Tad was in the thick of battle with the Treasure Guardian, dashing around the cavern in a desperate dance of life and death. The Guardian, made of dark mist and every sharp point imaginable, was relentless, its cruel blade slicing through the air with deadly intent.

"Keep moving!" Garrick shouted, his voice echoing through the cavern. "Don't let it corner you!"

"There aren't any corners!" Tad shouted back. "This place is full of slopes!"

"Not the point, Tadanius! Not the point!" Garrick returned.

Tad, panting but determined, nodded without looking back. He was doing his best to keep his distance, using a metal stave he had picked up from the treasure pile to fend off the Guardian's attacks. Garrick had already warned him not to summon any portals, given the issue they'd faced in the ruins and the fact they were already in dangerously close proximity to planar portals. There was no telling what would happen, and they hadn't had a chance to study it under neutral conditions. This left the otherworlder at a slight handicap, but… well, Garrick had to admit he was holding his own surprisingly well.

The Treasure Guardian lunged, its blade aiming to skewer Tad. With a deft twist, Tad parried the strike with the metal rod, the stave ringing out as it met the Guardian's weapon. He then rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a follow-up attack that would have surely ended him.

"Not bad, kid," Kilbourn muttered, watching the fight closely. "Not bad at all."

Tad didn't argue, nor did he ask why the two more experienced men hadn't bothered to jump in and help him (it wasn't allowed, per the 'rules.') No, he simply accepted his lot and battled alone.

Garrick's eyes followed Tad's movements, noting how he flitted around the cavern with unexpected agility. Despite the dire circumstances, there was a grace to him, a fluidity that suggested this was not his first time facing such a threat. Every dodge and parry was executed marvelously, and every strike with the stave aimed to keep the Guardian at bay.

There's more to Tadanius than meets the eye, Garrick thought, a newfound respect for the young man blossoming within him.

Tad spun away from another attack, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He swung the stave with surprising force, catching the Guardian on its smoky arm. The creature hissed, more in annoyance than pain, and retaliated with a flurry of strikes that forced Tad to backpedal rapidly.

"Hang in there, Tadanius!" Garrick called.

Back on his shoulder, Ember puffed her chest out as if to offer her own modicum of support.

The Guardian seemed to grow more frustrated, its attacks becoming increasingly erratic and aggressive. Tad, however, remained focused, his eyes uncharacteristically sharp. He deflected another strike and countered with a quick jab of the stave, pushing the Guardian back a step.

"Invisibility!" Garrick shouted, seeing an opportunity.

Tad smirked and, with a shimmer, faded from sight. The Guardian hesitated, clearly disoriented by the sudden disappearance of its opponent. Garrick tracked the invisible form of Tad by sensing his mantle, noting the subtle distortions in the air. Kilbourn and—surprisingly—Ember were also locked onto Tad's position.

If everyone here can sense him… Garrick thought.

"Draw your mantle in tighter, or you'll give yourself away!" Garrick called out urgently.

Just as he spoke, the Guardian slashed at the air where it sensed Tad's presence. There was a sharp intake of breath as blood splattered in the air. The young otherworlder dropped out of invisibility, clutching his side where the blade had cut him.

"Keep moving! Don't let it pin you down!" Garrick exclaimed.

Tad gritted his teeth and resumed his evasive maneuvers. He dodged another attack; this time, Garrick could sense, drawing his mantle in more closely, minimizing his presence.

As the battle raged on, Garrick and Kilbourn exchanged a glance.

"Think he can handle it?" Kilbourn asked.

"I think," Garrick replied slowly, watching as Tad dodged yet another deadly blow, "that he's got a lot more fight in him than I ever realized."

Ember, perched on Garrick's shoulder, chirped softly as if agreeing with his assessment.

As the battle raged on, Garrick maintained his focus on Tad, sensing the young man's Realm pounding at the door of the High Arch Sphere.

Fighting on the back foot will do that to you.

Garrick couldn't help but think that this young man might just pass the Astaran Filter that so many had never surmounted.

Tad and the Treasure Guardian moved to an outcropping about ten feet above the ground, their fight intensifying. Garrick's eyes narrowed as he spotted a sudden flare of mantle from the Treasure Guardian.

"Tadanius, duck!" Garrick shouted urgently, but it was too late. The Guardian released a tendril of shadow from within its helmet, striking Tad right in the neck. A gasp rose from those watching, their breath held in horror.

But as Garrick's sharp senses followed the scene, he realized something crucial. The strike appeared to hit Tad's neck, but somehow, at the very last possible fraction of a second, Tad's hand had shot up and snatched the end of the tendril. It was an astonishingly fast reaction, one that left Garrick momentarily speechless.

That should have hit… Garrick thought.

He'd sensed the attack, seen the trajectory of it. It shouldn't have been possible for the young man—skilled and swift though he may be—to reflexively stop the assault.

Yet he had.

Garrick doubted whether it was something he could have done in his prime.

This kid just gets odder and odder…

There was no time to ponder the implications. In a decisive move, Tad, still holding on to the smokey leash, yanked the Guardian toward him by the tendril. The dark appendage began to dissolve into mist, but not before the Guardian itself keeled, pulled off balance. It tilted forward, revealing a gap between the armor and helmet. Seizing the moment, Tad slammed the metal stave into the space.

The Treasure Guardian froze momentarily, shuddered violently, and then erupted into a...swarm of luminous electric blue butterflies?

The cavern was suddenly filled with glowing, fluttering forms, creating a beautiful and surreal scene. The butterflies swirled in a dense cloud around Tad before beginning to disperse in the air.

"Yes!" Garrick shouted, surprising himself, his voice echoing through the cavern. Simultaneously, Kilbourn let out a similar exclamation.

They glanced at each other awkwardly, sharing a brief moment of embarrassment at an outburst unbecoming their age.

Before they could say anything, a resounding cheer filled the cavern, accompanied by hooting and hollering. In his intense focus on the battle, Garrick hadn't even noticed that others had arrived to witness the spectacle. He turned to see a small crowd of ten individuals, all seemingly drawn by the call of the Plane of Treasures, none of which had bothered trying to pick up any goodies themselves, so drawn into the battle were they.

No one recognizable, he thought. Though, I'm sure they're Guardians from other units. Doubtful anyone else could arrive fast enough if they weren't already in town.

Garrick chuckled, the tension of the fight finally easing.

"Looks like he had an audience," he remarked, nodding toward the gathered onlookers.

Kilbourn scoffed.

"Just what we need," he muttered, eyeing the riches at their feet. "Competition."

The last of the butterflies vanished, leaving Tad standing victorious on the outcropping. He was breathing heavily, a triumphant yet bewildered look on his face.

Garrick couldn't help but smile, pride swelling within him.

"Incredible," he muttered to himself.

Kilbourn, for once, seemed at a loss for words.

"Well, I'll be damned," he finally said, shaking his head in amazement. "That was a hell of a show."

Ember chirped in agreement.

Tad slowly descended from the outcropping, clutching his side where the Guardian had struck him earlier. Garrick stepped forward to meet him.

"Are you alright?" Garrick asked, placing a reassuring hand on Tad's shoulder.

Tad's mood didn't seem affected at all by the wound. Instead, he was beaming.

"Garrick, did you see that? I hit him so hard he exploded!"

Garrick laughed.

"You did incredibly well," he said, his tone filled with genuine respect. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure what to expect, considering you're clearly specialized for using portals."

Tad was still smiling.

"I had a feeling I was good at fighting regular style."

"You…didn't know?" Garrick wondered, impressed.

"Nope—every since I…" Tad paused, looking around conspiratorially before leaning in to whisper, "arrived, I've only used magic."

He paused, letting out a groan.

"Sorry, I mean astara. Some of these terms are hard to remember."

Kilbourn approached, still shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, boy, you certainly earned that circlet. Bet you're feeling pretty cocky right about now, too, eh?"

Tad looked down at the silver circlet at his feet and reached down to pick it up. He slipped it onto his head, smirking.

"I like it," he said.

Garrick watched, deep in thought. This young man had not only proven himself in battle but had also shown a level of potential that could be truly extraordinary.

Something special is happening, he considered, though the thought caused a crease in his brow. Which usually means trouble is on the horizon.

"What's next?" Tad wondered, finally realizing there were others present.

"We should…find you some healing," Garrick said.

Then he turned to Kilbourn.

"Oh, and we should grab some treasures of our own before they get picked over."

"I already did," Kilbourn said with a sneer, holding up a fat, dark blue tome with what looked like a frog emblazoned in silver on the cover. "What's that term you were fond of using all the time? You snooze, and you lose?"

"That sounds like me," Garrick groaned.

"Well, then, that," Kilbourn said, smirking. "Looks like you'll have to fight the others for your portion."

Garrick chuckled, withdrawing an object from his satchel. It was the compass-slash-timepiece he'd spotted earlier.

"Also guilty of taking advantage of the opportunity," he said.

"Well, then, suppose we can leave these people be," Kilbourn said.

As Garrick turned to leave, he noticed their small group had found themselves the subject of curious glances from a few of the newcomers, who seemed to regard them with interest, as if they were a particularly intriguing exhibit at a museum or an odd-looking set of ingredients in a cookbook.

Four of them in particular, all wearing white blouses and black slacks or skirts, their eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity that usually preceded either a lengthy interrogation or a sly sales pitch.

Ah, hell, Garrick thought. I am not in the mood to get my ear talked off about a pyramid scheme.

One of them, a tall, obscenely muscular human woman with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, gave them a smile before sauntering over to introduce herself, her stride as confident as a peacock in a room full of chickens.

Goodness. She has to be at least seven feet tall, Garrick thought. Might even be taller than Kerd.

Garrick nodded in greeting, taking a moment to assess the other three group members. There was a dwarf male with a rust-colored mohawk, a petite, pretty green-haired yrsha woman, and a short gnome man with a tall coif of blue hair that looked like it had been sculpted in the likeness of a tidal wave.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The tall woman, who appeared to be their leader, or at least the boldest of their group, greeted them with an eagerness that bordered on alarming, grasping Garrick's hand in a grip that could have crushed a coconut.

"My word, what a show," she said, her voice strong and confident while still dripping with cheerful femininity—the kind of voice that could make even the most mundane observation sound like a proclamation from on high. Garrick realized that her hand dwarfed his own.

He couldn't help but think of the tribesman from Hantorz, who would no doubt be very interested in meeting her if only to compare notes on how to properly intimidate a room full of people.

"Name's Ingrid," she continued, her smile never wavering, even as she released Garrick's hand from what others would likely consider a vise-like grip. "These are Hestus, Bindee, and Carlton."

Garrick nodded to each of them in turn.

"Garrick," he replied, gesturing to his companions. "This is Kilbourn, and that's Tad."

Ember, who seemed to have found a shiny bauble of her own, raced over, clearly realizing there were new acquaintances to make. She shamelessly swished her tail back and forth at Garrick's feet as if to draw all attention to herself. Garrick snorted, leaning down and picking the vulpid up to place her on his shoulder.

"And this is Ember," he said.

Ember puffed her chest out and released an adorable mewl of greeting.

"Pleasure to meet you all," Ingrid said, her smile widening to a grin that could have lit up a small city. "We heard the commotion and couldn't resist. The Plane of Treasures does have a way of drawing a crowd, doesn't it?"

Garrick chuckled, wondering if the Plane of Treasures also had a way of attracting people with bizarre hairstyles and alarmingly strong handshakes.

"That it does," he agreed. "What brings you here?"

"Same as you, I'd imagine," Ingrid replied. "A shot at the goods."

"Didn't think so many people would hear the portals' beckoning," Kilbourn said skeptically. "You people just...waiting around for this kind of thing, or what?"

Ingrid laughed, a booming sound that no doubt shook the foundations of any structure she'd find herself in.

"You could say that," she said, gesturing to her companions. "We're part of White Owl, one of the Guardian units for the roadbuilding project. We do a lot of mooching about."

"White Owl, hm?" Garrick wondered. "Well, that explains the speed with which you got here. Anyone with a notion of battle readiness and a high enough astaran sense can stumble onto this without an issue."

"Truthfully, White Owl ain't a real combat unit or the like," Hestus said sheepishly, brushing a hand through his mohawk.

Ingrid nodded.

"True. We specialize in the camp's day—to—day activities—mostly paperwork."

Explains the matching admin outfits… Garrick considered. Then, he took another glance at the behemoth woman. Must be some pretty heavy doors on those filing cabinets.

It seemed a waste to have someone who was clearly built to batter gatehouses down bare-handed stuck behind a desk.

"And…negotiations and relations with any…towns up ahead on the docket," the gnome, Carlton, said. His slow, easy tone made Garrick suspicious he would fall asleep in the middle of his sentence.

"You look a little banged up," said Bindee, the yrsha woman, eyeing Tad.

The otherworlder just chuckled.

"You should see the other guy," he said.

"I did see the 'other guy,'" Bindee responded dryly. "A transformation into a bug swarm is a bit beyond my healing capabilities, though. So, I should probably just focus on you, yeah?"

Bindee's short, shaggy green hair had a wispy, ethereal quality, and her eyes were a soft, misty gray that seemed to reflect the world in a gentle haze. Upon closer inspection, Garrick noticed her skin was partially translucent everywhere below her chin. He could clearly see the veins under her spider-silk-colored flesh.

What type is she? He wondered. Water?

However, Kilbourn seemed taken aback by something else entirely.

"You're a healer?" the ancient librarian practically demanded, his eyes widening.

"Yeah…" Bindee said quietly, giving Kilbourn a wary look. "Why?"

"But, you're an yrsha!" Kilbourn continued, apparently beyond reasonably baffled.

"Yeah…" Bindee repeated, clearly not understanding.

"You'll have to pardon him," Garrick interjected. "He doesn't get out much—too much stimulation makes him a bit of an unbearable ass. I suspect it's a side effect of being older than dirt itself. You see, the mind starts to fossilize, and suddenly, everything becomes a source of bewilderment."

Kilbourn shot Garrick a withering glare, the kind that could make even the most resilient of plants shrivel and die.

"I'll have you know, Garrick, that with age comes wisdom. Something you clearly have yet to acquire, despite your own advancing years."

Garrick was about to rise to the challenge, his mind already conjuring up a scathingly witty retort that would surely put Kilbourn in his place. However, as he opened his mouth to deliver the verbal coup de grâce, he suddenly became aware of the deafening silence that had settled over the group. He turned, only to find everyone staring at the two bickering senior citizens with what looked like disbelief and morbid fascination.

Realizing that perhaps this was neither the time nor the place for a battle of nonchalant repartee between two cantankerous old codgers, Garrick offered a shrug of apology, his expression one of barely contained amusement.

"Sorry," he said with a chuckle. "I suppose we got a bit carried away there."

"Wait," Tad interrupted, turning back to Bindee. "What are you?"

"Blech!" Kilbourn exclaimed. "You can't ask someone what they are. Gods above, boy! Who raised you?"

"Dave and Paula," Tad replied, his helpful tone suggesting he'd missed the sarcasm by a country mile.

Kilbourn emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying camel attempting to yodel.

"Well, I mean," Tad clarified. "You said a word I didn't recognize. I'm just trying to be more informed."

"It's alright," Bindee said, giving her companions a look that suggested she was used to this sort of thing. "I am an yrsha. I think what is an appropriate interrogative, in this context. It's not like he asked me what color my underpants are. I'll explain, but first, can I patch up your wounds? I'd feel terrible if any of your injuries got infected—however mild they are now. We can't have you falling apart at the seams, can we?"

Tad beamed, his grin threatening to split his face like a ripe watermelon.

"Sure thing! Oh, and in case you were wondering, I'm a human. A bona fide, card-carrying member of the species."

"I had a suspicion," Bindee said dryly. "What with the lack of scales, feathers, or any other distinguishing features."

"You know, you really don't have to waste any explanations on him," Kilbourn grumbled, his voice carrying the distinct undertone of a man who'd rather be anywhere else, preferably buried nose-deep in a silver frog emblazoned tome. "I've only just met the boy, but I'm certain this is his thing. Being a bit of a bumbling buffoon, that is."

Bindee simply shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips like a mischievous sprite.

"It's perfectly fine," she said. "The question was harmless enough—and he's clearly something of a fish out of water. Small town, maybe? In any case, the only surefire way to perpetuate ignorance is to leave people ignorant. So, I don't fuss much over explaining things to folks with good intentions."

As she spoke, Bindee held her hands out, summoning a misty-like substance made of astara out of the very ether. The haze parted from her palms, swirling around Tad like a gang of curious clouds, as if they were eager to investigate this strange human who had stumbled into their midst.

Meanwhile, Bindee's companions, Ingrid, Hestus, and Carlton, began to engage Garrick in conversation, their voices carrying the same tone as a group of old friends catching up over a pint at the local tavern.

"So, how are you enjoying your time with Golden Lion?" Ingrid asked, her curiosity as genuine as her wide grin.

Garrick smiled warmly.

"It's been a wonderful distraction so far," he replied. "Keeps the mind sharp and the body limber."

He'd already suspected they knew about his affiliation with Golden Lion, considering they were part of White Owl and likely responsible for reviewing all the paperwork; they'd probably recognize anyone on sight.

Like our very own Big Brother.

"Suppose knowing that comes with the territory, eh? Considering your roles," Garrick added, nodding toward the three.

"Indeed," Hestus said, a glint of amusement in his eye. "We tend to know more than we'd like about everyone and everything around here."

Carlton, the gnome whose cerulean coiffure seemed to have a sentient mind of its own, grinned lazily.

"We're like the…nosy neighbors peeking over the fence."

"Well, someone has to keep track of the chaos," Ingrid offered as well.

Garrick chuckled, his gaze drifting to the eclectic assortment of individuals who had gathered to plunder the Plane of Treasures, each choosing their prize with the discernment of a child pilfering a toy box. In turn, each of them filed out of the cavern, apparently satisfied with the drama.

Suddenly, a cacophonous snap yanked everyone's attention back to the portals. The gateways began to greedily devour the remaining artifacts, sucking them in like a ravenous Uthorsian trap snake fresh off a hunger strike. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and unsettling, the relics vanishing into their golden depths with a whoosh. The portals then winked out of existence with a resounding crack, leaving behind the acrid stench of ozone mingling with what Garrick could discern was the unmistakable bouquet of lye.

"Well, that's that," Kilbourn declared, brushing off his hands like he'd just finished mucking out the Viceroy's stables. "Another day, another interdimensional treasure hunt in the bag."

Meanwhile, Tad looked remarkably chipper, thanks in no small part to Bindee's mystical ministrations. The ethereal substance she'd conjured had worked miracles, knitting his wounds together like a supernatural seamstress. All that remained were faint traces of his injuries, like a roadmap of his misadventures etched upon his skin.

"Woah," Tad said, flexing his arm experimentally. "Woah, woah, woah! Thank you!"

Bindee smiled, the soft glow of her eyes reflecting her satisfaction.

"You're welcome. Just try not to get into too many more fights with shadowy guardians, alright?"

"Well, I'll try," Tad explained genuinely. "But I didn't really plan for it to happen that way in the first place. Sometimes, these things just happen."

Bindee smiled, and Garrick caught her giving the handsome young otherworlder the once-over. He smiled.

"Oh," Tad continued. "We never got to the next part."

"Next part?" Bindee wondered.

"What 'next part' are you talking about, man?" Hestus wondered, looking scandalized.

He took a few steps toward Tad, but Ingrid waved him off with a grin.

"The part where…Bindee—right?" Tad began, continuing when the green haired woman nodded. "Where Bindee explains what a…ear…sure…is."

"Yrsha," Bindee began (pronouncing it properly, of course), "are we of two souls. When we are born, our spirits gain a twin—an elemental essence spirit that clings to our mortal souls and fuses itself to it."

"That's so cool," Tad said. "I always wanted a twin. I'd have made him go to school instead of me."

Garrick was going to interrupt to educate him on how that wasn't how twins worked, but then he thought better of it.

Everyone deserves their fantasies.

"So having two souls makes your hair green?" Tad wondered.

Bindee chuckled, shaking her head.

"Not quite. For yrsha, our secondary spirit is without a true element for the first part of our lives. It's like a blank slate, waiting to be written upon. It's only when we reach maturation that our spirit bonds with an element, and that's when the real changes begin."

She ran her fingers through her locks, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "The physical manifestations of our bonded element can vary greatly from one yrsha to another. Even those who share the same element might not exhibit the same traits. For instance, my appearance has been pretty mildly altered. From what I've been told, I don't look much different than a...bonafide, card-carrying human. It's chance; each yrsha is a unique expression of their elemental essence."

Tad's eyes widened, his curiosity piqued.

"So, what element are—"

Bindee interrupted him with a gentle smile, holding up a hand.

"Fog. My element is fog. It's why my hair has this quality and my skin is partially translucent. The element of fog has woven itself into my being, like a gossamer thread in the fabric of my existence."

Tad seemed positively enraptured by Bindee's words, his eyes shining with the eagerness of a student hungry for knowledge.

"That's incredible!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "So, does that mean you can, like, control fog? Or turn into fog? Oh, oh! Can you make fog illusions?"

Bindee laughed, as light and airy as her bonded element.

"I can manipulate fog to a certain extent, yes. It's an inherent part of my magic, a gift from the elemental spirit that resides within me. As for turning into fog or creating illusions, well, that's a bit more complex. It takes years of training and meditation to fully harness the potential of our bonded elements."

"But how can you heal?" Kilbourn wondered rudely. "I've never heard of an yrsha using anything outside their natural element—and none of the traditional elements have healing properties. Well, despite some suspect rumors about water—which I've seen no evidence for."

Bindee straightened and tossed another 'here we go again' look to her companions, but smiled at Kilbourn.

"To be perfectly honest…I don't know," she admitted. "To my knowledge, I'm the only fog yrsha that has manifested my astara in this way. I wish I had a better explanation for you."

The way she said that last part, Garrick surmised that she very much did not think it was her job to offer an explanation to the old geezer.

"It is very unique and, in truth, pretty amazing," he said to Bindee.

Her body relaxed a little, and he chuckled.

"I've known some yrsha in my day who have used their astara in…rare ways. Seems perfectly reasonable that a healing aspect would crop up eventually."

Rare ways… Garrick thought. And cruel ways.

Bindee nodded, her expression turning somber, almost as though she'd read Garrick's thoughts.

"It's true that some yrsha have been known to wield their elemental astara in ways that defy belief. But such power is not without its dangers. Those who delve too deeply into the mysteries of their bonded elements risk losing themselves entirely, their mortal souls consumed by the very essence they sought to control."

A heavy silence fell over the group, save for Tad, who broke the quiet with another question.

"So, have you ever met any yrsha who've, you know, lost control? Or who've used their powers for, like, evil purposes?"

Garrick raised an eyebrow at this.

Is everyone reading my mind today? I'm going to need to find some tinfoil.

Bindee hesitated, her eyes clouding over with a mixture of sadness and regret.

"I have," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something we like to speak of, but...there have been instances where yrsha have succumbed to the temptation of their elemental powers. Some have used their gifts for personal gain, while others have become consumed by their own hubris, believing themselves to be…gods among mortals. It never ends well, for them or for those around them."

That's an understatement, Garrick thought. If I'd been smarter about it, I could have stopped—

"Egads!" bellowed a new voice, its familiarity hitting Garrick like a well-aimed pie to the face.

Sighing with the weariness of a man who'd seen far too many theatrical entrances in his lifetime, Garrick turned to face the source of the bizarre exclamation. There, standing in the cavern like a flamboyant specter, was a figure garbed in black from head to toe, sporting a matching half-mask and a long, white wig that looked like it had been stolen from the top of a very fancy mop. The figure leaned against an ornate staff, looking for all the world like a cross between a pantomime villain and a vampire bat.

Vash.

"Did I miss it!?" he demanded, his voice carrying the same petulant tone as a child who'd been denied a second helping of dessert. "I thought there'd be time to get ready! I was in the bath, soaking in the suds and contemplating, when I noticed the portals appearing. And, well, it seems my penchant for pontification has caused me to miss the opportunity. How droll. They should always anticipate those who'll be fashionably late to the party."

Garrick took a step back. He recognized that sort of tangent. Vash was feeling especially chatty. Which was only a bad sign.

"Ah, well, they say the Plane of Treasures waits for none," Vash (disguised as his preposterous 'Old Shvar' alter ego) continued, "but you'd think they'd have the common courtesy to loiter a bit, considering the effort I put into my general hygienic rituals—oh! Garrick! Hello there, old chap! And Kilbourn, too! I do believe I've stumbled upon an even rarer treat than the Plane of Treasures itself."

Ingrid turned to Garrick.

"You know this individual? We've been trying to discern his identity for some time now, but thus far, he's proven elusive."

Garrick grimaced apologetically. He turned to Kilbourn, his eyes pleading for salvation.

"Kilbourn," he hissed, his voice carrying the same urgency as a man who'd just realized he'd left his favorite hat on a public toilet.

"Already on it," Kilbourn said.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Garrick said hastily to White Owl, scooping up Ember from the ground before she could approach the gesticulating costumed man. "Thank you for the healing. Sorry to cut and run, but we've got pressing matters to attend to. Good luck!"

"Garrick?" Vash called out, moving towards them with the determined stride of a man on a mission, his staff tapping against the ground like a metronome of mischief.

"Now, Kilbourn! Now!" Garrick urged, his whispered plea rising an octave with each word.

Garrick, Kilbourn, Tad, and Ember vanished, leaving nothing but the faint scent of desperation and a few dust motes.

Gone. Poof.

"Well, now," Vash breathed indignantly. "That was a bit rude, if you ask me."

However, he quickly turned his attention to the four members of White Owl, who stood there looking as intrigued as a group of scholars who'd just discovered a new type of cheese.

"Ah, hello!"

"You're the one they call 'Old Shvar,' correct?" Hestus inquired, his voice carrying the same tone as a man who'd just stumbled upon a juicy bit of gossip.

"White Owl..." Old Shvar said, a grin crawling across his face like a particularly nasty rash. "Just the folks I was hoping to run afoul of! I have a few minor grievances to air, you see."

"Well, this isn't really the time for—" Ingrid started, but 'Old Shvar' was already off to the races.

"First and foremost," he announced, drawing closer to them as if in conspiracy, "that bath I mentioned earlier was a particularly disappointing affair. The water was tepid, the bubbles were woefully lacking, and the whole thing smelled like lake. So, I have a question for you fine folks: who's in charge of the heating around here, and how are you going to rectify this travesty of bath time justice?"