THE GROUND TURNED abruptly treacherous, the forest giving way to rocky terrain bare of even the smallest plant life. Resembling crumbled paper that had been tossed aside, the group considered the path ahead from the tree line edge, wary of stepping onto the narrow strip of anemic grass between the barren region and the heavy forest.

Simpkins held up his hand as the tiny air elemental returned. “Mya says the terrain only gets worse from here. Let’s take the rest of the day to get some extra rest before we decide where to go.” The others murmured agreement.

Gareth lamented as he pulled off one boot and shook out motes of tree dirt and tiny pebbles, “I will never, ever, ever complain about roads again. Ever.” He examined some red patches on his feet. “My poor feet will never be the same.”

Tracker bared his teeth in a wicked smile as he held out his foot, wiggling his toes. “Human boots bad. Better bare feet.”

Gareth stuck his foot out at the wolflen. “My skin is not as tough as yours. They’d have been flayed by now. I’ll keep my boots, thank you.”

“Bard.” Simpkins tossed a small jar to him.

Gareth caught the jar, studying it in puzzlement. “What’s this?”

“Healing salve,” the ogre replied. “Don’t get greedy with it. The stuff is expensive. A little will go a long way to healing your blisters and any other tender spots.” He added, “And don’t ingest any of it. Unless you fancy sporting green stripes for a moon.” The four others looked at the magic user’s droll expression. “The apothecarist who makes that has a strange sense of humor. He wants people to listen to his instructions and gives them consequences to remind them they are worth listening to.”

Gareth sighed in relieved bliss as he smeared the salve on his reddened feet. “Oh, Sulnar’s teeth, that’s wonderful.” He looked towards Doom and Tiwaz, offering the jar. “Either of you need any?”

Doom grinned toothily. “My hide’s too tough. I usually wear down my boots from the inside out.” He glanced at Tiwaz who stood atop a boulder, staring towards the looming mountains. “Ti heals when she shape-shifts.”

“Fair enough,” the bard stated, taking care of both feet and stretching out to let them dry. He tossed the jar back to Simpkins. “Not that I’m not ungrateful, but I’m surprised you’re not docking my share for the assist.” Simpkins snorted softly, but made no comment.

Doom joined his friend, sitting on the boulder beside her. He studied her profile in silence for several minutes before speaking. “What’s bothering you? It worries me you when are so distracted.”

Tearing her eyes away from the mountains, she looked away, shaking her head. “I do not have a good feeling about any of this.”

“That’s nothing new,” Simpkins observed dryly. “You’ve hated me since we crossed paths. Why would you think my quest has any more worth than me?” The giant man could not help but pale a little at the dark look she shot him. He held up his hands in surrender, mollifying her fractionally.

Tracker leaned against a tree, arms crossed. “Wolflen tribes believe lands around mountains cursed. Nothing grows. Nothing calls land home. Not plants, not animals. Elders of many tribes whisper of darkness stealing souls away.”

“The further we have traveled, the closer we get to those mountains, the more I hear…” She flushed in embarrassment. “I hear a voice I do not recognize. It whispers of warnings and danger ahead. Dangers we may not be ready to face.”

Simpkins frowned. “It tells you to turn back?”

She remained silent for several moments before replying. “No. It wants me to go. Whenever I am about to demand we return because I think your quest is worthless, the voice…croons soothingly, praising my virtues and strength and skills. My bravery and any other placating platitudes to silence my opposition to being here.” She growled as she hopped down and started pacing. “Even my own insanity lies to manipulate me.” She drew her dagger, pointing it at Simpkins. “If you are doing this to me, Magic User,” she snarled.

“I assure you, I am not,” Simpkins replied defensively. “Forcing or coercing people to work with or for me requires constantly ensuring that I’m not about to be stabbed in the back, figuratively or literally.” He turned his attention to the coffee pot and filled his mug, keeping his demeanor casual. “I’m too lazy for that nonsense. And I like being able to sleep soundly. Waking up with my throat cut would completely ruin my day.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as the rest of the party watched Tiwaz for her reaction to Simpkins’ words. Finally, she swore colorfully, jamming the dagger back in its sheath. “You are a pain in my ass, Ogre.” The collectively held breath released into quiet chuckling.

He blew across the hot liquid before taking a sip. “My apologies for not living up to your expectations of heartless cruelty, self-centered treatment, and abject narcissism,” he said drolly. “Of course, I don’t live up to any of the expectations of my sect. Pompous, pretentious asses. Happy to stay in their pretty towers, studying and researching the limits of their abilities, but never doing anything with them. They don’t even use them for selfish gain. Utterly useless waste of talent. Magic should be embraced and used for something, not just showing off new tricks to one another within a walled-off tower.”

“Which sect?” Gareth wondered.

“Order of the Lavender Branch.” Before the bard could do more than try to repress a laugh behind his hand, Simpkins pointed out defensively, “There are very few sects that would take in an ogre, and fewer dual-talent sects! Especially for psionics and conjuring. I can’t help they had been established by the most pansy group of snobs to have graced the world.” Tiwaz scowled as the other three laughed at the red-faced ogre then turned her back on them, returning to perch on the boulder, staring into the distance.

The darkness stirs, the voice whispered in her mind. You are the only one who can protect them.

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath. “Just shut up and leave me alone!” Doom did not look at her. He just shifted to put his hand atop her foot reassuringly.