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The Chosen led the tearful dwarf back through the Cross Ward, huddled in the middle between the four of them, shielding her with their bodies. Maggie said nothing during the walk, seemingly lost in thought or memories, but when they reached the Molten Yam and stepped inside, the elderly dwarfess seemed to perk up.

“Oh… ah smell beer, an’... an’ mead. Oh, an’ fresh bread. Signs above, fresh bread. Laddie, canny borro’ a few coins. Ah swear on the night, ah’ll pay yeh back,” she gripped Jack’s arm, her eyes swimming with tears again. “It’s been so long since ah et dwarven food.”
“You can eat whatever you want, Maggie. Our treat,” Rory smiled. “But we’ve got some questions.”
“Oh, boyo, yeh give me a drink and a bite, both with yeast in ‘em, an’ ah’ll tell yeh the secrets o’ the universe,” she smiled, but the expression was wistful and somehow sad.
“Where have you been that you couldn’t just… eat whatever you want?” Erin asked.
“‘Neath the mountain, lass. Hidin’ and scrapin’ by, tryin’ to make it ta another today, until today finally came,” her smile warmed. “Oh, it’s so good ta see yeh all.”

As they descended into the taproom, Tilly called out to welcome them.

“Welcome back, yeh scamps. Who’s this yeh brought with yeh?” she grinned.
“This is Maggie, Tilly. We’ll need a room for her, and if Findam’s here, something warm to eat. Five meads and a cup of hot tea, and if you’re done with the beer rolls, we’ll take as many as you’ll bring us,” Rory returned the innkeeper’s grin.
“After we eat, Maggie, we’ll hit the bathhouse,” Erin squeezed her hand.

At the bar, Rory leaned in to confer with Tilly.

“Tilly, love, do you happen to have a set of clothes Maggie can borrow? Or I’ll buy something off you, if you prefer,” Rory leaned over the bar and stole a fresh slice of citrusy mascralan from the bin.
“Aye, yer stray can borro’ a change o’ clothes, you scoundrel,” she slapped his hand away from the fruit with a smile.

The four sat with Tilly at one of the wide tables, watching the dwarf as she drank in the sights like a woman who had, until recently, spent all her time hiding in a cave under a mountain. Eventually the mead and the food arrived, and they sat patiently while Maggie began to eat, savoring each bite of Findam’s boar flank and mapras tuber stew as though it were the finest delicacy. Her first sip of mead brought an audible sigh of pleasure from her lips.

“I cannae thank yeh enough fer this, blessed ones,” she sighed again.
“As much as we want to let you relax, Maggie, after what I’m sure has been quite the trial, we do need to know some things,” Rory sipped his tea.
“Arright, boyo, but a-first, we must speak o’ the most important part. The reason why ah’ve emerged from me li’l bolthole after all this time,” she looked around the room conspiratorially.

The Chosen followed her eyes, checking the room for eavesdroppers, but the Yam was surprisingly barren for this late in the afternoon.

“Now, this is terr’ble important. Listen. Dinnae talk. Dinnae speak a word. Only nod or shake. D’yeh understand?” her voice dropped to a low whisper.

The four exchanged glances among themselves, then nodded.

“Nae a peep. Ah mean it. Yer immortal lives depend on it, understand?” she waited, expectantly.

They nodded again.

“Arright. Again, dinnae speak,” she blew out a long breath. “Brandon tol’ me a fair bit ‘bout yer world. Said many o’ yer people worship a white god, and his enemy is called the Devil, like the great demon princes. He used to say to speak o’ the Devil and he shall appear. Yeh know the tale?” she glanced furtively around the room again.

They nodded once again.

“Yeh mus’ understand. Yeh cannae speak o’ the Devil here. Have yeh seen her? The White Beast? The End of Heroes?” Maggie’s whisper dropped into the room like a stone into a still pond.
“You mea-” Rory started.

The dwarfess reached out and clamped her hand over the salesman’s mouth. She was shockingly strong and disturbingly quick for an old woman.

“Shh. Yeh cannae talk about her. She’ll hear yeh,” she whispered.
“That seems a bit paranoid, and I’m the paranoid one here,” Layla quirked an eyebrow.
“Atta girl. Don’t mention her. So, have yeh? Jus’ nod or shake,” Maggie repeated.

Three of them shrugged, Layla nodded her head, then wobbled her hand in a so-so gesture. The other three silently turned to face her, their expressions incredulous, and a bit judgy.

“What?” the succubus blurted. “She asked.”
“Yeh mus’ not speak o’ her. She was worshipped as a goddess, centuries ago, after the vast empire she and her fella Chosen forged was destroyed by her own hand. She has some mad power to hear her name and her titles, mayhap even sense when she’s spoken of in roundabout means,” the dwarf’s whisper was so quiet the Chosen had to lean in to hear her.
“So, wait… If we can’t… then, why can you… ya know?” Erin asked.
“Cause o’ this,” she opened her blouse again and tapped the living Mark of Ouroboros on her sternum.
“About that, I thought only we could have those,” Jack finally spoke up.
“Twas a gift, from the Great Serpent himself, after ah saved Brandon’s life,” she replied proudly.
“You saved him?” Layla asked skeptically.
“Aye, lassie, ah’m a fair mighty healer, an’ a pretty damn fine oracle, passable necromancer, decent plaguebinder, only a middlin’ druid tho,” the old dwarf counted off with her fingers.
“How… how many classes do you have?” Erin asked, wide-eyed.
“I dunno, think maybe six or seven. It’s nae smart ta get too many. Spreads ya too thin,” she replied absently.
“Why didn’t you… you know, defend yourself, from those priests?” Layla asked.
“And why have you been living under a rock for… however long?” Rory pitched in.

The dwarf took another giant swig of mead and sighed appreciatively, then leaned back in to continue her tale.

“Ah cannae use any o’ me powers, lest the creature herself find me again,” Maggie poked her temple, as though indicating it was the smart thing to do.
“If you’re so strong, why don’t you fight-?” Rory started.
“Pfft,” Maggie spit her mead on the table and clapped her hand over Rory’s mouth again. “Fool boy. She’s been Chosen by the serpent fer hundreds of years, and she’s hunted ev’ry group since then damn near to extinction. Only one or none have survived o’ each crop since she came along.

She took another long draft of mead and hung her head.

“It’s nae foolish ta say she is the Devil, laddie. She can wear the skin o’ those she eats, and spit ‘em back up ta walk ‘round, like li’l meat puppets with the Devil herself inside,” the old dwarfess made the sign of Ouroboros faith, as though warding off the evil eye.
“So, again, why can… you… this is hard,” Erin started.
“One o’ the things this,” she pointed to her heart again, “allows fer, is that if I stand wit’ one o’ the Chosen on a Seal o’ the gods, the Chosen can grant me the power o’ the Seal. Brandon gave me a special one, afore he left for the sea. And I mean ta take yeh to it.”
“What does it do?” Jack asked.

Maggie grinned fiercely.

“So long as yeh use none o’ yer powers, spend no mana, nothin, yeh appear to be ordin’ry common folk, to even the greatest of divinations. A bloody audit cannae see a single thing about yeh. Yer mana dinnae show in yer mantle, and yeh cannot be tracked or found out by any mortal magic. So long as I use none o’ me powers, she cannae hear a wit I say. Tho’, Brandon said should I ever learn her true name, never ta use it, just in case.”

The dwarf sat back, cheshire cat grin painted on her face.

“Oh, shit. Umm… umm... uh, fuck…” Layla began to nod vigorously.

Maggie quirked an eyebrow, then horrified understanding bloomed on her face.

“Yeh have seen her. A pale slip o’ girl with hair and eyes, dark as night, no mana at all, not even a drop,” she croaked out.

Layla continued to nod and the others’ expressions slowly darkened.

“Okay, so, where’s this special shrine?” Jack whispered.

Maggie’s eyes glinted and her wild grin grew wider.

“Tha’s the fun part. It’s right here. Under the Silverglooms,” she replied.
“If it’s that close, we’d have sensed it with the Compass Wind,” Rory retorted.
“Nae laddie. It’s a Seal fer hidin’, and hidden she is. One shrine in all o’ Ayrgard yeh must find on yer own, unless yeh have the Compass AND the Map,” her eyes twinkled.
“There’s a map?!” Jack gawked at her.
“Aye, shows all the world on it. If’n yeh have both, yeh can see every Seal where they sit. The Map lies near the elves’ world tree. After we fetch up the Seal of the Nameless Wanderer, we can take the Astara all the way. Steal a boat if we must,” she mused.

“Okay, so priority one, is that we get to the shrine. We should still hit the Guildhall and look for a posting that will take us up there, just in case… for… preventative measures,” Jack grimaced.
“In case she’s watchin’, yeh mean?” Maggie whispered.

He was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, just in case,” Jack turned toward the bar, where Tilly stood, polishing glasses, watching the five of them conspire against the Devil.

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