you enter the chapel behind him, you see rows of blue and red clad members of the orders of Truth and Mercy knelt in prayer. The green of the Crusades is noticeably absent except for a sparse few, but this doesn’t strike you as odd. Their order uses action as worship instead of words. The old dwarven priest at the head of the church finishes the prayer and the members of the orders stand as one. Just as you begin to worry that the one’s you need might leave in the confusion, Horton speaks up.

“Any of you guys know Orien?” The crusader shouts.

“It’s Oriac.” You correct the halfling tersely, noting that one of the red cloaked members of the congregation does so in unison with you. Looking over, you see a Sorian girl who looks young for her kind. The winged girl is thin, and a little short. Her wings are dappled in greys and browns like an owls, and her habit marks her as a scholar of the order. Her wavy hair falls over a taciturn expression as the red-robed girl stares at you. After a long, and somewhat awkward pause, you ask the girl if she knows Oriac.

“Yes.” The cleric replies, and goes back to staring at you with an expression that implies… nothing really. You have already decided to never play cards with this girl.

“Ah! Iitria’s a little shy…” A mail clad merfolk with the blue and white garb of the order of mercy approaches. “Do you need something translated? She can definitely do it for you, and probably wants to. We just don’t have that much time on our hands right now. We’ve been asked to investigate disturbances in the leylines.”

You quickly explain that your purposes may overlap. The merfolk listens with an easygoing smile on his face as you explain the dangerous artifact and what it’s doing. He’s handsome, almost annoyingly so, like a statue proclaiming the virtues of his religion. Something about his easygoing smile and posture ruin the image though. The man wears his armor with ease, implying that he’s used to wearing it. His pose radiates confidence in himself, but only if you look for it. Otherwise his tail droops to the ground and his arms hang listlessly at his sides as if he hasn’t a care in the world. At least he’s easier to read than the Sorian girl, standing there like an actual statue.

“Hmm. That does sound worth investigating. Do you want to have a look Iitria?”

The sorian girl nods in a way that actually portrays a little excitement. The Merfolk’s expression looks like he already knew the answer.

“Very well, we shall accompany you. My name is Rip Brasken.” The Merfolk clasps your hand with a strong and reassuring grip. He nudges the Sorian girl as he releases your hand.

“Iitria Nims.” The cleric replies in a subdued voice.

“Please wait here as I inform the priest. I’m afraid it will only be us two joining you, the others must take a survey of the leylines. This being wilderness, the scholars can’t be without their guards.” With that the merfolk makes his way to the head of the church to talk to the elder while your translator continues to stare at you. You’re not quite sure what to make of this pair, but you have what you need to try and fix the problem.

With your new companions in tow, you return to the fountain where everyone agreed to meet. Lyrrica has a very pleased expression on her face as she reports the ingredients were all of such great quality that the client threw in a bonus. You file that under things to be happy about when the world isn’t about to end. You introduce the two clerics with you, and curious as to what their purpose is, you ask Rip to elaborate.

“Churches in both Scaleun and Seven Crowns were reporting strange flows in the magic coming from the wilderness here. Knowing the way things are between those two countries the orders of truth and mercy both decided to investigate the cause before either country blamed the other for violating the treaty.” The easygoing expression on the merfolk’s face actually carries a hint of concern. You arrived only recently to the region, but you know this is the major trouble on everyone’s mind. Scaleun is a nation of dragons, the dragon lords wield incredible magic power, but Seven Crowns has both numbers and experience on their side. The two nations had a rather tragic skirmish a year ago that has left a lot of bad blood on both sides. Everyone is constantly worried the two countries are just looking for an excuse to go to war and settle their grudge.

Your attention is caught by the sound of the leather in both Horton and Mal’s gloves as the two clench their fists. Horton’s face is solemn, as if the mention of the two countries means something dire to him. While you can usually tell what Mal’s expression would be despite his helmet, all you can see now is the passionless metal as his hand clenches.

“Your mention of something feeding off of a nexus probably isn’t the source of all this trouble, but it could certainly be related. It would definitely complicate things for us to leave it alone in any case. So your mission now overlaps with ours. Happy to work with you!” The merfolk offers his hand to each member of the party, and to your surprise, the sorian girl follows suit silently.

Your group moves into the wilderness at a brisk pace. With this many adventurers, things are actually a bit easier as groups of monsters that would normally challenge you shy away at your numbers. There are creatures that wouldn’t care still, and so your group uses appropriate caution to avoid needless confrontations. You arrive in the afternoon at the nexus. Rip whistles appreciatively at the massive corpse of the turkey you slew earlier. Iitria ignores the beast and makes a beeline for the lamp. You follow and explain what you investigated earlier to her. The sorian girls face is actually displaying interest as she listens to your cautions about the runes. After you are done, she starts tracing a magic circle in a wide area around the lamp. You recognize it as an analysis spell and start filling in the details for her as she works. She seems a little surprised when she finishes the arc of the circle and finds that she only has a few more lines to go.

“Good lines.” She says with what seems like a little blush. You thank her and admit that you’re a little ashamed you didn’t think of this when you first discovered it. “Wouldn’t matter. Results will be in Oriac.”

You mention that’s true, and that you’re counting on her. The young girl puffs out her chest in apparent pride, though her expression remains neutral. There must be a lot more going on behind that mask of a face she’s got. You continue to help her finish the circle and once it’s done, you help supply the magic so she can give more attention to the translation. The process takes a while, and you do what you can to help. The language most of the world speaks is based off of a combination of the old Octrian and Noven languages. Oriac is it’s own animal, with no parallel languages to take cues from, so the translation takes time to get right. Eventually the sorian nods at you and you both dispel the circle. Letting out a small sigh, the girl relaxes for a moment before Lyrrica shows up with a turkey sandwich for both of you.

“Good work, you two. I’m not sure how I knew, but somebody cast a preservation spell on the turkey, so the meat’s good.” Lyrrica says. You also get the vague notion that you knew the meat was preserved as well. You can’t remember why you knew that, though. “Do you know what we’re dealing with yet?”

Iitria nods, but says nothing as she nibbles her way through the sandwich. After a few more awkward moments, you ask what she found out.

“It’s a Djinn.” She says evenly. Your turkey sandwich almost comes back up to say hi. Djinn are bad news, unless it’s bound. You ask and the sorian nods as she continues taking miniscule bites of her food.

“You’re sure?” Rip asks. “If it’s bound, it’ll be weaker. We should be able to take care of it ourselves. If not…” The paladin needn’t finish. There’s no way your group could handle an unbound Djinn without more help. A lot more help.

“Definitely. It would be eating more magic if it was free.” Iitria says as she finishes off the last morsels of sandwich. “It’s master didn’t want it found. A free Djinn would love a fight.”

That last bit got your attention. If the Djinn has a master, then it was put here on purpose. You ask if there’s any evidence of that.

“Yes…” After a few seconds of blank stare, Rip presses her for what the evidence is. “The trap. If we move it, the Djinn was wished to try and stop us.”

“Well that’s a relief.” The paladin says with a big smile on his face. Heads turn slowly in his direction. “I lugged my hammer all the way out here, I’d hate to think I wasted all that effort.” the man pulls his maul off his back and advances a step towards the lamp before Iitria stops him with a hug from the front.

“No fighting. You’ll get hurt again.” Her muffled voice says from his chest. “We can try and seal it.” For his part, Rip’s expression falters as Iitria voices her concern for him, but makes no comment.

“So!” Lyrrica speaks up loudly to diffuse the awkward situation. “Our options are to pull the lamp out and throw down with a Genie, or let our magic types try and seal it up without a fight?”

“A Djinn is no trifle, even though I am confident of our odds, I do not think such a fight should be entered lightly. However, if we do not subdue the Djinn, it’s master, and the problem’s source will remain clouded to us.” Mal says as he inspects his equipment.

As usual, the party seems to be looking to you for a decision. Fighting will be tough, but you may be able to solve the problem. Sealing the Djinn is entirely possible too. Iitria is at least as good as you at enchanting, and a temporary seal would allow you to move the lamp, possibly even take it to town where a true seal could be placed on it. Both decisions have merits.