As much as people often saw fire as something that cleansed, the smoking ruin we left behind looked more like a foul evil had been committed there. For certain, it had - but we had been the saviors, not those guilty. After cutting down the bodies, Florence set fire to the office and what we could gather to destroy in the hall. As the billowing cloud of dark smoke filled our backdrop as we rode the wagon back to town, it did not feel like much of a fanfare. A beacon of darkness to remind us of what we had endured.

“How are you two waifs enjoying the grim reality of this life?” Angelos was laid across the wagon, eyes closed and leg in the last stages of recovery.

“Angelos,” I intoned, “if you are to travel with us, you might extend the courtesy of using their given names.”

He opened one eye to regard me, maybe a little taken back by the respect I expected of him or checking if I was pulling his leg, figuratively.

“Aye, true enough. Been wandering this shite continent for years solo, and I forget myself. Same question, but pretend I used your names.”

I shook my head.

“I hadn’t anticipated it being so relentless,” Florence said from the front as she held the reins. “Some time between near-death experiences would be preferable.”

The Guardian chuckled but didn’t seem willing to give his undoubtedly dour and expletive-laden take on how life or fate likes to get one over on you.

“I feel like my arrows aren’t cutting it,” Jakob said from beneath his hood.

An odd take on the question, but I understood his stance. Against humanoid targets, assuming they weren’t heavily armored, a well-placed arrow was a significant wound. Against the undead, magically protected foes or eldritch horrors, they seemed like a minor annoyance.

We had scuppered some coins from the monastery. Stealing from a holy place was definitely not heroic - but it had quickly become a place of unholy intent, so we felt it justified. They didn’t have enough to recompense us for the amount of undead we had slain, but that was just a ruse anyway. I wondered briefly how long they would have been able to continue the practice if I hadn’t overhead they were looking for adventurers in the inn.

I wondered if that patron was a plant to root out casual interest.

“We have enough to get you something to upgrade your capabilities and still eat and sleep warm for the week.” Oh, how I wished to have taken a little more of my fortune and a little less of my servant.

“Ah, got a little bit of good news for yer too.” Angelos opened his eyes and rubbed at his sharp beard. “Looks like you bastards lucked out in joining me.”

“You joined us,” Florence reminded him, turning her head slightly to show her smirk.

“Eh, potatoes, po-fuckin’-taters. I have a little shack just on the outskirts of Fogvale.”

I smiled. “You might be my new favorite.”

The Guardian snorted. “Don’t count yer chickens. It’s small and unkempt-“

“Like you.” I tilted my head as my grin widened, pretty sure I could see a smile beneath Jakob's hood.

Angelos narrowed his eyes but returned the grin. “Good to see the dog’s still got a bit of fight in him. Yer a wee streak of shit compared to the old days… but it’s good that you ain’t dead yet.”

“I’m sure if I were, no god would be rushing to breathe life back into me.” I looked back at the plume of darkened clouds from the monastery. The fire had spread around the building entirely as if it knew the whole place needed scouring from existence. It did. We made the assumption that the prisoners had been one of the unlucky adventuring groups, although there were no empty packs of gear or stowed away weaponry to truly lead us to that conclusion.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Angelos closed his eyes once more. “But we can squeeze on my bleedin’ heart some other time; let an old bastard rest for now.”

The wagon trundled on in silence. Between the monastery and whatever lurked in the shadows of Fogvale, there was a brief period where our moods were lifted before they sank back down. Mostly, I was thankful for the bit of peace. Most of my injuries had healed during the journey, as Angelos alternated his renewal ability between myself and his leg.

“Guild isn’t going to give us credit, are they?”

I turned as Jakob lifted his hood to look me in the eye. I could see some anguish there. For all that we had endured, would they even validate it? There was no comfort I could gift him, as much as I would have liked to have been able to. The best I could offer was a shrug. “In earnest, I do not know how these things work. We can but try.”

Florence sighed from the front.

She needn’t say anything further. The wheels of order were often unmalleable. They didn’t like you to stray from the set path. You could fell a god, and if it weren’t in the paperwork, the best they’d offer was a firm handshake. I’d hate to imagine a system that unfair. It could turn a lesser man into a Villain.

Gradually, the sky grew more drab. In the near distance, the dark colors of Fogvale loomed into view. Not any more welcoming than we had left, despite our accomplishments.

“Oh, Angelos,” I nudged him as he appeared to have been sleeping. “There’s a group that has been giving us looks, so be wary.”

His eyes opened to a squint, and he glared at me. “Like come-fuck-us looks or-?”

“Like they are eager to give the mortician extra business in the near future.” I exhaled, knowing I should have been more clear and concise with the man.

Florence leaned back. “You think they’re part of the Villain lurking around? Under their guidance or control?”

“A dangerous conclusion to jump to, but something to keep as a consideration.” I rubbed at my eyes. It didn’t even look like evening yet, and I was exhausted. “How far on the outskirts is the house, Angelos?”

With a grunt, he righted himself into a proper sitting position and flexed his recovered leg about. He then turned to gaze at the approaching shadows of the town. “Ah… we’re on the right end o’the shit-stick. It’ll be on the left; follow the first side road we get to.”

I nodded and anticipated the chance to breathe easy, at least for a night.

As the gloom surrounding Fogvale washed over the party, soaking us with the drab feeling of melancholy, we eventually made it through the cobbled streets to the house in question.

Despite his efforts to warn us that it wasn’t much, I was still a little underwhelmed to see that it was only loosely able to function for its intended purpose. The wood was especially worn and in need of repair - and the roof only barely present enough to shield from the commonality of light drizzle that plagued the town.

“There she is,” Angelo smiled. “Can’t remember when or why I bought the stupid bloody building, but perhaps it was for this very purpose?”

I sighed and dropped from the back of the wagon. “If everything were so fated, I would have some complaints for the divine.”

“Like you don’t already,” Jakob murmured, looking at the house with his face wrinkled up.

Truth be told, I didn’t like to complain too much these days - although I was sure I was certainly guilty of it on more than one occasion. It was only natural to writhe around in contempt whenever you were dealt a terrible hand - but I had long ago settled that some things were out of my control.

I led Petal to be hitched in the space beside the building. Once we were settled, we would need to acquire some hay and other things to keep the creature in good health. Currently, I wasn’t inclined to send any of the Party off on their own, with what we knew lurked in the recesses of Fogvale. Florence had already procured anything edible from the monastery garden before it became a bonfire, which had kept the horse satisfied enough.

Angelos dug around in a pocket for a ring of keys. “Fancy me not losing these for decades?” He shot us a grin as he withdrew them, at least a dozen different ones jangling around. “Now, just to see which fits.”

He got it on the fourth try, which seemed like reasonable odds to me. As the door opened, there was a stench of mildew and dampness that hung in the air, eager to escape past us into the beyond. The Guardian shuffled over to a table and lit a lantern, painting the main room with an unflattering light.

“I think the graveyard was a little more cozy,” Jakob looked around the room with a glum smile.

There was a dust-laden cupboard next to a small stove and a couple of wooden chairs that looked to have seen better days. A staircase led upstairs, to mostly cobwebs, it seemed.

“Welcome to shack up with the dead, if you prefer,” Angelos shrugged, before shooting me a glance, “no offense, Victor.”

I ignored him. “Young ones can take the upstairs bedrooms; we have enough bedrolls for down here. We’ve certainly lain in rougher places.”

“Aye, we have.” He worked his jaw and sighed, leaning against the table.

It wasn’t nearly as comfortable or warm as the Inn, but we were known faces there. Slowly I could see the weight of the day sink from everyone’s shoulders, as the acceptance for our lot was greatly appreciated.

Sometimes home was where murderous intent was least present. The irony stung the back of my throat.