Malakos woke up in a room full of beds, covered in fine white linen sheets. Sunlight streamed through high, arched windows in shades of gold. He sat up and saw a Retainer, standing over another bed, quietly taking notes over a still form.

"Am I dead…?" Malakos asked.

The Retainer turned to look at him in surprise. Malakos recognized him as the one he'd spoken to in Dunshire. 

"Oh, not you, too!" The Retainer said, his musical Celestial accent full of exasperation. 

"'Too'...?" Malakos asked, when suddenly, he felt something like a rope tighten around his midriff and yank him unceremoniously backward out of the clean, white room, and into a swirling void full of lute music. 

The tiefling gasped for air as his soul slammed back into his body. 

“What'd I miss?” He coughed out. He looked around from where he had been slung over Deruque's shoulders.

No Christopher. Demoralized faces all around.

“Oh.”

“We barely got out with our lives,” Bardy explained, putting his lute away and starting to walk again. “You more than anyone. When that witch did her pointy finger thing and knocked you out, we knew we were all in over our heads. So Deruque grabbed you, and we all bolted while Christopher held her off. Which, if I'm not mistaken, was the plan in the first place, before someone decided he needed to play the martyr and drag the rest of us along with him."

Malakos shifted guiltily, "I didn't mean for–"

"I got you back to consciousness," Bardy spoke over whatever excuses the cleric was making. "But it was a close one. You're uh...still not looking great.”

“Dying will do that to you,” Malakos coughed again. “Thanks for hauling me out of there, Deruque.”

“No problem, Malakos.”

“Thanks for healing me, Bardy,” he added.

“Anytime, Malakos.”

The group continued walking in silence for a moment.

“I'd like to get down now--”

“No, Malakos,” Bardy and Deruque chorused.

“Oh come on!”

“Can't trust your suicidal butt not to run back for another round, so you're staying right up there until we've covered a little more distance,” Bardy insisted. “You should get a full rest while you're waiting.”

“You're not going to keep me up here for eight hours?!” Malakos cried.

“Well, the other options are you heal yourself with a spell--”

“But I might need that energy to heal you guys.”

“--or you drink that potion in your bag.”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“Why?”

“I didn't see an expiration date on it, and who knows how long it was lying out in that field? Suspicious potions are for emergencies only, everyone knows that.”

“Malakos, did you hit your head when you collapsed?”

“This...(ng!)...is...humiliating!” Malakos struggled in vain against Deruque, who barely even shifted to maintain his hold. “Let me down! I can walk!”

"There you guys are!" a voice called from ahead.

"Ruby!" Malakos beamed. "Help me get down from here!"

"What are you guys doing? Let go of him!" She ran up and grabbed the tiefling, pulling him roughly off Deruque's shoulders.

"Hey careful!" Deruque said, releasing Malakos. "Don't just yank on him–the guy just died, for pete’s sake."

“Only for a little bit–”

"He…what?" 

"He tried to attack the witch lady, and took a faceful of necrotic damage," Deruque explained.

"You were going to do the exact same thing!" Malakos shrieked, before succumbing to a coughing fit and buckling to the ground.

"It's pure, dumb luck that he's not a zombie right now," Bardy added. "Emphasis on dumb."

"Malakos!" Ruby scolded. 

"Okay, yes, mistakes were made, lessons learned. Can we move along? I want to get that little girl some medical attention before nightfall. We can at least make Christopher's sacrifice worth something."

"What do you mean, 'sacrifice'? Where's Christopher?" Ruby asked, as Lorenzo finally caught up with them. 

After Bardy explained the tragic situation and convinced Malakos to perform a basic self-healing, the party made their way to Whispenshire. 

"We can't all go in," Malakos said, as they approached the outskirts. "We're wanted criminals. Halflings are probably the least conspicuous race of all of us, so Bardy should be the one to take her. You've got your disguise kit?"

"I do! And I have the dress–"

"There will be no need for the dress."

"Deruque can be my legs again!"

"Bardy, just take the kid and go."

The halfling turned to Deruque and waggled his eyebrows. "You know you liked it," he grinned.

"BARDY," Malakos snapped.

Bardy grumbled, but started setting up his disguise kit. 

"I'm putting my sending stone in with your things," Malakos said. "We'll be going to the Red Cloak base to make our report. Call when you have an update or if there are any complications."

"Yeah, yeah," Bardy said, placing a large mustache on his upper lip. "Don't worry–Bardy's got this. You'd just better hurry back and get some rest–you're still looking peaky."

Ruby gently lifted the little girl from the back of the tiger and placed her in Bardy's arms. The child whimpered a little, but didn't wake.

"Just hang on a little longer," Ruby whispered. Then she followed the rest of the team into the woods, leaving Bardy to see to her.

As they approached the entrance to the base, the party were surprised to be met with whoops and cheers. It seemed, in their absence, they had become popular.

"Hey guys, welcome back!" A goblin guarding the door greeted them with a friendly slap on the back. His gaze dropped to their waist level, then he frowned. "Oh…maybe things didn't…didn't go so well…?"

"Oh!" Malakos said, catching his meaning. "No, Bardy's just in town. He'll meet us here after his errand."

Relief washed over the goblin's face as he beckoned them in. "Oh good! Well, Lady Dimir 's in her office–she'll probably be wanting to see you right away."

"Perfect, thanks Grishnar," Malakos said, entering the main hall.

Across the way, Lady Dimir's office door opened and a goblin scurried out, looking happy to escape whatever tongue-lashing he'd been getting.

Malakos knocked and entered. 

"Lady Dimir, we're here to make our report." 

The Red Cloak leader looked up and her expression softened a little to see them. "Enter and report, then. I confess I was hoping to hear from you earlier."

"Ah…" Malakos realized, too late, that he should probably have returned some kind of response with the messenger bird that she had sent them. "(Ahem) Yes, we're very sorry for the delay. We just…had some loose ends to attend to, before we could…anyway, we have some good news! And bad news. And bad news. And good news! And bad news. And good news."

Lady Dimir blinked before tentatively inviting him to proceed.

"Okay, so, the good news is, we successfully found Holy Mace–the hero that had been residing in Shettleport!"

"That is excellent news!" Lady Dimir stood.

"The bad news is, he died. Twenty years ago."

"Oh," she sunk back down to her chair.

"The other bad news is that there was a skincrawler masquerading as him, but the good news is, we killed it."

"Uh…"

"The other good news is, we grabbed Holy Mace's skeletal remains!"

"You–what?!"

"And Ilmater granted us a miracle!"

"Resurrection?" Lady Dimir looked up incredulously.

"Eeeeehhhmmm, not exactly," Malakos said, pulling out the skull. "But close enough for our purposes. Hold this."

Lady Dimir reached out and took the skull–without an ounce of squeamishness, Malakos noted. Then she looked up.

"Oh my," she said. "You're…taller than I had expected." She held a brief, one-sided conversation with the spirit of Holy Mace before putting the skull aside. 

"And the other bad news is that we might have a witch problem in the woods by Dunshire," Malakos was saying.

"Valaetha? I thought she was a myth," Dimir said. "And anyway, she's more or less contained at the moment, if legends are to be believed. Well," she straightened up. "You certainly did have a lot of news. I can see why you waited to deliver it in person. We, too, have had some developments."

"Ilmater has blessed us on this end, as well–although His blessing comes as a double-edged sword." Dimir reached under her desk and pulled out a handful of thorny vines, identical to the one that sprung from the skull. "These have sprung up all over the kingdom, choking any crops that might grow. This has convinced the public that Ilmater has revoked his blessing upon the royal line."

"YES!" Deruque pumped his fist. "I knew I sensed something different–revolution! The air is electric with it!"

"Deruque…"

"VIVA THE PEOPLE! DOWN WITH TYRANNY!" 

"Just let him get it out of his system," Malakos advised as Deruque looked for something that could support his weight to act as his soapbox. "Ilmater's blessing?" he prompted.

"Yes, well. This is a good thing for our movement. We're receiving new recruits daily. The downside is, those are the crops to feed the people, as well as our forces.”

“Oh, don’t be such a pansy!” Deruque cried out, seizing the handful of thorns from Commander Dimir. “These plants broke through with their own might and choked the feeble, noble crops that were encumbering the ground with their fatness! And so these plants have championed and earned their place–and so shall we! These thorns are just as good as any stupid king–I mean, wheat–and I’ll prove it!” With that, Deruque bit off a hunk of the gnarled stems. Chomping loudly, he managed to swallow the bite down and continue with his rallying monologue as Malakos and Dimir watched him with disturbed faces. 

Finally, Dimir blinked and shook her head, turning back to the cleric. “Well… with one notable exception, our people cannot survive on these. Without the harvest of… traditional crops, we need to expedite our timeline to minimize losses for both troops and civilians. An extended famine will kill everyone but the monarchy."

"IT'S A SIGN! THE TIME IS NOW!" Deruque howled.

"Not now," Dimir corrected, setting a placating hand on his foot, which was standing on her desk. "But soon. Tomorrow, you and your team will be leaving for Goldrak. You are to recruit more soldiers. It's a mining town, and the people there are hardy and loyal types. Take your team and–" she cut off and looked at them. "You, ah, seem to be short one…short one."

"Bardy is running an errand for us in town," Malakos said, and explained their agreement with Christopher.

"I see," Dimir said, her voice quiet with sympathetic sadness. "A rebel outpost isn't exactly a place for a sickly child, but…the town isn't much better, at the moment. And what about your, ah, new recruit?"

Malakos looked behind him and noticed Lorenzo. "Oh, him, yes. He's uhhhh…he's a poet. Wanted some excitement, and, uh, well, here he is. Thought he might entertain the troops with his writing sometimes." The tiefling smiled his best, most persuasive smile. 

"Well, a revolution is certainly a subject of excitement," Dimir acknowledged. 

"Very much so," Malakos said before suddenly grimacing. He leaned in close to the Red Cloak leader and whispered, "...but if he tries to read you any manuscripts about our team–specifically Deruque and myself–stop him. Please."

"Please," Deruque, no longer on the desk, echoed.

"We've destroyed so many of them, but he just creates more," Malakos whispered in a haunted voice.

"I'll…do…what I can…?" Dimir answered, confusion and concern written all over her face. "Now, maybe…you should… go lie down."

"Good, yes, we'll do that," the tiefling nodded. "Got to rest up for tomorrow."

And with that, the team exited.

Meanwhile, Bardy sat in a waiting room. The house of healing had been largely empty when he brought the girl in; and he'd had no trouble passing himself off as a middle-aged halfling from out of town, just dropping off a poor soul he'd found by the side of the road. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't go back up to base, now that matters were out of his hands. 

A nurse ran by, whispered something to the doctor, and they both glanced at him, then returned to the back room. Bardy watched them. There'd been a lot of that happening–healers sure were secretive types. He yawned. If only these chairs were a bit comfier…

Suddenly, there was a clanking noise as a dwarf paladin, surrounded by the royal guard, appeared at the door. Bardy tried to sink lower in his chair, out of sight.

A doctor came to meet the dwarf, and they walked into the back room. Bardy would have taken the chance to leave right then, but the guards blocked the doorway. Before he had time to consider other means of escape, the doctor and paladin came back out.

"There he is," the doctor pointed at Bardy.