Twenty-Seventh Entry

The moment I returned to the waking world, I rose from bed and reached for paper as though it might flee from me. I kept as quiet as I could for Ragar’s snoring sake while I wrote down what I had just dreamt. I needn’t have feared forgetting. It lingers still, as vivid as any lived memory. But perhaps it is the act of documenting that convinces the mind something is worth keeping.

The window glowed with the splendor of a clear Phandalin afternoon. Pale blues and warm golds mingled with the soft gray dotting of distant clouds. It was dinner hours. I could hear it in the muffled liveliness beneath the floorboards. It would soon be time to knock upon the men’s door and descend once more into Tresendar Manor’s cellar to reclaim what had been promised to us.

But that little pause in time’s tapestry is a particularly fond one for me. Within that pocket of my reed pen’s scratching against paper, the distant sounds of supper prep below, Ragar and Smeak’s uneven chorus of snores, and the bloom of the sun’s rays through the dusty window… it was the very last time in which I found absolute comfort in journaling.

Because I was one day’s events away from… an absolutely embarrassing decision, in retrospect.

But I digress.

After speaking with Linene—who, through her sending stone, consulted her sea-faring spouse—we were given what little insight they possessed on confronting the Nothic. It was not much, but it was something. The potions she offered were well beyond our means, but she attempted to soften the sting of truth with kindness. Rest, she suggested. Clarity. Preparation. And for me, a replenishing of those arcane wells I so often drain without thought.

So then, after a thorough rest and stuffing another sheet full of fantasy between the pages of my sketchbook, I stepped downstairs. Dinner was chestnut stew and day-old bread, dry on its own but perfect for dipping. The tavern’s dwarven cook was used to seeing me approach the kitchen alone. He hardly spared me a glance as he wordlessly handed me today’s special in a tankard and gave a small, knowing nod. I placed two gold upon the counter. Though he tried to wave off the sum, I insisted it was to cover my companions’ meals as well. We’ve been through this song and dance before. I’ve requested my meals in private so many times that it’s become a quiet arrangement. Ragar and Smeak were already up and roaming. As I passed her, she nodded her head toward our shared room.

Go eat, her motions said silently. So I did quickly as she gathered the others to dine below.

Once finished, I left my room and carried the empty tankard back downstairs. The barmaid, Elsa, intercepted me before I even reached the dining area, her hands already outstretched to take it. I offered a polite nod and as she walked back behind the bar, her usually unstoppably brisk pace slowed by the recently-arrived woman seated at the bar—Lady Oresong. It was then that I was struck by the resemblance between the two. Same bright eyes and ebony skin didn’t always call for a shared bloodline. But by the way their smiles curved, the subtle tilt of their heads as they listened, the quiet rhythm in their mannerisms… they all spoke of something inherited. I found myself hoping, without reason, that her visit had been a pleasant one.

When I joined the others at the table, they were nearly finished with their meals. Jack was quick to notice me and rose just enough to both pull a chair and offer me his clawed hand to climb into it. He had always been attentive of things like that when it came to the two of us. A common chair might as well have been a barstool for me and a footrest for him. One of his many silent kindnesses.

I had not missed much. The consensus was clear. None of us had laid eyes on the Nothic, so we would have to lure it out into the open—draw it out and strike from a distance. Ragar reminded us of what Halia had told her: that the creature’s strange, invasive influence could not reach us unless we were close. It was a chilling revelation. The entire time we were at its mercy, we had been within clear eyesight of the wretch, even though we couldn’t see it. We would have to be quick. Strike hard before it could settle its gaze upon us.

Jack and Raph’æl spoke in low voices about his rifle—about whether a blessing might temporarily alter its potency. I did not pretend to understand all of it, but I listened all the same. And as my hand brushed against the newly blessed javelin at my side, I felt… not confidence, exactly. But something close enough to mimic it.

We arrived at Tresendar Manor just as the sky surrendered to a dandelion-yellow dusk. The town behind us softened into shadow when we approached the cellar doors. No words were spoken as we descended; only a silent agreement in the order we took.

Ragar first. Super just behind her. Jack followed, then me. Raph’æl, at my back.

The air changed the moment we stepped inside.

We moved carefully along the narrow walkway beside the inner pool, each step measured, each breath quieter than the last. The cavern opened before us soon after. The same unnatural expanse where we had once spent every ounce of our strength against the undead.

A faint breeze drifted through the chamber, brushing past us like a weary sigh. It carried with it the unmistakable scent of decay. The old and settled kind.

The crevice that split the cavern was clearer in the dim, broken light filtering down from above. Its sloped edges cut deep through the stone, dividing the space as though something had clawed it open long ago. Two rough columns stood on either side, and between them stretched the same crude wooden bridges we had crossed before.

I did not look down.

I did not need to see the remains below to remember what waited there.

“Anyone else here with us?” Super ventured, his voice cutting cleanly through the stillness.

We followed his gaze into the hollowed crannies of the natural walls. Nothing to be seen. Or at least, nothing my eyes could grasp. The afternoon light, faint and dappled, clouded my darkvision more than I preferred. But I had the feeling that wherever Super was looking, something was surely staring right back.

A whisper curled through my mind. That same, long delighted breath that greeted us months ago.

“Haaaa… I SEE YOU.”

The rest must have heard it as clearly as I had. Jack shifted, immediately unfurling his pepper staff and snapping it into place with a sharp clack. Raph’æl’s breath hitched as he clutched his holy symbol, as though it alone could anchor him.

“Why return,” the voice slithered, “after you all stole what was mine…?”

I whirled around as it “spoke,” knowing it couldn’t possibly be affecting us if it wasn’t close. But my eyes still failed me. No shape or perceivable presence. It must have been moving constantly.

“I have been suffering waiting for the Whispered One…” it continued, its tone fraying into something nearly pitiful. “But… all I know is that I don’t have it anymore… it moves around the village… I sense it… being paraded…”

The staff Ragar took and sold… was still in town?

I could only recall a fleeting glimpse of it as we left the cellar last. It was beautiful, elegantly thin, shining with a natural glimmer as if made of spun glass. Something that seemed far too fine for Phandalin’s rough and humble hands. Who would carry such a thing so openly?

Super moved as the voice spoke, circling slowly, tracking… losing…tracking again. And once he found a bubble of silence to burst, the grung monk began to spew a strangely blasé tangent with ease that felt misplaced. Casual and detached. Just talking about how he wasn’t sure of what was stolen or even why we were down here. How he was here for the journey more than anything and mostly just following us around because we paid for his food and shelter. I did not let myself hear more. The replying, metaphysical thoughts that weren’t directed to us almost flowed outward like ripples in a pond.

And they were wounding. Especially after I had just paid for his barrel-full of sustenance. The thought came unbidden:

I’m being used again.

But…

…just swallow it for now. Just like everything else.

Even without having to face him, I could feel Jack’s anger rising. Soft pops of electricity from his scales filled the silence in between the Nothic’s predatory hisses.

“Ragar…?” he asked, forcing gentleness into a voice that did not want it.

“Uh, yeah?” she replied a bit too loudly.

I edged closer to them. “Who is currently ‘parading’ the staff around? Do you know?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Gave it to Halia. She sold it.”

Jack exhaled sharply. “Why do you do these things?”

“Quick coin,” Raph’æl offered under his breath.

“Mmm yeah, pretty much,” she confirmed.

An inquisitive rasp echoed around us. “Hmm… she doesn’t visit me anymore.”

“Who, Haila?” Ragar asked, surprised.

“Yesss… it’s been years. We used to know each other well… in a different life…”

Jack scoffed, turning his sight to Ragar. “Fine acquaintances you’ve made, huh?”

“Not allies,” the voice corrected. “Business is business… though I hardly remember the terms…”

Through my peripheral, I saw Super still moving with fluid, quiet intent. Anyone but us might have mistaken his bounding for aimless wandering. But I have learned over time. The pattern. The hunt. Maybe our distraction could help.

“Creature!” Raph’æl called.

Super momentarily froze. “Whoa—hey. That’s rude, young man. Why don’t you ask for their name?”

Raph’æl blinked.

“You got a name?” Ragar asked the darkness.

“I don’t remember…” it answered, almost wistful. “My moniker was taken when the staff was taken. I want it BACK… Ragar,”

I saw her eyes dart about, brow furrowed… I had a feeling she was answering in silence.

“Don’t think your secrets outweigh mine,” it pressed. “There are… choices. Ways to mend them—”

“You can’t use our secrets against us anymore!” Raph’æl cut in. “We’ve opened up to one another.”

I swallowed hard.

I wished that had been true for me.

But I can’t… for their sake.

“Ahahaaa…” it crooned. “Wizards… do know how to bring back the dead.”

Though we could all hear it, we understood who it was targeting. Our eyes found Raph’æl. He was visibly braced.

Please… hold on.

Please.

“The Whispered One’s influence has kept me here. His knowledge… is beyond mortality,” it sighed. “If only I was a wizard again… I would owe you so… so much.”

I did not move. But I had wished—fiercely wished—that I could reach for him. That I could steady him throughout any sort of inner turmoil. If only he understood how much I believed in his resilience.

It’s not your place.

It would be alright.

He was stronger now.

We all were.

That is why the monster kept its distance.

But for how long?

”There’s an interesting thing about secrets…“ the Nothic murmured, voice swelling around us. “When shared… they’re easier to pluck from one’s mind. You may think they’re safe… but I feel them… the echoes of secrets untold. I can sense them… taste them.”

Ragar grimaced. “Ugh. That’s gross. Please don’t taste my secrets. I don’t like that. …But also—what flavor are they?”

I… I can only assume she was trying to distract it or draw it out.

But the only thing she managed to draw was its fury.

Her guard down, Ragar cried out as if she had been struck. We flinched. Turned to her. Nothing visible. But something had taken ahold. Her body locked, voice trembled as something within forced her to speak. To share a secret without her mind’s consent.

“M-my ability to read thoughts… it’s new to me. It’s not something my tribe naturally does, like I had said.”

The Nothic laughed. Raspy, delighted chortles, loud and echoing. Impossible to pinpoint. I gripped the javelin tighter, heart pounding both in anticipation for combat and… something else I had no time to consider.

New, inane magic? Ragar…?

Like me?

The air shifted. The crevice ahead almost seemed to breathe. Faint necrotic energy rose from its depths. I peered over, wondering if that was where the Nothic had stepped or if it was the misshapen goblins’ corpses that were still at the bottom, oozing some otherworldly decay. I didn’t have the courage to look for long. Only for a moment. Enough to feel it.

Then look away.

“If you truly wanted to be a wizard again…” Raph’æl spoke up, “then we could help you. Reveal yourself… or remain our enemy.”

A screeching, mind-splitting sound pierced through all of us at once.

“TELL ME YOUR SECRETS and maybe we’ll have a deal!”

Raph’æl immediately knelt, throwing himself bare. Didn’t even fight, like Ragar had.

“I’m not just excommunicated. I’m a wanted man.”

“Hey—no! Don’t give in like that!” Jack stepped over him, both frustration and compassion creasing his brow.

The ringing in my ears barely faded before I heard the familiar squelch of Super’s quick strides above me. It was nearer than ever.

Jack stood as a useless barrier by Raph’æl, knowing he couldn’t protect his mind. But he didn’t care. He just lifted the mouth of the rifle staff to face a random pocket in the darkness. ”Get away from him,” he growled.

“Then TELL ME A SECRET,” it demanded again.

Our dragonborn fighter gritted his teeth. Resisting. Just for a moment. But… he gave in.

No. I know for sure he is more resilient than that.

He’s a soldier. He’s near irrepressible.

It must have been for Raph’æl’s sake.

His voice came low and fractured. I tried not to listen. Took sharp breaths, scraped the graveled ground as I stepped back. I wanted to be respectful and let the words blur.

But pieces still reached me.

“…atrocities… …war… …families.”

My vision swam. They were all hurting. All forced to give up a piece of themselves.

I wanted to alleviate them, pull this secret stealer away from them.

I could stop it.

I had stood between them and danger before.

I would do it again.

But now it would be with my mind, not my body.

I knew that I had a trove of secrets—grand, revealing, and dangerous—that it would delight upon. And I didn’t have to shout them if I gave them up willingly.

I moved carefully, placing myself by one of the stone pillars. I kept my companions in sight—all but Super—and steadied my breath. From there, I willingly whispered my very deepest and darkest. They didn’t need to hear it. But the Nothic would.

And if the sudden quietude within my skull was any indication… he was listening.

It already knew pieces of me.

So I gave it the rest.

My lack of a true name.

What I was meant to be.

What I had already cost others.

Every shame. Every fear. And the truths I wished I could spirit away by never penning at all.

It worked.

“Ohh… that is… VALUABLE.”

Its voice. Gods above, it sounded disgustingly euphoric. Slimy. Obscene. It made my skin crawl in a way I cannot properly put into words.

I’ve never heard that voice so close.

“Yes… more… MORE!”

I clutched the pillar. Suddenly too aware of a dark, arcane presence.

I looked up.

The Nothic, in its lust for more of my past, drew too close and revealed itself above me like some grotesque, grinning flesh spider. Its terrible eye fixed entirely upon me, drinking me in. Its raptor-like claws dug into the rock as another reached—

Toward me.

Before it could touch me, Super struck. He burst from shadow and latched onto it, sending it shrieking as the grung’s venomous skin seared the creature’s flesh. It thrashed, tore itself free, and vanished back into darkness.

“You are all untrustworthy!” it howled. “Perish!”

And just like that, the hunt was over.

The fight had begun.

There often tended to be a sick, tense silence before a fight. But here, the ringing of panic pressed into my ears, mingled with the scrape of leather and steel as my party members sprinted to take control of the space, weapons drawn and gripped. Super picked himself up with an impressive, alien grace and pointed quickly to where the Nothic fled. A sheen. Ragar responded instantly. Two daggers left her hand in a practiced motion, making her arm look like something akin to a sling, cutting cleanly through the dim light.

They chimed against the stone.

The sound echoed sharp.

Then came the silence I had come to expect.

Just metal against rock and the hollow space it left behind.

Then the Nothic attacked.

Jack stiffened, struck by something cold and near invisible. It rippled and warped the air like the presence of heat over flames, but so quick that one could easily miss it. He grabbed at his chest. A faint discoloration followed, rising from under his shirt, like a slimy bruise with sickly gray edges.

Raph’æl was attacked next. I did not see it bloom in his skin. His armor concealed most of it. But what I heard was the sharp intake, the way his breath faltered and refused to steady.

The two exchanged a look.

Something unspoken passed between them and before one could wonder, they were already at work. Raph’æl’s hand pressed against his holy symbol, his other hand bracing the wrist as he delivered his elven declaration to the pantheon above. Frightened as he might’ve been, he acted with a certainty I could only dream to replicate in my relationship with the Weave.

Light gathered. Formed solid matter, like some sort of ethereal smithing. These were the prints of Spiritual Weapon, I was sure of it. But the spell did not suspend and settle into the air. It instead gathered around Jack’s occupied claws. The rifle staff he held shimmered as something spectral took form around it, beside it, then through it. It was fast and difficult to follow, especially with my distance. Divine magic is fascinating and it never behaves in the way I expect it to.

But I understood enough to know this was improvised augmentation.

Jack wasted no time.

He lifted the open end of his weapon to the stalactites and fired.

The thunderous shot cracked through the cavern. The pepper had dusted the air with divine, blue firelight. I did not understand why his aim was so sure at first, until I was later told that Super’s earlier strike had left a faint, glistening sheen of mucus across the creature’s body and Jack had used it as a target.

It was a direct hit.

Raph’æl raised his shield just in time. Something splattered upon it with a wet, searing force. Gray, viscous gore spattered against the metal and hissed on contact.

Even its blood was

No. Everything about it was wrong. This aberration.

I had to force myself to move. Eyes forward, my hands found the pouch at my side and extracted a small vial of holy water within—a boon from my previous visit to Sister Garaele’s home. I uncorked it quickly and poured the contents over my palms. The blessed scent cut through the damp rot of the cellar, sharp and clean.

By Raph’æl’s presence, I saw him shaking from the lingering effects of whatever had struck him, though he never ceased his vigilance.

No time to overthink. I placed my hands upon him and spoke the incantation for Protection from Evil and Good, which formed the sanctified water’s essence into a gentle cloak over his very soul. It would not make a massive difference in the grand scheme of things but… I couldn’t look upon every spell I had with scrutiny. It was help. And I feared for his conflicted heart.

“Don’t be too hasty, my friend,” the words left me naturally, soft and fond. First time spoken from my lips rather than these hallowed pages—‘my friend.’

Not more than such.

When the warding magic settled over him, I stepped away quickly. I did not wait for his reaction or word. I could not.

Focus.

I had to focus.

I gripped the javelin to ground myself. The Nothic’s presence was still thick in the air, stalking close. The golden rays of the sun bursting intermittently through the clay and stone above were finally fading away. Maybe my darkvision could finally be useful.

But what about Super and Jack? They could not see without a torch.

I turned just in time to see Jack falter.

The necrotic wound across his chest pulsed, something dark threading through it. His stance shifted. His rifle, once aimed far above, dipped…

Lower.

Targeting me.

I was stunned still. He was going to shoot me.

Ragar moved before I could even think any further. She bolted between us immediately, making herself a mortal shield. “Snap out of it!” she barked.

Jack’s mouth curved. His vacant eyes flashed. And in a voice not like his own: “Even better.”

He pulled the trigger.

The sound tore through me. I felt myself cry out, shaken out of my crippling horror. But the shot had veered, only grazing Ragar’s shoulder instead of striking true. Only in the scramble of action did I see that Raph’æl had thrown his entire weight against the Dragonborn, causing him to miss.

Suddenly the room moved around me. Ragar had grabbed me—lifted me as though I weighed nothing—and leapt. Fast. Away from the line of fire.

What had just happened?

I caught a glimpse over her shoulder.

Jack shaking it off.

Raph’æl already reaching for him.

The Nothic shifting back into darkness, only a meager length above where I once stood.

Even as we moved—another dagger. Another throw.

From corners unseen, the Nothic retaliated.

Ragar was mid-step by the crevice when the creature’s necrotic pulse struck her. Her body seized, momentum carrying her forward even as control slipped. I felt it in the way her grip changed—shifting too suddenly instead of simple loosening.

No more ground.

The world tilted.

The crevice was taking us in like a hungry maw.

No.

No!

My hands drove the javelin forward on desperate instinct, the tip biting into the wall of the massive fissure with a jolt that rattled up through my arms and chest. Pain followed, sharp and immediate as the burns and scars in my arms stretched to their absolute limit. But it held.

It held!

The force of our fall stopped short.

Ragar had caught onto it as well—quick, controlled, and no panic. Her grip on the weapon steadied us both, distributing the weight in a way I could not have managed alone.

I could hardly process my shock.

If I hadn’t trusted the javelin onto the Forge of Spells… would it had been able to hold us both?

Below us, the crevice dropped into shadow. The stench of the goblin corpses clouding control over my breaths. I kept my gaze fixed upward, on the rough edge of stone and the flicker of movement beyond it.

Voices carried down.

Super. Low murmurs and comments suggesting the Nothic’s surrender.

Raph’æl. Strained voice, composed tone. “I had been afraid of you,” I heard him admit. “For months… and now I see—there really was nothing to fear.”

The Nothic shrieked in response, its voice reverberating through the stone and clay itself.

“Even if you slay me… the one with the staff… they have plans…! Oohhh, such plans… the Whispered One grows louder…”

I could only look at Ragar. Gripped the javelin tighter. But there was no room for blame. She couldn’t have possibly known.

Ragar moved first. Her impressive bugbear reach found the ledge easy. She pulled herself up with little visible effort, the disappeared from sight.

For a second, I thought she had left me. Then her arm came down, reaching for me.

I held on, but paused my ascent to try and wrench the javelin free. Since I just had the one free hand, I expended far more energy than I would’ve like before it came loose. I began to breathe heavily. Panic rising. I was wasting her time. But she still waited for my arms to find the ledge before she ran off.

Back to the fight.

The strain in my arms evened out, holding up my body as it draped over the edge of the room-wide fissure.

My companions. Their backs to me, facing where they believed the Nothic stood. Ragar squared for a reactive strike. Jack’s staff ready in his grip. Super hanging from the ceiling above, legs bowed for a leap. Raph’æl and his duplicates arrayed with and around them in a loose arc. They moved with him, each one slightly offset, disorienting.

“Enough,” he called in stern command. “We’ve proven our strength.” Then softer, “It’s not too late. Please.”

Jack took a step back, weapon still raised. “You heard the man. Last chance.”

The Nothic answered them by revealing itself. It stepped into their limited sight, harshly shadowed by a nearby brazier, recently lit by them. It looked to them. Its disgusting, yellow eye gleamed.

Then it looked directly at me.

I had not yet fully risen from the edge of the crevice. And then I felt as though I never could. My muscles became tight.

I could not move to look away.

Not my head. Not my eyes.

The creature… its eye horrifically wide and lidless… stalked toward me.

Behind it, I knew something was happening. There was desperate shifting and shuffling. My friends. Cries of pain, grunts of anger, calls to action. But it all felt so distant. Muffled. It felt as if I was being shifted into a separate realm. One with just me and the Nothic.

“A tempting offer,” it said. “But this one…”

It came closer.

“…this one holds such irresistible secrets.”

I braced my hands against the ground, fingers dug into the clay. I tried. Tried so hard to pull myself up. My movements felt slower than they should have. Couldn’t blink. Eyes hurt. They welled with tears.

“Perhaps,” it continued, “when they are gone… torn apart by one another… you may remain…”

Closer.

“…and we can share… everything together…”

For a fleeting moment, I had never felt so alone in my life.

But—

I knew I wasn’t.

As distant as the Nothic tried to make them sound, it could not shake away the truth… that my friends were still there.

And though I did not hear it comfort me, I felt the warmth of that golden voice within as I whispered back.

“The only reason I gave you my secrets… was so they could die along with you.”

Teeth bared. It lunged.

Then a thunderous BANG.

Jack’s weapon.

It struck cleanly through the creature’s head.

I flinched back too far and my grip slipped. Felt myself starting to fall.

But I was caught.

A gloved hand—small, strong and a bit elastic.

Super.

He hauled me back up with surprising force, setting me safely onto the stone flooring. There was finally ground beneath my boots once again. The rest ran up to us, their clear footfalls confirming my release from whatever mind prison it attempted to build around me. And beside me, the Nothic’s limbs gave way and it collapsed. A gelatinous ooze poured out from where its eye had once been, pooling beneath it.

It did not rise again.

For a moment, none of us moved as well.

Then came a cry of jubilation from Ragar. “The place is ours!”

Jack lowered his gaze. He looked troubled. Knelt before me.

“Fanesca, I—”

I shook my head. He stopped. I would have hoped he knew there was only one thing I was concerned about. The wound across his chest. It hadn’t faded. The bite of necrotic magic was only going to grow if it remained untreated. I let my fingers hover just above the sensitive wound and let the healing magic flow. Careful and precise intent made the heat of divinity comfort me rather than burn.

The gaping, putrid injury purified and closed beneath my touch.

He sighed with relief.

That was enough.

Behind him, Raph’æl had dropped to one knee as well, though for a much different reason. Unable to look at the corpse of the Nothic—this creature that falsely offered him salvation from his inner demons… his head was bowed in prayer, hand pressed to his chest.

I wished he would stop choosing to struggle alone.

But he wasn’t. He had—

I moved closer to him.

The damage had crept beyond his armor. Darkened veins traced upward along his skin. His neck. His hands. They shook, nearly emaciated. Even with the protection I had given him… this was too far. Too much. And he still refused to heal. Because he deemed it unlawful. And himself unworthy.

Though I was angry he would put himself through this… I suppose I also understood.

He tried to stand and before I could second-guess it, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

Magic followed.

Cure Wounds poured out of me, from the deepest wells I could reach, the ones I rarely touch. The further the level, the stronger the burn. But I chose that. I chose to step into the hearth. I felt the spell take hold of him, mending what it could, easing what remained.

He returned the embrace. Lightly. Just one grateful hand.

Not to restrain me.

Not to manipulate me.

Just… to hold.

My tears flowed uncompelled.

I realized, distantly, that I was no longer afraid of it all. Not of him. Not of the contact, vulnerable as it was. And that was new.

The Messengers. They truly don’t have power over me here.

Around us, the others began to speak again. Quiet and casual, relief settling in. Ragar picked up her daggers to clean, but lingered rather than choosing to walk away. Jack responded to her comments on the cellar’s divvying with much better humor than I would have expected in the past. Super added something I only half heard.

Then—

The Nothic’s body moved.

Only slightly. A final, involuntary spasm.

Still, we all tensed again.

A sound escaped its gaping mouth. Faint. Broken.

“…Vec…naaa…”

Then nothing.