Two horsemen ride up to a tavern...

The new Duar'ken brings its claws down toward the enthusiastic barbarian, but Kaed is able to shrug off most of the impact, catching it with sword and shield. The thing snarls with rage, its hot breath stinking of wet earth and bile.

Thezra turns as the sound of the thing that was Duar’ken catches her completely off guard. Her eyes go wide as a realization of what manner of beast... or, really, demon... they face sinks in. She curses in orcish under her breath as she readies her weapon once more. Seeing it maul the human Kaed, she runs south, maintaining some distance as she speaks some words in abyssal under her breath. Immediately the series of claw-like black tattoos that line her right arm begin to give off a wispy black smoke, the lines extending themselves down the remainder of her arm until they stretch out over her hand and sword. The tendrils of ink wrap themselves around the blade like coiling vines before sprouting into the air beyond the blade, gently waving in the wind, waiting. She swings out with the sword into the air, the tendrils branching out straight for the demon, but a momentary twinge of fear overtakes her and the sword goes wide, completely missing. Cal similarly attempts to fight against his own fear as he lobs another bolt at the creature, only for it to fizzle harmlessly against its unnatural hide.

Akiran running place holder

The wolves continue to flee. Jenkins finally finishes reloading and looks up to see the monster on the battlefield. "What the fuck is that?" he cries, the shot from his weapon glancing off the thing's shoulder. "Oh, fuck me." He begins to busy himself reloading again.

The shooter behind him yells and the wind warms around him and the cold, noxious trepidation that had started to creep into Ascian's bones begins to dissipate. At once he blinks the world back into proper focus – this world, he realizes, judging by the others' reactions; this world as it has been all along, though with this monster in front of him he's not sure if that's better or worse. Raising his bow, he takes familiar aim at the hulking creature, not giving himself time to doubt the shot – it flies straight, zooming past Callahan's elbow and perfectly between Kaed and Akiran's shoulders, to glance into what had once-been-Duar'ken's arm.

Thrandimir smirks as he feels his enchantment finally begin to take hold. Slowly backing up, the wizard waits for his moment to strike, allowing the psychic power of his spell to accumulate before unleashing it with an arcane word that blasts and flays the demon's mind with magic. 

The blows he turned aside were starting to drain his strength but Kaed stood resolute in the face of the creature. Knowing if he could hold it at bay for long enough his friends could end it he set his feet and attacked, sabre slashing in and shield punching out, both connected with the demon thing but the tribesmen noticed the frost that hurt his other adversaries seems to do little here, almost as if the cold could not find purchase on the demonhide.  " We will send you back to whatever pit you have crawled from, there is no place for you here." He snarls into the face of the monstrous enemy.

The Hammer continues to move ever closer to the demonic Duar'ken. Katrin keeps pace. Red-white flame gathers in her hands, a tingling warmth that runs up and down her arms. With a grunt, she throws it at the demon, charring its hide slightly. 

The thing that was Duar'ken staggers under the blows. But its skin begins to shimmer strangely. Katrin, Kaed, Thezra, and Akiran begin to see strange symbols flash before their eyes, but each is able to shake away the effect. Enraged by the failure of the effect and the sluggishness of its movements from Thrandimir's spell, it begins to thrash and roar. Spikes jut out from its back and it seems to grow a little bit larger. Its thrashing becomes more swift. It looks about with insane black eyes, taking in each of the party in turn.

The transformation only serves to make the former advisor to the chief more hideous, and Thezra spits on the ground before it as she rushes forward a few feet, raising her sword up over her head preparing to strike. "You were a bigger fool than I thought, Duar'ken, if this was the sort of creature you were communing with." She swings with total abandon, the inky tendrils that dance off the end of the steel stretching outward once more. They slash across its side, scraping across its hide like claws attempting to latch on to its prey. As she swings, to those around her her form shifts, slowly growing in size until she matches the monster in height. " Kumash damun!  Fall, demon!" A short ways away, Callahan simply stares in increasing wonder and horror at the monstrosity, watching through gritted teeth as he forgoes attacking to aid anyone unfortunate enough to be hit by the demon.

The demon leaps away, landing on top of the nearby house. Shingles clatter and fall and the burning structure groans under its weight.

Akiran chases after the beast as it retreats. Wracking his brain for how he can reach the monster on the roof, he moves to climb the roof but is struck with an unyielding sense of dread. Feeling that if he tried to do anything it was sure to fail.

The creature leaps again, its heavy form hitting the hard packed road. Jenkins continues reloading.

Ascian's hands trace a familiar path as he pulls another arrow back and looses it at the monster, striking it hard in the shoulder to seemingly little avail.

Thrandimir's eyes are sharp as they track the demon's motion, harrying it with magic missiles.

Shadow beings pouring out of the creature, entirely obscuring it from view. Within seconds, a dark bubble fills the area that it was standing.

Kaed pauses, looking at the hemisphere of darkness as it envelops the demon, he shrugs and begins to jog forward, picking up the pace slightly. With little concern for him own safety he breaks through into.pure darkness and immediately swings his shield put in an arc, trying to find the creature. It hits, nothing and the tribesmen curses under his breath and steps forward again , "I will find you, uou aren't going to hide forever." The sabre lashes out, and this time Kaed feels it strike the demon although it doesn't seem to overly trouble the thing that had once been Duar'ken.

As the creature is shrouded in darkness, Katrin grits her teeth. She feels all but spent, and her gaze falls on the flaming hammer before her. "Give me strength to send this creature back to the hells it came from." What feels like a bolt of lightning courses through her, and she can feel a bit of her divine blessing returning. She narrows her eyes, gathering a mote of divine in her fist, ready to light up the creature if he reveals himself.

Kaed braces himself in the darkness for the strikes he's sure are coming...but nothing happens. The tribesman cannot hear or see the beast.

Thezra and Cal both level attacks with axe and flame into the darkness, attempting to find purchase on the creature, but hear only the clatter of metal on against stone in the distance as silence continues to emanate from the void before them.

Running around the sphere Akiran hunkers down behind his shield, broadsword ready to lash out if the creature shows itself.

Drawing an arrow from one of the quivers on his back, Ascian lights it with quick fingers and settles it into his bowstring, pulling it back and willing the creature to appear as the promise of brutal heat radiates back from the arrowhead against his skin.

Thrandimir stalks slowly and steadily closer to the darkness, holding his staff ready to unleash a spell on the demon when it emerges. 

Kaed pauses, his senses sharp, trying to anticipate the attack. But nothing comes, he readies sword and shield, ready to pounce and then he feels it. It had been there at the moment of Kou's death,  he had thought it was the monk's own storm magic he had felt but maybe not. It was welling up and it was going to break free this time. Without meaning to he steps back, uncertain of what is happening to him and for a brief moment he worries that he could harm his friends, but it is too late to stop the tempest. He drops to a knee and roars pure thunder into the sky filling the shadowy space with an almighty blast of sound that pushes out away from him and straight into the stil form of Duar'ken or whatever the demon is called now. It surprises the demon and although the damage is fairly minor the shock forces the creature backwards, throwing him out of the circle of darkness that begins to collapse in on itself. Kaed smiles to himself from one knee as the demon falls back and as the light returns he sees his friends ready to strike, " You sold your soul for what, death still calls for you."

The creature reappears as if out of nowhere and in the same instant Ascian's arrow is flying, the fire arcing through the air before punching deep into the monster's chest. 

Blue bolts of force erupt from Thrandimir's staff, streaking through the air to slam into the demon's head and chest, until the last finally pierces its abdomen.

Akiran raises his broadsword as the monster is hurled from the darkness. The fiery arrow and magical blasts cause the beast to stumble placing all of it's weight on it's back leg. With a roar Akiran leaps forward and bringing his sword down with his full armored weight behind it. Cleanly cutting through the monster's leg and sending it crashing to the ground. 

The light in her fist fades as the darkness clears and the demon falls. Katrin should be relieved, but she can't quite let herself relax. Not until she knew the people in the tavern were alright. 

Thezra stomps over in a enlarged size, reaching quickly to grab the monsters head and tear it free from the corpse. If they could find retain something of the monster or Duar’ken, it’d he that much easier to convince her tribesman of his duplicity. However, no sooner had the head been torn asunder had the flesh started to slough off the demon, its entire mass rapidly liquefying into a mess of black ichor and sludge that steams that sloshes onto the ground, steam rising from it into the air with a noxious, sulfuric odor. She curses, wiping some of the goop from her hand onto her side and quickly turns towards where he’d originally died, searching for any sign of something - anything  - to identify him with, to no avail. Frustration builds quickly. “Damn it all, without some way to prove what happened here, many will doubt our tale.”

For a long moment, Katrin watches as Thezra frantically searches the area for anything that might help prove her story. Her eyes fall to the shredded metal that had been Duar'ken's armor. She remembered the Eye emblazoned on it, now unrecognizable due to the irreparable damage caused by his transformation. "Were that still in one piece," she gestures to the metallic mess, "Perhaps it could have served as your proof. As it is, it seems the word of eyewitnesses will have to be enough." She tilts her head to the side, sizing the enlarged woman up. "Or would that not be enough for you? Or your people for that matter?"

Thezra groans and slides the blade, still coursing with inky-black tendrils, over her shoulder. She looks down past her chin to the ground and the dwarf well below her, "I would like to take that as proof enough but to be honest, if I hadn't seen him turn into that... thing...  with my own eyes, I doubt even I'd  have believed it. I... I'd just assumed he was simply power hungry and lying, not actively cavorting with demons. As it stands I do not think my people would be quick to take the word of one some of them consider a traitor standing beside outsiders."  She turns her head to the side, squinting into the darkness of the night, "His men, however... the ones who saw . If we had them tell the story..."  She sighs again.

Ascian's bow slowly lowers as he watches Akiran's sword gleam in the firelight, watching the monster crumble beneath the dragonborn's blade. The creature crashes to the dirt and and the orc woman is quick to approach, the corpse liquifying into something arguably even more grotesque at her feet. Unsure what it is and equally certain Katrin or Thrandimir are far more equipped to investigate it than he, he keeps his distance, picking his way through the rest of the battlefield to observe the same ritual he does after every fight, prying arrows from stilled muscles and seeping, bloody wounds.  The heat of the fire grows stronger the closer he gets to the burning buildings, orcs twitching in death throes beneath him as cold, practiced hands pull arrowheads back through torn skin. The warriors skate through his mind one after the other, all but faceless, until silver fur matted with blood replaces weeping flesh and a faint whimper, not a silent twitch, meets his ears. Reflexively, his hand pauses on the arrow shaft, slowly sinking to a knee beside the wolf he barely remembers shooting – it had been the start of the battle, hadn't it? He'd been so concerned it would join with its pack and charge the others, he'd prioritized it over even Duar'ken. But he'd killed it – he'd been certain of it. Hadn't he? A faint frown flickers over his wan face as he lightly trails a hand over the struggling creature's fur. There's no mistaking the spasms racking its once-powerful body, or the twitch of pained eyelids as his palm nears a wound; of the depth of the arrow buried deep in its heart. He doesn't need a healer to tell him what's obvious – the wolf is alive, and just as plainly shouldn't be.  His hand stills. In another clearing, on another day, with another beast, he reaches for a knife. A lion's heart falters beneath him, the paws twitch, and the pain stops. It would be merciful, he thinks still, to do it here again. But that was before he'd known about undeath or phasing or Shadowfell; before he'd known what it was like to feel his own heart stop beating and think he'd trade anything to make it start. Grey fur filters through his fingertips as he looks down at the wolf inexplicably suspended in the same terrible amber; at the faint reflection of dying embers in its half-lidded, cloudy eyes. Callahan's voice comes to him from that other day, that other clearing.  Whatever you have been through to make you this way, I am sorry. He doesn't know what to do with the thought that today, for this wolf, that thing might have been him. Swallowing past the thickening lining in his throat, Ascian climbs unsteadily to his feet, stepping carefully around the fallen creature to walk toward the firbolg whose voice won't leave him some fifty feet away. Collection of bloody arrows still held loosely in one hand, he pauses halfway between them. "Callahan?" His normally affectless voice sounds strange even to him in its worry, and he glances back at the wolf as if afraid it might have found its way to death in his absence. His own words whisper back at him from that same clearing, cold and definitive with a certainty that feels as alien as this strange, mounting urgency.  Half-dead is no way to be. He'd never considered that half-alive might be. "That wolf. Can you help?"

Cal spent the few moments he had following the conclusion of the battle to center himself. The day had not exactly gone as expected, for sure. Steady, even breaths help bring his heartrate down, the adrenaline of his earthly body having betrayed the still pond of the cosmic mind. The swirl of stars and lights about him still, the other self reaffirms control, methodically scanning the area for signs of unseen dangers or waiting foes. None come into view, though. Nothing does in the area beyond the edge of the battlefield. Nothing until the familiar sight of the young, ashen boy enters into his peripherals. Cal turns to look towards the wolf Ash was pointing at. Even from a distance, its pained, shallow breathing and sunken flesh made clear the state it was in. It wouldn't last much longer, he estimated. Did Ash truly want him to be the one to do the deed? The image of the lions still searing into his mind, he turns back to the young man,  "As I recall that sort of thing was more your area of specialty..."  His words are flat and matter of fact - clearly much less his own than those of the cosmic form he currently existed in. However before he can fully turn away, the boy's words echo once more in his head, and for the first time the tone of them resonates in his mind. Not just that there was a sense of urgency in it... but the fact there was any tone at all.  He cocks an eyebrow, turning back to face Ascian. The young man's eyes say even more than his voice. Where usually they lay sunken and aloof, here they are present, full: practically burning. Cal's eyes trace a line back to the wolf once more, and he walks towards it, kneeling as he approaches to examine the animal. The scarring on its wound is immediately apparent, even matted with thick splotches of crimson red blood as it were. The signs of having been pierced by an arrow, even more so. He exhales slowly, running a hand over its fur, feeling the soft fibers of its hair slide softly around his fingers. "It is strong, to have survived this." There was no doubt about it, the beast should've been dead two times over by this point, yet still its breath held, its chest rising and falling ever so slowly each time, as if not quite sure whether it'd make it back up again. "I will do what I can." Softly, he starts to chant something under his breath. It is not common, and he knows not how he knows the words himself, but in an ancient tongue - a more celestial one - he starts to hum, From dust we rise and to dust again fall, From dawn's light to dark night we do shine, As he speaks, the mass of galaxies that make up his heavenly visage flow out from over him, swirling in coiling nebulae and encapsulating clusters around the wolf's body, bathing it in a radiant glow that only grows deeper as he continues his chant. The light grows from a soft glow to a blinding flash as his eyes come to match it, and more and more energy flows from him into the animal. Stay the hands of heaven and strings of fate 'Til again would the stars bid you thine. At the conclusion of the chant, the lights around the two reach a fever pitch, ringing out into the cool night air, before all at once dropping to nothing. Cal gives a nod to Ash, and takes a step back, watching the wolf and the boy with equal bits worry and wonder.

The wolf's pale yellow eyes flutter open. It looks upon Callahan and then at Ascian. Logically, Ascian knows that the wolf would have no way of know the arrow that felled it came from his bow. But somehow, deep in those yellow orbs, Ascian sees an accusation -- a moment of near-death clarity in which the wolf is now meeting its executioner. It tries to growl, to emit some menacing, fear-inducing sound...but all that comes from its slack jowls and lolling tongue is a piteous whimper. The look of accusation turns to one of shame, and the wolf rests its head on the ground again, its jowls fluttering as it takes heavy, dragging breaths, each inhalation punctuated by a soft whimper of pain as the arrowhead resting near its heart digs into the muscle tissue. In that moment of regret and worry, Ascian sees the ground around him go grey. The light from the fire disappears, replaced by the dull light of a shadowy moon far above. The battlefield shifts, and the stone walls, tilled fields, and burning homes are replaced by an untouched, shadowy countryside. Ascian has seen this many times before -- except this time, the wolf is there with him. Its breathing comes easier, with no yelp at the end. The yellow eyes open again, frantically looking about the shadowy place, eventually landing on a space directly behind Ascian. A voice -- familiar, but not one that Ascian can place -- speaks. It isn't gravelly and mysterious, with grandiose undertones. It is simple, punctuated, and to the point. "The arrowhead doesn't exist here."

No, no, not now. It can't be now. Ascian's eyes widen and he reaches out a hand to Cal, as if the firbolg might be able to save him, too; but in a moment the druid has blinked out like the stars he worships. It's always terrible watching the color leech from the world, but this time it's sharp, his fingers knotting in the fur of the betrayed wolf in front of him as if somehow that might tether him back. His eyes squeeze shut, counting slowly, timing the numbers with breaths he no longer has. There's relief, of a sort, when the soft fur remains clenched between his fingers, thinking it had worked – and then a dull sort of wonder, when his eyes open to the grey world of his waking nightmares and finds he's not alone. Twiceover. He's so relieved to see the eased breathing of the wolf in front of him the voice almost doesn't register, simultaneously so familiar and so out of place it raises the fine, white hairs along the back of his neck. His fingers clench tighter into the fur, staring down at the wolf's rolling yellow eye transfixed on something just over his shoulder. He shouldn't look. He knows he shouldn't look, just as surely as he knows without knowing how that what the voice says is true. Distantly, he thinks of Marianne – of her urgent ask for reassurance he'd never been spoken to here. But more than that he thinks of its words, and the wolf, and the dozens of other times he's found himself in this watercolor castoff, and how badly he'd waited for just that. He shouldn't look. He knows he shouldn't look. His voice again, this time in front of a fire with Katrin.  Answers are important. He has to. Slowly, he follows the wolf's attention, his fingers staying tersely knotted in the creature's fur – made all the more silver by the flatness of their surroundings. He doesn't know what he expects to see; a monster, perhaps – some hideous, twisted creature not unlike the one that had just dissolved into ichor in a world he doesn't know how to get back to. He will wonder, later, if that might not have been better. The being behind him is solid, and simultaneously ephemeral; dark and humanoid and as present as it is nondescript. There's something disconcerting about the blankness of where its face should be, the utter lack of definition where his mind frantically tries and fails to fill in gaps. He's barely seen it before the voice comes again, as plain as it was before. "You weren't supposed to do that." He blinks, or perhaps it blinks – all he knows is that one second it's there and the next it might never have been. He isn't sure, only that the regret and guilt that had already flooded him pulsates twice as strongly as soon as the shadow has left. "Don't go." He looks around wildly, knuckles white against the wolf's skin, and if his heart still beat he thinks the creature would be able to hear it. "I'm sorry. Come back. Please. I – he needs help. I won't look again."

There is silence for a long moment as Ascian turns back to the wolf. With a flicker of strange pseudo-motion, the shadow appears on the opposite side of the wounded canine from Ascian. Even stranger, the shadow sits, cross-legged. "I didn't want to startle you. It's hard, you know. Manifesting like this. I know it can be...unsettling." The shadow points at the wolf's chest. "Back there, the arrowhead is still here. If you go back now, it will still be inside him."

Ascian jumps, not having expected it to actually listen. True to his word he tries not to stare at it, though it's difficult, especially when it sits opposite. He tries to focus on stroking the wolf instead, as if it's the creature brimming with something terse and buzzing rather than Ascian himself. "He won't survive me taking it out," he surmises, watching his hand pass over the fur. Meaning dawns on him slowly, and becomes audible at the same speed as he adds, " There ." He looks up reflexively and then immediately back down. "Can he walk here."

"Not without your help," the shadow says. "He's not from here. This isn't free, Ascian. Defying death...it costs something. Part of yourself."

"That's okay,"  Ascian replies quietly, his hand slowing in its soothing strokes over the fur. So soft, even here, where nothing seems to be.  "A quarter alive is still better than nothing."   The words are no sooner spoken than his hand stills, and he feels a warmth he didn't know he'd still possessed rush from his chest to his fingertips. He had been cool before, but in its absence he's suddenly that much colder; newly hollow in a way that if wind blew here he thought it might whistle through him. Beneath his palm, he can feel that same blush of pale warmth spread slowly beneath the wolf's fur, growing minutely stronger as Ascian's limbs grow heavier. He hadn't thought he'd miss whatever it is that leaves him, but the newfound weight to his bones thrums in protest; leadened and dull in a way he doesn't quite have words for. A breath or an eon passes and soon enough he's shivering, h is neck bent beneath the impossible weight of his head by the time the wolf's paws twitch, rolling onto its stomach and pushing to unsteady feet, staring at him with its great yellow eyes. Forcing himself to keep his head lifted, for a moment he stares back, wondering if it's enough in return for what he'd taken, and realizing just as quickly that of course it can't be. "I'm sorry," he says softly, gingerly touching the creature's head. "Now you're like me."  Perhaps he should be sorry for that too, bringing someone with him here to this place of bleak and bitter warmth. He isn't sure, even as he pushes himself to his feet with monumental effort. It takes longer than he's used to, so familiar with making where he wants to be with perfect speed; his hand is rooted in fur by the time he makes it upright, keeping it there as he leads the wolf slowly past the shadow, with slow, careful steps. They're a few feet away when he starts to turns back, a realization long-overdue piercing through the fog that now consumes his mind. "You said he's not from here. Does that mean I am? Who are you." There's silence, and by the time he's  lifted his head with what little strength remains him a  child has spilled color back into the world, the others are returning, and the weight of his own body drags him down to first one knee then the other beside the wolf who had bridged it all.

The wolf staggers as well, unsteady. It looks about frantically, and trains its eyes just off of figures -- as if it can't see well. The yellow eyes swim with fear, and without another sound it curls up next to Ascian, its breathing steady.

The unease that had been swirling about inside Katrin, growing stronger with every passing second, disappears as Ascian collapses to the ground. The sequence of events that led him there didn't matter in that moment. She moves quickly over, placing a hand against the young man's cheek and throat before remembering that he has no pulse anyway, and his skin gives off no heat. She gives him a thorough visual inspection. No injuries are visible. Her eyes dart to the wolf, a creature which had been violent and angry, but was now sleeping peacefully next to Ascian, no longer seeming to be bothered by the deadly injury that should've killed it. 

“I’m okay,” Ascian mutters blearily, flinching reflexively at the touch though it’s so sluggish Katrin’s hand is already gone by the time his body manages to pull away. His fingers tighten just as instinctively into the fur curled at his side as his body slumps over it.  “Don’t hurt him.”

Katrin sits back on her heels, concern marring her face as Ascian flinches. After a long moment, she looks back to the sleeping wolf, to the way his fingers dig into the fur. Concern melts away to understanding. She touches a hand to his shoulder briefly, before resting it gently on the wolf's head. "I wouldn't dream of it. You had me worried for a moment." She strokes the sleeping wolf. "I'm glad you're okay, Ascian. We all are." 

The wolf looks up as Katrin begins stroking its fur, then looks to Ascian. Seeing the lack of defiance or concern in the young man's eyes, the wolf allows itself to be touched by Katrin, its tail wagging lightly. 

Kaed's eyes dart to the wolf as Katrin pets it, the warrior's instinct to strike if danger arises held at bay by the look of concern on Ash's face for the wellbeing of the beast. Forcing himself to relax he squats down, a few metres away from Ash and meets his eyes, " Well, this is unexpected. It looks as though you have made a new friend. Wait, I didn't mean it is surprising you made a friend only that we had been fighting them, ah you know what I mean. Be careful though, the teeth stay sharp, no matter how much you care for them." Angry at himself for his tongue-tied words, the tribesmen rises up and walks a little bit away before stopping, "You should be careful moving him, the injuries were severe, try not to make them worse."

Ascian stares at Kaed's back for a beat before struggling to his feet, a movement he's newly aware he'd always taken for granted before now. He feels as if he's underwater as he moves a few steps toward the tribesman before he grows too tired and stops. "No, you're right. It is surprising. I'm not good at it. He just...is like me." He looks back at the wolf laying patiently nearby, its eyes on Kaed as Ascian approaches; a creature as much himself as he is now. Though he knows Callahan's magic had worked, he also knows how close things had come, and that with fur still bloodstained in the firelight Kaed is right.  "Can you carry him. His teeth are sharp, but he won't bite."  He looks away from the wolf watching them back at Kaed. "He likes you."

"We shall see, but yes I will carry him Ascian" Kaed looks down at the wolf, "Easy now my little friend, you've had a long day. Let's stay nice and calm." Kaed moves to pick up the wolf, trusting in Ascian's belief that he is in no danger.

Katrin scratches behind the wolf's ear, leaning down to kiss it on the head.  "Good boy. Keep him safe," she whispers to the animal, then pushes herself to her feet. 

The wolf allows himself to be picked up by the tribesman. Both regard each other suspiciously at first, but seeing once again that Ascian is not concerned, the wolf gives a long lick across Kaed's cheek. New canine friend in tow, the party moves back toward the tavern. As they grow near, they realize that the sounds of battle from that direction have ceased. Moving closer, they can see that the fighting is indeed over. Several soldiers stand over two orc prisoners, while others pile bodies outside the military camp. Several soldiers lay dead, and Captain Beshk moves through the neatly arranged Heartlands bodies, taking small amulets from the bodies and dropping them gingerly into his bag.  Na'arik once again stands at the top of the stairs to the tavern.  "Did you win?"  he shouts down.