Sylfir shakes off the vestiges of her transformation, her golden aura bleeding from her as she returns to her elven form at the edge of the High Forest. From here, she can see the ruined fallows past the sparse trees near the Moore farm's barn. As she walks toward them, she imagines the beast saw something similar as it tore through the land, all gnashing teeth and vicious claws.

She emerges into the warm light of a sun teetering on the edge between afternoon and evening, painting the Moore farm in vibrant hues of orange and yellow. Bob still roams on their land, not yet noticing her from this distance, idly grazing near the other animals as Jim works at the stables nearby.

She continues walking, weaving between the animal bones as she focuses on Bob. When she's close, he raises his head as if he feels the weight of her gaze. His head bobs and he paws at the ground, but then he calms as he takes in her image. He nickers as he trots toward her.

But just as he comes into touching distance, he veers away, eyes growing wide as his nostrils flare, and he neighs. Sylfir halts, not daring to move any closer. She looks down at herself, noticing the blood and bile smeared on her leather armour. When she crossed a small stream in the forest, she attempted to rid herself of it, but the matter proved too stubborn to remove from her clothes, even if she could wash it away from her hands.

"Come now, it's still me, Bob."

The destrier refuses to come closer. She sighs as she watches him lift his lips and expose his gums with wide eyes. Then, she coos and hums, using the sound of her voice to provide familiarity, and he lowers his head again with a huff. He's unsure whether or not to approach.

"I know," she says, "You're worried. Don't approach if it makes you uncomfortable. Go on now—go back to the commons."

Bob huffs again, still hesitant, but he turns away, returning to the commons to graze again. She's never had him reject her like this before; even though she knows it's not her fault, it still stings. Just another reason to hate this beast and the person who created it.

She turns away from the grazing animals, heading toward the farmhouse. Jim gives her a wave when he sees her cross the commons and she waves back, though she finds she can't quite return his smile. It takes little time for her to reach the back door of the farmhouse and she knocks on it gently, waiting patiently for someone to answer. Soon, she hears the faint sound of rushed footsteps, and she steps back a little, just as the door swings open.

Annabel greets her with a smile, though it falters when she takes in the sight of Sylfir's clothes.

"Oh, you're not hurt, are you?"

Sylfir shakes her head. "No, it's not mine. I—well, these things happen when you're hunting..."

"...'Course. Well, I'm glad you made it back in one piece. The boys were eager for your return, but I can see that you've had a trying day." Annabel's brow furrows, her lips curling in a sympathetic smile. "I'll let them know they'll be riding Bob another time."

"Indeed. He won't go near me when I'm like this." Sylfir gestures to herself. "I carry the stink of corruption with me—that and carrion. No amount of river water can wash away that stench. It's time I went to the Weary Wanderer."

Annabel wrinkles her nose, a small, nervous chuckle escaping through parted lips. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Sylfir laughs. "Very kind of you. Well, I should be going." She turns to leave, but Annabel reaches out to her despite her off-putting smell.

"Wait... is everything all right? Did you... find something in the woods?"

Sylfir sees a mother's worry in her eyes. It softens her, but to speak of all she saw would only add to the woman's burden.

"I did, but I need time to make sense of it. I don't want to jump to conclusions without counsel from Khaliss. Whatever it is, though, rest assured that she and I will not let more harm come to you."

The worry remains, but Annabel nods her head, anyway. "Thank you."

Annabel closes the door and Sylfir turns away, circling the farmhouse and walking through the meadow toward the village. As she reaches the church, she navigates the ruin and rubble until she's walking the main road toward the village's sole inn and tavern.

She slows to take in the sight of it, but her eyes go farther, trailing along the main road until she reaches the distant watermill on Tapper land, still in pristine condition. It's like a different world there by the river, the beauty of the orchards even apparent from this distance, radiant in the light of the low evening sun—a far cry from the rot of the nearby woods.

She arrives at the Weary Wanderer where she finds Sten smoking his pipe. He nods to her, a greeting she returns as she enters the building. It's busy at this time of day when most people have just finished work, and Lorys is overwhelmed with patrons. Most of them are already tipsy, if not outright drunk, seeking to wash away their grief with drink. Sylfir might have a mind to dull her memory with the stuff after what she witnessed on her travails only a couple of hours earlier.

But she doesn't have that luxury. With sharp eyes, she scans the tavern for silvery hair and rich, ash-grey skin, and her eyes lock onto Khaliss, who watches her from her favourite dark corner. The drow beckons her over with a gentle wave of her hand and a subtle smile. Sylfir goes to her, weaving between the patrons and their belongings until she arrives at the empty chair at her table, pulling it out and taking a seat.

"Sylfir, it is good to see you. Your arrival is timely—I want to get your opinion on something."

Sylfir hums. "What is it?"

"I—Well, perhaps it is better if we speak of such things later. First, I would know what you found in the High Forest."

Sylfir sighs.

"It was that bad?" Khaliss says.

Sylfir looks around the tavern. Most people are too preoccupied with their own affairs or too far into their drunken stupor to pay her any mind. Even so, she leans in closer to Khaliss. She wrinkles her nose, though, and Sylfir frowns apologetically.

"Ah, right... the offal."

"It is more than the stink of offal. The stench of dark magic clings to you." Khaliss' expression becomes sombre, and Sylfir recognises the same worry in her eyes that she saw in Annabel's. "What happened to you, child?"

"I found the source of the corruption. I think."

Khaliss's lips part in a silent gasp. Despite Sylfir's odour, she leans in, keeping her voice low. "Did anyone see you?"

"I don't think so. I found the beast's tracks and followed them back to its lair. It seeks shelter in an old druid's sanctum," Sylfir says, "I found many animal carcasses there, likely brought back by the beast. There were also signs of a ritual, using many material components—poisonous mushrooms and berries, valuable gems, wine, oil, herbs, and animal parts. It reeked of dark magic."

Khaliss hums. "I suppose this shouldn't come as a surprise. This level of corruption in the forest could only be possible through an extensive ritual."

"There's more. I took several things from the site"

Khaliss frowns. "Was that wise?"

"The red-eyed woman will already know someone has trespassed—I had to move things to see the remnants of the ritual. Besides, divesting her of resources is probably in our best interests—I destroyed her remaining ritual components."

"Well, I suppose it is ultimately for the best. What did you take?"

Sylfir reaches into her pack and takes out the items: the crystal ball, the lock of hair, and the ritual knife. She places them on the table before Khaliss, who reaches for the knife first. The cleric takes it in her hands, looking over the bloodied blade and the smooth, spider-shaped handle.

"This is a very particular type of blade. I would not expect to see it outside of Menzoberranzan," she says, a subtle frown creasing her brow. "I would not be surprised to learn that the master of this beast hails from the city."

"There's something else that concerns me more," Sylfir says. She flicks her gaze to the bundled-up lock of silver hair and the crystal ball, and Khaliss follows. She reaches for the hair, rubbing it between her forefinger and thumb as Sylfir watches expectantly.

"You believe it is mine," Khaliss mutters.

Sylfir nods.

Khaliss hums, growing pensive. "It very well may be. But why?"

"There's also the crystal ball. From what I understand, such things can act as foci for scrying."

Khaliss gives a subtle shake of her head. "I am aware. What I do not understand is why this woman would spy on me."

"You are a follower of Eilistraee. If she hails from Menzoberranzan, then she is loyal to Lolth. Would it not make sense for her to come after you?"

"Few Lolthite drow would suffer sunlight just to chase a lone cleric of Eilistraee. They are more concerned with those Eilistraeans who infiltrate their cities and settlements. If this woman follows me, it is for another reason."

Sylfir hums. "There was also a book, but I couldn't touch it without feeling like fire was travelling through my veins. It might have been able to tell us more."

"Then all we have are these three things and our wits," Khaliss says, "Is there anything else you witnessed while at the sanctum?"

"I saw the beast return with the man you described to me earlier, not the red-eyed woman. I should also note that the sanctum is covered by an impressive illusion. It's clear that whoever created it is well-versed in such magic."

"So, it is well within the realm of possibility that the plain-featured man is not a partner in crime, but a disguise weaved from illusion magic for the drow woman you saw two days past."

Sylfir nods. "I'm almost certain of it."

"We will have to tell the leaders of this village, then." Khaliss draws away as she turns her head. "I will have Lorys send for them while you cleanse yourself."

"Ah, right," Sylfir says, growing bashful. "I'll get to that, then."

She leaves her stolen treasure on the table as she rises from her seat and leaves Khaliss in her dark corner, quickly moving through the crowded tavern until she reaches the stairs. There, she stops a barmaid, and she parts her lips to speak, but the woman holds a hand up to silence her.

"I'll make sure a bath is prepared for you."

Sylfir winces from embarrassment. "...Thank you."

She rushes up the steps, eager to return to her room where she can avoid assaulting anyone else with the stench of her afternoon rummaging through animal remains.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A little bit of trivia: I've mentioned "the fallows" a fair bit now. For this story, I used the three field system that was common in medieval europe. Two fields would be sown in a year (one in autumn and another in spring), and one would be left fallow. The next year, the crop sowing would be rotated, so that a different field was left fallow. This was done to keep the soil healthy.