SIDE QUEST X

By Strength and Guile:The Ravens Way

A Taylan and Travis Adventure

The sun-baked prairie cracked beneath their feet as The Flowers sprinted from the swarming herd of giant ants. Dust billowed behind them, and the shrill chittering of mandibles was still fresh in their ears. Taylan had taken to the skies for a better vantage—until the moment he decided to land.

As his boots touched the cracked earth, the ground gave way with a thunderous crack. "Taylan!" Byron roared.

Too late.

The brittle soil collapsed beneath Taylan and Travis both. A chorus of cries and startled gasps echoed above as the two vanished into the dust cloud.

They plummeted into darkness.

The fall was short but jarring. Travis landed with a grunt, his axe clattering beside him. Taylan tucked his legs in just fast enough to avoid being broken, though his landing was far from graceful.

When the dust cleared, they found themselves in a vast underground chamber, dimly lit by a faint, unnatural red glow that pulsed through the stone like veins. The walls shimmered with a slick, iridescent mist, something unnatural they realized with a chill.

All around, massive ants clicked and turned, their antennae twitching as they encircled the new intruders. Their black carapaces marked with jagged crimson veins. But worse were the ones that emerged from the far tunnels—glowing red eyes, long, barbed fangs protruding from gaping mandibles, and a mist clinging to their forms like smoke from some cursed flame.

"Vampiric ants?" Taylan breathed, eyes wide.

"That's a new one," Travis muttered, planting his stance and gripping his axe.

The misty tunnels writhed with more movement. The strange vapor coiled around the chamber, distorting the air, like the insects were swimming through a nightmare.

"Options?" Taylan asked, backing toward Travis.

"Fight our way out or find cover fast. Either way…" Travis grinned grimly, "we’re in their nest now."

From the dark, the red-eyed monsters began to click in unison, like a chorus of death.

The cavern erupted into chaos.

With a bellow, Travis stepped forward, his axe gleaming in the red mist. He swung hard, the blade slicing through the thick exoskeleton of the nearest ant. The creature shrieked, ichor spraying as it crumpled to the cavern floor.

Three others swarmed Taylan, their mandibles snapping. He dodged the first, parried the second with a flash of his wand—but the third struck true. Its fangs sank into his shoulder, and a chill lanced through his veins. His muscles slackened, as if something vital was being pulled from within.

"Drain… it’s draining my strength!" Taylan gasped.

Without hesitation, he launched himself skyward with a rush of magical flight, soaring just above the reach of chittering jaws. His hands danced with arcane fire, and with a fierce incantation, he unleashed a roaring fireball into the heart of the ant swarm. The explosion lit the chamber in searing orange light, engulfing several of the creatures. Chitin cracked, flames spread, and the mist swirled in violent spirals.

Below, Travis roared again and cleaved another ant in two with a vicious overhead strike, ichor spraying up his arms.

Then, just as suddenly, the battlefield changed.

The lesser ants recoiled, chittering in distress. In eerie unison, they turned and skittered back into the tunnels, retreating into the shadows. A deathly silence followed.

From the far side of the chamber, the vampiric ants advanced.

They moved like predators now, with a sick intelligence gleaming behind their glowing eyes. Their mist thickened, coiling like tendrils of shadow. Two of them darted toward Travis with terrifying speed—but in their fervor, collided with each other, screeching in surprise as their barbed limbs tangled and snapped.

Taylan hovered above, eyes wide. From every tunnel, the mist churned.

"Travis…" he warned.

Hundreds of red eyes were watching. Hundreds of ants were coming.

Taylan didn’t hesitate. He touched a glowing sigil on his belt, and with a sharp, desperate incantation, grabbed Travis by the shoulder.

"Hold on!"

With a thundercrack of displaced air, the cavern vanished.

In an instant, they reappeared in the familiar interior of Master Roche’s house, the scent of aged scrolls and spice hanging in the air. Relief lasted only a heartbeat.

The cold ring of steel followed.

They were surrounded—half a dozen Grey Maidens, armored head to toe in polished crimson and silver, blades already drawn, eyes hard and merciless behind their helms.

Taylan’s shoulders sagged.

"Well," Travis muttered, lifting his axe with a sigh, "out of the fire..."

"...and straight into the executioner's block," Taylan finished grimly.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Through the front door of Master Roche’s house, Taylan’s sharp eyes caught a horrifying sight—a caged wagon, iron bars cruelly twisted into place, holding a dozen frightened children. Street urchins. Beggars. Victims. His heart lurched as he spotted a familiar face.

"Kira…" he whispered. The girl who used to trail behind him in the city, giggling at his magic tricks, now clung to the bars, her eyes wide with terror. Next to her, another child sat eerily calm—a young boy who seemed to glow faintly, bathed in a soft, celestial light. Two strange lanterns, each humming with arcane energy, hung from the corners of the cage.

In the doorway, a Grey Maiden held the leashes of two massive hounds—brutish, snarling creatures with eyes as mean as the women holding them.

Taylan’s fury surged.

He launched himself into the air with a burst of magical propulsion. “Enough!” he shouted, voice like a thunderclap. He extended a hand, channeling raw emotion into arcane force.

A wave of terror exploded outwards—fear.

Two of the Grey Maidens recoiled instantly, their training no match for the raw magic of dread. They screamed, dropped their weapons, and bolted down the street, pushing past startled citizens and vanishing into the alleys. One of the dogs yelped and tore free, scrambling after them.

The other, undeterred, bared its fangs and lunged upward at Taylan, snapping at the air just beneath his boots.

On the ground, Travis let out a primal shout and swung his axe with brutal precision. The weapon bit deep into a Grey Maiden’s side, cracking armor and drawing blood. But his momentum betrayed him—his axe swung wide and clipped his own thigh. He staggered back with a grunt, stunned by the self-inflicted blow.

The remaining Grey Maidens seized the moment. Two hurled small, gleaming darts at Taylan. One missed entirely. The other struck his shoulder—but the enchantments protecting him flared, and the dart bounced off harmlessly.

Another Maiden charged Travis, her blade singing through the air—but her strike glanced off his armor, leaving only a shallow dent.

Hovering above, Taylan’s hands glowed once more. He pointed his wand and uttered the word.

"Missiles."

Arcs of light streaked through the air like hunting falcons. The bolts slammed into the Maiden that had struck Travis earlier, forcing her to her knees. Blood splattered across the cobblestones.

Travis, shaking off the daze, roared and raised his axe again. With a brutal chop, he cleaved through her legs at the ankles. She collapsed, screaming once before the blood loss took her.

The last two Grey Maidens stared, their resolve wavering, but still they pressed the attack. One slashed at Travis and missed. The other followed suit—again, her blade found only empty air.

The dog lunged for Taylan again, leaping high with slavering jaws—but the sorcerer twisted mid-air, cloak billowing, and the teeth snapped just inches from his leg.

Below, the children in the cage watched with wide eyes.

Kira gripped the bars, shouting, “Taylan! Don’t let them take us!”

His jaw clenched.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

The clash of steel and spell echoed through the crumbling house. Blood slicked the floor, mingling with the splinters and ash of battle. Smoke curled from Taylan’s fingers as the last arcane missile streaked across the room and struck a Grey Maiden square in the chest. Her scream was brief—then she crumpled, unmoving, her weapon clattering beside her.

Just as the dust began to settle, a presence stirred in the hallway.

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward—another Grey Maiden, but not like the others. Her armor was pristine, polished to a cold gleam, and her posture was one of calm assurance. A black staff was clutched in her pale hands, the tip etched with symbols that glowed faintly red.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

There was something in the way she moved—measured, deliberate. Her eyes took in the carnage without flinching. And then, slowly, rhythmically, she began to thump the base of her staff against the wooden floor.

Thump. Thump Thump.

It echoed like a war drum. Not in anger—but in… glee.

Taylan turned his gaze to her, the unease crawling up his spine like frost. He raised his hand and muttered the incantation for blindness, aiming at the nearest remaining Grey Maiden.

But the spell fizzled. A shimmer of resistance flickered across her eyes, and she snarled in defiance.

No matter.

Travis surged forward with renewed fury. His axe swept wide, the steel flashing in the dim light. The two remaining Grey Maidens were caught in its arc—both cried out as their bodies were smashed aside, armor cracking under the raw force of his blows.

Behind them, the hound lunged again, this time at Travis. But the warrior was ready—he sidestepped effortlessly, letting the beast’s momentum carry it harmlessly past him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The woman in the doorway was still thudding her staff, her grin subtle now, but unmistakably pleased. Like a theatre-goer watching the final act of a favourite tragedy.

Taylan narrowed his eyes and raised his wand once more.

"Enough."

The missiles exploded from its tip with a whistle and collided into one of the wounded Maidens. She was lifted off her feet and thrown backwards, crashing against the far wall. Her armor clattered like broken glass, her body motionless.

At that moment, a sudden pressure built behind Taylan’s eyes—a familiar warmth of sending. A voice, clear and filled with worry:

"Taylan? Are you alright? Where are you?" It was Calli.

Without missing a beat, Taylan closed his eyes and pushed back his reply: "With Travis. Master Roche’s house. Things are... complicated. Not a good time."

The link went dead.

Travis let out a wordless roar, raising his axe one final time. In a single savage swing, he cleaved through the last Grey Maiden and the snarling dog beside her. Both fell in a heap, blood pooling fast across the stone.

And then there was silence.

All that remained was the woman in the doorway, her eyes shining with something cold and unreadable. She tilted her head.

And stopped thumping.

“Well,” she said at last, her voice smooth, almost amused. “That was entertaining.”

The woman reached up and unclasped her helmet with one swift motion. The steel clattered to the floor, revealing a face that neither Taylan nor Travis could ever forget.

Scarred. Twisted. Familiar.

"The fucking Flowers!" she hissed, eyes wide with rage. Her lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing stained teeth. "I hate Flowers!"

Taylan’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You,” he muttered. “You were in the cage. With Gina.”

Travis’s grip tightened on his axe. “One of the Emperor’s clowns” he said grimly. “Guess the circus never left.”

She grinned at them—a terrible, furious thing—then charged. Her staff twirled in a frenzy, spinning in a blur of movement. But her hatred blinded her precision. In her fury to reach them, she struck too soon, the end of her staff glancing off her own shin with a sharp crack.

“Argh! Shit!”

Taylan seized the moment. With a word of power and a pointed finger, a black ray lanced across the space between them—Enervation. The energy struck her squarely in the chest, and she reeled as her vitality was siphoned away, her movements just a little slower now, a little less deadly.

Travis didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and slammed his axe into her with brutal force. The blade bit deep into her shoulder with a wet crunch.

But she only laughed.

It wasn’t the laugh of someone unhurt—it was the laugh of someone unhinged. “More! MORE!” she shrieked, eyes gleaming with manic glee.

With a howl, she whirled her staff and smashed it across Travis’s chest, the force staggering him backward. Ribs groaned. Blood bloomed beneath his armor.

Gritting his teeth, Taylan extended a hand again, chanting the words for blindness—but the spell washed over her uselessly. She grinned again, shaking her head as if mocking his efforts.

“You’ll have to do better than that, pretty boy.”

But Travis was not done. With a growl, he lunged forward, striking her once—twice, his axe tearing through the red tabard she wore. Her blood hit the floor in splashes, but she didn’t falter.

Then she did something unexpected.

Instead of counterattacking, she reached for her belt, uncorked a potion, and downed it in one gulp.

Her form immediately blurred, the edges of her body shimmering and distorting as if seen through heat haze.

“Try and catch me, fuckweeds!” she cackled, turning on her heel and sprinting for the door.

They gave chase, but the blurring magic twisted her outline as she moved, each step seemingly in two places at once. She dove through the shattered doorway and vanished into the night beyond.

Taylan and Travis stood in the ruined threshold of Roche’s house, breath heaving, blood on the floor, surrounded by the dead.

And outside, the city still hunted them.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Taylan shot out of the house into the air after the fleeing Grey Maiden, but he barely rose above the rooftops before his entire body lit up like a flare.

“Unlicensed magical activity!” a voice rang out from a nearby balcony.

He froze midair, heart pounding. A glowing shimmer now outlined him in radiant light—a magical marker, unmistakable and visible from blocks away. Down below, citizens pointed. Whispers rose.

He descended fast.

At the street level, Kira clung to the bars of the caged wagon, her dirt-streaked face illuminated by his aura. “Are you here to save us?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Of course we have,” Taylan said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He grinned. “I’m a hero now.”

Her eyes lit up. Around her, the other children gasped in joy.

Travis emerged, surveying the street with grim efficiency. His gaze locked on the approaching Grey Maidens, their polished armor catching the sunlight.

“No time to dawdle,” he muttered. Without hesitation, he grabbed the wagon’s metal frame and hefted it onto his shoulders, the wheels clanking behind him as he tore off down the street.

Taylan flicked a hand. “Haste.”

Travis surged forward, his legs blurring into motion. The crowd parted before him, startled by the glowing sorcerer and the wild-eyed barbarian pulling a wagon of orphans. He shouted threats and curses at the gawkers, and people scattered, trampling baskets and knocking over stalls.

Then Taylan saw it—a rune etched into the cobblestones ahead. Recognition hit him like a slap. “STOP!” he cried. “They’ve mined the city!”

He swooped low and gestured, and Travis veered hard to avoid the trap. The Faerie Fire glyph shimmered faintly, unseen by all but Taylan’s trained eye.

They pressed on. Taylan cast Invisibility Sphere, and suddenly the wagon disappeared from sight—except for the absurd sight of Travis running with two floating sticks in his hands, the visible remnants of the wagon’s handles.

The spell cloaked Taylan and the children, but not Travis.

Then came a blockade—a wall of Grey Maidens ahead, spears bristling, faces grim.

Travis acted fast. “Scatter!” he whispered to the children. “Lose yourselves in the market crowd. Don’t look back.”

One by one, the urchins slipped free and vanished into the maze of stalls and panicked shoppers.

Except two.

Kira held Taylan’s cloak tightly. The other child—a glowing boy named Copper—stood defiant. Taylan glanced at him, frowning. “You’re… glowing. Why?”

“I—I don’t know,” he whispered.

Then it clicked. The tingle of arcane energy around him, the sheen of magical protection on his skin. “He’s a sorcerer,” Taylan said aloud. “Untrained. His magic is leaking out.”

“No time,” Travis barked. “Move!”

They darted into an alleyway, leapt over a stack of crates, and vaulted a wall into another street. The Grey Maidens gave chase.

The four ran through a fishmonger’s stall, sending buckets of eels and shrimp flying into the air, the alley ahead narrowing.

They then hit a dead end.

And then… voices.

A group of thugs appeared from the shadows. Broad shoulders, jagged blades, and a strange boar’s tusk sigil sewn onto their vests.

One thug stepped forward, sizing them up. “Well, well. Look what fell into our snare.”

Another man, older and stronger, elbowed him aside. He peered at Travis… then gasped.

“You… you’re Travis. The Cannibal of Wayland Street.”

Travis frowned..

The thug grinned. “You’re a legend, man. We’re with you boss. We’re the Tuskers.”

The older one—Moot—nodded to his companion. “Open it.”

The younger thug—Link—pried open a rusted sewer grate. “This way boss. We’ll cover your exit.”

Travis clapped Link on the shoulder. “I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t worry about it boss. We got your back,” Link said. 

With one last look over their shoulders, Taylan, Travis, Kira, and Copper dove down into the sewers of Korvosa.

Above them, the city burned with suspicion, and the Queen’s hunt grew ever more desperate.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

The stink of the sewers was thick, ripe with rot and runoff. The echoes of dripping water accompanied every step, mingling with the quiet sniffles of Copper as he walked between Travis and Taylan, his small hands clenched into fists.

“I want to go home,” he whispered, eyes downcast.

Travis gave a heavy sigh. “I know, kid. But we can’t take you back. Not yet.”

He looked up at him, face streaked with grime and tears. “Why not?”

Travis knelt beside him, an enormous presence in the shadows. “Because if we take you home and they’re watching, the Grey Maidens might come again. They’ll hurt you… and your parents.”

Copper started to cry in earnest now, tears cutting clean paths down his cheeks.

Travis, ever the brute in appearance, softened. “We will get you home. Just not today.”

Kira stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “I know where he lives. I can deliver a message. Let them know he’s alive. That he’s safe—for now.”

Taylan nodded, placing a hand on Copper’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. We’re not leaving you behind.”

Even in the dim sewer light, Copper managed the faintest nod.

As they moved deeper, talk turned to the city above. Old Korvosa, was now gripped in near-panic.

“The Queen’s lost her mind,” Kira muttered. “Said the Flowers defaced her statues. Now everyone’s scared. Blackjack’s vanished. So has Blackheart. Only The Fallen is still around—and barely.”

“They think we’ve fled the city,” Taylan said, his tone edged with frustration.

“Well, we haven’t,” Travis growled. “Hope still burns. We’re here. Just waiting for the right time to strike.”

Kira smirked. “That’ll be one hell of a day.”

They continued through the tunnels, navigating the slick stone and foul water until they neared a junction. Taylan’s gaze caught something on the wall—a symbol carved into the stone. A raven.

He reached up, brushing away grime. It matched the emblem on his cloak. 

““This is no accident.” said Taylan

Travis nodded “it’s Fate”

Next to the symbol, a faint arrow had been drawn. A direction.

They followed it.

Every hundred yards, another raven appeared, sometimes scratched onto the wall, sometimes made from charcoal, others etched with care. The arrows pointed deeper into a part of the sewers Taylan didn’t recall on any map.

Then… a door. Hidden behind what looked like part of a collapsed tunnel.

What lay beyond stunned them.

Smooth stone walls, clean and sharp. The passage was precisely carved, symmetrical, with a faint dwarven aesthetic. Dustless. Preserved.

And at the end, a metal door inlaid with a raven crest.

They stood in silence for a long moment.

“We need to go in,” Travis said. “But not yet.”

“You’re right,” Taylan agreed. “Not until the kids are safe. Not until we’ve rested.”

He turned to cast Teleport, ready to blink them away to a known safehouse.

The spell shimmered—then backfired.

Taylan cried out and crumpled, clutching his side. His veins pulsed with inky black lines, like roots of poisoned iron.

Travis knelt beside him. “What the hell—?”

“The dart…” Taylan gasped. “From the fight… It didn’t wound me. It cursed me. Some kind of dimensional anchor, but worse. It’s inside me. I—I can’t teleport. I can’t plane shift. Not until it’s gone.”

Travis swore under his breath. “Dirty bastards.”

“No shortcut then,” Taylan muttered, getting shakily to his feet. “We walk.”

And so they did.

It took hours. But mercifully, nothing emerged from the shadows. No monsters, no Grey Maidens, no traps. Just the endless murmur of water, and the squelch of boots against ancient stone.

Finally, they reached it.

Lamm’s old hideout.

Still abandoned. Still hidden. The furniture was rotten and the place smelled like mildew and failure, but it would serve.

They barred the entrance. Lit a fire. Let the kids sleep.

And as Taylan lay down beside the crackling flame, he stared at the raven symbol etched into his cloak, and whispered, “Who are you? And what are you trying to show me?”

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Travis shifted under his ragged blanket, the stone beneath him as unforgiving as the city above. Something gnawed at the edge of his awareness—a prickling sensation, like a hot breath on the back of his neck. His eyes snapped open, peering into the dark.

There was no sound. No movement. But someone—or something—was watching him. He could feel it. Focused. Intent.

He didn't know if it was man, monster, or memory. All he knew was where it was looking from.

He sat up slowly, gave a long, deliberate yawn… and then extended a middle finger toward the dark, grinning like a wolf.

“Fuck off,” he muttered. Then, satisfied with his spiritual defense, he lay back down and promptly fell asleep again.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Morning came grey and grim through the sewer grates. A sliver of sun slanted through a high grate, casting the faintest hint of day into Lamm’s old hideout.

Travis pulled the two urchins aside. “Sirius Blackfire. You find him. His bar’s called The Floating Stoat—it moves around but ask anyone in the Blackshaw alleys, they’ll point you the right way.”

Kira nodded seriously, clutching Copper’s hand.

“He’s a good man. And he’ll look after you better than we can right now.”

“You promise you’ll come back?” Kira asked, her eyes wide.

Taylan smiled. “We always come back.”

The kids gave quick hugs and hurried into the city above.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Travis and Taylan turned south through the sewer network. Taylan’s energy had returned—though the blackened veins under his skin remained faintly visible, like spiderweb cracks beneath the surface of a gem.

Their goal was clear: return to the Raven’s Door and uncover its purpose.

But memory is a fickle map.

One wrong turn and they found themselves in a rank, mucus-slick tunnel that opened into a wide chamber choked with refuse.

And there they were.

Two Otyughs.

Great hulking masses of flesh, tentacles, and teeth. Filth clung to their bodies in cakes, their three eyes twitching as they slithered about in the muck, tearing at rotting meat with jagged mouths.

Travis yanked Taylan backward just in time, flattening them both against the wall. One of Taylan’s boots skidded slightly on the slick ground—but the creatures didn’t hear.

“There’s no other way,” Travis whispered. Frowning, the big man then asked Taylan . “can you cast Ghost Sound?”

Taylan nodded. His eyes lighting up. “Been saving it for just such an occasion.”

He raised his hands, muttered a few arcane syllables, and unleashed the illusion.

From a nearby tunnel, the unmistakable sound of a wounded cow echoed through the stone.

“Moooooo!” it cried. “Ooooh no! I’ve hurt my leg! I sure hope no terrifying sewer monsters come and eat me! Cos I’m really delicious! Moooooo—”

Travis slowly turned to Taylan. “…Did the cow just talk?”

“I panicked,” Taylan muttered, concentrating to keep the spell going.

But the Otyughs, slack-jawed horrors though they were, didn’t question the authenticity. One tilted its bulbous head, the other gave a guttural grunt, and both began slopping toward the sound with enthusiasm.

As the two creatures wriggled away, Taylan and Travis bolted past the chamber, holding their breath against the stench.

Once clear, they leaned against a wall, catching their breath.

“I can't believe that worked,” Travis said, shaking his head. “A talking cow.”

“She was very convincing,” Taylan said with mock pride.

Travis gave him a sidelong glance. “We’re telling no one about this.”

“Agreed.” said Taylan, whilst secretly thinking he couldn’t wait to tell everyone!

Moments later, they stood once more before the Raven’s Door, the black metal gleaming with eerie stillness in the half-light. Once again Trevor had the feeling that someone was watching them. Once again he gave the finger.

Travis placed a hand on it. “Ready?”

Taylan’s eyes narrowed. “Not even slightly.”

And they pushed the door open.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

The chamber was cold.

The murals along the walls were old, their paint cracked and faded, yet still vibrant enough to stir memory. A fighter, sword raised. A sorcerer, fire dancing at her fingertips. A cleric, holding high a radiant symbol. A rogue, cloaked in shadow, blade poised for the kill. Each figure faced down a Star Vampire, a being of madness and void—just like the one Travis and Byron had battled in that cursed warehouse long ago.

“That thing nearly ate us,” Travis muttered, squinting at the mural. A terrible memory then shivered down his spine. That was the thing that killed Benni.

“Art’s not bad,” Taylan replied, before a faint chime echoed through the air.

Too late.

A rune, cleverly hidden beneath the dust and grime, pulsed to life. Travis's eyes rolled back, and the massive half-orc collapsed with a heavy thud.

“Dammit, Travis!”

Taylan knelt beside him, rummaged through his bag, and pulled out….. his lucky sock!

He held it under Travis’s nose like a weaponized relic. The effect was immediate.

“URRGHHHHRRRAAAAAAGHH—BLEURGH!”

Travis exploded upward, coughing and violently retching, clutching his throat like he’d just been waterboarded with swamp water. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and streaming. He turned on Taylan with a look of utter betrayal.

“What the hell, man?!” he rasped between gags. “That’s not a sock—that’s a fucking war crime! Where do you even store something like that? Did it die first?!”

Taylan shrugged, perfectly calm. “Some say it was forged in the Nine Hells. Others say it’s simply my right hands gym sock.”

He tied the ragged, crusted wool back onto his belt like a holy relic, completely unbothered by the miasma it radiated. “I prefer to think of it as a versatile arcane artifact.”

Travis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and muttered, “I’m gonna start carrying a bucket of sick just for you.”

“Noted,” Taylan said cheerfully, already scanning the room for more traps. “But you’re welcome.”

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

Once Travis had finished cursing and recovering his dignity, they scanned the chamber.

To the west, a side passage curved out of sight. But directly ahead, through a wide southern archway, another room beckoned—though “beckoned” might be the wrong word. It brooded. An ominous energy hung there, coiling like smoke in a temple desecrated long ago.

“Don’t step in yet,” Taylan warned, squinting. “There.”

On the far side of the chamber, a rune glimmered faintly—this one shaped like a twisted version of the Raven. Wings bent inward. Beak shattered. The antithesis.

Beyond it stood broken plinths, statues long since destroyed. But one remained intact, and atop it rested a stone box, seemingly untouched by time.

“I’ll try Mage Hand,” Taylan said.

His spectral fingers danced across the chamber—delicate, nimble—but the box resisted. Magical locking mechanism. Unfazed, Taylan muttered a different incantation.

“Let’s see how you like this—dispel magic.”

A shimmer pulsed across the room as the rune flickered, the symbols dulling slightly. The room was not safe… but it was safer.

The Flowers stepped forward.

No rune exploded.

But danger, as always, took another form.

From above, two forms detached from the shadows with a sound like leather pulled taut. Night Gaunts. Creatures of the dark between stars—emaciated, faceless, their bat-like wings opening like the folds of a nightmare.

They swooped silently, tails lashing, claws extended, reaching to kill.

Taylan shouted, “They’re trying to kill us!”

“Not today they’re not!” Travis roared, raising his axe.

The gaunts circled once and dived.

Their leathery wings barely stirred the air as they descended with unnatural silence—like the promise of nightmares. Shadows bent around their forms. Taylan and Travis knew they had seconds.

“The box!” Taylan shouted.

They ran. Travis slammed his shoulder into the stone pedestal, flipping the lid open with a grunt. Inside, resting on a velvet pad, was a pin—a delicate obsidian raven, wings half-spread in mid-flight.

Without hesitation, Taylan grabbed it and pinned it beside the other raven clasp on his cloak. For a moment, both symbols shimmered as though reacting to one another… then, nothing.

“Well that was underwhelming—”

A whoosh of air and a sudden impact cut him off.

A Night Gaunt slammed into Taylan, grappling him with spindly arms. Its faceless head pressed close, and its long, prehensile tail coiled downward like a serpent, tracing the line of Taylan’s spine with an almost affectionate, repulsive grace.

Taylan growled through clenched teeth as his skin crawled, but he resisted the nausea boiling up from the pit of his stomach.

The other gaunt dove at Travis—but the half-orc was ready.

“Not today, you flying freak,” he snarled.

With a roar, Travis spun into a brutal arc, his axe howling through the air and cleaving the faceless creature clean from existence. Its bisected form hit the ground with a wet crunch.

Still trapped in the arms of the second gaunt, Taylan thrashed.

“Get off me, you winged pervert!” he spat, struggling to free himself. But the thing’s grip was vice-like, and its tail once again snaked along his back.

Taylan's stomach lurched, but once again he resisted the urge to vomit.

Still in its grasp, Taylan drew in a shaky breath and narrowed his eyes. His fingers twitched, words of arcane power whispering past his lips. He focused.

Then—

“Fear.”

A pulse of dark magic shimmered through the chamber. The Night Gaunt shuddered, its grip loosening, wings twitching erratically—it was shaken.

“Now!” Taylan shouted.

Travis didn’t need telling twice.

With a practiced swing, his axe sliced forward in a deadly crescent. Steel flashed, and in a spray of black ichor, the Night Gaunt fell in two twitching pieces—Taylan untouched at the heart of the carnage.

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of Taylan exhaling and straightening his cloak.

Travis kicked one of the Night Gaunt corpses aside and nodded toward the unopened chamber door.

“Let’s see where this raven leads.”

Just as Travis wiped the ichor from his axe and Taylan adjusted his scorched robes, a harsh, metallic voice echoed faintly down the corridor.

“Advance.”

A clatter of armored boots followed—sharp and rhythmic, like war drums echoing in stone. A dozen Grey Maidens surged into view, helms gleaming under torchlight, crimson plumes dancing like fire. Shields locked, halberds braced—they formed a perfect wall of steel.

At the back of the formation, unseen but somehow watching, a figure stood in a separate, shadowed chamber—eyes glazed, her fingers around a staff, thumping the floor.

She watched them—watched him.

“Hello again, Flowers,” she whispered. “I see you!!!!”

Back in the corridor, Taylan thrust his hands into the air. “Tremor Quake!”
The earth groaned. Stone buckled beneath the Maidens’ boots, throwing them off-balance. Several crashed to the floor, their discipline shattered in an instant.

Travis barreled forward, axe raised high, and drove it down into a fallen Maiden’s chestplate, cracking armor and ending her.

Taylan’s eyes flared gold as he exhaled a gout of draconic fire, the corridor igniting in a wash of orange heat. One Maiden, already wounded, screamed as she burned—reduced to ash and blackened steel.

In her chamber, the observing commander snarled. Her once-ceremonial makeup long faded, but the mad gleam still danced in her eyes. “Why are they still standing? Hurt them!” she bellowed into her arcane mirror.

Back at the fight, Travis cut down two more Maidens, their bodies collapsing with dull clangs. But the enemy reinforcements were relentless. More Grey Maidens pushed forward, and one struck Taylan hard, drawing blood. Two others slashed at Travis, their blades biting deep.

Behind them, two Grey Maiden sorcerers emerged. They raised their hands and shouted incantations.

“Hold him!”

Magical energy surged toward Taylan—a spell of paralysis—but he gritted his teeth and shrugged it off, barely resisting its pull.

In fury, Taylan unleashed a Magic Missile, the bolts blasting into a Maiden and sending her sprawling across the stone floor.

“For fucks sake! Kill them!” screamed their mad commander, froth bubbling from her mouth.  More arrived—six more Maidens, swarming like locusts. One charged Travis, attempting to bull rush him—but she bounced off his unyielding form like a wave breaking on a cliff.

Another sliced Taylan again—his vision blurred, blood dripped from his chin. He was faltering.

“Execute,” Travis growled.

The tattoo above his eye ignited. Muscles surged. He grew larger—stronger—his blood roaring in his ears.

Taylan gathered what remained of his strength. “Fear.”
The air shimmered. Terror flooded the minds of the Maidens—two dropped their weapons, stumbling backward in panic.

In her distant scrying chamber, the commander screamed in rage. “You cowards! They're boys with tricks! Finish them!”

Then—a misstep.

A Maiden near the back of the room stumbled onto the barely dimmed rune.

It flared.

And with it came monsters.

The first: a Gug—towering, grotesque, its vertical maw gaping, four claws writhing with hunger. Black fur matted with gore.

The second: a Dimensional Shambler, blinking in and out of reality. It grabbed a screaming Maiden and vanished, taking her to some nightmarish beyond and devour her.

The Gug charged, barreling through the room. Travis struck first, slashing its side, ichor splattering the stone.

“Run!” Travis bellowed to Traylan. The young sorcerer ran, forcing himself forward past the sorcerers and two Grey Maidens. Their blades struck him—twice—and he cried out, nearly falling. One more hit would’ve ended him.

But Travis caught him. Scooped him up, turned, and ran.

Behind them, the Gug slaughtered three Maidens, sending blood spraying across the walls.

Taylan and Travis burst into a circular library, old and filled with dust and forgotten tomes. Travis laid Taylan down as the sounds of death echoed behind them.

“Fireball,” Taylan rasped. An explosion lit the corridor, and flames rolled down the passage like a hungry wave. Travis forced a healing potion into Taylan’s mouth instantly curing some of his wounds

Far behind, in her distant chamber, the commander snarled. “Burn, then. Burn all you like. I'll find you again.”

In the corridor, the sorcerers tried to regroup, casting Magic Circles Against Chaos, trapping the Gug in place. But the beast turned its rage on The Flowers.

It charged.

“Door!” Travis barked.

There it was—a wooden door, just visible in the gloom. They ran for it. Travis kicked it open.

Sewers. Escape.

The Gug roared behind them, too massive to follow. The passage buckled from its weight.

They slipped into darkness once more, the filthy scent of the undercity closing around them.

Far away, through her mirror, the woman screamed—a shriek of pure, frustrated hate.

“You can't hide forever, Flowers! I see you! I see everything! Next time, you’ll bleed—slowly!”

Travis and Taylan had  The Flowers had escaped.

—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------

The stink of the sewers clung to their skin like tar, but for the first time in what felt like days, there was a moment of stillness.

They crouched behind a rusted iron grate, the echo of their breath bouncing off damp stone. Behind them, the sounds of the Gug’s rage had faded into silence. The runes, the screams, the Grey Maidens—it was all behind them now.

Taylan leaned heavily against the wall, blood matting his robes. His breath came ragged, shallow. Travis knelt beside him, the strength from his tattoo-fueled transformation already waning, his muscles aching.

“Can you…?” Travis asked, looking at Taylan, one brow raised.

Taylan didn’t reply at first. He took a slow breath, then closed his eyes. His hands moved carefully, the sigils dancing between his fingertips as he prepared the spell again.

“Last time nearly killed me,” Taylan murmured. “If this fails, I don’t know if I can try again.”

“You’ve got this,” Travis said quietly, one hand resting on his axe. “That clown bitch isn’t here to mess with your head. You’re clear.”

Taylan nodded.

He whispered the incantation.

The air around them shimmered—the weave of the world rippling.

And this time—it held.

A rush of light. A shift in pressure.

Then—

Grass.

Cold wind.

Open sky.

Taylan collapsed to his knees. Travis caught him before he hit the dirt.

They were back.

The soft creak of canvas, the circus camp.

“TAYLAN?! TRAVIS!”

Cali sprinted across the clearing. Behind her, Nightingale and Byron—weathered faces of old allies, colleagues from their travels—looked up in disbelief.

“You’re alive!” Cali exclaimed

Taylan groaned. “Mostly.”

Travis exhaled a long, tired laugh. “You should see the other guys.”

In the shadows behind them, no monstrous beasts stirred. No magical runes flared. No faceless watchers pressed in from unseen corners.

For the moment—The Flowers were safe.

But somewhere, deep in the city of Korvosa, a cracked mirror lay dark and silent. And a mad clownfaced Grey Maiden was weaving an incantation over it to find the Flowers whereabouts.