When the feathers had finally settled and the group had caught their breath, a small round of applause began from the nearby onlookers. Those who had stayed to watch were amazed but still frightened. Frank found himself smiling wide and giving polite bows to his audience.

Circe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and strode over to Flynn, whose face was bleeding from the many scratches that he endured. She examined them and then crossed her forefinger along his brow.

“Vuldium,” she said. A sickly green light emitted from the scratches before the wounds drank back in the dripping blood and the skin pulled itself together, leaving no marks at their seams. Flynn felt around his face.

“Thank you,” he said. “It feels better.” Circe let out a quiet hum before facing away from him.

“Perhaps your god is listening to you after all,” she said. “Or maybe you are simply a faithful mage with powers you don’t understand. One is more likely than the other.” She began to walk away.

Flynn called after her, “Is it so hard to believe my faith gives me strength?”

“Of that, I’m sure,” she quickly turned her head and glared at him through her hair. “I just don’t believe your god listens to you.”

At this time, the heavy footfalls of Red Barons hurried down the street. A segment of them broke off to help their wounded comrade, who was groaning over his snapped arm in the rubble of the stand he smashed through. They picked him up and carried him off somewhere further into the village.

The Barons that remained parted to reveal a tall, round man decorated in clean red robes and an inordinate amount of silver jewelry. His bald head reflected the sunlight so brightly it would hurt your eyes if it caught you at the wrong angle. Long grey sideburns trailed down his chin to form a beard, parting in the middle to give his chin space to breathe. Right over his chest was the insignia of the Red Barons.

He examined the street with an expression that indicated boredom. Picking up a feather, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it. He coughed and dropped it to the ground before tapping his fingers on his stiff belly. His eyes danced around the party, lips pulled tight.

“Suppose you lot had something to do with this? Seeing as how you’re the only folks with… weaponry drawn.” He eyed the men to his sides, who looked away disgracefully.

Acadian stood from the crates he was reclining on with Arsa. “Mighta been,” he crossed his arms. “Who’s wantin’ to know?”

The man giggled and waved his hand in front of his face, “No need to be so aggressive, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harold Wendigoth. Most around here simply call me the Townmaster.” He spoke with a slight lisp that sprayed saliva when he pronounced his ‘S’ sounds. They all looked to him with piqued interest.

The townsfolk were carefully stepping back into the square, glancing over their shoulders at each birdcall from the forest. Harold returned to his posse of guards and tapped on his belly some more.

“Splendidly done,” he said. “I suppose I ought to reward you for your efforts, seeing as how little my own men did to aid you. Come see me in my manor on the hill and I shall bestow upon you a financial boon.” The Barons surrounded him once more and walked with strict choreography away from the square.

Flynn moved around to help some of the shopkeepers restore their tarnished signs and storefronts. A friendly older human woman gifted him a bracelet from her stall made with pebbles and snail shells. After another moment of rest, the others had pitched in to clear the area of feathers and help the people resume their days, assuring them all was taken care of.

From the entrance of the church, Rosalynd stood with crossed arms, watching them. When they noticed her, she beckoned them with her finger before returning inside. Acadian demanded the others remain outside, but Flynn insisted on joining him. The rest of the group did as they were told, choosing to head to the Inn for some tea.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder in Rosalynd’s office. The book was nowhere to be seen and the Priestess held her face intentionally expressionless.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Good show,” she said.

“We don’t know what happened to your spellbook,” Acadian grumbled through his beard. Rosalynd let out a breathy laugh.

“That old thing? Accidents happen. Water under the bridge.”

Flynn looked at Acadian, eyes wide and brow narrowed. He pulled his eyes to the floor, trying hard not to look at the woman across from him.

“Mr. Wendigoth seemed interested in you, didn’t he?”

“Said he wants to reward us for takin’ care of… whatever that was. I take it he don’t like leavin’ debts unpaid,” Acadian looked out the window where the interaction had been.

Rosalynd laughed again, “He most certainly does not. Listen, I am a graceful and forgiving woman. I will overlook the damages done to the spellbook if you do one more job for me.”

Flynn looked at her for the first time, “What do you want?” He was eager, leaning forward so far that Acadian had to pull him back.

She pushed her fingers into the wood of the table and lowered her eyes, “What I am about to ask of you must not be repeated. The Red Barons have been antagonistic to the church from the day their regime began. They tax us beyond the established rates, they harass our congregation - they are thorns that suffocate the practice of our faith.”

“Yer wantin’ us to kill Wendigoth,” Acadian whispered. Rosalynd looked at him but said nothing. She relaxed her posture and sat in her chair.

“I would ask nothing of the sort. You’ve been given an opportunity to speak with the man, which is more than most of us have been able to hope for. All I want is for you to ensure they leave us alone. By whatever means your capable group sees as necessary.”

Acadian sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but Flynn stepped in front of him and lowered himself in front of Rosalynd’s desk.

“If the Red Barons are treating you harshly then you’ve surely done something to deserve it.”

Rosalynd was taken aback. She moved her head from side to side and scoffed. Acadian pulled Flynn back to his feet and signaled for him to quiet himself. Rosalynd stood as well.

“You listen to me,” her voice was sharp. “Those thugs are nothing but trouble and have been a scourge to our establishment for years. We’ve done nothing to them and still remain their target. Now, are you going to be a good little boy and do what is asked of you or won’t you?”

Flynn was reaching for his sword, which Acadian noticed was beginning to flow golden again. He stepped between the two of them, drawing Rosalynd’s gaze away from the boy.

“Unfortunately, ma’am,” he said calmly, “We will not be gettin’ into yer political affairs. That’s yer business. We apologize for the harm done, but that is where our workin’ relationship ought to end.”

The red heat evaporated from her face as she took a deep breath. She waved her hand and the door behind them opened.

“I will not be paying you as recompense for the damages. You may go.”

Flynn grunted as he turned to leave, leaving Acadian to nod one last time at the Priestess before closing the door behind him.

The group perked up from their teacups as the doors to the Inn slammed open, with Flynn stomping towards them. He sat down in a huff, sending the plush chair creaking under the weight of his armor. Acadian came in quickly behind and leaned on the windowsill. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

Circe crossed her legs, “Only good things come from you two speaking with holy people it seems.”

Flynn’s leg was bouncing up and down at a rapid speed. “She’s outrageous. She’s clearly power hungry and wants…”

Acadian stopped him, “It don’t matter, Flynn. We’ll get the money from the Townmaster and that’ll be the last there’ll be of it.”

Flynn’s face was still red and his frustration was only growing. Frank sat his teacup with the other dirty cups on the cart by the fireplace. He leaned against the back of Arsa’s chair.

“Did you get the money for the spellbook?” he asked.

Flynn got up and stormed upstairs to the room. Acadian took a deep breath and began for the steps himself.

“No money for the book. We’re no longer on good terms with them.”

Arsa scoffed under his breath, “Were we ever?” Acadian went up the stairs after Flynn, telling the group they would meet back in the lobby in an hour to visit the Townmaster.

Frank and Circe decided to go for a walk and look around at the shops in a different village district. Arsa headed to his room to spend time alone, instructing Gostor to keep anyone from coming inside without knocking.

Gostor half-acknowledged the request as he pulled a handful of feathers out of his shirt. He waved them beneath his nose and took a long inhale of their oily fragrance. His eyes narrowed and a grin grew across his face. With a click of his tongue, his eyes began to glow a bright orange.