Brynna's chant had risen to a frantic pitch, her voice trembling as her hands shook, holy light blazing between her palms with enough intensity to cast flickering shadows across the jagged rents in Edowin's armor.
The radiance pulsed unevenly, spilling over the dwarf's mangled abdomen in waves that broke like surf against a ruined shore.
Yet the wound refused to close.
The light failed to knit torn flesh, offering no respite from the relentless bleeding.
William pressed hard on the injury as she had commanded, but his quivering fingers felt as if they were trying to hold together two sodden scraps of parchment, the torn edges slipping apart again and again.
"Come on, come on…" Brynna whispered desperately, her voice cracking as blood pooled around her knees. "Stay with me, Edowin, stay with..." The dwarf convulsed beneath her touch, not from pain, but from something far more profound, something deep within.
In an instant, a psychic force erupted outward like a soundless detonation, rippling through the clearing.
William felt it strike his mind like a bolt of frozen lightning, alien and wrong, numbing and buzzing in its wake, his vision swimming for half a heartbeat.
Brynna clutched at her temple with a gasp. Andrick reeled back, dropping to one knee as his sword slipped from his grasp and clattered against a root.
The tadpole.
It was the parasite, the same vile creature nesting within his skull.
A sudden psionic shockwave burst forth, raw and instinctive, desperate as the last frantic kick of a drowning soul toward the surface.
The forest quivered with a psychic chime, metallic and cold, resonating deep within the bones of the infected alone.
Brynna's eyes flew wide in terror, Andrick's breath caught mid-gasp, and William felt it too, a sharp vibration thrumming behind his eyes like the snap of a plucked wire.
Then… a voice.
Not spoken.
Not heard.
Transmitted.
It was Edowin.
His mental presence was tattered, flickering like a lantern's flame fighting the wind, yet the echo of him surged stubbornly through the psychic static with unyielding dwarven grit.
Lad… listen… William's breath stopped cold.
Brynna pressed her glowing palms harder to the wound, murmuring broken prayers under her breath.
Andrick's shouts reached him only as muffled echoes, as though he were submerged.
But William's gaze was locked on Edowin's face, those bloodshot, unblinking eyes fixed on him with a fierce clarity that defied the failing body beneath them.
And once more, the dwarf's voice resonated directly in William's mind: …Help them.
The psychic tone fractured, sputtering like a dying ember struggling for one last flare.
"You… run. Take… Brynna… Andrick… to camp…"
The fading warmth of Edowin's grip, locked around William's wrist, slipped away like water through trembling fingers.
William's throat tightened. "Edowin…"
The dwarf's voice, sharp in his mind yet fractured like a cracked bell, rang out:
The Absolute… guide ye. True soul… or no… they'll need ye. The woods… not safe. More beasts… drawn by blood…
His breath caught, ending in a wet, rattling gasp.
Brynna's magic sputtered and died with a hiss.
"No… no, no, please," she whispered, shaking him desperately. Holy light shimmered weakly between her hands, flickering like a dying firefly before vanishing altogether. "Stay awake! Edowin! Stay awake!"
William knew.
The dwarf's body was ice beneath his palms. His heartbeat faltered like a drum struck by unsteady hands. The wound was far too deep, far too savage. Even the mightiest divine power might have failed here.
Brynna's "paltry chants," as William remembered from gameplay, were nowhere near enough.
And Edowin knew it.
Lad… listen close… His mental voice thinned like dispersing mist. You're… not ready for what's ahead… but they'll look to ye.
Brynna… she'll hold to hope.
Andrick… to fury.
Keep 'em steady.
Keep 'em… alive…
His eyes fluttered shut.
His mind's spark flickered one last time.
A faint, final whisper.
…Help them… home…
And then...
Silence.
Not the natural stillness of the forest. Not the gentle hush after a cry.
This was deeper. Psychic.
A sudden void where moments ago there had been a vibrant presence.
Edowin's mind vanished like a candle snuffed in a raging storm.
The hand clutching William's wrist slid away.
His chest rose once… and never again.
Brynna crumpled over him with a shuddering, broken sob.
"No… no, NO! Edowin! Edowin, wake up! I can still... I can still fix this, I… Edowin!"
Andrick's jaw clenched so hard William could hear teeth grind. He drove his fist into the earth, once, with bruising force.
"Damn that beast… DAMN that thing!"
William knelt in place, frozen, blood soaking through his trousers, the metallic tang stifling his breath.
Edowin's final words echoed in his mind like an afterimage burned into sight.
Help them.
Get them home.
You're a true soul… they'll need you.
He forced the panic back down his throat.
When he spoke, his voice was raw. "We… we can't stay here."
Andrick spun, eyes blazing through tears.
"What do you mean 'can't stay'? He's… he's still..."
"He's gone," William said, each word slicing him as it left his lips. "And if that owlbear returns, or anything drawn by this blood, we'll be next."
Brynna shook her head in fierce denial, tears spilling. "I can heal him. I just need… more time. I just..."
"BRYNNA!" William and Andrick roared together, the force of it making her flinch but breaking through the spiral, consuming her.
After a brief pause to mourn their fallen companion, they pressed deeper into the forest, the air itself seeming to hold its breath as they moved, leaving Edowin's cooling body concealed beneath a layer of leaves.
Each step was heavy, as though wading through molasses, the towering trees standing like silent sentinels, their grief trailing behind them like smoke. Brynna sniffled softly, wiping her eyes with the back of a trembling wrist.
Andrick strode ahead, shoulders rigid, sword drawn, his grip so tight that his knuckles blanched.
William remained silent, his mind still reeling from the psychic shock of Edowin's death.
Hours dragged by until the sun dipped low, casting the world in shades of copper and blood-red.
A faint thread of woodsmoke teased William's senses.
"A village," he murmured.
Through the thinning trees, they glimpsed rooftops of withered thatch, crooked chimneys, and the sagging remains of a settlement clinging stubbornly to existence.
A crude palisade of logs encircled the outskirts, some leaning precariously.
Yet something was wrong; no lanterns lit, no voices carried, no footsteps stirred.
Only silence.
They exchanged cautious glances. "Stay behind me," Andrick whispered. "No," William replied, stepping forward. "If anything is still here, I'll spot it first."
Passing through the half-broken gate, its leather hinges barely holding, they entered a street littered with overturned carts, abandoned baskets, and the faint, rancid stench of rotting meat.
Brynna shuddered, her voice trembling. "This place… something happened here."
William halted mid-step, his ears twitching at the faint sound, soft breathing.
Not just one, but many breaths, quick and anxious, seeping from behind doorways, from the shadowed eaves of rooftops, from within barrels and behind the splintered remains of market stalls.
"…Ambush," he murmured low.
Andrick's grip tightened on his sword hilt. "I figured."
He eased forward with measured caution, only for a crossbow bolt to whistle from a window and strike the dirt beside his foot with a deadly thunk.
Brynna screamed, ducking low as more bolts hissed through the air, raining down in a sudden volley before falling silent.
The shadows shifted like a living thing.
Dozens of beady yellow and red eyes gleamed from cracks, holes, and jagged rooflines, goblins, clutching rusted blades, chipped crossbows, and cudgels swaddled in filthy rags.
William raised both hands slowly, spellcraft poised, his gaze locked on the rooftops.
A goblin crouched atop a collapsed awning hissed, "Hold yer fire! HOLD! HOLD, YA DUNG-SNIFFIN' GAP-TEETH!" In an instant, every hidden assailant froze.
The goblin leaned forward, blinking rapidly, squinting hard at William. "…He's… he's one o' them."
A murmur rippled through the concealed horde.
"Drow."
"Ain't he one o' the Mistress's?"
"Why's a knife-ear like him out here?"
"Reckon he's scoutin' us?"
"No! No! Maybe he's one o' the slaves that turned on her…"
"No slave o' hers looks THAT calm!" another hissed, tension crackling in the air.
Crossbows quivered in tiny, clawed hands, arrowheads trembling as the goblins muttered rapid, uneasy words.
Brynna's eyes flicked from face to face, panic rising. "William… why are they looking at you like that?"
"…Because I'm a Half-Drow," William answered through clenched teeth, his voice taut. "And goblins don't fare well under Drow rule."
"What mistress?" Andrick whispered sharply. "Who the hell..?"
William silenced him with a small, urgent gesture.
The goblins' frantic whispers grew louder, their shrill tones ignoring Brynna and Andrick entirely now.
From behind an overturned cart, a jittery goblin suddenly hopped into view, gripping a broken spear with both hands.
He leveled it at William, though his arms shook so violently the tip swayed like a leaf caught in a storm.
"S-So! Uh… y-you're… uh… you're from the Mistress's camp, right?" the goblin squeaked. "R-right? Y-you ain't here to… punish us, are ya?"
William blinked once.
The others froze, eyes locked on him.
Think fast.
William offered the goblin a slow, icy half-smile, radiating just enough Drow menace to chill the blood without slipping into theatrics.
"…That depends," he said with silken precision. "Exactly what have you little fools done that warrants punishment?"
The entire goblin village seemed to inhale at once, the sound thick with the dread of sinners caught in the act.
A dozen weapons hit the dirt in unison.
One goblin toppled off a rooftop in a faint.
Another shrieked, "WE DIDN'T KNOW! WE SWEAR WE DIDN'T KNOW SHE'D BE BACK SO SOON!"
"WE'RE SORRY FOR RAIDIN' THE SUPPLY CART! WE WERE STARVIN'!"
"BEGGIN' YOUR POINTY-EARED FORGIVENESS!"
One hapless goblin attempted to throw himself prostrate, only to trip, tumble into a well, and vanish with a distant splash.
William was utterly baffled. Brynna's expression was frozen in horror, while Andrick looked ready to collapse from sheer bewilderment.
Still, the goblins' panic snowballed.
"It was Groble's idea!"
"No, it was Snitch's fault!"
"He told us the Mistress wouldn't notice a few missing slaves!"
"Shut it, you brain-rotted twig-muncher!"
A larger goblin, though still small by any sane measure, lurched forward, dented helmet askew, nearly tripping over his own feet.
He smacked his forehead with a dramatic thump before throwing himself flat in the dirt.
"Great Dark One," he gasped theatrically, "we welcome yer terrible and elegant presence! Please don't turn our bones to ash!"
William blinked twice.
Andrick mouthed: What. The. Hell.
Brynna mouthed back: Just go with it.
Clearing his throat, William straightened to his full height and fixed the groveling chief with a cold, commanding gaze.
"…Take us," he ordered, voice like steel wrapped in shadow, "to this Mistress's camp."
The goblin palisade groaned under the restless wind as William, Andrick, and Brynna were prodded down the dusty path.
Their goblin escort jabbered noisily, unashamed and unfiltered, casting wary glances at William while gawking at him as though he'd sprouted an extra head.
Leading the procession waddled the Booyahg, a female goblin swathed in a patchwork of mismatched robes, clearly cobbled together from stolen laundry and tattered curtains.
Her staff tapped rhythmically with each step, adorned with bones, feathers, and what might once have been a very irate squirrel.
She kept shooting glances at William, no, devouring him with her eyes, until finally she swerved close, walking backward to stare up into his face.
"So, tall-dark-and-pretty," she purred, baring a grin of needle-sharp teeth, "you single, or got someone back home who's gonna cry when they hear a goblin snatched ya?"
William blinked, Brynna choked on air, and Andrick paused mid-step before stomping forward with a muttered, "Gods preserve us…"
William managed a tense smile. "Uh… depends on what you mean by 'snatched.'"
The Booyahg squealed with delight, twirling her staff.
"Slippery! I like slippery.
Hard to catch, fun to chase.
Bet you run real fast with those long legs."
Behind her, two goblins nudged each other. "Boss snagged herself a tall boy, told ya she had game."
"She's gonna put him in the breeding cave..."
"SHUT IT!" the Booyahg barked without turning.
William arched a brow. "Breeding cave?"
She leaned in with a sly smirk. "Ha! Just kiddin'. Mostly."
Brynna looked like her spirit had fled her body, while Andrick muttered to her, "If he dies from flirtation, I'm not explaining that to the gods."
To prevent the goblins from becoming agitated or from letting their playful flirting spiral into something far more troublesome, William opted to respond with a lighthearted touch.
"Well," he remarked with a casual shrug, "I can't deny you're… enthusiastic."
The Booyahg halted in her tracks, pressing a hand to her chest as she dramatically fanned herself.
"And charming too! Girl, take note..." she called, snapping her fingers toward a nearby goblin. "The Drow's got manners."
The goblins drove them along a winding dirt path that snaked through the ragged outskirts of the old settlement.
The air grew heavy with the mingled stench of smoke, spilled ale, and the rank musk of too many unwashed bodies crammed together in too little space.
Ahead, jutting from the forest's green jaw like a shattered tooth, loomed the skeletal remains of an ancient monastery.
Or rather, what had once been one.
Now it lay in ruin, cloaked in filth.
The stone walls still clung to faint echoes of their former grace, delicate carvings of vines, stars, and crescent moons, but they were fractured, clawed, and scrawled over with crude goblin markings.
Weather-worn statues ringed the outer courtyard, each one a serene goddess once honored here.
Not one had been spared defilement.
Some were decapitated.
Others smashed to rubble.
Many were smeared with garish dyes, fouled with excrement, or etched with clumsy graffiti.
One even bore a goblin skull wedged onto the jagged neck stump like a grotesque crown.
Brynna's breath caught. "Hells preserve us… this was sacred ground."
Andrick's jaw tightened as his eyes swept the desecration. "Not anymore."
William's face remained a mask, though unease churned in his gut.
The goblins, oblivious to the weight of their vandalism, strode on with the gleeful pride of children parading a makeshift fortress.
The Booyahg pranced ahead, arms thrown wide as though unveiling a grand palace.
"Behold! Camp Grubf, no, wait... Gnasher? no, no... what'd we call it this week?" she crowed over her shoulder.
"'S Guttergut!" one goblin bellowed.
"No, it's Guttersworn!"
"NO, IT'S BROWSER BLITZBRAG'S CHURCH!"
A fistfight erupted instantly over the proper name.
Before William could even reply, they had passed beneath the monastery's archway, its once-proud inscription worn and chipped into obscurity, and stepped through the main gate.
The world shifted in an instant.
First came the SOUND: a roaring, howling maelstrom of goblin voices, laughing, shrieking, chanting, arguing, and singing wildly off-key in at least four discordant tunes.
Drums thundered, bones clattered, and somewhere nearby, someone gnawed ferociously on what might once have been a chair leg.
Then came the SMELL: smoke, rot, strong ale, grease, sweat, a trace of sulfur, and some unidentifiable reek that made Brynna gag and murmur a hasty prayer. Finally, SIGHT revealed itself, as their eyes adjusted to sheer chaos.
The monastery courtyard had been utterly transformed into a goblin revel.
Makeshift tents of stolen curtains and burlap crowded every corner; barrels overflowed with rotting fruit and half-fermented brew; fires burned unevenly in crude pits, roasting everything from boar meat to… something pale William desperately hoped had never spoken Common.
Goblins danced atop tables, grappled in dirt-drawn rings, and tumbled in drunken heaps.
Others blasted into horns cobbled from bone and tin cups, while one bare-chested figure stood astride a shattered statue, screeching a heroic ballad so piercing that Andrick flinched on instinct.
When a goblin went hurtling bodily across the courtyard, flailing like a sack of potatoes flung from a trebuchet, it became instantly obvious why.
On the far side, planted squarely before the monastery's inner doors, stood an ogre.
A towering, hulking mass of rippling muscle and patchy hair, his gray-green skin etched with faded brands and tribal scars, he stood utterly still, arms crossed like a boulder carved in the shape of a man.
He regarded the chaotic goblin riot with the weary, exasperated patience of someone who had surrendered to futility centuries ago.
Goblins rebounded from his mere presence, ricocheting like insects off a tree trunk; a few in drunken bravado tried to clamber up him, but he flicked them away with a single finger each time.
"Oh, gods… is that…?" Brynna whispered.
"An ogre," Andrick muttered. "A big one."
William could only stare.
Across the brute's back was strapped a massive club, a stripped tree trunk bound in iron plates, and on his face was an expression that all but shouted, If one more goblin screams in my ear, I will flatten this entire camp.
Their escort pushed them forward, oblivious to the tension gripping the three adventurers.
Goblins roared in greeting as they entered the courtyard, some lifting mugs in salute, others hollering absurdities: "HEY, TALL ELF-MAN!" "HE'S BACK FROM THE DEAD!" "NO HE AIN'T, THIS ONE'S NEW!" "HE HAS HAIR! THE OTHER ONE DIDN'T!" "NOT ALL DROW ARE BALD, YOU TATTER-BRAIN!"
The Booyahg strutted forward with exaggerated flair, twirling her staff like a parade marshal as she bellowed, "Clear the way! VIPs coming through! Very Important Prisoners, possibly friends, maybe sacrifices, or even potential date material!"
Brynna stumbled mid-step.
"Date… what?" she muttered, incredulous, while Andrick groaned in weary resignation.
As the trio entered the vast central courtyard, the ogre's small, sunken eyes shifted toward them, slow, deliberate, like ancient glaciers grinding into motion.
William felt the oppressive weight of that gaze settle squarely upon him.
A low, gravelly rumble rolled from the ogre's throat, too ambiguous to tell if it was a grunt or a warning.
In an instant, the goblins fell into a hushed murmur, well, hush for goblins, which meant the din dropped from "forge explosion" to "raucous tavern."
Swelling with pride, the Booyahg thrust a finger toward William.
"BEHOLD! This is our brand-new Fancy Drow Guy! Show some respect!"
The ogre remained statuesque, no blink, no twitch, only that unyielding stare.
The silence stretched taut… until...
SMACK!
With a gleeful cackle, the Booyahg slapped William sharply on the backside before bolting away at full speed. William froze, stunned.
Brynna emitted a noise that was equal parts gasp and strangled scream, while Andrick muttered under his breath, "May the gods smite this place."
Every goblin and ogre eye is now fixed unflinchingly on William who had no choice but to do something disarming.
William squared his shoulders, letting the tension in the courtyard settle like dust after a brawl. The ogre's sunken eyes narrowed, his hulking frame radiating the kind of lazy menace that suggested he could squash a dozen goblins before breakfast and still have room for tea.
"All right, big guy," William said, his voice calm but carrying the gleam of a man who'd just bet against common sense, "how about a challenge? A drinking contest. You and me. Right here, right now."
The ogre blinked once, as if processing the audacity pixel by pixel. "…Drink… with you? Tiny Drow?"
William smirked. "Small, maybe. But I've got… stamina."
The goblins collectively inhaled. Even the Booyahg froze mid-twirl, staff dangling like a forgotten prop.
With a grunt, the ogre's laughter boomed, rattling teeth and confidence alike. "HA! Tiny thing thinks he drink… me! HAHAHA!"
Cheers erupted. Mugs of something that smelled like it had been brewed in a boot were shoved forward, foam and sludge sloshing dangerously. Brynna gagged just from the fumes.
William took a mug, lifting it as though it were a sword, and this was mortal combat. "…Bottoms up," he said.
The ogre's hand engulfed his own mug, draining half in one heroic gulp, foam decorating his chin like a festive beard.
William raised his mug, then, with the grace of a street magician, flicked its contents into a nearby corner. The splash was perfectly timed to the ogre's swallow. He grimaced, swayed, and quivered his lips as if the drink had just punched his soul.
The goblins stared. Brynna gasped. Andrick's jaw hung open like a badly made trapdoor.
"…Tiny… you… drunk?" the ogre rumbled, baffled.
William sighed dramatically, setting down the mug. "…Mmm… barely… survived that one." He swayed again, then snapped upright, eyes glinting like someone who'd just cheated death, and was ready for round two.
The ogre's brow scrunched like he was trying to solve advanced mathematics. "…Again?"
William grinned like a fox in a henhouse, snagging another mug. With practiced mischief, he repeated the ruse, most of the ale "accidentally" cascading to the ground with a flick of the wrist, punctuated by theatrical flinches, gasps, and hiccups that could win him a drunken Oscar.
By the fourth round, the ogre was swaying like a ship in a storm, his face glowing red, chest heaving from enough alcohol to drown a yak. William, meanwhile, was still in peak condition, except for the masterful wobble that made him look one bad sip away from collapse.
At last, the ogre's mug slipped from his fingers, foam dripping down his tusked jaw. His eyes widened in slow-motion horror. "…Tiny… Drow… beat… me?"
The courtyard went still. Even the goblins froze mid-cheer, as if pausing for dramatic effect.
William wiped his lips, swayed like a lazy breeze, and executed a bow so sloppy it was almost art. "Guess… I've got a strong liver."
The ogre's enormous shoulders slumped, humiliation etched deep across his face. He rumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Outdrunk by a puny thing…" before stomping toward the monastery doors.
With a grunt that could have moved mountains, he pushed them open and waved them inside. "…Go. Inside. I… not like… lose to… tiny elf."
William, Brynna, and Andrick traded glances of pure relief before stepping past the fuming giant into the dim, stone-scented hall. Behind them, the ogre's grumbling followed like distant thunder, each stomp radiating wounded pride.
"…Well," William muttered, "didn't think I'd ever outdrink an ogre. And live to tell about it."
Brynna let out a shaky laugh, while Andrick shook his head, murmuring something about divine intervention and dangerously clever small folk.
The heavy wooden doors groaned as the ogre's immense hands pushed them shut behind William, Brynna, and Andrick.
The clang of iron hinges reverberated through the hall before fading into an engulfing silence.
The raucous chorus of goblin voices, along with the acrid scents of smoke, rot, and spilled ale, receded into a distant, almost unreal memory.
The atmosphere here was altered, cooler, still, and imbued with a sense of sanctity despite the ruin.
Torchlight danced along the walls, revealing the remnants of a temple once dedicated to Selune.
Crescent moon carvings of the goddess, weathered and chipped by time, shimmered faintly beneath layers of dust and neglect.
Golden inlays had dulled to a pale, spectral glimmer, while tattered banners hung like mourners from the rafters, their silver-threaded moons barely discernible.
Yet the sacred aura had been corrupted.
A grim and alien presence had claimed the space.
Emblems of the Absolute, the cold, implacable force William had glimpsed in the minds of the infected, now marked the stone pillars.
Black sigils defaced moonlit mosaics, and candles burned in precise, ritualistic patterns, their light casting angular shadows that writhed and shifted unnaturally across the walls.
Brynna's breath hitched.
"Selune… she would never have wanted this," she murmured, her voice trembling as her hands brushed a nearby pillar, seeking some remnant of hope.
Andrick's jaw hardened.
"Absolute or not… desecration is desecration. Whoever did this isn't just tidying up."
His hand hovered near his sword, fingers flexing, his stance taut and watchful, ready for the faintest sign of threat.
William moved cautiously among them, every sense alert.
The floor, once polished stone, lay beneath a blanket of dust, yet scuff marks and dried footprints betrayed recent passage, signs of something purposeful, deliberate, and heavy having crossed this path.
Ahead, the main hall extended like a vast, hollowed cathedral, its vaulted ceiling looming high above, ribbed and blackened in places, bearing the scars of both age and fire.
Faded murals depicting Selune's tranquil face adorned the upper walls, though here and there they had been overwritten by jagged, alien glyphs that seemed to pulse faintly, as if conscious of the trespassers below.
From deep within the monastery came a low, droning chant, its monotony resonating through the very stone underfoot.
Brynna halted mid-step, eyes wide in recognition.
"The Absolute…" she breathed. "Someone, or something, is still worshipping it… here."
A sudden draft swept through, making candle flames dance and carrying with it the mingled scents of incense, iron, and a sharp, acrid tang that hinted at metal.
William's nose twitched.
At the center of the chamber, upon a raised dais, an aged Goblin Booyagh pressed the white-hot mark of the Absolute into Goblin flesh, sending the stench of burning skin billowing into the air in a dense, suffocating fog.