The first pale light of dawn was creeping through the windows when Nyssa finally managed to disentangle herself from Lyanne's unconscious form. The trainer had passed out sometime during the early morning hours, after what felt like an eternity of spinning, stumbling dances and increasingly slurred conversation. Her words had devolved into barely coherent rambling about sword techniques and past romantic conquests.

  Were she not a suitable distraction, Nyssa would have distanced herself after the third unrequited attempt at a kiss.

  Nyssa had considered carrying her to a proper room, but they had never discussed Lyanne's lodging arrangements, and she had no intention of wandering the halls trying doors like some common burglar. Instead, she settled for dragging the unconscious woman into a relatively quiet hallway and positioning her against the wall in what looked like a reasonably comfortable position. One pat on the head, a silent farewell, and the maiden was off to her duties.

  As she made her way toward the exit, stepping carefully around the various adventurers who had apparently decided the guildhall's common areas made acceptable sleeping arrangements, Nyssa noted the guild staff moving between the prone figures. Each snoring adventurer received a small parchment slip tucked into their clothing: fines for unauthorized use of common space in lieu of proper room rental. One almost dared to give her a slip, but a stern glare made the little halfling turn and run.

  Orson.

  She paused at the doorway. The Iron Talons were from here. That meant their next of kin had been written down somewhere when they signed up — if things hadn't changed from when Amithaera herself enrolled long ago.

  But she shouldn't. The Warrior was dead, so was her party. Soon, their families would be notified and that would be the end of it. Amithaera had done her part. There was no need to involve herself further. She should walk out now and return to–

  Nyssa knocked on the counter. “Hello.”

  A bored young elf looked up from her novel, permanently affixed with a pout. “... Yeah?”

  Nyssa was all smiles, cheery and pretty, “Yes, um… I was hoping to get some information from you about an adventurer's next of kin. I have a message for them.”

  The elf’s expression didn't change, not a bit. “Confidential.”

  Why, you little–

  “Oh, yes, I understand, but… you see, this is highly important. It's from one of the Iron Talons.” She kept smiling, had to be polite.

  “Who… are the Iron Talons?” The young elf shrugged, uncaring.

  Worthier opponents than you'll ever be, you insolent little worm.

  Nyssa had only just imagined dismembering the elf when a large man appeared behind her — a dragonborn of red and gray-tipped scales — and involved himself, “What's this about, Erin?”

  “She says she's got a message for one of the… Iron Talons?”

  Nyssa bit her lip hard at the nonchalant way the girl had already incorrectly relayed her request, “No! No, I said I have informa– I have a message from one of the Iron Talons to go to their… next of kin. A husband.”

  The dragonborn kept quiet as he appraised Nyssa, then gestured to her to follow him. “Come. I can help you.”

  Nyssa nodded, turning to sweetly address the elf at the desk, “Thank you, Erin. Have a good day, Erin.”

  “Mhmm…” Erin returned to her book.

  Little shit.

  Walking beside the dragonborn, he introduced himself, “I'm Saddhar, guildmaster here… How were they?”

  “The Iron Talons?” Nyssa clarified, needing to buy time for a little white lie, “They were alive… I met them near Nirova, only a few hours from Sk–”

  “From Skyfallow, yes.” Saddhar interrupted, and Nyssa got the feeling that this man disliked being thought of as uninformed, “You're no adventurer.”

  He opened the door for her, leading her into an archives room. It was stuffy within, but everything was neatly put away, not a paper out of place. She was reminded of Veratreez's diligence and–

  Crayma’s birthday bash!

  She'd forgotten completely. Her hand flew up to her face in shock, prompting the dragonborn to chuckle, “Relax. It's not for everyone. I'm just trying to get a feel for how someone like you met them.”

  Time to spin a yarn.

  “Nirova– Near Nirova. They found me picking fruit. I gave them what I had and one of the women handed me a letter before asking me to deliver it to her husband: an… Orson.”

  Beautiful. Concise. In another life, I could’ve been a stage actress in Solcairne itself.

  Saddhar took a deep breath as he opened one of the cabinets, taking the one he needed. “Young Ayla's man. Where is the letter? I can take it to him.”

  He can? Orson is close? Is he in this town?

  Nyssa swallowed hard, watching Saddhar read silently.

  Her name was Ayla. It was Ayla and Orson. Now only Orson remained.

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  She took a quick and deep breath, already failing to see why anyone would be so invested in delivering a letter, “I would rather take it myself, if that's alright… Ayla entrusted it to me, and I'd–”

  “Not for you, Witch.” Her memory replayed the Warrior’s last words.

  “I'd like to… to take it myself…”

  Saddhar raised a brow — or what counted as a brow on his hairless scaly face — and cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

  Nyssa wiped her eyes, nodding. “Yes… Please, I'll deliver it.”

  The dragonborn patted the woman’s shoulder. Normally, she'd be aghast at the touch, but right now, Amithaera needed it.

  “Orson is in Barrston. He's the baker there, I believe. Gods willing, Ayla will return to us soon.”

  Gods willing.

  Saddhar escorted Nyssa to the guildhall exit, wishing her good luck in her quest.

  “If you're ever looking to enlist, we could always use more adventurers.” He'd said, letting the door close.

  Outside was the crisp clean mountain air, a welcome relief after the smoky atmosphere of the guildhall. Nyssa walked slowly through the awakening streets of Harrathen, approaching the gates and seeing the very same guards from yesterday manning the entrance.

  The young one — Ferrin — tapped his superior on the chestplate and pointed to the maiden. Both approached her.

  “Lady Nyssa!” The older guard greeted, taking off his helmet and bowing respectfully. Ferrin then did the same.

  “Good morning, Ferrin and…” Nyssa scratched her head, realizing she must look every bit a mess after last night.

  The older guard smiled, “Oh. It's Roland.”

  “Roland. Good morning.” Nyssa cleared her throat, trying not to look too urgent in her want to leave.

  “You look very nice in your new dress.” Roland complimented, prompting Nyssa to grin and curtsy to him.

  Very nice? Is that the best compliment you can muster?

  Ferrin rolled his eyes. “The patrol that got sent out to the tower found a mess of the bandits you mentioned, but no guards at the tower. Someone got to them after you escaped, it seems.”

  Roland thumped his rough fist on the guard's chestplate. “Boy. You think a lady wants to hear such horrid things this early in the morn?”

  “No, it's okay…” Nyssa assured, looking to Ferrin to continue.

  “Right… Well, they found Willem wandering around, eating one of those bandits. He was an undead.” Ferrin swallowed hard at the thought.

  Perfect.

  Nyssa's eyes widened, playing up the fear, trying to lead him into saying what she could see resting on his tongue, “You don't think…”

  Ferrin nodded once, “The… Lich.”

  FOOL. NOT THE LICH.

  Roland — sweet Roland — came to her rescue. He shook his head, “You idiot. They say the Lich is in Eirthenfeld. You understand that's to the East, half a kingdom away?”

  His younger counterpart shivered, “Then who could it be?”

  “A Necromancer, and one with a good soul if they're picking off Whitehowl's rotten clan.” Roland crossed his arms, smirking.

  Interesting. She hadn't thought of growing her reputation off of poaching bounties, but now…

  Nyssa sighed, “Well, I must be going.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes, but there was concern on his face, “My lady, you'd venture out there after what happened?”

  With a sweet tone, Nyssa played to his smitten feelings, “Life does not pause for the scared, sweet Roland. If I encounter any scary zombies or dastardly bandits, I will come back to see you, okay?”

  The guard smiled, and then nodded, moving aside with the other man.

  Nyssa ventured out past the gate, down the path, and — when she was out sight around the bend — she began sprinting through the forest in the direction of her false anchor.

  That was the final thing on her agenda: fix the anchor, or make a new one. It was likely that it had been destroyed beyond repair, so she'd need to gather the supplies to prepare another ritual. They’d be a challenge in itself, but not an impossible one.

  Following the river upstream on foot, Nyssa slowed her pace, not wanting to draw attention in case anyone was around. The sight of a young woman running in the forest was sure to bring questions.

  Just as she’d thought it as well, a young human fisherman standing in the shallows of the river, his line cast out into the deeper water. He glanced up at her approach and waved cheerfully, unbothered by the sight of a lone woman walking along the riverbank.

  “Hiya!”

  “Well, hiya!” The girl called out, waving back while passing him, leaving the young man in the distance as she crested a hill.

  No time for conversation, not when the anchor’s location was so close. The river up ahead would fatten and fork around a small raised island, becoming much too deep to cross conventionally. Nyssa conjured magic in her fingers and pressed a digit to her sternum.

  Without further interruption, the young villager began to float, carrying herself across the deep river and landing on the other side. No trouble at all for someone like her, even if she was starting to feel exhausted.

  I’m running low on mana… Keeping the illusion up all night has drained me.

  The cave wasn’t far now, and Nyssa didn’t need to walk there any longer. She floated over the forest floor in a hurry, reaching the rise of her chosen hill. Only the bluff remained now.

  Flying upwards, butterflies in her stomach, Nyssa couldn’t help the anxious giggle that had risen in her belly. The sound of whooshing air caused her to shiver until she finally reached the top of the bluff, landing with nary but the crunch of dirt beneath.

  The cave was before her now. She could already tell that there was something within, mean and territorial.

  Quickly, Nyssa walked in and followed the right path to the very ends of the location amidst several other directions. She could see perfectly in the darkness, but even her senses could do nothing about the stink. Carcasses and cracked bones lined the floor, giving the place the appearance of a slaughterhouse.

  My goodness. I should bring Veratreez here. This is so inspirational.

  Finally, the woman reached her anchor… and found it destroyed. It was as she expected, but it didn’t make things easier to deal with.

  It was an early kill of hers — decades old now — a foolish adventurer that tried his luck against the burgeoning Necromancer on her first forays into villainy. That day, Amithaera had the grim responsibility of boiling the skeleton herself before using the skull and heart in the creation of her anchor.

  She’d used oaken sticks to prop up the monstrous creation, twine to hold it together, a macabre dedication to her true Sulfur master. Since then, Amithaera had refined the anchor creations to something a little less eye-catching and more compact, but it felt so right at the time to make them as fearsome as possible.

  “Damn…” Nyssa cursed to herself, lamenting the loss. She huffed out a sigh and thought about how to go now.

  She would need another skull, another fresh heart, from any large animal. Something nearby would be perfect, so the Necromancer wouldn’t have to hunt so much.

  Oh… I have just the man for the job.

  Nyssa released the hold on her disguise, becoming the Elven beauty of Amithaera once more. She’d need to be in character for the duty to come.

  No, not in character. I am the real one. Nyssa is the character.

  Amithaera shook her head. She was getting too confused recently. Damn that Ayla and her letter. She’d thrown a proverbial stone in the gears of her mind, and–

  I am who I want to be. This is who I want to be. I am Amithaera, the Necromancer. Nothing more…

  And she set out then, leaving the cave, a fisherman on her mind.