Chapter Two:
The Curious Case of the Gelatin Skeleton
"The stress of casting this spell to produce any effect other than duplicating another spell weakens you. After enduring that stress, each time you Cast a Spell until you finish a Long Rest, you take 1d10 necrotic damage per level of that spell. This damage can't be reduced or prevented in any way." - Dungeons & Dragons Player's Handbook, 5th Edition, pg 289.
…
Caleb opened his eyes to find himself staring straight up at a domed sky. With a glance to the side, he could see the fading sunset reflected off the white snow, dying everything a dizzying pink. He pressed his eyes shut again and groaned as a wave of unpleasant sensations washed over him. His head throbbed, temples squished between an invisible vice while a section on the back of his head radiated with a white-hot tenderness that Caleb could feel every beat of his heart in. Cringing, he twisted his body to take some of the pressure off the back of his head, pressing the side of his face against his patchwork pillow.
Not a pillow. Thighs.
He froze, eyes dragging up the length of the body to the face of one very alive Mollymauk Tealeaf.
"Morning, Sunshine. Had enough beauty sleep?" he asked with a cheeky grin that revealed his pointed teeth. His left eye was swollen and bruised, and a streak of dried blood trailed from his nose to his cheek—presumably where it had been wiped away at one point. Caleb could see the edges of white bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt where the arrows pierced him. The area above his heart was unstained and unbroken, absent of the ten-inch glaive wound that should have been there.
Caleb swallowed hard, pushing himself off Molly while the world teetered around him.
"Woah, take it easy now," Molly said, putting a warm hand on his shoulder to steady him.
As his vision cleared Caleb now saw that two of them sat in the front of a moving cart, backs propped against the front edge. Several other strangers of all species and walks of life lay scattered around them, unified only by their injuries and grim, set jaws. Near the edge sat Nila, the floppy-eared firbolg druid with a warm demeanor, tending to one of the wounded.
"Is Caleb awake?" called Nott's voice from ahead, voice heavy with concern.
Caleb groaned in response, still too busy taking inventory of his various aches and pains.
"Seems to be," Molly called back to Nott.
"Yo, Caleb, what the hell, man?" shouted Beau, also from ahead. He craned his neck slightly to see her with a bandaged arm, perched on top of one of the horses pulling the cart. "When'd ya learn that trick? You've been holding out on us this whole time."
Caleb reached for the heart-shaped necklace that wasn't there. He stopped himself mid-gesture and instead clasped his hands tightly to center himself. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have used such a high-level spell. He shouldn't have saved Molly. But he did, and now he had to deal with it.
"I didn't know it would work," he responded with a hoarse voice before breaking into a coughing fit. Every wheeze sent phantom spikes of pain through his ribs, echoing the agony from earlier.
"Yeah, well, it would've been kinda nice to know you could just snap your fingers and turn people into a pile of fuckin' ashes this whole time," Beau called back.
"Leave him alone, Beau, he saved us," Nott chided, voice floating above the sound of the carts, horse hooves, and various murmured conversation.
Caleb rubbed his eyes, hands shaking slightly. "How long have I been out? Where are we?"
"Oh, just a short twelve hours," Molly said casually, smirking at him. "We're—"
"Is that Caleb?" a high-pitched voice with an unforgettable cadence rang out from further back. Caleb's stomach dropped at the sound. It'd been years since he heard that voice too. "Caleb," Jester repeated, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she ran forward to catch up with his cart. Her blue skin was paler than usual and she had a bandage wrapped around her forehead, but her bright eyes sparkled all the same. "Sorry I couldn't heal you all the way. I had to use a lot—a lot—of my magic to keep everyone from dying," she confessed conspiratorially.
"So…we beat them," Caleb concluded, trying to calculate the extent of the domino effect he'd triggered.
"Yeah, after you fried Lorenzo the rest of the Iron Shepherds kinda fell apart," Beau said. Molly hummed in agreement at that.
"Then Nott opened the cages and set us free," Jester added.
"It was a bit of a massacre at that point," Molly said, reclining back and lacing his hands behind his head. He cast a glance further back towards Fjord and Yasha who lead up the rear in quiet conversation, still covered in patches of the enemy's blood.
"Ah," Caleb could only say, twisting his hands in his lap. That explained the horses, carts, and large procession of strangers around them. "So, we're continuing to Shadycreek, then?"
"Mm-hm" Jester said with a nod. "We've got to go free the people still at their secret headquarters. Keg says there might be one or two more bad guys there, but then we're done," she said, absently twirling one of her sleeve ribbons around her thin fingers.
"Don't forget our mission," Molly pointed out.
"Oh, that too! Then we're done," Jester clarified, emphasizing the point by slapping an open palm with a closed fist. "But you have to promise to turn someone else into ash, again," she said, leaning towards him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
"Pardon?"
"I can't believe I missed it the first time," Jester complained, throwing out her bottom lip in a pout. She balled her hands into small fists. "Ooh, I wish Nott had released us sooner," she said, brow furrowed.
Molly gave a laugh, then immediately as a reaction groaned, pressing a hand to his bandaged shoulder. "Yeah, I wish that too," he managed, leaning back again and schooling his features. "It was a good fight. Got dicey for a second there though."
Caleb bit back a 'you have no idea'.
Molly and Jester continued their conversation which drifted off into less relevant topics as Caleb stared intently at his feet, trying to come to terms with the surreal experience of being trapped between two long-dead tieflings. They joked, flashing each other mischievous grins with jagged teeth, and occasionally Beau would add in some colorful commentary.
Above them the sky darkened as engorged clouds smothered the night sky, replacing the pink with grey then black. Lazy, drifting flakes floated down from the heavens on them. The refugees around them pulled their blankets and coats close, walking closer together for even the smallest amount of heat. Caleb shuddered and used the opportunity to pull his legs to his chest and bury his face in his knees. He took a shuddering breath.
He hadn't anticipated how hard this would be.
The spell he'd prepared for. He knew exactly what he was in for in that respect, but emotionally? Being surrounded by the voices and laughter of dead friends?
Nothing could have prepared him for that.
Every look, every sentence felt like being struck across the face, winding him and sending his gut churning. He wanted to laugh and weep in equal measure, but he couldn't afford to, so he settled for holding himself together in silence with white knuckles. He was trapped in an ocean. Dark and deep that leeched the warmth out of his body and left a cold husk behind. A hollow man with a thousand leagues pressing down on him. His mind ached under their oppressive weight.
A sturdy pat on the back broke his chain of thought and Caleb raised his head as the cart slowed to a stop.
Mollymauk flashed him a grin before pushing himself to his feet then stretching as best he could without disturbing his wound. "We're stopping for the night," he said, offering Caleb a hand.
Caleb stared at it for a second before inhaling deeply and taking it.
Molly's hand was pleasantly warm, and he seemed unbothered by the steadily increasing snowfall. One of the benefits of his infernal constitution, Caleb supposed. Once Caleb was steady in his footing, Molly released him and turned to help some of the other injured up. At the sudden absence of warmth and contact, Caleb clenched his empty fist, feeling even colder than before.
He shuffled off the cart, and the moment his boots pressed into the snow Nott was at his side.
"Are you okay, Caleb?" she mumbled, voice quiet amidst the chaos around them as everyone began unpacking the carts.
"Just tired," he said, offering her as much of a smile as he could muster.
"See, you say that but you just grimaced," she said with a frown, scanning him with narrowed eyes.
Caleb kept his face even despite the chill that went down his spine. Nott was perceptive and attuned to him. He couldn't let find out anything was wrong.
He needed to act more normal.
He had years of experience acting like things were fine.
He could do this.
"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Shall we see what's for dinner?"
The entourage of about twenty people set up a makeshift camp at the foot of a hill that shielded them from at least a small portion of the wind and snow. Fjord and Yasha led the construction of a large bonfire in the center, which thankfully Caleb's magic wasn't needed for. The moment he settled down against the hill, Nott was there nestled beside him, watching him and the scene before them in turn with a careful gaze.
He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, indulging himself in the familiar boniness of her form. Though Nott still lived in his future-though technically now that specific future shouldn't happen-he hadn't seen her in several months at the time of his departure.
It was probably for the best.
Still, he couldn't help himself from scooting closer to the goblin and her soothing presence.
No words passed between them as they watched the snow fall—collecting on the people below. Yasha stood with Fjord and Molly several yards away, looking regal, statuesque and completely at home covered in a layer of snow. Molly was equally unaffected as the snow seemed to melt the moment the flakes touched him, leaving him curiously clean.
Fjord, on the other hand, hunched over bundled up as tightly with Jester's traveling cloak wrapped around him like an old woman's shawl. It barely covered his biceps.
Further off Jester walked around the camp with Nila, probably administering aid as they were able.
"Sup," came a voice as Beau plopped herself down on Caleb's other side. He stiffened on instinct before forcing himself to relax. She offered Caleb and Nott a set of bundled rations in one hand while using the other to take an enormous bite of her own. Nott snatched hers eagerly, barely taking the time to remove the paper and twine before the food disappeared inside her wide mouth. Caleb picked at his, nibbling here and there, still feeling his stomach churn uneasily.
"So," Beau started, politely navigating her mouthful of food into her cheeks before continuing, "That sort of fainting thing happen often?"
Caleb shook his head. "Not usually."
Beau frowned at that. "So…is it something that we should be worried about?"
"Not particularly."
"Caleb," Beau said flatly, staring him down. He managed to meet her gaze without flinching.
"I cast powerful magic and overextended myself is all. Didn't rest well last night. I just need a little sleep and I'll be fine."
Beau gnawed at her jerky, taking periodic glances back at him. She opened her mouth, and Caleb braced himself for the next round of questions.
"You know we're just worried about you, dude," Beau said, staring ahead at the fire. "You've looked pale today."
"I am pale."
Beau rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."
"It's more of an I-just-saw-a-ghost kind of pale," Nott added with a quick side-eye before returning to licking the last of the crumbs off her wrapper.
Caleb snorted at that, indulging himself in a fatalistic grin for just a moment before continuing, "The battle," he began, drawing the attention of both women. "Was kind of intense, ja? For a second it seemed like…"
"Molly was a goner?" Beau supplied.
"We were all going to die?" Nott said.
Caleb nodded, casting his glance to the dancing flames ahead. "Something like that."
Beau finished her rations and sat in silence for several minutes.
"I mean," she started slowly, chewing on her words, "it can always go wrong, can't it? I guess it'd be good if we kept that in mind a little more from now on."
Caleb angled his head in the barest nod.
"Still," Beau went on, lacing her calloused fingers together, "we made it out okay again, Caleb, mostly thanks to you."
At that Nott tilted her head inwards, resting it beneath Caleb's armpit and humming in agreement.
"You'll drive yourself crazy if you're always thinking about what could've happened," Beau said, leaning in to place her chin on top of her knees.
Caleb, even after knowing Beau for sixteen years, continually found himself surprised by her wisdom. "Thank you, Beauregard," he said quietly. Though in this circumstance he wasn't worried about what could have happened, he was worried about what did happen and what would happen now.
The three of them stared into the fire. Beau and Nott succumbed to sleep quickly, but aimless thoughts swirled around in Caleb's head without end or purpose—like scraps of driftwood stuck in a tidepool. What had he done? What would he do now? Had he self-sabotaged again past the point of repair?
Sleep eluded Caleb while he sat still in his anxious trance, eyes locked ahead on the fire. In his periphery, he vaguely registered the rest of the camp settle down and group together for warmth.
Fjord came over with a large yawn that flashed the nubs of his filed tusks. He gave Caleb an acknowledging nod before seating himself down next to Nott and throwing a thick arm around her and Caleb's shoulders. The gesture was comforting, despite being a transparent attempt to siphon warmth. Fjord was comforting. Having a leader, someone to make decisions, and start conversations that wasn't Caleb was a relief.
"Thanks, Caleb," Fjord said, voice low as to not wake the others.
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
"For getting us out of that…predicament. Had that encounter gone south it would've been…"
"Difficult," Caleb supplied, and Fjord nodded appreciatively.
"Difficult," he repeated.
Caleb looked at the half-orc. He looked so young. So much younger than Clabe remembered. "It's good to have you back," Caleb said in a whisper, unable to speak any louder without danger of his voice cracking.
"Good to be back," Fjord said with a warm smile, resting his head back against the hill behind them, missing Caleb's layered meaning. Without any further conversation between them, Fjord's eyes fluttered closed.
Almost as soon as Fjord's eyes shut, Jester approached with Nila. She winked at Caleb with a cheeky grin and sparkling eyes before seating herself next to Fjord, going as far as to swing her legs over his while Nila settled on her other side. Fjord didn't move, but Caleb swore he saw the man's face color just slightly, but it could've just been the frigid air driving the blood to his face.
The rest of the refugees scattered around them grouped in their own pods stilled, one by one, until the only movement was the dancing flames.
In the far distance above the crackling fire he could see the hazy outlines and Molly and Yasha, taking first watch over the peaceful camp. Somewhere high above, Frumpkin circled.
Caleb sat there with the weight of three people pressed in on him and the fire before him. Things were bad but...This was…good. He inhaled deeply, catching the smell of their collective sweat, grime, and even a tinge of blood. The smelled like people. Messy, living, breathing people.
He rested his head back on Fjord's arm and sighed. When he made his next jump in time, all of this would be erased, both the good version and the bad. This was all meaningless, but…it couldn't be so bad if he enjoyed it. The connection, the family. Just for the night. A stolen moment that would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things that only he would remember.
Just tonight, Caleb supposed, he could allow himself to be selfish.
…
Morning arrived with the grace and tenderness of a slap to the face.
He groaned and shook his shoulders to dislodge the dusting of snow that'd settled there.
"Wha' time isit?" Beau slurred, pinching her eyes closed to better reject the daylight.
Caleb glanced upwards to the sky. The snow-laden clouds vanished overnight and left a heavy sky in their wake.
"About seven'ish."
Beau moaned then pulled her jacket closer and curled into Yasha, who sat on her other side. The tall woman rolled her eyes but in a good-natured way.
Yasha pushed herself up, rousing Molly, then came Beau, then Nott, Fjord, Jester, and Nila. One by one they rose from their slumber, shaking the cold off as best they could. Caleb pushed himself up last with a heavy sigh. The second his legs took his weight they buckled.
"Woah now," Molly said as he grabbed him by the coat.
Caleb cursed and grabbed Molly's arm with shaking hands to support himself.
Nott jumped to his side, slinking under his arm on the other side and putting her arm around his waist to take the other half of his weight. "What's wrong?" She asked while her reptilian eyes scanned him for wounds.
"Good question," Molly said.
"Just tired," Caleb mumbled, staring at a point on the ground as he tried to force his legs to support him, but again his legs crumpled. He made a lackluster attempt to push his friends off, but his limbs might as well have been made of wet paper.
"That's more than lost sleep, my friend," Molly said with a skeptic eyebrow raised. "Hey, Jester," he called, gesturing with his head for the woman to come in their direction.
He heard the rhythmic crunching of snow as Jester skipped over, but he refused to lift his gaze to meet her or anyone's eyes.
"Caleb?" She asked with a small, confused frown, cocking her head to the side. "Are you hurt again?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"Well, so are we but we can still walk," Nott said.
"Ughhh, it's so early in the morning," Jester said, letting her shoulders sag at the thought. "Okay okay," she said and cracked her neck. With a gentle slap, she captured Caleb's face between her two open palms. Goosebumps erupted across his arms at the contact. Jester leaned in with narrowed, skeptical eyes while Nott and Molly pinned him and supported him in equal turns.
"Is this necessary?" he managed while she pressed his cheeks together.
"Stop," she softly smacked his face, "hurting," another smack, "yourself," smack, "Caleb" she finished. With each touch, he felt a spark of soothing magic weave through his body. Jester's magic twisted and curled like vines. It grew through his flesh, winding around his bones, and blossoming at the sites of injuries. The numb of the cold lifted, taking the headache, and tender bruises with it. Even the static cleared from his head. Mostly.
"Thank you, Jester," Caleb said with soft but genuine gratefulness.
She nodded and planting her hands on her hips. "Promise me you can go a day without healing," she said with the same tone one would use to chastise a puppy for teething on the rug.
Caleb's face grew hot in embarrassment and he looked straight down at his feet, half-buried in the snow. He let his dirty hair fall forward in front of him, hopefully concealing his expression. "Ja."
With a nod, Jester walked off to help load the cart and Molly looked to Nott. "Alright, shall we set him free?"
She nodded, and the pair cautiously released their hold on his waist.
Caleb stood on his own. He straightened his back and looked around camp in a meager attempt to salvage his dignity. Before his knees began to knock. And he collapsed into Molly' arms. Again.
"Caleb?" Nott asked, a twinge of panic in her voice.
"Why didn't Jester's healing work? Caleb, what's going on?" Mollymauk asked.
"Well, the truth is that was my first time casting that spell," Caleb said, "I wasn't prepared for the price. I really am just tired." Jester cured his aches and pains, but she couldn't do anything about his fatigue. Hopefully it was a temporary thing.
"Maybe we don't use that spell for a bit then, alrighty?" Molly asked then patted him on the back. "Yasha, a little help?"
Yasha walked over, and despite Caleb's meager protests, she took him from Molly's arms and lifted him as if he were filled with straw and carried him all the way over to the cart from yesterday with the rest of the wounded. Shortly after, the procession departed from their campsite and Caleb resigned himself to his humiliating fate.
He leaned his head back on the edge of the cart, glancing at the other occupants. Three were human, one half-elf, one dwarf, and one dragonborn, with no correlation to gender, age, or apparent wealth or strength. Their shoulders sagged, limbs haphazardly strewn around the cart with tired eyes. Caleb hoped he didn't look as defeated as they did.
He'd gained so many skills in the past sixteen years. He could command lighting and fire, conjure buildings from air, and kill a man with a thought, but nothing in his arsenal could cure excessive weariness. Ridiculous.
Pathetic.
Maybe he should focus on remedying that. That idea of having some distracting magical task to hyper-focus on sent a new spark of vitality down his spine and he began to rifle through his own pockets. He emptied everything out and spread it before his crossed legs on the floor of the cart.
How strange it was to not know what you would find in your own pockets. Caleb idly wondered if Mollymauk experienced this same phenomenon when he'd popped out of his first grave.
In the end, his inventory returned: several books, including his spell book, the sending stone, his component pouch, two spell scrolls, a dagger, his Amulet of Proof Against Detection and Location, a handful of other generally worthless miscellanea, and a pitiful amount of coin.
But the last thing he found gave him pause.
He pulled his fist out of his pocket and opened his fingers to reveal a rough grey stone about the size of a strawberry. With a small grin, he tossed it into the air and caught it. Now that was something.
Caleb took several deep breaths to center himself, then sandwiched the stone between both palms, locking his fingers around it in a tight grip. He brought his closed hands to his lips and whispered an incantation. The heat of his own breath made his skin tickle, then the stone went cold, feeding off his warmth. He set his hands down in his lap, never opening them.
The sun rose higher, fighting down the past day's chill, and thawing the crystalline grasslands until they were covered in sparkling dew. By noon Caleb's hands began to cramp, but the sight of the mountains looming blue in the distance helped him keep his mind off the ache.
In time their caravan passed into the shadow of the mountain and out of the sun's fleeting warmth. Caleb's stone felt even colder in his hands as he fought down a chill. Conversations quieted as their party passed through the jagged canyon mouth. The rock walls rose high above them like tidal waves above to crash, and the winding path upset his stomach further.
Ahead he heard Fjord smooth-talking his way past the gate without paying the outrageous toll for every single person with them. The heavy gates shut behind them with a heavy clang that reverberated around the rock face. He twisted his neck to look ahead, already knowing what he'd see.
In the open, circular maw of the black mountain range spanned a forest with sharp jutting pines that speared the sky with sickly grey-purple leaves. Against the dirty river before their procession building were haphazardly stacked as if they'd been tossed by giants, landing at odd angles with broken windows and roofs sagging under the snow. Shadycreek Run.
They passed over a bridge that creaked under their weight and into the town. At that point, their march ended. The other refugees started to gather themselves and their few possessions. They kept their eyes down with their shoulders hunched. Caleb watched them scatter, some in groups some alone, into the mess of buildings or into the sticky shadows of the impending forest. In the end, there was only a handful of strangers remaining, mostly the injured and those who looked too lost or nervous to survive Shadycreek Run without protection.
Keg led them to The Landlocked Lady—the Mardun's pub with the ridiculous ship's bow sticking out of it. They secured their horses then Fjord, Jester, Keg, and Molly proceeded into the inn while Yasha, Beau, Nila, and Nott started to help the injured out of the cart.
Yasha reached him last. She towered over him and offered him a hand.
Caleb grimaced. "Sorry, I'm kind of in the middle of something," he said, offering his clasped hands as if she'd understand. "Is there any way you could-?"
"Oh, yeah sure," she said quietly, locking her large hands beneath his arms and lifting him like a child. She set him down gently into the mud, where he sank several inches with a sickening squelch.
Steadying himself, Caleb took a step forward. His legs felt like gelatin, but they held. Some of the tension drained out of his body at that, and Nott soon joined him, coming up close to his side in an attempt to help support his weight disguised as a casual gesture.
"What are you doing with the stone?" she asked.
"I can show you in a couple hours."
She nodded at that as they entered the tavern.
During his time doing…less scrupulous work, Caleb had known of a blacksmith who minted gold pieces that she would use herself and they would enter circulation. By the time the thin gold coating wore off to reveal the iron beneath the coins had traveled so far it was impossible to trace them back to her. Or so she thought.
The Landlocked Lady was gold-plated iron. A regal finish on rotting bones that wore at the seams. Champ—the greasy owner—stood behind the bar in conversation with the rest of their party, and as Caleb and Nott neared they heard the last snippets of the conversation.
"If this is pressing business you are more than welcome to summon them at the estate as I know not how often they pass through," Champ said, leaning forward with an expression that looked more like a grinning carnival mask than a display of actual emotion. He chuckled. "In the meantime, you said you wished for rooms and company? How many?" he asked, surveying the group with a hungry expression.
"Give us one second." Keg pulled them aside for a series of whispered concerns about Champ, which ended with Nila sniffing her pouch to the confusion of the rest of the party, only to encourage them to visit the Marduns. Upon behest of the curious party, the bag was passed around for everyone, including Champ to smell. Caleb politely declined. He remembered the pungent earthen smell well enough from the first go around.
They paid for four rooms that were divided out to the usual roommate sets. Caleb hung near the stairwell. His head was beginning to throb again, and his joints ached from being jostled for hours on the wooden cart. He gave the room a final glance. Jester was engaged in conversation with Champ, both laughing in turn. How she could stomach the man he didn't know. Still, Fjord and Molly hovered nearby with tankards in their own conversation, keeping an eye on Jester.
Ghosts. Every one of them. Phantom wisps of his memory brought to life by magic just to torment him a little more. Drive the dagger a little deeper into his bleeding heart. Magic was like that sometimes. Capricious and cruel. Especially old magic. It forced you to pay a toll then took even more from you by force.
Feeling ill, Caleb turned away from his friends and headed upstairs. Maybe he was the ghost. The piece that didn't belong in a happier past.
He opened the door to his room to find a little goblin woman curled up in the corner of the bed. Golden chains wrapped around her crooked fingers as she picked a knot apart with a thin nail.
Caleb settled on the bed across from her, hands still clasped.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, looking up.
Caleb rested his head back against the wall and let his eyes trail along the crumbling crown molding. "Overwhelmed."
"About the Iron Shepherds?"
"Mm."
"I mean things should be easier now, right?" She studied his face. "With Lorenzo dead."
"Mm."
She opened her mouth to speak again, words hanging in her mouth for a brief moment as she chewed her thoughts. "Is...there something else?"
The question rang out in the quiet room. Faint muffled conversations and the scrape of chair legs leaked through the cracking walls and floorboards from what felt like miles away. The stone in Caleb's hand grew warm then, saving him from having to provide an answer.
He crawled forward on the bed, offering his clenched fist up for Nott to see. She leaned in, curiosity overtaking her for the moment.
With a small smile, Caleb unfurled his fists, revealing his prize.
Nott looked up to him then back down at the rock with a blank expression. "It's…a very good rock, Caleb. I'm proud of you." She patted him gently on the shoulder.
Caleb snorted. "It's a Transmuter's Stone," he said, looking at the very plain, ordinary-looking rock in his palm. "I've spent these past hours imbuing it with magic. It can do many things, but most notably it can help me maintain my spells in battle."
Nott's eyes lit up. "Caleb, that's wonderful," she said, with genuine enthusiasm this time.
He nodded and placed the stone in one of his deeper, interior pockets where it was less likely to fall out or be stolen. It could do several, even more powerful things, but perhaps those options were best left for emergencies only.
A scratching sounded at the window, and Nott hoped off the bed to let Frumpkin in. The familiar alighted on the back of a wooden chair, surveying the room with round, yellow eyes that reminded him of Nott's.
"Are you going to turn him back into a cat?" Nott asked, looking from the owl to him.
"Soon, hopefully," Caleb said. He preferred Frumpkin as a cat. Frumpkin preferred to be a cat. But Caleb had also taken inventory of his coin purse and magical components today and knew he needed to save his resources to turn Frumpkin into a spider tomorrow night.
He idly wondered if they'd meet Caduceus now in this timeline. That could change things. Should he try and convince the party to make the trek to Caduceus's graveyard? They had no reason to now. Molly was alive and their cleric was back.
Caleb interlocked his fingers to keep them from tapping his thigh in a nervous rhythm as the darkness settled in outside. All he could do now was keep his head down and make sure everything else went exactly to plan.
…
Caleb, an Olympic medalist in compartmentalizing his trauma, now having to pretend like everything is still fine: I've been training my whole life for this moment.
Thank you guys so much for your kudos and comments. Both the TAZ & CR fandoms in my experience are just so generous with their affection and enthusiasm it really warms my cold, unbeating heart and brightens my days.
Anyways, I'm trying to not read anymore widomauk fic while I write this so I'm not accidentally too influenced by anyone else, but that being said I'd love some fic recs to have in the wings for after I finish this, so please drop some titles and authors in the comments for me to hoard.