Deruque's hands flew to his bow, launching an arrow into the side of the beast. It landed, but was quickly swallowed up in the ooze. Ruby followed suit, firing an arrow into its leg, to much the same effect.

The monster lashed out and tore into Deruque's armor, a gash appearing on his front to match the scarlet of his cloak.

“Deruque, hold on!” Malakos started to move, but once again was outstripped by Bardy, who had been hiding behind him.

“Did someone call for a heal?” the halfling asked, strumming his lute and healing the dragonborn.

Malakos gritted his teeth. This had to stop. His occupational jealousy was interrupted, however, by the incoming skincrawler, black tendrils of goo lashing out at them from all angles. The tiefling gripped his amulet and focused, reciting ancient writ.

“Weep and despair, ye workers of wrongful death, for the Retainers of Life stand poised to rain fire from the beyond upon you.”

“Leave the poetry for Lorenzo, Malakos!” Bardy shouted, before a flash of light caused them all to throw their hands in front of their eyes. The skincrawler shrieked an otherworldly cry as a burst of white flame erupted around its face.

“How...long...have you been able to do that...?” The Bard asked.

“Since I was, like, eighteen? Why?”

Deruque and Ruby saw their opening, as the beast thrashed out the white flame, and each landed another arrow in its side. The beast roared, a primordial sound filled with the screams of every voice the creature had ever stolen. 

Most of the team threw their hands over their ears in time, but Bardy, his hands cradling his precious lute, was too late. 

“Bardy,” he heard a plaintive voice call out to him. He looked up and, instead of seeing the skincrawler, saw his lute. “Don’t hurt me,” it begged. “Don’t hurt me, please!” 

“Lutey!” He answered. “I could never! I would never hurt you!” 

“What the nines is going on with Bardy?” Deruque shouted, as the halfling reached out his arms as though to comfort some unseen being before him. 

Malakos was unable to respond, as the skincrawler had just then locked its eyes on the cleric. One massive clawed paw shot out at unearthly speed and slashed past Malakos's shield and through his tunic and armor. Blood poured from three gashes across his front, forming burning rivulets down his clothes. Hot—so hot—it felt like it was burning. His whole body felt like it was burning, going up in flames.

But the heat wasn't from the monster.

And it wasn't for him.

Malakos looked up at the skincrawler, anger blinding him to everything else. He reached out, pointing at the creature, and barked out something in Infernal. In response, the monster's face erupted into flames once more—deep blue and black, this time. It screamed again, scattering broken bones as it thrashed on the ground.

“And…how long have you been able to do that?!” Bardy asked, the skincrawler’s scream releasing him from its spell in time for the halfling to see it writhe in the inferno.

“That one's...new...” Malakos responded faintly, arm still outstretched and eyes wide and bewildered.

“Well, whatever it is, keep it up!” Bardy said, running back to the cleric's side and starting to strum a healing spell.

“Don't think I can,” Malakos said, slumping to his knees. “That was a lot of energy...from somewhere I don't want to think about. I think I need a good...a good rest before I can do it again...”

“Just as well,” Bardy said, wincing at the purple blood soaking through the cleric's robes. “You took a lot of damage, and you need healing faster than I can play. Get yourself patched up so we can finish this guy off.”

Malakos looked up at the skincrawler. It was slowing, burnt and smoking bits of slag dripping off the blackened skeleton and splattering in oozing piles to the ground, as it staggered forward. The arrows had been dealing some damage, but not enough; and every moment that it lived was another moment his teammates were in danger.

“Once more, then,” Malakos whispered to himself and gripped his amulet. He stood and called out.

“Woe to them who write their names in the blood of the innocent, for their legacies shall be ashes in the forge of our wrath! So speak the Ascended of Life!”

Whether it was the passion behind the words or the blood of the petitioner speaking it, the prayer was heard and answered in spades. Storm clouds gathered overhead and a ribbon of white fire streaked toward the ground, engulfing the skincrawler's entire body in its radiant flames and nearly blinding everyone in the field. When it vanished, the skincrawler was no more—only a pile of bones and a steaming pool of black tendrils, trickling into a large crack that had opened up in the ground with the fire from the sky. As the last of the slag slipped away, the skincrawler's bronze mask floated up from the crevice. It glowed with a green energy, and its mouth opened to speak.

“She'll come for you,” it rasped at Malakos.

The glow disappeared, and it clattered into the crevice before the ground closed back up.

“Well,” the tiefling said. “That's going to haunt my nightmares. So anyway...hey, what's that?” With a little grunt, Malakos pulled himself back up to his feet once more, having toppled over at the fire he had called down. He forgot his pain for a moment as he dashed across the field to something glittering in the grass.

“Half-plate mail!” He cried out, shaking it off of the skeleton that was wearing it. “Perfect! This is so much lighter than plate armor—now I'll be able to keep pace with you guys!”

“It's also not as strong,” Bardy tapped the cleric's chestplate, where three large gashes still yawned through his tunic.

“Only by a little,” the tiefling said, immediately pulling off his outer vestments to try on his new find.

Bardy rolled his eyes, then caught a glimpse of something else nearby.

“Guys, look!” Bardy called out. “Loot!”

He flung the crate open and found two potions, two rocks, and a mostly empty jug inside.

“Aw, lame,” Deruque griped. “Nothing cool.”

Bardy wasn't sure he agreed. He picked up the jug and examined the outside. “Interesting engravings,” he whispered to himself. Then, out loud, he announced, “Grape juice!” The insides sloshed around for a second, and then silenced. Bardy popped open the lid and sniffed inside. Then he tasted it.

“It's a jug of alchemy!” he announced. “Once a day, we can get any liquid we want from this thing!”

“How do you know it didn't just happen to have grape juice in it?” Deruque asked.

“It's been sitting here for twenty years,” Bardy said. “It wouldn't be just grape juice anymore.”

“Fair point.”

“And because I discovered it, I think I'll hold onto it,” Bardy said. “But here, Deruque, why don't you take this potion? And these rocks…?"

"Sending stones," Ruby corrected.

"What now?"

"They're sending stones. Great for long-distance communication. See, you take one and talk into it, and the person with the other stone can hear you, even if you're half the world or a whole other dimension away! My parents had to live separately, so they used a set just like this every day." 

"Oh, then let's have our voice of reason hold one," Bardy said, thumbing toward Malakos, who had started to wander elsewhere. "Then he'll at least feel like we're listening. And the other one can go to–"

"If the cleric is holding one, I don't want the other," Deruque held up both hands. 

"I'll take it!" Ruby said.

"Okay, that's settled. So the sending stone and also the second potion should go to Malakos,” the halfling said, picking the glass bottle up and looking for the cleric.

He was on his knees by the skeleton of Holy Mace, but he didn't appear to be praying. He had opened his bag and was moving things around inside to make room.

“(A-HEM!) I said this one goes to Malakos,” he walked over to the cleric and started pressing it against his face. “Because someone doesn't know how to use healing spells in battle!”

“Hey!” The cleric tried to pull away, as both hands were full and indisposed to fending off the insistent halfling, but Bardy pressed harder. “I know how to—I didn't hear you complaining when my flames were pretty much the only thing doing damage to that monstrosity!”

“Take your potion, Malakos!”

“In a minute, dad!”

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked. Having gotten closer, she saw that the tiefling had filled his arms with as many bones as he could carry, and was now trying to fit them into his bag.

Malakos picked up a skull and held it up to the sun to get a better look. “Objective one is incomplete. As of yet.”

“You do understand that vague statements like that do not help you dispel the 'creepy tiefling' image you've been trying to escape?”

Malakos ignored her. “Deruque, can you help me with this?”

“Yeah, sure,” the bronze dragonborn responded, taking the bones from his arms and putting them in his own bag. “How many d'you want?” he moved toward another pile.

“Not those,” Malakos stopped him. “Only these. That's it, that's great. Okay, let's go. I want to get back to Shettleport, and then--”

“Cleric, take your medicine!”

“No! Why waste a potion when I can just sleep it off?!”

“Fine then. We're going back to the cabin, and we're all taking a nice, long rest. You're not allowed up until noon,” Bardy said.

“That seems excessive.”

“Who's the healer here, you or me?”

Malakos whirled on the halfling. “ME!” He shouted.

“THEN FREAKING ACT LIKE IT, INSTEAD OF RUNNING HALF DEAD INTO BATTLE!” Bardy shouted back.

“Okay, okay, break it up,” Ruby said, taking Malakos by the shoulders and steering him back down the path. “Emotions are kind of high right now. Let's all just take a long, much-needed rest. Then, in the morning, we'll go to Shettleport, m'kay boys?”

“Fine...” Malakos and Bardy chorused.  

***********

Malakos was up and dressed before the sun rose, impatiently pacing the cabin until the others finished getting ready.

"Okay, we're good now? Ready to go? Let's go, let's go–Ruby, what are you doing?"

The blue Dragonborn had picked up the Holy Mace off the mantle. "This isn't as heavy as it looks," she said. "Feels good, actually. Think I'll take it as my spoils."

"The sacred weapon of a dead hero? That's…I mean, isn't that a little–"

"You're carrying his bones. Don't preach to me."

"Fair point. Okay, can we go now? Please?"

"Yes, Mal, we can go. Geez, what are you so hyped up fo–did anyone else hear that?"

Everyone fell silent, listening. 

"There it is again!" Ruby cried out. "It sounds like an animal in distress!" 

"No, Ruby–!" Malakos groaned. Were they ever going to get back to Shettleport? 

"You guys go on ahead," she called back as she dashed out the door. "I'll catch up in a minute." 

"Call us if you need help!" Malakos shouted after her as she disappeared into the forest. 

Ruby pounded through the overgrowth again, pulse racing in her ears. The yowling she'd heard–sounded like a big cat in pain. Were there other monsters in the forest? Maybe she should have gotten the others to come… but too late for that–there was an animal in trouble.

She heard it thrashing before she saw it. In a patch of leafy foliage, a large tiger flailed desperately. 

"She's…beautiful," she breathed. Then, she caught sight of the problem–a rusted metal trap clamped down on the tiger's hind leg. The creature thrashed painfully against it, trying to get free. 

"Calm down, calm down," she spoke soothingly to it as she stepped forward. "I'm going to help you."

The tiger, though it understood the words she spoke, eyed her warily, baring its long fangs. Ruby stepped forward carefully. She disabled the trap with swift, practiced movements, and soon had its victim free. Next, she bandaged up the wounded paw, splinting the breakage. 

"That will have to do for now," she said. "But if you'll come with me, I know some guys that can finish the job. Hey!" The tiger was licking her gratefully, its large, sandpaper tongue caressing her face repeatedly. "Okay, you're welcome! Come on, now, let's get you all healed up."

The rest of the team had just about reached the boat where Samuel and Lorenzo were waiting, when a cracking of sticks and leaves behind them announced Ruby’s return.

“Oh, that was qui–AUGH! What’s that?!” Bardy cried out. 

“This is my new friend!” Ruby chirped. “She’s hurt, though–Bardy, could you…?”

“Uh, sure…” the bard pulled out his lute and started strumming while Malakos grumbled about being a healer too, if anyone would give him half a chance to actually do his job and heal others. What he’d formally trained to do. For years, by the way. 

The paw healed and the tiger tentatively tried it out, putting some weight on it, before happily pouncing around like an eager kitten. 

“Aw, look how happy and cute she is!” Ruby exclaimed. 

“Yeah, that’s great, Ruby, now get in the boat,” Malakos said. 

“Such a cutie.”

“Ruby. In. The. Boat.”

“I think I’ll call her Kiki.” 

“Ruby, NO! No more pets!” Malakos cried, as Patch oozed up on his shoulder.