Guelder's plan worked out almost perfectly. The renegade bandits attacked at the front, while her team tried to sneak up on the Stag Lord from the side. The owlbear joined the fray at the first drop of blood being shed, sending many of the Stag Lord's men into a hysteria and claiming their full attention. However, a group of smarter bandits kept an eye on Guelder's team and positioned themselves between them and the stairs leading up to their chief's perch. Meanwhile, the Stag Lord focused his shots on Guelder. She had to keep moving, preferably in an unpredictable way, which made it hard for her to cast spells.

Linzi and Tristian took cover behind a pile of crates, so that they could make music or channel healing energy undisturbed (and optionally use their crossbows). Amiri, Regongar and Harrim did their best to face down the group of defenders in their way. Guelder recognised their leader. He was the one who had torn her claws out, one by one, with visible enjoyment. Tempted as she was to give him a taste of her regrown natural weapons, the Stag Lord's arrows, not allowing her a moment of respite, helped her keep her priorities straight. She took the first chance to slip away.

As Pangur made his way up the stairs and attacked the Stag Lord, the pressure eased a little, making it possible for Guelder to cast spells. After two unsuccessful attempts, third time was the charm. A boulder of ice, conjured from thin air, slammed into the Stag Lord's stomach, making him bend over and throw up some wine. However, a moment later he shook himself and gave Pangur a brutal kick, buying himself time for a quick shot or three.

Something was wrong.

Guelder hunkered down behind a stack of barrels, narrowly escaping another missile. The amulet she was wearing under her shirt gave off a slight vibration, as it did for every arrow she dodged, reminding her of its protection.

She heard footsteps from behind. She turned back and saw Tristian scrambling to reach her hiding place.

"They have a healer," he panted. "I can sense the energy. Take them out, or this fight will last forever."

"Thanks, Tristian. Stay here."

Peeking out from behind her cover, Guelder spotted the priestess on another platform, opposite from the Stag Lord. Pangur was busy keeping the Stag Lord occupied, while Amiri and Harrim were still fighting Guelder's tormentor. Regongar had wandered off somewhere. Guelder had to take care of the problem by herself.

She closed her eyes and reached out to local wildlife. In the next moment, a giant frog materialised behind the priestess, greeting her with a raspy croak. The woman burst into a frightened scream, dropping her staff and covering her face with her hands.

"Everything okay?" asked a voice behind Guelder. She faintly sensed the touch of a hand on her hip, the feeling dampened by the protective spell she wore. Without thinking twice, she jabbed backwards with the butt of her spear. A popping sound was heard, and one of Regongar's Mirror Images winked out of existence. Guelder turned back, hardly containing her irritation.

"Reg, if you are bored, why do you not go and tackle that cleric? I would appreciate it if you groped her bottom with your electrified fingers."

"Alrighty! Just tell the frog to let me pass!"

The half-orc grabbed his axe and set out to do as ordered. He gave a wide berth to the owlbear that had already dealt with most of the Stag Lord's men, and made his way up the scaffolding to make the acquaintance of the enemy cleric.

Guelder leapt out from behind her cover, and dashed towards the stairs. An arrow scratched her arm, leaving a chip in her bark-enhanced skin, but not drawing blood. Now that Pangur was there to make the Stag Lord's life miserable, it took him longer to reload, just long enough for Guelder to disappear behind the corner of the building and reach the stairs without further hassle. Taking two steps at a time, she climbed up the platform.

The scaffolding trembled and creaked ominously, and Guelder had to lean against the wall to stabilise herself. She peeked out from behind the corner, cautiously, expecting an arrow in any moment. Instead, she saw the owlbear’s huge paws slam into the woodwork supporting the platform. Backing out of its reach, the Stag Lord tripped over Pangur, who was clinging to the leg of his leather trousers, even if his fangs couldn't pierce his magically thickened skin. After some desperate flailing to regain balance, he ended up on his bottom, entangled in his longbow, which snapped under his weight.

It would have been easy to impale him from behind, but Guelder wanted both of them to savour the moment. She stepped forward and touched the Stag Lord's shoulder with the point of her spear.

"Hello," she said.

The scaffolding collapsed.

Guelder cursed herself for not being in wild shape, but her cat instinct worked in elf form as well. She landed in a crouch, spraining an ankle and bruising a knee, but still better off than the Stag Lord, who remained sprawled among the wreckage. Even her spear survived the fall.

As she worked her way out of the debris, she heard a bloodcurdling screech. The owlbear lumbered towards them, its yellow eyes searching for new prey among the ruins. It was hard to tell if it had Guelder or the Stag Lord in mind, but in either case, Guelder had to scare it away. She needed the Stag Lord's head as a proof of kill, which would be hard to obtain once the owlbear got its paws on him.

For lack of a better idea, she donned another shapeshift, this time going for size and intimidation. Pangur threw himself at the monster to buy her some time, but the giant paw swept him away with a single move. The next moment, the beast found itself facing a bear, not quite its own size, but matching its screech with a terrifying roar Guelder had perfected with months of observation and practice. They locked stares for a while, measuring up each other. But before the owlbear could decide what to do about the new beast, it froze in place, paralysed, as if it struck roots.

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Guelder looked around. Kressle's bandits had already made themselves comfortable at different spots of the courtyard, dangling their legs, chewing on stalks of grass, watching the showdown. Guelder's melee fighters had just finished off their foes, and Amiri was sidling closer to her, in case she needed assistance. Regongar was waving from the cleric's platform in three copies, with the enemy healer's body at his feet, and pointed downwards, at the building's door.

A scraggly old man stood in the doorway, his face disfigured by acid burns. Guelder recognised him. It was hard to identify the tyrannic and deviously cruel father figure from the visions with this wreck of a human being, but it was easier to recall the miserable creature from the cage next to Guelder's. Now the man held the owlbear in invisible bonds. Guelder turned towards the Stag Lord again, who was still lying supine among the debris of the scaffolding, thrashing helplessly, unable to get up. Was the old man doing her a favour and making it possible for her to finish off his son undisturbed?

She soon realised she was sorely mistaken.

She felt a sudden shock, as if splashed with a bucket of icy water. Her shapeshift was washed away, as was her Barkskin and the effects of the variety of potions she'd drunk before the fight. In exchange, the Stag Lord's skin also regained its sickly, purplish colour instead of the healthy brown of tree bark.

"My, my," muttered the old man in the doorway. "Nasty little pieces of shit, the both of you. Acting the maggot and raiding my stash of potions, eh? You're in trouble now, deep in trouble! No, not the acid. That's too mild for you. Now I'll teach you respect!"

Guelder paused in astonishment. She glanced at the Stag Lord, who made a desperate effort to sit up and scramble away backwards. She couldn't decide whether to laugh or feel annoyed at the absurdity of the situation.

On second thought, this was no laughing matter at all.

In front of Guelder's surprised eyes, the dust of the courtyard came to life, swirling, wiggling, scurrying. Tiny spiders and centipedes swarmed together, organising themselves into groups, and drifting towards her.

Now it was Guelder's turn to back away in horror, frantically trying to remember whether she'd packed any everburning torches or fireflasks. Normal weapons were useless against swarms, and she hadn't prepared any spell against poison. These harmless-looking little critters could easily turn the tables and wipe her out along with her entire team. If she only could break the old man's focus and bring the swarms under her own control... If she only had the slightest idea how to go about that...

Crunch.

The old man collapsed like a sack of flour, the handle of an axe jutting out of his skull.

"Take this, old fart!" spat Regongar from the scaffolding. "No one badmouths the Leopard of Whatever-This-Place-Is-Called! Not on my watch!"

The swarms scattered in a flash. The arthropods scurried away, once again minding their own business, and the owlbear stretched its limbs with a heartfelt hoot. To Guelder's luck, it found the smell of brain tissue much more appetising than anything else, and made its way to the fresh kill to do some tasting.

It was time to put an end to it all.

Guelder stepped forward, kicking some broken planks out of her way, and stood above the Stag Lord's incapacitated body. This was her moment.

"I cannot fall!" he growled. "I’ve just learnt to stand!"

"To stand?" she said softly, looking down on his acid-scarred face. "More like to trample down the weak. You proclaimed yourself a ruler, but you had nothing to offer to your would-be subjects. Nothing but terror and misery. The brand your henchmen burnt into my flesh will remind me to do better than you did."

She undid the neck of her shirt and pulled it down until her scar became visible. On the marred skin of her cleavage, there lay the amulet she wore hidden under her clothes, with the green strand of hair inside it.

The Stag Lord stared at her, mesmerised. Now that the thrill of the fight had died down in him, the usual drunken fog seemed to spread over his brain. His widened pupils mirrored back the shape of the pendant.

"She will never come," he muttered. He fumbled around his own neck, until his bloody fingers found the amulet he was wearing on a strap of leather. Guelder only saw it for half a moment before he yanked it off and crushed it in his fist, but it seemed strangely familiar.

"Nobody will come," she said. "It is just you and me. As one of the many who had suffered at your hands, today I shall pay the debt for myself and for all your other victims. May Pharasma judge your soul as you deserve."

Guelder’s grip tightened on the spear borrowed from the burnt-out house of Davik Nettle, once bridgekeeper of the Shrike, now a vengeful undead haunting her dreams. She imagined all the suffering and destruction caused by the Stag Lord to this land flow through her and empower her weapon, and thrust it through her foe's neck.

She drew the spear back and staggered for a moment. The fight had taken out of her more than she was willing to admit. Also, she was a bit intoxicated by the turmoil inside her. Triumph, the sweet taste of vengeance, pity for this wretched product of parental abuse, even confidence for whatever was to come...

It was Tristian's touch on her shoulder that steadied her on her feet and brought her back to the moment. She shot a thankful glance at him, making him blush. First time during the entire fight, the cleric drew his scimitar, a weapon sacred to Sarenrae, and offered it to her. Guelder took it, clasping both hands around the hilt, and sliced off her foe's head. She held it up high for everyone to see, with helmet, antlers and everything. Tristian looked away.

Kressle and her surviving men were already inside the building, bringing all sorts of chests out to the courtyard to divide the loot to everyone's contentment. In one of them, Guelder found her old belongings. A pouch of herbs (now deplorably empty), her studded leather armour, her fine elven boots, and even the thick silver chain she'd carried with herself for monthly emergency situations.

Now she could return to Oleg's trading post, where, hopefully, the next thing to do would be to prepare for the journey to Restov, and see if Lady Jamandi would keep her word about granting the Stag Lord's slayer the right to establish a barony on the Stolen Lands. However, she didn't want to go on without saying thanks to her allies. She offered the renegade bandits to join her service and protect Oleg's trading post from bullies similar to themselves, which some of them accepted. As they departed, the courtyard became eerily empty, except for the owlbear munching on the last bones left from the Stag Lord's corpse.

Guelder stood in front of the beast, and resumed the mental link she'd created before the fight. Farewell, friend. Enjoy your freedom, and stay away from two-legs. The monster made a strange sound resembling a sneeze, and sauntered through the main gate, never looking back.