Autumn awoke to a burning in her lungs. To the feeling as if a thousand ants had crawled down her throat and bit over and over. It ached an impossible amount. From her raw and scoured throat ripped free a great, ragged coughing.

Suddenly, a powerful feminine arm wrapped around Autumn’s back and raised her up into a sitting position. Placed before her lips was a bowl of bitter smelling medicine.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help soothe your throat.” A gentle voice urged Autumn.

The medicine tasted just as bitter as it smelled. Autumn choked it down at the urging of the woman beside her. It coated her tongue and throat like tar, but as it did so, the stinging taste of pain faded away into a wave of blessed relief. And with the horrid pain subsided, Autumn transformed back into a thinking and functioning human once more.

Looking about, she found herself in a small tent lit only by the blue glow of a magical lantern hanging overhead. The blue glow bathed the woman beside her in a gentle light.

Surprise colored Autumn’s features as she recognized her savior.

Leshana Lauren; the Silvan Elven bard.

The strikingly beautiful Elven woman sat upon her heels, crouched down beside Autumn’s bedside. A pair of almond-shaped golden eyes were full of kindness and warmth as they sat upon skin the color of warm bark. Dark green hair the color of eternal leaves lay secured within a long braid that was held by a cage of twigs resembling steel. The Elf had shaved the sides of her head, allowing a set of long, graceful ears the freedom to twitch at sounds only she could hear.

To Autumn’s mild despair, she noted that although both of them had undergone the same harrowing journey through this twisting underworld; the Elf looked undiminished by the dirt and blood that spotted her skin and outfit. In fact, it only accentuated her ethereal grace.

In a cruel juxtaposition, Autumn looked like a homeless vagabond.

While Autumn’s mind was lost lamenting the beauty of Elfs, Leshana placed a cool hand to Autumn’s forehead. The stark difference in temperature between the two shocked Autumn and brought to her attention just how hot she felt, not to mention how sweaty.

After a silent moment, Leshana removed her hand.

“It looks like your fever has broken. That’s good. You were running quite high for a few hours. How are you feeling? Those were some nasty spore clouds you walked through.”

Her voice was like a soft melody.

It took Autumn an awkwardly long time to realize she was being spoken to; her fuzzy waking mind taking its sweet time in rebooting. Flushing, Autumn tried to reply hastily, but thanks to a numb tongue, only a tumble of slurred words came forth, adding a new mortification to her already embarrassed state.

Luckily, she could hide her reddened face beneath her witch’s hat.

A sympathetic chime-like giggle escaped Leshana.

At Autumn’s aggrieved stare she clarified.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. The numbing effect of the medicine only lasts a few minutes; I’ve suffered through it myself. Your voice should recover in no time, but it’ll take a while to fully recover as those spores like to stick to the inside of the lungs. If not treated properly, they’ll grow and we don’t want that. Trust me.”

Autumn paled at that horrifying imagery.

“I know Gilralei introduced us before, but seeing as this is the first time we are properly meating let me introduce myself. I’m Lashana Lauren of the Everblooms.”

Leshana held out her hand in a vaguely handshake-like gesture, but from how she held her hand at an angle, Autumn guessed it was more a forearm to forearm gesture. Taking the gamble she grasped the Elven woman’s arm and introduced herself.

“Witch Autumn, currently of Duskfields.” Autumn rasped out, her voice rough like sandpaper.

If Leshana took any note of the ‘currently’ part, she did not either mind it or just kept it to herself, only clasping Autumn’s arm gently before releasing it.

“It’s a pleasure, even in current circumstances. There are a couple of others out by the fire, but I’ll let them introduce themselves to you. Oh, and there is also a nice pot of mushroom soup made up.”

Seeing Autumn’s look of trepidation, she giggled again.

“Don’t worry, I know which are safe to eat. I’ll try to save some for you, but you might lose out if you take too long.”

With those parting words, Leshana made her way out of the small tent, leaving Autumn alone with only her thoughts for company.

How terrifying.

Finally awake and alert, Autumn looked about the tent she’d found herself in. The shadows squirmed under her gaze. Rotten, foul things only held at bay by the soft blaze of the hanging lantern. They gnawed greedily at the imagination, chewing on the enlightened mind, urging it to believe in the things lurking within. To give them power they did not deserve.

Autumn looked away.

Within arm’s reach lay a pile of her gear, likely removed in order to bring her comfort as she burned with a high fever. Her robes were dry now and neatly folded as they sat beside her slightly mildew-smelling leather gear. Thankfully, her pack of supplies had survived with her, even if it’d suffered under the abuse. However, what drew Autumn’s eye the most was her Tome of Witchcraft; it sat upon her things like a terrible weight, eyeing her with an expectation that brought a wave of hope.

All that was missing was her wand.

That was lost somewhere in the greed of the dark underground river.

Autumn picked up her Tome.

It was no worse for wear than when she’d first picked it up; whatever enchantment that bound it was seemingly still going strong. Autumn flicked through the yellowed pages, her eyes scanning for anything spell, craft, or ward that’d come in handy right now. However, much to her displeasure, most of the spells held within required some sort of spell-catalyst to cast and no matter how hard she looked, she could not find a page that detailed how to craft one. Autumn contemplated looking deeper into the book, to the pages that tested her mind in ways there were no words to describe.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Ultimately, she decided that the risk wasn’t worth it.

However, Autumn was not without power as both Touch of Terror and Aversion–her spell-shield–did not require a wand to cast, just more effort. She did also find a few helpful pages of meditation and channeling guides. Simple sorts of things to help a novice in their fumbling first steps–something she could have used before.

They weren’t the “One simple trick that spellcasters don’t want you to know!” or the “Do this simple method and you’ll have magical abs in an instant!” type of thing, but useful nonetheless.

Tears beaded unbidden in Autumn’s eyes. It was just a stupid piece of wood; she told herself, but it didn’t help. That wand represented a world she’d always wanted, even in the fantasy of her mind. With it missing, so was a significant portion of her abilities, and it hurt.

It hurt so badly.

Suddenly, her wayward thoughts were interrupted by a loud, desperate growl.

Autumn’s heart skipped a beat as the sound doused her mind in ice. She scrambled for her knife. Clutching it in hand, she cast a wild look about the small tent, watching the creeping shadows with distrust. And as her mind conjured all manner of cruel monsters from them, her stomach growled again.

Her face burned as her heart calmed.

Now aware of the hunger gnawing upon her, Autumn knew she could not delay any longer. Tucking away her emotions, she set about dressing and gathering up her gear.

Her robes, now dry, settled onto her body with a familiar, comforting weight. While the faded material had never been in the best of states, the battering she’d taken through the battle and subsequent fight with the river had left it adorned with new rips and tears. To make matters worse, her boots too were scuffed and cracked all along the leather, and without her wand she could not use her repair charm to fix either.

The empty sleeve on her vambrace paid mind to that sad fact.

At last, Autumn equipped herself with her belt, her new sword, and the weighty Tome pressed snugly against her hip.

With nothing left to distract herself with, Autumn was forced to confront a challenge she was ill-equipped to face: people. And while she could use her new powers to bury that fear, it didn’t sound all that healthy to do so.

Then again, what part about her situation was conducive to her mental health?

Shouldering her pack, Autumn took one last look at the hissing shadows before turning and stepping out into the firelight.

Autumn froze as six pairs of eyes turned towards her.

Her immediate instinct was to run, but before she could make her escape–ignorant of where she’d flee to–Leshana seized her. The Elven woman practically dragged the petrified Autumn onto a set net to her beside the fire and shoved a bowl of hot mushroom soup into her hands.

Autumn blinked down into it.

“Here you go! Eat up. Judging by the sounds your stomach made, you must be starving. I thought it was a monster creeping about!”

Leshana’s smile was bright as she wiggled her ears, which grew brighter as Autumn reddened.

“Don’t tease the poor girl, Leshana. She’d had a rough time of it without your particular brand of annoyance.”

A half-amused, half-exasperated voice called out from the other side of Leshana. Peering over shyly, Autumn saw a male counterpart to Leshana. One that didn’t lose out in terms of beauty. With mirth in his eyes, he sported sharp features and golden eyes, along with long, dark green hair woven into a cage of steel-like twigs.

From now on–unless provided with contrary evidence–Autumn was going to just assume that all Elves possessed natural and unrivaled beauty and grace.

It was unfair.

The male Elf turned a charming smile Autumn’s way and raised his bowl in greeting.

“Vuriac Oakwind of the Everblooms. It’s a pleasure to finally meet face to face.”

“Uh…Autumn. Witch Autumn that is. I am.”

Autumn introduced herself as she inexpertly juggled the hot bowl in her fingertips, trying not to burn herself.

Leshana swatted at Vuriac.

“Ignore him. He's not worth the attention.” She gave Autumn a secretive fond smile. “It’ll just give him a big head.”

“Hey. don’t make up lies about me!”

While the two Elves began bickering quietly between themselves, Autumn turned her attention away to the other four that sat around the burning flame. They were as diverse as it got, considering the groups that’d embarked on this fateful adventure.

The first of which was Bardos, brother to Arvius, son to Ekrus.

Autumn was surprised to see him here, considering the last she’d seen of his father and brother was of them being killed. She’d sort of assumed–perhaps uncharitably–that he had died too. Although, based on the way he stared blankly into the fire, maybe a part of him had.

Bardos only glanced up at Autumn once before he ignored her in favor of his meal.

Next along was a pair of Lepus; one male, the other female.

Judging by the plate armor of bone the male wore alongside the sword and shield she spied amongst his belongings not too far away, he was a chevalier, a Lepus knight. In contrast, the female Lepus possessed a long spear that’d somehow survived the journey. And if Autumn’s understanding of their language was correct–and it was–she was called a Lancier.

Just like Autumn's gear, theirs was showing more signs of wear and tear. Cracks appeared in the leather, bone plates splintered, and expensive iron chain-links had split apart.

Despite that, they appeared to be in a relatively good mood.

Upon seeing Autumn’s attention directed upon them, the male smiled, swallowed his mouthful of soup, and introduced himself and his compatriot to Autumn.

“Salut! Autumn, right? I’m Rarg Kopavik and this is Valérie Rodin. It’s a pleasure to see you up and about. You really had us worried there, didn’t she, Valérie?” Valérie simply nodded in reply. Rarg continued, nonplussed. “I apologize for her candor; the dark doesn’t agree with her, it seems. Ever since we fell down here, she’s been a Lepus of few words.”

“Yeah.” Valérie said simply.

“It’s nice to meet you, I guess.” Autumn said hesitantly, her voice no better than before.

The most out-of-place member of the group was its last, even including Autumn, which was a low bar to pass. A young demoness in ripped and ragged Duskguard armor sat beside the fire, staring unblinking at Autumn with her one good eye, the other covered by a bloody bandage. Or, to be more accurate, she was staring intently at Autumn’s Tome of Witchcraft, and had been ever since Autumn had emerged from the tent.

What was stranger still was that she looked as generic as Inferni came: red skin, red hair, perfectly proportioned horns and tail. Even her facial features looked like an amalgamation of many others. An average.

She looked normal, at least compared to the eclectic collection of strange folks she’d met.

Was that racist? Autumn asked herself.

Autumn shifted as subtly as she could–i.e. not very–to cover her Tome from view and cleared her throat. Which was a mistake, as the vibrating sensation against her numb throat left her a little lightheaded.

“Um. My name’s Autumn. I never caught your name.”

Now addressed, the demoness finally blinked–or winked if one were cruel enough to be semantic in this situation. A lonesome eye slowly wandered up to meet Autumn’s dark pair. There was not much behind them. If eyes were said to be windows to the soul, then hers had cracked.

“Yuupis.” She said in a whisper, devoid of emotion.

Autumn looked away first, afraid of what she’d see reflected back at her.

“Right. Um. It’s nice to meet you, as well.”

Yuupis said nothing, just stared.

In an effort to avoid the awkwardness of whatever that was, Autumn looked down at her bowl of soup. Unable to keep her stomach’s complaints at bay any longer, Autumn judged the soup to be cool enough, so she took a sip.

She was wrong.