The journey through the Whispering Woods with Ozin as their guide was an entirely different experience. Where before the forest had felt oppressive and menacing, it now seemed almost deferential. The path Ozin chose was not a path at all, but a fluid route through ancient trees and dense undergrowth that seemed to part for him as he padded silently ahead. The usual sense of being watched was gone, replaced by the feeling of being escorted. The flame leopard moved with a silent, confident grace, his fiery pelt a beacon of impossible warmth in the forest's emerald gloom.
They traveled for the better part of a day, stopping only for a brief midday meal. The dynamic of the group was shifting. Barin walked with a newfound caution, his respect for Ozin evident in the way he kept a comfortable distance. Rael, on the other hand, kept trying to edge closer, his golden eyes filled with academic curiosity, only for Ozin to pointedly ignore him or flick his flaming tail, sending a shower of harmless but pointedly annoying sparks in the cleric's direction.
Delores found herself in quiet, mental conversation with their guide. Ozin's thoughts, when directed at her, were clear and articulate, tinged with a dry, feline wit.
"The book-clutcher is staring again," Ozin sent to her, not breaking his stride. "Does he intend to catalog my every whisker twitch?"
"He's just curious, Ozin," Delores thought back, suppressing a smile. "He's a scholar of magic. You're magically fascinating."
"Hmph. Let him be fascinated from a distance," Ozin retorted.
They had reached a wide, sun-dappled clearing, roughly the halfway point of their two-day journey according to Ozin's internal map, when the world suddenly went dark.
Delores looked up in alarm, thinking a storm had rolled in with impossible speed. But the sky wasn't filled with clouds. It was blotted out by a shadow, vast and swift, that swept over the clearing in an instant. The air grew still, the temperature dropped, and the sheer scale of the thing passing overhead was breathtaking. Barin instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, his falchion half-drawn. Rael let out a small gasp, stumbling back a step, his eyes wide with awe and terror.
Delores stared up, heart pounding, as she caught a glimpse of the source. It was an immense, reptilian form soaring through the sky. Sunlight glinted off scales the size of dinner plates, a long, serpentine neck craned forward, and massive, leathery wings beat a slow, powerful rhythm that created no sound, only a profound displacement of air. It was a dragon. A real, living, terrifyingly huge dragon, its silhouette stark against the sun it momentarily eclipsed.
Just as panic began to truly set in, Ozin, who hadn't even flinched, let out a low, rumbling purr that was somehow audible over their own frantic heartbeats. He sat down calmly, wrapping his fiery tail around his paws.
His voice, for the first time, projected aloud for all to hear, still carrying that strange, rolling accent. "Relax, little sparks. The giant lizard is not going to bother us."
Barin stared at him, then back up at the sky where the dragon was now a receding shape. "Lizard? That… that was a dragon!" he choked out, his voice filled with disbelief.
"A blue one, by the scales," Rael added, his voice a shaky whisper, his fear warring with his scholarly instincts. "Ancient, by the size of it. Akrion's texts speak of them… but to see one…"
Ozin flicked an ear dismissively. "He hunts higher. Gryphons in the peaks, sometimes a rock if he's feeling ambitious. He has no interest in the tiny, ground-crrawling morsels of this forest." He looked pointedly at Barin and Rael. "Or in us. His name is Bastian. He is old, cranky, and prefers stories to gold. Leave him be, and he will leave you be."
Delores stared after the vanished dragon, then down at the completely unconcerned flame leopard. A dragon named Bastian who hoarded stories? This forest was turning out to be far more populated with unique and powerful individuals than she had ever imagined.
Ozin stood up, stretching languidly. "Come. The Ram's den is another day's travel. It is best we are not caught out in the open when the truly dangerous things come out at night."
The group exchanged wide-eyed glances. If a dragon wasn't considered truly dangerous by their guide, what exactly did Ozin worry about in these woods? Shaking off the awe and a fresh wave of apprehension, they hurried to follow the flame leopard as he padded silently back into the trees, leaving the now-bright clearing behind.
The rest of the day's travel passed in a blur of dense woods and tense silence, the image of the soaring blue dragon still fresh in their minds. Ozin led them on with an unhurried confidence that did little to soothe Delores's own frayed nerves. Every shadow seemed to hold a new, unknown threat, every rustle of leaves a potential ambush. They made camp that night in a small, defensible hollow Ozin found, the flame leopard's presence a far more effective deterrent than any campfire.
The next day, they set off again at first light. The landscape began to change, the lush greenery giving way to more rugged, rocky terrain. The air grew heavier, carrying the scent of woodsmoke, livestock, and unwashed bodies; signs of a settlement nearby. According to Ozin, they were only an hour or two from their destination. The proximity of the bandit village made the reality of their mission crash down on them once more. Barin, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the dragon sighting, finally broke the silence. He fell into step beside Delores, his heavy armor clanking softly.
"Alright, Baroness," he rumbled, his voice low and serious. "We're gettin' close. I know ye want to talk first, and that's fine. But what's the backup plan? What happens when the talkin' fails and things get messy?"
Delores's face scrunched up in thought. She considered their options. Rael's giant spell was a powerful ace with Barin, but it was draining and likely a one-shot trick. Her own compulsion magic was unpredictable. Ozin might be a formidable fighter, but revealing him might escalate things beyond control.
She finally just shrugged, a gesture of honest uncertainty. "Plan B? Plan B is probably we run," she admitted with a wry grimace. "Very fast. And hope they're slow."
She then turned her gaze to their fiery guide, who was padding silently beside her. "Ozin, speaking of things getting messy. A giant, talking flame leopard might be a bit of a spectacle. It could provoke them before I even get a word out. It might be better if you weren't immediately visible."
Ozin stopped, turning his intelligent green eyes on her. He dipped his head in a slow, regal bow. "A wise precaution, little spark."
Without any further warning, his form dissolved in a brilliant, silent flash of orange light and heat. Delores gasped, stumbling back a step, shielding her eyes. When the light faded, Ozin was gone. Barin swore under his breath, looking around wildly, while Rael simply stared at the empty space, his mouth slightly agape. She felt a sudden, intense spike of heat on her left side, just below her ribs. It wasn't painful, just shockingly warm, like pressing a hot stone against her skin.
Then, Ozin's voice echoed directly in her mind, as clear as if he were standing beside her, stripped of its rolling accent. "There. This is better. More… portable."
Delores instinctively placed a hand on her side, feeling the warmth through her battle dress. "You're in the mark?" she thought back, amazed.
"The mark is the anchor," Ozin's voice explained in her head. "The link between us. It allows me to retreat into you, to exist as pure essence until I am needed. I can emerge if I sense extreme danger to you, or if you call me forth. It is… an efficient arrangement."
Delores was still trying to process the idea of carrying a flame leopard around as a living tattoo when his next thought, laced with a new and unsettling curiosity, made her freeze.
"Speaking of efficiency," Ozin's mental voice continued, a hint of dry amusement in his tone, "this connection, it seems, is quite thorough. It gives me access to more than just your immediate senses. Your memories, for instance. And I must say, that blank book you found with the 'V' on it, it feels… familiar. And dangerous."
Delores's stomach did a nervous flip. Ozin could access her memories? And he recognized the magic of Valerie's book? The complications of her new life, it seemed, were growing by the minute. She shook her head, trying to force herself to focus on the immediate threat and not worry over Ozin's mental presence. The bandit village was just ahead and she needed to not waver.
The sudden, silent vanishing of the flame leopard left a startling void in the small party. Rael sputtered, his composure completely shattered as he stared at the spot where Ozin had been. His golden eyes, wide with disbelief and academic shock, flashed questioningly down at Delores.
"Baroness! Where did he go?" he asked, his voice a mixture of awe and alarm.
Barin, who had taken a defensive step back, nodded in vigorous agreement, his hand once again hovering over his falchion. "Aye! One second, talkin' cat. Next, poof! Gone! What kinda magic was that?"
Delores patted her side, where the residual warmth still lingered. She decided to keep the part about Ozin having access to her memories to herself for now; that was a complication she'd have to unpack later. "He's alright," she explained, trying to sound more casual than she felt. "He said the mark on my side is an anchor. He can… retreat into it. Exist as essence until I call him or he senses danger. It's an efficient arrangement, he called it."
Barin and Rael stared at her, then at her side, then back at her face, their expressions a perfect blend of bewilderment and grudging acceptance. This adventure was clearly going to be filled with things their respective life experiences had not prepared them for.
"Right," Barin finally grunted, shaking his head as if to clear it. "So, yer a walkin', talkin' den for a magic fire cat. Got it. Let's keep movin'."
Hesitantly, the now-smaller group began walking again, the relative silence feeling more pronounced without Ozin's physical presence. They moved with heightened caution, knowing they were now very close to the bandit settlement. As they crested a small, rocky hill, the village came into view. It was nestled in a wide ravine, larger and more permanent-looking than Grok's crude camp. There were actual wooden structures, not just tents, clustered together around a muddy central thoroughfare. A crude but sturdy-looking wooden palisade surrounded the entire settlement, and smoke curled from several crude chimneys.
As they began their descent into the ravine, Rael quietly pulled the deep hood of his clerical robes up, casting his face in shadow and obscuring his horns.
"A precaution," he murmured when he noticed Delores looking at him. "Most common folk… they don't tend to take kindly to tieflings. The horns invite assumptions. While this hood isn't a perfect disguise, it might at least deter immediate judgment."
Delores and Barin looked up at him, a flicker of worry passing between them for their quiet companion. It was a stark reminder that even within their own small group, the prejudices of the wider world were a constant, unseen burden. They continued their approach, the sounds of the village growing louder with the distant clang of a hammer, gruff laughter, the lowing of some unseen livestock. They were close now, approaching the main gate, which was flanked by two bored-looking guards. Barin slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the few people moving in and out of the gate or within the walls.
"Somethin's not right here," he muttered, his voice a low growl.
"What do you see?" Delores whispered, peering ahead but seeing little out of the ordinary for a rough settlement.
"It ain't what I see, it's what I see and hear," Barin corrected. He gestured subtly with his chin. "Look at 'em. The ones walkin' about. They're hunched, slow. Like every step hurts 'em, or they ain't got the energy to stand up straight. Unhealthy. Sickly lookin'." He then cocked his head, listening intently. "And their gear… it's trash. Hear that rattle? That's cheap ring mail with broken links, worn-out buckles. My dwarf side is tellin' me their armor is worse than useless, just scrap metal barely held together."
Delores stared at him, dumbfounded. "How in the hells could you figure all that out from this distance?"
Barin shrugged, a gesture of grim experience. "Been a guardsman a long time, Baroness. Ye get used to dealin' with the dregs of society. The sick, the poor, the desperate. Ye learn the signs. The sound of bad armor, the posture of someone who ain't eaten a good meal in a week."
He said it with the simple finality of a man stating a fact, but Delores saw Rael wince slightly from under his hood at Barin's blunt, almost dismissive tone. They weren't just approaching a bandit camp. It seemed they were approaching a village full of desperate, sickly people, ruled by a vengeful tyrant. Delores winced realizing this was far more complicated than a simple den of thieves.
Barin's grim assessment of the village's inhabitants settled over her like a shroud. Desperate, sickly people ruled by a tyrant. This wasn't a den of opportunistic thugs like Grok's crew; this was something more akin to a festering wound. A direct assault seemed less like justice and more like cruelty. Her gaze shifted from the pathetic figures shuffling near the gate to Barin's own imposing, armored form. An idea, audacious and risky, sparked in her mind.
"Barin," she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, "you're a guardsman, a soldier. And I'm sure a village like this, they probably deal in prisoners, bounties, that sort of thing."
Barin grunted, not taking his eyes off the gate. "Likely. Coin's coin to folk like that."
"Exactly," Delores pressed. "So what if… what if you're not just a patrolman? What if you're a guard transporting valuable prisoners?" She gestured between herself and Rael. "A troublesome sorceress and her odd apprentice, perhaps? Captured and being taken to a high-security prison. You're looking for a place to rest for the night, secure your 'prisoners', maybe trade some information. It would get us inside the walls, and maybe even grant us a direct audience with their leader. A lot faster than trying to talk our way in as a friendly 'Baroness'."
Barin crossed his massive arms, mulling over the idea. The logic was sound. A lone guardsman with two strange-looking, magically-inclined captives would be an object of intense curiosity, not immediate hostility. It was a better cover than three random adventurers.
"Hmph. Could work," he finally conceded. "They'd see ye two as potential profit, and me as someone to be cautious of." He began digging inside the collar of his heavy plate armor, his gauntleted fingers fumbling with a leather thong. After a moment, he pulled out a small, dark metal plate, no bigger than his palm, hanging from the cord. It was tarnished and dull, looking ancient. "And this might help sell it."
He held it out. "My folks gave me this. Said it was my birthright token, or somethin'. Told me it marks me as a soldier of my homeland's watch. Anyone who knows anythin' about military ranks should recognize it, or somethin' like it."
Delores took the plate, surprised by its weight. It was cool to the touch. Rael, his curiosity piqued, leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look from beneath his hood. As Delores examined it, her eyes widened.
"Barin, this isn't just metal," she breathed, turning it over in her hands. The material was a deep, lusterless black, yet it caught the light in a strange way, showing faint, oily rainbows on its surface. "This feels like volcanic glass. Some kind of rare, metallic obsidian. I've only ever seen illustrations of it in the Guild's oldest geological texts." She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of awe and confusion. "Material like this is ancient. And almost always enchanted. This isn't just a simple rank insignia, Barin.."
She flipped the plate over. The back was covered in intricate, deeply etched carvings. They were clearly a form of angular, powerful-looking script, a mix of runes she vaguely recognized as archaic Dwarven and something else, something harsher and more primal but she couldn't make out any of what was there.
"Barin," she asked, her voice hushed with significance, "what does this say?"
He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Beats me, lass. Told ye, I still can't read the squiggles."
Delores sighed in exasperation, looking up at Rael for help. The tiefling was shaking his head slowly, his golden eyes narrowed in confusion. "The script is a confluence of multiple ancient dialects," Rael whispered. "Some I recognize as proto-dwarven, but the rest is not a language I have encountered. It would take significant research to decipher."
Delores looked back down at the plate, then at Barin's oblivious face. The key to his heritage, to a potentially greater power, was hanging around his neck, and he used it as a simple proof of employment. It was both tragic and utterly, perfectly Barin.
She sighed again, this time with a shake of her head and a wry smile. "Well," she said, handing the heavy artifact back to him. "The front, at least, clearly has your family name carved in a formal military style, along with a crest I don't recognize. It definitely marks you as someone of official, and probably fairly important, standing." She gave him a pointed look. "How you missed the 'important' aspect of a unique, ancient obsidian artifact and just thought of it as a dog tag, we may never know."
Barin just grunted, tucking the plate back under his armor. "I was told it said I'm a soldier. Good enough for me."
"Alright. Plan's set," Delores declared, her voice filled with a confidence she didn't entirely feel. "Rael and I are your valuable, magically-inclined prisoners. Let's go see if The Ram is interested in making a deal."
As Barin nodded grimly and Delores took a step forward, Rael held up a hand. "One moment, Baroness."
He unclasped the heavy tome from his hip and set it gently on the dusty ground. "If we are to be prisoners, they will expect restraints," he stated logically. "And I would prefer not to be bound by their crude, and likely very real, iron chains. I may have a solution."
Delores and Barin watched as Rael knelt beside the book, flipping through its pages with a practiced speed that belied his usual hesitation. He stopped on a page that, to Delores, seemed to be filled with overlapping geometric patterns rather than text.
"A simple but effective illusion," Rael explained, tracing one of the patterns with his finger. "I can conjure the appearance of solid, heavy chains. They will look and sound real, but they are merely woven light and magic, held together by a minor binding spell. They should dissolve into nothing with the correct trigger word."
"And that word would be?" Barin grunted, intrigued.
Rael offered a rare, thin smile. "Something they are unlikely to guess. I'll handle that though, don't worry."
He then hovered one hand over the open page of the tome, his expression growing intensely focused. He began to mutter, his voice low and guttural, weaving words in a harsh, syllabic language that grated on Delores's ears. It sounded vaguely demonic, a tongue she had no knowledge of. As he spoke, the patterns on the page began to glow with a sickly green light. Within seconds, the shimmering, metallic end of a chain link seemed to push itself out of the very ink on the page, clinking softly as it materialized in the real world. Rael grasped the link firmly and began to pull. More and more of the illusory chain emerged from the glowing tome, link by clinking link, until he had two long, heavy-looking sets of manacles and chains lying coiled on the ground.
With another whispered word, the glow from the tome faded. Rael then sighed, reaching up and pulling back his deep hood. His burgundy skin, sharp features, and elegantly curved horns were fully revealed in the afternoon light. "If we are to be 'valuable prisoners'," he reasoned, his golden eyes meeting theirs, "it might be worth looking the part. Dangerous, even. The hood suggests concealment. This," he gestured to his own face, "suggests a threat worth chaining."
Delores stared at him, impressed by his tactical thinking. Barin grunted in agreement. "Aye. Good thinkin', cleric. Lookin' scary is half the battle."
Rael picked up the illusory chains, which clanked with surprising realism, and proceeded to lock one set around Delores's wrists and the other around his own, leaving a length of chain between them for Barin to hold. The metal felt cold and solid to the touch, entirely believable.
"Ready?" Barin asked, taking the chain that linked his two new 'prisoners'.
Delores nodded. "Let's go."
Barin took the lead, striding forward with a confident, authoritative swagger. He held the chain loosely but firmly, pulling Delores and Rael along behind him like captured assets. They approached the crude wooden gate, the two bored-looking guards finally noticing the approaching trio. Seeing the massive, armored half-orc dwarf marching towards them, dragging a chained tiefling and a gnome, the guards immediately straightened up from their slouching positions. They gripped their spears tighter, their bored expressions replaced with a mixture of surprise, caution, and greedy curiosity. The bluff was set. Now, they just had to hope The Ram would take the bait.