Chapter 55

(Near Garen's Well)

Following Waesyarus’s tip, Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon notice aberrant changes in the forest. Animal corpses scatter across the woods. They first believe predators are behind the killings of squirrels, rabbits, beaver, and other tiny woodland critters, but they quickly change their opinion at the nature of the slayings. Sport is what they conceive, a sadistic sport, killing for the sake of bereaving life and not for food. What’s more, is there are zero intimations of Razorclaw activity. Is there a large predator infected with rabies performing the killings, or is it worse? The group wishes for a rabid animal, especially after Grifo mentions a phantom Razorclaw and Heilim and Tylon shudder at the thought for its sanity.

Starting off, the party members observe massive body chunks missing from the carcasses, exposing guts, bone, and organs, even ripping them in half. The size of the victims increases to foxes, deer, wild boar, and black bears as they continue south. From there, any doubts of a rogue animal or a furtive Razorclaw are out the window.

The inane slaughters now add a ritualistic component. In addition to torn-up cadavers, there are dead animals completely intact. They are void of any internal organs from a massive, vertical incision. In a perverted sense, it’s a work of art. No way an amateur can field dress them cleanly. The fur, skin, and bone are nailed to the base of the trees or hanging off their branches, depending on the size and weight.

Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon press forward to search for the cave when Conall alerts Heilim of an ominous presence nearby. They hear a visceral male scream in terror and agony, but that is not what chills their bones. Immediately following the man’s yell, they detect a pack of creatures howling in victory over a hunt. It is a mix of wild animals and a guttural sound that shouldn’t exist in the world.

Stealthily, the party members navigate the foliage towards the source of the unnatural sound, sweating at the absurdity of their decision. Against every fiber of their being, it dragoons them to ignore their primal instinct of self-preservation and flee. They observe behind their cover a scene of absolute savagery, a mixed-group of felines and canines occupied at tearing a young man apart at his belly while he screams in pain and fends them off in futility. Despite appearing as Skin Changers, they have fur patches on their primarily naked skin, with tattered clothing providing the extra cover. They are neither the Skin Changers of the failed experiment or Beastman as far as Heilim knows. As a humanoid with multiple haunting images of war substantially, Heilim doesn’t want to admit the brutality he’s witnessing them exert on the man makes some of the atrocities he experienced appear as children’s paradise to himself.

The pack members cease their activity when an arrow impacts one of them in the back, piercing its heart. As if they aren’t convinced that their figure and screams are enough to convey to the world their bizarreness, they communicate in an indecipherable language to each other in alert to the threat. Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon can distinguish what they perceive as words through guttural grunts and yips.

“Gyuk illth roǻgdhz, Uyku,” one of the monsters utters. Its shrunken eyes scour the land.

“Ȭvḝk, migdhzaet iknněẗ baletn, Ynult,” another creature responds.

“Dzat arciknu morkhulitn,” the third oddity speaks.

A second arrow dispatches another associate, and the remainders begin to flee. One by one, they fall to a volley of arrows, none reach safety. Soon, a female Half-Elf in a camouflage cloak emerges from her concealment as she saunters over to the mangled man.

You can trust her, Conall tells Heilim. She’s with Lymis.

“You can come out from hiding,” the female speaks to Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon. “Unless you prefer a more convincing motivation.” She draws her bow, looking in their direction.

They reveal themselves by walking towards her with their hands up. The closer they walk to her, the more they notice significant scratches all over her, fresh lacerations. The gruesome sight of the fresh corpse and the scattering of organs and limbs causes Grifo, Tylon, and Heilim, somewhat, to turn their heads away and gag. 

“We’re friendly,” Tylon speaks after he empties his stomach. “You and you’re friends don’t shoot.”

“What proof do you have?” She inquires. “And I’m a solo person.” The news stuns Grifo and Tylon. From the rate of fire, they assume multiple archers. Instead, they’re facing a Ranger.

“We’re shaking in fear, for starters,” Grifo replies. “I nearly defecated myself.”

The feminine Half-Elf shakes off an unwanted image in her head. “You, I may trust,” she responds to Grifo. “I’m still not certain about you two.” She focuses on Heilim. “You project a strange aura. You’re in league with Lymis, yet you aren’t completely assimilated.”

“Guilty as charged,” Heilim replies. He senses Conall becoming aroused. Calm down, Moon Moon.

I’m not a dog, and stop calling me Moon Moon! I swear my other head isn’t in control.

Really, Heilim thinks skeptically.

Maybe a tiny amount of my body is under the influence. In case you don’t know, we can behave ourselves during tense situations like right now.

“I figure you’re a benevolent person due to your association with these two gentlemen,” the female says to Tylon.

“If it reassures you, we were too frozen in horror to aid them if we were their allies,” Tylon spoke.

The female accepts their statements, although she’ll judge them from afar. They may share a common interest and team up with her. “And I suppose the dead body wouldn’t faze you if you were with the monsters. I’m Ophilena. What brings two Farlanders and a Halfling here?”

“We’re a traveling band of adventurers searching for quests,” Grifo lies. “We heard reports of farm animals and people disappearing near Garen’s Well, so we came to investigate.”

“Even with the unrest occurring, you went to Garen’s Well?” Ophilena sounds surprised.

“What about you?” Heilim inquires, taking an interest in the Half-Elf without Conall's influence. “A lone female roaming around during a turmoil ends in disaster for her.”

“This female can fight and avoids settlements like the plague,” Ophilena replies. “As for a reason, I was on an official Wolfpack quest to exterminate a Razorclaw. Damn monster was no joke. I just killed it a couple of days ago, received the reward, and I was on my way back to one of the branch headquarters to accept another quest when I noticed odd slayings of animals and humanoids. My animal spirit warned me of malevolent Skin Changers nearby, and here I am.” She looks at the corpses. “I’m not positive at what to call them. My animal spirit claims they’re Skin Changers, but they’re not reverting to their traditional form upon death. Even for abominations, revert back.” She stares at Heilim. “Speaking of which, which animal spirit is yours?”

“A wolf,” Heilim answers. “Yours?”

“A tiger. Your names?”

“Heilim.”

“Grifo,” the Halfling stutters. How often does somebody encounter more than one true Skin Changer?

“Tylon.”

Ophilena ponders on Heilim’s name for a minute. “So Lymis made a decision to recruit the Mad Butcher and a Blade Master.”

“She proposed a sweet proffer to me. Judging by your appearance, I say it is.”

Ophilena ignores Heilim’s subtle flirt. “What information do you have so far about… this?” She gestures at the massacre site.

“There’s supposed to be a cave near here along the path,” Grifo answers. “It’s supposed to be in the shape of a wolf’s maw.”

Ophilena is in the process of pulling her arrows out of the deceased monsters, wiping away a grey-colored liquid on the arrowheads. “There’s a cave back the way I came that matches your description. Thought it was occupied by bears or other large predators that weren’t my target, so I left it alone.” Unconsciously, she rubs the back of her neck. She knows that the cave houses a malicious entity that isn’t a natural predator, but her skills are suited to wide-open environments to not investigate inside. Perhaps these males will suffice instead of relying on bait or smoke. Guild policy would mean I have to offer them a reward at least, assuming we don’t suffer casualties.

The Ranger guides Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon to the cave. It is off the main trail enough that the travelers can’t descry it through the verdure, and they are intelligent to not wander off the path. The forest has a habit of confusing people, and the recent snatches add the fear of something foul roaming around.

At the sight of the cave, Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon glare at Ophilena, realizing a lie in her statement. No carnivorous animal has the mental capacity to tie humanoids on posts, leaving their mangled bodies carcasses to the elements with fur pelts as their only source of coverings.

“I am not aware of a mindless beast capable of ritualistic offerings,” Tylon comments. “Do you?” He asks Grifo and Heilim. They shake their head. 

“You caught me,” Ophilena responds. “There’s undeniably a cult operating in the cave. That would fall under the Knights of Kyren jurisdiction if Tilaja didn’t alert me earlier. I planned on inviting additional Wolfpack members to aid me, but I encountered another Skin Changer with Lymis’s influence instead.”

“Quiet,” Heilim orders.

In silence, the group observes another bizarre creature similar to the group prior to walking outside and over to a bush to mark it. A second individual appears from the entrance, and then a third that has features of a bear. They wait for a large group of regular humanoids ambulating towards them. Twelve members appear to be prisoners split evenly between genders while the others in inadequate armor are security. The guards escort the captives into the cave, with two of the three creatures following them. The first monster scans the surrounding area several times before returning inside.

“What do you want to do?” Heilim asks Tylon. Are they what you’re sensing, Conall?

They’re definitely lycanthropes, but I’m unsure of their origin. There are abominations nearby also. Be careful.

“You’re taking orders from him?” Ophilena inquires in disbelief. She thinks Heilim is the leader, not some scrawny male that barely enters adulthood. Perhaps she’ll keep a closer watch on Tylon and determine if there’s something special about him.

Heilim shrugs, keeping the royalty part hidden from Ophilena. “It’s complicated.”

“We’re going to skulk through the cave,” Tylon speaks. “I want to know what we’re up against and also to free the prisoners if possible. Who’s stealthy?” Naturally, Ophilena raises her hand, and Heilim elevates his halfway.

Grifo raises his and adds, “I have spells that can reduce our sound volume to amplify stealth also.”

“That’s great,” Tylon responds positively. “You can be ahead of us.”

“What?”Grifo begins to regret revealing his ability.

“You and Ophilena can move further ahead of Heilim and me and alert to us what’s in front.”

“Who gave you the authority to order me around?” Ophilena inquires in a demanding tone.

“You can stay here or leave, but the rest of us will enter the cave,” Tylon responds. “I’m sure -Tilaja is it?- is grateful she doesn’t have to fight those creatures.”

“Wait a minute. No-no-no. I’m going in.”

“Lead the way.”

From the hiding spot to the entrance, the party members stay close together in anticipation for a guard to emerge from the ingress. As they reach it, Ophilena and Grifo march ahead after he casts a spell. “Art of Transmutation: Silent Steps!” Their already quiet footsteps reduce further that the crickets drown out the movement as they walk inside. Thirty seconds to a minute later, Heilim and Tylon follow them under the effect.

Grifo and Ophilena are glad to have the spell active inside the grotto as they step on the rocky surface. The moisture clings on to them, no difference between here and in a rain forest. As a result, there are patches of moss and vines on the ceiling. Like insects to light sources during the night, the roots stretch towards them, but the distance is too great that the heat sources move away, oblivious of the danger.

Further in the cave, the party members wince in repugnance as slimy, fatty webs in their path caress their skin. To Grifo, the appearance reminds him of tissue chefs use called caul fat. Reddish goo drips from the rocky roof onto them, forming elongated hair strands. The magic effect doesn’t help diminish the sickening squish sound when they accidentally step on porous organs. To their relief, no adversaries materialize to investigate them. They could’ve sworn they noticed a mass of flesh dip into a pool of blood.

The light fluctuates between living and dead. Grifo and Ophilena alert Heilim and Tylon of movement ahead in a chamber from the shadows obscuring torchlight. Now the humidity is higher than before, and they start to bathe in their own sweat; the clothes are saturated as if they’re fresh from a wash. The scent of garlic, herbs, and pungent peppers add more reason for them to continue on the current path instead of diverting onto a branching tunnel to their right until Ophilena and Tylon detect crying babies.

Believing that more prisoners are nearby and the path to freedom is clear, the group decides to travel on the right trail instead. A door greets it, and it jostles when Ophilena tries to turn the doorknob.

“It’s locked,” she speaks in a low voice.

“Allow me to open it,” Grifo offers. “Art of Conjuration: Magic Hand!” An arcane hand materializes, and it levitates his lock picks to the entrance. Having a knack for using magic to unlock locks too high for him, he swiftly obtains the *click* sound.

Inside the room is nothing but ghastliness to the party. In the middle of the cell is the source of the crying, a squirming pile of deformed babies with features similar to their adult versions. Several of them are consuming on gaunt, naked females’ nipples. A woman currently intact expels the last of her litter in front of the party members, too emaciated to scream in pain traditionally when in labor.

Without alerting Grifo and Tylon, Heilim starts to execute the neonates with Ophilena following his example. Each infant exhales its final cries before one of the executioners shoves a blade through its chest. The most recent birth succumbs to Heilim.

“What in Iridii’s name are you doing?” Tylon hisses furiously.

“Slaughtering the monsters before they become them,” Heilim answers.

“But they’re babies. They don’t have a chance at experiencing life.”

Heilim stabs another infant. “They will mature to the abominations we saw earlier. More people will suffer the same fate as that man.”

“However, we know that they come from humanoids. They can learn what’s right and wrong from our society instead of this cult because of that side of their nature. They’re not mindless beasts like Razorclaws.”

“I concur with Tylon,” Grifo speaks, abhorred by the massacre of newborns.

“Even on the slimmest of chances that we can nurture them to walk on the right path, their existence will be miserable for them because of their deformed bodies,” Heilim responds. “Life will not be on easy mode for them as a handicap. This is a merciful act.”

“Besides,” Ophilena interjects, “Lymis would require us to kill them since they are Skin Changers that will harm innocent people. I still don’t know what to call them because both the adult and infant versions are incapable of switching forms like a follower of Fenra or an abomination from the failed experiment. Still, Tilaja and Heilim’s animal spirit are warning us.”

“Still, I’m against slaughtering defenseless babies when they have a chance to learn,” Tylon continues his remonstrance. “It’s also against the Certh’s code to snuff out life unless it’s self-defense, war, or you plan on utilizing the entire animal, and infants are in the protected category. I order you, Heilim, to cease your executions.”

“Are you allowing him to order you around?” Ophilena asks Heilim.

Rightful king or not, I object to this, Conall speaks. I made an exception to the Firbolgs, but that was pushing it. Remember Genaca.

Heilim sighs. “I’m sorry, Tylon.”

Heilim and Ophilena finish their mission while Tylon stands in silence. Even the cadaverous females perish when they determine they’re too weak to recover to their full strength. They gasp as if saying thanks for the duo freeing them from their pain of torture and parturition. As a sign of respect, they close their eyes. Tylon stews in his hatred as he and the rest of the party resume on their original path.

The party members cease their advancement at the edge of the chamber to gather information. Deformed Skin Changers are everywhere, approximately forty-two altogether. One of the canine versions is off to the side, gnawing away at a humanoid foot. Another canine chases it off with a snarl and assumes possession of the chunk of meat. The majority of the Skin Changers are near a boiling cauldron or their fresh prisoners.

Three masked individuals in grey robes reveal themselves from the left path as they ambulate towards the cauldron. Once they are in position, the leader starts a process.

“All-powerful Eytullfr, may our sacrifices please you as you guide us on our path. May your influence expand wider in this lost world and touch others with your words by our work. May your power give us strength to smite the unbelievers and those that oppose you. May you break your bindings once again!” The leader’s voice sounds monstrous like Heilim sounds in his alternate form. It won’t surprise the party members if he’s in werelion form since it matches his mask.

The lion, wolf, and bear-masked individuals start to chant, “Etzu, etzu, mȯzghuŗ iuk lar perælẗic etzu,” as the lion-masked leader reveals what Grifo, Heilim, Ophilena, and Tylon can guess is the final ingredient to the cauldron. In the blanket in his hands is a humanoid infant in the fetal position that is wrinkly as a raisin. He chucks the baby mummy into the boiling water, causing additional steam and a sharp hiss as some of the liquid spills onto the fire. There is a force that blows the scarves with a pattern of blue diamonds off the leaders. The liquid thickens as it transforms into a black sludge.

One tiny tendril emerges by gripping the outer edge of the cauldron, more begin to follow slowly. The ooze hoists itself out, dividing into six bantam clones when it contacts the ground. Grifo, Heilim, Ophilena, and Tylon observe the leaders each scoop up two oozes in their hands and walk over to the male prisoners, still intoning. At the worst possible time, Ophilena’s bowstring snaps as she tries to shoot. Near the captives, they release the mires.

Now free, the slimes slither up the captives and down their throats, triggering their gag reflexes. Soon after, their bodies betray them, and the leaders free them when they notice the effects. To the party members’ horror, they behold the males ambulating over to the females and unwillingly begin to violate them by pulling their pants and underwear and opening their shirts first. Then they start pounding them hard while messing with their breasts.

“Hopefully, this batch of Klovalks turns out better than the previous groups,” the bear-masked person speaks.

“I’m sick and tired of the timid nature plaguing the gene pool,” the wolf-masked individual utters with some anger. “The moment they detect they have the slightest of a disadvantage, they retreat.”

“Have patience, you two,” the leader responds. 

The wolf mask increases his voice. “Patience. My patience is wearing thin. This would be less toilsome if we had the notes.”

“Good luck on that,” the bear mask retorts. “I doubt any survived from the Second Age once the Wolf Sisters got involved.”

“Release the prisoners this instant,” Tylon shouts. He can’t take it anymore. Hypothesizing that the infant Klovalks are the result of the rape currently in progress would mean that Heilim and Ophilena will slaughter them the minute after their nascency, and the thought adds fuel to his raging fire.

“After them,” the leader orders the Klovalks.

Before they even get near the party, Grifo casts a spell, remembering a detail about the creatures. “Art of Conjuration: Menacing Roar!” He inhales deeply before he shouts. The volume and depth are loud and deep, causing Heilim, Ophilena, and Tylon to cover to preserve what’s left of their hearing. True to the wolf-masked person’s complaint, the Klovalks flee with a tail between their legs, whimpering.

“Worthless pieces of shit,” the wolf-masked individual utters.

Believing they have to dirty their hands, the leaders reveal their alternate forms, matching their respective masks. Unlike Waesyarus, their clothes don’t rip apart and instead fuse inside their body like Heilim’s transformation. Grifo, Heilim, Ophilena, and Tylon flee from the cave not from fright but to protect the vulnerable prisoners from the crossfire.

When they’re outside the cavern, Heilim and Ophilena polymorph into a werewolf and weretiger, respectively. Behind them, Grifo expends additional mana to buff the main fighting force of the party while Tylon prepares his crossbow. “Art of Transmutation: Haste!” Like the most potent coffee spiked with adrenaline, the friendly Skin Changers receive a jolt of their energy.

The werewolf is the first to appear from the grotto. “We have Lymis’s followers to deal with,” he alerts the others behind him. He yips and grasps his right shoulder where a crossbow bolt embeds itself and stares his bloodshot eyes furiously at Tylon. “You’ll pay for that, brat.”

By the time the werebear and werelion appear, Conall and Tilaja are on top of them. In a storm of teeth, claws, and fur, they assault the trio. The spell provides them with the advantage; they’re faster, agiler, and can unleash more attacks than ever before. Conall sinks his fangs into the werebear’s neck, grabbing nothing but fat and fur. A swipe across the snout from Tilaja causes the werewolf to yip.

In a surprise, Conall’s eyes enlarge as the werebear chucks him across the arena, kicking up dirt, leaves, and sticks while rolling over the ground from the momentum. Tilaja soon suffers an identical fate. Enraged by a wooden projectile sticking in his skin, the werebear barrels towards Grifo and Tylon, knocking Conall and Tilaja aside as he plows through them as if they didn’t exist.

“We have to leave,” Tylon speaks.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Grifo replies. They both begin to run.

“Can you climb that gargantuan boulder ahead?”

“Not as I am currently.” He quickly discharges another spell as he touches Tylon. “Art of Transmutation: Spider Hands!” Tylon quickly realizes that he doesn’t need to grip on any surface tightly to climb. Instead, he only needs his hands to contact it.

“Tylon! Grifo!” Conall shouts as he tries to place himself between them and the werebear but finds the werelion and werewolf instead.

“You have to deal with us first,” the werewolf utters, snarling. A mental image has him grinning. “And I’m afraid our friend will kill your companions before you finish us.”

“Who do you serve?” Tilaja inquires. “You’re not abominations, and I assume you’re not with Fenra. And what the fuck are your minions?”

“You are correct,” the werelion replies. “We, along with the Klovalks, serve the Three-Mouthed Wolf.”

“For what purpose?”

“You’ll never find out.”

The werelion and werewolf charge at Tilaja and Conall. With a roar, the cult leader jumps at Tilaja, but she rolls away thanks to the spell. On her feet, her two hands catch his appendages, and they engage in a strength contest, something she lacks, and she knows it by her feet sliding and displacing dirt. To balance out her weak muscles, she remembers her training of converting her opponent’s physical strength into a weakness, and she twists her body in a dance. The move catches him by surprise as he falls flat to the ground, suffering slashes from her claws. A few seconds later, the werewolf lands on top of him after Conall throws him.

“Interesting moves,” Conall comments approvingly, getting aroused. “Where’d you learn them?”

“I took martial arts classes by a local monk when I was a kid. He taught me Ajuechu.”

Conall lifts his eyes briefly in surprise. “That’s a type of dance belly-dancers in Sennelan practice.” Their opponents disrupt their dialogue, dispersing as the enemies jump at them.

“All close-quarters combat is a dance, a very lethal dance.”

Back at the boulder, Grifo and Tylon are amazed and frightened by the werebear’s climbing ability. “Know any spells that can do damage?” Tylon inquires as he fires his crossbow. His tremors throw off his aim and strike a less vital part of their assailant.

“Not directly,” Grifo replies. He’s currently having an internal debate of what spell to cast. Should he maintain Haste for Heilim and Ophilena and pray for them to win quickly and save them, or should he conjure a powerful barrier and cancel the current spell, leaving their companions vulnerable and hoping they have the skills to prevail? The answer arrives in the form of the werebear almost reaching the top but regresses to roughly the halfway point. “Art of Abjuration: Ammakolos’s Trinity Barriers!” On the boulder’s vertical surface, three solid granite walls appear horizontally, facing down at the threatening Skin Changer. Just hold out for several seconds, Heilim and Ophilena.

Just like coffee causes hyperactivity in humanoids, it can sap their vitality just as effortlessly. It’s also the same effect on Conall and Tilaja suffer, and it feels the flu is draining their energy. The werewolf and the leader exploit their lethargy to their advantage to devastating effect. They sustain deep lacerations across their chest and back from the first attack.

“Both of you look like pubes from a bog hag that never shaves,” Grifo shouts at the cult members. The sudden insult and a crossbow bolt distract them enough that their next attack collides against the ground as they glare angrily at Grifo and Tylon, providing an opening for Conall and Tilaja. “Art of Healing: Cloud of Regeneration!” A bright dust cloud appears around his cohorts, sealing the majority of each cut to stem the blood loss. The werebear manages to breach the first barrier.

Conall and Tilaja return the favor by either biting the werewolf’s neck or clawing the werelion’s chest. A vigorous shake from him like an actual wolf taking down a deer results in a snap, and the werewolf goes limp. The cuts on the leader are deep enough that he cannot continue the fight as he attempts to contain his internal organs. Instead of freaking out, he laughs maniacally.

“What’s so amusing?” Conall inquires

“I’m just thinking about how much you actually gain from this at the cost of losing your companions on that boulder. There’s no way you can catch up to Etuyk now.” The laughs turn into gargles as Tilaja lacerates the cult leader’s throat before joining Conall at reaching the werebear.

Etyuk destroys the second wall when they arrive at the bottom, debris raining on top of them, avoiding the larger chunks as they ascend. Grifo and Tylon notice cracks appearing on the final barrier, so they search for an escape route. An idea forms in Tylon’s head when he looks further up the steep hill.

“You said you don’t have magic that can directly damage your opponent, right?”

“Yes,” Grifo answers, looking at what captivates Tylon.

“What about indirectly?”

Following Tylon’s gaze, Grifo notices what he beholds, a giant boulder, not as large as the rock they’re standing on, appearing extremely loose except a tree is holding it in place. They and the menacing Skin Changer are in the direct path should it become accessible. He grins as he has the appropriate spell. “I have exactly what you’re asking. I must ask if you know a way to avoid it?”

“We jump,” Tylon answers.

Grifo suddenly jerks his head down the cliff. Even though he doesn't have acrophobia, he must admit that even this height and the proposal give him a sense of disequilibrium. “Are you insane? The height we’re at will surely result in broken bones, and I don’t have the magic to heal them quickly.”

“It’s that or death. Your choice.” The third wall is on the verge of collapse.

Grifo stares at the boulder above him and Tylon. “Ah, sheisté. On three, we go.” Tylon nods in agreement. “Art of Transmutation: Enlarge!”

Below Etyuk, Conall and Tilaja scramble up the rock, trying to reach him before he climbs to the top when they detect vibrations in the earth and sound. In confusion, they observe the evil Skin Changer break the final barrier and climb over the edge as Grifo and Tylon jump off, yelling. They grab the friendly Skin Changers by some miracle before they hit the earth, enduring major bruises from colliding against the rock instead. Seconds later, the werebear plummets rapidly, and blood explodes as he impacts the ground with a humongous boulder on top of him.

“That was an extremely reckless move,” Conall speaks. He has Tylon in his grasp.

“It was Tylon’s way of avoiding becoming werebear chow,” Grifo responds.

“It worked -dare I say- better than expected,” Tylon utters, astonished by the fortuitous event as he dangles from Conall. “We couldn’t run up the steep hill, and either side was a vertical drop. Um, could you two allow us to grab the ledges so we can descend properly?”

After reaching the ground, the party members walk over to the dead werelion and werewolf to determine their authentic form and identity. There’s no way to figure out the werebear’s standard form from the bloody paste. Replacing the bodies instead are two massive spots of blood-soaked earth and the white robes now crimson.

“Where’d they run off to?” Tylon inquires.

“I have no idea,” Tilaja answers.

“I doubt they’ll return any time soon,” Conall responds. “Let’s retrieve the prisoners, seal off the cave, and drop them at Garen’s well. I can use a hot bath to soothe my muscles tonight.”

“Same here,” Grifo enunciates, “along with a massage.”

“In one of the rare instances, I’m actually looking forward to a hot bath too,” Tilaja speaks.

“We can easily accommodate you in our room, so you don’t have to waste coin for your own chamber.”

Tilaja decides to revert back to Ophilena. “You just want to get in my pants.”

“Guilty, but I know when to take the hint. In addition, my injuries are dissuading me from pursuing that endeavor.”

“There must be some reward I can give you. Maybe the coins, jewels, and other treasures from my stash will suffice.”

Conall reverts back to Heilim. “You owe us nothing despite the reputation the Wolfpack has. We just shared a common objective for our own reasons.” He notices Tylon walking to the grotto entrance. “Wait for us.”

During the group’s travel in the cave, it encounters zero Klovalks, which is fine by the members. When they arrive at the ritual site, they notice the prisoners are huffing heavily, done with their unwanted coitus and messy aftermath. After dressing some of the captives, they wonder what’s in store for the females, recalling another with the deformed Klovalks. They suspect they’re most likely pregnant, judging by the aftermath. Would the sludge result in Klovalk babies, or is there an additional step or two in the ritual to produce them? Unfortunately, they have zero methods of determining what’s inside their womb. Ultimately, they decide to bear the risk of allowing them to give birth.

The prisoners’ gratitudes are sincere when they reach the egress but lack any positive emotions. It will require time to recover from the traumatic experience though it will forever live in their memory. The only time when they express emotion is when the party members collapse the cave. During the walk to Garen’s Well, no soul utters a word.

The residents in the village are ecstatic at the sight of the party and the missing people. Within the confines of the law of the settlement, they throw a minor celebration. Grifo, Heilim, Ophilena, and Tylon politely refuse to partake in the celebration and request a relaxing, hot bath as their reward. When the workers alert them about the prepared water, they head to the washroom.

The room contains one giant metal tub with wisps of steam rising from the water, suitable for a dyad of adults to submerge themselves. Beneath it is scalding coals providing the heat. Within a couple of minutes of entering the room and locking it, the party members are in the tub, with the males doing their best at giving Ophilena the most privacy. Heilim can sense Tylon is indignant at him about the deformed infant Klovalks.

“You can lambaste me about the cave, now,” Heilim says, careful about his noise volume to prevent someone from eavesdropping.

“Not in the mood,” Tylon replies, lowering his voice also.

“It’s not healthy to hold it in. I’ve seen the effects.”

Tylon lifts his head towards Heilim, glaring at him. “You disrespected my order. How am I supposed to rule a kingdom when I can’t have one person obey me?”

“You, ruling a kingdom? No way the Adoranians will allow a Farlander to assume the Dragon Throne,” Ophilena responds. A glare from Heilim causes her to apologize and decrease her vocals. “Sorry. I’ll remain quiet.”

“Not every person will obey your authority simply because you’re royalty,” Heilim replies. Ophilena's eyes widen as she realizes they’re serious about him claiming the throne. “How you respond to unruly people will determine what leader you are. I doubt you want to go as far as this village.

“No,” Tylon replies, shaking his head, still depressed.

“But not suffering ramifications will embolden them. This is your first test as leader.”

“By murdering babies?!”

Heilim nods. “In your perspective, yes. What is your wrath?”

“Tell me the true reason for earning Deserter and Kinslayer by the Cerths,” Tylon orders. “That’s your punishment.”

Fair enough, Heilim thinks as he relives the tragedy. “I was framed for murdering my pregnant wife, son, and daughter. I came home one night and witnessed an abomination Skin Changer shredding my children to pieces. It infected me when I fought it, and it ran off. Then I found my wife, and she died as I held her in my arms. The Cerths that lived through the Fifth Adoranian-Phehan War saw the bloodbath and convinced everyone I did it, branding me the titles. Didn’t help that I lost control and slaughtered more of our kin. I struggled with the infection in isolation before Lymis offered me a way out, so I joined her. Now I hunt lycanthropes that aren’t with Lymis. That’s why I did what I did in the cave.” He adds a subtle reference to the Firbolgs without alerting Ophilena. “By the way, Conall wasn’t enthusiastic about your intervention.”

“Appreciate you telling us the story. I still don’t forgive you.”

“As long as it doesn’t consume from within, you can refuse to forgive me as long as you wish.” Gods know they haven’t, or else they would be done punishing me.

Sensing that they’re done with their talk, Ophilena issues a question about Tylon. “Is he a legitimate prince of Adoran?”

“Indeed,” Grifo answers. Heilim and Tylon further reinforce his answer with a nod.

“I was only aware of two princes, and none of them have Farlander blood. in them.”

“It’s complicated,” Grifo responds. “Let’s say that the current ruler is a fake, and we’re training Tylon, the actual, rightful heir, in secrecy so he can assume the throne when the time is right. Can you keep this a secret?”

“People will consider me psychotic if I tell them, regardless if I believe your story or not. It’s safe with me.”

After cleansing themselves in the washroom, the party members decide to retire to their beds for the night. To Grifo, Ophilena, and Tylon, their rest is pleasant. For Heilim, it is one of the most restless nights he ever has.