The crew stood victorious, though their bodies ached from the grueling battle, and exhaustion clung to them like a heavy fog. The air around them was thick with the lingering echoes of their triumph. They had the Jade Monkey Idol at last, and with it, the sorceress’s reign of terror was over. A palpable sense of relief mingled with their fatigue, but there was no time to rest just yet. They moved methodically, gathering the spoils of war, depositing them into Uilly’s trusty bag of holding. The unconscious sorceress, now powerless, was bound and gagged, her robes and magical trinkets stripped away, leaving her defenseless. Hernkull hoisted the limp body onto her shoulder as if the weight meant nothing to her, the once-alluring pull of the sorceress’s magic utterly broken.
Uilly, ever meticulous, paused to examine the Jade Monkey. It was a remarkable artifact, intricately carved from a single piece of jade, with an almost lifelike sheen. The idol depicted a monkey in a crouched position, its eyes fashioned from tiny, glimmering emeralds. Its body was adorned with detailed engravings of ancient symbols and swirling patterns that seemed to dance in the faint light. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each line and curve carefully chiseled, giving the impression that the monkey might spring to life at any moment.
Perhaps it was dwarven-made, but after a moment, he shook his head, signaling to Alaric that it was not of his people's forging. With a quick toss, Uilly gave the Jade Monkey Idol to Alaric and said, “It is not my kin's work. It is well-made, but it is just a stone. Whatever magic we felt in that cave was not from that.” He motioned to the Idol, now in Alaric’s hands. “It has none.”
But Uilly was not done yet. From the depths of his bag, he retrieved a gemstone—a pink crystal the size of a robin’s egg, gleaming faintly in the dim cavern light. He walked over to the sorceress with quiet purpose, holding the gem delicately as though it held more power than its size suggested.
With a quick, almost casual motion, he pressed the gem to the sorceress’s forehead. He peered in closely to the pink gem and muttered a word or two, and immediately, her body began to glow, a soft, eerie light that lifted her from the ground. The crew watched in stunned silence as she rose from Hernkull’s shoulder, her form contorting slightly before being drawn into the crystal itself, leaving only her clothes and bindings behind. But as her body vanished into the gem, a dark shadow remained, a flickering mass of malevolent energy hovering where she had once lain. Hernkull’s instincts flared, and without hesitation, she muttered a wood spirit blessing under her breath. The moment her words left her lips, the darkness scattered like leaves in a storm, dissolving into the air and rushing away.
Alaric’s voice cut through the stillness, filled with bewilderment. “What in the nine rings of hell was that?” His words reflected the collective confusion of the entire crew.
Uilly, unfazed by the sorceress’s bizarre disappearance, responded calmly, “This is a Holding Crystal. It’s a magic cell we use sometimes—it only accepts living flesh, hence why her clothes were left behind.” He collected the sorceress’s garments, writing them down in the small notebook he always kept handy, before placing them into his bag of holding. “As for that shadow, I’ve never seen that happen before.” He glanced at Hernkull, his usual confidence faltering slightly, seeking an explanation.
Hernkull frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure either,” she admitted, her voice low and cautious. “But it felt… wrong. Like it was something evil. I hoped the wood spirit blessing would help, and it seems it did.”
Despite their shared unease, the crew knew they couldn’t linger in the cave. There were still hours before dawn, and the trek back to the longboat would be long. They stepped outside to find the remaining guards disbanding, moving away from the ruins, leaving the crew in relative peace. They rummaged through the guards’ camp, finding top-quality tents, sturdy and well-made. Uilly, ever practical, added a couple of the tents to his bag of holding, noting them in his ever-present notebook, jotting down every detail of their newfound loot.
Alaric made the call, and instead of trekking through the forest at night, he had his crew take over the camp left by the guards. With a nod, he set Sern and Grendor to scout and ensure the remnants of the sorceress's guards were gone, and nothing from the wood had been drawn in, while the others set about righting the camp.
Sern and Grendor moved stealthily through the dense underbrush, their senses heightened by the stillness of the night. The once quiet jungle was beginning to awaken, with the sounds of nocturnal creatures returning to their nightly routines. The rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot created a symphony of nature that contrasted sharply with the recent chaos of battle.
As they advanced, Sern’s sharp eyes caught sight of a faint glow ahead—a campfire, long since abandoned but still smoldering. They approached cautiously, ensuring that no one had lingered behind. Grendor, ever vigilant, scanned the surroundings for any signs of movement. Satisfied that the area was clear, they extinguished the dying fire and moved on, their steps light and purposeful.
The jungle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they continued their patrol, the natural order slowly reasserting itself. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Sern marveled at the beauty of the night, a stark contrast to the violence they had just endured. Grendor, ever the pragmatist, focused on the task at hand, his mind already planning their next move.
Later, as they sat around the fire, the warmth seeping into their bones, Sern’s curiosity got the better of him. “Uilly,” he asked, gesturing toward the notebook, “are you a scholar?”
Uilly chuckled, shaking his head. “Me, a scholar? No, not quite,” he said, his tone light. “This notebook? It’s just to keep track of what goes into the bag.” He explained further, “You see, with bags of holding, there are different qualities. The lower ones only reduce the weight of what you carry, but the problem is, if you can’t remember what you’ve put in, you can’t pull it back out.”
To demonstrate, Uilly reached into the bag and pulled out the armor from earlier. The mouth of the bag shimmered like the surface of a pond as he reached in, but the armor emerged as dry and polished as it had been when he first placed it inside. He tucked it back in with ease. “Now, this bag is of middling quality. As long as you remember what you’ve stored, you can retrieve it. But if you’re lucky, sometimes the bag knows what you need and gives it to you.”
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To prove his point, Uilly reached in again, this time producing six mugs. “Ah, and it’s still cold,” he grinned, pulling out a small cask of beer. He filled the mugs, passing them around the fire. “This bag keeps things exactly as they were when I put them in, so cold beer stays cold.”
He handed Sern the notebook and the bag. “Go ahead, give it a try.”
Sern, intrigued, looked over the list and saw a bow listed among the contents. He plunged his hand into the bag, but to his surprise, he found nothing. “There’s nothing here,” he said, puzzled.
Uilly grinned knowingly. “That’s the trick of this bag. Only the person who put something in can pull it out—unless, of course, you have a higher-grade bag of holding.”
Sern handed the items back, shaking his head in wonder. “Still, it’s a remarkable thing to have.”
“I think so too,” Uilly said, raising his mug. “Now, a high-grade bag of holding, that’s the real treasure. It’s transferable, and when you get it, you can see everything inside it as if you were walking through your own personal treasure room. Now, that’s a fine thing to have.”
As the fire crackled and the night deepened, the crew began to unwind, their laughter and chatter filling the air. The tension of the battle had left them, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared accomplishment. But first, there was work to be done. The fight with the sorceress’s forces had left its mark—cuts, bruises, and deeper wounds that needed tending.
Bartel, the ship’s sail master and surgeon, was already moving among the crew, her hands steady and her demeanor calm. She carried a small satchel of medical supplies, its contents meticulously organized: bandages, salves, needles, and thread. “Alright, you lot,” she said, her voice firm but kind, “let’s get you patched up. No heroics tonight—just sit still and let me work.”
She started with Alaric, who had taken a nasty gash to his forearm. “Captain,” she said, pouring a splash of rum over the wound to clean it, “you’re lucky this didn’t go deeper. Hold still—this’ll sting.” Alaric winced but didn’t flinch as Bartel deftly stitched the cut, her hands moving with practiced precision. When she was done, she handed him a flask of rum. “For the pain,” she said with a wink. “And for being a good patient.”
Next, she turned to Sern, who had a shallow cut across his cheek. “You’re lucky it missed your eye,” Bartel remarked, dabbing the wound with a cloth soaked in antiseptic. “You’d have made a dashing pirate, but I think you’re better off with both eyes intact.” Sern chuckled, though he hissed when the antiseptic stung. Bartel bandaged the cut and handed him a small vial. “Drink this. It’ll help with the swelling.”
Meanwhile, Hernkull moved among the crew, her hands glowing faintly with the soft green light of her mother’s healing magic. Though she was no shaman, she had learned enough from her mother to mend minor wounds and ease pain. She knelt beside Grendor, who was nursing a bruised rib. “This might feel strange,” she warned, placing her hands over the injury. The glow intensified, and Grendor let out a sigh of relief as the pain subsided. “Thanks,” he said, flexing his torso experimentally. “Good as new.”
Hernkull then turned to Uilly, who had a deep cut on his leg. “You’re lucky this didn’t hit an artery,” she said, her tone more serious. She cleaned the wound with a damp cloth, then whispered a few words in Orcish. The green light flared, and the bleeding slowed to a stop. “It’s not a full heal,” she admitted, “but it’ll hold until we can get you proper treatment.”
As Bartel and Hernkull worked, the rest of the crew settled around the fire, passing around a cask of rum and sharing stories of the battle. Alaric leaned back against a log, his bandaged arm resting on his knee, and let out a deep sigh. “That was one hell of a fight,” he said, his voice tinged with both exhaustion and satisfaction. “But we did it. Together.” He glanced around at his companions, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You all fought bravely. I couldn’t have asked for a better crew.”
Sern, sitting cross-legged by the fire, looked up from sharpening his arrows. “It was a close call, though. That sorceress… she was something else. I’ve never seen magic like that before.”
Grendor, who had been quietly tending to his bow, looked up. “Aye, she was powerful, no doubt about it. But we’ve faced worse, haven’t we?” He winked, his usual confidence returning.
Bartel, now finished with her rounds, joined the circle and raised her mug. “Worse? I’m not so sure about that. But we made it through, and that’s what matters.” The crew clanged their mugs together, their spirits lifting despite their fatigue. “To one heck of a day,” Uilly toasted, “but mostly to new friends!”
Laughter echoed around the camp as they drank, the cold beer a welcome relief after the heat of battle. As the night wore on, the conversation turned to lighter topics. Hernkull shared stories of her homeland, her deep voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “Back in the orcish villages, we’d have feasts after a successful hunt. The whole village would come together, and there’d be music, dancing, and plenty of food. It was a time of celebration, of unity.”
Alaric listened intently, his expression softening. “That sounds like a good life,” he said. “I’ve spent so much of my time at sea, always on the move, always focused on the trade routes. It’s easy to forget what we’re fighting for.”
Sern nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. I’ve been on my own for so long, it’s strange to be part of a group again. But… it feels right.”
Grendor grinned, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “Well, you’re stuck with us now, lad. No turning back.”
The group laughed, the sound carrying through the night. For the first time in what felt like forever, they allowed themselves to relax, to enjoy the moment. The bonds they had formed in battle were strengthened by these shared moments of peace and camaraderie.
Soon after, bedrolls were laid out by the fire, the warmth a comfort as they drifted into a much-needed sleep. Sern took the first watch, his eyes scanning the horizon, while Uilly quietly placed the mugs back into the bag, the weight of the day finally easing from their minds.
As dawn approached, the first light of the sun began to creep over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The crew stirred, their sleep interrupted by the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. Sern, who had taken the last watch, roused the others. “Rise and shine, everyone. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
They packed up their camp quickly and efficiently, their movements practiced and coordinated. Uilly made sure to double-check his bag of holding, ensuring that everything was accounted for. “Can’t be too careful,” he muttered to himself, a habit born of years of adventuring.
As they set off, the weight of their victory still fresh in their minds, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. They had faced incredible odds and emerged victorious. The Jade Monkey Idol was theirs, and with it, the promise of a brighter future.
For now, though, they would focus on the road ahead. Together, they had overcome every challenge thrown their way, and they would continue to do so. The bonds they had forged in battle would carry them through whatever lay ahead.
Sern awoke from the memory or dream still in the shared room with the others. Bartell, Uilly were leaning against each other and the others were spread out still sleeping off the first night back in Balkerteret.
