Waiting was boring. Hours slipped by excruciatingly slowly. A racoon trundled through the ruined cottage. After it dug around in a pile of rubble it scampered up more debris into an adjoining tree with a prize. Dahlia thought it looked quite like a human hand, which her spectral hornets confirmed. She noted the location of the stone rubble to look at later, clearly an illusion or some other trickery must be afoot to hide the remains of victims. Trickery enough to confuse guards, but not the keen senses of a racoon.

Mr. Racoon wasn’t the only animal visitor while Dahlia waited. A red fox investigated the cottage. It nearly jumped into Dahlia’s hiding spot, but she scared it off with her Magic Trick cantrip. The low yowl of a coyote near the door sent the fox fleeing into the Bramblewood.

Outside of these barely entertaining events, the evening slowly ticked away, but Dahlia definitely didn’t fall asleep on watch. After all, Fey didn’t sleep; they weren’t dumb mortals. They entered a state of consciousness where they were somewhat aware of their surroundings—like a more profound, better, lucid daydream. You could focus on your surroundings or daydream about riding a shimmering unicorn beside a river of vibrant, colored, flavored sugar, using a long spoon to scoop up delightful bites.

Dahlia definitely didn’t drool on her chin while absorbed in a flight of tasty fantasy.

“Mistress! Someone’s here!”

Lorien dutifully drew Dahlia’s attention with repeated telepathic calls. The fairy had to fight off the surprise of opening her eyes to near-total darkness and the sensation of prickly leaves. Darkness wasn’t a problem—Dahlia could see in the dark, an adaptation within fairy kind largely unique to the Soulweald fairy, a necessity to deal with the ancient depths of the Soulweald where the sun rarely broke through the canopies of the Towers of Mourning. A human-sized figure moved between the beams of moonlight that haphazardly lit the cottage ruins. It came close enough to Dahlia’s hiding space that she could see it was a human man.

The man shuffled to the hearth, where he withdrew a chest hidden in the hearth's debris. From the chest, he retrieved an amulet and a weirdly curved ceremonial knife. The man slipped the amulet around his neck before lovingly caressing the knife.

Dahlia commanded the Ebon Chorus to reveal themselves. Xeras stepped from the Between, and the razor-sharp blade of Gloombough rose to point at the man’s neck. The spectral hornets flowed through gaps in the ceiling and bzzz’d angrily. Shade flowed from the floor, its insubstantial form made all the more terrifying with only bare moonlight to illuminate it. The three spectral allies, Ruth, Lorien, and Drynthor, appeared between the man and Dahlia.

“By Khnum’s cracked potter’s wheel!” The human gasped out as the Ebon Chorus suddenly surrounded him. “What are you doing here?”

“Wrong question!” Dahlia chimed and exploded from the leaves in a poof of glitter. Not for the first time, Dahlia lamented that she couldn’t change her fairy dust to a dark, ominous look like black instead of the white-pink motes of magical glitter that filled the air.

“What the hell is going on here?” The man demanded. “Light!”

In response to his call, the amulet generated an orb of light at ceiling height. Sight, it turned out, made his situation much worse, and that’s when Mr. Disapoofer growled from the doorway. The strange flicker of magic around the Warp Wolf seemed to deflate the villain in a way that the undead, spirits, or Xeras, couldn’t.

“By Bast’s cursed catnip, what are you doing here fairy?” The man demanded, quivering in fear—and something more. Anger? Rage? His hands twitched.

Dahlia carefully observed the expressive eyes of the human, noticing every flicker of emotion within their depths. He wasn’t scared. He was acting. How did she know? She would have gained Glimmer points for it if he felt what he pretended, at least one. No, the eyes of this human were cold, calculating, almost as calm and emotionless as those of a member of the Winter Court.

“Kill him if he tries anything, Xeras,” Dahlia ordered.

The Gloamknight’s wooden, armored face twisted into a facsimile of a smile.

“Gladly, m’Lady,” Xeras answered.

“What do you want with me? There’s no crime in hiding my treasures in ruins—or reclaiming them,” the human tried to turn the tables on Dahlia. “You know, I’m pretty sure Lord Graystone would have your head for threatening one of his guards like this, killer of that overgrown Hyena or not.”

The words unlocked a recollection. The blonde man, somewhere in his mid-life, looked familiar. Dahlia had seen him on guard at the gates several times since her arrival at Riverwatch.

“I saw a raccoon drag a hand from your corpse hole. But if you want to act innocent, then I would be happy to slit your throat, reanimate your corpse, and force you to tell me the truth.” Indeed, Dahlia would be exceptionally happy to do that. Speaking to the dead was a common enough ritual that a scroll could be dug up somewhere quickly enough, and she would be very happy to do it. Thus, nothing she said was a lie—even if she lacked the scroll at the moment.

“What? No, I’ve never killed anyone. It wasn’t me, I swear! I hide my magic necklace here along with my dagger so that no one gets any bright ideas and steals them from me; by Maat’s sacred feather, you’ve got to believe me!” The human whined, but his eyes remained cold.

Dahlia’s cheeks burned, and green flames flowed from Xeras’s eyes. Mr. Disapoofer growled low and deep, and his fur stood on end. The Spirit Hornets shook in agitation.

“Do you know the first rule of dealing with Fey, mortal?” Dahlia asked in clipped words to hide her incandescent rage.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“No?” The human said, eyes darting around the room.

“A spoken word is not just a thought, not the empty bleating of sheep, but fate given form. Bargains, vows, and promises must be upheld—even if they lead to ruin. Words are reality; promises are sacred. To casually swear on a lie—you might as well have brandished that dagger and tried to stab me.” Dahlia nodded when she finished scolding, but not to the human.

Gloombough swung in a flash of moonlight, a head tumbled to the floor.

“As for Mr. Graystone, I don’t think he’ll be that concerned that a wolf in sheep’s clothing was thinned from the flock,” Dahlia said. She stuck her tongue out at the dead-eyed gaze of the head.

You have gained 225 experience.

Quest: Investigate the Luring Light completed. You have slain the murderer. Deliver his remains to the authorities of Riverwatch to acquire your reward.

“Hmm,” Dahlia murmured, a touch disappointed.

“What’s wrong, Mistress?” Xeras asked.

“I had thought that the human might be associated with our quest to deal with the Witch of Withering Moss, but it seems that’s not the case.” While Dahlia spoke, she landed atop the corpse. With her left hand, she touched it, and her right touched the Feywoven Satchel.

“Store,” Dahlia commanded. The body and the severed head vanished into her bag.

“Ruff!” Now, what do we do? Mr. Disapoofer asked. The Warp Wolf licked his nose, as if to free himself of an unpleasant, lingering smell.

Shade made a mournful, hungry noise.

“It’s still night and a full moon. Find me the tracks of this Withering Moss witch and something for Shade to eat along the way.” Dahlia looked directly at Lorien when she gave the order, but it was Mr. Disapoofer to whom she flew.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Lorien said awkwardly. The spirit elf nimbly vaulted over some of the ruins to look at the nearby tracks. Many led into the Bramblewood, and some ran towards Riverwatch. Dahlia didn’t pay a lot of attention to the boring parts. Instead, she stroked Mr. Disapoofer’s lovely fur.

“I think I’ve got a fresh trail here. There’s flecks of moss left on rocks, but even the grass and briarthorn’s have been stripped along the path. No Witch that I’ve ever heard of leaves a path like this, Mistress,” Lorien offered his opinion.

“How old is the trail?” Drynthor asked.

“Mm. A few weeks, maybe? But it goes into the Bramblewood. If they only come out during a full moon, it might be safe to wager they’ll come back.” Lorien stopped talking, and held a hand up.

“Somethings coming from the forest. Look there.” The elf pointed.

What stumbled in the direction of the house looked like a moss-covered humanoid—maybe. It didn’t seem to have any legs despite being taller than a human. Its great bulk showed patches of different types of vegetation, but Dahlia had never seen what looked like a pile of earth, branches, leaves, vines, and rocks that could move itself before. All life it rolled over vanished in its passage, leaving a trail of barren earth in its wake.

“Trudger,” Lorien spat the name out. “It’ll eat everything it comes across. That human must have been using it to dispose of his corpses every so often.”

“It’s very ugly, and it eats the forest too. Kill it,” Dahlia commanded.

Ruth followed orders first and launched volleys of flame. Rather than igniting, the wet, moist plant monster continued to shamble towards them. With much greater purpose than it had shown prior.

“It’s resistant to flame and cold, m’lady,” Lorien informed Dahlia.

“Show me your stuff,” Dahlia commanded. Not that she would leave it only to the Ebon Chorus. She lifted a tiny hand and fired a volley of Soul Lash at the vegetative monstrosity. It flailed in response to the damage caused by her radiant lance.

Lorien fired arrow after arrow at the monster, each arrow embedding a Spirit Hornet into the monster that attacked it from the inside. The actual Spirit Hornet Swarm also flew in and unleashed a fury of stings and bites. Shade rose up from the ground behind the Trudger and its dark claws stole life-essence from the creature. Drynthor set his cloven hoofs and slammed his summoned shield into the front of the trudging mount of plant-life. Extra vines struck from the sides of his shield to inflict minor damage to the Trudger.

Xeras walked to the side to flank the creature, before green flames swallowed Gloombough and he launched attack after attack with the great sword.

It wasn’t an exciting or even thrilling fight, and it took multiple attacks from Dahlia and each of the Ebon Chorus to fell the monster. Yet only Drynthor took any damage from the creature itself, and a single cast of Wisp Heal more than restored Drynthor to full strength.

You have gained 450 experience.

Quest: Deal with the Witch of Withering Moss complete. Report to the local authorities what you have discovered.

“Smart way to dispose of bodies, though, I’ll give the cretin that,” Lorien chirped in.

“What now, Mistress?” Drynthor asked Dahlia. The dual-wielding shield spirit warrior stood between Dahlia and the corpse of the plant monster, as if afraid it might come back to life and charge at the little fairy.

“We’ll find the Bleeding Grove and the Heart of the Bramblewood after a rest. I want more sweets, and maybe the rewards for these two quests will be something useful. We’ll head back to town, resupply, have some sugar, and strike out for the heart of the forest tomorrow.” Dahlia said without much deliberation.

“Why do you follow the quests of these foolish gods?” Xeras asked.

“Because it’s the only path to achieve our goals we currently have available. Unless another alternative makes itself known to us, this is the only way to beat Deborah into becoming the greatest necromancer and, more importantly, regaining entry to the Fey Realms.” Dahlia scrunched her face in annoyance.

Not wanting to irritate Dahlia any further, or risk her wrath, the Ebon Chorus fell silent and stepped into her shadow or waited for her to call them back from the Between. Only Xeras remained with her in front of the corpse of the Trudger.

“There is something Fey in the heart of this wood,” Xeras said when they were alone.

“I can feel something powerful, yes. Hiding behind the presence of the banshee. Fey?” Dahlia tilted her head. Even her awareness of the powerful undead in the depths of the forest could be regarded as shallow at best.

Dahlia focused her eyes upon the forest, and pushed her senses to the limits. Details flickered through her mind, glimpses of an elf ghost of ethereal beauty, and behind that… a tree weeping blood. Immense monoliths cast a shade upon the bleeding trees, but she couldn’t catch a glimpse, scent, or even feel for what lay further, no matter how she focused.

Skill: Magic—Thaumaturgy has increased to 3.

Dahlia let her eyes go unfocused and checked on her Thaumaturgy skill.

Rank 1: Arcane Aptitude—Your grasp of magical principles improves your spell precision.

Rank 2: Subtle Infusion—Your spells blend more seamlessly with the ambient magic of the world. Once per day you may cast a spell with no verbal or material components without expending additional resources.

Rank 3: Heightened Casting—Your control over spell energy allows you to draw deeper power without straining your reserves. Once per day you may cast one spell as if using a spell slot one level higher without actually expending a higher level slot.

“Well, that didn’t work, but I did improve a skill… Back to Riverwatch,” Dahlia said happily, as if she didn’t have tiny drops of human blood and plant matter staining her fingers.