Demy sits on the floor, his back leaning against the large wooden door that separates the–from the looks of it–dining room that he is in, from the main foyer on the other side. The creatures had slammed against the door for a few moments, but now there is only eerie silence from the foyer.

He fishes the flask from his pouch and takes a drink, trying to ignore the stinging pain from his left arm, which hangs limply at his side, blood sliding down it from the large gash across his bicep. Whatever those things are in the foyer, they’re lethal.

“Are you two okay?” He asks, looking over. Beside him, also sitting with their back against the door, is Wren, looking a bit pale in the soft light cast from a floating white orb that hovers a foot or so from Wren. Demy finds himself glancing back at the orb every few moments, mesmerized by it.

“I feel fantastic,” Wren mutters, holding the side of their head which they had slammed into the doorframe in their mad dash out of the foyer.

“I’m good,” Dahlia says, picking herself up off the floor. Demy had grabbed her right after Kaz shouted to run, afraid that the little Goblin wouldn’t be fast enough, and had unceremoniously dropped her after making it through in order to brace against the door.

“Sorry about that, Dahlia,” Demy says softly, just in case the things are still on the other side listening.

“For what? You saved me,” she says as she moves closer, her eyes big and faintly glowing in the light of Wren’s floating mote of illumination.

“Well, I kinda dropped you on your face,” he says sheepishly.

“Better than what happened to you,” she says, poking at the gash on his arm and making him wince.

“Did one of those things do that?” Wren asks, moving the mote of light closer to inspect the wound.

“Yeah, those claws aren’t just for show,” Demy groans, gritting his teeth as Dahlia continues to poke at the wound. “Could you not?”

“Shut,” Dahlia commands. She runs her hand over the gash, leaving a trail of fine dust in its wake. Demy sucks in air through his teeth, feeling a sharp stinging pain that subsides quickly; the dust reacts to the blood, causing it to coagulate. Another pass of her hand and a layer of moss and ivy appears, binding and sealing the wound.

Demy moves his arm a little, touching the newly-grown plant matter. He lets out a low whistle, the pain from his arm almost entirely gone. “Well, that sure is handy.”

“Nature repairs what it can and recycles what it can’t,” Dahlia says, grinning a little. “You could be repaired, lucky you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Demy grumbles, carefully getting to his feet. Wren follows suit beside him, the little mote of pale white light bobbing as it tries to stay a certain distance from their head. Demy watches as it flits about; he reaches out to touch it, but his hand passes right through the intangible orb.

“You made this, right?” He asks, a little dazed.

“Oh, yeah,” Wren says sheepishly. “Normally Kaz handles the light, but…” They trail off, looking worriedly at the door.

“I’m sure they’re okay. Cash is the slipperiest little bastard I’ve ever met and Kaz seems like she can handle herself,” Demy says and puts a hand on Wren’s shoulder in an attempt to be comforting.

“What about Addy?” Dahlia asks.

Wren and Demy share a brief glance before Wren says, reassuringly, “She was on the other side of the room with Kaz and Cashew, right? They’ll make sure she’s okay!”

“Okay,” Dahlia says. She turns her attention to the room they are in: A long dining room, full of the same ornate decorations that the foyer had. Plates and silverware are out presentationally on the table, though she gets the feeling that nobody has eaten anything in this manor for a long time. Not counting those creatures in the other room, maybe.

“What about us, then?” She asks.

Demy walks over to one of the shuttered windows. Carefully he pushes it open, just a crack, allowing a beam of daylight to slice through the darkness of the room. He almost lets out a startled cry, seeing one of those creatures standing mere feet away in the snow, its back luckily to the window; it doesn’t seem to notice. Demy pushes the shutter open just a bit more, seeing several other of the creatures standing about lifelessly.

Slowly, he closes the shutter back and turns to whisper to the others: “Those things are still outside, lots of ‘em. You both seem like you know how to make magic–anything you know that could help us sneak past?”

“I–maybe? But we still need to find what we can about why Tarn built this place,” Wren says.

“Wait, you’re not serious, are you?” Demy asks, frowning. “Fuck snooping around this manor full of weird not-people. We need to find a way to get back to town.”

“We came here for a reason, we took the mission knowing we’d face trouble. We gave her our word that we’d help her find out Tarn’s secrets,” Wren argues, crossing their arms.

Demy squints his eyes, leaning down to look Wren in the face as he says, “You just want the gold, don’t you? I bet you’re hoping we find some secret stash here in the manor, too.”

Wren looks away, arms still crossed as they say, “She offered us a substantial reward, it would be rude to go back without something to show for it.”

“What’s worth more: Your life? Or a full coinpurse?” Demy asks, sneering a bit.

“At least one of those things is worth something to somebody,” Wren says flatly, giving Demy a bitter stare that is enough to make him flinch a little.

“Wha–I mean, you, uh,” he stammers, uncertain of how to respond to that.

“I’m not leaving until we find out what we came here for,” Wren says stubbornly. “I don’t like going back on my word and I do like getting paid. It’s part of the reason Kaz and I even came to this town.”

“That’s just stupid–” Demy begins, but stops when Dahlia steps between himself and Wren.

“We are already here. We need to find the others before we try to leave, we might as well look for information at the same time,” she says.

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“Yeah, but–” Demy starts to argue, but Dahlia holds up a finger sternly.

“Besides, how are we supposed to survive the expedition if we do not know how to fight those things? We learn now, while we have a chance,” Dahlia says sternly.

The three stand in awkward silence for a few moments before Demy sighs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. We look for the others and check for information about the old man while we’re at it. If we come upon one of those things, we see what it’s made of,” he says.

“Good plan, great plan,” Dahlia agrees, walking calmly toward the only other door, near the back of the dining room. Wren follows after without a word, giving Demy the cold shoulder.

“Yeah, sure. Great plan,” Demy grumbles, moving to stay in the radius of the pale, mesmerizing orb of light.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of running water fills the room that Kaz, Addy, and Cashew have found themselves in. It is partially made out of stone, unlike the foyer, which made the mad dash and subsequent tumble into the room all the more painful. Luckily, a scuffed knee and a sore shoulder were the only injuries sustained in the escape from the creatures.

Cashew, who sits on the small retaining wall around the fountain in the center of the room, stares down into the water, which ripples faintly. A few small openings around the edge of the basin lets the water flow back out to the river just behind the manor, presumably where the water to the fountain comes from in the first place. The room seems to be some kind of indoor bath house, based on the several square pools of water that take up much of the space, apart from the fountain. There are two doors against the back wall, but upon inspection, both only lead to a pair of indoor bathrooms, also made largely of rock and connected to the river out back.

A steel shield leans against the ledge of the fountain nearby, glowing with a warm light that fills the room; Kaz sits just beside it, head down in contemplative prayer. Addy sits on the floor, leaning back against the ledge as she flips through one of her books, lost in thought.

Just sitting around is making Cashew fidget. He finally says, louder than he intends to in the relative quiet, “So we doing this? Or what?”

Kaz lifts her head a little and looks at him. “I thought you weren’t fond of the plan?”

“I’m not,” he sneers.

“Going back through the foyer is the only option, this wing has no exit,” Kaz says, repeating the main point from the long discussion prior.

Cashew stares down into the pool of water, at the drainage holes, and frowns hard enough that it’s almost audible.

“I’m not excited about it, either, but it’s our only option. We have to deal with those things sooner or later and we need to get back to the others,” Kaz continues.

“You’re serious about sticking this whole thing out, then?” Cashew asks, raising an eyebrow. “We could just make a distraction, get the others, then book it back to town.”

“I’d rather get some practice in on those things. Each one we take out is one less we’ll have to watch out for on the expedition trek, anyway,” Kaz counters.

I guess if things get hairy I can just slink off, Cashew thinks. He glances back at Addy, who is still sitting quietly nearby. Speaking to Kaz, he asks, “Okay, but what about her?”

“Addy, are you on the plan?” Kaz asks.

“Hm? Oh, yeah!” Addy says, looking up from her book. “We have to deal with them if we’re going to find out what Tarn came to the Heart for. I want to know if it has to do with them! Also can I dissect one?”

“You–what?” Kaz asks, frowning.

“Like, take one apart?” Cashew asks, puzzled.

“Yeah! I really think those things were speaking in the Monteith language, so I want to see what they’re made of,” she says cheerfully as she stands up.

Literally, Cashew thinks.

“Why on Vale do you think they’re speaking some ancient, forgotten language?” Kaz asks.

Addy smiles as if she has just been given a gift and takes a deep breath, before beginning to explain, “Okay, see, ancient Monteith is written in a unique way that I’ve begun referring to as tandem diagrapha. There are two different writing systems, which have unique characters and meanings, but each one individually conveys a completely different meaning. When written together, the two systems create the actual, singular Monteith language–”

Cashew groans loud enough that Kaz worries the creatures in the foyer might hear. She reaches out and grabs Addy’s shoulder gently, trying to interrupt her, “Addy, Addy, hey. Short version, okay?”

“–Oh, okay! Um, so those things out there, I think, were actually communicating, or at least trying to. You heard them making two distinct types of sound at once! That would be tandem diglossia! They’re the first creature I’ve ever encountered that vocalizes in that way,” Addy says, trying to keep it as brief as possible. It is difficult for her.

Without thinking, Kaz asks, “So that weird croaking-chittering sound is how the Monteith spoke?” She is immediately reprimanded by a tiny punch in the shoulder from Cashew.

“I, uh, don’t think so. But I think those things are capable of speaking it, if they weren’t… whatever is wrong with them. They’re just making feral noises and screaming right now, I think. But maybe?” Addy rambles, partially to herself.

“Y’know what, I was wrong? Let’s just fight them, we’ll take them all at once,” Cashew complains, getting up from the ledge. “I’ll take death over another historical lecture.”

Kaz pats Addy’s shoulder and stands up. She grabs her glowing shield and makes sure it is strapped onto her arm effectively before unsheathing her sword: A steel broadsword with a wide, hefty blade and an ornate pommel made in the image of her deity’s symbol, a crown.

After a few test swings to warm herself up, she says, “Alright, so we’re going to try to funnel them into this room one at a time. We’ll need someone to be at the door to open it and then close it when one of the things comes through; we’ll also need someone to be the visible and audible bait to draw the things in.”

“Yeah, you’re bait, fam,” Cashew says, walking over to stand by the door. “Not only are you the one glowing, but you might be able to take a swing or two in that hefty armor.”

“Fair point,” Kaz says. “Do you have something to defend yourself with?” She asks, looking at Cashew.

He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a short, curved sword, of a style she is unfamiliar with. Which is quite odd, considering she has seen the weapons of nearly every region of Vale.

Cashew grips the sword confidently and gives Kaz a thumbs up.

You continue to impress, Smalls, she thinks to herself.

“Addy, what about you? Cashew and I should be able to handle things–” Kaz begins, glancing back, only to see Addy digging around in her pack. She comes out with a pair of strange gloves made of a material that Kaz doesn’t recognize, which glow with a faint blue-ish hue, and an odd visor that fits over the head, similarly of an unrecognizable material.

“I’ll help!” Addy says excitedly as she slides the gloves on, which glow a bit brighter. She takes off her glasses, putting the visor on. A light appears on the smooth, reflective surface and shifts around, almost like some kind of artificial eye. “I’ve wanted to try these out, anyway. Let’s go!” Addy cheers.

“Ready!” Cashew echoes, grabbing the handle of the door with his free hand.

Here goes nothing, Kaz thinks as she takes a defensive stance, glowing shield facing the door and her sword held ready at her side. “Go!” She yells.

Cashew swings the door open.