NOW

I count no longer count the number of close calls we'd experienced in the damned temple on my own hands.

We'd been taken by surprise by a group — a gaggle? — of vampires.

I'd been propositioned, attacked and forcibly bitten by a disturbingly old-looking undead man, nearly crushed by a bone golem's foot, and had almost fallen down a rope into molten lava.

Valen had been grabbed and nearly crushed by the very same bone golem, stabbed clean through the hand by a cultist, and pin-cushioned by almost a dozen shurikens, a dozen more having bounced off his armour.

And Nathyrra — frustratingly quick Nathyrra — had barely a scrape or scratch on her. But it did please me to no end to see her hair was a rare mess, which she'd been forced to braid away from her face.

It did annoy me to note that it made her look even better.

All in all, we were making our way far too quickly through our supply of healing potions — despite Valen's insistence that his hand did not require quite so much 'fussing'. But, there was only so much I could do with a bandage and salve before magical intervention was required.

I'd pointedly told him to duck the enemy's throwing knife in the future, instead of attempting to catch it — as I'd passed him the weakest potion I thought we could get away with.

So; exhausted, slightly injured, and very annoyed, we had approached the platform that housed the deva — recognisable from her beauty and wings, even at this distance — a trail of broken bones behind us and feet dragging.

It turned out an astral deva was as far from looking human as a dwarf was from looking elven.

The comparison was about as fair as well, as — despite her countless injuries — she was unbearingly stunning.

Even lying on her side, it was obvious the woman's height could rival Valen's, without even considering the added couple of feet provided by her tattered wings.

As damaged and blackened with grime as her wings were, the once white feathers glowed with an inner power that was so bright it hurt to look at directly.

Her skin — obviously once a warm golden that matched her hair, in colour if not hue — was now a wane yellow, and blue bruised the thin skin below her eyes. Her amber eyes — one solid-liquid colour, like drops of molten gold in her sockets — watched me from between damp lashes.

Valen had kept his distance, watching intently from well behind Nathyrra and me.

His distance was because of the deva's alarmed cry of "demon" at the sight of him, but I suspected it was more than just her discomfort he was concerned about. He was currently scratching the full length of his arms with an irritated frown.

My skin tingled just from looking at the angelic woman, I could only wonder what it was doing to the tiefling.

Nathyrra knelt before the injured deva — a careful hand on her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the woman's uncomfortable aura — as she considered the contraption that she was hooked up to.

At the drow's proximity, the deva flinched. "Please," she whimpered. "I have no more blood to give…"

At the fear in the deva's voice, the drow's discomfort was palpable.

Suddenly noticing me, her eyes widened and she straightened, pulling away from Nathyrra's reach pointedly.

She pierced me with her liquid gaze and I stepped forward.

When she spoke, her voice was fiercely strong, despite her obvious pain. "Free me!" She commanded.

I carefully took Nathyrra's place, hairs rising on my arms at the deva's proximity.

Silent, I reached for the black metal bracer locked around her forearm. She lifted it for inspection, and the chains connecting it to the floor rattled. I grimaced at the sight of the needle it held in place — almost as thick as a stiletto blade — which was embedded into her arm.

"You're with these two?" The deva whispered to me as I bent closer to her face.

I tried to ignore the disdain in her voice.

Even now, the tubes coming from the device ran red with her blood, draining into a glass jar, just out of her reach.

Even her blood seemed to glow.

And the jar was almost entirely full…

"What have the elders done to you?" Nathyrra uttered in an awed hush as we took it all in, real sympathy in her voice, despite the deva's open disdain.

"The vampires?" The deva tilted her head.

We all nodded.

"The vampires are creating horrible bone golems. They've found a way to animate them, using my blood," she spat the words, pulling her lips back and baring her teeth in a very un-angel-like manner.

She motioned with her free hand at the tables behind her, each with a perfectly formed golem on display.

Inanimate and waiting…

I considered the broken pile of bones we'd left in our wake, and the injuries we'd all sustained in fighting the huge animated creatures.

I considered the even tougher fight that was yet to come.

We needed the extra manpower.

"We have to free this creature," Nathyrra uttered as Valen uttered a stern; "We have to find a way to stop this."

"You must free me," The woman agreed. "My superiors sent me on a mission to the Material Plane, but I was captured by these… these Vix'thrites." She shook her head. "Oh, but I've botched everything so horribly."

She considered me, a curious tilt to her head.

"What was your mission?" I asked with a gentle frown as I tried to recall the rest of this conversation.

"They barely told me anything." She shrugged, her annoyance clear. "I was supposed to tell," she paused, shrugging again, "Someone that their hand was being guided by an evil force."

She's been sent to warn me about Mephistopheles, I suddenly remembered with a wane smile, bereft of humour.

Oh, I knew alright.

Crippling thoughts of my impending meeting with the archdevil were becoming more and more regular the closer we marched to its inevitability.

You would think planer beings would be aware that I already knew about the devil...

"No one told me who to tell; only to say it wasn't at all what it seemed," the deva's eyes bored into me.

I found myself unable to hold her liquid stare, eyes roaming to the device on her arm once more.

Time for a topic change, there was only so long I could stew on my impending death…

"It looks like we need some kind of key…" I fumbled over my words, almost slipping up and saying 'rod'. I cleared my throat. "Looks like some kind of key unlocks the device. Do you know where we can find it?"

The deva perked up, her earlier pains all but forgotten with the promise of freedom so close.

"The drow have it," her eyes roamed to Nathyrra before quickly snapping back to me, her expression carefully blank. "A party of them; I don't know how many." She jerked her chin at one of the room's offshoots. "They're up the hall."

Turned out the drow most definitely did not have it. But they did have what could only be the deva's mace — glowing with holy righteousness, so bright it made me squint — as I'd retrieved it from the drow's container of goods.

It was one of the vampires — a man so quick he seemed to almost turn to shadow when he charged at us — who had sole ownership of the rod that would release the deva.

Thankfully, Nathyrra had been quicker.

He was now a pile of ash in a sarcophagus.

And we were the proud owners of a deva-freeing rod.

I glanced again at the now-full vial of blood, as I placed the rod in the awaiting slot. Pushing it in place, I pretended that I didn't see the streaks in her grimy cheeks her tears had left, or the surprised set of her mouth.

Seconds passed in uncomfortable silence, and then finally the contraption sprang open, allowing the deva to finally pull the needle from her arm with a pained, yet triumphant, cry.

Her rigid posture softened almost instantly, and a faint red glow I had attributed to the molten rocks below our platform seemed to drain out of her. A sudden wind stirred her ragged feathers.

"I don't know how I'm going to explain this to my superiors," she uttered to herself. "I've really made a mess of this." Her words broke off at the end and she pointedly looked away.

You're welcome.

She pushed herself to her full height, dusting her skirt off and spreading her wings experimentally.

I chose my words carefully, stepping away from the deva and the uncomfortable itch she caused on my skin. "It's not so bad," I insisted slowly. "But if you're concerned, perhaps you could make it up to them somehow?"

She nodded resolutely. "Yes," she agreed. "I'll complete my mission." She grimaced at a sudden pain, her wings freezing in place, before folding back onto her back.

I bit my lip, fishing through my satchel for a watered down healing potion.

"Well," I passed her the potion, which she accepted gratefully. Her fingers brushed my own, and I pulled them away as if burnt, at the surprising warmth. "You're not sure who you're supposed to find." I reminded her pointedly, before shrugging. "But things have a way of working out. You know; serendipity and all that." I smiled. "In the meantime, why not do something you superiors would approve of?"

She finished the potion, before passing the empty glass back with a simple 'thanks'. I grabbed the bottle from her, and — for lack of anything else to do with it — tossed it over the edge of the platform. It disappeared, falling to the hot molten rocks below.

She tilted her head at my words, turning them over.

I was struck suddenly by how young she looked.

Her height and beauty had been deceptive. She looked barely an adult now that I could see past the otherworldliness of her.

"I could use your help," I finished lamely. "We could use your help."

"Really?" The deva considered us all again, brows drawn down in thought. "I… I mean this person could be anywhere right? I have to start somewhere."

I nodded. "Exactly."

She pulled her shoulders back, eyes set. "What do you need?"

Before I could answer, Nathyrra cut in gently with; "The Seer could use her."

Immediately the deva frowned in disgust. "More drow?" She took a single step back. "The vampires were using my blood to fashion golems for the drow army!" Her wings flapped in distress, as she took another step away.

I held up my hands to soothe her, like I would a frightened animal. "There's a rebellion against the drow; The Seer is a leader of the rebel camp." I held my hands out wide, with a smile. "We're the good guys."

She paused. However, her wings were still stretched wide, ready to take flight.

She didn't look like she believed me, eyeing the drow and tiefling with disbelief.

I tried again. "Instead of that, I was thinking we could use your help defeating Vix'thra." I peered at the drow for her reaction.

"The one the vampire's worship?" The deva hummed. "I guess I have a bone to pick with him."

Enserric chuckled from his spot on my back at her turn of phrase.

I grimaced, turning slightly so she couldn't easily see the sword. Couldn't have her adding a possessed sword to the list of reasons she shouldn't help us.

Oblivious, the deva continued slowly. "I doubt I would survive the battle, injured as I am." She wrung her hands. "Are you sure?"

Nathyrra raised a curved white brow at me but said nothing. She didn't have to; I could feel the judgement radiating off of her from where I stood.

I eyed the glass jar of her angelic blood and considering my options once more.

The seconds ticked by as I worried at my bottom lip, eyes darting back to the angelic young woman.

If we sent her to the camp, we could animate the golems to help fight Vix'thra… She would be none the wiser...

I shook the thought away.

We needed her divine power to defeat the undead dragon. She would be worth a dozen bone golems in that fight.

Unable to resist the temptation; Would she let me use her blood if she remained to fight? We could have our cake and eat it too… Golems and an angel on our side...

I didn't latch on to the idea for long, knowing the deva would never allow it.

Besides, nothing good comes of trying to cheat fate.

Eventually, I nodded, and she gave a wan smile and replying nod.

"Very well," she said, before adding; "I've never fought a god before. Have you?"

My mind snapped to a time I'd fought someone who claimed to be a god. Frowning, I shut that thought down, before it could take hold.

So we armed her with her mace, before leaving the platform and the wasted jar of blood behind, seeking out a place to prepare for the upcoming fight for our lives.

THEN

I blanched at the sight before me.

No, no, no, no, no.

Drogan was dead weight on the floor, limbs thrown about as if he hadn't a care in the world. And Deekin, who stood only a scant meter away from the dwarf's still form, a determined expression on his face, as he strummed desperately at his instrument.

Around us, the room was falling.

I hadn't seen any rocks hit Drogan…

"It didn't work?" my question was drowned out by the room's thunderous reply.

The chamber gave a sickening lurch, and a resounding crack drowned out Deekin's tune.

Xanos rushed towards the fallen dwarf, terror on his face. Shaking myself out of my surprised stupor, I followed.

He was already bending, pushing a desperate hand to Drogan's neck. "What have you done?" He hissed over his shoulder at the distracted kobold as he searched for a pulse.

Deekin didn't answer, eyes scrunched tight as he swayed with the music.

The stone floor fractured right down the middle and one of the pillars none-too-far from us detached completely from the ceiling with a resounding crack.

Face set, Xanos collected Drogan in his arms.

At my wide-eyed question, he nodded once and said; "Sleeping spell."

Drogan was alive.

The room shuddered.

The half-orc baulked, all colour draining from his slack-jawed face as he considered his bundle and then the collapsing room around us.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen.

Xanos shook his head sharply, as if in apology, before running to the portal and disappearing in two long strides.

Immediately, I turned to follow, heart hammering as the room gave another thunderous shudder.

A step, and then — over the deafening noise of the ruins falling on our heads — the melody reached me once more.

Deekin.

"You stupid-arsed fucking lizard!" I hissed. But the fight was gone out of me.

I darted to his side, skidding on my knees to stop right in front of him.

His eyes were still scrunched tight, I saw his chin dip as he swallowed nervously and his whole frame shook. My hands encompassed his tiny shoulders, holding him steady.

He started at my touch but didn't stop playing. Not once did he falter.

Rocks continued shuddering to the ground around us and dust caught in my suddenly damp eyes.

I watched in helpless horror as his fingers continued their blurred assault on the instrument's strings.

Impossible, my heart screamed. The knowledge of what was going to happen had been on our side. Failing that, the inevitability that Xanos, Deekin and I would succeed… Where was that assurance now?

The rocks above our heads gave another resounding crack, warning us of their unavoidable fall.

My pained gasp of Deekin's name was a real thing. It clawed out of me, gutting me from the inside. It ripped and tore; there was pain, pain at everything that had happened to me. And everything that had happened to those whose lives I'd touched.

"We need to go!"

Deekin pried his eyes open carefully — one and then the other — small and yellow and shining in the light of that damnable portal.

He didn't stop playing.

"Deekin tired," he said instead of following, and the world narrowed around us. "Head is sore, and back is hurting." He pulled back his shoulders. "Little Deekin feels like bag of clamshells been bashed against ground repeatedly." I gave a sob. "But Deekin stays." His voice was sad but sure.

My grip tightened on his shoulders at the finality of his words.

His body shuddered once more, and his face scrunched up in pain.

I eyed the hunch of his back, holding up an invisible weight that I could only imagine.

"Deekin did good?" He whispered through the pain. My face crumpled as I squeezed his shoulders tighter.

"Oh, Deekin…" The rest of my words escaped me.

He nodded once. "Protected Boss' Boss."

The roof groaned and a pillar crashed behind me, dangerously close. He stumbled over a chord and I felt the room vibrate in reply.

"Deekin afraid," he shuddered again, and I felt my heart clench. "Deekin afraid his book not be finished." His eyes darted desperately to his pack, placed carefully near where Drogan had opened the portal.

I rushed to my feet as a rock crashed only meters from us, and then watched as a seam started tearing its way across the ceiling right above our heads.

"You gots to go!" Deekin begged through a pained grimace.

With a final glance at the kobold, I tore myself away from him — his eyes once more scrunched against the sight of the crumbling room — and I darted towards the portal.

The potion of cat's grace from earlier still coursing through my veins, I dove away from a crash of stone that would have surely killed me. Mid-roll, I grabbed Deekin's pack on the way back up, making a final dive for the fading portal.

A scream of helpless rage was forced from my lungs as I landed on the other side.

I fell forward on my hands, Xanos' huge booted feet not far off.

I was shredded, empty. Hope, peace, wonder; gone.

I wanted to cry, to scream. But the hopeless emptiness just left me gasping in surprise. I heard the portal as it snapped shut and, with it, the sounds of crashing rocks ended as abruptly as they had begun.

Turning, I stared at the place where the portal had been, my heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

Then I felt it creeping in, replacing the empty nothingness in my soul. It pulled my shoulder back and set my jaw.

It helped me to my feet, and it was what drew my bow from its place on my back.

All that remained was vengeance.

And that snake-haired bitch was going to pay.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

Wedged between an apple pie recipe and salve for ringworm, another sheet of paper is folded and wedged into the spine, torn straight from Deekin's book. At the top is Deekin's small handwriting. It details the setup required for a portal to be cast.

The final line written in his handwriting states simply; Deekin hopes this portal works. Boss be so upset if old dwarf get crushed like tomato. Deekin not hear the end of it.

Below this is the start of a new chapter in Jane's messy handwriting. It looks like she's tried her hand at storytelling.

Scene 3

Chapter 1

The first bit is scribbled out roughly, what is still legible looks to be a retelling of Deekin's sacrifice. She's given up and simply skimmed ahead to the next bit of the story.

The heroes. This is crossed out.

Xanos, Drogan and Em… This is also crossed out.

They found the snake-haired bitch on the other side of the portal. She did what all medusa's are want to do, and turned the trespassers to stone.

They made for two fine looking statues; one snarling with her bow drawn, the other raising a hand to shield his face, his other arm lifted at an odd angle as if he'd been cradling a baby.

Said baby — more commonly referred to as Master Drogan — had woken with a sluggish yawn in the nook of the half-orc statue's rigid arm. Disoriented and sore, he'd crawled from the statue's tight grasp only moment before the hissing voices reached him.

He finished casting invisibility on himself just as the monstrous lizard-like asabi entered the room.

Knowing what would happen next, Drogan followed the traders as they looted everything not bolted down — including his pupils — following them, as silent as a… a silent thing.

This is clearly where Jane gave up, ripping the page from Deekin's book and placing it in her journal for safekeeping.