Strozazand jerked awake. His mind struggled with what had awoken him while his body wrestled with the sudden shock of morning air rushing around his body. His eyes shot open. Kegar had ripped away his blanket and was standing over him. The dwarf was shaking; the blood drained from his face, a look of pure horror stained his visage.

            “Your beard! Your beautiful beard! Someone has defiled your race and cut your beard!”

            Broden looked up from his breakfast. A single, expressive eyebrow raised slowly in confusion before he shrugged and turned his body away from whatever travesty was about to happen. It didn’t concern him and he didn’t particularly care about the participants. He took another bite and smiled. Tasty.

            Stroz shivered in the dawn, “It was in my way so I cut it. Now,” he motioned with one hand for his blanket, “give me my blanket back, I have an hour more to sleep.” It was an exaggeration, but not by much judging from the light.

            Kegar held the blanket away from Stroz’s reaching hand, “You cut it… on purpose?”

            Stroz sat up and stretched. “I’m no more a dwarf now then I was a human before. I’m a dargon. Now give me my damn blanket.”

            Kegar’s face twisted, “You are a disgrace to dwarves everywhere!”

            Stroz shrugged, “As long as I make a great dargon, that’s fine.”

            Kegar glared at him. “Dargons don’t need blankets.” Then he dropped the blanket on the fire.

            “Hey!” Stroz snatched his blanket and began trying to put out the embers, “How would you know! You aren’t a dargon!”

            “Because, I’m in charge! It’s my job to know everything!” Kegar snapped back.

            Four crows sitting in one of the trees that encircled their camp cawed mockingly at him. He snarled a curse at them and turned away, as uncomfortable as he had been angry. It was weird to be angry at stupid birds. They made him feel tingly all over, but not in a good way. He glared at them.

            Faute blearily looked up from her breakfast. Something had disturbed her slumber the previous night. She had tossed and turned, waking multiple times during Stroz and Cole’s watches. The irritating caw of the crows sounded like horrid snickering and drew her eyes up from the tasteless food. She squinted at them.

            Am I dreaming? She thought and rubbed her eyes.

            Unlike everyone else from Pode, when Faute looked at the crows, she didn’t see black birds. At least, that isn’t all she saw. The black birds were more like a mist than actual birds, but stranger still was at their core. The shadows of the birds surrounded very real, red demonic creatures. Their skin was smooth and hairless, their hands ended in sharp talons and they had three adorable, tiny horns protruding from their foreheads.

            Imps. She had seen them before around Pode. Shandra had summoned a few once for an experiment. It hadn’t gone well for the small things. Shandra had been trying out new recipes for her healing potions; which the wizard then compelled the imps to drink. One of the creatures had melted from the inside out, another had exploded and the third had been tie dyed and changed genders.

            The imps seemed to be pointing at Stroz and laughing. She blushed at some of their wildly inappropriate gestures. It was her blush that gave her away to them. One of the imps saw her blush and turn away. In short hopping jumps that mimicked the crow it was pretending to be, the imp approached her.

            “You can see us.” It wasn’t a question. It was spoken in a terrible language that both chilled her heart and felt like a homecoming.

            She heard him, understood him, in spite having never heard the language before and she also heard the echo of a crow cawing. No one else sees anything other than a curious crow. Her eyes widened then narrowed. A slow, arrogant smile spread across her face, No one else hears anything other than a crow cawing. I could reveal what they are and then everyone would know how they need me.

            The imp hoped from one foot to the other, “You wouldn’t turn us in will you? We’ve been watching you and your friends for a while. They don’t listen to you very much do they?”

            Faute frowned.

            “Do you really think they’ll hear us out? Do you think they will bother to know why we are here? They’ll attack us for no reason just because we are imps. They don’t care about anything other than our race.” He cocked his head to the side, “Do you know how it feels to be hated because of your race?”

            Faute’s face went red. She remembered her disgust, stupid human peasants. They should have been bowing to me, not throwing filth! She gave a slight nod.

            “Don’t tell them. We don’t mean any harm.” It crouched down.

            It’s so small and pathetic. She nodded again.

            The imp seemed to believe that was enough. He hopped back to the other imps.

            Ellen frowned. She had come back from washing up to see Faute sitting with her food and a crow sitting very close cawing softly. It was odd. “Thinking about turning into a druid, Faute?” She was tempted to reach out for Faute’s mind… But that isn’t something I want to do lightly. Looking at crows isn’t strange enough to warrant that invasion of privacy.

            Faute stiffened before tossing her long hair back over her shoulder, “Don’t judge things you don’t understand. Human.”

            Ellen raised an eyebrow and leaned against a tree, “Didn’t realize I was judging anything. My mistake.”

            Faute blushed. It felt strange talking to Ellen that way. The older woman had never treated her as if she was lesser but… she’s a human and I’m not. I know they all judge me for being an elf. She corrected herself, for being better. She went to get her horse ready to ride. She spent a frustratingly long time struggling with ties that she had tied too tight.

            Finos rode up on his pony. “Do you need a knife?” He held out one of his knives. It was one of his favorites. Crocalyal carapace blade with a cowbra bone hilt carved to look like an elven maiden drawing steel.

            She reached for the knife before pulling back her hand. Disgust laced her words, “Do you have anything that isn’t pornographic?”

            “That’s not my pornographic knife.” He smirked and pulled out a second knife, “This one is.” It was. This elven woman was no maiden, not in that position.

            Faute gasped and snatched the first knife. She struggled to cut the knots, but once she finished she turned back to Finos. She looked at the knife in her hand for a moment before turning and hurling it away. “That’s what you get you disgusting little hobbit!”

            Finos went pale, his eyes blurred. My… my knife.

            “What in the hells!” Cole yelled from the other end of camp, “Whoever threw that knife almost hit me!”

            Finos rode toward Cole, “You didn’t happen to catch it did you?”

            Cole shook his head and brushed dirt and plant matter off his breastplate. “No, I hit the dirt when I saw it. It was coming straight for my head.” He pointed behind him, “It went in that direction. I can help you look.”

            The two began combing the undergrowth but in spite of the thorns and prickers they collected with their hands, they were unable to find the knife. Finos thought they should have been able to find it if they were looking in the right area. The handle is bone white after all.

            The group packed in sullen silence. The crows followed them. More specifically, the crows followed Strozazand. When the group paused to get their bearings, the crows would crowd into the tree nearest him and make a ruckus. It gave him chills and irritated the rest of the group who were largely already in terrible moods.

            At midday, they stopped for lunch in the burnt out remains of one of the southern towns. None of the Pode natives had ever been that far south before, Ellen was wisely keeping her mouth shut and Percival was being ignored by Kegar. Kegar discovered the town was called Southton, according to the broken sign.

            Stroz had smelled something for the last mile. It tickled his nose pleasantly and filled him with an eager, hungry feeling. He set his pack down by where Katrina and Mary were making lunch and set out into the town. Grateful the irritating crows had decided to not to follow him, he wandered through the town looking for survivers and whatever was making that wonderful smell.

            In what must have been the mayor’s home, under the floor boards he found the body of a woman, perhaps nineteen or twenty. She was very pregnant. Two younglings were with her, maybe four or five. It was hard to tell given the state of decay. The stink was pungent.

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            “See their faces?” Ellen came up behind him.

            “Yah?” Stroz wasn’t looking at them at all, but rather, through them.

            “They suffocated. Between the smoke and the collapsed building… they ran out of air and died.”

            Stroz grunted in acknowledgement before stepping down into the hole.

            “The worst part is that they’ve been dead about five days. This was preventable. We could have prevented this.” Her eyes narrowed, “What are you doing? Be careful moving them, their stomachs could burst.”

            Stroz froze. He had been about to lift one of the children out of the way. “Erm.” He coughed awkwardly, “How should we move them?”

            Ellen shook her head, “We shouldn’t. If we had time to bury them properly that would be one thing, but we can’t. Every moment we spend with the dead is a moment we aren’t saving the living.”

            Stroz chewed his bottom lip, “Okay, but what if we had to move these bodies?”

            A frown pulled at Ellen’s lips, “It isn’t right to move the dead if we aren’t caring for them.”

            “You sound like a cleric.” He straightened, “I need to move them, you going to help or judge?”

            Ellen raised an eyebrow, “I’d help better if I knew why you were doing what you are.”

            He shrugged, “I smell something.”

            She wrinkled her nose as she climbed into the hole with him, “Me too.”

            A grim smile pulled at his lips, “Funny. Not that. I smell something; I’ve smelled it since before we got to town. I don’t know what it is, but it’s under them.”

            “Okay.” She put her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

            Together they lifted away the bodies. Under them was an iron chest. It was perfectly ordinary except for the lock which shimmered wondrously in his sight. He reached for it, but Ellen grabbed his wrist.

            She had seen his eyes glaze slightly and peeked into his mind to see the shimmery lock. “Wait. What if it’s trapped?”

            “It can’t be trapped.” He gestured in the direction of the corpses they had stacked outside of the house, “Their bodies were on it.”

            Ellen rolled her eyes.

            Seeing her expression he added, “…unless the trap wouldn’t go off until someone tried to open it?”

            “Better.”

            “Can you check it?”

            “Yeah, but my forte is better suited to traps set in the wilderness, tracking through marshes or invading sentient creatures minds.” She didn’t bother adding that it had been a century or two since she had needed to pick a lock.

            Stroz snickered, “One of those things is not like the others.” He knew she wasn’t lying. Some people in Pode didn’t know and some people didn’t believe she could muck about a person’s mind. But Stroz knew. She had helped him out a time or two.

            She flashed him a winning smile, “Why don’t we ask Percival? He could use a break.”

            Stroz grimaced, “No kidding.”

            Anyone with an ounce of humanity felt bad for Percival and the situation he was in. Kegar was getting more and more abusive towards the merchant’s son. But what could they do? Ellen cared too much about Stroz and Katrina to disappear into the forest although the thought became more and more tempting every day. The Pode natives had extended families and any actions they took towards one another would have consequences.

            Lizzy was tuning her harp while Katrina and Mary made the midday meal. Cole and Finos fed the horse. Cole was trying to console the halfling about his lost dagger. It was going poorly. Shandra was reading a book while Broden napped nearby. His head rested on her foot. Kegar had wandered off for the gods knew what reason. Faute was telling Finos about how he wasn’t tending her animals correctly and dictating how he should change his methods.

            Ellen waved Percival to follow her when Stroz exploded, “Dirty thieving bastards!” He picked up a handful of rocks and began hurling them at the crows.

            The murder of crows had, using their cleaver beaks and talons, untied Stroz’s pack and began taking things from it and strewing it about the ground. When he went to pick up his bag and stuff things back inside, he found that they had undone the stitching so the whole thing came apart.

            Faute turned up her nose at him, “It serves you right for yelling at them!” As a warlock, she knew better to insult imps.

            “They are filthy, stinking, stupid crows!” He yelled at them again before turning his ire on the half-breed, “Why should I care in the slightest about how they feel?”

            She sniffed, “They aren’t called a murder for nothing.”

            Katrina snorted, “Please, Faute. That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” She looked over at Stroz, “If they were Storm Crows, I could tell them to let you be. They must be a southern kind of crow. But don’t worry, Kegar is a druid. He can ask them to leave you alone or at least find out why they are bothering you.” Her thoughts continued, And if they don’t want to tell or leave you alone, he can compel them. He enjoys exerting his will over others.

            “Yeah, thanks.” Stroz said, picking up another rock.

            “Stroz.” Katrina said, “You may want to not retaliate. Crows may be animals, but they are smart. Let them be.”

            He ground his teeth, before biting of a single word, “Fine.” He stalked off; careful to make sure the wicked birds didn’t follow him. That’s the last thing I need. Stupid birds.

            Katrina stole glances at the birds while she continued making lunch, Crows are smart… but being vindictive for no reason? That’s odd. She eyed the stones he had thrown, they hadn’t come close. That was strange. Strozazand had an excellent arm. I suppose… it could be another instance of his new dwarven body messing with his hand-eye coordination.

            Broden grabbed an extra pack, one that had been full of food which had been eaten, and started packing up Stroz’s stuff. He didn’t pack it well, but he shoved until everything fit. Then he used the pack as a pillow and continued his nap.

            When Stroz got back to the mayor’s house, Percival and Ellen were sitting on some beams with the chest in front of them. The chest was unopened, but the lock was off.

            “Welcome back.” Percival gestured, “Someone wanted to keep that shut bad.”

            Ellen nodded a greeting at him, “We waited for you to open it, since it was your find.”

            “Thanks.” Today was a shit day. He needed a win. He knelt in front of the chest and opened it. Part of him expected an explosion or fire to shoot out. But no. There were no fireworks. Percival had done an excellent job taking care of any traps as well as picking the lock.

            There was money in the chest, a mixture of golds, silvers and coppers. Which Stroz… well, he wasn’t happy to split it with the other two, but he was willing to give them a share since they had helped him. There was a note book in a cramped hand. It was difficult to make out, but it seemed to be in the mayor’s hand. Probably not important. Paperwork rarely was important. Finally, he was able to lift out what had smelled so interesting from so far away. It was a box.

            “Seriously?” Strozazand looked over the box. “What is it?”

            Ellen held out her hand for the box. Stroz was loathe letting it go… but this was Ellen. He handed it to her, his movements painfully slow. When he placed it in her hand, he took a while to let go.

            She looked it over carefully, “It’s a puzzle box. Whatever is inside, you’ll have to solve the puzzle first. You may want to let Shandra take a look at it.” She glanced at his paling face, “Or… maybe not.”

            He snatched the box from her hand, “I’ll figure it out. Dargons are good problem solvers.”

            Percival and Ellen shared a worried look, “Sure.” Perhaps helping him had been a bad thing. On the other hand, if they hadn’t helped him, then they wouldn’t know why he was acting strange.

            When the coins were near Stroz’s nose, he noticed they gave off a very faint trace of the alluring smell but the box’s scent was so much more compelling. The box’s scent was so intoxicating; he almost didn’t care about the coins at all. Almost. He was, after all, a dargon. Dargons loved having money in their horde. He had saved for years so that he could line the inside of his blanket with copper coins.