Seventeenth Entry

There were some happenings in between Sildar’s decision to accompany us back to town and where we stood by the end of the day. But the notes from that time were awfully scattered and—frankly—embarrassing. Not salvageable. So I tore them out, saved them for sketch scraps. Let’s just say: after about a day of travel, we arrived back in Phandalin.

This time, we didn’t let Ragar slip away as she usually did. All of us went to the Miner’s Exchange together. We even brought the cart right up to the entrance.

Raph’æl was the first to step forward and knock—repeatedly. (An old Raph’æl field note, now irrelevant: I’ve never seen him enter any door without being invited. Vampire? Probably not. Still—worth watching.)

Super stood beside him, arms crossed, head tilted, watching the cleric’s peculiar actions with quiet intensity. (An old Super field note, still relevant: Likes to pretend(?) our eccentricities are a wondrous spectacle. I still don’t know if he’s genuinely naïve or just messing with us.)

Ragar rolled her eyes and brushed past them. “Stop being weird,” she said, pushing the door open and heading inside without hesitation. “Just follow me… or don’t. It’s fine either way.”

But no. We were following this time.

We all stepped inside (except Super, who remained outside, fully committed to his oblivious bit). I positioned myself close to the door in case things went sideways. I took things in. The interior looked more like a storage operation than a place of business. Most of the floor was hidden behind curtains and temporary partitions. Incense burned in the corner, curling up in an attempt to mask a distinctly rancid odor. It was not succeeding.

Ragar approached the counter and began speaking with the human woman behind it—someone who clearly recognized her. Possibly even considered her a friend. Based on how little we actually know about Ragar, that could be accurate.

They spoke in Thieves’ Cant.

I involuntarily shook my head. She was already skating on thin ice with the rest of the party, and the first thing she does is choose a language none of us can understand? I could see the restrained frustration in both Jack and Raph’æl’s expressions from where I stood.

Eventually, the woman gestured to a wooden crate in the corner. It had a tag labeled “Hold for Ragar.”

I groaned lowly. Is that where the unpleasant smell was coming from?

I hoped they didn’t. They wouldn’t have.

But yes. They had.

The dragon parts were inside. Sloppily packed, untreated, still bloodied and damp with bits of sinew clinging to the bones. No preservation. No wrapping. Just tossed in like scraps. I suppose any form of respect costs extra.

“I don’t like your need to keep secrets from the group, Ragar,” Jack growled, already searching the crate for his portion.

And I agreed. Silently.

The woman behind the desk, perhaps sensing the mood, finally switched to speaking in Common. “There is typically a storage fee,” she said, pulling something out from under the counter. “But… you and I, Ragar, have done some good business together. So, here you are.”

She produced a carefully folded piece of parchment.

The map to Wave Echo Cave.

I let out a quiet breath. One matter, at least, was settled.

While I awkwardly asked Jack if he could please fish the dragon scales out of the crate for me (I wasn’t about to elbow around a fly-ridden crate I could have easily fallen into), Ragar struck up idle chatter with the woman behind the counter. Her name was Halia, I gathered—apparently, she had recently run in the local election while we were away. She’d come close to winning, but the title ultimately went to a man named Gareth. A barber. The kind of well-liked local whose familiarity was enough to sway the townsfolk.

It felt like an inconsequential fact at the time.

It wouldn’t remain that way for long.

I quietly thanked Jack as he passed me the scales, then bowed out from the Miner’s Exchange. I gave one last glance to my companions before stepping out into the street, into fresher air. The stench wasn’t the only thing that clung in that building—it was the atmosphere. Too much smoke, too many secrets. I told myself I wouldn’t go back unless I had no choice.

The scales could’ve been used for any number of things. Dragon hide can be reforged into armor worth ten times the effort it takes to stitch it together, or sold off piece by piece to gemcutters or enchanters. But none of that mattered—not now. My coin pouch was too light, and I needed it full. Quickly. No distractions, no indulgences.

Lionshield Coster was just across the way.

I entered and was immediately greeted by the unmistakable sound of little feet sprinting toward me. Madame Linene’s four-year-old daughter burst into view, clutching a chaotic bundle of papers.

“Yay! It’s the mask lady!” Her ruby eyes sparkled with unfiltered joy. “Are you here to play with me again? Let’s make a garden market!”

“Maybe later,” I said, trying not to let the smile in my voice betray the ache behind it. I’d spent time with her before, during slower weeks. Nothing I ever recorded—too personal—but not forgettable by any means. “Is your mother in? I’ve got something she might want to see.”

“Ooh! Is it that ugly rug?” she chirped, pointing at the folded hide in my arms.

“Uh, well—”

“Oh-no-no! Sell it to me!” she cried, dropping her papers all over the floor like a sudden wind had scattered them. She crouched and spread them out into a messy square. I glanced around the room, aware we were now fully blocking the front entrance. Once she’d arranged them to her satisfaction, she plopped down in the center and beamed up at me.

“Welcome to the garden market! Can I pleeease buy your shiny grass to feed my hunngy sheep?” she asked, dramatically drawing out the words. “I have this much money!” She reached into her apron and proudly revealed a handful of dried flower petals.

A laugh broke out of me. I didn’t try to hide it.

“What a bargain,” I said. “Your mother has stiff competition.”

“I’mma run her outta business,” she growled, puffing her cheeks.

“Oh, is that so?” came a voice from the back.

Linnie squeaked and scrambled to gather her papers again, grinning all the while. The voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to Madame Linene herself. She stepped forward, shaking her head at her daughter’s quick retreat.

“That kid. Some days I ain’t sure if she’s more me or her father,” she said, waving me over. “Welcome back. You’re Fanesca, right?”

“That’s right.” I kept my tone reserved, but I couldn’t deny how much it warmed me that she remembered. I’d only stopped in a few times before. Maybe Linnie had spoken kindly of me.

It was nice, feeling like I was part of a community, even briefly. A place that didn’t demand anything of me, but saw me.

I offered her the scales. She gave me a long, skeptical look.

“You sure you want to sell this?” she asked, more than once. “The smithy could do wonders with hide like this. You’d get better value down the line.”

I waved it off with some half-hearted excuse about wanting to see her shop thrive, how it could draw customers if displayed well.

The truth was simpler. I just wanted to be done with it. Get the gold. Get back to work. Find Gundren. Every moment we lingered here was another stone turning cold.

She examined the scales thoroughly before diving into her ledgers. I watched her, twisting my fingers in slow circles. It took her a while, flipping through records, scratching notes. Then, with a decisive thud of her ledger, she looked up and smiled.

“Well. Thank you for your business,” she said.

The total: 125 gold. I asked for most of it in platinum. She obliged.

I left the Lionshield Coster with a quiet sense of triumph, the kind that threatened to tug the corners of my mouth too far if I wasn’t careful. My steps were light—almost too light. I had to stop myself from skipping outright down the road toward the town square.

If my mental math wasn’t failing me, I was just a little past two hundred gold in total. I’d have to count it again later, just to be sure. But I let myself wonder, for the first time in earnest, how close that would bring me to affording that Legend Lore spell.

It wasn’t something I’d dared to think about too deeply before. Once upon a time, I was content with imagining, without sure confirmation, that I was just a simple, lucky sorcerer. But now the uncertainty was threatening to eat me alive.

It was time to go to Sister Garaele’s house.

I needed to find out the price.

I hadn’t even accounted for my share of Venomfang’s horde. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t mine to take. Not yet. Not after what I’d nearly done—how close I’d come to taking it and leaving my companions behind. The thought still made my stomach twist. The gold, the chalices, the scrolls… they were soaked in shame. And yet, Raph’æl had no doubt folded them into the party’s shared inventory. He’d give it freely, if I asked.

But I hadn’t.

And I didn’t plan to.

Not until I could carry that weight without it dragging me under.

My pace slowed as I neared the square. Thoughts—unwelcome, unanswered—began to collect like fog in my mind.

We had a job. A goal. Help Gundren. Restore what we could. After that… the thread frayed into uncertainty.

I had always assumed that once our task was complete, we’d each vanish back into our respective shadows. Drift apart. Let things settle into the nothing they had come from.

But now? That thought didn’t sit so comfortably anymore.

I couldn’t see a future that didn’t include these people. Not clearly. And that scared me. I’d built my life around the assumption of solitude, around the myth of freedom through distance. But lately… lately, I wasn’t so sure.

What would the ritual reveal about me? About the nature of my soul, my magic? Would it explain the strange call I feel at times—a push toward something divine, something terrifying? Would it confirm I was never meant to stay with them?

Or would it give me the permission to stop running?

The questions stung too sharply. My steady walk turned into a full sprint, breath shallow and ragged. I couldn’t think anymore. I just—

I just wanted to be happy.

And then, as if summoned by that thought alone, I caught sight of Raph’æl at the northern edge of the square. He was smiling. A rare, honest smile. Something light in his posture, something boyish in the way he brushed his hair back. He looked… new. Like he’d finally began to shed some old grief that had been clinging to his shoulders.

I stood for a second and just watched.

Unless I was seeing what I wanted to see, something good must have happened. A relief, maybe. Or a small victory. Whatever it was, it lit him from within. I wondered… if my time would come, too.

Gods, if you had a hand in bringing me this far… thank you.

Now, please. Help me make sense of where I’m going next.

I crossed the square quietly and came to Sister Garaele’s door. I raised my hand and knocked, more gently than I meant to.

After a moment, the door opened.

Garaele smiled softly when she saw me. “Fanesca. Come in.”

Her home smelled of fresh parchment, dried herbs, and faint incense. Another home commodity to aspire to. She stepped aside to let me through, and I stood for a moment, letting the quiet settle over my shoulders.

“I have a question,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “It’s about the stronger divination you had offered before.”

Her expression didn’t change, but I caught the shift in her eyes—the way they became a little more guarded. Not with judgment. With care.

“Legend Lore. It’s a powerful one,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “And not one that’s often cast lightly.”

“I know,” I said. “But I think it’s what I need. I don’t want to keep walking in the dark. Not about my power. Not about… me.”

She studied me for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “You’d need the components—incense worth at least 250 gold, and four ivory strips worth 50 gold each. And someone capable of casting it,” she raised her hand with a smile. “That’s done, at least.”

I felt my breath catch.

Over two hundred for the spell’s cost alone. Another two hundred for the ivory.

That was half again more than I had. And that wasn’t even counting the cost of travel or the toll these things often took.

I swallowed the sharp knot in my throat. “I’m not there yet. But I think I’m close.”

Garaele’s expression softened. “You are close. Closer than most who even think to ask.”

“I just…” My voice faltered. “I keep telling myself that once I have the answers, I’ll know what happiness is. Or how to find it.”

“You might,” she said. “But answers don’t always bring peace. Sometimes, they only clear the path to it.”

I looked down at my gloves, rubbing my thumb over the seam.

“I’m still moving,” I murmured.

“And you’re not alone,” Garaele said gently. “Whatever you find… you don’t have to face it by yourself.”

I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice to hold steady.

I had enough for now. Not for the spell. But for the journey ahead. Enough hope to move with purpose toward the task at hand.

I departed Sister Garaele’s home with a deep bow of thanks. Not ready. But willing.

The others were already aboard the cart when I arrived—my companions. My friends. The word still stuck a little in my throat, but it no longer felt like a lie.

It was time.

Time to travel to Wave Echo Cave. To find Gundren. To ensure the Forge of Spells would not fall into the wrong hands.

But first… a test of our foundation.

While I had been running errands, the others had retrieved the oxen—the same pair we had first arrived in town with—and reattached them to the cart. The tarpaulin had been re-pitched, though now only half-standing. The rear supports were gone, leaving the covering draped like a makeshift awning to shield us from the worst of the sun.

Had I not needed to keep every inch of my skin covered, I might have enjoyed the warmth. From the moment I had met it, I had always liked the sun. Unusual for someone of my kind. But then again, I suppose I’ve never been part of a typical situation.

Otto, our sole surviving horse, had been saddled and was now in Ragar’s hands. She rode slightly ahead, supposedly to scout, but rarely drifted far. Mostly she remained near the cart’s flank, tossing stray comments to Smeak, who handled the reins with his usual, inexplicably cheerful expertise.

I had mixed feelings about her assignment.

On one hand, it gave her distance from the rest of us, which—given how Jack had been acting around her—was perhaps a small mercy. On the other… it placed her in the perfect position to vanish. To ride off the moment things didn’t go her way.

The air was already tight with unease. So when things began to go wrong, I can’t say I was surprised.

But I hadn’t expected it to start from inside.

It began with a familiar voice in my head—that smooth, golden thread that usually calmed me when chaos loomed.

Only this time, it was shouting.

Clear your mind.

Think nothing.

Why?!

It doesn’t MATTER why!

The panic hit before I understood what was happening. A scraping sensation behind my thoughts. Like something had slipped through the cracks in my skull and started rifling through drawers it had no right to open.

Someone was reading my mind.

I fought back the only way I could. I conjured noise—surface thoughts, benign cravings. Cotton paper fit for ink. A good bottle of Chauntean wine. The desire to learn to cook something new. Trivial things.

But underneath…

Please. Don’t look at my scars.

Don’t touch the brand.

Don’t find my fears.

Or my past. Or—

—my feelings for—

Stop…

STOP.

I stood up so abruptly the cart wobbled under me. My knees nearly gave, but I found my balance as the world seemed to tilt. Around me, the others were similarly shaken—each man lost in a sudden storm of emotion.

Jack stared, slack-jawed.

Super blinked furiously, his posture alert but confused.

Raph’æl looked like he’d been slapped across the soul—rage twisting across his face.

We all turned at once, as if drawn by the same invisible thread, eyes settling on the rider just ahead of us.

Ragar.

It was her.

She urged Otto forward, perhaps hoping to outpace the fallout.

Jack was the first to move. He leapt down from the cart and barked a sharp command at Smeak, who pulled the reins with a confused but obedient frown.

Raph’æl raised his hand and spoke a word I didn’t understand—but I knew the spell by the tone alone. Hold Person.

Ragar froze mid-trot, stiff as stone, and tumbled from Otto’s back with a dull thud.

We all dismounted.

We surrounded her.

The ambush had come.

And it had come from within.