S1 E9 - Black Dog

Episode 9: Black Dog

Intro, News & Jobs

Calling all adventurers, I repeat, calling all adventurers.

Just one job today but there is a handful of news reports, so let's get started.

In Willowstead, a young Miss Endelberry's cottage is refusing to stay in one place. She is seeking someone to convince it to settle down. Must be patient and good at reasoning with stubborn architecture.

That's it for jobs, let's look at the news:

FARM BOY WITH TRAGIC PAST NOT DESTINED FOR GREATNESS.

Despite being orphaned, growing up in a small village, and discovering a mysterious amulet, Tomas Fairweather has not developed any magical powers or a heroic destiny. When reached for comment, Mr Fairweather seemed somewhat relieved while stating "Sometimes bad things just happen, and then you live a normal life."

Next up,

ADVENTURERS DISCOVER HIDDEN DUNGEON FULL OF SQUATTERS.

“We just assumed anything in a cave was evil,” said one adventurer, shifting uncomfortably. The survivors are now suing for damages, and legal experts say it’s a landmark case for so-called "dwellers’ rights."

Lastly,

LOCAL BOY NOT REPLACED BY DEMONS—TURNS OUT JUST DOESN’T LIKE EYE CONTACT

Villagers in Humblebrook were convinced young Edrin Marsh had been swapped by dark forces due to his avoidance of loud gatherings, dislike of woollen clothing, and encyclopaedic knowledge of mushrooms. After a thorough non-magical investigation, the town healer confirmed, “He’s just different, and that’s fine.” The villagers have since apologized, and Edrin is now happily identifying fungi in peace.

That's all for now. I'm not expecting any updates so we'll skip the break in the middle today.

Get the fire started, pour yourself a drink, and get comfortable. Let's continue with the story.

Story Start

Over 10 hours had passed since we'd departed from Easthallow. The environment had long since switched from verdant rolling fields into the spruce forest beyond the Hazel Borderline: a stretch of unique trees that blended hues of brown, green, and gold. Before long, we'd passed it and entered the vast southern forest of Varfell.

I'd had a sleep deprivation headache for most of the day, so Val and I had barely spoken a word to each other by that point, and the silence was clearly starting to bother her. She fidgeted beside me and kept glancing my way, as though she was looking for a lifeline to avoid bursting from all the things she'd wanted to talk about.

I assumed she wanted to give me space to think about what we'd discussed the day before. In truth, I wasn't even mad at her. I had done my thinking already, but was just letting her stew in the discomfort to see how long it would take her to say anything. Though, funny as I was finding it, there were things I also wished to go over. It was time to break the silence.

Host: "I think the mysterious guy from Tranter's office was the dogstrocity from the alleyway."

Val visibly relaxed as the words left my lips. She sank into her seat, content with us returning to speaking terms.

Val: "Why do you say that?"

Host: "He and the dog had the same hair colour, same dark eyes, and were about the same height now that I think on it. But what convinces me most is when we entered he said 'You again.' That was what the creature said.

Val: "Oh yes, I remember you saying so in the sewers. I get saying it the second time in Tranter’s office, but the first time in the alley is what gets me. 'You again.' Spoken like you'd met him before the alleyway. When could that have been? Did you recognise him?"

Host: "Nope. Never seen him before and I'm sure of it. I'd remember if I'd ever encountered someone like him before."

Val: "Having been there and seen him too, I also would have remembered. Especially if he looked how you described him in dog form."

Host: "Wait a minute!"

Host & Val: "The cat!"

Val: "Gods that would be a coincidence and a half, but it lines up. The shapeshifting, the murdering old guys, the recognising you."

The cat from Greywall; the job Val and I took when we first met. It had been at least four months since then, but it felt like it was only last week.

Host: "That opens up so many questions, but also explains why he was so ready to do us in. That would have been our third meeting in two separate towns, months apart. He's likely convinced we're hot on his trail."

Val: "That doesn't bode well for us. Whoever he is, he is clearly powerful, and we've likely pissed in his boots for the last time already."

Host: "I think you're right. If we plan to keep investigating, we are going to need to be very careful from here on."

We planned to stop a bit earlier than usual, since we'd been made to leave Easthallow so early in the morning. We started to look for a place to stop as we talked.

Host: "However, if getting rid of us was so important to him, I don't think he would have bailed on the deed before it was done. So, we're likely safe for now. Gives us a bit of time to find out who owns the name you discovered in Tranter's diary. Based on what I could hear through the door, there is someone else higher up the food chain still and it's likely this mysterious Helar."

Val: "In his diary, Tranter noted he was being paid by Helar to spy on the locals. It's clear he was actually being asked to search for the metal book, as the events in Easthallow only transpired so they could get to it. He also said money was being transferred from the capital, so we're heading in the right direction after this. But Helar is not a tremendously common name. There's gonna be more than one but I don't think it's worth getting access to the records in the Ministry of Social Affairs."

Val leant back and looked to the sky.

Val: "Helar had the whole town guard in his pocket, he provided a contingent of external mercenaries and their shapeshifting commander, and supplied two monsters for them to use. Pulling strings like that leaves a trail."

Host: "And if this Helar feller is scary enough to top yourself to avoid his wrath, we've got to ask ourselves if it's worth it; if we're even prepared to handle it."

Val paused in thought, contemplating the pretty good point I'd just made.

Val: "A salient question. But, my concern is that we're already in it now. Let's get to the capital and find out who Helar is so at best we can avoid him, and at worst, we'll know who's looking to tie up loose ends. And maybe we can find out something about this freaky book while we're at it."

After a few more minutes of travel, we came upon a wide opening on the side of the road by a small stream that seemed perfect. Few travelled this far south so roadside camping felt safe enough. We'd long passed the point where settlements had stopped being established. As bountiful as Varfell forest was, it was insurmountably large at over 500 square miles in area and had been proven by many to be very easy to get lost in.

As we pulled the carriage into the clearing beside the road, Val moved onto other topics of discussion. Clearly going through the list of things she'd wanted to ask during our silent journey. We dismounted the wagon, and started moving boxes from the back.

Val: "So, you're a bit strong."

Host: "How pleasantly understated."

Val: "Do you have an explanation for that?"

Host: "Explanation? What would make a good explanation?"

Val: "Well, let's begin with genealogy? It's the usual suspect for surprising physical traits. Start with your mothers side."

Host: "What did you wanna to know?"

Val: "Tell me about them. What're they like? Were they also human?"

Host: "No, my mums not human, she just looks human. Her mother was a dwarf and her father was an elf, so it kind of just balanced out again. Her mum was a healer if memory serves, a hard woman, but adored me and my brother. I always found it funny that a woman who appeared to be so frustrated by others gave so much of her time to helping them."

Val: "And her father? You told me you'd never met an elf before, yet you are descended of one."

Host: "An oversimplification on my part, I suppose. Her father passed when I was very young, so I only really have one memory of him. I remember tanned skin, sharp blue eyes, and a powerful warmth that poured out from him. He was a farmer by trade, but passed when I was small. Mum's parents being a farmer and healer probably contributed largely to her becoming a druid."

Val: "Tell me of your mother."

Host: "As I said, druid by trade. Spends a lot of her time tending to the local wildlife. I come from a farming village so she's always healing cows, improving crop growth, warding away wolves or other such work. People are constantly asking her for help with something or other. She's the direct midpoint between her parents; astonishingly kind with a very short temper for silly people."

Val: "I see, and is she powerful?"

Host: "I suppose, but I wouldn't say that's the way you measure a druid's ability. It's not about shaping the world to your liking, but moving with its ebb and flow to give what you can and take what you need. Her magic isn't as conspicuous as yours. Casting can take hours to perform, weeks to manifest, and is always subtle."

Val: "I'm surprised to say I've never met a druid before. The Covenant of Uhrasil, the group that run the Irmidian Federation, claim to be druids but they're really just sorcerers in green hoods. It's not the same. Do real druids turn into animals like I've heard?"

Host: "I can't speak for them all but my mother sure doesn't. She's maintained that it's a common fallacy. It's not like turning into a badger will better help you commune with the natural order, as that implies people somehow aren't part of it. We are as much children of this world as a mouse or a bear. Besides, you don't need to observe the world through the eyes of a hawk to see its beauty."

I stopped for a moment to watch the wind rustle through the branches of the surrounding Sitka trees before getting back to work.

Val: "Okay, well, with all due respect, your mothers side seems pretty normal. What about your father?

Host: "Phew, now you're asking. My dad is an odd fellow. Getting information out of him is like getting blood from a stone, you've gotta decipher every word. He's a mercenary too, actually. He and mum split about 11 years ago but he still swings by every now and again. Gods only know where he is now or what he's up to."

Val: "You never mentioned he was a merc."

Host: "Yeah, I don't know too much about him. Don't get me wrong, he's around and we get along fine. It's just he won't talk about himself much."

Val: "And is he powerful?"

Host: "He's more powerful than your dad."

Val: "Probably, my dad's dead."

Host: "Ah okay. I'm sorry."

Val: "It's fine. You didn't know. But seriously, is he strong?"

Host: "That's tough. Most people view their dad as the strongest person they know, but mine always carried a bit more legitimacy. The Big Boy from Easthallow town square was only a little bit bigger than him."

Val: "Oh, wow. Decidedly not human sized then."

Host: "Now that you mention it, mum always attributed the phrase 'he looks human' to him and didn't elaborate. But to be honest, I can't blame her. She's no more adept at getting blood from stones than anyone else."

A pang of guilt shot through me as I realised I hadn't really asked Val about her life. It seemed like a good time.

Host: "Well, now that I've satisfied your curiosity, maybe it's time to talk about you. What about your family?"

Val's features shifted a near imperceptible amount for a fraction of a second. It was too fast and subtle for me to know what face she had made.

Val: "We'll have to save that for later. We've finished the prep and the others are nearly done too. Let's canvas the area and make sure these folks are safe. After Easthallow, I don't feel comfortable leaving them here without either of us so - um -  are you okay to check the area out by yourself?"

She had expertly dodged the question and the face she'd made became clear. She didn't want to talk about her family, and now the lack of conversations concerning them appeared intentional. It wasn't just that I was a poor conversationalist, it was that she'd been avoiding the topic the whole time.

I didn't want to let sleeping dogs lie. I wanted to press her a little and try to get her to meet me in the middle with all this sharing, but she was right. The area needed canvassing and I also wasn't comfortable leaving the group unprotected. I resolved to ask her about it upon my return.

Host: "Yeah, I can manage that. I'll be back in a bit."

Val: "Be safe."

I turned, donned my still-sleeveless coat and sword, and began walking toward the forest treeline.

I searched through the trees, checked for monsters and bandit activity but couldn't find anything of note. That was something of a relief, to be honest. I just wanted to think on the recent events without disruption.

Another murder of an old man, a strange book that hurts to look at, a shadowy cabal led by a shapeshifter, and to top it all off, more reasons than ever not to trust the guards.

What a mess it all was.

I walked through the forest, twigs crunched underfoot and I watched a breeze roll through the canopy overhead.

I enjoyed the rare moment of peace before looking back down.

I saw something in the brush ahead of me. I crouched low, and drew my sword. Slowly, creeping toward the mass, its form became clear; it was an entire pack of direwolves. Nine, maybe ten of them, all torn to pieces.

Severed limbs and broken bones. Lengthy jagged wounds covered their malnourished frames. There was a lot of blood around but no bite marks, no half eaten corpses. Whatever killed them didn't do it to feed.

Strange. Based on details from the scene; dried blood, slight odour, I could tell these wolves had been slain at least a day ago. I knelt quietly, closed my eyes, and waited, listening intently to the environment.

Nothing.

I heard nothing, sensed nothing.

All I could hear were songbirds, and the wind in the trees.

How odd. This was no easy feat, but whatever did it had clearly moved on. There was no cause for concern. I'd notify Val upon my return from patrol.

I walked on, and soon encountered something else; a worn track. It was faint but definitely there. It looked like it led from the campsite to my right to further up the slope on my left. It was worth checking out, so I followed it. 

Little by little, the mud trail turned to an old cobblestone path, and it was leading to a parting in the trees at the crest of the hill. There was an old wooden building there, but I couldn't make out any more details yet.

As I entered the hilltop glade, I could see the building in its entirety; it was a derelict chapel. There was no clear iconography or symbol on its façade that provided any clarity as to which of the 6 gods it worshipped. Could have been one of the chapels that worshipped them all just to be safe.

The closer I got, the more I could see. Empty alcoves where relics might once have stood, chiselled clear. Scratched out reliefs turned to little more than gouged surfaces. Voids in the walls where stained glass windows may once have resided. Even the inscriptions above the main doorway had been chipped away. The rest had been left to rot.

I'd never cared much for the gods myself but why go through all this trouble? As far as I could tell, there were no settlements nearby, so when I first approached I thought it merely forgotten by time. But this looked like anger. All mention of the deity had been aggressively removed. Bizarre.

Wait, I could smell something. Smoke? I couldn't see or hear the fire so the building wasn't ablaze. Besides, there was something more on the scent; something warm and complex. Like someone lit an alchemist's hut on fire. Spices, herbs, resin, wood and the like.

I walked up the wooden steps to the large front doors and gently pushed one open. Peering inside, I could see a layer of smoke lightly obscuring the floor. The scent became so strong that it nearly made my eyes water. Carefully, I moved further inside.

A part of the roof had fallen in, creating a large pile of debris in the centre of the nave that obscured the rest of it. A narrow beam of sunlight poured in from the ceiling, but did little to illuminate the room. I crept between the mess and some pews, and I could finally see the altar.

There was someone else in there.

Dressed in an all black habit and knelt before the altar was a figure I assumed to be the church's Sister. Then I looked at the state of the place, and thought that maybe she was instead on some kind of pilgrimage, just passing through.

Her habit covered her form but I could see the items around her. A satchel, bloody bandages, a field medical kit, a bowl of bloody water, and a thurible that was releasing the smoke that filled the air. She must have been hurt on her travels. I could see no weapons or companions, she might have been in real danger.

Host: "Excuse me, Sister. Are you okay? Are you injured?"

Her head moved slightly, turning her ear toward me.

Ah, that was good, she was still alive.

Host: "I mean you no harm. Just passing through when I discovered the church. Do you need any assistance?"

She didn't say anything as she slowly brought herself to her feet. Something didn't feel right.

She turned to face me, and the cloak of her habit fell from her shoulders, revealing the majority of her torso was wrapped in bloody bandages. The wraps tightly covered her chest and abdomen, but I could still see her defined shoulders and arms. She was in incredible shape, like she'd been carved from stone.

Dark eyes glowered at me through long strands of messy black hair. She raised her arm to the side, and I could see a tattoo of a jagged black sword on her wrist begin to shift.

Host: "Oh, shit. Really? You too? You with the Warhammer guy from Easthallow?"

As expected, she didn't respond. The only things that came out of her were jagged black lines of energy that took the form of a long, thin blade in her hand. It was no ordinary longsword, it barely even looked like one. Instead of the glint of steel, I saw a solid, curved blade of cold volcanic glass over a meter in length. It had no crossguard, and the hilt was little more than black leather wrapped around the grip.

It was ugly and crude, but it also looked sharper than any weapon I'd ever seen. I had just figured out what killed those direwolves.

Host: "Hey, now. Look, we don't have to do this. Let bygones be bygones. Your friend survived so you can too."

Shit, that sounded like a threat. I began to slowly step backward.

Host: "Okay, well that didn't come out right. I-I think we can come to a mutual-"

Before I could blink, she was in front of me with her sword raised. Her speed was unbelievable. I'll admit it frightened me and in my involuntary recoil, the heel of my boot caught on a wrinkle in the church runner under my feet.

I stumbled, and her blade made contact with my face. Collapsing backward in disorientation, I crashed onto a wooden pew and slid to the floor.

Instinctively, I reached for my face. My fingertips felt wet. I looked down and saw dark red blood running down my hand, soaking the cuff of my laced shirt. I could feel more running from my jawline down onto my collar. That had nearly been it for me. If I'd not fallen, she'd have taken my head off.

I glanced at my reddened fingers, and then back up at the nun. She clutched her waist, as blood seeped through her bandages. I could feel the pained fury radiating off her in waves. She'd nearly killed me but had torn her wounds open to do it.

It was here that I expected her to relent. I'd hoped she thought better of it all and would return to patch her wounds, buying me time to escape. I had quickly realised that I was outrageously, hilariously outmatched. 

But she didn't move. She locked eyes with me, and the cold chill of her gaze remained strong. I saw the resolve in her; she would kill me. This was my fault. I was a fool. When I knew she would do battle, all I saw was an injured woman and thought her no contest, and that was about to cost me my life.

She blinked a few times, clearing her vision, and raised her sword again.

Fuck, my legs had buckled. I couldn't stand up, but I had to move.

In an attempt to get myself to my feet, I tried to push off from the ground but my hand slipped on the blood covering my arm and I staggered to the side. Once more, she swung where she expected me to be, but luck had caught me again. I fell to the side as her blade sailed past me and I heard the wooden pew behind me fall into two pieces.

I hit the floor, but found the strength to roll out of it back to my feet. I took a deep breath and reached back to draw my sword, my blood slicked hand fumbling to grip the hilt.

I managed to draw it and as I pulled it down to protect my chest, it caught another of her strikes. Our blades made contact, but the strength behind her swing dwarfed mine. Her sheer power pushed me to one knee. I had to steady the blade with my free hand just to have enough purchase to hold her back.

How was this woman, who was so much smaller than me, so strong?

If my sword had been any less robust, she would have cleaved straight through it.

Another brief pause formed in the battle as she began to pant, she was turning unnaturally pale. Her white bandages were completely red, and I could see blood dripping onto her feet and the floor beneath them.

Host: "Stop! You'll kill us both."

Her lips parted, a pained gasp for air escaped her and revealed why it was she never spoke. 

Her tongue had been removed.

It sent a shiver down my spine as her jaw clamped shut again. That would also explain the big guard's silence too. This was no mere coincidence, I was sure they knew each other.

I could hear her breathing grow heavier.

I had also run out of breath. I hadn't slept in nearly 40 hours and I was beyond exhausted. Not that it would have made any difference here. At my best, she'd have still come out on top.

She reared back, and swung hard one more time. I braced for the impact, but it didn't help.

She smashed the sword clean from my hands. I barely had time to register the painful vibrations in the grip before it was already skipping across the floor several feet away from me.

I stared up at her with wide eyes, still on one knee. That was it, there was nothing left I could do. She stood up straight, her hair matted with sweat and blood. She'd bested me so quickly.

I waited for the killing blow.

It went quiet. There were no thoughts of home. No life flashing before my eyes. I couldn't think about anything else, about being anywhere else.

I waited for the killing blow.

I felt the breeze roll through the chapel. It cooled my brow, and made the blood soaked shirt cold against my skin. It cleared the scent of incense for a moment. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the forest's essence.

And I waited for the killing blow.

But it didn't come.

I opened my eyes, and saw the nun stood before me. She was still, save for the breeze whispering through her midnight hair.

She fell, and without thinking, I reached out to catch her.

Her breathing was shallow. Her gaze lingered skyward before turning to me; it wasn't cold anymore.

Of all the things I could have pondered in that moment, I wondered about her. What had brought her to this moment?

I knew my own story, I knew what steps had led me there. But who was this woman? Why did it have to be like this?

I listened close as her breathing slowed and her sword clattered to the floor. I watched as she tried to move her hand to sign something to me.

Host: "I-I'm sorry. I don't understand. I can't—"

Her strength waned before she finished. Her hand fell to her side.

This life she had lived. The path she had walked that had taken so much from her, had robbed her of her final words.

Her gaze lost focus.

She stopped breathing. 

All I could hear were songbirds, and the wind in the trees.

[Music]

I knelt there for what could have been a few minutes or several hours.

Despite everything that had happened. I didn't hate her. If she had managed to kill me, I could tell she'd have taken no pleasure in it. That somehow coloured things a little. It made me, I dunno, more sympathetic to her, I guess.

Valuin was probably wondering where I was, but the caravan could wait. The jagged sword she wielded confirmed that she'd been the one to dispatch the wolves, and any other dangers in the area before resting.

I moved over to the bloody bowl of water and checked my reflection. She'd cut me along the jawline on the left side of my face. Thankfully it was a clean slice, and the bleeding had finally stopped.

I leant back, spied the nuns' satchel and curiosity got the better of me.

I searched through her bag and found some coin, some rations, and a scroll of some kind.

I retrieved the scroll and started to unroll it. I saw a small red symbol of a bird with a pointed crest stamped on the header. I hadn't a clue what type of bird it was supposed to be.

I continued to unfurl the parchment to read its contents.

There was writing in there, but it was gibberish. A language I didn't know, or maybe a code of some sort.

I'd need to talk to Valuin about it. Maybe she could offer some insight.

I pocketed the gold and the parchment, and walked back toward the nuns body. I figured I should probably do something for her.

As I thought on it, my eyes caught sight of the obsidian sword once again. I gingerly moved over to pick it up.

Inspecting it closely, it felt a truly bizarre weapon to me. There was a blank wooden tag hanging from the hilt by a piece of twine. It hadn't been there before. It appeared after she'd died. I looked back at her wrist and could see her tattoo was now missing.

I didn't know much about that kind of magic, but I'd guessed the weapon had bonded with her somehow, allowing her to summon it at will. It stored itself as a tattoo on the body.

I thumbed the tag and accidentally got blood on it.

Host: "Oh, shit."

I tried to wipe it away but I just smeared it across the front.

Host: "Ah, fu- wait, what?"

The blood revealed letters carved into the tag that I hadn't seen till then. I looked closer.

Host: "The Black Dog."

Maybe that was what the blade was called. Perhaps named after the Black Dog of Elarian folklore. An omen of death to some, but affable companion to others.

Thoughts of large black dogs brought me back to the other man in Tranter's office. The frightening unknown. The shapeshifter.

It dawned on me that this would not be the last fight to the death I'd be in. I sensed that things would only get more dangerous from then on. Maybe the nun was related to everything happening to us, maybe she wasn't. It didn't really matter, but it confirmed to me that Val was right; we were in this now and I didn't think we'd find any semblance of peace until it was handled.

I wasn't somehow exempt from the perils of this world. This was no short lived stint of difficult situations that would soon pass. Death lurked around every corner, blood stained every doorstep, and if I wanted a fighting chance to see this through I'd have to take all the help I could get.

I looked back to the nun and raised the jagged blade.

I gripped the tag, and focused on it. It was silent for a moment, I couldn't feel anything. But then I sensed a connection form. It was tenuous, faint, but present. I gripped onto it with my mind, and centred on it. Minutes passed but the connection grew stronger. I could picture the binding in my mind, feel it become an extension of me.

I opened my eyes, and checked myself over.

A thick black band had appeared wrapped around my wrist, just below my hand. A black bar sat slightly above it the same width, but only half its length.

I wondered why my marking looks different to the Sisters. Maybe the mark was different for each wielder. Perhaps it had some significance. In my village, a black ribbon is worn in mourning and for luck. I thought hard about relaxing my connection to the blade, and tried to imagine it returning to its tattoo form. In an instant, my grip on the sword went slack as there was suddenly nothing in my hand. I watched the blade turn to dark energy, and move to hide in the marking upon my wrist.

I didn't feel any different really. My exhaustion overshadowed everything else, but I still had work to do.

Outside, I found a small clearing beside the church, and I started to dig.

To this day, I remember every second of the three hours it took to dig that hole with my bare hands, five and a half feet long and six feet deep.

I considered quitting halfway down as I toiled through the task, but I continued to dig. It was therapeutic, in a way; I dug through the fear, through the feelings of responsibility, through the anger, and when I was done, I'd arrived at an emotion I couldn't readily identify.

Most people would likely have considered my actions strange. Why bury this woman after what she tried to do? Why waste the effort? Well, I considered it a kindness on one hand, and a form of recompense on the other. She'd taught me something important, and I felt I owed her for the sword.

I laid her to rest. I wanted to say a few words, but I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

I began my walk back.

A few minutes later, I entered the camp and caught a few stares by horrified caravaners.

Val came rushing over.

Val: "What the fuck happened to you? Were you attacked? You've been gone for hours."

Host: "I don't really want to talk about it, but consider it resolved for now."

I handed her the scroll I'd found in the Sisters satchel.

Val: "What's this? Oh. Shit."

Host: "You can read it? What does it say?"

Val: "It's...It's a ciphered assassination contract from Cardinal. With two very thorough descriptions of us."

Host: "Us? Are you sure?

Val: "Human male. Approximately 6 foot 3. Muscular build. Blond hair and beard. Blue eyes. Brown coat. Sound like anyone you know?"

Host: Okay, okay. I get it. Who are Cardinal?"

Val: "A highly qualified band of assassins. They sell death to the highest bidder. They're no joke, but thankfully, I've never encountered one before. Get comfortable."

Val took scissors and trimmed my beard to access the wound.

Host: "Actually, you have."

Val: "What do you mean? When?"

Host: "Mr External Hire, the warhammer guard. A killer posing as a Sister of the cloth nearly murdered me in a derelict church up the hill. "

She began to clean the wound with soapy water.

Host: "She also couldn't speak and had a weapon hidden in a tattoo on her arm. That's too many similarities to be coincidence."

Val took a medical kit from a helpful caravaner, opened it up, and began threading a needle.

Val: "So that's two Cardinal assassins you've encountered. One you hospitalised, and one you killed?"

Host: "I didn't kill the nun, she died of blood loss from a pre-existing wound."

Val: "Idiot. Do you think they'll see a difference between ‘killed by you’ and ‘died fighting you?"

Host: "Well, gear up because it gets worse."

I raised my hand to show the newly acquired mark on my wrist and Val briefly stopped fumbling with the thread to inspect it.

Val: "What is that?"

Host: "Consider it spoils of war. I took her weapon after the incident. Seemed useful."

Val began carefully stitching my jaw back together. The stitching hurt worse than the cut itself.

Val: "You bonded with it. Well, given that you aren't dead, I'll assume it was safe to do so. But that's not something you should try again without careful consideration. You might catch something from one. When we get to the city, you should have the thing examined. There, you're all knitted back together. Now, please, go and clean yourself up, you're making the clients uneasy."

With a lazy nod, I did as I was told. I bathed and tried to clean my shirt and coat before giving up. I'd left it too long and the stains had set.

I sat down by the fire. I was so tired that I'd probably have cried if I'd had the energy. Instead, I stared into the flames for a few minutes. I felt uneasy. Like I was waiting for the next thing to go wrong. While I sat there stressing about the unknown. I fell into a fitful sleep.

Just one more day until we reached the Shallowlands. 

One more day before the worst of it all came to find us.

Outro 

I know what you're thinking. How could things get worse? Well, prepare because you're gonna be asking yourself that question a lot from here on. This is just the beginning of the substantial sum of pain and heartache that we endured. 

Rest easy, this story segment isn't going anywhere any time soon.

For now, however, I'll let you get some shut eye. Make sure you take the time you need to recuperate, gods know I never did.

Rest well, adventurers, and good hunting.