Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

High Tower, Redcastle

250 years before the Oxventure Guild…

Black wings spread across the dark canvas of the night sky. The soaring winds helped carry the carrier pigeon’s small body in the final lengths of her journey. She faced many challenges travelling north from the large tree by the sea. She had outwitted hawks, weathered storms, and travelled over vast stretches of land with only small moments of rest, but soon she would be home. Her flight was encumbered by a leather holster on her leg. Her black beady eyes finally settled on her destination: the strange tree. This tree was slender and tall; it had no branches, but many hollows in which she could roost. The hollow for her nest shone with the light of the small suns. She flapped her wings to maintain momentum before she swooped down into the hollow. She landed perfectly in the middle of the space.

Her sudden arrival caused the other creature who lived in the hollow to coo loudly in fright. The other was a strange figure, long with bare limbs and sagging furs. She cooed softly to soothe him; the poor thing was so easy to start. Once he felt safe, he held out his limb like a branch.

He cooed to her in his strange voice from his beakless maw. The end of his limb twitched slightly, beckoning to her. She fluttered up to him on tired wings to deliver the gift from the other creatures in the large tree by the sea. The creature untied the pouch from her leg with his careful talons, and in return he gave to her a gift of a small red berry. This creature was a kind one, much kinder than the other one from whence she came. That one never gave her berries. She cooed softly again to express her gratitude. The creature carried her to her enclosed nest. After such a long journey, she was glad to finally rest in the shelter of the hollow in the strange tree. She buried her head under her wings and drifted into a deep sleep.

--

The hour was late. The moon adorned in a cloak of black velvet and glittering diamonds had not yet yielded the sky to the Geth’s morning suns. The old magister’s swollen joints had long demanded rest. Just as he had given in and decided to retire for the remainder of the evening, a small pigeon made its rather sudden appearance. Seldom did pigeons arrive so late at night. The bird must have been instructed to fly without rest. For what purpose?

The magister stroked his beard as he gazed at her leather holster in his hand. With gnarled fingers, he slowly pried open the holster. Inside in contained a small scroll secured with a crest bearing an ornate letter “A” neatly stamped into the black wax seal. The Astor family crest.

Black seals denoted urgency which seldom brought good news. A thousand of fears descended upon the abjuration wizard’s mind. Ignoring the aches in his weary body, the old magister began to climb the spiralling stairs of the high tower, with the scroll clutched tightly in his hand. As he ascended, he found the many chambers of his fellow magisters were dark with not a sound from behind the heavy doors. It was only as he drew nearer to the highest chamber that he could hear sounds of life. The Arcane Council was still in session, much to his surprise. There was a time when these meetings ended within the hour, but those days, and those who assembled that Council, were long passed.

The angry voices of the current council returned him to the present, their words distorted as they echoed through the spire. He hesitated as reached the large oak doors of the council chamber; such meetings were not to be interrupted. He felt the ridge of the black seal under his fingertips. Steadying his breath, he raised his fist to knock, but a shout gave him pause.

“Fafnir will hold! The gods have willed it so!” He heard Lord Eitri, the dwarven cleric, shout. His booming voice shook the tower’s very walls.

“What of the Voros clan? Are we certain they can manage the task?” The elvish druid, Lady Muirgen, sharply countered. “The nature of mortal-kin is not as giving as the will of gods.”

“Enough!” A third voice, the young human Archmage Theodoric, brought a firm end to the arguing. “The Voros clan have the full confidence of this council. It is settled, Muirgen.” His tone warmed at her name. “We have far more pressing matters to attend to than to argue on what is done. We have received word that Pyrrhus and Attor have been sighted in the south lands. We need to decide on our course of action... but first, I believe there is someone at the door. Come in, Magister Cuthbert!” The Archmage called to him. The old man sheepishly entered the room.

“Councillors, my sincerest apologies for this interruption.” He bowed as he approached the grand table in the centre of the room. He was welcomed with a warm smile from the young Archmage.

“Nonsense, my good sir. What is the matter?”

“I am not certain, my lord. A message has just arrived from Lord Astor.” The magister said. Theodoric exchanged a troubled look with Muirgen as he took the scroll from the old man. He cleanly sliced the seal open with his dagger and unfurled the scroll.

“Lord Astor sends word to inform us that the keys have been distributed across the land and their keepers sworn to secrecy. The final key has been secured in the lowest depths of Alcataz with the orb sealed away in a tomb. All is settled.” He announced; his words weighed heavily in the room.

“By the gods,” murmured Eitri, “it is done.”

“My lords, my lady, the realm is safer thanks to your presence.” He saw that his praise did little to ease their heavy burden. He cast his eyes to the vacant seats of the Paladin and Sorcerer councillors. “I am certain Lady Melisende and Lord Alfr would be celebrating the triumph were they here with us today.”

“Thank you, sir,” Theodoric gave him a weak smile. “The battle with Vocatus cost us dearly, but it is a great comfort to know his reign of terror has been ended now that he is contained.”

“The orb was a brilliant invention of yours, my lord! I know your grandsire would be very proud,” the old man insisted, Theodoric’s cheeks grew rather red at the high praise. 

“I agree that there is much to be celebrated,” Muirgen said, “but I worry about the future of this kingdom. Vocatus was a challenge to be certain, but he was a fool, and there were advantages to be gained in his mistakes. We may not find ourselves so fortuitous with the next adversary.”

“You have become cynical in your older age,” Theodoric said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “My grandsire created this council to be protectors of the realm. Together we have contended with many threats, and we have designs for those who remain.”

“What of the threats we have not considered?” She pleaded, reaching up to grip his hand. “We are not gods. We will not live forever!” Her eyes flicked to the empty chairs.

“Muirgen is right, Theodoric,” Eitri said, gently. “It is time to select successors for Melisende and Alfr. We cannot carry this burden alone.”

“Successors? Surely, it is too soon... Magister Cuthbert, what do you think?” He asked, to the old man’s surprise. “Your counsel would be much welcomed in this matter.”

“Archmage,” he began, slowly, “the safety of the realm must prevail over our sentimentalities. Perhaps it is time to consider a more lasting proposition. Your grandsire was a wise man, however, he did not have the foresight to know the challenges the council now contends with.” His eyes settled on the Paladin’s seat. Emboldened, the magister continued. “The Lady Melisende had acolytes, did she not?”

“Yes. They mourn her greatly.”

“Loss can inspire bravery.”

“You want us to call on novice squires to protect the realm? As a standing army?” Muirgen interjected, astounded.

“No, my lady, not an army. An order!”

“We have an order, the Order of the Silent Fist.”

“An order of exceptional monks whose very purpose is to guard the realm’s secrets unseen. I am speaking of an order to defend and preserve the sanctity of the realm,” the magister replied.

There was a long silence before anyone spoke again.

“A Paladin order… Who better to protect the realm than her people?” Theodoric murmured, seemingly mulling over his words.

“They would need a name, of course. Perhaps something in Tabaxi in Melisende’s honour.”

“That would be a fine tribute to her, but such decorum must wait. For now, send word to her followers in the Mists and invite their leaders to Redcastle. They may be able to help us contend with Pyrrhus.”

“But who will partake in this order? Who would be willing to take such a risk?” Eitri challenged.

“The brave will come,” the Archmage said with a renewed confidence. “There will always be those who are willing to heed the call to adventure, and to protect the realm. For within the people of Geth, therein lies the hearts of heroes.”

The Order's Keep, Mistmire Citadel

Two weeks before the events at Necropolis-on-Sea...

Black wings spread across the bright morning sky. The violent winds did nothing to impede the beast as its ever-expanding form shrouded the land in its great shadow.

The stone steps were firm beneath her feet as she ran to reach atop the highest tower. Her legs grew weaker the higher she climbed. The black smoke that weighed heavily in the air made her lungs ache. The tower seemed to sway with the howling winds. When she reached her destination, the view from the high tower made her heart stop. 

A great fire spreading faster than it could be quelled, leaving crop fields reduced to ashes in its wake. The vast forests were no more than charred wastelands. The great cities and villages no more than rubble. The dark waters of Gethian sea roiled and rocked as the violent winds stirred. On the horizon, she could see red glow from the Gathered Isles as black columns of swirling smoke rose higher than any tower they could build.  

She looked up once more to the sky. The shadowed creature opened its great gaping maw to devour the two suns. The land was cast into darkness. The only light now was from the great fires below.

She felt a rumbling beneath her. The tower’s groan was deafening as it began to lean precariously to one side. A well-timed strong wind threatened to knock her from her place in the tower. She could hear a loud bang from somewhere below her. She clung to a pillar near to her, but it was for naught. As the tower continued to lean, she lost her grip.

Falling.

Falling.

Crack! The tower gave way to the torrenting winds.

Falling.

Bang! Falling from high above, the tower plummeted towards her.

Falling.

She was engulfed in the black smoke. Soon, she would reach the flames.

Falling.

The great beast turned its gaze upon her and lunged for its prey. It opened its terrible mouth. It would consume her too. She felt a scream escape her lips, but she heard no sound. She saw only blackness.

BANG!

Saraid awoke with a start.

Her skin was damp with sweat; the morning air sent a chill up her spine. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Bang! Bang!

There was a loud pounding at her chamber door, which served to wake her and worsen her dull headache. She got up from her bed and dressed quickly to tend to her caller. Much to her chagrin, she found Chauncey waiting for her. 

“Good morning, Saraid,” he croaked. She winced slightly as his voice crack pierced her mind like a sliver.

“Morning, Chauncey, how may I be of service to you?” She asked, her eyes settling on his new cape. It was no longer a deep ochre as hers was, but now a crisp white following his promotion to the great council. Well, mostly white. She revelled at the sight of the mud stains spattered across the clean linen.

“Shattershield requested your presence,” he said.

“The captain summoned me? For what purpose?”

“He did not say, only that you are to meet him at the north tower.”

A sudden sharp pain pierced through her skull. She gripped Chauncey’s shoulder as she tried to steady herself.   

“Saraid,” he spoke softly, but she failed to find any comfort in his distinctive voice.

“I am fine.” She said, tersely. “Thank you for delivering this message.”

Having served his purpose, Chauncey puffed up his chest and walked off like a lame peacock, leaving her to wallow in discomforting silence. In apathetic sort of sense, she envied his cavalier attitude. He seemed to be without a care in the realm, yet it was he who was granted the highest of honours in their order. Meanwhile, she carried the greatest of burdens and remained limited in her station. Had she not proven herself loyal to the Order? How long was she to be punished for another’s sins?

Saraid splashed her face with some water from her basin to steel her nerves. She patted her face dry, only to catch a glance of her disheveled appearance in her silver hand mirror. She combed her hair, which helped a little. She tore a chunk off the stale bread loaf on her table and choked it down with some far too bitter ale. Poorly rested and even more poorly fed, Saraid left to find the captain. She seldom left her chambers without her armour, but in this moment, she was grateful to be without it. She was unencumbered by its weight and could move on light feet through the long halls of the Order’s keep.

The stone steps were firm beneath her feet as she climbed to reach the top of the north tower. Her leg grew weaker the higher she went. Her sense of urgency had helped to keep her nerves at bay, but now she felt herself tremble. She steadied her breathing, taking in the cool morning air. The smell of the saltwater carried on the breeze gave her surprise, as though she half-expected something else. Upon her arrival at their meeting place, she found her captain staring out over the vast eastern landscape beyond them.

The receding mists revealed a breathtaking view of Geth. To the east, the colossal mountains stood guard at the edge of the realm, only giving way to the forests at their feet. Roads and foot trodden paths were the veins which lead to bustling cities and rowdy villages, the hearts of the realm. To the west, the great Gethian sea glittered under the light of the two suns, and on the distant horizon, one might even catch a glimpse of the Gathered Isles. All the realm was below them. Such a beautiful sight would catch one’s breath, but that was not what stirred her.

“Good morning, Saraid.” Captain Shattershield turned to greet her as she approached him, feeling a familiar warmth as she drew nearer to him. “I see Chauncey delivered my message in a timely manner.”

“Good morning, sir.” She felt herself wavered under his gaze.

“I hope you can forgive me for the early call, but this is an urgent matter. As I am sure you have heard, there was a recent incident at the Alcataz stronghold.”

Yes, she had heard about the prison outbreak. A massive explosion had enabled some of the most dangerous criminals in the realm to escape. It was an utter disaster. No one knew how it happened, but the popular rumour amongst her rank was that this was orchestrated by the thieves' guilds to break out high profile guild members and leaders. The more eccentric few believed this to be a distraction for some grand scheme, but she knew better than to believe such tall tales.

“This incident is most concerning to the Order,” he continued, “therefore, I want you to ride east to our sister order’s monastery in Ailbhe Mountains.”

To the monastery? Why not send her to Alcataz?

“Of course, sir,” she affirmed, “I can be ready to leave at first light tomorrow. May I ask why the monastery?”

“Alcataz was the hold for something very important to the Order. In the aftermath of the disaster, it was discovered that the item was stolen from the premises. It is our understanding that the monastery’s library has information pertaining to this item that will help us retrieve it.”

Something important to the Order was stolen?

“I also advise that you set out today,” he added. “The Grand Master of Ailbhe is expecting you, I feel it would be rude to keep her waiting.” A chill ran up her spine.

“I will leave posthaste,” she paused, “thank you, sir, for entrusting this to me.” As she departed, she swore she saw him smile.

She returned to her chambers with her mind racing with all that she needed to prepare. Her horse would need to be readied, she would need rations for travelling and personal attire and items… how long would she be gone? Days? Weeks? The significance of this order was beginning to weigh heavily on her. The knot in her stomach twisted.

Dragonborn were hard to read. She found they lacked the subtle tells that readily betrayed species with softer features. Her captain was a stoic man, but something in his voice caused her to tremble.

A sudden glint of red caught her eye.

The silver hand mirror on her desk laid idle. Gazing into it, she saw nothing but her own tired, pallid skin and messy, red hair. Must have caught the sun. She packed it away in her bag.

Setting out on her journey, she was joined by dark clouds that loomed threateningly high above her. She hid her face under the large hood of her cloak. What good is being a diviner when the gods do not warn you of the rain?

Somewhere in the mountains, northwest of The Tangle

Two weeks before the events at Necropolis-on-Sea…

Dob’s feet felt heavy like lead. Each step was agony, but he had to keep going. He had to find Katie Pearlhead and bring an end to this longstanding hostility between them. By whatever means necessary. It was pure will that kept him standing. He had been walking for days and the pain settling into his joints was becoming too much to ignore. He had followed Katie’s trail to a mountainous region at the ends of the lush forests. Hiding in the mountains was a foolish move on her part, as Dob knew the terrain better than most, certainly better than a thief queen.

She had an advantage with a head start, so he would rest only for an hour or two on the side of the road before taking up his course again to close the gap. But as the days passed, it had begun to take a toll on his body, which now begged for proper sleep and food. He ate what he could scavenge on the way, but the findings were scarce. Bittersweet berries and small mushrooms did little to satiate his perpetual hunger. The mountain was as unyielding in her tidings, as her terrain was relentless. The sun bore down on him, making his clothes damp with sweat, and the accompaniment of cool mountain breeze sent a shiver down his spine. The air was thin too, making his breathing difficult. He found himself struggling to fill his lungs. But he had to keep moving. He had to. He had to… Tracking her down would be… easy… He was beginning to feel rather lightheaded.

He found his legs trembling beneath him as he struggled to move forward. Why was the ground coming towards him?

A sharp pain.

Everything went…

…dark. 

--

A dull ache spread through his skull. He couldn’t lift his neck. Dob slowly opened his eyes. Sun streamed into the dark room from small slits between wooden shutters. Dust swirled in the air. Under his fingertips, he felt the rough fabric of a wool blanket. He reached up and touched the thick gauze that made his head feel heavy. He tried to remove it, but someone swatted his hand away.

He scrambled to the other side of the bed. The other person in the room looked rather startled by his alertness.

“Who are you?” Dob demanded. The person merely shook their head and pressed a finger to their mouth. They were dressed in plain garbs of cotton and wool, showing signs of age but well-maintained.

The person showed him the gauze in their hands and gestured to their head then to his. Dob slowly returned to their side, and the person began to unravel the gauze. They applied a salve to his wound, he winced at the stinging pain. They were gentle as they wrapped his head with the fresh bandages. When they were finished, they poured a cup of water from a bucket at their side. They offered it to him. Dob eagerly drank from the cup. The cool spring water soothed his aching throat. They filled his cup for him when he held it out for more. He continued to drink until the bucket was nearly empty.

“Thank you,” he said, wiping away the water on his chin. With a warm smile, they nodded in reply. “Do you have anything to eat?” He asked, the nagging hunger had returned. Again, they nodded. The person stood to leave. As Dob shifted to get up, they placed a firm hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. Dob was to remain where he was, he settled into the bed once more.

He took a moment to study his surroundings. The room was humbly furnished with hand carved pieces of only the essentials. A bed, a small table, a stool... nothing more. The walls were bare, no paintings or tapestries on the walls, or carvings in the brick. He listened for sounds beyond this room, but he could only hear the wind through the trees. Plain garbs, vows of silence, modest dwellings, unyielding altruism... As a child, he had come to a place like this, he could still remember the first time he found them.

Autumn had come quickly that year, and the forest was all too happy to welcome it. The change in seasons made scavenging a difficult task and Dob found himself often going to bed hungry. He travelled further down the mountain in the hopes that the findings there would be more generous. As he wandered along a stream, he came across a rather strange sight. There, in the middle of the forest, was a grand building of stone and wood. To the side of the building was a lush garden of vegetables and fruits. He had never seen anything like it before; he wondered what kind of person might live here. He listened hard, but he could hear no sounds of people. Perhaps whoever lived here had gone out for a walk. Desperately hungry, Dob hopped over the stone fence, and crept his way through the garden to find over-ripe vegetables. That evening, he roasted turnips, carrots, and apples over a fire and devoured each morsel. He had not had something so delicious since his sister’s cooking. When he was full, he still felt a pain in his stomach. It wasn’t very nice to steal from the garden, but he had little choice until Suzette returned. From that day on, Dob would sneak into the garden to harvest what he could, even if it was near rotten. Each night, he ate like a king, for surely it was a king who lived in such a grand place with all the vegetables in the world. All was well, until one day there was someone else in the garden.

He hadn’t heard the woman coming up behind him. It was only when her staff whacked him across the back of his hand that he knew he was in trouble. He started to cry as he was certain he would be punished… But instead, the woman wiped away his tears and took him gently by the hand. She brought him inside, where he saw that this was not a house of a king, but a home for many people. The woman brought him to a seat at a long table – the longest he had ever seen. She brought him a delicious bowl of stew, which he ate ravenously. The people in the house were kind, but strange, he thought. They said nothing to him while they shared their food. The woman gave him a small bed roll, and new clothes to wear for he had long outgrown the ones he had. Even after he thanked her, she said nothing. He returned to his little camp, pondering that day’s strange events. When he returned the next morning, a basket of fresh vegetables and some bread was waiting for him.

Dob found the speechless monks to be very helpful. They taught him how to scavenge for berries and mushrooms, teaching him what was safe and what was not. They taught him how to make a proper shelter to protect him from winds and storms. All the time spent with him; the monks never uttered a word. Now, that was not to say he never tried to get them to speak. At first, he would ask questions, but they would only mime their answers, which he had gotten pretty good at interpreting. However, mimes made for poor companions, so he tried other tactics. He would try surprising them by hiding and jumping out, but they would never shout. He would talk ceaselessly; they always had an ear to lend, but never a word to share.

If they would not talk, then neither shall he! He too could become a speechless monk! He spent an entire day getting out all his vocal urges by running around the forest and shouting all the while. Then, he took a vow of silence, which to him choosing the moment to decide to never utter a word again, and it was done! He would practice moving quietly, just like the monks, much to their amusement. The monks showed him some of their techniques, so that he could learn to move like they did, quietly and with great agility.

He practiced everywhere he went: in the gardens, in the woods, and even in the halls of the building. One day, he was so focused on stepping softly during his chores that he forgot where the monks had sent him in the first place. Before he knew it, he had wandered down a long corridor far from the grand hall. Before him was a large oak door, the room beyond he had been forbidden from entering. It was only for the monks, they had mimed. Well, he was aa monk now too, so he should be allowed to go inside.

Dob struggled against the heavy door, opening it only slightly. He squeezed himself through the crack and slipped into the room. He had never seen anything like it before. The large room was like a maze with shelves that reached as high as the ceiling. Upon the shelves, tomes were stacked atop each other, and scrolls shoved into every spot they could fit. There were even more books piled atop desks and even the floor!

He unravelled a scroll on a desk to see a huge illustration of the land. Geth was so big! The sea was even bigger! Are those islands? He traced his finger along the mountains that stretched along the right border, then along the river…. There were so many forests! Which forest were they located in? Oh, there were cities scattered about too! How did they decide where to build them? He wondered if Suzette was in one of these cities on the map. He tried to study their names. Redcastle, Port Fairwind, Bumble… Fafniron…. He noticed how that last one had a small line underneath it, which must have meant it was important… But what could be so special about a place he had never heard of?

Someone had written something underneath.

He leaned in close to read the words.

Crack!

A staff came down on his hand.

Dob jumped back, startled.

A monk towered over him; he had never seen anyone look so angry. He grabbed Dob by the back of his shirt and pulled him from the library. He could do little else but struggle as the monk dragged him through the corridors to the outside. He heard the doors of the monastery close with a heavy thud.

Tears started to spill from his eyes. He knocked on the door, but it would not open. He broke his vow to call out, but no one answered. He stood at the door for what felt like hours, but no one came. He wandered back to his camp with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks. He slept badly that night, but perhaps everything would be well again the next day. Surely, that was long enough to forgive him. The next morning, Dob ran to the monastery to find its doors still closed. He wandered over to the garden. There he found a basket of peppers, carrots, beets, onions, peaches, and apples atop the stone fence. His favourites.

“Thank you.”

The wind rustled through the trees.

He took the basket and wandered back to his camp. He sat on his bed roll with a peach in his hand. He took a bite from it, its juices rolling down his chin. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and tossed the fruit into the woods. A sour taste lingered in his mouth.

He picked up a stick and began to draw what he could remember of the map. The only town he could remember was Bumble. What a silly named place, he had thought. He knew there was a road to the east of the monastery. He could travel there by foot, and surely, he would meet someone on their own travels who could direct him to the nearest city. He couldn’t wait for Suzette anymore. He had to go find her.

Dob packed his bag with his few possessions, and carefully secured his bedroll atop. He covered his campfire with damp leaves to smother any remaining embers. There was one thing to pack. Leaning against one of the trees was his lute. The last gift he ever received from Suzette. He had all but abandoned it in his vow of silence, but that didn’t matter now. Dob picked up the lute and strummed its strings. It had a warm tone.

Perhaps he could use music to find Suzette, he thought, and he began to find the notes for her lullaby. He continued to pluck the strings as he walked. He took his first step towards the traveler’s road with the whole world was ahead of him. What awaited him; he did not know.

First, he needed to find his family. 

--

Dob was startled from his nostalgia by the monk. They had returned with a bowl of mushroom stew that was looking quite appetizing to his aching stomach. He was also given a small roll of bread and a cup of water.

Dob ripped the roll apart with his fingers, it was warm and soft. He dipped the fresh bread into the stew. As he chewed, he found that he was pleasantly surprised by the rich taste of the stew, which aided greatly by the variety of spices. He tried to eat slowly, as to not offend, but his hunger consumed him. He devoured his food ravenously; his stomach twisting as he ate. It had been a long time since he had eaten anything this heavy. The monk ate slowly from their own bowl. They offered him their roll, and though he tried to refuse it at first, he sheepishly accepted it. He ate the second roll slowly as his stomach roiled.

When he was adequately satisfied, he settled into bed once more. The monk collected his dish and left him to sleep. A weary warmth was spreading through him. Gods, it would be good to sleep now. His eyelids felt heavy. He could fall asleep except for the nagging sensation he felt in his gut. Why did he ever think he could catch Katie on his own? He was certain that he had lost the trail. She’d be far away by now. Perhaps, he should return to the others. It had been foolish to leave them to begin with… He wondered what kind of adventurers they were having without him… Perhaps they had tried to follow him and were on their way…

He soon drifted into a deep sleep with thoughts of his friends to accompany him.

--

Two days passed while Dob remained at the monastery. The monks provided him with salves, delicious soups, fresh breads, and plenty of pillows as he recovered under their care. While a spell could heal his wounds quickly, a long rest in the quiet monastery healed the soul, as well as the body. Adventuring had taught him important skills; it made him brash, bold, and quick to act. His short time at the monastery reminded him how important it was to be still in the surroundings of the natural world.

On his third day, Dob felt well enough to walk the grounds without accompaniment. Like the monastery from the forest, this monastery had a garden with well tended crops of carrots, onions, turnips, potatoes, and a small orchard with berries bushes, and fruit trees. Dob picked a perfectly ripe peach from the branch of a tree. He bit into it; it tasted sweet. Its juices ran down his hand. He ate the peach as he continued his stroll along the path to the riverside.

His ear caught a strange sound, a voice. He cast his eyes about, and spotted two monks, a tabaxi and a dragonborn, who were accompanied by a human woman. Hers was the voice he heard. She was speaking in hushed tones to the two walking with her. The woman grew quiet as he approached, but she greeted him with a small smile as their paths crossed.

“It is troubling what happened at Alc…” he overheard; her words trailed off as he walked further down the path. Perhaps she was a recruit who had not yet made her vows. The strange occurrence swiftly fled from his mind as his eyes settled on a sight that made his blood run cold.

A woman was sitting by the river’s edge with a large papier-mâché pearl at her side.

Katie Delacour.