Rene watched as Bea threw a few branches onto the embers of the campfire. Normally fresh cuttings would be too wet to properly ignite, but that was scarcely a problem for a mage. Rene focused for a moment, pulling the ambient aether together into a faintly shimmering array of geometric shapes above her palm. It was one of the first spells most learned, a simple conjuring of flame. Bea piled a few more branches on then stepped back. With a slight gesture of her fingers Rene released the spell and the branches caught fire, the sap within them popping and filling the air with its earthy scent. 

"Those two are taking longer than I expected," said Rene, idly forming then dismissing arrays. 

Bea shrugged. "Well, from what I saw, the internals were pretty messed up.”

“The screeching metal is what woke me, so I suspected it might have been a bit of a mess.” Rene glanced over to where Harlowe and Clair were. “Seems like something else is up.”

“Hey babe? I know we’ve not known her all that long, but she seems different than when we first had that talk in our old home,” said Bea, watching the fire pop and crackle. 

"And what have you noticed, babe?" Asked Rene, now having progressed to forming multiple arrays over her palm; each of them slowly rotating at different speeds.

Bea tossed a couple loose pine needles into the fire. "Well to start, she's feeling pain more easily."

Rene looked over her shoulder toward Clair and Harlowe. "Well, she has a reason to not want to die now." She looked back over to Bea. "I know how that is." 

Bea moved closer to Rene and pulled the redheaded mage against herself. "I love you too."

Rene turned Bea's head. Thumb, index, and middle gripping her chin. Then she kissed her. The smaller blonde readily melted into it. They'd been together for a couple years, but the events of the past few months had only pushed them closer. 

Rene broke the kiss and smiled at her lover. "You looking forward to crossing the Weir and seeing where I learned all my tricks?"

"I taught you some of them!" said Bea with a huff. 

Rene laughed and shook her head."The magic ones, not those. And it's not my fault that I still had a bit of a learning curve with all… that stuff, given my situation."

________

A distance away Clair stood and offered a hand to Harlowe. “You feel up to heading back?” 

Harlowe frowned beneath her mask. The pain was still lingering as a dull ache in her shoulder. At least that damn warp in the mount wasn’t pinching any nerve cords anymore. She grabbed Clair’s hand. “Thank you. I’ll join in a moment, I left something up on the crag,” she said, standing with Clair’s aid. 

Clair smiled softly at the half-ghoul. “I can help with that, if you’d like.” 

Harlowe shook her head. “I appreciate it, but I’d like to do this myself.”

“Alright, I’ll see you soon,” said Clair, turning to head back. 

Harlowe watched her lover return to the others by the fire, then turned to climb back up to where she’d been perched. She was careful not to put too much of her weight on her right arm, not wanting to stress the warp anymore than she had to. For the first time in a long time she felt the need to be careful with her own body, and on some level that was terrifying to her. It was easier being unconcerned with her safety, being able to throw herself into danger without much of a second thought and letting instinct take over. Memories of the confrontation inside the ark surfaced again making her wince and shake her head.

She paused a short distance from the top. “No, instinct is far worse.” 

Once she’d cleared her head, Harlowe pulled herself up onto the ledge. She checked to make sure nothing had gotten out of her other bag and then grabbed the case that had her instrument and her shovel before going back down. With everyone already up, maybe she could play for them a little more. She found herself smiling beneath her mask as she hopped down the last foot or so and onto the forest floor. The impact made her wince.

“At least it isn’t sparking,” she mumbled as she went to grab the toolbag and head back.

_______

Clair arrived back at the campfire and sat back next to her pack, spear and shield. The arms had survived the explosion of the golden ark-turned-ghoul nest, a testament to Marcus’ craftsmanship. She looked over to her other traveling companions. Bea had been forced to leave as soon as the thaw had gotten properly underway, a requirement to avoid a year in service to the fae. The Spring Maiden specifically. Clair had met some who had been bound in service to the fae before; it changed a person. Often the years were measured in the inscrutable time of the fae realms and not the regular march of time observed by mortals. And there was no way that Rene wasn’t going to go with her lover. Clair looked over to Harlowe a distance away as she hopped down from the way up to where she’d been perched before the fall. The two of them were off to chase down the man responsible for unsealing the golden ark and who sent the phobophage after her. The image of that awful worm thing struggling under Elder Gerd’s cane flashed in her mind before being replaced by the horrid amalgam from inside the ark. She shook her head, trying to dispel the memories. 

“Clair, you alright?” asked Rene.

Clair returned a look that Rene immediately knew the meaning of; bad memories were not something that any of the four of them lacked. 

“I’m alright, just a little tired,” said Clair.

The mage nodded then idly traced part of the scars that ringed her neck before focusing back on Bea. 

Harlowe walked over to a point between Clair and the others and put her tool bag down before sitting. “Thanks for the help, you two.”

“It’s no problem,” said Bea.

Clair smiled. “Glad I could.”

Harlowe set the case with her instrument down. “Think we’re going to be up for a while? Daybreak should be an hour or two out from now.”

Rene looked over to Harlowe, she somehow seemed smaller, but not in a physical sense. “Yeah, no reason to head back to sleep. We’re pretty close to Zeistein, we could head there.” 

“I’d like to wait a little longer,” said Clair. 

Harlowe flipped open the clasps of the case and pulled her hurdy gurdy out, resting it in her lap. Beneath her mask she formed a smile as she placed her prosthetic hand on the crank and began to turn it, the instrument’s drone strings piercing the sounds of the forest. A few moments later her claws danced along the metal capped keys, producing the same tune she’d played all those years ago in the graveyard.

_______

The morning sun filtered down through the thinning canopy of the Nebelwald as the group approached the port city of Zeistein. Just outside the walls stood a lumberyard warded with charms that indicate a pact with the fae. The question of price was easily answered by looking closer; atop the stumps of some of the felled trees were bowls meant for offerings, and further from the recently cut section were replanted groves of young trees. 

Rene spoke, “I wonder how the forest near home is now. I can’t imagine the Esarans respecting the Fae.”

“Perhaps they’ve been stymied by whichever fae lord claims ownership,” said Clair.

Harlowe shook her head. “Doubt it, armies at the scale being mustered down there are at best being hampered, but not stopped in any meaningful way.” 

Rene frowned. "Then I hope they are bleeding from it."

As they neared the wooden gates to the city proper a handful of guards peered over from a walkway above. Their weapons and armor were maintained as well as could be hoped for with the salt air coming in from the Weir. Their eyes all spoke of the boredom of their task. 

"Travelers!" Shouted one, waving an arm.

The group slowed and looked up at the guards. Harlowe felt herself tense; entering cities was always risky with her condition. 

Clair spoke for the group, "Two of our number seek passage upon a trade vessel to the warring states." She put a hand to her chest. "I and my other compatriot have coin to spend and intend on seeing our fellows off."

The guards whispered as they looked down at the group. One spoke, "Aye, but what of that one? The one with the mask."

Before Clair could attempt to smooth things over, Harlowe shouted up at them, "I've a deformity and would not want to sicken the good sirs of Zeistein's watch."

Clair grabbed Harlowe's shoulder. "You're not deformed." 

"I am. I do not mind mentioning it," said Harlowe to Clair. 

Clair nodded, lips pressed into a line. 

One of the guards leaned over, squinting. "A deformity? Of what nature?"

"The same that took my arm." Harlowe pulled the cloak up over her right arm, letting the guards see the brushed metal of it. "I am an artificer of the College on the Moors of Tynan Weir, my deformities are a result of dangerous work."

The guards pulled away and huddled together again, clearly suspicious still. Bea leaned forward, listening as intently as she could. 

The blonde woman looked to Harlowe and said, "They're talking about something being broken that you could help with?"

Harlowe shook her head. "Likely a fog-eater, it's the only way places near large bodies of water can stay safe. It's irresponsible to not keep a few artificers on hand."

"You're in as long as you can do a job for the city, artificer," shouted the guard that had been taking point in speaking with them.

"A fog-eater, yes?" Replied Harlowe, her eyes burning eyes fixed on the guard.

The guard nodded. "A-aye, speak with the harbormaster, I'll send word ahead."

"We've an accord then, let us in," shouted Harlowe. 

The guards grumbled, but moved to crank the gates open. The heavy wooden gates pulled inward, revealing a main road composed of wooden planks with brickwork acting as the foundation for many of the buildings. The people here were either sailors, merchants or lumberworkers, with a small scattering of workshops that had plumes of smoke coming from forges and kilns. Once they were a distance from the wall they stopped for a moment under a currently unoccupied market stall. 

Harlowe leaned against a wall. “I’ll have to see to that job or the guard won’t leave us be.” 

“It can wait until we get a room or two.” Clair shot a glare toward the guards up on the wall. “I still have my pendant, the order still has some weight. It should silence them long enough for us to relax for a bit.”

Rene inhaled, “How long has it been since you checked in with them anyhow? While the Esaran’s hated them on principle, they weren’t exactly loved worldwide either.”

“Clair has always been good though,” said Bea, hand on Rene’s shoulder.

Clair bit the inside of her lip. “It’s true that those on errantry were granted more leeway in our actions, including deviating from order protocol…” she trailed off, not wanting to think about the organization at large. 

“Regardless,” began Harlowe, “these two have reason to see the harbormaster and the repairs can’t take that long, unless the eater is entirely destroyed.” She groaned to herself. “Must be in bad shape for them to overlook the eyes.”

Rene shrugged. “I would put coin on them assuming it was something demonic. More people know the stories of the demons from Megiddo than the signs of a ghoul curse.”

“That the Admiralty and the College have been collaborating with agents from Megiddo on several projects doesn’t exactly put the suspicions to rest,” said Harlowe, waving her still exposed right hand and forearm dismissively. 

“I’ve dealt with demons. So long as you both operate in good faith they’re perfectly reasonable,” said Rene.

“I’ve run into both good and bad demons. They did always strike me as a little odd, like when one said– shit.” Clair pinched her brow.

“Well, what did they say?” asked Bea.

Clair blushed.

Harlowe chuckled softly. “I think I know what they said.” 

Rene and Bea exchange glances. 

“First Elder Gerd and now her…” Clair groaned. “Was I really that obvious before?”

“Can’t say, I didn’t know you then. But I can’t imagine you were too good at hiding it,” said Harlowe with a smirk beneath her mask.

The silver haired cleric buried her face against Harlowe’s side and just whined for a moment before pulling back. “Let’s just… get moving so I can try and forget that people could see right through me.”

The group resumed walking after a small laugh at Clair’s expense. They attracted glances and whispers from passer-bys, most focused on Harlowe, but a few commenting on Rene’s scars. While it clearly irked the pair of them to be gawked at; they brushed it off, none of them would be here long and it wouldn’t be at all worth causing a scene. As they walked they saw various merchants setting up their stores down the main road. After passing a particularly gaudy tavern they found what looked like a suitable place to rest their heads that wouldn’t be too expensive, a tavern and inn by the name of Henricksen’s Stake. 

Clair paused in front of it. “I’ll handle getting us a room. If they’ve no vacancy I’ll be here regardless.”

The others waved as they headed onward towards the harbor, leaving Clair to see about their room. She stepped into the Stake and was immediately hit by the scent of roasting fish from the partially open kitchen. It was warm inside too, a nice alternative to the chill of sea air. Clair made her way through the dining area to the bar itself and sat down on an empty seat. Clair’s eyes focused on the bartender, a middle aged man with arms covered in sleeves of sailor’s tattoos depicting boats being stalked by creatures from the deep along with dedications to the Great Leviathan; patron deity of the waves.

He moved to stand in front of her. “Miss, can I get you something?” 

“I’m looking for a room that can accommodate four people, two beds at minimum.” Clair looked up at his face. “I can afford a second room if need be.” 

“The larger room is currently open upstairs, price is less than a pair of them,” he said before scanning the room and bar before shouting, “Stepan, right sleeve, dump it on the table!” 

Clair turned to look at a frightened man looking between the others at the table with him. That must have been Stepan. The others glared at the smaller man until he begrudgingly emptied a pair of cards from his sleeve. 

The bartender stepped out from behind the bar. “Moment, miss.” His focus shifted to the other gamblers. “Now, he’s going to give you all back your money and get out of my establishment.” 

The cheater pushed his unfairly earned winnings to the center of the table and stood, heading for the door. In a tense moment it felt as though the other gamblers were going to stand. Clair reflexively pulled magic together, until the gamblers grumbled and settled down, dealing again. The built up magic dissipated as a sudden cooling of the air around her as she sighed in relief. A fight wasn’t something she was looking for.

The bartender returned to behind his bar and leaned down. “So, we should talk about payment.”