—<1> Humanoids? How large? Do we assume they're human?

  MARLOND: …Probably human. Not much smaller, at least.

  [GUILDMASTER]: How much of them did you see? Did you get a look at their leg shape?

  Marlond shakes his head.

  MARLOND: Crouched or prone, behind shrubs or outcroppings.

  [GUILDMASTER]: No obvious ear-shaped protrusions?

  Marlond shakes his head.

  VARANT: This part of the world, it's safe to say they're human.

  You nod in agreement.

  

  —<2> Is there a chance that they're not hostile?

  Varant scowls, shuffles his head uncomfortably. But doesn't answer.

  MARLOND: I have no experience with encounters against groups of other people. But it seems likely to me that the four I spotted are part of a larger group that began an encirclement, with the intent to act after nightfall.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Is it worth scouting the west or north to see?

  Marlond shakes his head.

  MARLOND: It's dark now.

  

  —<3> What are our options?

  VARANT: Not many.

  MARLOND: We need more information. But it's too dark for me.

  [GUILDMASTER]: I see. It's simply too dangerous to initiate given the conditions… Seems the first turn is theirs, then.

  

  —

  [GUILDMASTER]: Got to be bandits… Probably the same that attacked Maya and Tarrian's caravan.

  VARANT: Comfortable assuming that, are you?

  [GUILDMASTER]: Honestly, yeah. We're due west and not by far, and this is the direction they fled in… Have you heard of any other bandit activity in the kingdom recently?

  VARANT: No. No, it's a fair bet.

  You share a somber moment of agreement, lips pressed tight from the tension of its significance.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Should I bring Maya in, ask what she remembers?

  VARANT: The very first thing we should do is get Tarrian up to re-cast Beatific Breath. Even if it almost kills him.

  [GUILDMASTER]: So at the least we'd be letting him and Maya in on the situation. Do we bring in the other adventurers as well?

  Varant looks uncomfortable with the idea.

  VARANT: We should assume that this… unknown faction is watching. If we have a spyglass, they probably do too. If possible, we don't want to give away the fact that we're wary about anything. It's looking like a cloudy night, that should play to our advantage as much as theirs.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Right. So we keep the fire low and do our preparation in the dark… Okay, let's find a good spot. Then grab the adventurers one at a time and tell them what we know.

  You look at Varant, who takes a moment to think. Then slowly nods.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Marlond, could you take Evylie's place on watch, and tell her to see us?

  ?

  Evylie goes to get Tarrian up while you and Varant talk to Maya.

  MAYA: There were at least a dozen of them, but I don't think all of them made it out… It was just a two-wagon caravan, so things looked kind of bad at first. But the reason we stopped in the first place was to wait for Tarrian's carriage, and when he got there… well.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Right, Purifying Rain.

  MAYA: It was so beautiful…!

  VARANT: This girl…

  [GUILDMASTER]: So "at least a dozen" is the best figure you can give us?

  She takes a long moment, squeezes her eyes shut trying to remember.

  MAYA: There were four of them that got caught, I remember them being stuffed in the carriage and taken back to Konungsheim for questioning. I remember, Tarrian had to heal them…

  [GUILDMASTER]:

  —

  

  —<1> Taken back to Konungsheim? Why not Mayika?

  MAYA: Mayika was closer, but there wasn't any space in the wagons…

  [GUILDMASTER]: Fair enough.

  That probably really was all there was to it. It's the exact kind answer that would be too simple for you or Zoel to have thought of.

  

  —<2> Do you remember if any of them were killed in action?

  She looks down, uncomfortable.

  MAYA: There was a dead body we had to go around, a halberd got her… And I—I don't think the other one could have survived my fire stream… I didn't want to look at him after though.

  [GUILDMASTER]: I understand.

  So that's another two down at least…

  

  —<3> I heard the bandits fled. Or was it an orderly retreat?

  MAYA: I heard someone give the order to fall back… the bandits all went west.

  [GUILDMASTER]: So we can assume the unit and its command structure are still intact…

  

  —

  [GUILDMASTER]: Alright. Take a moment and give us your best guess for how many are left.

  MAYA: Maybe… ten or twelve?

  [GUILDMASTER]: That'll do, thank you. Anything else you can think of? Can you at least remember anything about their gear?

  MAYA: Um… They were wearing, um, brown?

  [GUILDMASTER]: …

  MAYA: Well, it all looked old and raggedy… Like what bandits would wear, you know?

  [GUILDMASTER]: Okay… Do you remember what types of weapons they were using?

  She nods, with a bit of confidence in her eyes this time.

  MAYA: Half of them had crossbows and short swords. Then there were two men with greatswords who rushed the caravan guards, the others had axes and sometimes shields…

  Varant's mouth tenses into a proper scowl. Yours probably does, too.

  [GUILDMASTER]: What? That's not a bandit group, that's a mercenary raiding party. Bandits aren't outfitted evenly with crossbows and they don't have the training to use greatswords.

  MAYA: I… I don't know, everyone was saying they were bandits…

  [GUILDMASTER]: I do NOT like this…

  You mull over the information in silence for a moment.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Alright. Varant, anything else we should go over?

  Varant points to the wreck of wood, steel, and hardened leather that used to be Evylie's shield.

  VARANT: Can you fix that?

  MAYA: What? Me?

  VARANT: Yeh.

  MAYA: Ummm… is that something I'm supposed to be able to do? I'm a fire mage, not an earth mage…

  VARANT: It's unaspected magic. If I remember right, it works based on the concept of restoration. Any enchanted piece of gear is branded with an inscription that remembers its 'repaired' state, you just need the spell to cause it to fit back together.

  MAYA: Huh. Sounds like the precept of Wholeness…

  VARANT: Yeh, that one.

  MAYA: Which I do know. But I still don't know the spell…

  VARANT: Eh. Well, Ask Ethi about it when you get back if you don't mind. That's all.

  MAYA: O—okay!

  [GUILDMASTER]: Alright Maya. Remember to stay calm and keep as if nothing's going on. Could you go change places with Ruvi for us?

  You groan internally as she heads back to the campfire. When she's too far away to hear, you groan externally as well.

  Bandits outfitted like mercs? No, still wouldn't be using greatswords, not effectively anyways. A rogue band of mercs? Maybe a bunch that got branded as Faithless? You strain your head trying to remember if you've heard anything of the sort recently…

  But honestly, it doesn't matter tonight. Tonight what matters is that you have about a dozen armed and experienced enemies ready to pounce on you any minute—probably just waiting for some of you to go to bed.

  The familiar feeling of Beatific Breath settles on your body and wraps itself gently around your brain. You glance toward the darkness-shrouded tents, where you can just barely see Evylie holding up Tarrian as he finishes the minute-long cast.

  VARANT: Might be all too important tonight. Not much else in the world can keep a bolt to the eye from killing you outright.

  It's the first time he's admitted there'll probably be fighting tonight.

  Ruvi walks up to you and Varant, a strong trace of anxiety in her eyes and voice both.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  RUVI: I'm here… what's going on?

  ?

  VARANT: Just let me try talking first.

  [GUILDMASTER]: They're going to ambush us. You won't get a chance.

  VARANT: Give me the opportunity to make a chance.

  [GUILDMASTER]: It's senseless.

  VARANT: Hardly, it's worked for me before.

  [GUILDMASTER]: The odds of success aren't worth the risk. These are very likely not typical bandits.

  VARANT: Which, for all we know, might mean they're more amenable to a non-violent solution.

  [GUILDMASTER]: …

  VARANT: Trust my experience on this one, Guildmaster. We'll get through it one way or the other.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Without your help?

  VARANT: If you've got to.

  [GUILDMASTER]: That's not even reassuring… Varant, how can I be sure that you're asking for this because it's genuinely worth the risk, and not because you're trying to abide by an unrealistic principle that you've set for yourself?

  VARANT: It's both, in this case. Look, your adventurers just brutalized a parullon. These play bandits, that got chased off by some caravan guards and Purifying Rain? Well, there's that same hurt and a lot more waiting for them this time.

  [GUILDMASTER]: We're not trained for this…

  VARANT: Nope. But maybe we don't have to be. That's why I want you to let me take this opportunity.

  [GUILDMASTER]: …

  VARANT: Look. I'll talk to Marlond, get us some insurance. But it's worth the shot. Should be, it'll be worth it even if it doesn't work. Alright?

  [GUILDMASTER]: Alright… Alright, but as soon as it looks like somebody's about to get hurt, muzzle's off.

  VARANT: I'm asking for your best judgment. That's all I'm asking for.

  [GUILDMASTER]: …

  VARANT: And maybe a little bit of help with the plan…

  ?

  It starts the same way you and Varant had expected: with a crossbow bolt to your gut. It penetrates your unenchanted armor by several centimeters, but it's not enough to down you, not with the extra layer of protection you're wearing for the occasion. Neither is the second, which slams into your rib with a jolt that reverberates through your entire body.

  You're on watch, and the others are all in their places for the night. You fight against the pain, unable to make a signal… you can only hope Varant can see what's going on. A third bolt hits you—good, good, that should be half of their loaded shots—and you stumble backwards, managing to ready your weapon. Your face is strained, your vision bleary. Then you see a pair of boots enter the light of the low-burning campfire.

  Their leather is crude, but sturdy enough. They end at the knees, above which you catch a glimpse of a chainmail hauberk poorly covered by a surcoat and cloak of ragged hide. And on top, an iron barbute helm with only minor dings and scratches. Even in your pain-induced mind haze it's painfully obvious that this intruder is no bandit.

  The sight shoots a spike of adrenaline up your spine; no matter how many times you had envisioned this very scene, you couldn't prepare the most primal parts of your brain for the vision of a hostile invader within home territory. You're reminded again that you're just not used to this life.

  It takes all your self-restraint to avoid attacking the man on reflex as he saunters menacingly towards you with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Instead you lunge out of his reach, accidentally dodging another bolt in the process. But your legs fail you as the sudden maneuver reminds you just how painful it is to have three inch-deep holes in your chest.

  Unwillingly, your body hits the ground. Your head grinding against the sand, your senses take in the moment in adrenaline-accelerated time. Several other attackers have entered the camp. You can barely make them out with the fire burning so low, but they all have rough hoods and cloaks covering their mail coifs and hauberks. They make for the tents… some of them are already there, hacking into the tent fabric with axes. They find nothing.

  The moment ends with a white light blazing across the campsite from somewhere to the north.

  VARANT: What do you want, mercs?

  They are silent, uncertain. But they've stopped their attack. This is the part where you're supposed to get out of sight, but your mind is in a haze of pain and your body responds poorly. The light fades out, and the darkness is all the more blinding. Some of the mercenaries are more obvious than the others about looking for the source of the voice, but all of them are severely alarmed. They underestimated their target; their ambush failed, their plan is off.

  VARANT: Is this just petty banditry? Should we simply kill you? Or is there something you want tonight…?

  At the edge of the flickering firelight, you see the mercenary closest to you reach for you. You try to roll away, but are promptly reminded of the bolts in your belly. You can't stifle the gasp of pain. The man closes in on you and in a rough second you've been raised to your knees with a sword and dagger both at your throat.

  This part was all too likely, Varant had said. You curse your body for being unable to escape in time… Too much pain—Your mind can't quite grip the flow of time. Unfortunately, so long as they have leverage, there's no chance the mercs will just leave.

  Plan B, then. (So much for no casualties.)

  The mercenary holding you hostage speaks up. Still uncertain where Varant's voice is coming from, he projects his own in the direction of the campfire.

  TALKATIVE MERCENARY: No worries, we're just here to trade, see. And I've a simple one for you, all right—this one for the mage girl. You keen?

  Ah, Plan B was all too easy. Now you've gotten good information and a prime target.

  VARANT: I don't do hostage exchanges. You hurt one of ours, you die. Simple as that.

  Your heart beats. Behind you, the mercenary's helmeted head tilts to the side as if struck like a bell, but the sound it makes is more like a broken gong. A mighty 80cm-long, 3000-grain arrow now juts out from each temple—forged steel arrowhead on one end, 22 centimeters of fletching on the other. The kind of arrow that can only fly with an adventurer's Power Draw.

  Your heart beats again. The man tumbles to the ground, his blades scathing your neck as they fall away. Suddenly you're surrounded with light, warmth, and serenity; the familiar chime of the Divine Arts floods your ears and your pain fades from reality to old memory. Quickly noting the positions of as many mercenaries as you can, you begin to hastily pull the bolts from your midsection only to find them falling out on their own. And when Tarrian's spell dissipates, Varant's light flares out again. It blinds you as much as it does the mercenaries. You launch yourself away from the campfire and half-stumble into an empty section of the wilderness, and just in time.

  The darkness closes in again, all the more complete for the intensity of the light that had just held it back. The mercenaries all react at once.

  BAFFLED MERCENARY: What just—

  ALARMED MERCENARY: Captain's down, Captain's down!

  SEVERE MERCENARY: Take cover!

  SHOCKED MERCENARY: How in the—

  VETERAN MERCENARY: Archer, get down!

  DISGRUNTLED MERCENARY: Enemy healer, there's an enemy healer—!

  SHAKY MERCENARY: Where'd—Where'd they go?!

  Certain that the darkness hides you well, you brush yourself off and make ready for whatever happens next. Because now is Varant's best chance at preventing a massacre.

  VARANT: So. What do you want?

  They shuffle around nervously. Most of them have figured out that the voice is coming from the north and are looking toward the craggy slope, but they can't see even that far in the darkness.

  VARANT: You want to live, is that what you want? Well, there's always back where you came from. So pick up your friend and just walk east. You want anything else, you're going to have to pay. So?

  You honestly thought it would work. They all look around; they have no target and one dead captain. What else are they going to do? Virtues' truth, you really thought it was going to work out.

  But right then the moon drifts out from behind its cloudy screen, shining directly overhead. From its perch at the very top of the sky it seems to point straight down at the rocky ridge to the north of your camp…

  It's all because of a faint shout on the far side of the ridge. One of the mercs had split off from the others and has spotted the adventurers atop the slope. While most of the attackers hesitate, that one shout was all it took for some of the more ambitious among them to start to take action. Near you, a couple of the mercenaries start to rally the others into two small groups, pointing and yelling in the general direction of the slope.

  VARANT: If it's death you want, we can give you that too. But for any of you who have a liking for breathing and walking, now's your last chance—leave. Now.

  Still undetected and hopefully forgotten about, you hear more than see as the mercenaries split into two teams of six that move to either side of the slope, scouting among its rocky crags for viable routes to the top. As soon as you see an opportunity, you rush toward the camp-facing side of the ridge, where Varant's voice—quietly this time—beckons you toward the steep but smooth approach the two of you had spotted earlier.

  VARANT: Here.

  You make a running leap up the slope, scratching your hands on jagged stone as you reach as high as you can. Just as you lose momentum, your fingers vainly scrabbling for a hold, Varant's hand closes around your wrist and you feel yourself being heaved upward with a distinct lack of gentleness. You land on your knees in the scrunched space on top of the ridge, feeling like you need a new arm socket but otherwise quite intact.

  And just in time, because the fight starts now.

  SEVERE MERCENARY: West team, forward!

  VICIOUS MERCENARY: East team, forward!

  [ This marks the beginning of a player combat phase. Tarrian is out of commission and neither he nor Varant are active combatants, but they are both still present on the battlefield. Your active team of six is: [Guildmaster], Kani, Evylie, Marlond, Ruvi, and Maya. ]

  There's just enough moonlight now for your adventurers to not trip over themselves, or each other, or the enemy. You make a hasty assessment of the situation… It more or less lines up with the scenarios you and the others had gone over beforehand.

  There are really only two suitable approaches up the ridgeline, especially in the dark—one east and one west. They're wide enough to fit maybe two fighters abreast. The merc teams are now at the foot of each.

  On your side, there's you and your five adventurers—Tarrian's potion sickness is at its peak, and though he's clearly still capable of casting in an emergency, he can't be relied upon. Varant has also declared himself a non-combatant.

  Tarrian's condition is the only reason this fight will be challenging, you decide. With him unable to move himself, you're forced to defend the small open space at the top of the slope. But that's fine; your favored idea will still work. Faced with two teams of six with no magic users and on opposite fronts, the simplest strategy would be to pick a direction and overwhelm it with superior firepower while holding the other with a Fire Wall and maybe an auxiliary member. Your worry, however, is their crossbows, of which they have a total of six.

  Fortunately, the ones who'd shot at you earlier must have been too distracted to finish reloading, which will buy you some precious time. But if you want to take advantage of it, you can't afford to wait until they make the first attack as you and Varant had first agreed.

  You spare the old A-Ranker a glance. His face is expressionless, calm even. Then you give the order.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Marlond, Maya, focus their crossbowmen and fire. Now!

  They don't hesitate. On the east side, a firebolt leaps from Maya's staff to the pocket of mercenaries below and hits a crossbowman in the face. He screams, flails, and drops his weapon.

  On the west, Marlond knows just what to do. You hear the thick thrum of his 120-pound-draw longbow and a squishy thunk as one of the reloading mercenaries receives an arrow beneath their hood.

  SEVERE MERCENARY: Cover!

  VICIOUS MERCENARY: Fire!!

  SEVERE MERCENARY: Fire at will!

  *Thwack-Thwack-Thwack*

  *Thud-Whizz-Thud*

  Three bolts are launched, flying above the heads of the approaching mercenaries. One of them is caught by Evylie on your left, using Varant's shield. Another crossbow bolt whooshes past you in the darkness.

  The third is embedded in Varant's chest. He's on your right, standing in front of Maya. His hands are empty, his arming sword still in its scabbard. He just… stands there, completely unperturbed.

  VARANT: Maya, I'm your cover. Stay behind me as much as you can. My armor is far better than yours.

  After your initial alarm, you realize he's probably right—whatever the crossbowmen can do to him, Tarrian could heal right up… when he's next cognizant enough, of course. You've already experienced that much yourself. Varant really doesn't have to fight to meaningfully participate in this battle, after all.

  But now, while their crossbowmen try to find cover below, the mercenary advance groups have made it to the top. To the west—three axemen, two of them in front with heater shields. On the east side, a shieldbearer, greatsword, and poleaxe. As they near the top of the slope they begin to transition into a full-on charge.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Maya—

  You don't have to finish. A Fire Wall springs up in front of the mercs approaching from the eastern path, and they skid to a stop with alarmed cries. It blazes high and burns so bright they stumble into each other as they vainly shield their faces from its bellowing heat. Maya follows it with another firebolt over their heads, targeting the same crossbowman as before. He catches fire this time, hood and skin both; the torrid air of the Heartlands plays to Maya's favor tonight.

  To the west, Kani and Evylie clash with the two shieldbearers. They make an impressive duo, and though they can't quite seem to overwhelm their opponents shields, they force them back by a meter and then two.

  *Thrum*

  Marlond is still focusing on the crossbows to the west. He's wasted a few shots, having trouble finding a target in the dark and behind rocks, but he saw true this time. Another hooded mercenary slams the ground, crossbow still in his grip.

  Looking from one side and back to the other, you decide to change tactics. The pathways the mercenaries are using are so narrow that numbers aren't very effective. For instance, there's little you can do to the west that wouldn't interfere with Kani and Evylie. Meanwhile, the east has less rocky cover for the enemy crossbowmen to hide behind…

  You look over.

  [GUILDMASTER]: Marlond, help Maya's side.

  He doesn't say anything, but somehow in the darkness you can fully imagine his usual stoic nod.

  Crouched, you take a quick step over to Ruvi—

  *Thwack-Thud*

  *Thwack-Thud*

  *Thwack-Whizz*

  Another bolt flies over your head, having missed Kani by a slim pinch. You glance over at Varant, still standing resolutely in front of Maya, and note the new fletching adorning his chest. Quickly, you turn back to Ruvi. But then, with the sounds of the crossbows replaying in your mind, you realize—

  [GUILDMASTER]: There's a fourth crossbowman down that side… Ruvi, now's your best chance. Take the west, hit the rear.

  She nods, an uncharacteristically sober look on her face, and scampers off into the dark without hesitation. The flash of another firebolt lights the air and you have just enough time to marvel at her agility as she seems to dance down the trackless rocky incline to the north.

  She'll have to hurry if she wants to beat Kani and Evylie to the bottom, though. You watch as Kani finally finds a window of opportunity to hew one of the merc's shields into two pieces with a Power Slash. The wood and boiled leather, reinforced with a couple braces of iron, part around her sword with a miserable screech. And that's it for the mercenaries' front line. Kani quickly overwhelms her opponent with sheer force—he barely parries her top slash with the half of his remaining shield, but then can't help but take her follow-up swipe full-on. The forte of her blade slams directly into the last of his shield. You hear his arm break through his mail and he stumbles backward in desperation, widened eyes showing white in the dark. He can't avoid her final lunging strike—the tip of her greatsword now swings back around to cleave the front half of his skull in two, forming a dark waterfall from his face as his life fluids rush down to the top of his chest.

  The remaining axeman tries to take the place of his fallen comrade, but he doesn't even last as long. Kani carries her aggressive momentum into a furious wide slash, forcing both of the mercenaries to react. The axeman has to reverse direction; a backwards leap saves him from the worst of it, but the tip of her blade catches his sleeve nonetheless and puts a bruised gouge into his upper arm as it passes relentlessly through.

  It then completes its arc to smash into the other merc's shield. Already hard-pressed by Evylie, he only barely manages to deflect Kani's cleave in time, and he stumbles from the unexpected force of it. And that's all it takes for Evylie to get past his guard.

  She lands a whipping strike on his left hand before he can reposition his shield again. And she's bruised his fingers, sure, but her opponent is better armored than she expected from someone with his ragged outer clothing; without enchantments, it'll take more than that to get past his chainmail. Just before her opponent can fully regain his balance, she launches a driving push-kick at his shield. He reels backward and she leaps at him, sword first, with a flicking thrust that targets his face. He screams and drops his axe; blood drools from one eye-socket. With a frown, Evylie dives at him again, her overhand strike aimed above his shield. And this time she bites deep. For a moment the mercenary appears shocked into stillness before he falls away limply, his weight sliding his skull off her blade; fresh red blood gushes from in place of the other eye. The body collapses to the stone and begins to tumble down the slope, passing the corpse of the final axeman—whose chest and poleaxe both have been split into two by Kani's greatsword—and finally coming to rest at the bottom.

  On top of it, another body falls. A bloody tunnel in its back runs all the way from below the shoulder to the heart, straight through chainmail and in between ribs.

  RUVI: That's all of them over here, I checked…

  Her voice is faint, though not due to caution. Her face is tense and she won't look at any of the corpses as she skips back up the slope to join Kani and Evylie.

  The east is a cacophony of smoke and screams. Marlond, perfectly balanced on what you'd normally call an impassable ridge off to one side of the hilltop, has found the perfect angle from which to snipe the two remaining crossbowmen at the bottom of the slope. And up top, the three mercenaries trapped behind the fire are prime targets for Maya, whose full suite of fiery Arcane Arts is apparently much better suited to shorter ranges than what she'd demonstrated against the parullon. The attackers choke on embers and baked air as she traps them inside a field of Pyretic Haze, and combined with the dry conditions of the region the effect is so severe that one of them falls to their knees in panic.

  But that was just the prelude. Next comes a Flame Whip, and the two standing mercs are immediately set ablaze from the waist up. Maya appears to ignore their screams as she hurls a quick firebolt onto the face of the third. Even the air inside his throat seems to combust as the orb of pure fire bursts overtop his skin. The man's choking turns into a hissing rattle. The sound is fleeting; Maya's Sabre Sear lights up the air in a blazing incandescent arc, sweeping across the mercenaries at waist length. Its effect compounded by the existing flames, the spell burns through their flesh like a knife through wax. All three of the mercenaries drop helplessly to the ground, rather too late, as their flesh is rent through by fire—the two of them from their bellies to their backbones, the last straight through his smoldering head.

  But Maya isn't done yet. As if eager to put them out of their misery, she drains the last of her mana with Quickflame. The myriad conflagrations feeding on the mercenaries seem to come alive. They double in intensity and size, joining into one monstrous figure around each, almost humanoid in appearance. They engulf their victims from within and without, embracing them, swallowing them, consuming them whole.

  The screams are, thankfully, short-lived. Maya releases her fire wall enchantment and it drops to a flickering line of embers on the stony ground… The three piles of ash, blackened metal, and smoking bones are visible on the other side. Her face is entirely without expression.

  As are yours and Varant's, standing on either side of her.

  Kani, Evylie, and Ruvi walk up from the other side. Marlond hops back over to the main ridgetop, joining in with the group. You all look at the bodies, east and west, for a long moment.

  Nothing moves… Nobody moves…

  …

  TARRIAN: Wh… What's…

  The group turns to him as one, and the girls immediately rush over to his prone form. His face is gaunt and strained, his eyelids flickering as if he can barely keep them open. Varant walks over, his steps calm and commanding—as if everything tonight had gone according to plan.

  VARANT: Don't worry, kid—we're safe. It's done. You did well.

  One dead by the camp… Seven on the west slope, and six on the east.

  Fourteen men and women died at the hands of your adventurers tonight.

  VARANT: You all did well…

  ———————————— CHANGELOG:

  2025-04-19 ? Quick text edits.

  2025-04-25 ? Removed release note.