Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No. I will not let more fall to those terrors. Not when they're led by my hand. I barely escaped that garden, and fled alone. …If I must, perhaps I should find certain hires. Ones that won't be missed.

•¤•

A carriage rattles and bounces down the old stone road. Weathered souls discuss their destination, their luggage fastened to the carriage roof. 

And from that luggage, a vagrant clad in worn chains and ragged cloth pokes his head. Bigby was no stranger to sneaking onto carriages such as these, fleeing from town to town to keep his inner demons hidden. Trying to find somewhere to hide, but being found all the same. But this town, this dreary village… it held promise. 

The Hamlet, home of the Darkest Estate. Almost entirely abandoned, after the previous lord drove it to ruin. Many rumors and tales circle the town, but one is consistent: most who venture there do not return. That is, if they don't flee first. A town where if someone goes missing, few bother to look. 

And, Bigby believes, a rightful home for an Abomination like him. The carriage pulls into town, and Bigby hops off before the carriage stops. He watches it carry on without him, relieved that he has yet to be noticed. 

Feeling the cobble and dirt beneath his feet, Bigby begins to wander the threadbare homestead. Many buildings are condemned with age, held together with hasty scaffolding. A few, like the tavern, are just functional enough to open their doors. He can't help but scoff at a foreign trading cart, wondering what they expected to gain from such a place. 

But it begins to dawn on him that this town is… busier than he anticipated. Expecting the occasional stubborn hag, the village was instead populated by people from near and far. Not many as of now, but perhaps more will trickle in with time. Some are helping rebuild. But it's fine, that just means more crowds to hide in. There can be safety in numbers, Bigby tries to tell himself. His ears are pricked by the sound of a ringing bell, which Bigby follows to the town square. 

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE!” A man cries, standing on a box as a wilted tree looms behind him. In one hand is a bell, the other parchment. An announcement for the village. Bigby patiently waits, nervously watching the villagers flood in. Not the biggest village he's been in, but still a touch larger than he would like. The man clears his throat, and the audience’s chatter falls silent. 

“The expedition team from the ruins has returned! After much consideration of the retrieved information, our lady has approved the formation of guilds! Each party must have at minimum four members, as any less will be denied entry to the estate. Once at the estate, the party is allowed to enter one of the surrounding dungeons. Prepare accordingly! Any trinkets or baubles found on your expedition will be bought by our lady for a fair price, and same goes with the trade wagon. May the Light guide your way.” 

The crowd murmurs, and the man continues. “HOWEVER; you are still PROHIBITED to enter the Estate itself, the Gardens, or the Farmstead. Expeditions or otherwise. If you spot a new manner of beast, notify our lady IMMEDIATELY. All manner of horrors are exiled from our Hamlet, and the guilds will see that such remains true. That will be all.”

The man steps down, and the village is awash with excitement. A resurgence for the Hamlet, lined with adventure and treasure. Bigby can feel the blood drain from his face as he realizes his mistake. Monsters. This town had cursed lands possessed by monsters, and populated with monster hunters to cull them. One misstep and the entire Hamlet would be upon him like a swarm of locus. 

The ringing starts in his ears. A symptom of stress, and a warning of the approaching beast within. Escaping the town square, Bigby tries to comfort himself. 

They can't really be monsters, can they? He thinks to himself. No, it can't be. I've never seen anything like what bit me in the moor since that day. They must mean the wildlife. Wolves. Bears. Not… not me.

Reaching into his pocket, Bigby retrieves two measly coins. He needs something to take his mind off this. Heading to the tavern, he contemplates his purchase. A roll? No no, no food. Starvation keeps the beast at bay. He can't shift if he doesn't have the energy. A pint of mead will do. 

Entering the tavern, Bigby is met with lively patrons that pay him no mind. Shuffling to the bar, Bigby meekly places his payment and states his request. Taking a seat once his beverage is in hand, Bigby can't help but reminisce as he drinks. When was the last time he was in public like this? Mingling. He wasn't very social, even before the curse. He much preferred his studies, examining critters in the wood. After the curse, Bigby avoided civilization for quite a while. But in time, the loneliness was too much to bear. 

Bigby was snapped out of his thoughts by a man kicking open the tavern door. A braggart, here to show friends his latest spoils. On one of the neighboring tables, he slams down a skull. A human skull. And with sensitive ears, Bigby can hear it still try to gasp a wheeze. It's jaw twitches. The braggart claims the Ruins to be it's origin, as the bar keeper reminds him that such spoils aren't allowed in the tavern. 

Slack jawed in shock, Bigby stares at the skull until the ringing in his ears appears again. He finishes off his pint as fast as he can, and flees the tavern. It's real. The monsters are real, he's not safe here! If the ghouls don't get him, the villagers will! He has to run, find another carriage, something-

Bigby’s train of thought is interrupted by bumping into something that jingles, and can't help but yelp at the sudden appearance of a clown. 

“You got a problem?” The masked jester sneers at the stammering changeling, voice dripping with venom. A hand rests on a dagger in his belt.

“N-no! I uh, was um-” He points over his shoulder as he scrambles for an excuse, only to point at the church they were in front of. “UH.” He turns back to the jester, both hands clutching the green cloth over his shoulders. He won't be involving himself with the church, he doesn't need to be branded twice. He stares at the ground, looking for a lie.

The tension is cut by a woman clearing her throat. A lady with brown hair has approached the two, wearing red aristocratic garb. With her is a curious looking man, dressed in a turban and worn silks. “You're here for the expeditions, yes?” The woman asks.

“Who's asking?” The Jester snaps back. Bigby wonders if this is a good enough distraction to slip away. 

The woman sighs. “Lady Maryam, heiress of the Darkest Estate.”

Both Bigby and the fool are surprised to meet the heiress herself. Much of her motivations are shrouded in mystery, but she was who breathed life back into this dismal Hamlet. She continues. “I wish to form a guild.”

“...Yeah?” The jester tilts his head, almost mockingly. “Whats the difference between your guild and all the others knocking around? You get your family heirlooms either way.”

The heir glares in return of the jester’s attitude. “I pick the expeditions and stay behind. Some will be exploratory. Some will be to cull certain beasts. Whatever the task, on top of your standard pay, I'll pay you double for whatever you find. I'll also be handling your lodgings.”

The two balk at the proposition. It makes sense now why the man was with her now, he had already joined her guild! Bigby nervously thought it over, scared of what would happen if they discovered his other half. 

The jester, however, is clearly intrigued. “Well shit, why didn't you lead with that?” He asks, hand leaving his dagger. 

“Wait.” Bigby speaks up. “Didn't you say expeditions need a team of four? W-we’re only three, since you're not coming.” 

Just then, the doors of the church fly open, and a man is shoved out of the holy sanctuary. Promptly losing his footing, he tumbles down the stairs, landing among the fledgling guild. Everyone, including the stoic man by the heiress’ side, winces at the sight. Bigby would think the man is a vagrant like him, with tattered black pants and matching hood. But with his spiked collar and cuff made from gold, the Abomination thinks otherwise. The stranger peels his face off the ground, grumbling. “Nobody appreciates a good flagellant these days…”

The heiress paused, before pointing at each man in her company. “One, two, three, four. We have a guild's worth of people.” Bigby sputters at the growing nonsense this situation holds.

“Guild? What guild?” The flagellant questions as he comes to his feet. 

“One ran by our lady that pays double.” The jester states bluntly. 

Without missing a beat, the flagellant agrees. “Oh okay! I'm Damien!”

The jester shrugs. “I've been in worse freakshows. Sarmenti.”

The stoic man steps forward. “I am Alhazred. I hope we can work well together.”

"Bigby!" The final member nervously squeaks out, already kicking himself for agreeing to such a horrible idea. He hopes a proper bed is worth such a risk on his life.

The heir nods. “Then if you'll come with me, I'll show you to your contracts, and where you'll be staying while you're here.” The group begins move towards the Hamlet's manor before she continues. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, I got one.” Sarmenti quickens his pace to be beside Maryam. “Why us? Aren't there war vets out here? We can't be the only options for you.”

Their lady glares in response. “You should be thankful that anyone is willing to hire foolish horrors like yourselves.”

After a beat of silence, Sarmenti chuckles. “We should call ourselves that! The Foolish Horrors!”

Beginning to hear a faint ringing in his ears, Bigby mentally starts to count backwards from ten.

Chapter Text

Bigby’s morning begins with a coaster bouncing off his head. Raising his head from his pillow, he spots his assailant in the doorway of his new bedroom. 

“Rise and shine, time for work!” Damien chirps, “We'll be in the dining room!”

As the flagellant retreats, Bigby begrudgingly hoists himself from the first bed he's had in years. This guild's lodgings was in the Estate's guest manor, located in the village. Many rooms have yet to be open, with the guild members’ bedrooms not having seen company in years. Bigby sneezed quite a few times from the dust while making his bed, and he expects to sneeze quite a few more times as the Foolish Horrors make themselves comfortable. The only room free of dust was their lady's office, on the upper floor with the host's quarters. The guild was only allowed up there for the debriefings, nothing more.

Trudging down the well worn hall, wrapping himself in his blanket instead of his typical ragged cloth, Bigby makes his way to the dining hall. Sarmenti and Damien are already chattering, looking over maps and notes. Alhazred looks over the documents as well, listening to his teammates’ conversation. Bigby can't help but feel curious as he sits down, wondering what their first duties are.

“Alright!” Sarmenti claps his hands together before grabbing a certain parchment. “Now that everyone's here, I'll go over the job.” He skims it over once again, paraphrasing the heiress’ decree. “Our lady wants us to do an exploratory run of the ruins, to see if we're competent for the future tasks at hand. Note anything weird, grab anything shiny.”

That doesn't sound too bad. Bigby thinks to himself. But then he remembers the tavern, the shuddering skull that came from where they'll be headed, and grows nervous. 

“I'll keep track of the map, and our progress. Damien's the muscle, Al's gonna carry our gear and spoils.” Bigby dreads the idea of a literal fool leading these expeditions, but he's pointed to before he can think on it too hard.

“You.” Sarmenti snaps his fingers a few times, before remembering the fourth member's name. “Bigby. What’ll you do for the team?”

The vagrant blinks. “Um… we'll be camping on the longer expeditions, right? I can scout out good spots. Safe spots. I'm used to sleeping outside, I know what makes a good camp.”

“Hm.” Sarmenti focuses back on the parchment. “I'll take it.” Scribbling something down, the parchment and map are put in the jester’s pocket. “We'll go pick up supplies, and head out.” 

“Rodger!” Damien raises from his seat. Alhazred nods as he gets up as well. Bigby, not realizing they were headed out so soon, jumps to his feet. “Wait hang on, I need to put this back.” He awkwardly blurts out, going back to his room, returning with his typical cloth in place of his blanket. Bigby notices Alhazred raise an eyebrow at him, but neither say anything. 

The party head towards the Estate's gates, greeted by two armed and armored guards. Nearby is a hastily prepared booth, a market offering gear for the adventurers. Sarmenti shows the parchment describing their expedition to the clerk, who nods. Their lady has ordered the party's supplies in advance, which the clerk provides within a large backpack. Sarmenti hands the bag to Alhazred, who sorts through what they've obtained. 

“Eight torches, four rations, four sets of gauze, and a bottle of holy water.” The occultist states.

“Sounds about right.” Sarmenti replies. Alhazred closes the backpack and puts it on his shoulders, as Damien gives the guards a thumbs up. 

The iron grate is opened, it's hinges wailing under it's weight and age. The party presses forward, into the treacherous unknown. Trailing after the party, Bigby watches the gates close behind them. Ahead, lies the Darkest Estate. A large building of grand architecture, crumbling under years of corruption. They march towards the crumbling rubble, passing curious landmarks along the way. A windmill refusing to turn with the wind, a forest with the largest mushrooms Bigby’s ever seen, locked gates with repulsive smells behind them. And, of course, the ruin’s entrance. A simple stone doorway leading towards dark, winding catacombs. Alhazred lights a torch. 

“Everyone ready?” Sarmenti looks back over to the party, map in hand. Damien readies his flail with a grin, and Alhazred nods firmly as he holds the torch high. Anxiously, Bigby unravels his shackle’s chain from around his arm, planning to use it as a whip. Sarmenti stretches. “Alright, let's earn our keep.” With that, the party sets forward to plumb the depths. 

The ruin is dark, and cold. Bigby’s senses stay alert, hearing rustling cobble and smelling ancient rot. Sarmenti reminds the party to keep an eye out for the glitter of gold, leading the party forward. Others look around the rooms and halls in methodical sweeps, while Bigby’s are frantic, investigating each sound. 

The vagrant admittedly jumps when Alhazred speaks. “Here we are.” Al kneels down, plucking a small gem from the pile of rubble. It glitters in the torch light once the dust is blown off it. “Not much, but a promising start.”

Damien and Bigby gather to gawk at the stone with Sarmenti simply turning to face them from his spot ahead, at the edge of the torch's light. “Hey, good work! I'm sure our lady will be happy to see us earn back the money she spent. Now, where are we headed…” Sarmenti squints at his map, looking over their routes. 

Bigby’s ear twitches at the sound of a faint click. Looking to the source of the sound, something glints in the dark behind the Jester. Without thinking, Bigby jumps into action. “LOOK OUT!” The vagrant cries, tackling the fool to the ground. He feels a crossbow's bolt fly over his head, and hears it lodge itself in a stone wall. “WHAT IN THE HELL-!?” Sarmenti starts, before Alhazred moves the torch towards the fallen members. Bigby a Sarmenti freeze at the sight of an animated cadaver, staring down at them as it loads another bolt. 

“Off!!” Sarmenti commands, shoving Bigby away. The jester then rolls away from the cadaver's shot, jumping to his feet as a bolt pierces where his head was moments before. Bigby scrambles to stand, and frantically retreats the dark upon hearing the shuffling of bone. “T-there's more of them!” He almost backs into Alhazred, if it weren't for the occultist putting out his hand to stop him.

“Finally, I was growing bored! It's a pity they won't bleed.” Damien declared before lunging towards the first cadaver. His flail swipes across it's face, skull shattering from the impact. The ghoul falls, and two more bearing swords take it's place. 

A sickle swiftly appears in Sarmenti's hand. “They're brittle, we've got that going for us!” The jester quips, decapitating one of the ghouls in one quick motion. For the second, Bigby wraps his chain around it's foot. With an urgent yank, the ghoul is on it's back, and Damien promptly crushes it's skull beneath his heel.

And then, silence. Only the heavy breathing of the party can be heard. Then Alhazred steps forward, examining the body of one of the ghouls. The others flock to him, if not out of curiosity, to stay close to the flickering light.

A rib is pulled from the remains, chiseled with bizarre markings, intertwined and interlocking. “As I feared.” Alhazred turns the rib over in his hand. “These aren't simple restless spirits. These souls do not remain by choice. A necromancer roams these corridors.” Alhazred stands again, putting the rib in his pocket. 

“Sounds about right.” Damien accepts without hesitation. 

“Wait, what makes you the expert?” Sarmenti points to the occultist accusingly. 

“A decade's worth of study focusing upon the dark arts.” Alhazred retorts with a glare, as a skull is summoned into the man's hand. Clearly ancient, a lit candle sits atop it, drowning the fossil in wax.

“Oh.” Sarmenti’s finger lowers, not having a retort for that. Alhazred's idol vanishes upon winning the dispute. 

…

“So we're gonna go find that Necromancer then, right?” Damien ponders excitedly.

“NO!” All three members snap in response.

•¤•

The Foolish Horrors return from their expedition, the sun setting overhead. They carry with them a handful of trinkets. Not a very noteworthy haul, but undeniable proof in their abilities. Bigby’s nerves were still slightly shot from that encounter with the living dead. Even after the torch was snuffed outside the ruin, Bigby found himself staying by Alhazred’s side. 

Returning to the manor, Alhazred handed the spoils to Sarmenti, to show to their lady. Damien went off to his room, to do… whatever he does. Looking to Alhazred, Bigby wonders if he knows anything about his curse. If he knows a cure for his affliction. 

“Yes?” Alhazred raises a brow to the vagrant staring at him. 

Bigby jolts. “OH! Um, sorry, I was just- just thinking about stuff, didn't mean to stare.” He puts his hands in front of himself, chains rattling with the hasty movement. Bigby frantically wraps his unraveled chains back around his arms. “S-sorry, that sound is probably annoying.”

Alhazred’s raised brow is joined by a tilted head. Bigby can't tell if it's out of confusion or judgment. 

“W-well, I'm gonna go-” Bigby politely tries to escape, but Alhazred interjects. 

“Bigby, was it?”

The changeling hunches, nervous. “...Yes.”

“Hm.” Alhazred gives him a light nod. “Good work today.”

“Oh!” Bigby’s posture straightens, a smile finding a way onto his face. “Th-thank you! Have… have a good night Al.” Bigby gives a small wave to the occultist, before retreating to his quarters. 

Returning to his well earned mattress, Bigby feels… hopeful. Maybe this job will turn out okay. As long as he keeps the beast in check, perhaps more kindness will be shown to him. If it escapes his control… let the village do what it must to him, but he hopes his guild members will be okay.

Chapter Text

The morning after the expedition, Sarmenti told the party the good news. Not only has their lady given them their payment, but their haul from the ruin has cemented their employment under the heiress. Their next job would come the following week. Rightfully hungry, they head to the kitchen and adjoining pantry. However, despite their search…

“ACHOO!” Bigby sniffles as he closes another dusty cabinet. 

“Give it up for sneeze number five!” Sarmenti teased from his section of kitchen, empty drawer in hand. 

Alhazred stands from looking under the counters. “We should have anticipated this, our contracts only mentioned rations.”

“I got something!!” Damien returns from the pantry, covered in cobwebs. Triumphantly, he places a jar on the table. It… supposedly was something pickled. The warped black tendrils floated in murky fluid, unclear if this item was a confection or an experiment. 

The party stares in silence at the only food(?) item found in their kitchen. 

“Alright, market run.” Sarmenti returns the drawer to where he pulled it out of. The others sigh in relief, while Damien wonders why they aren't proud of his discovery. Eh, more for him later.

Coin in hand, the party goes to the Hamlet's market street. The stalls are a little rickety, and the produce has seen better days, but it's waking up from hibernation like the rest of the Hamlet. Bigby regrets not staying home, his hunger makes everything sound like a wise purchase. In this small bag in his hand, Bigby holds the most money he's ever made. And he's hesitant to spend it. His ribs may protrude, but too much substance and the beast will have no trouble taking over. His starvation is for everyone's safety. 

He watches Sarmenti and Damien squabble over dried chillies, then turns to Alhazred picking through items with much deliberation. Bigby dreads the idea of giving his inner demon power, but their shared stomach has run on empty for far too long. Spotting a stand offering potatoes, Bigby goes and looks it over.

“Are those any good?” Alhazred asks, making Bigby nearly jump out of his skin with the occultist’s sudden appearance.

“Well! It's… certainly a potato.” He awkwardly motions to the spud in his hand. 

Alhazred slightly smirks at Bigby’s presentation, then sighs. “Apologies for the odd question. I'm not from this country, but a desert across the ocean. …I'm not familiar with many of these foods.”

“Oh.” Bigby now understands why Alhazred looks so different from the locals. “I mean, potatoes aren't terrible! Yeah, they're basic, but it makes them a good blank canvas.” Inadvertently talking himself into it, Bigby grabs a basket to hold the assortment of spuds he'll purchase. 

“I see.” Alhazred replies, watching Bigby pick out produce.

“DAMIEN, WE ARE NOT SPENDING OUR ENTIRE BUDGET ON SPICES!” Sarmenti chastised, returning the chillies to their booth. 

“WHY NOT!?” Damien demanded. “They sting so sweetly!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake-” Sarmenti pinched his temples. “Bud, you missed the part where most of this stuff is imported. Everything's gonna cost an arm and a leg until they get a new farm going. The old Farmstead is part of the Estate now, and it hasn't even been cleared for expeditions yet.”

“...Can I at least get a bottle of vinegar?” Damien requests. 

Sarmenti sighs deeply. “One.”

Bigby can't keep the smile off his face as Damien lights up. He can tell Alhazred doesn't fully understand his teammates, and quite frankly Bigby doesn't understand them either. This team is made of the strangest people he's ever met, but somehow, maybe things will turn out okay. 

A certain smell catches Bigby’s senses, one that he can't resist. He follows the trail, breaking off from the group. The others shortly follow, however, since it was strange seeing Bigby walk off on his own. Soon enough they come upon the source. A booth selling freshly made honey buns. Fresh pastries were always Bigby’s weakness. 

“Well that's breakfast sorted out.” Sarmenti states. He then ruffles Bigby’s hair, much to the vagrant's surprise. “Good work Bigs.” 

Before Bigby can respond, Damien jogs past. “Dibs on the hottest one!” 

Soon all but one horror had a pastry in hand. Sarmenti, who claimed he wasn't keen on removing his mask. Bigby quickly bit down into his roll, only to fan his mouth shortly after. “Hot, these are still really hot!”

“That's how you know they're good!” Damien replied, already halfway through his treat.

Alhazred, meanwhile, had been watching the others intently. He had never had this type of roll before. With a cautious nibble, Alhazred tries the foreign pastry. “Hm!” The nibble is followed by a proper bite, with Alhazred deciding he quite likes honey buns.

•¤•

With the kitchen sorted, the next day was spent cleaning. Dusting, laundry, moping. Damien and Sarmenti were in the backyard, beating the dust out of one of many rugs. 

“So!” Sarmenti starts between swings. “What's your story?” 

“Huh?” Damien looks to the jester, still beating the rug.

Sarmenti scoffs. “Why did you come here? We met with you getting thrown out of a church, my guy.”

“Ooooh!” Damien takes down the rug from the clothes line, fanning it out a few times before putting it in the clean pile on the porch. “I didn't come from anywhere! I was born here in the Hamlet.”

Sarmenti brings over the next rug. “You're joking! You? A local? Could've sworn you were some wacko on the run.” He teased. 

“Excuse you, I am a man of faith!” Damien stands proud as the rug is hung. 

“The church says otherwise.” Sarmenti counters, hand on his hip.

Damien grumbles while giving the rug a hard whack. “Nobody properly understands worship through flagellant actions. I've sworn my flesh sacred, to bear other's sins in their stead! No matter how severe, I will always accept another's pain. But noooooo, I'm too violent! Apparently it's cruel and unusual to properly fulfill my duties.”

Sarmenti stares at the man beside him, reminded of why Damien's the designated muscle. Then he scoffs. “You're a nut. Selfless, but a nut.” He gives Damien a light jab with his elbow. 

“What about you?” Damien jabs Sarmenti in return.

“Me?” The Jester dramatically puts the back of his hand to his forehead, making a show of his exposition. “Ah, a royal fool I once was! A talented musician throughout the land, loved by all! Until tragedy emerged…” Pitifully, he presented his dominant hand, showing it's missing pinkie finger. “I could reach my full potential no longer! Shunned I was, from the royalty who once loved me so! I had nowhere to go! Until I heard the tale of a sad little Hamlet…” He then suddenly drops his act, shrugging. “And I thought fuck it, why not? Now c'mon, let's get these rugs done.”

Inside, Alhazred and Bigby were sorting through bookshelves. What to keep, what to sell for extra coin. The vagrant's help is a surprise to the occultist, since he wasn't expecting the chained individual to know how to read in the first place. Alhazred had already claimed a few tomes of dark academia for himself, to be stored on the shelves in his room. It looked like Bigby wanted to claim some books as well, but hadn’t found anything suiting his interest. 

“Um. So uh…” Bigby awkwardly tries to start small talk. “What brings you to the Hamlet? I-I mean, you traveled a long way for… this.” Bigby holds up a particularly yellowed, illegible parchment that nearly crumbles to dust in his hand.

Alhazred stares at the paper for a moment, then returns to his sorting as he speaks. “Word is spreading quite quickly about the Estate. This Hamlet rests upon a myriad of taboo curiosities, and I believe my experience in the occult would be an exemplary tool in expeditions.” He looks over a book with a language Bigby doesn't recognize. “Admittedly, I'm also here to take my understanding even further. The previous lord compiled a variety of dense resources during his obsession.”

“I-I, erm…” Bigby fights the urge to ask Alhazred if he's heard of anything like the vagrant. No, that would be foolish. He knows better. Nobody humors an Abomination. But this talk of academia has him feeling nostalgic. “...I used to study too.”

“Really?” A twinge of surprise and curiosity crack through Alhazred’s typically logical demeanor. 

“Not in the occult!” Bigby blurts out, not wanting Alhazred to come to any false conclusions. “I was a biologist. Well, studying to be a biologist. A-and a smidge of toxicology, so I could make antivenom in an emergency. I've forgotten most of the recipes now, but I still know animals pretty well.”

“What made you stop?” Alhazred’s full focus is on Bigby now, and he watches his fellow academic wince at the question. 

Bigby rubs the shoulder he hides under his tattered green cloth. “An accident. I got cocky. Forgot I was only human.”

“...My condolences.” Realizing he struck a nerve, Alhazred quietly returns to sorting shelves. But not before saying something. “I too have made mistakes, from when I was too young to know fear.”

“You did?” Bigby turns to Alhazred, raising his brow. “You recovered better than I have.”

“Or perhaps I'm simply better at faking it.” Alhazred replied, smiling to the vagrant. Bigby chuckles!

“I don't know if my biology would ever be useful on our expeditions, but I think I'll leave the zombies to you.” Bigby jokes, sharing the most genuine smile he's had in some time.

•¤•

Slipping out of his room at the dead of night, Bigby seeks out a midnight snack. He's been trying to space out his meals, keeping the beast as weak as he can. But his growling stomach is too loud to sleep through tonight. 

Bigby nearly jumps out of his blanket when he sees someone already in the kitchen. “Damien?”

The man was standing over the sink, dressing wounds on his arms with a towel wet with a strong smelling liquid. “Bigby! Can't sleep?” Damien chirps over his shoulder, showing a bruise blooming on his face.

“What happened to you?” Bigby cautiously approached Damien, while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl on the table. 

“Bar fight.” Damien states simply, returning focus to his injuries. Bigby nervously picks the peel off the fruit in his hand. Now next to Damien, he can see shards of glass and drops of blood dotting the sink. Damien's outer arm is their obvious source, clearly having received a bottle during the fight.

Bigby’s sensitive nose scrunched at the overpowering smell of the bottle Damien was using. “...You're using vinegar.”

“Want some?” Damien kindly offered, gliding the soaked rag over his arm like he was bathing. 

“...Nnnnno, thank you.” Bigby dismisses his repulsion and sits on the counter neighboring the sink. 

“Aw, really?” Damien tilts his head, almost disappointed. “I thought we were both flagellant.”

Bigby nearly chokes on an orange slice. “What!? No! What made you think that!?”

Damien looks at Bigby for a moment, baffled. “You carry unique scars, adorn yourself in chains, have yet to buy a shirt better than a shred of cloth, and eat the bare minimum to prevent starving to death.” Damien shrugged. “Looked flagellant to me.” 

Bigby… can't believe he got called out by the team lunatic. Nibbling at his fruit, Bigby thinks his response over. They can't know why he does this. At least, what will happen if he doesn't. “These scars were forced onto me. As for the rest… it's for the best that I restrain myself.”

“Hm.” Damien rings out his rag, corking his bottle of vinegar. He can tell when someone's avoiding an uncomfortable subject. “You know, I count confessions as burdens to bare. If there's anything you'd like to take off your chest, I'll take your secrets to my grave.”

Bigby’s surprised by such a kind offer. Tempting, but… the last flagellant that knew the truth punished him harshly. “I'll think about it.”

Damien never liked watching people suffer pointlessly. Suffering to reach ambitions, suffering in another's stead, suffering from wrongful deeds, that he understood. But suffering simply to suffer? That defeated the point of pain. Regardless, he realizes that this offer is all he can provide for now. “I hope you do. Goodnight, Bigby.”

Bigby spent that night, and the following week, mulling over Damien's offer. Is it really safe to remove this weight from his chest? Can he trust them so soon? Even if they don't reject him, what about the rest of the Hamlet? He'll be driven out all the same if word gets out. Lost in thought, their next expedition arrives before Bigby knows it.

Chapter Text

“Okay fellas, here's the game plan!” Sarmenti jingles down the stairs as he leaves their lady's office, sealed scroll in hand. The heiress had been very reclusive during the guild's employment. Only Sarmenti saw her regularly, for just weekly orders. No conversation. Only business. Perhaps because the jester was who led the charge once on her family's soil. Or perhaps because no one would believe the outcry of a fool, should her uncle's madness be hereditary.

Sarmenti unravels the scroll, making sure the seal remains intact. “Our next stop is the Weald. We'll be swinging by each dungeon for a lay of the land before properly getting to work.”

“No necromancer?” Damien asked, slightly disappointed. 

“Hopefully.” Alhazred responded, not understanding why Damien anticipated a suicide mission so fondly. 

“That's the one with the mushrooms right?” Bigby remembers seeing spore clouds dense as fog in that sickly forest. Perhaps his past will be of use after all.

“Yep, we've got extra antidotes for it.” Sarmenti looks over notes that he's taken. “Been hanging around the tavern to get details from other guilds about the place. The forest eats at ya. Fatigue, dizziness, headaches, just from lingering too long. That's before you factor in everything that's poisonous, venomous, and actively trying to kill you. We'll have to keep this expedition brief.”

“...Wet rags could help.” Bigby ponders. 

Sarmenti sputters. “What, don't want your chains dirty?”

“No, to wear over our noses and mouths!” Bigby retorts, not allowing an insult to his former expertise. “Mushrooms give off spores to reproduce, or defend themselves. That airborne dust may be why expeditions to the forest are so exhausting! With wet rags, we should be able to protect ourselves from breathing it in. Or at least lower our intake.”

Surprised by the vagrant's sudden confidence, the party silently looks to him while pondering his words. Realizing that he's made himself the center of attention, Bigby anxiously hunches to appear smaller.

That is, until Alhazred places a hand on his shoulder. “I believe Bigby’s theory is worth testing. There's no harm in wet washcloths, is there?”

Sarmenti sighs, putting the papers in his pocket. “Fine, I've had worse ideas. We'll grab 'em here before we leave.”

“Rot shall claim us not!” Damien declared, already heading to the bathroom to prepare their supplies. 

•¤•

The worn gate closing behind them, The Foolish Horrors once again enter the unknown with their improvised defenses. Sarmenti wore his rag overtop his mask, and at this point Bigby’s learned not to question it.

Alhazred lights a torch, and Bigby thanks his lucky stars that the spores aren't flammable. They pass through the cobble gate, a hastily built threshold in an attempt to contain nature's madness. 

Bigby was alert as ever, taking in the dungeon as the party pressed forward. Such curious mega fauna intrigued the former student, but he's been burned for his curiosity before. Still, he wonders as his teammates pick through remains and loot left by those who came before them. Were these mutations a symptom of the Estate's corruption? Or an evolutionary response to their changed ecosystem?

Lost in thought, Bigby doesn't notice the growling in the brush until it's too late. Until he's sharply reminded that these woods are as welcoming as the moor that damned him. A half rotted mutt flies from the bushes, sinking it's jagged teeth into Bigby’s leg. The party halts upon the vagrant's cry of pain as he falls to the ground. 

“I got it!” Sarmenti rushes forward, wielding his precious lute like a club. A swift blow is delivered to the hound, it's body being tossed into the neighboring tree with a sickening crunch. It falls to the ground in a heap, still.

Tears sting Bigby’s screwed shut eyes, as he clutches his mutilated leg, flesh torn from bone. His own blood is all he can smell, the ringing in his ears all he hears. He feels the all too familiar sensation of melting and reforming flesh. It's only a matter of time before he's…

…healed?

Feeling the pain leave him, Bigby opens his eyes. Alhazred was kneeled beside him, holding his leg still as his other hand hovered over the injury. Al’s hand swirled with red light, dancing with runes as the skin on Bigby’s leg closes. 

Alhazred had passed his torch to Damien to hold, as Sarmenti was talking with Alhazred. Bigby could start making out the words as the ringing in his ears faded. 

“-ly doubt that many people would enjoy seeing my skills.” Alhazred states, not looking up from his patient. 

“Well I mean shit Al, it's still a hell of a party trick!” Sarmenti retorts adamantly, almost hitting Damien as he motions to the occultist. “It would've been nice to know you could pull miracles out your ass!!”

Alhazred sighs, electing to ignore the fool. “Bigby, can you move your leg for me?” 

The vagrant cautiously obliged, finding that the limb felt as though it was never injured. “...Was that you?”

“It was.” Alhazred begrudgingly admits. The occultist was fully aware of how his powers were seen as evil, no matter how they were used. 

“Thank you.” Bigby says, drying his eyes as he wobbled onto his feet. 

Alhazred was surprised by Bigby’s acceptance, but there are more pressing matters to attend to. Alhazred clears his throat as he stands up. “We should examine your assailant. To make sure it's dead, and parse it's origin.”

“R-right.” Bigby looked over to the hound’s remains, somewhat pitying it. It could have been someone's companion in another life. 

Now examining the corpse, Alhazred furrows his brow. 

“So that's two necromancers!” Damien claims. “One for men, one for beasts!”

“I thought zombies were a Ruin thing though?” Sarmenti disputed. 

“Odd.” Alhazred prys at the dog's exposed bones. “There's no engravings. Necromancy couldn't have been used here.”

Bigby shudders, not liking the answer forming in his mind. Kneeling besides Alhazred, Bigby looks to the mut’s eyes. “Because it's not magic.” He says, pulling down the sorry beast’s lower eyelid. Beneath are foreign vains of still pulsating mycelium. “It's cordyceps.”

“The mushrooms?” Damien holds the light closer, as to get a better look at the mut. 

Bigby nods. “This isn't the first fungus to reanimate prey. But it was merely ants, bugs. Seeing a colony infect a mammal this size is… worrying.”

“Fuck, it might infect humans.” Sarmenti realizes aloud. The party scrambles away from the unveiled biohazard, awash with disgust. 

“Right, we're heading back now.” Sarmenti declared. “The Hamlet needs to know about this. I'll try convincing our lady to put a mask mandate on any expeditions to the weald. I'm not entering this place again without something between this hell hole and my lungs.” 

Bigby would be happy that his theory was proven right, if it didn't become mandatory to avoid such a horrible affliction. Bigby was relieved to leave that accursed wood, wanting to preserve what little autonomy he still had. 

While heading to the Estate's gate, Sarmenti looks to Bigby. “At least we're even.”

“...Huh?” Bigby asks. “For what?”

Sarmenti chuckles. “You saved my ass back in the ruins, I saved your leg back in the weald.”

Bigby rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, r-right. Thanks.”

Sarmenti ruffles Bigby’s hair. “Eh, what're friends for? I hope you're willing to help me write some notes, because I do not know how to spell some of those words you used.”

Chapter Text

Maryam pinched her temples, leafing through pile after pile of paperwork. The sanitarium has been in disarray since those Fools she hired came back from the weald. Claiming that there's an airborne disease, that renders you a puppet to a mushroom in the wood. Nonsense, through the heiress’ eyes, but she'll take no risk. Supplying masks to the mercenaries is a small price to pay for redemption. 

The heiress has been met with trial and tribulation ever since her arrival. From her carriage breaking on the old road, to the dizzying work required to run this repulsive village. Every day, a new panic. Every day, another problem left at her feet. She'd backhand her uncle for the mess he's left behind if she could.

And these disposable hires, these ‘Foolish Horrors’, she's half tempted to fire them and start anew. But so far, no party she's sent has survived two excursions back to back. Not without intense preparation. They've made themselves useful, much to the lady's annoyance. 

Ever since that retreat from the courtyard, when she decided never to enter the Estate again, the whole village seemed revolting. Every person she talks to makes her nose curl. It seems that jester from the city is the only one who understands bathing. 

Between managing this dilapidated settlement, she's been making preparations for those Fools to examine the warrens next. Where her uncle tells her that inbred abominations of swine swarm in the dark. Although unpleasant in the extreme, Maryam knows that the hearts of these dungeons need to be eradicated to resolve whatever's wrong with the family estate. 

And hopefully, cure the heiress of what's wrong with her.

Chapter Text

Bigby was curled up in his bed, wrapped in a blanket, alone with a book. While the others had dinner, Bigby kept to himself. Being at the table would make him over indulge, giving his inner demon all the more chances to ruin another good thing. However, his door cracked open with a jingle as one of his teammates poked in his head.

“Bigothy~!” Sarmenti greeted, doing a small twirl into the room. “We finally got the game room dusted off, and we have a seat with your name on it!” He does a bow, motioning to the hall.

Bigby smirks. “You're particularly dramatic this evening.”

Sarmenti stands upright, hands now on his hips. “I'm a fool, what were you expecting?”

The vagrant laughed! “You guys can go on without me. I-”

“Nonsense!” Sarmenti interjects. “Ludo needs four players! We're already short a head at our dinner table, to be missing a compadre during game night would be unthinkable!”

Bigby sighs, folding a corner on his page. Sarmenti tended to get like this over entertainment and festivities. “You're not going to let me say no, are you?” Setting his book aside, Bigby rises to his feet. 

“Nope!” Sarmenti quickly moves behind Bigby to push him out of his room before the vagrant changes his mind. “C'mon, it'll be fun! You can even bring your blanket, we've got snacks and good cushions.”

Bigby’s ushered to the game room before he knows it, being presented to the party by the jester. “Our illusive fourth member, ladies and gentlemen!” Sarmenti declared, acting like his audience was larger than just his two roommates. 

The game room was lavish for it's age, housing a dart board, pool table, and of course, a simple table for chess and cards. A ludo board was already laid out, pieces in their place, for each player a cushioned seat. At the center of the board laid a fruit bowl, to be picked through at the players' leisure. 

Alhazred sat with the blue pieces, Damien the yellow. Bigby sat at the green end of the table, before Sarmenti took up the remaining red seat.

“It's good to see you out of your nook.” Alhazred smiled to the changeling. 

“Mostly.” Damien teased, in reference to the blanket wrapped around his green opponent. 

Bigby smiled lightly while taking a bundle of grapes out of the bowl. “How do we start? It's been a while.” 

“We roll dice until somebody rolls a six, then we start with them and go clockwise.” Sarmenti punctuated his explanation by rolling his dice, rolling a three. The jester clicks his tongue, not liking this omen.

Dice clatter, and Damien grins. “Six!” A piece is brought out of his starting area, and his rampage against his opponents begins. He doesn't care to reach the end of the board, only to send as many pieces back to the start as he can.

Alhazred carries a calm poker face to the table, simply rolling dice and moving pieces. 

Bigby’s luck was notoriously horrible. After about ten turns of failing to get a piece on the board later, the others didn't notice when he stopped rolling and just watched the others play while munching grapes. 

Meanwhile, Sarmenti was losing tremendously and having an absolute conniption.

“Boop!” Damien pushed one of his pieces forward with his pointer finger, sharing a space with Sarmenti's last piece headed towards the end. The jester grumbles as he's forced to return his last soldier to the start.

“Please light almighty.” Sarmenti rolls his dice. One. With a very dramatic noise of disdain, he slides out of his chair and onto the floor. Only his hand is visible to the other players, as he raises it above the table as though he's escaping a grave. He croaks out, “Release me from this infernal prison!!”

“Game.” Alhazred states, calmly putting his last piece at the end. 

“Wait, what?” Damien looks to Alhazred, having forgotten the game’s win condition on his war path. 

“WHAT!” Sarmenti shoots up from his ‘prison’ like a jack-in-the-box, leaning over the table to look at the occultist’s side of the board. 

“Yeah, Al cleaned up while you and Damien fought each other.” Bigby says around his last grape. 

Hissing, Sarmenti returns to the floor. 

Bigby stifles a laugh. For a jester, the fool hated being a punchline. “Sorry Menti.” 

“This was an awful idea, good game.” Sarmenti says from beneath the table.

“I had a good time!” Damien doesn't react to the clown punching him in the ankle. 

“It's so odd seeing so many emotions through a mask, how did you get one so expressive?” Alhazred asks, in reference to the two black eyes of the mask squashing and stretching like putty. Such a wide array of movement, for something made of porcelain. 

“Nunya.” Sarmenti answers, finally emerging from his sulking.

“Alright then.” Alhazred lightly rolled his eyes, not knowing what he expected from a man who's face he's never seen. 

Disbursing for an early bed, the party goes to their rooms. Tomorrow was their next expedition. Bigby was starting to properly feel… at home, in this unfortunate Hamlet. If he can just keep the beast hidden, he sees a life for himself here. A bright future, when all he anticipated was tragedy. Friends that don't fear him, that he can trust by his side. A warm bed, steady pay, for an abomination who thought he'd die alone in the woods.

Things are going to be okay, Bigby thinks to himself before dozing off.

Chapter Text

Torches. Rations. Shovels. Bandages. Antidotes. These supplies show that their lady isn't expecting this excursion to end well.

And yet, duty calls. The warrens await. The smell coming from that sewer could make anyone's nose curl, but Bigby’s? He could feel his stomach turn. For once he's happy he skipped breakfast. 

Not even their leading role can hide the reluctance in his voice. “Alright. Same old song and dance. Let's fry some bacon.” Sarmenti opens the rusted gate, Alhazred lights a torch. Damien readies his flail. The Foolish Horrors plunge into the depths. 

Bigby hates the feel of this repulsive sludge beneath his bare feet. He hates the smell of rot, sewage, and swine. He hates hearing the clicks of traps begging to be triggered, the scuttle of creatures out of sight. Of all the dungeons they've seen thus far, the Warren has Bigby’s vote for worst. 

Damien is the only member that doesn't actively dread taking in his surroundings. He points out curios as Bigby warns of tripwires and pressure plates. 

“Are you alright?” Alhazred breaks Bigby’s focus, concerned that the vagrant's more hunched than usual. 

“Y-yeah.” Bigby can feel the sting of bile in his throat. “It's just. Just gross in here. I'll be fine when we're done.”

That response soothes Alhazred little, but he returns focus to the task at hand regardless. 

Something about this place forces Bigby to notice every inch of it. A drip of water, the smell of smoke from the torch, Bigby’s senses were in overdrive. “Weapons.” He states bluntly. 

The party halts just before the next room, turning to the vagrant. By now, they know his intuition rarely fails. Sarmenti chuckles nervously. “What?”

“Get your weapons out.” Bigby elaborates while looking behind him. “There's swinemen in there. Armed, maybe four or five.”

“...Fuckin hell.” Sarmenti’s sickle and knife are brandished, Alhazred’s idol is summoned. Damien moves to the front, hand to the door's handle. “Ready?” The flagellant asks. The party nods, despite Bigby feeling more ill by the minute. 

The door flies open, and the party take the swine by surprise. Crossbred monstrosities fight tooth and nail, with tool and bile. Damien gains new wounds, as Sarmenti tries to distract and cripple the enemy for Damien to subdue. Alhazred heals what he can, struggles to keep their torch lit, but it's becoming clear that they're getting outnumbered. For every hog stuck down, two more take it's place. 

The room spins as Bigby’s gut ties itself in knots. He tries to step forward, to aid in the fight, to do anything, but his body fights harshly against it. Did he catch something? He wouldn't be surprised, considering he's ankle deep in filth. 

A hog’s corpse lands next to the vagrant, and he has to shield himself from the splash. It was one of the smaller wretches, with malformed legs and a human skull in its chest. Sarmenti had slashed it with his sickle, and followed with a swift kick. The creature was still alive, but could do no more than squirm as it bled out. 

The blood.

The blood became the only thing Bigby smelled. An intoxicating mixture of pork and man. The ringing starts, his stomach heaves like it's trying to escape. Bigby realizes what he's done. What's happening. How he doomed himself. 

He's been spacing out his meals, but not enough. Those snacks consumed over conversations, indulgences shared with friends, what a fool he was to accept them! He's eaten enough to sustain himself, but not satisfy his hunger. Enough for the beast to emerge, to engorge itself on the first sight of food.

These foul creatures, these hobbling monstrosities! They're half man, half cattle. How the beast loved cattle. The night Bigby was branded forces itself into his mind. The nun telling him he was found drenched in blood, unconscious by a cow's ravaged carcass. 

The transformation started once the smell of this damn place hit his nostrils. It was slow, barely having enough nutrients to happen in the first place. It was too far along to stop, Bigby wailed as the ache in his stomach became unbearable. He falls to his knees, the ringing in his ears drowning out the panicked outcry from his friends. 

Bones snapping. Flesh reforming. Bigby thinks of how these cattle are half man. Of how easy it would be to mistake his companions’ scent for swine. 

“GET AWAY!” Is the only thing Bigby can muster as his skull splits open.

Alhazred is knocked to the ground as his convulsing friend suddenly lunges, making him drop the torch into the soggy sludge. The room is pitch black in an instant, filling with frightened squealing and breaking bones. 

“Shit shIT SHIT, TORCH! LIGHT! NOW!” Sarmenti blindly scrambles away from the sounds of gore. 

Alhazred quickly feels through his pack, grabbing a fresh torch, and the flint and steel. Sputtering sparks fail to catch, before the flint and steel are taken from Alhazred’s hands. Damien uses the primitive lighter with much less care for burning himself, and the fire is finally ablaze. 

The remaining trio group together, startled by a string of frights in such a small amount of time. The squealing stopped. The swine fled, the remaining corpses being crushed, torn, or melting from acid. 

Across the room, the beast ate the spoils of its hunt. It had an almost bipedal build, but it was forced to hobble like a deformed gorilla. Its legs are too weak to support its weight on its own, only one of its clawed arms large enough to carry the burden. Its visible ribs are an explanation for such a lopsided transformation, with its uneven horns and stubby attempt at a tail. 

The trio stare in silence as the beast eats, hearing snapping sinew. Sarmenti cautiously steps forward, sickle in hand. “HEY!”

The beast’s ears twitch, and it quickly turns. One hand keeps it upright, the other reeled back to swipe its claws at any aggressor. Its hound-like snout had its lips curled, acid dripping from sharp teeth. On its head, it carries Bigby’s unmistakable scar. The abomination brand. 

“...Holy fuck.” Sarmenti back pedals at the sight, nearly dropping his sickle.

“What do we do?” Damien nervously looks to his teammates.

Alhazred stares at Bigby, hand covering his mouth. Pieces were falling into place, but he didn't realize that the answer was… this. The talks they shared of their studies, Bigby halting because of an injury. He thinks of when Bigby talked about animal's behaviors. How they had body language like any other person. He looked at the beast before him. It's frantic green eyes, it's incessant growling. It hasn't taken initiative to harm the party, only threatening to defend itself. 

This isn't a mighty hunter. It's frightened, and cornered.

Steeling himself, Alhazred slowly steps forward. 

“What the hell are you doing!?” Sarmenti frantically whispers. Damien anxiously watches on, ready to protect Alhazred if the beast attacked. 

One foot in front of the other. Slowly, Alhazred walks over to the beast. To Bigby. His snarling becomes more hasty as Alhazred draws closer, backing against the wall. The Abomination snarls and snaps at the occultist, as the man cautiously lifts his hand to the beast. The hand finds its way onto Bigby’s snout, unharmed. The beast flinched at the contact, tightening himself with shut eyes. He's expecting to be hurt.

…But no pain comes. Alhazred's hand simply rests on the beast's face. Growling turns to anxious breaths, slowly steadying as time passes. The beast calms, and Alhazred lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“I knew you were still in there somewhere.” The occultist moves to cup the beast’s cheek. “You still had your eyes.”

Bigby whines, leaning into the gentle touch with his eyes closed. Adrenaline gone, the beast reverts. Alhazred has to catch his unconscious friend before he falls into the sewage. 

Damien rushes to their aid, lifting Bigby to carry. For someone who was a hulking terror just a moment before, he was concerningly light. The remaining party looked to their leader, a gobsmacked fool.

“Let's… let's head back.” Sarmenti says. “I'm sure our lady won't blame us for retreating with a member down. I'll uh. I'll come up with something to tell her.” The jester rubs the back of his neck, looking at the malnourished body of their scout. 

They'll have a lot to talk about once he's awake.

Chapter Text

Bigby doesn't wake up until the next morning. His memories of the previous day are scattered, his chains feeling heavier with exhaustion. He groans, crawling out of bed, taking his blanket with him. His usual scrap of cloth isn't hung over his desk’s chair as it should be. He must have lost it in the Warrens. 

The Warrens. 

He remembers the agonizing pain of a threadbare transformation, the dark, the following memories becoming a bloody smudge. His feet move on their own, making their way to the kitchen. They should be having breakfast by now.

Please, Light, just this once. Let them be there.

The rest of the party sat at the table, conversing while Sarmenti cooked. They're battered and bruised, and Damien's torso is practically mummified, but they're okay. 

Bigby quietly peeks around the doorway, speaking up after watching the group for a minute. “Did I hurt anyone?” His voice is fragile. Nervous. 

The other members slightly jump at his voice, not noticing him until he spoke. They stare at him for a moment. 

“...No. No, everything's good.” Sarmenti awkwardly states, poking at the food in his pan. “Come on in, we uh… we should talk.”

Quietly, anxiously, Bigby trudges into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. He looks over Damien's bandages, examining the shapes of blood splotches to make sure Sarmenti isn't lying. 

The jester sets a short stack of flapjacks in front of Damien, then looking to Bigby. The whole table is staring at him actually, and the vagrant stares at the floor in return. 

“Sooooo…” Sarmenti taps his fingers on the table, his other hand on his hip holding a spatula. “What the fuck?”

“I'm sorry.” The abomination blurts out. “I-I didn't mean to scare you, or harm, I didn't notice it was happening until it was too late.” His hand clenched over his own shoulder, the one carrying the scar responsible for his curse.

“Easy, we're not mad. We're just…” Sarmenti waves his hand, looking for a word. “...Frazzled.”

“How'd you do that?” Damien innocently ponders around a mouthful of food, asking like Bigby did a magic trick. 

Bigby swallows a lump in his throat. “It's… it's a condition. Years ago, almost a decade now, something attacked me while I collected samples. It had some kind of venom, and it's symptoms were none I recognized. I-I ran home, tried every antidote I could until my body gave out. …I woke up in a penance chamber.” Bigby’s hand moves to his brand. “I've been hiding myself since.”

“So your memory does falter between the two.” Alhazred muses to himself. “Perhaps a mental block? A line between conscious and subconscious…”

Bigby balked at the insinuation of he and this beast being one and the same. “It's an animal! An Abomination!” He protested, “It has killed, it has harmed, it has maimed–”

“It was scared.” Alhazred gently retorts, pitying his troubled friend. “It flinched under my hand. Once it calmed, you returned shortly after.”

“Y-you…?” Bigby looks to the worried occultist, then looks to the man's hands. Nothing. Not even a scab. He had reached out to that feral monstrosity, and wasn't even bruised. Not fully realizing he began to search for the memory, a moment of clarity rises above Bigby’s frantic recollection of the previous day.

Alhazred gently cupping his cheek. His comforting smile. I knew you were still in there somewhere. You still had your eyes.

Bigby looks to the floor, his face becoming dusted with blush. His own hand moves to the cheek Alhazred held. He didn't realize that Al knew his eyes. That he paid that much mind to them. Did… did Al like them? Or was it just another abnormality he couldn't hide?

“Alright, there's one thing I know for sure.” Sarmenti places down a stack of flapjacks in front of Bigby. “You gotta start eating proper meals.”

Bigby blinks. “N-no, the beast–”

“AH!” Sarmenti points a spatula to his party's scout. “Don't wanna hear it! Your ribs are showing now, your ribs were showing then! I'm not letting you live on Warren pork.”

Bigby was wondering why he had such a repulsive aftertaste in his mouth. Disturbed by the idea of eating half human, inbred sewer pigs earlier, Bigby accepts the meal to get the taste out of his mouth and the thought off his mind.

The flapjacks were rich. Soft. Warm. The closest thing to a warm meal Bigby remembers eating is a fresh roll from a sympathetic baker three towns away. He blinked back tears. These people saw him for the monster he is, and responded with the first meal he's had in what might be years.

The party jolts when someone knocks on the kitchen’s door frame. Their lady stands on the precipice, looking over the party with a refined glare. Was her hair always graying like that? Maybe it's the stress from managing the Hamlet. 

“You're to finish the expedition tomorrow.” She states callously. 

“WHAT!?” Sarmenti snaps as he places Alhazred’s plate. The jester then stomps forward to face his employer. “We nearly got our asses handed to us, and you're just gonna send us back out!?” 

Their lady looks over to Bigby for a moment. The vagrant huddles behind his blanket. She doesn't know what happened, but she knows she's being lied to. “I won't have you lot avoiding your work.”

Sarmenti sputters indignantly. “One of our teammates got knocked out, and you give him barely twenty four hours to recover!?”

“If he's unfit to assist, leave him behind.” The heiress then turns to leave, not wanting to hear any more protest. “See it done.”

The party sits in silence until they no longer hear footsteps. Then Sarmenti angrily flops into his seat at the table. “NOBLES!” He spits out the word as though it's an insult. 

“Sorry.” Bigby mutters. 

“Not your fault.” Sarmenti responds bitterly. “I avoided telling her about the whole transformation thing. Since, y'know.” He shrugs, in reference to how the Hamlet's population is growing to contain more hunters by the day. Bigby smiles lightly, a silent ‘thank you’. 

“The monster form does explain some things.” Damien pipes up casually. “You always notice things before we do.”

Sarmenti sits up. “Heyyyyy, yeah! Like that ghoul with the crossbow!”

Bigby nervously fidgets, embarrassed. “That… is a symptom of the curse, yes. Heightened senses can be found in most creatures.”

“And you said you would just find camp spots.” Sarmenti teases.

“I would!” Bigby defended himself. “You learn how with so much travel.”

“You still sold yourself short!” Sarmenti's reply is followed by a chuckle. 

“Where does the acid come from?” Damien asks.

Bigby nearly chokes mid bite. “Acid?? What acid!? There's bile, but-”

“Some of the corpses were actively dissolving because of the green fluid dripping from your mouth.” Alhazred calmly states while he eats.

“I-I mean, yeah, the beast pukes as a threat display but that's not how that works!” Bigby sputters. “An infection can't just create entirely new organs!”

“The dungeons say otherwise.” Damien retorts between bites.

“This wasn't from a dungeon!” Bigby corrected. “Humans don't have venom glands!” The changeling stammered, trying to make sense of this development. He recalls how his stomach lurches during transformations, how his throat can burn afterwards. “...Has it been repurposing my stomach acid??” He asks himself.

“Woah-ho, brutal!” Sarmenti comments. 

“Plausible.” Alhazred simply replies. 

“I'm looking forward to fighting along with you properly.” Damien says, excited to have an extra hand in causing carnage. 

Bigby munches on the last of his flapjacks for a while, until noticing that their leader has no plate in front of him. Sarmenti isn't eating.

“What about you?” Bigby asks the jester.

“Hm?” The fool tilts his head with a jingle. “Oh, don't worry about me. I'll have my breakfast later. Ain't a fan of eating with an audience.” He taps his mask. 

“...Okay.” Now that he's thinking about it, Bigby’s never seen Menti’s face. Or… any part of his body, for that matter. His whole being is encompassed with fabric, ribbons, and bells, crowned with a porcelain mask. Then again, Bigby doesn't have much right to judge after yesterday. 

•¤•

“Bigby, can I talk with you for a second?” Alhazred asks the other, catching them as they walk past his room. Bigby was still swaddling himself in his blanket. Alhazred finds it endearing, if not a little sad. The vagrant is so used to having no money that he's not spending it. He still hasn't bought himself a shirt…

“Oh. Um, yeah?” Bigby’s cheeks looked a bit redder than usual as he entered the occultist’s room. It could just be the lighting, Al had a fondness for candles. 

The occultist wasted no time making his quarters his own when they first arrived. Damien helped move in some bookshelves, now lined with tomes and scrolls. The desk had a relic he had been studying on it, researching by candle light. Fabrics are hung on the walls, like they were back home. 

“I didn't realize you liked cinnamon.” Bigby says, looking at one of the drawers in Alhazred’s desk. “You came off as more of a sage kind of person.”

Alhazred looks to Bigby from the shelf he was leafing through, confused for a moment. “Ah! Of course, the incense. I didn't realize your nose was so sensitive.”

Bigby fidgeted. “S-sorry, that was weird to point out.”

Alhazred smiles. “You're fine. Cinnamon has nostalgic value for me.”

“So!” Bigby says awkwardly. “What did you need me for?”

Alhazred turns to face the changeling. “I've been thinking about your ‘curse’, as you call it.”

Bigby lights up. “R-right! I've been, uh, thinking about asking you. Especially after you healed me in the weald. If… if you could fix it.”

Alhazred sighs. “I'm sorry. You said that this curse has been with you for years. It's taken root, and is far too deeply ingrained to remove without hurting you. Even if I was there when you were first wounded, I wouldn't know how to reverse it. Its nature is more wild than occult.” 

Al can watch Bigby droop at this information, trying to hide his disappointment. 

“...But.” Alhazred continues. “I believe you fear the beast more than you should. The fact that it's wild means that there's no foreign mind trying to assert control. The beast is still you.”

Bigby retorts, “T-then, why can't I remember anything? Why can't I control it?” He balls his fists, upset. “Why am I repenting for the sins that it committed?”

Alhazred takes Bigby’s hands into his own to soothe the other. “Because the human mind isn't meant for this. Full control isn't going to come to you instantly, it's a miracle you still have your mind at all. But it may come with practice.”

“...I-I'm scared.” Bigby chokes out. “It's not fair. What if… what if I hurt someone? What if I don't turn back?”

Alhazred lets go of one of Bigby’s hands to cup his cheek. Bigby looks up from the floor, to the occultist. Alhazred always thought his eyes looked like emeralds. “I know, neither of us have a clear answer for what ails you. But the only way to overcome the unknown is to venture into it.” His hand leaves Bigby’s face, to hand him a blank journal and pencil with a smile. “And a wild curse such as this requires a biologist's touch, does it not?”

…Bigby takes the journal with both hands. “Do you really think I can do this?”

Alhazred crossed his arms, smiling. “I believe you can.”

Bigby opens the journal, leafing through pages. “Heh, I actually… kept a journal before all this. For my studies.”

“Then it's no stranger to you.” Alhazred reassured. “The only thing that may have faded is your handwriting.”

“Bold of you to assume it wasn't always chicken scratch.” Bigby jokes.

“HAH!” Alhazred’s hand flies over his mouth, he and Bigby both are surprised by his outburst. Alhazred clears his throat. “Apologies, that caught me off guard.”

Alhazred is embarrassed, but the smile that forms on Bigby’s face, because he made his friend laugh… Alhazred smiles as well.

“Thank you for this.” Bigby says, on the way out of the occultist’s room. “I'll go… write what I know.” The changeling waves, as Alhazred shuts his door. 

What is he doing?

That outburst, these actions, these emotions… he purged these years ago. Weak points, to make room for his cosmic patron. So why? Why is his heart beating again, after all these years it spent silent? What is this sensation he feels when that vagrant smiles? Could it be because of his patron’s loosening hold? The shambler had been less talkative since he entered the Hamlet, although he can still hear it hissing at the edges of his mind.

No, he can't lose focus. If he loses his abilities, he won't be able to support the guild. He must research what the previous lord summoned to this land, and what it's done to his patron.

Chapter Text

The party returns to the Warren's gate, plotting their line of attack. 

“So! If we start a fight, we'll get outnumbered. Fast. But it's not gonna be easy avoiding the swinemen.” Sarmenti recited. 

“That's just quitter’s talk.” The flagellant pouts, upset that he's being advised against drawing blood.

Alhazred sighs. “Damien, it's a miracle you're not in the sanitarium for infection.”

Sarmenti adds, “If you do land in there I'm not helping with the bill.”

“Uh.” Bigby pipes up. “Since… since you're all… okay with the beast. Maybe it could act as a ward? Y-you said it killed a lot of them, scared the rest off. They might stay away if they see it with you.”

“Fight!” Damien cheers, thinking the beast will automatically lead to bloodshed. 

“No.” Sarmenti chastised before focusing on Bigby. “Are you sure you can do that? …Is it safe to do that?”

Bigby fidgeted with his hand, looking over to Alhazred. The occultist gives a hopeful nod. “Y-yeah. I want to practice so… so I can help. Help better.”

If Alhazred’s theory is right, and the party's accounts are true, the beast should be able to tell friend from foe. Hurting his friends was the last thing Bigby wanted to do. But if he and the beast do share a mind- share a heart- then it should see the guild as its ‘pack’, so to speak. Bigby wonders if Alhazred will hold his face again, then quickly dismisses the thought. Hopefully transforming hurts less when he doesn't try to stop it. 

Once the torch is lit, the party returns to this god awful sewer. Waiting until they're deep enough in to be unseen by passing mercenaries, Sarmenti turns to their scout. “So uh… you want us to know anything before you…” The jester awkwardly looks for words, not wanting to say something offensive. “...Can't speak for a bit?”

Bigby takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the upcoming risk. “Please don't let me eat another Warren creature.” He hates having that repulsive taste in his mouth. 

“Fair enough.” Sarmenti nods with a jingle, before stepping back. Nobody wants to be knocked over, especially if that means their torch going out again.

Melting flesh, snapping bones. Except now, feeling more like aching muscles, popping joints. The beast shakes its head like a dog, slightly confused that it wasn't summoned by panic or instinct. The beast’s build isn't as lopsided as before, now that it's counterpart has had proper food. But its ribs were still visible, and its legs couldn't yet carry the weight they were designed for. 

“Hi!” Damien greets, patting the creature on the head. Which confused the beast further. 

“Alright, let's move. Hopefully this plan works.” Sarmenti heads forward, map in hand. 

It takes a moment, but the beast follows the guild. It follows behind the team, sniffing around. It occasionally growls at something scuttling in the dark, but typically just looks around. Alhazred pitied the thing, as it was still limping on its arm because of its body's failures. But didn't appear to be in pain, thankfully. 

“Here we go!” Using his sickle, Sarmenti fishes a sparkling necklace from the hateful sludge found all over this wretched place. Standing up, Sarmenti turns to the party. “How’re we doing back there?”

“Pretty alright, I'd wager!” As Damien approaches Sarmenti to view the necklace, the beast's focus snaps onto the flagellant. It rushes forward, using its weaker arm to grab one of the five golden prongs on Damien's collar. The flagellant is pulled back just before rusted saws erupted from the ground beneath his feet, the others jumping away from the violent frenzy. 

“...Right! Good to see we still have a scout with us.” Sarmenti states once the saws stop.

“You're not injured, are you?” Alhazred asks Damien. 

“Nope! Good beast.” The flagellant doesn't really look behind him when patting the beast, resulting in it getting bopped on the nose a couple times. It snorts.

•¤•

The beast yawns as the party returns from their excursion. They found a good bit of loot, and Sarmenti is spitefuly planning not to wash it before plopping it on their lady's desk.

They stop the room before the exit, where no other mercenaries can see them yet. “...We didn't think of how to change him back, did we?” Sarmenti asks.

Damien clicks his tongue. “Nope. Uh…”

The two look to Alhazred. “...What?” The occultist raises his brow.

“What do you mean ‘what’, change him back!” Sarmenti orders. 

Al sputters. “Me!?” 

“You did it before.” Damien states plainly. 

“Because he was stressed!” Alhazred motions to the beast. “This transformation isn't an adrenaline response, he's already calm!”

The beast notices Alhazred’s hand offered towards it, and moves closer to put its head under his palm. It leans up into Alhazred’s touch, making a deep trill from within it's chest. 

…Al’s heart melts, scratching behind its ears. Bigby is officially precious in all forms. 

The beast reverts shortly after, Bigby remaining on his feet as opposed to the previous fainting spell. But he's still wobbling on his feet, holding his head with a groan. 

“See!? SEE!?” Sarmenti motions frantically between Bigby and Alhazred. 

“It was a coincidence!” Al quickly blurts out, slightly flushed.

Damien goes to put one of Bigby’s arms over his shoulder, making sure his teammate doesn't fall. “Welcome back!”

Bigby grumbles. “Everyone's okay, right?”

“Yep yep!” Sarmenti chirped, motioning to the others to follow him out. “Nobody's hurt, and you were right about the pigs fearing you now.”

“Only one really tried, and you slammed it into a wall. It looked like jam when you pulled back your hand!” Damien recalls, impressed by the beast's strength.

“Oh, that's… good.” He's surprised things went so well, but he didn't need the mental image of gore pulp. 

Bigby watches Sarmenti and Alhazred bicker up ahead, the occultist trying to convince the fool that the transformation wasn't his doing. Bigby might never admit it, but his mind started to return to him the room before. He was growing tired, and his other half needs a lot of energy. Seeing Alhazred’s hand, he jumped at the opportunity to have his face held again. Bigby’s going to chalk it up as animal instinct, since the plan is to essentially domesticate his inner demon. 

But no matter the form, Bigby thinks of Alhazred’s touch so fondly… a genuine comfort, after all these years. He'll uh, figure out why later. Probably just the beast wanting pets, nothing more.

Chapter Text

Damien's room wasn't a welcoming one. Various torture devices were scattered about, conventional and improvised. Jars were filled with glass shards, sharp rocks, and nails. Little bits and bobs to stick between his bandages, to cause a pleasing discomfort. Having an abode filled with pliers and other tools can have their other uses, like how Bigby has come to him for an improvement to his weapon of choice.

Bigby’s shackle, the one that still carried its chain, was laid across Damien's workbench. The changeling watched as Damien pried at the links at the chain's end, opening it for a new addition. A proper hook, so this restraint can graduate into a genuine weapon.

Damien saw how his companion held his empty wrist. The faded band that hid behind cold steel for years, the free sensation now odd after so much time. Damien sees to it that it isn't left bare for long.

“Done!” The flagellant states proudly, holding the complete shackle to its wearer. “Try it on.”

Bigby equipped the cuff with a cold click, holding the chain like a grapnel. The end of the chain is spun in the air at Bigby’s side, to test the link's strength and become accustomed to the new weight.

Satisfied, he wraps the chain around his arm. The end is hooked into one of the links, to keep it from unraveling as it tended to before. “Thank you for this, I doubt the blacksmith would have humored my request.”

“Not a problem!” Damien grins, proud of his work. “I can't wait to see you put it to use.”

Bigby fiddles with the chain, awkwardly standing for a moment. “You're still offering to take confessions, right?” 

“Always am.” Damien replies, getting up from his seat. “Have something to say?” 

“...Yes.” Bigby looks to the floor.

Damien shuts the door to his room, turning the lock for privacy's sake. He then grabs the wooden seat that he keeps in the corner. “Chair?”

“Oh, uh, that would be good. Thank you.” Bigby watches as the seat is placed in front of the one at Damien's desk, which the flagellant turns to face the vagrant. The room may be suited to Damien's uncomfortable tastes, but it's no stranger to hospitality. 

Now seated, the two sit in silence for a few minutes. Bigby’s flushed and looking for words, and Damien won't rush him.

“...I keep thinking about Al.” Bigby finally says.

“Yeah?” Damien looks up from the scab he was picking. “It's only natural, you two tend to work together a good bit.” The flagellant thinks about how the occultist and changeling always examine the corpse of any new manner of beast they find. So they may know how to harm it the most.

“It's- it's not normal thinking.” Bigby continues. “It's not work thinking. I just think about… him.” He holds his cheek. “How he's shown me kindness.” He says quieter than before, “How soft his hands are.”

“There's no harm in companions.” Damien states.

“No, I don't think of him the same way I think of the rest of you. I cherish all of you, I really do, but Al… it's not the same.” Bigby runs a hand through his hair.

“And this upsets you?” The flagellant tilts his head.

“Yes. No.” Bigby stammered. “He's nice to me! He holds my face, comforted me when I was practically rabid, and has faith in a beast! He smiles, and my face gets hot! And- and-”

Damien grins with a sudden epiphany. “You love him!” He proclaimed. 

Bigby freezes, having not put a name to it before Damien did. Then his head is in his hands. “Oh Light, I didn't need another reason for the church to kill me.”

“Oh please, there's no harm in-”

“There's a lot of harm, Damien!” Bigby interjects. “It's a sin to be with another man, you know that! After I was so worried about harming you with my presence, it happened anyway! Now there's a target on Alhazred’s back because of my atrocities!”

“But you haven't actually gotten together, have you?” Damien's worry grows on Bigby’s behalf. 

“W-well. No.” Bigby crosses his arms. “And we're not going to! Alhazred doesn't need to be hunted like I've been. I'll never forgive myself if… if he…”

“Okay.” Damien halts Bigby’s train of thought. “Do you yourself plan to hurt him?”

“NO!” Bigby immediately answers. 

“Would Alhazred hurt you?”

“...No, he'd never.”

“And you simply wish to cherish him, and be cherished?”

Bigby’s hand moves back to his cheek. He smiles, answering wistfully. “Yes. A thousand times yes. Everything melts away when he holds me. When he smiles, when he talks about my eyes. Oh, how he soothes my other half…”

Damien smiled fondly. “Then I see no sin.”

Bigby blinks, snapped out of his lovesickness. “Wh- you can't be serious!”

“All I see is two loving souls. The world could use more of them.” Damien reassured. 

Bigby blushed, not knowing what to say. The flagellant puts a hand on his shoulder. “Best of luck.”

The changeling shoots out of his seat, bright red from embarrassment. “W-well I'm not confessing to him now! I don't even know if he feels the same, a-and it's just a random night-”

“Want to make it special then?” Damien asks as he returns Bigby’s chair to the corner. 

“...I do.” The changeling admits, before sighing heavily. “Thank you. For the shackle, and this talk. I needed to work this out.”

“Of course. My door's always open if you need something.” Damien unlocked the door to his room, and gives Bigby a pat on the back. Bigby leaves Damien's quarters, and the flagellant proudly shoulders another burden. 

•¤•

“DAMIEN!” Sarmenti angrily bursts into the flagellant’s room.

“Uh. Yeah?” Damien was in the middle of refreshing his bandages, dotting the gauze with stones against his skin. Is he in trouble again?

“I cannot BELIEVE that woman!” Sarmenti slams the door behind him. Ah, he's here to rant. Bigby wasn't the only one Damien offered his ear to, and Sarmenti took it quite often. Especially the night before expeditions. 

“I told her that the warrens had traps, but did she listen? NO! Now the sanitarium is drowning in patients needing tetanus shots!” Damien knew better than to offer a chair at this point. The floor had the beginnings of a groove where Sarmenti tended to pace.

“You send us out on expeditions, and then don't listen! She's still giving me shit about the weald- I'm sorry, would you rather have your Hamlet ZOMBIFIED??” Sarmenti talked with his hands as he shared his grievances. 

Damien's head turns to follow Sarmenti, the fool jingling with each heavy step. Back and forth, back and forth.

“Nobles!” Sarmenti wrings his hands, spitting out the word. “All the same, I tell you!” Damien's been told multiple times. “They won the birth lottery and think they're soooo special.”

“She's still the one running the Hamlet.” Damien reminds him.

“POORLY!” Sarmenti barks back, before shifting into a mocking imitation. “Ooooh look at me I'm Lady Maryam, my uncle was a dickhead and then handed me his mess! I'll just dump all of it onto randos and make it profitable! Everyone worships me because I sicked mercenaries on two whole thieves and then got my ass handed to me in the courtyard!”

“Oh yeah, wasn't she on the first expedition? Like, ever?” Damien asks.

Sarmenti stops his impression and pacing to answer Damien's questions. “Well I mean yeah, but you could barely call it that. She was basically an escort for a knight and some schmuck with a flintlock, I forget their names. It's no wonder she came back from there alone, she went in there with half the mandated party size. POINT IS-” Sarmenti’s pacing begins anew. “She's got a lot she's not learning, and WON'T learn because she dumps all the work on hires and then DOESN'T LISTEN TO THEM!”

Damien knew there was no consoling Sarmenti when he got like this. He wasn't going to calm down until it was all out of his system. The ranting and raving continued, until he drags his hand down his face. “Ugh, I need to save my energy for tomorrow.”

“That you do.” Damien agreed, bandages now done. 

Sarmenti tiredly trudged out of the room. “Thanks for humoring me, it was either you or our lady's face.”

“It's what I'm here for.” Damien replied, shutting the door behind the fool.

The flagellant stretches, ready to call it a night after that performance. He's thankful that he's working as a buffer between their lady and Sarmenti. She definitely would have fired them if he actually told her that. Sarmenti always had a disdain for the upper class. But right now, that's not important to Damien. He needs to be at the top of his game tomorrow, so he can show whatever horrors they face the might of his lash.

Chapter Text

Bigby missed scrambled eggs.

He didn't realize how much he missed when he excluded himself from shared meals like this. Watching the party's idle chatter, Sarmenti humming to himself while cooking, made this abandoned manor feel like home.

“I don't know how you can see through that.” Alhazred says to the flagellant. 

“The hood?” Damien replies. “I see worse without it, my eyes don't like light.”

“HA! You? Missing out on another way to torture yourself? I thought eye strain would be right up your alley.” Sarmenti teases, giving Bigby his second helping of breakfast.

“A pain that hinders my abilities is not welcome.” Damien states plainly. But then he retorts to the jester, “What about your face? A showman should be seen by his audience, no?”

“Absolutely not. Sometimes you need to get away from your fans, and it's quite easy when they don't truly know your identity.” Sarmenti answers the question without hesitation. “A magician never reveals his secrets~!” He then mocks playfully. 

“Speaking of secrets, where are we headed today?” Alhazred asks before a bite of food.

“Oh right!” The fool's cooking utensils are left in the sink. “We're headed to the Cove! I call dibs when we find a pirate hat.” He joins his companions at the table. 

“Wait, there's a cove!?” Bigby grows pale.

“Yeah?” Sarmenti looks puzzled. “I thought you could smell the salt in the air.”

“I mean I can, but I didn't think the Estate connected to the sea!” He then says through clenched teeth, “Ugh, I always had a fear of water.”

“PFFHA!” Sarmenti slaps a hand over where his mouth would be on his face.

“You can face the undead but not a puddle?” Damien doesn't understand. 

“It's not the water, it's what's IN it! Have any of you read about what lurks in there!?” Bigby states adamantly. “Sharks, whales, giant squid, angler fish, GIANT! SQUID!! Mother Nature makes it very clear that humanity did not evolve to be in the water, and we are NOT welcome there. Did you know that some fish can grow so large you can swim into its mouth without noticing!? Awful!!! And that's BEFORE any otherworldly corruption!”

Alhazred smirks to his companion. “Someone has strong opinions.”

“Biology is a double edged sword.” Bigby grumbles. 

“Don't worry, the cove is mostly damp cave systems. No angler fish for you.” Sarmenti reassured with a chuckle. 

“What if the horrors leave the waaaater thoooooough…” The changeling whines. 

“We send them back to the pit, just like everything else that tries to impede our progress!” Damien confidently grins.

“Relaaax, Bigs!” Sarmenti gets up to put an arm around Bigby’s shoulder. “If the last three dungeons couldn't stop us, neither will this one!”

“If I panic and transform you're not allowed to yell at me.” The changeling gripes.

•¤•

“Tally ho lads!” Sarmenti decreed, heading into the caves on the Estate's shore. The others follow suit, torch and weapons in hand. Alhazred was fascinated by the engraved walls, but Bigby was high strung with anxious anticipation. 

One of the pools gurgles, and Bigby calls attention to it with a resounding “EUGH!”

Up rises a bloated cadaver, a thrall claimed by the waves. With the undead a fairly normal sight at this point, Damien attacks it without hesitation. The resulting pressure release makes the thrall explode with a deafening POP, spreading blood and viscera as the party scattered. 

Bigby can't tell if the ringing in his ears is stress or genuine hearing damage. “Everyone okay?”

“WHAT?” Damien answered, the closest to the blast. If the fact that he was caked in rot and had temporarily lost his hearing didn't make it obvious. 

“My poor leotard!” Sarmenti cried out, looking at his befouled garments. 

“New rule: don't do that again.” Alhazred pinched his temples. 

With his hearing currently impaired, he was forced to use his other senses to scout out the area. This results in coming face to face with another party. One comprised of nautical horrors, with knives and shields!

After having a quick shrill scream, Bigby scrambles behind Alhazred while the fishmen gave chase. The following battle is one fought with sea breeze and whirlwind blade, blood and ink. 

Remembering his shackle’s improvement, Bigby unravels its chain. He swings it in the air to give it momentum, and throws it to the nautical guard. The hook catches the rim of its shield, and Bigby yanks it out of the monster’s hand. Watching the enemy’s defenses fly uselessly through the air, Bigby feels quite proud of himself! His shackle was a sound investment that will prove useful in the following wait where is the shield gonna-

•¤•

The next thing Bigby remembers is waking up on the Cove’s floor. Alhazred kneeled next to him, Damien holding the torch. Sarmenti reeling with hysterical laughter. 

“What'd I do?” Bigby mumbles, regaining consciousness.

“Uh. Sooooo.” Damien grins awkwardly. “The new hook works great! …And you still have a bit to learn.”

“You may have a headache for a while.” Alhazred pulls his hand from Bigby’s forehead. “But I fixed your concussion.”

Bigby shoots into sitting upright. “Concussion!?”

Sarmenti howled with laughter. “MY GODS YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE! You look all happy and then KONK!!”

Bigby grows flushed with embarrassment as the fool continues to cackle. Alhazred helps Bigby up, and then goes to thwap Sarmenti in the head.

Jingle! “OW! Alright, alright, I'll stop!”

Sarmenti continued to giggle to himself until the party came across the remains of a ship. Within it held the echoes of great piracy, still holding an impressive amount of treasure! Sarmenti elected to replace his giggles with celebratory sea shanties, finding the captain's hat to set upon his cap and bells. The fool's celebrations are infectious, as the whole party sings along while they bring all they can carry out of those wretched caves. 

Bigby can't remember the last time he was this happy. The last time he sang. The last time he felt he belonged. This wasn't a temporary abatement anymore. Not temporary lodgings before he ran from the past and his future. This was home. It may be battered, broken, and blemished. But it's where he's been putting his life back together. He didn't think that he'd be able to stay here long enough to make it this far. But… maybe he should properly invest in staying here. Staying with them. Staying a Foolish Horror.

Chapter Text

The mornings after expeditions were always quiet. Damien tended to his wounds, Alhazred researched their findings. Sarmenti had locked himself in the laundry room, humming as he cleaned his attire in private. 

Bigby had rolled out of bed, coin in hand. He was going to spend his morning shopping in the Hamlet. Slowly but surely, life was returning to the dreary town. The many abandoned establishments could open their doors again, looking better than ever. There was even enough business for new shops to appear in the Hamlet. 

Like a tailor. 

Bigby looked at his old tattered pants, and thought of the cloth scrap he lost to the Warrens. Since his friends don't see him as unsightly, he'd might as well make himself presentable. The clothes he imagined would need to be baggy, so they're not destroyed during transformations. Shoes felt like a pointless endeavor because of this, with no way to avert their destruction. 

The tailors took one look at the vagrant, and Bigby became the center of a whirlwind of cloth and measurements. One of the heiress’ guild members? In rags? Oh no no, this simply won't do! Bigby blushed at the recognition, used to being on bounty posters. He asked the tailors for some adjustments, and a custom item, and they heartily agreed. 

It took until the afternoon, but Bigby left with his new clothes in hand. Returning to the manor, Bigby sat his attire on his bed before visiting Damien's room.

Bigby poked his head in. “Do you have any spare bandages?”

“Hm?” Damien looked up from his peeling scabs. “Oh, sure!” Bigby is tossed a roll of gauze. “Have fun!”

Catching the bandages, Bigby goes to set it with his clothes. These should make a good substitute for shoes. Good enough, at least. The next step was taking a bath. He might die if he has to go another second with sewer muck between his toes.

Drawing a bath, Bigby removed his shackles and chains. Along with his raggedy pants, which were going to be thrown out after this. He soaked in the refreshing sensations of the water, feeling weightless without his restraints. It took a good bit of scrubbing to get the years of dirt off him, and his hair was practically slick with grease, but he pressed forward until the task’s end. 

Dried off, pants back on, Bigby returned to his room carrying his chains instead of wearing them. The bulk of the restraints were left in a corner of his room, while the shackles were placed on his nightstand. Now to put on some proper clothes. 

A white band collar work shirt, navy blue fall front trousers. Not very different from what he wore before his curse, if a size or two larger. He wrapped his feet with bandages, returned his shackles to his wrists. The remaining chains stayed on the floor. Now, for the finishing touch. 

A cloak, green as forest foliage, it's clasp being an imitation of a silver lock. Bigby thought it was an appropriate nod to the chapter of his life he was closing. And green was his favorite color. 

Bigby looked in the mirror and saw a new man. Clean. Fed. Happy. Hopeful for the future. And also craving a snack.

He heads to the kitchen, already loving his cloak. Something he could always bundle himself up in, hide himself during times of uncertainty. More socially acceptable than a blanket, more comforting than a mere scrap of cloth.

He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, not fearing sustenance as he did before. His ear twitches as someone joins him in the dining room.

“Oh!” Alhazred was simply here to borrow some salt, not expecting to see Bigby. Especially not in this state. 

The former vagrant nervously chews his bite of fruit, anxious of what his crush thinks of the new look. If he really is going to confess to the scholar one day, he's not doing it in rags. Gulp. “...Thought I could use an upgrade.”

“Yes. You… you look good.” Alhazred hesitantly answers, grabbing the salt shaker. “Your chains are gone.”

Bigby beams, feeling good as well. That bath did wonders. “I'm still deciding what to do with them. Y-you said that I should fear the beast less, so…”

“Right.” Al opens the shaker to see if it actually had salt in it. Damien tended to leave it empty once he was done with it.

The two sit awkwardly for a moment, Bigby focusing on his apple as Al tries not to stare. 

Al screws the lid back onto the shaker. “You'll be joining us for cards tonight, yes?”

Bigby perks up. “Of course!”

•¤•

For once, Bigby was the first one in the game room. He sat comfortably in the plush chair, excited to make up for lost time. 

Sarmenti entered, wearing his freshly cleaned leotard. “Oh hey, nice to see you joining us more often Bigs-” The fool has a double take. “BIGOTHY!”

Bigby’s practically tackled before he knows it, put in a gentle headlock and noogied. “Mentiiii! C'mon!”

“Hot damn, I thought you were allergic to cleanliness! Now you're a PRIME target for shenanigans!” Sarmenti ruffles Bigby’s hair.

“I finally wash my hair and your first instinct is to rough it up?” Bigby snickers, getting out of the headlock. 

“You're the only one who doesn't wear a hat or whatever, I gotta hit my noogie quota somehow.” He shrugs, heading off to get a deck of cards.

“But wait!” Bigby jests, “I have a hood now!” He flips up said hood as if it could ward off all evils. 

Sarmenti sharply turns to Bigby with an over dramatic GASP! He then leans on the table, back of his hand to his forehead. “NO!! Oh, dearest Bigothy, how could you do this to me so!?”

The two laughed at their little sharaid, as Damien walked in. “Did you guys start already?”

“Nah, we're just fuckin with eachother.” Sarmenti joins Bigby at the game table and shuffles cards.

“Thanks for the bandages.” Bigby says to the flagellant as he takes his place at the table. 

“It's weird seeing you in a shirt.” He replies bluntly. 

Bigby snorts, just as Alhazred entered the room. The occultist simply sat at the table, quietly watching the others. While Sarmenti quickly went over the rules of poker, Bigby looked to Alhazred. 

Something was wrong. Al always had a poker face at game night. Heck, he doesn't see Al emote much at all. The smiles he gets to see are rare treasures. But the way Al looks at his cards… it's unfocused. It resembled his usual pokerface, sure, but his eyes weren't right. Bigby could tell Alhazred was thinking about something that bothered him.

It only took a few turns before Alhazred got back up. “Apologies, I am… more tired than usual. I believe I'll rest my head early.”

The party watches the Occultist leave the room, Sarmenti taking a peek at the abandoned cards. “Of course he had a flush.”

Bigby fidgeted, before setting his cards down as well. “I'll check on him.”

“Aw, what!?” Sarmenti protested. “What’re we supposed to play then?!”

“Go fish?” Damien offered, as the scout went to follow the occultist. 

“Al?” Bigby called to his friend down the hall. The scholar froze. “Are you okay?”

“It's none of your concern.” Alhazred states, not turning to Bigby. 

“But I am concerned!” Bigby walks towards Alhazred. “Something's bothering you, I can tell.”

“I’m fine.” The occultist balls his fists.

“...You're not.” Now almost next to Alhazred, Bigby reaches to hold the man's wrist. “Did something happen? I-I want to help-”

Alhazred yanks his arm out of Bigby’s grasp in a burst of fury, as he turns to the man beside him. “YOU! You happened!”

Al regrets his words almost immediately. Bigby shrinks away, his heart visibly threatening to shatter. He lowers his arm. “I'm sorry. That… came off as much more accusatory than I intended. It's not your fault. You simply highlight the problem.”

“Problem?” Bigby anxiously replied. “Is it something I said? S-something I'm doing? I'll leave you alone if-”

“No.” Alhazred shoots down the idea without thinking. He then sighs. “The problem isn't you. It's… how I feel in your company.”

“I make you uncomfortable?” Bigby hides in his cloak. “Is it the beast?”

“No! I-” Alhazred pinched his temples, sighing deeply. “My powers… they did not come for free. I had struck a deal with an outer being. The price I paid left me with no emotion. All of my pathos had to be purged to make room for these gifts.” He holds out his palms, glowing runes dancing in them. “Then I came here. To the Estate. My patron’s hold… it is wavering. I didn't think much of it at first, but… but you…” Al grips the clothes over his chest. “You made me laugh for the first time in years.”

Bigby’s posture straightens, looking to Alhazred with a mix of shock and wonder. 

The occultist continues. “If my soul has room for these feelings, that means my powers are growing weaker. They're leaving me. I've been trying to contact my patron with no avail, as my mind is overtaken by delusions! If I lose these skills, it could spell disaster for this guild. If I lose Wyrd Reconstruction- if I lose the ability to heal-”

“Alhazred!” Bigby interjects, taking the occultist’s hands in his own. “Alhazred. It's okay. We'll figure it out. I know how frantic things feel when you're panicked, but I swear that we're okay. Right here, right now, everyone's safe.”

The scholar stares at Bigby for a few moments, before looking to the ground. “I feel as though my mind is unraveling like a spool of thread. Every other thought becomes a distraction. I can't focus. I can't think.”

“Because you need a break.” Bigby rubs his thumb over Alhazred’s hand. “I can tell you've been on a study binge for days.”

“I didn't need breaks before coming to these accursed lands.” Alhazred grumbles.

Bigby released Al's hands so he could lead the man back to his chambers. “But you need one now. You're gonna feel worse if you don't. You just need to take your mind off this for a while.”

“Take my mind off this.” Alhazred bitterly echoes. “Easier said than done.”

“So's trusting the beast.” Bigby retorts as they stand in front of the door to Alhazred’s room. “But it's going to help if we do.”

Not having an answer for that, Alhazred sighs as he opens the door. Bigby sits at the foot of the occultist’s bed, while the other lights incense. 

“This isn't too strong, is it?” Al asks the other, remembering his sensitive nose.

“It's fine, it's a nice smell.” Bigby smiles.

Alhazred takes a moment to look at Bigby’s eyes. Something about the dim light makes them glow. “...How are your eyes sparkling like that?” He asks, sitting next to the other. 

“My eyes…?” Bigby blushes. “Oh! Oh, you mean my tapetum lucidum.” It took a moment for him to realize he needed to explain. “It's a membrane found in eyes that evolved to have night vision. Like cats! The light goes through my retina, and then gets reflected back out so I can see better.”

“Fascinating.” The occultist replies, after listening intently. 

Bigby rubs the back of his neck, smiling. “Most people call it demonic. ...I'm glad you aren't repulsed by my other half.”

“Oh please.” Al huffs. “The ‘A’ on your head might as well stand for adorable.”

Both parties become an interesting shade of pink. Neither were expecting Al to come out with that. Bigby stands up once the flustered silence becomes agonizing. “R-right! Well! You're okay from here, yeah?”

Alhazred clears his throat. “Yes! Yes, thank you for this.” This floorboard is very interesting all of a sudden. 

Bigby hurried out of the room as his heart threatened to explode. Alhazred thinks he's cute!!!

Chapter Text

All but one Foolish Horror stood in the entryway. Sarmenti was still upstairs, getting their assignment. They wince at the muffled sound of the fool's raised voice. 

“So… where are we going?” Bigby asked. “We've visited all the dungeons, right?”

“That we're permitted to enter.” Alhazred watches the door to the heiress’ office. 

“Those were test runs, remember? This is the real work now!” Damien said.

“And that work is…?” Bigby tilts his head. 

“We haven't been told.” The occultist states plainly. 

Sarmenti leaves their lady's office, stomping down the stairs with sealed parchment in hand. “We're a hit squad now, apparently.”

“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” Did their lady find out about Bigby’s other half? Does she think he can control it?

“It means that our lady has a hit list, and we're gonna pick em’ off.” He unfurled the parchment, looking over various notes within. “We're gonna go after the things responsible for whatever's fucked up in each dungeon. Our first stop in the ruins.”

“Necromancer!” Damien cheered.

“We're being sent to such perilous missions already?” Alhazred questioned.

“Oh believe me, I've made that sentiment very clear.” The jester gripes, stuffing the parchment in his pocket. “But it's the Necromancer’s head or ours. She packed us a campfire, we have twenty four hours.”

Bigby shrinks behind the party as they head to the estate. He really doesn't like the idea of going toe to toe with a guy who can raise the dead. Hopefully the beast will be able to pull its weight. 

•¤•

The ruins are as unwelcoming as Bigby remembers. It feels as though they're so deep underground, that sunlight has no hope to find them. Bigby does his best to navigate the halls, although they grow more frantic as they head down. Occasionally Damien lends his guidance, claiming certain routes as unsafe. The deeper they delve, the more Damien's familiarity with the dungeon grows.

At the edge of the light, Sarmenti notices something while surveying the area. Someone. Not a cadaver, but a human. A surly looking man, picking through deanimated bones. “Hey!” The fool cries out to him. “You in a guild? Where's your party? It ain't safe to solo dungeons, especially this deep in!”

The man stands up. Clawed gauntlets are on his hands, black robes hide his torso. He wears a skull made of iron, with a five pronged halo. He silently pays Sarmenti no mind, focusing on the tense flagellant. “So this is where you crawled off to.”

Damien puts an arm in front of Sarmenti before the jester can reply. “Go.”

“What?” Sarmenti looks to Damien, surprised by the sudden command. 

“Go ahead without me. I'll rejoin you later.” The flagellant’s knuckles were white from his grip on his flail. 

“Wh- no!” The fool refused. “I know how banged up you get, you're gonna get picked off on the rendezvous!”

“To think I looked up to you, Damien.” The brawler spits out the other's name with ire. 

“Did you know this guy…?” Confused, Bigby clutched his cloak.

“I'll. Handle. It. Go!” Damien hissed through clenched teeth. 

“Do you really think you can navigate this labyrinth with no light?!” Alhazred retorted. 

Damien angrily faces the party, turning his back to the brawler. “I SAID GO-!”

The flagellant is interrupted by the brawler surging towards him, plunging a blade through Damien's back and out his gut. The rest of the party staggered back with outcry, as their friend's flail dropped helplessly to the floor. His blood pooled at his feet. The brawler growls, “May Mother have mercy on you, heretic.”

The flagellant wobbled on his feet as the brawler yanked out his weapon, and began to walk away.

But Damien didn't fall.

He stayed on his feet, with clenched teeth and brewing rage. His wound squirmed, flesh moving back into place by no action of Alhazred’s reconstruction. “Unworthy.” The flagellant seethed. 

“What?” The brawler turned back to his victim, indignant. 

“UNWORTHY!” The flagellant roared, pointing his cuffed arm at his assailant. Roiling flesh and snapping bones fly forward like a spear, skewering the cultist. The man falls to the ground as the appendage recedes, turning back into Damien's hand.

The flagellant picks up his flail from the ground in tense silence, not looking to the party.

“...You.” Alhazred approached Damien with a glare. He yanks off the flagellant’s hood, who cries out to the sudden light in his eyes. His hands fly up to cover his overwhelmed senses, but it doesn't hide the truth. Exceedingly short blond hair is interrupted with ripples of veins. It looked like some fleshy creature had clung onto Damien's face, obscuring his vision. 

But Alhazred knew better. “You follow the being that afflicts my patron, and corrupted these lands!”

“WHAT!?” Sarmenti snapped, an arm out to protect the scout cowering behind him.

“I don't… I don't follow Her anymore…!” Damien strains under the torch. “She lied! A life with no pain… it is not life at all…”

“Truly?” Alhazred sneers. “So you wish to make suffering eternal? Forsake the world to an agonizing existence?”

“THAT'S NOT THE POINT.” Damien snarled, hands balled at his sides to look at the man insulting his beliefs. On that mask of pulsating meat, sat clusters upon clusters of small, black, beady eyes. Eyes gifted to him, to see in the darkness he embraced. Eyes that stung with tears, from pains physical and emotional in the light. 

“Life is never without pain!” The flagellant withstands his burning vision. “With no strife, blessings lose meaning! There is nothing to fight for, nothing to reprimand the sinners! How can something be appreciated when it is the norm? What use is light without darkness? A life without suffering is DEATH, and She plans it for us all!” 

Damien shudders, screwing his eyes shut. It doesn't stop the light from assaulting them, but it saves him from the occultist’s judgemental gaze. “I cannot let such a thing come to pass. I swore to carry any burden. To keep it off the shoulders of the innocent. The undeserving. I cannot… I will not…!”

Alhazred’s hand moved to his dagger, but a hand stopped him. Sarmenti's. “Enough.” The fool ordered. “We'll talk about this when we set up camp. Bigs?”

“Um…” Bigby awkwardly looks to the floor, ears twitching. “The next room should be safe.”

Begrudgingly, Alhazred hands back Damien's hood. The flagellant grasps it immediately, hurriedly covering his many eyes.

•¤•

The fire crackled, the sound echoing in these forgotten halls. Damien sat at the edge of the light, his back turned. He has felt every wound imaginable. He has grown numb to most forms of torture. But emotional pain? That, he has no calluses for.

Sarmenti looks to his guild. Damien is sulking. Alhazred is scowling. Bigby is fidgeting. This won't do. “Okay! This has been… a very turbulent twelve hours. Everyone's got questions, so…” He looks to the flagellant. “...why don't we start at the beginning, buddy?”

…Damien picks at his scabs. “I was born here in the Hamlet. Not soon enough to see it in its prime. But in time to watch it fall to ruin under the lord's rule. I didn't understand why our lord had forsaken us. Many called it retribution. The woodland rejected us, the sea swallowed our ships, our farms were struck down with godlike fury! …I didn't know what we did to deserve this. I knelt down at the abbey, praying through clenched teeth, asking the Light, what have I done wrong?”

Seething frustration curated over a lifetime seeped into Damien's voice. He stops to recompose himself. “I received no answer. I had no understanding of these pains that fell upon everyone I knew. …Then she appeared. A woman clad in black. An acolyte that heard my plea. She offered answers. And I accepted.”

“Blind faith.” Alhazred muttered. A growl came from the flagellant. A warning, before he continued.

“I proved my worth to Mother, climbed the ranks as pain became my way of life. I embraced pain, for it was Mother's blessing. I had the honor of wearing the concealing robes, worshiping our Mother in the deepest temple. She saw my dedication, and gave me holy communion!”

Damien raised his hands to the ceiling, his voice booming recalling such a rapturous moment. 

But then his hands lowered. His voice softened. “...Then she lied to me. She said that the world had grown rotten over the years, after she made it. It needed to be remade. And she would make the world free of pain. It was then I realized that Earth would be painless, because none would be left to feel it. I rejected her plan, and I paid dearly for it. I lost most of my blessings, and nearly my life as I escaped.”

The silence lingers. 

“And now we're here.” Sarmenti concluded.

“I didn't realize things like that… existed…” Bigby huddled up next to Alhazred. 

The occultist sighs. “Damien, I want you to prove you're worthy of my trust. Tell me your goddess’ name, so I may study her weaknesses.” The other two members balk at Alhazred, and the idea of striking down such a being. 

Hunched with past regrets, Damien looked over his shoulder. His eyes caught what little of the light they could bear. “She is my goddess no longer. Progenitor of life, father and mother, alpha and omega. Our creator... and our destroyer.”

“She is the Heart of Darkness.”

Chapter Text

The next day was a quiet one. Learning the truth of the corruption's origin from one of their friends gave everyone a lot to think about. That and a stone cold ruin filled with the undead isn't the most comfortable place to spend the night.

Damien had taken full control of choosing routes, now that the cat was out of the bag. He roamed these halls for a few years, and knew what thresholds they could not cross. After all, these tunnels connected to the Darkest Dungeon. Where no rational man would go.

With the increasing frequency of reanimated cadavers, the party could tell they were getting closer to their target. Anticipation grew, be that excitement or dread. 

But then with no fanfare, there they were. A tall hooded figure with rotting hands, holding scrolls and unholy scripture. His face was invisible in the darkness, wearing a five pronged collar. 

Sarmenti rushed them in an instant, knife and sickle in hand, jumping to cut off the head. “Benvindo, minced meat!”

The Necromancer swats him away like a fly, slamming the fool into the wall with a crack as his weapons fall to the floor. Sarmenti falls on his stomach, shakily trying to push himself off the cold stone. His other hand is on his mask, making sure it stays in place.

“SARMENTI!” Alhazred rushed to the jester’s side, as the necromancer summoned an army of thralls. The occultist puts out his hand, runes dancing around it to aid his ally. But before any healing can occur, Sarmenti quickly grabbed Alhazred’s wrist.

“Don't.” The jester hissed with surprising bitterness. “Focus on the others.”

“Sarmenti, I heard you break a bone, I'm not–” Alhazred argued as their leader rose to his feet. 

The jester’s face snapped to the occultist, twisted with angered stubbornness. “Don't make me ORDER you, Al.”

The other half of the party did their best to cull the ever growing swarm. Bigby used his grapnel to revoke weapons as shields, as Damien tore through cadaver after cadaver with reckless abandon. Sarmenti would join them, swiftly dancing through opponents with his blades. 

The Necromancer fell further and further back, as countless cadavers crawled out of the earth. 

“Wouldn't happen to have a card up your sleeve for us, would you Damien?” Sarmenti huffed. With these growing numbers, his current priority is keeping the torch lit. If their light goes out, it's game over. 

“RRGH!” Damien no longer hid the blessings he had stolen from the Estate, letting multiple weapons impale him if it meant they wouldn't hit his friends. He fought onward with flail and cursed sinew. “If I could reach the coward, I could make swift work of them!” He snarled. 

“You think we can move through THIS!?” Bigby anxiously cried, failing to keep up with his aggressors. “The beast- it can only do so much- AUGH!” A blade slashes his shoulder, cutting through fabric and drawing blood. He staggered backwards, clutching the injury. “We can't…! We need to retreat!”

“FM'LATGH, GRAH'N!”

A large tentacle reaches from behind the party, sweeping across the battlefield, ravaging the army. The source?

Alhazred. His idol raised high, the candle’s flame burning like starfire as the tentacle furled into the summoning circle it came from. Alhazred himself had astral fire rolling from his shoulders, and stood tall. “GO! THE WAY IS LIT, THE PATH IS CLEAR!”

Bigby looks to his friend in amazement, and a new kind of adrenaline floods his system. One that pulls a smile on his face, one that burns in his gut and rises upwards like a wildfire. Confidence.

The beast comes forth with a rallying ROAR, charging at the remaining monsters. The beast’s form is more stable than ever, standing upright to upend these thralls. Sarmenti's pealing laughter followed, as he became a whirlwind that danced with the shifting tide of battle. 

Damien charged the Necromancer, ignoring the cuts and bludgeonings of the foes he passed. Muscle mass coiled around the flagellant’s arm, and he delivered a ruthless uppercut to the enlightened corpse. The force tears the Necromancer’s head off its shoulders, hood and all. The body cumples, and the head crashes to the floor.

The last of the bone rabble fell. For a moment, all is still. The Foolish Horrors wait for another corpse to arise, but none do. 

Sarmenti jumps onto the beast's shoulder, grabbing a horn for balance. The beast wobbles, but allows it. “WE'RE ALIIIIVE!” The jester bellows in triumph, his blades already sheathed, his lute in hand and raised high.

Alhazred sighed in relief, falling to his knees. His idol vanishes, and Damien pats his shoulder as comfort. Also to put out the remaining fire.

Sarmenti cackled. “Shows that fucker! I should write a OH SHIT-” The jester falls off the beast as it reverts. Bigby holds his head, but shakes off the dizziness quickly as he looks at the fool. “...You okay?”

“Y'know, I should have anticipated this.” Sarmenti replies from the floor.

Damien picks up the collar the Necromancer had worn. “This should be proof enough for our lady.”

“Mm.” Tiredly, Alhazred opens the backpack for the collar to be deposited. 

•¤•

Retracing their steps, The Foolish Horrors work towards exiting the ruins. Damien and Bigby cooperated on navigation, while Sarmenti played songs on his lute. Alhazred, torch in hand, was drifting behind. Summoning abyssal artillery took a lot out of the occultist, and he was quite tired. 

Something down the branching hall catches the occultist’s eye. Red. Sparkling. The edges of his mind sing to him.

The party notices the light fade, and Bigby leads the pursuit after their healer. “Al? That doesn't lead to the exit… we should head home.”

Alhazred simply stands before the altar. A red orb, carried by astral appendages. To think communion with his patron was right here, all along. 

The torch is forfeit. The flame is engulfed and snuffed by the orb, making the room darker than dark. A void. The shambler reaches out sharply, screeching at its follower as its tentacle lifts him by the neck. Only Alhazred can understand its words.

“FOOL! SNIVELING, MEATY, FOOL! HAVE YOU NOT SEEN WHAT YOU WROUGHT!?”

The occultist is thrown by the emerging horror. Bigby is knocked to the ground from trying to catch Alhazred’s body. The other two ready their weapons, despite their exhaustion. 

“AL!” Bigby shakes his comrade, checking his neck for injuries. The shambler left a suckered shaped rash, further agitated by the remaining mucus from the appendage. 

Alhazred sits up with a groan, enduring the lecture from his patron. 

“YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT! SELFISH, WORTHLESS THING! YOU'VE DOOMED US BOTH!”

Bigby looks at the purple mass in terror. The party doesn't have enough energy to withstand another fight of this stature, he knows it. No no no no, they can’t die like this! Not when they're so close to the exit! Bigby can't die to this slimy terror, not to anything, not yet! He was finally getting his life together, he was finally happy!

…Wait. Slimy. The mucus. It has mucus…!

Bigby frantically searches the backpack Alhazred wore, much to the other's dazed confusion. Then Bigby finds what he was looking for. 

The salt shaker!

Alhazred insisted that they bring it, so he could lay a circle around the camp. And thank Light, there's still some in there!

The shaker is thrown at the shambler with a silent prayer, and it shatters on impact. Glass shards lodge into the creature's soft membrane, it's skin boiling as though Bigby threw a vial of acid. It screamed and writhed as it lost it's hold on this plain.

“FOOLS! ALL OF YOU, FOOLS! NOT EVEN FIT FOR KINDLING! WE WILL ALL DIE HERE!”

The void retreats, the party for once thankful to see the dim tombs of the ruins. Bigby victoriously jumps to his feet, pointing to where the shambler once was. “HA! I was right! Oh, wait-”

Realizing that only half(?) of the party has night vision, Bigby crouches back down next to Alhazred, to obtain and light a torch. The illumination reveals the bewildered looks the scout was receiving from the party. 

Bigby laughs awkwardly. “...Sorry about the salt shaker. I'll buy a new one.”

“Forget the shaker, THE HELL DID YOU DO TO IT!?” Sarmenti motioned between Bigby and the befouled altar.

Bigby jumps a little at the outburst. “N-nothing! It was just salt! The- the thing had mucus, so I thought it had a mucus membrane! Y'know, like a slug? And salt dries out slugs rapidly through osmosis. M-my mom used to put salt around the garden to protect our tomatoes. So…”

“...You warded off a cosmic being. My patron. With half a shaker of salt.” Alhazred said in shock, looking at the man beside him.

“I threw salt at your patron??” Bigby squeaked out, realizing what he pissed off.

“Okay wait back up-” Sarmenti points to the occultist. “One: why did you summon your patron? Two: why did it want us dead?”

Alhazred shifted in his seat on the floor, uncomfortable by the topic. “...I have been desperately trying to contact him for the past month. If I lose my patron, I lose my powers. And my powers… aren't truly mine.” Alhazred scowled, looking to the floor. “My abilities were not earned. Not wagered. But stolen. Back when I was too young to know fear. Too prideful to foresee a dizzying fall lined with repercussions. I thought… if I could just talk with it…”

“Had a case of blind faith then?” Damien had kneeled in front of the occultist, offering a hand to help him up.

…Alhazred sighs deeply, accepting the other's help. “I hate it when you have a point. Enough with that smirk already!”

•¤•

Lady Maryam watches from the upper floor as the Foolish Horrors return from their mission. She could smell that bleeding flagellant before they even got through the door. That fool presented the Necromancer’s collar with a twirl. Was Sarmenti his name?

“BEHOLD! Proof of our efforts for our lady imperial!” The jingling buffoon bows, holding the collar high. 

She looks silently to the collar, then to the rest of the party. The foreigner looked exhausted, and at some point that pathetic vagrant finally bought himself clothes. And the hooded one… bled. He was always bleeding. Grinning as he assaulted her nostrils. Filled them with the smell of blood.

Blood.

Blood.

BLOOD.

“Hm.” The heiress turned to her office. “Your next target will be the Hag Witch of the Weald. Same day next week.” She returned to her study without another word. The door clicked shut, and she ignored the fool's complaints of her lack of gratitude. She looks to the mirror. To her graying hair. At this rate, she could pass it off as a powdered wig soon. Her mind wanders despite her uncle's voice ringing in her ears. She's hungry. Starving. …But nothing is appetizing. 

Sarmenti was waving to his party, calling an early bed. They all deserved it, after such a show. But not without hanging their trophy over the hearth first. Proud and chipper, the fool returns to his room.

Sarmenti's quarters sparkled with his theatrical personality. Sheet music littered his desk, rough drafts of his next masterpiece. A varied selection of masks dotted the walls, alongside posters for circuses and courts he performed for over the years. Red carpet lined the floor, beneath the lead role’s feet as it should be. Lavish decorations insisted on the fool's importance, his right as a conductor, a ringmaster. You would not underestimate his skills, if he had anything to do about it.

He slumps against his shut door with a groan, sliding to the floor after turning the lock. Holding his side, he silently cursed his acrobatic frame for being so brittle. He snaps his broken rib back into place with a pained grunt. Damn that Necromancer, swatting him away like that. It'll heal by morning, but playing it off to the others was not fun. The fool sprawled out on his floor, staring to the ceiling. 

Light above, this existence was the worst joke he's ever heard.

Chapter Text

WE WILL ALL DIE HERE!

Alhazred didn't sleep well that night. After all of this time without word from his patron, he's left with frantic insults as the edges of his mind grow quieter. His God, a supposedly all powerful being, was fearing for its life. The might of the stars, not wanting to be snuffed out by the dark.

Choosing to take his mind off this by morning, the scholar trudges to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, then gets his burn salve from one of the drawers. 

Damien soon entered, electing to brush his teeth as well. The flagellant was very picky about what ails him, claiming that disease ‘doesn't need any help’. Alhazred's not even going to pretend that he understood that logic.

Damien stared at the other for a moment, toothbrush in hand. Looking at the wounds and scars that the occultist had visible, most likely. 

“You burn yourself a lot.” Damien stated, motioning to the burns localized to Alhazred’s shoulders. 

“The mortal form can only contain the might of the stars so well.” Alhazred explained. 

“Mm.” Damien agreed. …That's right, this man had a patron as well. The flagellant spoke of how this ‘Mother’ of his had dominion over sinew… his body must have warped considerably to contain such blessings.

Alhazred was lost in thought, not noticing Damien dig his fingers into his palm until he drew blood. Then the bleeding hand was placed onto Alhazred’s burns, which made the occultist flinch.

“Damien, need I remind you that I'm not-” Alhazred begins to chastise, but stops when he feels the pain subside. “...You know Wyrd Reconstruction as well?”

“Nope!” Damien puts simply, burns blooming on his shoulders. 

Looking under Damien's hand, Alhazred sees that his burns were indeed relocated. The scars still remain, and he'll need to wash off Damien's blood, but the most recent wound is gone. “How did you do that?”

“I told you, I followed Mother to understand pain.” Damien replied. “I molded myself with it. Cleansed myself with it. Swore myself to it. Once you become so intertwined with it, you can take on burdens pretty easily. Or deliver them, if need be.”

“You can transfer pain between yourself and others.” Alhazred says as he closes his salve. 

“Yep! It's one of the few blessings I got to keep after escaping. Maybe because Mother was never the one who gave it to me…?” Damien wonders before shrugging, and brushing his teeth.

“Well… thank you for that. Have a good morning.” Alhazred puts away the ointment, leaving as Damien simply gives him a thumbs up in response. 

•¤•

Properly clean and dressed, Alhazred knocks on the door to Sarmenti's room. The jester made it very, VERY clear that no one was allowed to barge into his room. That man and his privacy…

“Come on in!” Sarmenti welcomed. 

Alhazred opened the door to see Sarmenti at his desk. Back facing the door, he was scribbling ideas down onto sheet music. “What's up Al?” The fool nonchalantly asked.

“How are you feeling?” The healer inquired. “I understand the urge to be selfless on the battlefield, but we're at home now.” Alhazred was still worrying about that cracking noise he heard when Sarmenti was swatted away.

“Oh, that?” The jester replies, “I'm fine! Nothing to worry about.”

“Sarmenti.” Alhazred doesn't believe him.

“Oi, hey, don't you full name me!” Sarmenti turns to face the occultist. He points to the other. “How do you like it, Al- Al--” The fool snaps his fingers, having forgotten the scholar's full name. 

“Alhazred.”

“AL-HAZ-RED, how's that taste!?” Sarmenti’s accusatory finger snaps back onto the other.

Al sighs. “I heard you break a bone, Menti.”

“C'mon, that could've been anyone's bone you heard!” The composer retorts. “We were fighting a skeleton army, a lot of bones got broken yesterday.”

Yeah, Al doubts that. “As our leader, you of all people should know how important it is to maintain your health-”

“And as your leader, I'm telling you to drop it.” The jester sneers at the healer, before turning back to his desk. His chipper tone returns. “Relaaax Al. I'm fine, promise! Do ya really think a guy like me wouldn't throw a fit if I broke something?”

Alhazred grumbles. Stubborn as always, this fool. Seeing that a line has been drawn, Al turns to leave. “Have a good day, Menti. Tell me if you need anything.”

“You too Al.” The jester waves over his shoulder. 

•¤•

The fireplace crackled as their prize from the ruins hung above it. Alhazred was reading a book on one end of the couch, still trying to take a break from his anxious thoughts. Bigby was on the other side, curled up in his cloak to take up as little space as possible while sipping from his mug.

Alhazred didn't know if he should be comforted or frustrated by the scout's presence this evening. On one hand, it was comforting to be around the man. He wasn't expecting the vagrant to be civil when they first met, but to find out he's a fellow scholar was a welcome surprise. It's a shame Bigby couldn't finish his studies, but the conversations they have can still be quite enlightening. On the other hand, Alhazred’s mind didn't need to be even more of a cacophonous mess right now. At times, something about that man makes focus impossible. His pulse quickens, his train of thought derails. This must be Alhazred’s growing heart at play, but which emotion would-

“I'm sorry about throwing salt on your patron and calling it a slug.” Bigby nervously blurts out, breaking the silence. 

Alhazred looks up from his book, focusing on his friend. “...It's alright.”

“But didn't you say you were trying really hard to talk to it? I messed up your chance...”

“No no, you did the right thing. My patron… didn't want to talk.” The shambler's parting words echo in his head again. 

An awkward moment of silence passes. 

“Quite frankly, I'm still amazed you did that.” Al closes his book, setting it aside. 

“R-really?” Bigby rubs the back of his neck. “I know it was a cosmic being, but it still shares a lot of traits with mollusks and cephalopods-”

“THAT!” Alhazred boldly interrupted. “That's what's impressive! You looked at a nigh incomprehensible being, with next to no occult knowledge, and understood it! You recognized what it was and wasn't, and disposed of it like a garden pest!”

“But that's easy! I noticed it left mucus on you when it threw you, and we didn't have the energy to fight fight, and I was panicking, so… so…” Bigby fidgeted with his mug. “Is your neck okay?”

Alhazred blinked, hand moving to hold the lingering rash. “Erm, yes. I think I'll be alright.” He then lightly chuckles to himself. “Of course you would see comprehending a shambler as easy. You're full of surprises, you know that?”

Bigby blushed. “...In a good way or a bad way?”

“A good way.” Alhazred leaned his head on Bigby’s shoulder, the culmination of the two drifting closer together over the course of the conversation. 

The scout leaned on Al in return, a happy trill escaping the changeling's chest.

•¤•

Late in the night, Damien went to the kitchen to grab some vinegar for his new burns. He smiled as he passed the living room, the occultist and the ‘abomination’ asleep together on the couch. Damien is sorting through a cabinet when he hears a voice. 

“You.”

“Me?” Damien turns to see Lady Maryam in the doorway. 

“You're the flagellant one, correct?” The heiress looked over the man in front of her.

“Oh. Yeah! What about it?” Damien chattered as the lady slowly approached. “Do you need something? Stress relief? I'm happy to bear any burden, psychological or physical. Do you need a punching bag? Have a confession?”

She was looming over the man now. “You will not speak of this.”

“Well of course! I take any confession to my g-” Damien's words are cut off by a gasping choke, his lady's hand tightly gripping his neck.

“Bleed for me.”

Chapter Text

Masks adorned, the Foolish Horrors march into the Weald. None of them were too enthusiastic to return to this place, especially not with the prospect of staying overnight. Since, y'know, the whole wood was blanketed with zombifying spore fog.

“What are we looking for again?” Damien questioned, kicking a pebble into a nearby stream. 

“Fuckiiiiiiiin…” Sarmenti sorted through his pockets before finding their target's bounty. “Hag Witch! Leads a coven of wackadoos, big cauldron, deer skull hat.”

“And she's responsible for this blight?” Alhazred queries, keeping the torch from any low hanging branches. No need for a forest fire.

“Says here that she worked for the previous lord for a bit.” Sarmenti flips to a different paper. “Lord had an herbal phase during his research bender. Lady showed up, wooed him into letting her help. Something something imports experiments whatever, lord gave her the boot and she's been hanging around here since.”

Bigby gasped in great offence. “Wait, you mean these mushrooms are invasive!? No wonder they're so abundant, they're strangling the local ecosystem! With none of its predators, nothing can keep it in check! Oh, this poor forest…” The biologist looked to a passing tree, in a constant state of autumnal wilting like the rest of the wood. 

“Beat up the big lady and the Hamlet gets its Weald back! Got it!” Damien marched onward, looking forward to restore a part of his hometown. 

The party scoured the woodland. They passed through gate after overgrown gate. They crossed a babbling brook, a toppled tree being their bridge. They fended off puppeted corpses, and warped wildlife. But there is only so much that can be done in a single day. The Foolish Horrors begin setting up camp, as Bigby investigates something in the underbrush. 

Damien unrolls his bed mat on a particularly rocky spot. “It's gonna be annoying sleeping in these masks. Oh, do you want me to keep watch tonight?”

“Haven't you been having dizzy spells?” Alhazred replies. “You'll need extra rest, death waits for the slightest lapse in concentration.”

“It won't happen on the expedition, I swear!” Damien protests. He hasn't given much explanation for his suddenly thin blood, but sharing that secret would break his vows. His veins should be fine by now anyway, having time to recover from the blood loss. 

“Don't wanna hear it. I'll watch tonight.” Sarmenti points to the flagellant as he places firewood. 

Damien grumbles on his mat before Bigby erupted from the bushes. “GARTER!” The scout gleefully exclaimed, snake in hand.

“Aaaaand the spores got Bigby.” Sarmenti sarcastically states. 

“No, look, it's normal! It's just a little man!” Bigby presented the reptile as he rejoined the others, gently supporting it with both hands.

Alhazred leaned away. Growing up in the desert, Al's only experience with snakes are the rattlesnakes he's feared since childhood. “Oh, that… that's great Bigby.”

“Is it venomous?” Damien gets up to get a closer look.

“Yeah, but it's suuuuper mild. Barely affects humans, if they can even poison one in the first place.” Bigby then coos while petting the garter’s chin, “And they like skritchies under their snooty boops, oh yes they do!”

“Hm.” Damien's disappointed that he can't get a good snake bite from the lizard. That bucket list injury will have to wait another day.

“Wanna hold him?” Bigby offers it to the occultist. “He's very polite!”

“NO.” Alhazred jerks away like a knife was pointed at him. He then recomposed himself. “Ahem. No, thank you.”

Sarmenti snickers, leaning on Al's shoulder. “Looks like Mr. Warlock can't handle a danger noodle.”

“Aw, what!? But look at this cutie patootie!” Bigby vouched for the little snake, its beady little eyes watching the man it was offered to.

“Mmm.” Alhazred wishes Bigby wasn't a Biologist for once. “Please put it down.”

Bigby’s dejected that Al doesn't share his love of reptiles, but understands that lizards aren't popular with everyone. He goes back to the bush he emerged from, crouching down to release the snake. “Okay buddy, you can go home now.”

Alhazred kneels down to light the fire, and hears a hiss in his ear. He yelps and scrambles away, only to see Sarmenti laughing at him. Alhazred throws the flint and steel he was holding at the jester.

Said tools bounce off the fool's noggin. “OW! FUCKER!”

•¤•

A new day dawned, and the hunt resumed. And Alhazred had been thinking. 

“What if we try to negotiate?” The scholar said.

“With the target?” Damien tilted his head.

“She's human.” Alhazred replies. 

“She's a bitch!” Sarmenti barked. 

“...Are you sure you want to give her a chance after causing this mess?” Bigby asked, fidgeting with his chain.

The occultist sighs. “She may be the only one who can reverse it.”

Sarmenti groans, dragging a hand down his mask. “Fine, but if she swings first we're swinging back. Hard.”

The party traverses the woodland at high alert. It's a shame that this autumnal beauty has been corrupted so thoroughly. Leaves shouldn't crunch under your feet in the middle of summer. It's like this blight has put all the plants between a limbo of life and death. Fitting, considering the zombies. 

Then the smell appears. Bigby’s the first to notice it, and soon everyone is made aware of the repulsive stench. As much as they would like to head in the opposite direction, they follow the best lead they have for the Witch. 

The party comes into a clearing, finding the smell's source. A cauldron, being stirred by the Hag herself. Alhazred clears his throat, grabbing the woman's attention. She looks to the trespassers in her domain. “...And you are?”

The occultist steps forward, passing the torch to Damien. “We are The Foolish Horrors, a guild formed by the heiress. A bounty has been put out for you, for causing the weald's corruption. But as a fellow academic, I would like to discuss this civilly. You were a botanist, correct?”

Sarmenti begins to follow Alhazred, but is halted by Bigby’s arm. Following the scout's eyes… they're not the only ones here. At the edges of the clearing, animal skulls stare back from the dark. Crones and Viragos, the witch's coven. Seeing the glint of daggers, the three huddle together cautiously. 

“...Hm…” The Hag stares at Alhazred for a moment, deciding on something. She then scuttles to the occultist’s side, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him forward. Her smile is conniving. “Yes, yes! Always nice to see a fellow bookworm. What would you like to discuss?”

Alhazred is slightly put off by being ushered closer to the cauldron’s stench, but he politely tries his best to ignore the smell. “These parasitic mushrooms were your doing, as I understand it. They pose a great danger to the Hamlet, and we were wondering if you knew of a way to remove them. Or at least a cure for the ails they cause.”

“Aah, of course!” Both of her hands are on his shoulders now. “That's actually my current project! See?”

Now in front of the cauldron, Alhazred curiously looks into its roiling contents. It was a sickly yellow, dotted with herbs and wisps of red. The foggy concoction made it difficult to parse its contents, while the hags grip tightened. An eyeball floats to the top, bloated from absorbing the broth it was in. Alhazred doesn't get to gasp as he's shoved into the pot.

Holding his breath, Alhazred refuses to open his eyes as he hears fluid rush past his ears. Light only knows what's in this hellish brew, and Alhazred wasn't getting it in his eyes. He feels a bone brush against his leg. It was uncomfortably hot, and getting hotter still. She was planning to cook him alive, the savage! He hears the Hag’s muffled cackling, accompanied by his teammates exploding into a panic. He's running out of air, he can't see, and he's disoriented. He can't spend another moment in this pot, but he's struggling to find the surface. Something about it makes his limbs heavy, and it's difficult to move. Perhaps some of the herbs are sedatives? To make sure the main ingredient doesn't leave. The occultist feels his consciousness fading, his face turning blue. Then something rams into the pot, the hard impact making it ring like a bell as it tips over.

Gasping and coughing, Alhazred rubs his eyes to remove the broth from them. Before he can get up, he jolts at large hands moving under his arms. His eyes shoot open in fear of the hag, and is met with a beast instead. Bigby, his form twisted into his other half, gently holding the occultist’s torso upright. The beast looked worried, whining. Its eyes were jumping around Alhazred’s body, checking for injuries. 

“MY STEW!” The Hag shrieked, grabbing the pot to set it back on the fire. “YOU FOUL LITTLE MORSEL!”

The beast snarled at the witch, swiftly lifting Alhazred off the ground and away from the woman. The occultist yelped, not expecting to be put over Bigby’s shoulder like a treasured sack of flour. The beast falls back to the rest of the party, shifting Al to a bridal carry, grabbing Damien's attention with a barked growl. 

Damien jumps at the beast presumably threatening him, but quickly understands the request. “Right! I'll heal what I can!”

The flagellant kneeled as Alhazred was set on the grass, the beast not anticipating the occultist to be able to stand. Al's legs were definitely jelly, but his time in the pot wasn't the only reason. 

Not wanting to be a burden, the healer protested as Damien drew blood in his own palm. “The pot wasn't boiling yet, I'm-”

The beast cuts him off with a small growl. No teeth bared, no bristled fur. Only an insistent glare. ‘Don't fight me on this.’

“BUTCHER THEM, MY DAUGHTERS!” The Hag commanded, the coven emerging from the edges of the clearing. 

“This is officially the WORST idea you've had!” Sarmenti chided, readying his weapons.

“Thank you Sarmenti, I'm aware!” Alhazred bitterly replied with sarcasm. He pulled up his sleeve for Damien's bleeding grasp, and shuddered at the odd sensation. Is this what it feels like when he uses Wyrd Reconstruction on someone?

“Oof.” Damien mutters, feeling the mild body wide burns, the poisons in the stew. “Cover us, this'll take a minute to shake off!”

“Well… shit.” Sarmenti says, putting his back to the beast’s as the coven encroached. “May I have this dance with you, Biggestby?”

The beast snorts, lunging at the crones with a roar. 

“I'll take that as a yes.” The jester chuckles darkly, rushing into the fray.

Not all the crones were fighting the Horrors. Some were helping the Hag refill the pot. Sarmenti spots it between his flurries of blows, and fears he might wretch into his mask if he could. The idea of his friends becoming a feast isn't a pleasant one. Although he does find it grimly funny that the hag expects to find any meat on his bones. Dumb wench. 

The beast’s rage was growing with each blow that struck him. Their poisons had little effect, since his cursed blood was its own poison. But they still stung, and reminded him of his infection at the moor all those years ago. He needed to make this fight quick. With his muzzle, he could no longer protect himself with the rag he wore before. Bigby had everything to lose, and wasn't going to have his autonomy taken by another damned blight! He grabbed a hateful virago by the arm, slamming its body into one of the other crones pestering him. He then glances at the Hag, and her rejuvenated pot. He has an idea for that God awful pot, that will make that repulsive Hag regret ever even touching Alhazred. 

Damien and Alhazred were now on their feet, ready to defend themselves. Feeling one of the Viragos cast a ruinous hex on him, Damien decides to return the favor. He turns to his aggressor with a wild grin. He whips his flail at his own back, his target buckling over in pain. Two can play that game, and he doesn't need a voodoo doll to do it! 

Alhazred has taken the torch from Damien, and plans to stay far away from that horrible witch. Sarmenti was right, this was a horrible idea. It's a miracle he hasn't puked, and he'll later be thanking Damien profusely for shouldering his wounds. Dagger in hand, he used the shadows to his advantage. While slashing at the air, the shadow of his dagger emerges from those cast by coven members to deliver its blow. Alhazred has declared this whole dungeon revolting, and won't be touching any of these uncivilized freaks.

Noticing that they no longer have to cover for teammates, Sarmenti shifts his focus onto the Hag. He rushes the witch, causing her sous-chefs to panic and flee. The witch herself dodges, swinging at the jester with a meat tenderizer. 

“MEAT! Meat, all of you!” She angrily cries. “You're nothing more but the Lady's dogs! How DARE you follow the heiress of that wretched Lord!?” She throws a fistful of seasonings at the fool, containing poisons and teeth. 

He blocks expecting a greater hit, but then brushes himself off while dodging another tenderizer swing. “What, no rotten tomatoes? For shame, children have heckled me better!”

“I'LL GRIND YOUR BONES INTO DUST!” The Hag shrieked with rage.

“Yeaaaaaah… Biggestby's got other ideas.” The jester smugly points above and behind the witch. 

The Hag turns to see the snarling beast behind her. Lifted above his head was her precious cauldron, still boiling with her cannibalistic stew. Sarmenti jumps out of the way, as the beast throws the cauldron onto its awful owner. It results in a splash of broth and gore, the pot resonating as it hits the ground. Their leader slain, the coven retreats. 

“HAH!” Sarmenti picks up the hag’s ladle, spinning the party's trophy in his hand. “Serves you right, crazy old bird.”

Damien's arm is over the fool's shoulder in an instant, the other held high with a fist. “Go team!!”

Alhazred sighs with relief, knowing that he won't have to worry about being boiled ever again. Looking over to the beast, he notices something. It keeps opening and closing its hands. 

“Let me see your palms.” The occultist orders, walking up to his rescuer. 

The beast blinks, but obliged. Taking the beast's hands in his own, Al sees what he expected. Bigby burned himself when picking up that cauldron. 

Sighing, Alhazred has runes dance around the two's hands, to heal the beast's wounds. “You really need to be more careful.”

…Alhazred is finding it a bit hard to focus while looking at the beast's hands. They were the size of Alhazred’s head, and it was only highlighted as he held them. That's not surprising, since the beast is tall enough to struggle with doorways. He thinks of when it held him under his arms earlier. A massive beast, who was strong enough to throw a filled cauldron, holding him tenderly. Gently, cautiously, like the occultist was made of glass. Like he was something precious. 

Al's mind proceeded to wander to places he either didn't recognize or were a massive distraction, and he decided that he needs to look at something else.

It was good to see the beast appear healthier and healthier as Bigby transformed. It had a proper tail now, which had been wagging since Alhazred started healing him. Ever since his first transformation in the Warrens, Alhazred doubted Bigby’s warnings of the beast's danger. If the beast was such a threat, why was it smiling like a fool while Al held its hands?

“There we are.” The burns now healed, Alhazred released the beast's hands.

“Rar-roo.” It thanked, before reverting back into human form. Bigby simply shakes his head to rid himself of discombobulation. 

“...Huh.” Bigby states, putting his mask from his pocket back on. “I actually remember most of that.”

“You did good!” Damien gives the changeling a thumbs up. 

“Alright let's get outta here, if I have to be in the same place as that pot for one more second I'm gonna lose it.” Sarmenti orders, and the party heartily agrees. 

•¤•

Hearing a burst of commotion in the hall, Maryam assumes that The Foolish Horrors have returned. She assumes correctly, as soon the party is in her office to gloat.

“Ta-da!” Sarmenti gingerly presents a repulsive ladle on their Lady's desk. “Hag Witch: slain!”

The heiress wrinkles her nose, her hand covering it. “Why does it smell like that?”

“Cannibalism.” Sarmenti states simply. 

“...Right. Get it away from me.” She says. As Sarmenti takes the spoon back, Maryam looks at her guild. They were expecting praise. Sigh. “Good work today. I'll contact the sanitarium to tell them it's safe to properly study the spores in the weald. With an escort, obviously.” She begins writing things down on one of the many documents that litter her desk. “You'll be given your next assignment the following week. Dismissed.”

The party leaves the room, with the last being-

“Damien.”

“Yeah?” The flagellant halts mid-step, turning to his employer. 

“See me in my office later this evening.” The Lady orders, not looking up from her desk. She brushes a lock of her white hair out of her face.

“Right!” Damien chirps, already becoming accustomed to their new routine. Maryam's thankful that this one is so quick to follow orders. 

•¤•

With their most recent victory placed on the fireplace, the party was winding down for the night. Although, Bigby wanted to talk about something before they called it a day.

“Hey, Al?” Bigby poked his head into the occultist’s room.

“Hm?” Alhazred looked up from the candle he lit. By the stars, he was purging the smell of that awful concoction from his nostrils. “Do you need something?”

Bigby properly enters, fidgeting with his hands. “...Sorry for scaring you earlier.”

“With what, the snake?” Al tilted his head. “It's quite alright, you meant well.”

“No, with the beast!” Bigby corrected. “I-I… I remember you flinching. After I knocked you out of the pot.” The changeling looked ashamed. 

“Oh… that.” The occultist recalls. “It's no fault of yours. I still had broth in my eyes, and couldn't see. For a moment I thought you were the Hag trying to return me to the pot.”

“...So you aren't scared?” Bigby’s posture straightens, asking as though such a thing can't be possible. “I heard you yelp when I picked you up, I swear I just wanted to protect you!”

“I was surprised you could lift me so effortlessly!” Alhazred chuckles. For a moment Al thinks of when the beast held him against its chest. Bigby’s definitely putting on weight, because he could feel abs under the beast's shirt. Wait- hey, no. Quit thinking like that, now isn't the time. “Why would I fear a man who saved my life?”

Bigby perks up, his eyes sparkling like emeralds. “Oh! I did do that, didn't I…?” He rubs the back of his neck before smiling. “Sorry for bugging you about this, I started to worry. Have a good night!” The changeling waves to his friend as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Alhazred collapsed into bed, mind racing. Damn that changeling! He's never felt these emotions in his life! Now he's struggling to tell them apart from the feelings he forgot, making his conscience all the more messy. His mind keeps interrupting itself ogling at that shape-shifter, no matter the form! His features, his personality, his traits, there was always something grabbing Alhazred’s attention without Bigby even trying.

What was this feeling?

Chapter Text

Okay, that's it, he's officially gone insane. Alhazred stomps down the hall, opening the door to the flagellant’s room. “Damien, I need help.” He states bluntly. 

“Hm?” Damien looks up from the new bandages he was wrapping his forearm with. “What kind?”

Alhazred shuts the door behind himself, balling his fist. “I AM LOSING. MY MIND.”

Ah, a confession. This is the first time Al's come to vent. “You want a seat?” Damien asks. 

“No thank you, I'm feeling quite frantic.” And also looking a little frantic. Alhazred is usually pretty composed, so watching him freak out this bad was both concerning and entertaining. 

“Is it the shambler thing-” Damien begins. The two had talked of how their patrons… didn't get along. Alhazred was initially willing to blame Damien for his patron’s disappearance, but it became clear that the flagellant had no hand in the shambler's withdrawal. 

“IT'S THE SHAMBLER THING.” The scholar declared, beginning to pace. “I'm losing my mind. I'm losing my mind! How do you people live like this? How did I live like this!?” 

“Most people don't sell half their brain and live without it for a few years.” Damien replied. “You just need to get used to it.”

“Are you KIDDING me!?” Al barked. “Do you have any idea who I was before I came to this accursed place? I was calculated, able to make sacrifices for my studies with no remorse. A master of the dark arts, perfecting my craft further and further! NOW?” Alhazred dragged his hands down his face. “I've lost control of my own thoughts! Guilt of past actions haunt me, my brain spitting out images of things I don't want to think about. I'm having NIGHTMARES! I haven't dreamed in half a decade!”

“Intrusive thoughts are a bitch, I'll give you that.” Damien nods along. “What kind of nightmares?”

The occultist groans. “The summoning ceremony, my patron’s terror from the ruins, that UNCIVILIZED HAG.” Alhazred caught a bit of broth in his mouth when shoved into that cauldron. Now in his night terrors, it's the last thing he tastes as he drowns and burns. 

“Yeah, you getting dunked was pretty scary to witness.” Damien shudders. “No shame in getting traumatized by that fuckin’ disaster.”

“I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRAUMA AT ALL!” Alhazred protested. “I got rid of these emotions for a reason! They sully my logic! I can't think!”

“You also didn't laugh.” Damien points out. “You felt nothing. You couldn't be happy, surprised, hopeful-”

“Is this really much better!?” Alhazred’s head was in his hands as he paced. “Everything I think about, my heart has its opinions! I can't drown out the thumping in my chest, as it obsessively fixates on nonsense! Either it tortures me with my past mistakes and sins, or assaults me with visions that warp my mind with intoxicating befuddlement.”

“Well, you said that meditation can clear your mind-” Damien offered, in an attempt to help the scholar find a coping mechanism. 

“Meditation is no longer an option.” Since the weald, Alhazred’s mind has decided that the beast's arms count as a happy place. Al doesn't know if it's appropriate to have such deviant tastes. But considering how Bigby sees that form as a curse that ruined his life? AL'S GONNA ASSUME THAT CALLING IT HOT WOULD BE RUDE. “I feel like a moth to flame. This place will destroy me. I need to leave. But I can't… I can't bring myself to abandon my compatriots. Leave my friends.”

Damien pats Alhazred’s back. “Well, I'm glad you see us worth staying for. It'll work out Al, I promise.”

“I feel delusional.” The occultist grumbles. 

“Everyone's a little delusional, that's normal.” Damien reassured. “Wanna hit the town? You need some fresh air.”

Alhazred groans. “Fffffffine. I need to think about something else anyway. If my heart lets me.”

•¤•

Exploring the Hamlet, Alhazred does admit that Damien makes a good guide. The foreigner and the local retracted the cobble streets, Damien telling of the Hamlet's past. “It's a shame the Farmstead got smote. In the autumn, the apple trees would fruit, and the farmer would hold an apple picking event. Oh, oh! I dunno if the tavern still does it, but you could win a free beer if you could guess the number of corks in this big jar. The corks were from all the opened bottles and kegs over the years, they might've lost it during the recession.”

Alhazred swatted away a bug. “And these pests?”

“The bugs?” Damien clarified, thinking on Alhazred’s question. “I dunno, this is weird. I mean yeah, we get mosquitoes in the summer, but they're hyper this year.”

“Wonderful. Another oddity for the pile.” Alhazred says sarcastically. 

“Anyway, I hope the Weald is cured soon. I miss its blackberry bushes- …wait…” Damien trails off, looking at something in the distance. “There's no way…”

Alhazred follows Damien's gaze. Down past the village houses, a tent could be seen. One adorned with black and tan, dotted with gold and splattered with red.

“...No way!” Damien lights up, becoming hyper with excitement. “No way, no way!!”

Alhazred is grabbed by the wrist and dragged along as Damien runs to the Hamlet's newest addition. “WH- DAMIEN!” The occultist protested. 

They join a crowd gathering around a woman wearing a grim helmet and comical bow. The Ringmaster herself. 

“WELCOME, ONE AND ALL!” She bellows proudly. “It's wonderful to return to one of our favorite stops! So many more people this time too! I can see it in your eyes, very few of you are strangers to bloodshed! For those who crave more, I have a darling little offer for you.” She proudly motions to the tent behind her. “Come, and spill your fill in The Butcher’s Circus! Many will enter, and only one will leave! Who will leave in a corpse cart…” She then places a foot on a chest overflowing with treasure. “And who will leave with riches? LET'S FIND OUT!”

The crowd cheers, and Alhazred turns to the flagellant with complete shock. “DAMIEN??”

Damien was grinning as he bounced in place. “The circus is back! This place was a summer staple when I was a kid!”

“That is a tent where people watch others battle to the death!” Alhazred motions to said tent.

“Yeah? Doesn't your hometown have something like this?” Damien stops bouncing, tilting his head. 

“NO???” Alhazred replies, culture shocked. 

“Huh. Weird.” Damien replied bluntly. “Heyyyy, I bet I'm strong enough to fight in the ring now! Gotta get my injuries in somehow, since I'm banned from the abbey. Wanna join? There's two ticket lines, one to participate, one to spectate.”

Alhazred stares at Damien for a good moment, before pinching his temples. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself!” Damien jogs to the tent’s entrance, waving to the occultist. “I'll try to win you something!” With that, he vanishes into the crowd. 

Sigh. Al really needs to learn how to roll with these oddities. But it's hard when the Hamlet keeps throwing him curve balls.

•¤•

Returning home, Alhazred finds himself seeking out Bigby. Yes, the scout's company makes him feel far too many emotions. But there's something addictive to how his heart unfurled around him. Discussing their respective studies with the biologist sounded like a delightful way to spend an afternoon. 

Al finds his friend at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich while writing in his journal. The journal Alhazred gave him, to catalog his curse. It had become well worn with use over the past month, filled with sketches and shorthand. 

The occultist sits across from his compatriot. “I see you've put that notebook to good use.”

“Mrph?” Bigby looks up from his notes with a mouthful of his lunch. Gulp. “Uh, yeah! …You were right about it. T-the studies, I mean. Things aren't as scary when you know them.”

“I'm glad it's helping.” Al chuckles to himself. “Tell me something; why does it feel like you're snacking on something every other time we speak?” He doesn't expect a proper answer, more asking as a light joke.

“Oh, that's easy! I knew that one before the journal.” Bigby flips to the front of the booklet. “It takes a lot of energy to have instantaneous bone growth! All that extra muscle mass needs to come from somewhere. That's why I was skipping meals before you all knew of the beast. I have a heightened metabolism to maintain, and I can't shift if my body doesn't have enough nutrients. Think of it as having two mouths to feed!”

Alhazred listened intently. “...I see. It pains me to hear that you feared yourself to such an extent.”

“Well… I-I'm getting better.” Bigby fidgeted with one of the dog-eared pages. “It's hard not to be scared, when your body changes in ways it was never supposed to. Oh!” He then lights up, flipping to a page further towards the back of the journal. “Speaking of, one of the things I was fearing can't happen!”

“How so?” The occultist tilts his head.

“As you know, my curse was contracted by a scratch from a beast with the same affliction.” He pats the offending shoulder, his first scar hidden under his shirt. “In theory, that means that I could give my curse to someone else. A fate that I wouldn't wish on anybody, especially you guys. But it seems like those antidotes I made in a panic weren't entirely useless! Whatever I am now, I'm a halfling. I couldn't reverse the onset, but I could stop it from overtaking me entirely. Between the repurposed stomach acid and my maintained humanity, it seems my curse is too underdeveloped to spread.”

“I understand why you would find that a relief.” The occultist nods. 

“Right!? Ugh, I was so worried…” Bigby awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “There's… also the form changes. I don't think that I'm supposed to be able to do them. The curse intended to remove my humanity in its entirety. E-every shift, I feel myself come back with more of the beast's features.” He looks to his hand, his nails having sharpened into claws. His ears have become pointed, his teeth much more fitting to a carnivore. 

His hand is taken into Alhazred’s, spiral disrupted by the scholar's comforting smile. “The beast is gaining more of your features as well. It's fully bipedal now, and clearly recognizes us. You're one and the same, and as human as I am.”

Bigby’s heart melts at the reassurances, but still has his worries. “What if I get stuck? The Hamlet, it's more mercenaries than villagers now. If they take me as some abomination that escaped the Estate, they could…”

“We'll protect you.” Alhazred interjects. “Truly, at times it feels as though you forget we're a team! None of us are strangers to angry mobs, and it'll take more than that for us to abandon our teammate.”

Bigby blushed, a smile growing on his face. “I… I don't have words for how much you guys mean to me. Thank you. For not fearing me. Accepting me.”

“Oh no, my friend has been seized by his curse! Woe, I might be stuck scratching behind his ears until the beast reverts.” Alhazred sarcastically jokes.

Bigby laughed! “I can't believe you! Who looks at a vicious abomination and thinks to comfort it?”

“For a ‘vicious abomination’, you smile quite warmly.” Alhazred retorts. 

Bigby falls just a bit further for the occultist. “Of course you see that beast as cute. But can you blame me? You're easy to smile around.”

Before Alhazred can reply, the lovebirds pull their hands away when hearing a familiar jingle. 

“Sup losers?” Sarmenti pokes his head into the kitchen, then properly entering to look through drawers. 

“Oh, we're… we're just chatting!” Bigby replies, a little embarrassed. “Grabbing a snack?”

“Nah, lookin for the knife sharpener.” The fool corrected. “My dagger’s getting dull.”

“...You have theatrical experience, correct?” The occultist asks. 

“Duh. Why?” The jester responds, not looking up from his search. 

“Are ‘Butcher Carnivals’ a normal occurrence in this country?”

“I'm sorry there's a WHAT.”

“HUH?!”

“SO I'M NOT THE WEIRD ONE!”

•¤•

Back at the carnival, Damien was having a rapturous time. Wild, frenzied bloodshed, for all to enjoy! One performer sticks out to him, as the promise of gold is paid for in blood. A masked bounty hunter, wielding an ax. …He recognized that fighting style!

Taking out one of the hunter's would be assailants, Damien then makes an offer. “Truce?”

The hunter stares at the flagellant, before taking out a grapnel with a snort. Damien's gonna take that as a yes!

The remaining combatants are swiftly dealt with, the hunter recognizing Damien's strategy as well. When they're the last ones standing, Damien lowers his guard. 

“We make a pretty good te-” Is all he can say before the last thing he remembers is the bounty hunter's fist flying into his face. The flagellant crumpled to the ground from the powerful blow, unconscious. Leaving the masked hunter to vanish with the butcher's prize, and from the Hamlet entirely. 

•¤•

Maryam sighed while leafing through paperwork in her office. The rising mosquito activity was beginning to worry the Hamlet. Especially the abbey, who were becoming very instant on the heiress opening the Courtyard for exploration. But her visit to that damned garden was still vivid in her mind, and she wasn't having anyone else share her fate. Sending people to that decadent hell would be the start of an outbreak. Although with these pests, the outbreak may already be upon them…

Down stairs, she hears someone enter the house. A member of her guild greets them.

“Eugh, what happened to you? I could smell you before the door opened.” ...Bigby. Damien had said that one's name was Bigby. The scout. 

“I got thrown in the corpse cart!” Damien happily replied. She knew his voice for sure, with all the rambling he does in the evenings. “Sorry I couldn't win you anything, Al.”

“It's… quite alright. Just don't get yourself killed for some random trinket.” That's Alhazred. The healer, the escort with supplies. Damien said he respected the occultist. 

“OH my gods, even I can smell you. Bath. Now.” Sarmenti, she knew that fool's snide tone. She never understood how he managed to become the leader. Damien claimed it was because the jester ‘was used to being the leading role’, but she had her doubts. 

She listened to the flagellant and fool bicker, the sound moving down the hall to the bathroom. Perhaps she'll skip her meeting with Damien tonight, if he's been in a pile of corpses. 

She snorts, hearing the flagellant yelp, followed by a splash and thud. Her uncle's voice rings in her ears. Yes, yes, there's still work to be done. She mustn't forget why she hired these mercenaries in particular. 

No one will miss them when they inevitably fall to the Estate.

Chapter Text

Right! It's time to fry some royal bacon.

The Foolish Horrors trace the now well trodden path to the Estate's gates. Each day, the Hamlet grew, and each day, new mercenaries were drawn to the siren song of glory. 

Bigby kinda liked people watching on the way to expeditions. Alhazred wasn't the only foreigner brought to the Estate. It seemed that people around the globe wanted a piece of these newfound magics, grim as they are. Bigby wondered what their stories were. Damien already said how happy he is with his hometown’s revival, turning their curse into their beating heart. 

By now the supply station was a genuine shop, a proper building where the ramshackle booth once stood. It was musty, crammed with various supplies, some helpful as they are odd. The wood floor commonly creaked under muddy boots, saw the scratches of dragged weapons. And the occasional clump of dog hair thanks to the local Hound Masters. Bigby is beginning to share Damien's homely pride, having seen the town where he regained his humanity at its worst. He feels like he helped in rebuilding, in an odd way. That he used his curse for good.

Then the changeling's heart plummets into his stomach. At the clerk's counter, a monk argued with the shopkeeper. A grisly scar was splashed across the corner of his mouth, his back laden with holy relics, firewood, and a warhammer. He knows that man. Bigby hides behind Alhazred, happy he has a hood to conceal his brand. 

“Oi!” Sarmenti greeted. “Who the hell are you? Shouldn't you be in a pew?”

The monk looked down his nose to the Jester. “Who are you to speak to me like that?”

“Who are you to hold up the supply line!?” Sarmenti retorted, already disliking this monk’s attitude. “You ain't the only one with places to be, bub!”

The monk scoffs. “Saint Ishmael. Warrior of light, exorcist of abominations.”

Ah yes. The Fanatic. Somewhat of a celebrity in some corners, an ill omen in others. No inhumane creature was safe from his wrath. With a particular ire towards vampiric creatures, the Abbey must've summoned him here. The buzzing swarms that invaded the Hamlet, and the peculiar affliction they carried, were becoming a friction point between the Abbey and Sanitarium. The Abbey said it was a curse, the Light marking sinners and blasphemers for early damnation. The Sanitarium argued that it was an illness, an unfortunate evil befalling innocents that needed a cure. Their Lady said that any expeditions to the mosquitoes’ nest was banned, due to their origin being the Courtyard. But it seemed the Abbey decided to disregard that order. 

And then there's why Bigby recognized the monk. The church had sent the fanatic after the afflicted biologist when he first escaped the penitentiary. Many a time Bigby was forced to flee villages, for the hunter had found his prey’s refuge. Bigby still remembered the smell of the funeral pyre the fanatic made for him, stinging his nostrils as he hid in the underbrush. And the changeling was terrified of being driven out of his newfound home.

“Where's the rest of your party?” Sarmenti questions. “That's probably why the shopkeeper won't sell you shit. Unless you got the written okay from our Lady, which I highly doubt.”

“My what?” Ishmael raised his brow, as though he was hearing utter nonsense. 

Sarmenti tittered spitefully. “Ahah. Ah hah hah. You're new here. We've got a buddy system going, you need a party of four if you even wanna set foot on the Estate grounds. More the merrier, but you're not allowed any less. The guards at the gate ain't gonna humor you either, so you've gotta go crying to the Guildhall.” The Jester points his thumb to the door behind him.

The fanatic nearly growled at the jester. “Who are you fools to order a Saint?”

Growing impatient with the monk's ego, Sarmenti points his dagger to Ishmael. “The Foolish Horrors that already beat you to two dungeon hearts, and about to beat you to a third! Now if you don't stop talking down to me, you're losing tendon privile-”

“Apologies.” Alhazred interjects, stepping between the two. The occultist lowers Sarmenti's dagger. Without Alhazred to hide behind, Bigby scurried to Damien for cover. “We're not here to cause trouble, but I'm afraid my friend speaks the truth. Great volumes of terrors populate the Estate, and it's dangerous to face them alone.”

Ishmael grumbles, resisting the urge to smite this jingling buffoon. “You said there was a Guildhall, correct?”

“Yup-yup!” Damien chipperly answered. “It's the big castley building back in the Hamlet with a fancy shield above the door, can't miss it!”

Ishmael sighs deeply, giving Sarmenti a stern glare as he takes his leave. The Jester is quick to reciprocate. 

Sarmenti sheathed his dagger, muttering an insult as the door closed behind the monk. “Old rotted fool.”

“Must you always squabble with authority?” Alhazred chided. 

“I don't care for ‘rank’, we're all human, and a bitch is a bitch.” Sarmenti replies, showing the clerk the party's supply request from their Lady.

“Are you okay Bigby?” Damien asks the scout cowering behind him. “Your grip's tighter than usual.”

“I-I… um…” Bigby looks for words, not wanting to out himself to the swarm of passing strangers. “I've bumped into Ishmael before. He doesn't like me.”

“Considering that schmuck's attitude, I don't think he likes any of us.” Their leader hands the full, loaned backpack to Alhazred. Lo and behold, it came with firewood. Great, they get to spend a night in the Warrens. 

They head through the Estate gates, and Bigby drifted towards Alhazred as they approach the swine trodden sewer. The scout's face grows hot when Alhazred grabs his hand to hold.

“Are you sure you're okay? You haven't fretted like this since I first met you.” The occultist worried. 

“Well…” Bigby decides that the party is alone enough to speak of his troubles. “You heard Saint Ishmael. He called himself an ‘exorcist of abominations’.” He tugs on his hood, making sure it stays over his brand. “The Abbey… I've told you I escaped a penance chamber. They- they're convinced I'm a demon, they want me dead, they branded me as damned-”

“He's here for you!?” Alhazred’s concern spiked. 

“N-no, I think he's here for the crimson curse. But he knows who I am… I-I don't wanna run away again…” Frightened tears sting Bigby’s eyes, his grip on Alhazred’s hand tightened. “...I don't want to burn...!”

The party halts at the Warrens’ gate to focus on their petrified scout. The most palpable fear the changeling has displayed wasn't of the countless monsters they've faced, but a mere man.

“Oh, Bigby… come here.” Alhazred pulled his friend into a hug, and Bigby clung to the embrace. “It's not your fault.”

“Tsk.” Damien frowned. “To think Ishmael claims himself a holy man, while evoking terror such as this! For shame. A Saint relieves burdens, not induce them!”

“If he makes a move towards you, get us.” Sarmenti orders. “We aren't having you getting murdered, and if anyone tries I won't hesitate to beat their ass.”

Bigby swallowed a sob as he got tears on Alhazred’s shoulder. He has so much to lose now, and his friends’ comfort only cemented the fact. He usually skips town the moment he hears the Fanatic's name. Being in the same room as a man who wants to burn him alive was a horrific experience. 

“The schmuck shouldn't have a team until tomorrow at the quickest.” Sarmenti hypothesized. “So it should be safe for you to turn into Biggestby without him finding out. It's not like folks can get as deep in as we can anyway, they don't have you to keep the pigs away.”

Alhazred pulls back to look into Bigby’s eyes and hold his face. “Are you okay with transforming right now? We could handle ourselves until you stabilize. I know strong emotions can make the beast more reactive.”

Bigby sniffles, holding Al's hand to keep it on his cheek. “No… I can do it. Maybe the beast will make me forget about this for a while…” Bigby was ashamed that he found brevity in the temporary loss of his mind, but some days his anxieties are just too much.

“...If you're certain.” Alhazred replies, pulling away. Bigby wishes the embrace could last forever, clinging to the scent of cinnamon and candle smoke in his mind. He wishes that they could just go home, and Bigby can hide his face in Alhazred’s chest. To be held by whom he loves, and have everything melt away. There's so much hate in the world, but not in Alhazred’s arms.

Wordlessly, the party enters the Warrens in their typical formation. Alhazred carries the torch, Sarmenti the map. Damien defends the front, as Bigby defends the rear. Once they're out of passers-by's sight, Bigby turns to his other half. What was once bone snapping agony felt like a mere growth spurt now. He stretched as he continued forward with the others, bumping his head into a hanging chain. Ugh, this extra height is a pain to adjust to, he's gonna dent his skull at this rate.

…Wait a minute. 

WAIT.

Hearing the beast make a surprised noise, the party turns to their warden. The beast was staring at his hands in surprise, then looking at its pack as if to check if they're seeing this too.

“Something wrong bud?” Sarmenti tilts his head, not knowing what the beast is alerting of. 

The beast does a growling stammer, trying to find words despite being unable to speak. He then motions to himself with an insistent expression. 

Damien gasped, familiar with the feeling of suddenly having a different body but the same mind. “BIGBY!!” The flagellant gleefully ran up to the beast, having to warp his arms to properly wrap around their scout. “You did it!!!”

“Waitwaitwait, Biggy's still at the wheel?!” Sarmenti jogs over to perch on the changeling's shoulder, lute in hand. “This is a tremendous occasion!”

Alhazred stared up at Bigby, at a loss for words. There's so much he wants to say for the friend he's happy for. He simply rests a hand on the beast's arm and smiles. 

Bigby froze when his party swarmed him. Never, not once ever in his life, did he think this form would be met with adoration. With trust and familiarity. He feels himself tearing up again as he returns Damien's hug.

“HA-HAH!” Sarmenti gleefully taunts. “We were right, your fears were wrong!”

Bigby wouldn't know what to say if he could speak. His tail wagged, knocking over curios. 

“Easy, don't hurt yourself.” Alhazred chortles in response. 

Damien pulls away. He'd have his hands on Bigby’s shoulders if he could reach them without straining himself. “You have to tell me how that form feels later, I've been so curious!”

Bigby laughs, sounding somewhat like a hyena. As much as he savors this moment, they have work to do. He gently grabs Sarmenti, setting him back down on the ground. It could be the added strength, but the fool feels as though he weighs almost nothing. 

“Aw, I don't get a steed? Boo.” Sarmenti teases, before returning to the front.

The party navigates down winding tunnels, chatting amongst themselves as they do. Bigby continues to scout for the party as he would as a human, although now he can lift people off traps. Call it instinct, call it muscle memory, but Bigby guards the party well from the beasts that dance at the edge of the light. But soon dawn turns to dusk, and the party sets up camp. Sitting around their lit campfire, they make small talk.

“Thank Light we found a dry spot, I was dreading the idea of sleeping in filth.” Sarmenti stretches. “You good to keep watch Biggy?”

The beast nods, although slightly nervous. Bigby’s never been in this form overnight before. But the alternative is leaving the party open for ambush. 

The party still manages to find refuge in these damnable Warrens. They reheat rations over the fire, Sarmenti handing his share to Bigby like clockwork. 

The fire burns low, and the Foolish Horrors do their best to sleep. Bigby stayed awake, to ward off any aggressors in the night. The biologist quite liked it when it was his turn to keep watch. His night vision made it so he could still take notes as the stars passed. However, when pulling out his journal, Bigby finds it to be much smaller than he was expecting. Hm. Right, didn't account for the big hands.

Alhazred wakes up to Bigby grumbling to himself, trying to flip through miniscule pages as he sits on his bed mat. The occultist chuckles. “Having trouble there?”

The beast jolts, looking between the journal and his friend. He puts the journal away, ashamed of waking his teammate over something so irrelevant. …He also fights the urge to stare. It was a rare treat to see Alhazred without his turban. And the dark brown, shoulder-length hair that hid beneath it.

Alhazred sits up. “It's alright. I was worried that rumble was from something else.” The scholar looks at the beast, smiling as he reminisces. “...Look at how far you've come. To think this was the same starved beast that cowered in these tunnels a month before.”

It's too dark to see the blush blooming on Bigby’s face. Alhazred gets up, walking over to the so-called ‘abomination’. Alhazred always tended to be more impulsive when tired, and tonight was no different. He gently placed a hand on the side of Bigby’s chest, the other on the beast's heart. “Your ribs don't protrude anymore! I'm glad… I was concerned you were going to starve yourself with these shifts.”

The blush spreads to Bigby’s flicking ears, unsure what to do with this sudden affection. 

Alhazred notices the beast's quiet stammering. “Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself. Apologies, I should really ask before touching y-”

The occultist begins to pull away, only for Bigby to return the hand to his ribs… and slide it down to his hip. The other hand cautiously moved to hold Al’s side, cradling half his torso. The scholar can hear the soft sway of Bigby’s wagging tail.

Alhazred wonders if he's caught a fever as he feels Bigby’s heart thrum beneath his palm. He didn't expect the beast to reciprocate these actions. Then again, he doesn't think much at all when he's tired. Damn his growing heart. He sees Bigby’s shining eyes looking down to him, expecting to be told to stop. 

But then Alhazred noticed a low, persistent growl from the dark. He tensed. “What's that?”

Bigby jolts into high alert, yanking Alhazred close. The occultist staggered, tripping over Bigby’s crossed legs. He was kneeling in the beast’s lap, and clutched close as the guardian surveyed its surroundings. With an ear to Bigby’s chest, Alhazred notices the growl being loudest there.

“Wait…” Alhazred tries to pull away, Bigby loosening his grip when he feels his friend squirm. Al peels his face off the beast, steadying himself with his hands on Bigby’s chest. “It's you! You can purr!”

The occultist can feel Bigby relax, hear his tail begin to sway again. He looks up to see gentle emerald eyes staring back at him. …It dawns on Alhazred that they're absurdly close for no proper reason. There's no threat, Bigby’s perfectly calm, the others are asleep. It's just them. He laughed awkwardly. “W-well, I'm glad you're happy. Should I move?”

Bigby replies with a soft trill, pulling Alhazred close much more gently this time. This, this is what Bigby strives for. No grand legacy, no trove of riches. The quiet moments. The gentle moments. The loving moments that this form robbed him of for years. Over time, his curse taught him that change was inevitable. Even to be loved is to be changed. But these changes? …He doesn't mind them one bit. 

•¤•

Damien wakes up with a stretch. Joints pop, he accidentally snaps a tendon, and groans at the minor inconvenience. While molding his muscle back into shape, he notices an empty bed mat. Alhazred's. Seeing no signs of his missing friend, Damien nudges Sarmenti awake. 

“Menti.” Damien urges.

Sarmenti mumbles, lazily swatting Damien's hand away. 

“Menti, emergency.” Damien shakes the fool more insistently.

“Whaaat?” The jester whines, his beauty sleep disrupted. 

“Al's missing.” The flagellant states.

“Hm?” Sarmenti looks at the empty bed mat. “...Aw hell.”

The party's leader gets up, marching over to Bigby. The beast was curled up on it's side, as though to make himself smaller. Which is how Bigby tended to sleep as a human too. Sarmenti pats the changeling's shoulder. “Rise and shine Biggestby, we've got a prob- oh.”

“Mrp?” Groggily, the beast raised it's head. There was Alhazred, buried and coddled under large curled limbs. The occultist was still fast asleep, his ear on Bigby’s chest.

“Found him!” Sarmenti called to Damien, who was quick to see where Alhazred had vanished to. The flagellant smiled knowingly, happy to see Bigby flirting with his crush. 

“Alright, y’all still need to get up, we've got a king to dethrone.” Sarmenti pats Bigby’s shoulder again, and goes to pack up his bed mat. 

Alhazred wakes when Bigby yawns. Wow, that was the best night's sleep he's had in a while. Then that wandering fever returns, as he realizes where he's spent the night. Damn it, why does Bigby keep humoring his delusions!? He should have gone back to his bed mat when he felt himself grow drowsy. Being so close to the contemptible imp was nearly hypnotic. Listening to Bigby’s heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest… something so insignificant felt so grounding. He clearly overstepped last night, holding Bigby like that- you can't just GRAB someone, you dithering buffoon! But Bigby humored him, and pulled him even closer.

…Maybe because Bigby wanted this too…?

BUT THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT! He doesn't even know what ‘this’ is, and now isn't the time to mull over it! They have a job to do!

The two leave the bed mat in an embarrassed scramble, Bigby clearing his throat awkwardly. Alhazred dusts himself off, trying his best to still his beating heart. Meditation will be insufferable after this…

Their camp withdrawn, the Horrors’ hunt continued forward. The swinemen's decorum grew more lavishly repulsive as they ventured deeper. 

“Ah good, we're getting close!” Damien said, looking at a banner of sewn skin. “Hopefully the king doesn't have many servants to dispose of.”

“Dibs on it's fingers.” Sarmenti replied, something gleefully sinister in his voice. “I want to make that tyrant suffer.”

Bigby shuddered. Sarmenti was truly frightening when you caught a glimpse of his hate. He was petty quite often, yes, but his proper ire was something that spelled doom. A hatred that was white hot, dipped in venom, and saved for hecklers and nobles. Sarmenti was usually pretty good at keeping this hatred to himself, he knew most people don't deserve it. But to invoke his wrath was to become the canvas of a mad-man's muse.

They soon come upon the heart of the Warrens. The center of gore and filth. A unique piglet notices the party, quickly running towards a grotesque collection of viscera. 

“AH!” Sarmenti's weapons are quickly brandished as he chases after the beast. “Get back here you little shit!”

There had been reports of an oddly intelligent swineman, that other mercenaries had begun to call Wilbur. The pig was their king's right hand, an indispensable advisor responsible for many organized grievances. 

Swine made pipes funnel more to the gargantuan mass, a ritualistic feeding of their king. Wilbur runs towards the pile squealing, frantically waving bastardized flags. The mass moves in response, making the party realize that not all of these guts are simple victims. Some, are the still living Swine King. It sat upon his on tangled intestines, it's exposed brain christened with an iron crown. The King reaches into the sewage, and retrieves a gargantuan meat cleaver. 

With a squealing bellow, war is declared. 

The party balks at the size of their target, but quickly scrambled away from the King’s mighty cleaver. The sundering chop shakes the earth, and shakes the ice out of the party's veins. 

Sarmenti rushes forward, delivering a slaving frenzy to the King’s exposed intestines. However, his efforts are interrupted by Wilbur tackling the jester to the ground. The following brawl is fueled by spite.

Seeing an opportunity in the beast’s strikes, Damien seized the offensive. The flagellant hops onto the King’s arm when it tries to attack the ex-cultist. Damien runs up the arm to the terror’s shoulder, warping his own hand into a boney blade as he jumps unto the King’s face. The beast screeches at one of its eyes being gouged out, it's free hand grabbing Damien to pull him off. The party hears Damien's body crunch under the King's grip, their ally then being thrown against the wall with a far too hearty THUD.

Alhazred rushes to Damien's mangled body as it hits the ground. The flagellant may be able to weave his flesh to his whims, but no longer to the extent he could when he followed The Heart. Healing the extent of these injuries would take time the party couldn't afford. 

The King begins to swing his cleaver down onto the two, but Bigby intervenes. Using the might of his curse, he catches the blade between his hands, stalling for his friend’s recovery. 

Alhazred begins the reconstruct Damien's broken body, but quickly stops when the flagellant convulses with a groan. The arm he had tried to heal had instead charred. Frantic, Alhazred quickly gets out bandages to put the arm in a sling. The occultist kicks himself for forgetting their warring patrons, thinking they would accept aid from the enemy. 

Bigby yeowled, his strength wavering under the cleaver pressing down on him. Even this form has its limits, and the King was forcing the changeling to exceed them. 

The occultist glances between all of the problems that littered the battlefield, overwhelmed by his friends’ turmoil. Desperation breeds a solution, as he looks to Damien's sling and the Swine King’s exposed brain. His idol is summoned into his hands, which he swiftly holds above his head. 

“MNAHN'T GOF'NN!”

A summoning circle appears above the Swine King. It opens like an eyelid, beholding the burning gaze of the stars. The King's grey matter boils, the abomination clawing at its crown in agonizing pain. 

Bigby takes the hog’s lapse in composure to throw the cleaver aside with the last of his strength, falling to his knees as he reverts to human form. 

Watching his ruler fall with a thundering splash as the Shambler's eye closes, Wilbur elected to run and fight another day. He spits in Sarmenti's face, who is offended as he is repulsed. “UGH, YOU LITTLE-!!!”

The piglet dives into the sewage, Sarmenti quick in his pursuit. However, he slams his head into a passage much too small for him as his arch nemesis escapes.

Now healthy enough to function, Damien pulls Sarmenti out of the muck by the ankle with his good arm. “You alright?” The flagellant asks gruffly, tired from reshaping himself. 

“ThE bIrDs SiNg So SwEeTlY tHiS tImE oF yEaR…” The dazed fool replied as he swung in the air via Damien's contorted grasp. Sarmenti may have been outwitted, but he did manage to grab proof of the guild's victory: one of Wilbur's flags. 

Alhazred helps Bigby to his feet, hand on the scout's heart to confirm it's still beating. “Are you alright?”

“'M alive…” Bigby mumbles, exhausted. “...Thanks.”

“Of course.” Alhazred replies, walking Bigby to the other half of the party. “Put our trophy in the bag, we need to get home and rest.”

Bigby groans, muscles pulsing in a weak try to summon the beast. 

Alhazred immediately noticed the scout's failed attempt at overexertion. “Don't you dare.”

“But… we'll get attacked if I'm not-” Bigby begins, trying to pull away to stand. 

Alhazred responded by pulling Bigby closer, and holding him tighter. “I just melted those uncivilized fools’ God, you're not the only man the swine fear anymore.”

Not having a counter for Alhazred’s firm gaze, Bigby silently accepted his fate. He looked away, while his face grew hot.

Their trophy secured, Damien had slung their stunned leader over his shoulder. “I want a nap.” The flagellant stated bluntly. 

“As do we all.” Alhazred agreed with a sigh, beginning the trek to the Warren's exit.

•¤•

Upon returning home, Sarmenti was the only one who didn't elect to crawl into bed. He had once again locked himself in the laundry room, having dived head first into sewage. Wilbur's flag had been hung alongside the Necromancer’s collar, for their lady to see whenever she passed the hearth next. 

…Alhazred knocks on Bigby’s doorframe. The changeling hadn't bothered closing his door, he simply trudged into his room and flopped into bed. Bigby had begun customizing his room only recently, but Al already saw the biologist's charm. The floorboards were slightly muddy, due to returning from little adventures. Various potted plants dotted the room, with their watering can in the windowsill. On his desk sat a book of pressed leaves dotted with study notes, alongside a bowl of interesting rocks he had found on his small escapades. Bigby was always an outdoorsy person, and had plans to start a herbal garden in the party's shared yard.

“Mrph?” Bigby raised his head at the sound of a knock, and then quickly sat up to face the occultist. “OH! Uh, yeah? Something wrong?”

Alhazred learned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “...I apologize for overstepping your boundaries in the Warrens. Your form was no excuse to touch you without asking.”

“You worry too much.” Bigby smiled warmly. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the floor. “It's alright, it was nice. I liked it.” He then says bashfully, “I… I-I'd love to hold you again some time.”

“...Ah.” Once again, Alhazred’s fever strikes. This time quite strongly. 

“I-IF YOU WANT TO!” Bigby back pedals, flustered. “I care about your boundaries too, I don't wanna force it or make you uncomfortable or-”

Al clears his throat, feeling the warmth in his face spread to his chest. “I'll keep your offer in mind. Thank you for clearing this up, I was concerned that I had acted too impulsively last night. Good- good day.” With that, the occultist awkwardly returns to his quarters. 

Alhazred sits at his desk, his occult studies sprawled out before him. But he's having trouble focusing on them. His mind is more occupied by Bigby’s consent. By the chance of being able to… cuddle like that again. His stomach turned, but this wasn't nausea. ...Butterflies?

His train of thought is forcefully derailed as he hears a woman clearing her throat. Turning to his doorway, he sees Lady Maryam looming within it. 

“What's this I'm hearing about a heart?”

Chapter Text

Sarmenti and Damien were in the game room, bored. Damien idly ate hot peppers as he watched Sarmenti make a house of cards on the pool table. 

“Is it just me, or is our lady out more often this week?” Damien asked.

“Oh no yeah, she's been all over the place.” Sarmenti replied. “This whole ‘Crimson Curse’ thing has the whole Hamlet in a twist. Good thing I never show any skin, the mosquitoes have nothing to bite!”

A few more cards are placed. “...You know more about the Hamlet than most. Anything you wanna share with the class?” Sarmenti wondered, curious if Damien had a solution for this plague. Bigby’s been studying the bugs that make it to the Hamlet, but the biologist has said that the sycophants were a new species. Or at least kept off the record. Alhazred has been trying to find what caused the mutation, but he can only do so much without visiting the source. 

“Hm…” Damien pondered. “I think the previous lord started it.”

“Tell me something I don't know already.” Sarmenti teased. 

Damien huffed. “What I mean is that it's not the cult. There's overlap in beliefs, but it's a different party.”

“...People are causing this?” Sarmenti balked. Yeah, this technically wasn't the first supernatural problem they've had caused by some asshole being a dickhead. But Damien makes it sound much more… organized than the typical Dungeon Heart. The Necromancer was just summoning puppets, the Hag Witch only commanded a coven to play fetch, and the Swinemen were as smart as chimps at best. If this swarm was really a deliberate action, this isn't just antsy bugs. It could be a strategic attack, hiding in plain sight.

“Oh don't sound so surprised, they're nobles. You already hate them.” Damien stated, not fully realizing the implications.

“WHAT NOBLES!?” Sarmenti demanded in surprise, toppling his house of cards as he slams his hands on the table. 

“The Crimson Court? They've been in the Courtyard since the final gala.” Damien returns to snaking. 

“I'm sorry there's an entire court in the Estate's backyard and you were gonna tell us WHEN?” Sarmenti leaps over the pool table and grabs Damien by the collar. 

Damien gags on a pepper before replying. “Is that not a known thing? I forget what is and isn't an Estate secret at this point, you get desensitized in a flesh cult.”

“NO, IT'S NOT A KNOWN THING!” Sarmenti briefly shakes the flagellant. “DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THE OTHER DUNGEON HEARTS TOO?!”

“Huh? Oh no, Mother's followers mostly keep to themselves.” Damien corrected. “There's a reason the low ranking members are the main ones above ground. If we didn't need sacrifices we'd be withdrawn entirely. We found out about the Crimson Court because they were close and reached out to us. Their faith for Mother's blood, so they wouldn't starve during the colder seasons.”

Sarmenti combs his fingers through his bells, processing a lot of information. “And during the warm seasons they plague the Hamlet. They being a royal court of bloodsuckers. Great, good, the Frankenpig wasn't bad enough.”

“They're being weird this summer though. They don't typically stray this far from the courtyard, let alone off Estate grounds.” Damien chews his cheek in contemplation. “I don't remember anyone doing anything to slight them… at least I don't think so? Maybe it's just all the new people in town.”

“OOOH GREAT!” Sarmenti sarcastically barks, throwing his hands in the air as he begins to pace, his voice raising an octave. “The noble bloodsucking semi-cult is being HYPER-AGGRESSIVE! SPLENDID!” The jester rested his elbows on the pool table, head in his hands. “Please tell me there's at least a cure for this stupid blight.”

“...Nnnnnone that I can recall, no.” Damien hesitantly answers, learning the gravity of the situation as Sarmenti parrots the flagellant’s information back at him. 

“Awesome.” The fool hissed. “Maryam and I are having words later.”

•¤•

Bigby and Alhazred perused the market, looking for potentially useful herbs. When Al proposed the idea of helping the Sanitarium discover the Crimson Cure, Bigby was hesitant. The biologist did have experience in toxicology, yes, but the discovery of his beast form would turn him into a lab rat. Bigby inevitably agreed, Alhazred being impossible to refuse when he wants to be. That, and if he could save just one person from a fate like his… he can't bear the thought of standing idle when he can help.

Bigby was much more tense in the village after that encounter with the fanatic. He refused to lower his cloak's hood in public, in fear of his brand becoming an angry mob's catalyst. Alhazred did his best to comfort his friend, urging the other to mingle like his fellow villagers. He never intended to do anything more, after all.

The herbs became a thriving topic of conversation, being one of the scholars’ overlapping interests. If one didn't recognize a remedy, the other did. Bigby knew the scientific uses, and Alhazred knew the spiritual uses. However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that their search was to come up empty handed. Bigby blamed his faded antidote studies, electing to refresh his memory with books later. That and his nose hairs are fried from sniffing herbs all afternoon. 

Walking back home, Bigby looks to the sky. The horizon is clearer than it typically is, and it doesn't smell like it will rain any time soon. …He remembers another interest he shared with the object of his affection. Stars.

“So uh…” Bigby clears his throat in an attempt to summon courage. Come on, it could be ages before the weather gives us another chance! “Do you think you'd want to go… go stargazing with me tonight? It should still be clear by nightfall.”

“Truly?” Alhazred replies, looking up for himself. “Ah, you're right, there are few clouds today.”

He then looks back to Bigby, who is nervously fidgeting with his hands as he awaits an answer. 

“I'd love to.” The occultist warmly accepted. “It's been some time since I've seen the constellations. I wonder how different they look, viewing them from the other side of the world…”

Alhazred continues to muse over their encroaching outing, and Bigby only half listened. The scout's heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. Holy shit he did it. Holy shit he asked Alhazred out on a date and Al said YES. He doesn't know if he wants to squeal or scream, but he's definitely going to explode. 

•¤•

Upon returning to the guest manor, Sarmenti had informed others on Damien's curse knowledge like he was shaming a cat. Now knowing what direction to take his studies, and stopping Al from strangling their flagellant, Bigby was flipping through various books he had on hand. He wishes he remembered what antidotes he had taken when contracting his own curse, but he essentially took everything he had in a blind panic. The fact that it had a positive effect was a miracle he wouldn't be able to recreate. 

…Bigby is beginning to realize what Alhazred means when he talks about ideas interrupting the rest of his thoughts. He'd love to focus on this herbal encyclopedia, he really would, but his mind's still back on Alhazred agreeing to their date. Does he realize it's a date? No, of course he doesn't, same gender couples aren't a thing. Unless they're normal where Al is…? But that's wishful thinking. Is it still a date if one doesn't realize it's a date? Is it mean to do a surprise-ish date? Maybe he can cancel it? Or play it off as a just bros thing. Wait, no, nononononono, don't be a bitch! He and Al cuddled! They whole-ass cuddled, through the entire night, while Bigby was a monster! That means Alhazred feels the same, right? Or at least similar. But what if he doesn't want the same? Does Alhazred want a partner? Is he even looking for a partner? What if he has a spouse back home he hasn't brought up until now? Does he even want to marry? Can they marry? No don't think about that last bit that's a later problem. What if he's not into guys? What if it was a platonic cuddle? What if he lays out his heart only for Al to be repulsed and uncomfortable and never speak to him again OH GOD-

•¤•

Damien was getting hot coals from the hearth, but now he's being dragged outside by Bigby. By the collar, by a very frantic Bigby. Who nearly slams Damien into a tree after staggering behind Bigby to the edge of the backyard. 

“I'VE MADE A MISTAKE.” Bigby greeted. 

“What kind?” Damien asked, accepting his fate. Someone grabbing Damien's collar was becoming increasingly common, and it was like you grabbed the flagellant by the scruff. He washes his wounds in vinegar, he doesn't mind friendly man-handling. 

“I asked out Al…” Bigby’s reply trails off into a sputtering wheeze. He doesn't know what will happen first: a stress induced transformation, or a fainting spell.

“Ooo, congrats!” Damien shows a chipped grin. “I know you said you wanted to make it special, I hope it all works out.”

“BUT WHAT IF IT DOESN'T!?” Bigby shakes the flagellant. “I-I've never been this vulnerable in my life, what if he hates me after this!?”

“Bigby, the two of you cuddled. And it was very cute, might I add!”

“But what if it was a friend-zone cuddle?”

“...Bigby.”

“DAMIEN!”

“Bigby?” Alhazred calls from the back door.

Bigby responds with a very shrill YELP, hands flying off of Damien and into his cloak.

Alhazred continues despite his confusion at the current display. “The sun is beginning to set! Didn't you say the stargazing spot you found was a bit of a trek? Would it be wise to head there now?”

Bigby stammered, glancing at Damien. Said flagellant gives the scout two thumbs up, a warm smile, and a firm nod. Good luck.

“Um… yeah! I'll be right there!” Bigby calls back. 

As the two head out, and Damien comes back in, Sarmenti watches his team. 

“Hundred gold says they're gay.” Sarmenti bets.

“Pass.” Damien replies. 

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean!?” The jester countered. 

•¤•

Up the winding old road, trailing off a beaten path, Bigby and Alhazred come out onto a hill that rises above the trees. The top offered soft grass, with a clear view of both the sky and the Hamlet. 

It made everything feel… small. A good kind of small. A personal kind of small, like the Hamlet was their little slice of something greater. There were many like it, and in better condition, but this one was theirs. Bigby got his cloak in that village. Alhazred discovered honey buns in that village.

Alhazred sat on the cool grass, watching the last threads of sunlight vanish under the distant ocean. “You have good tastes.”

Bigby smiled, sitting beside the occultist. “T-thank you!” He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. It's greeted with the smell of dewdrops, cinnamon, candle smoke, and the cold night air. His anxieties unwind upon exhale. 

The sun dips below the horizon, stars beginning to speckle the void above. Bigby fights the urge to lay his head on Alhazred’s shoulder, not wanting to come off too strong.

“...It's comforting, in a way.” Alhazred breaks the peaceful silence they spent watching stars come out of hiding. “No matter where you are in this world, the sky never changes. Even after traveling the globe, I can still see the constellations I watched as a child. Part of me was wondering if they would be inverted here!” The scholar chuckles. 

Bigby giggles along with the other. “What about the moon? That changes.”

“The phases?” Alhazred replies. “Come now, it's still the same moon. When it's full, crescent, waning, new… it's simply a trick of the light. A turning routine. Even when it appears to be gone, the moon is still there in full. Orbiting us like clockwork, watching over us regardless of form.”

That line of thinking always made Bigby swoon. No matter the form, Alhazred saw the same person in Bigby. Alhazred was the first one to see through his curse. It feels like it's been ages since that first incident in the Warrens. There were no burning pyres, no furious mob. They simply… continued on. They accepted his curse, and adapted. 

…Bigby takes Alhazred’s hand, after much deliberation. “So. I… wanted to say something.” He can already feel his face growing hot. He's choosing to focus on Alhazred’s hand, the mere feeling of the other's gaze being almost overwhelming. “I wasn't really… expecting anything good to happen to me. When I came here, I mean! I had heard this village was one that made people disappear, and I… I was willing to resign myself to that fate. After all, I was an abomination. It would be a fitting end for me to fade into obscurity in a cursed town.”

“You are not an abomination.” Alhazred chided, not liking when Bigby referred to himself as such.

Bigby smiled in response, giving Al's hand a gentle squeeze before continuing. “Maybe that's why nothing went to plan. I was so scared, realizing I was in a town of mercenaries. Then I bumped into Menti, you and our Lady stepped in, and Damien… appeared. Suddenly I was part of a guild, a team, and I thought it wasn't going to last. I simply joined for a proper bed, and each night I told myself that it would be the last. That by morning I would be gone, far flung from this death trap. …But I wasn't. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and my worst fear was realized. Transforming in front of close friends, frantic and snarling.”

Bigby moves Alhazred’s hand to cup his cheek. The cheek the occultist held in response to the beast before him. Bigby was looking Alhazred in the eyes now, the scholar's face dusted with wonder and curiosity. “But in your eyes, I didn't change at all. You didn't see the claws, the fangs, the horns… you saw that I was afraid. Afraid of your reactions. And you comforted me. You trusted me, when not even I did. You rekindled hope in me, you… you gave me my humanity back.”

Bigby released Alhazred’s hand, which the occultist hesitantly withdrew. Bigby’s gaze moved to his own lap, and fidgeting hands. “Which. Is a very long way to say… well.” Bigby can feel blush spreading to his ears. “Don't- don't think you're obligated to reciprocate! I never want to make you uncomfortable, and I know it's weird and we can just continue on as we were, but I-I just… I want you to know that… I love you.”

Alhazred’s face grew hotter and hotter as Bigby’s words sank in. Pieces began to click into place, like a cascading epiphany. …And he laughed! Not a taunting one, or cruel. But a laugh that was relieved. “Love! That's what it is! Oh thank the stars, I was beginning to worry I had lost my mind…”

“...Huh…?” Bigby replied, nervous and confused. 

Alhazred takes Bigby’s hands into his own, smiling. “This whole time, an emotion I had never felt was tormenting me. I couldn't identify it, it was too complex. It would disrupt my studies, fixating on you! Merely spending time with you would accelerate the reclamation of my feelings, and I had thought I contracted some obsessive delusion!”

The occultist declared his feelings as though they were a groundbreaking discovery. He then calms, looking to Bigby’s hands as he drifts a finger over his knuckles. “It's funny. I suppose we both returned the other's humanity, in a way. I returned your body, you returned my mind.”

Bigby stammered, holding Alhazred’s hands in return. “Wait, so- so you feel the same!?”

The scholar chuckles, cupping Bigby’s cheek. “I would have confessed myself if I wasn't a fool.”

Bigby sighs in relief, leaning into Al's touch. 

“...May I?” Alhazred asks.

“Um… yeah?” Bigby answered, not knowing what Al asked permission for. 

It was a kiss.

A gentle, tender kiss on the lips. One that had Bigby pulling Alhazred closer, wishing that it could last forever. 

•¤•

It was late when they returned home. Bigby didn't have to worry about others seeing him hold Alhazred’s hand the whole way back. Mind still fuzzy from the idea of a boyfriend, he continues holding his partner's hand as he closes the guest manor's front door behind them. 

“AH-HAH!” Sarmenti greeted them in the entryway, pointing at their interlocking fingers. 

Alhazred’s confused by Sarmenti's outburst, Bigby’s grip tightening out of anxiety. 

“I knew you two were making goo-goo eyes at each other!” The jester continued as Damien joined them in the entryway. Sarmenti then leans against the wall with a half-hearted pout. “Would've made a betting pool, but Damien wouldn't play.”

“It wouldn't be fair, I knew the answer already. You two make a cute couple by the way, I can already tell!” Damien smiled.

“Aw, what!? Since when?!” The fool whines, slighted that Damien cheated before the game even began.

Damien looks to Bigby for permission to elaborate. 

Bigby answers in Damien's place instead. “A while now. I uh… y'know, took up his confession offer. A few times.”

“Is that why it looked like you were trying to kill him before we left?” Alhazred asks. 

Sarmenti leans forward with laughter, as Bigby corrected his partner. “I wasn't hurting him!! I-I just needed a pep talk, and I was panicking! I'd never treat you like that Damien's just… Damien!! You know how he is!!!” Bigby motions to the flagellant who is simply giving a thumbs up.

Alhazred chuckles. “I see now, no need to get frantic. Although, might I ask, what are you two still doing up? It's nearly midnight.”

“Us?” Sarmenti replied, standing upright again with a shrug. “Oh come on, you two were heading outside the Hamlet at o-dark thirty! Wanted to make sure you got home in one piece. Stabby bastards frequent that old road y'know.”

Alhazred insisted that their wellbeing wasn't something to lose sleep over, while Bigby simply… watched Sarmenti's body language. There was no ire, simply playful annoyance for not being able to bet on when their relationship would be official. Yet another thing that the party accepted without much thought, to Bigby’s pleasant surprise. 

But the occultist was right. It was growing late, and the mercenaries needed rest. Retreating to their rooms, the party finally called it a day.

…

Except for one.

Once he heard the others still, Damien emerged from his room. He treaded carefully down the hall, around creaky floorboards and up the stairs. He knocks lightly on the office door. 

“Come in.” A tired voice replied. There was Lady Maryam, sorting through papers at her desk by the moonlight. Her red eyes followed him, glowing like Bigby’s do sometimes. 

“Do you do anything other than paperwork?” Damien asked teasingly as he gently closed the door behind him. He moved to sit in the bay window that was behind Maryam's office chair.

“At times I ask myself the same question.” She answers with a sigh, setting down her work with a furrowed brow. She joins Damien at the window, sitting beside him.

“Sorry I took so long, the others stayed up late today.” Damien was unwrapping the bandages on his arm, revealing various pock marks beneath. Damien was used to these little meetings he and his lady had. Not too different than the relationship between the Court and the Cult, really. And it was much more humane and consensual compared to the alternative. 

“As long as you weren't seen.” Maryam replies, tucking a stray strand of ghost white hair behind her pointed ear.

“Do you want me to talk about my day or be quiet?” Damien asked, offering his unveiled arm to his employer. 

Maryam grumbled, taking his arm to her mouth. She sinks in her razor sharp fangs, lapping at his blood.

Quiet it is.

Chapter Text

Well, it's the morning of their next expedition. They were off to kill another Dungeon Heart, but they were still waiting to learn which one. There was their Lady's agenda, but Sarmenti considered the Courtyard a more pressing matter. Waiting in the entryway, the rest of the party could tell it became the topic of a heated debate. But it doesn't sound like the jester’s been fired yet, knock on wood.

The door to the heiress’ office flew open, Sarmenti angrily stomping down the stairs with their assignment.

“Courtyard or Cove?” Damien asked, but he already knew the answer. Ever since contracting her curse, Maryam was satisfied with a quarantine for the Courtyard. She's not letting the horrors she saw there happen twice. Damien had learned this over the course of their feeding routine, as Maryam learned how to drink her fill without giving Damien suspiciously thin blood. 

“COVE.” The fool barked.

“Well…” Alhazred tried to find a silver lining. “This feat should help with the trades at port. Perhaps a cure will wash ashore?”

“O-or at least the ingredients for it.” Bigby added. 

Sarmenti bitterly grumbled, the party following him out the door.

Bigby stayed close to Alhazred, his hood over his brand. He wouldn't dare hold his partner's hand in public, especially with Ishmael‘s presence in the Hamlet causing an influx of crusaders and vestals. Bigby’s still surprised that he had to explain such a threat to Alhazred, as much as he wished he didn't need to. Apparently Alhazred’s homeland had little regard of who dated who, as long as it was consensual. Bigby isn't even Al's first partner physically, but is the first in the romantic sense. The occultist had wooed people before, to satiate cravings and complete rituals. But with his reclaimed pathos, Bigby was the first person who had Alhazred’s infatuation run deeper than skin. 

Bigby, meanwhile, has never been suave a day in his life but is trying his best. If he doesn't get Alhazred ostracized, then he's doing something right. He still shudders at the idea of Al going through anything remotely like he did, having nearly kept his feelings to himself for the other's sake. But the idea of not having Alhazred in his life? Losing his gentle touch to someone else? Call him selfish, but Bigby hates that future even more.

Entering the Supply Shop, the party tensed. There was Ishmael, handing a pack of supplies to one of the two crusaders he had in tow. Before the knight put the gear over his shoulders, he checked it over with the vestal that accompanied them. 

Counting the fanatic, they were a party of four.

The parties passed each other as they followed their respective warpaths. No words were shared, simply harsh glares as the atmosphere grew thick enough to cut. Bigby pulled down his hood, screwing his eyes shut as his pursuer unknowingly passed his prey. Alhazred had put himself between the two, returning Ishmael's judgemental gaze. Damien put his arm in front of Sarmenti, knowing that there was a good chance the jester would start a fight if slighted. 

Thankfully, Ishmael prioritized his disallowed crusade, leading his party out of the shop.

“Dragging a bunch of rookies into an illegal expedition… what a dickhead.” Sarmenti muttered, presenting their assignment to the shopkeeper. The jester knew how to lead a group, thanks to seeing so many bad examples over the years. He knew exactly what not to do, thanks to that repulsive tyrant. 

Alhazred had placed a hand on Bigby’s shoulder, while Damien idly perused caltrops. A small signal that the fanatic was gone, and a reassurance for his partner. Bigby sighed, relaxing as he cautiously double checked that Ishmael had left.

“It pains me to see you fret like this.” Alhazred whispers, not to cause suspicion in the remaining strangers. “How could anyone treat someone with such ire…?”

Bigby shudders, recomposing himself as he puts his hand on Alhazred’s. “He… they don't see me as someone. They see me as something.”

Damien looks over to the couple, tilting his head as he gives them a thumbs up. You guys okay?

Bigby makes a so-so gesture with his hand. The flagellant sighs. Better than a thumbs down.

Alhazred rescinds his hand, trying to make his presence next to his partner look more platonic. He thought hiding his relationship was stupid, and it was completely uncivilized that people here are considering it a sin. He could give a damn what the Light thought, love was a miracle in any form. But he played along, purely for Bigby’s sake. The poor man was already so anxious, and he fretted over Alhazred’s safety even more than his own. Al knew it came from valid concerns and care, he just… wished it wasn't necessary.

Done chatting with the shopkeeper, Sarmenti returns to his guild with their pack in hand. “Alright boys, let's get going.”

•¤•

Once in the Cove’s winding caves, Bigby was much more clingy to Alhazred. There was a low chance that anyone would be here with them, and if there was, Bigby would notice them first. However he was still quite antsy as he held his partner's hand, despising the horrible creatures that roamed this dungeon. 

“Everyone keep an ear out, we're looking for a Siren.” Sarmenti ordered, looking over his notes. “We've got earplugs for it, but we're probably not gonna be deep enough in to find her until tomorrow.”

Damien followed along, jumping in every puddle he could find as he went. Playing in salt water was such a fun way to refresh his wounds!

Alhazred looked at the remains of foreign architecture as they passed. He tried to distract Bigby’s fears with curiosity, but the idea of a sunken city of eldritch horrors was not something the changeling wanted to think about. 

A loud POP was heard from somewhere within the twisted tunnels. The sound makes the party jump, Bigby yelping as he scrambles behind Alhazred. The occultist staggered, his partner doubling in size while rushing to cling to him.

“Easy, watch the light-!” Alhazred’s grip on the torch tightened as he angled it away from the beast, who was gripping his shoulders. 

The other members turn to see a hulking monster trying to hide behind a mere man. Bigby was crouched down, with his tail between his legs.

Sarmenti laughed at the sight. “Jeez, you're high strung!”

Damien looked ahead. “That sounded like one of those bloated cadavers. Maybe they just inevitably explode?” With this dungeon being the farthest from the Estate, the former cultist knows little about it.

“That, or we've got help knocking around with us somewhere!” Sarmenti adds, in reference to what could be a fellow expedition party. “It'd be nice to have more people for these scuffles.”

Bigby whines, hiding his face in Alhazred’s back. The fact that this dungeon was by the ocean wasn't enough, this one just had to have things randomly exploding!

“Nothing is in the room with us Bigby, you're okay.” Alhazred tries turning to the scout, but Bigby’s grasp makes it difficult. 

Bigby peeks over Alhazred’s shoulder, making sure the occultist’s statement is true. His monstrous features retract, his arms wrapping around Alhazred’s waist with a nervous grumble. 

“I hate this place.” The scout complained, resting his chin on Al's shoulder. “I thought the Warrens would be my least favorite. But no, the Cove is the worst.”

Alhazred patted Bigby’s hands. It's adorable how clingy Bigby got when given permission. “The faster we find the Siren, the sooner we can leave.”

“If y'all keep being cute imma trade my lute for a lyre.” The fool teased.

“MENTI!” Bigby barked with embarrassment, releasing Alhazred as the party laughed. 

•¤•

It took a while to find a spot dry enough for a campfire, but the party set up camp at the mouth of one of the many caves that lead to the beach. The fire lit, the Foolish Horrors work on making themselves comfortable.

Damien sorted through sand for shells to place beneath his bed mat. Sarmenti busked idly by the fire. Alhazred examined the mural carved into a nearby wall. Bigby ate his rations, sharp teeth making quick work of the leathery jerky. 

“Are you sure you don't want to look at this?” Alhazred called to his fellow scholar. “These are fascinating!”

“I'm good, thank you.” Bigby nervously replied. This must be how Al felt when he showed him that snake.

“Ooo!” Damien returned to the party, cupping a handful of cloudy gems. “Sea glass!”

“Heeeey, good nick!” Sarmenti stops playing to look at the flagellant’s loot.

Bigby perks up, always happy to find an interesting rock. “Is it okay if I have one?”

“Sure!” Damien offers to Bigby, who slips a particularly green stone into his pocket. 

Alhazred rejoined his friends at the campfire. “My, this dungeon has no shortage of treasures.”

Sarmenti opens the backpack they had previously set aside, so Damien can add his findings to their trinkets. “Yeah, I heard Ol’ Lordy Loo funded the last stretch of his research with this joint.” The jester recalled from the information his Lady gave him. “Y'know, trade, pirates, deals with the local amphbi-freaks.”

“The Hamlet's economy is gonna boom once the waters are safe.” Damien said, giddy. He's never seen his hometown in its prime, but with each expedition he gets a step closer. “Then we can really get into repairs!”

“...I'm beginning to understand why so few people wanted to travel to this place by boat.” Alhazred reflected. It took some digging to find anyone willing to sail him to the Hamlet, since the general consensus was that their port was cursed. Although the more he hears of this town's troubled waters, it dawns on him that his odds of arriving here in one piece were slimmer than he thought.

“I just snuck onto a mercenary carriage.” Bigby said between bites of food.

“Am I really the only one who got here the normal way?” Sarmenti joked.

“Does being born here not count as a normal way?” Damien replied. 

The jester snorted, giving Damien a playful jab in the ribs. “Shaddap, you.”

Alhazred leans on Bigby’s shoulder, watching Damien and Sarmenti debate. Bigby blushed, not entirely used to this much affection yet. He swears it's like Alhazred is trying to make his heart explode. 

As the fire grows dim, the parties lay out their bed mats. Bigby was always picky with where he put his, having spent so many nights outside. He knew what made a good or bad spot. Oddly though, Alhazred was quietly following him while carrying his own bed mat. Bigby decided on putting his bed mat at the beginning of the beach, where there was soft sand that Damien had picked clean of protrusions.

“Good taste as always.” Alhazred complimented, and laid his mat right next to Bigby’s. 

The scout had a double take, blush swiftly appearing on his face. “I-I- huh?”

“What?” Alhazred tilted his head. “You said you'd love to hold me again, no~? And that was before we were partners. I must admit, your grasp has swept me off my feet multiple times. Sometimes literally.” He chuckled.

Bigby’s so used to being persecuted, it feels so surreal to be adored. Nobody's ever treated him like this before. “You don't- you don't mind that?”

“Do you mind?” Alhazred asks, a twinge of worry seeping into his voice. Is he going too fast? Did he overstep a boundary?

It was overwhelming to be loved, but good lord, he wanted all of it. Bigby shook his head, knowing that any attempt at words would be too frazzled to understand.

Al smiled, unraveling his turban. “Good, good.”

Bigby fumbled off his cloak, this being about as close to pajamas they can get on these expeditions. Then he thought of doing this back at home, in a proper bed, and that sounded like a slice of heaven. Light, Al was pretty with his hair down.

Alhazred loved watching Bigby fluster like this. “Do you plan to sleep sitting upright?” He teased, having already laid down.

The other stammered, laying down once snapped out of his daydream. Alhazred promptly pulls him close, which gets a squeak out of Bigby. 

“I have a good bit to repay you for, you know.” Alhazred lilted. “You've made me swoon multiple times without trying. I may need to make a conscious effort, but I think I'm returning the favor already.”

With an ear on Alhazred’s chest, Bigby’s thoughts slow. His nerves retreat with a sigh, getting comfortable in his partner's embrace. The beat of the occultist’s heart served as a constant reminder that his partner was safe.

“There you are.” Alhazred combed his fingers through Bigby’s hair, and the purring began. “Ah, so that's prominent in both forms~? Cute.”

Bigby simply replies by wrapping his arms around his partner, nuzzling into his chest.

•¤•

Sarmenti stretched, having woken up first out of the group. He got up, going through the party's supplies to fish out four sets of earplugs. …The fourth is stashed into the jester’s pocket. He doesn’t need them. As if someone with his musical expertise would fall for some silly siren song.

He wakes up Damien by tossing his pair to him, then waking the cuddling couple by delivering the remaining sets. “Rise and shine lovebirds, we've got fish to fry.”

Bigby groaned, pulling Alhazred closer. “Nooo, five more minutes…”

Alhazred sighs. “He's right starlight, we have work to do.”

Sarmenti extinguished the campfire's remaining cinders as the others got ready. 

“What about you? You've got plugs, right?” Damien asked, a tad louder than usual with his muffled hearing. 

“Yep, put them in before y'all got up.” The jester lied. “You know how I like my privacy.” The last statement was a subtle reminder that he wasn't going to let anyone check if he was telling the truth. 

Sarmenti led the party forward, map in hand. “You're gonna be alright, yeah Bigs?” He asked, in reference to their scout's sensitive ears.

“I… should be?” Bigby replied, his crossed fingers nearly audible. “Sorry if we get ambushed.”

“You're fine, better than being forced to fight you.” Sarmenti reassured. After spending so much time together, the party dreads the idea of hurting one of their own. They're an unlikely gaggle of freaks, but close friends none the less. 

And then they enter the earshot of the Siren's song. It doesn't properly hypnotize due to their hearing protection, but it's still trying to. The resulting mental conflict causes splitting headaches, the party fighting through them as they march on. 

But Sarmenti… he hears the song in full. Its hypnotic effect is lost on him, as he knew it would be. But he knows that melody. 

The closer they get, the louder the song becomes. And the worse the headaches throb. Alhazred is the first to begin faltering, leaning on Bigby for support. 

Sarmenti puts the map in his pocket. He doesn’t need it, having a sound to follow. It feels almost surreal, hearing the song this way. He's only ever heard it on violin. 

Bigby is the next to visibly struggle. He staggered on, horns poking from his scalp as he withheld a transformation that wasn't his command. 

The fool was eerily silent, as he continued without impediment. His mind was having it's own altercations, flooding with memories he despised. That damn violinist. That damned graveyard. That damned SONG.

When coming upon the Siren's breach, the elusive singer was hard to look at. Their minds couldn't decide on what to perceive; the gnarled wench she was, or the fanciful illusion she insisted on with every note.

Damien was the only one who could ready his weapon with clenched teeth. Even his pain tolerance had a threshold, and he was nearing his limit. The song was delightful as silken honey, but the sound hit his ears like rusted nails on a chalkboard. 

Sarmenti readied his lute with a bitter chuckle. If anyone was going to kill this grilled wannabe, it was gonna be him. The Siren's song becomes a duet, the party initially confused as to why their leader would do such a thing.

But as the jester sings, his voice unravels to hold multitudes. A chorus of voices echo from one man, and it feels as though the very air changes around them. As though the notes of his lute wrap around the party to soothe their aching minds.

The Siren, not to be bested, does its best to out perform the other. With rising pitch, the mermaid falls for the ringmaster's own lure. Spurred on by this song of madness, they end their song in one last crescendo. Holding one final note, as long as their lungs would allow. 

The Siren's voice fades as it struggles for breath, the note in its throat not letting it stop to breathe. Sarmenti's voice doesn't falter as the siren collapses, her conch clattering onto the soggy stone. 

With the Siren slain, the music stops. Sarmenti returns his lute to his back that faced his guild. And the following silence is deafening. Regaining their bearings, the party stares at their leader. That wasn't a human feat.

The jester snickered, voice cracking. “...I guess the cat's out of the bag now!”

“TA-DA!” Sarmenti snapped to face the party, removing his cap and mask in one swift motion. The desperation on his face was palpable, a grin shaking onto his aegean features. His long arctic hair was a lengthy mess, and all of his visible form had an eerie glow. He was partially transparent, the phantasm's skull visible beneath his face.

The party jumps at the sudden reveal of such inhumane features, and Sarmenti feverishly continues before they could find words. “Thaaaat’s right! You've been working with a dead man this whole damn time! You've been trying to heal a ghost, dipshit!” Sarmenti taunted Alhazred, who was wide eyed in shock. 

The fool laughed, painful memories bubbling to the forefront of his mind. “I've been dead before I even came to this shithole! Years before we met! You can't bait someone who's already fallen for the trick, YOU REPULSIVE BITCH.” A burst of anger flies into his voice as he kicks the Siren's corpse. But then he's clutching his head giggling, his focus swerving back to his team. 

“So I heard her song before, so what? It's not even her’s! I was taught by that violinist in the graveyard! F-found ambition in me and made it dance, crave stardom so badly my bones ached…” He trailed off, before throwing his cap and still emoting mask onto the ground. 

“HAHAHAAAA! BUT NONE OF WHAT I WANT MATTERS! He doomed me, I was always doomed! Doomed to be his successor, the next symphony of souls, the new jester of the horsemen’s court! Death's little fool! Even the grim reaper gets bored, and she LOVES comedy of errors!” Sarmenti cackled, pulling at his hair.

His eyes finally land on his party, seeing them frozen with concern and worry. The spook giggled. “...Isn't it funny? My whole life, a punchline for a deity's joke! Nothing I did with my life mattered! And now I'm spending my afterlife looking for something to put me down for good! Isn't that hilarious!? Isn't it FUNNY!? LAUGH! LAUGH, GOD DAMN IT!” Sarmenti ordered, his maddening despair on full display.

…

Damien cautiously, quietly, steps forward. And he hugs his close friend Sarmenti. First, Menti was silent. Then that silence became a laughing fit, which deteriorated into ugly sobbing. Reliving a snippet of his past was torture for the fool, who had wished he'd never have to hear that song again. Let alone perform an encore of the duet that sealed his fate. 

Alhazred quietly retrieved their trophy, the Siren's conch. Bigby picked up Sarmenti's cap and mask, the expressing porcelain feeling odd in his hands. He awkwardly stood by the jester’s side, ready to hand the items back to their owner when he wanted to receive them.

“I think your choices matter.” Damien consoled.

Sarmenti sniffles. “No they don't. I'm Death’s toy, nothing else…”

“Well, I believe you prevented our deaths just now, so that has to equate to something.” Alhazred pointed out.

The fool pulls away from the flagellant, rubbing his eyes. “Whatever.” He takes his accessories from Bigby, putting them back on. “We can't stay here. If you're gonna try to convince me, pick a place where it's safe to be a sitting duck.”

•¤•

Alhazred did the honors of showing the heiress proof of their victory. Sarmenti had holed himself up in his room, recovering from his outburst at the Cove. 

Then there's a knock on the door. And Damien's voice. “...Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sarmenti thought about it for a good long while, before sighing heavily. “Fine. Shut the door behind you.”

Damien entered, seeing Sarmenti hunched over his desk. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I had a fuckin anxiety attack, I'm as good as a delusional ghost is gonna get.” Sarmenti bitterly replied. 

“You've been better.” Damien retorts. “...Are you really here to just… die?”

“Believe me, I've been on this Earth way too fuckin long. But I can't pass on unless I teach The Song of Death to whatever poor sod'll replace me. Which I am not doing, even if I still could.” Sarmenti looked at his hand that was missing a digit. “Ain't nobody should know a song like that. Not even me.”

“So you did that to yourself…” Damien realized. 

“Mhm.” Sarmenti crossed his arms. “Last thing I did before I kicked it.”

Damien picks at one of his scabs. “...How did you die? If you wanna talk about it, I mean.”

Sarmenti sighed deeply, but humored his friend anyway. “I finally scored an audience with the Baron. I was so proud of myself, having been content to simply busk on the street before. But now I had a proper stage, and an audience of powerful people! …Of horrible people. They didn't want to hear me play, not really. They wanted a punchline. They wanted to torture me and laugh as I convulsed. I was a fucking musical genius, reduced to a laughing stock! Maddened by agony, I began to play a song that was always nestled somewhere in my brain. The Song of Death. Its sound kills anyone who hears it. The whole ballroom was a bloodbath, and I could've played until the whole damn city was empty. So with one of the table knives, I made it so I could never play it again. At least not entirely. Then… the curtains closed. Because I had heard The Song of Death too, even if I was the one who played it.”

During the retelling, Damien had put a hand on Sarmenti's shoulder. 

“Happy?” The jester snipped. 

“Well, you would've been brewing in this for ages if you didn't talk about it.” The flagellant states. 

Sarmenti gives Damien a hard jab in the ribs. “I hate that you know me.”

The other chuckled. “That tends to happen when you make a friend.”

“I'll noogie the shit out of you.”

“See? You're feeling better already!”

With that, Sarmenti followed through on his threat, much to Damien's amusement.

Chapter Text

Bigby was looking through vegetable seeds at the relocated market. With the Siren slain, and trade routes safe, the busy section of town square relocated to its original home; the docks. Nestled behind the Hamlet, all manner of goods found its way to their markets now. Including man power, now that another route into the Hamlet was cleared.

But despite this upswing for the village, the most recent of many, Bigby’s mind was buzzing about the future. This was the last Dungeon Heart, so what will their guild do now? Did Lady Maryam still have use for them? Alhazred talked about slaying that Heart of Darkness… thing, but are they really going to? Will they even survive trying? If Damien's flesh warping madness is really a glance at the Heart's might, what is it like in the hands of its origin?

“I know I don't know as much about plants as you do, but is picking between tomatoes and cucumbers really that hard?” Sarmenti teased as he leaned himself on Bigby’s shoulder, snapping the biologist out of his spiral. 

It felt… odd, looking at the jester after learning of his plight. His appearance hasn't changed at all, but Bigby now knows that only ectoplasm and bone reside beneath his mask. Sarmenti was still very insistent on hiding himself, even at home. Is this how the others felt when they learned of Bigby’s curse? He's never been on the outside looking in…

“No no, I just got lost in thought.” Bigby replies, tugging on his raised hood. A newfound nervous tic.

“I could tell, you were staring at those squash seeds like they insulted your mother.” Sarmenti nonchalantly motions to the seeds he's talking about as Bigby giggles. 

“Tomatoes and potatoes sound like a good start. They're at least something we'd all eat.” Bigby picks out the seed bags in question. But then he's startled by someone calling out to him off to the side.

“GET CHILLI PEPPERS!” It was Damien, rejoining the group with Alhazred. The occultist had noticed a trader sporting goods from his homeland. Damien happily helped transport Alhazred’s purchase: a lavish levantine rug, rolled up and carried on the flagellant’s shoulder. 

The scout snickered to himself as he grabbed seeds for the vegetable Damien requested. Part of him doubts the man would let him leave the stall otherwise. But who wouldn't grow their friend's favorite snack if they could? …He also buys lavender seeds, an increasingly popular flower in the Hamlet, due to how much the mosquitoes hate its scent.

“Jeez Al, where are we even going to put that?” Sarmenti said, looking to the most recent rug of many to enter the guest manor. 

“My room.” Alhazred says proudly, happy to have another piece of his culture. 

“It's really pretty.” Bigby compliments as he purchases the seeds. 

“Not as pretty as this garden will look.” Alhazred retorts, returning to his partner's side with a smile. “You have sketches, yes?”

“Oh yeah!” Bigby pulls out his journal, turning to doodles of an aerial view of the backyard. He holds it open towards the party. “I wasn't really planning much, just a veggie garden and some flower beds. It'd be great if you guys helped! …I-if you want, I mean.”

“Ooooh, I don't knoooow…” Sarmenti pondered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'll see what I can do without getting dirt on my leotard. …I suppose.” He gives the changeling a wink, to clarify that he'll gladly help.

“Dibs on digging holes!” Damien chirped.

“Perhaps I should lay a salt ring?” Alhazred offers. “Aside from the spiritual uses, I remember you saying it was good for slugs.”

If Bigby had a tail currently, it would be wagging. It feels good to have friends again!

•¤•

The backyard had seen better days. Garden boxes were overgrown with peculiar flora, vines hiding whatever the previous gardeners left behind. Sarmenti was using his sickle to free the shed as Bigby assessed the project. The others wanted to set up Al's new rug before they got to work, and were currently inside.

“...So…” Bigby fiddles with his chain. His hood is still up, in case he's spotted by the neighbors. It's why Sarmenti still has his mask on as well.

“Yeah?” Sarmenti’s reply is punctuated with a grunt as he yanks on the door handle. Nope, he needs to slice off more of this overgrowth. 

“I'm not scared of you.” Bigby’s focus properly shifted to the guild leader.

Sarmenti’s efforts came to a screeching halt, turning to look at Bigby with a chuckle. “Where the hell did that come from? Am I getting usurped??” He joked.

“No, I mean-” Bigby pauses, trying to put complicated experiences into words. They may all be semi-human weirdos, but Damien and Alhazred consented to their changes. Nobody asked Bigby or Sarmenti if they wanted to become what they are now. And Bigby wanted to say what he needed to hear when coming back from the moor all those years ago. So Menti doesn't feel as alone.

“...I know what it's like to be… different.” He states, in reference to the two's blemished humanity. “You can't change what happened. And it feels like everyone hates you for something you had no control over. For something that's not even what you wanted. But we're here now. And we'll… we'll be okay.”

Listening to the changeling speak, Sarmenti's posture softened. It's not as rigid and exaggerated as before. Like Bigby saw a teeny, tiny peek at the man beneath the jester’s facade. Sarmenti smirks, returning to his deweeding.

“Thanks, Bigby.” There was no sneer, no snark in the phantom’s voice. Only genuine gratitude for the changeling's sympathies. 

“Did you guys find any poison ivy yet?” Damien excitedly asked from the porch as he rejoined the others with Alhazred in tow.

Bigby jumps a little at the intrusion, but quickly shakes it off. “Not yet, but there's a good bit of brambles.”

Sarmenti returns to his usual self. “Hey Al, you've got a knife, yeah? Come help me with this!” He requests as if he's doing a magic trick with an audience member. 

Alhazred lightly rolled his eyes, removing his ceremonial dagger from its sheath. “I thought we were dealing with a garden, not a tangle.” He joked.

“Well so far, this is pretty tame for something that was previously in the Lord's care!” Bigby said. “I was half expecting autonomous venus flytraps, or carnivorous thorn bushes.”

“It's tame so far.” Damien echos optimistically, imagining what a thorn bush bite would feel like.

Sarmenti lets out a whooping cheer as the decrepit shed finally opens.

“Damien, I believe I spy a shovel for you!” Alhazred calls to the flagellant, putting his dagger away. Sarmenti dips into the shed for its spoils. 

“You think so?” Damien heads over, Sarmenti meeting him halfway. The jester kneels in front of the flagellant, presenting the shovel like it's Excalibur. 

“Go forth, and be a nuisance.” The jester says, barely keeping a straight face. 

“Eee!” Damien gladly takes the tool, the other two quietly dreading the chaos that has been unleashed onto the world. 

•¤•

With the weeds slain, and breaking it to Damien that you can't just whack a dandelion into submission, the garden was properly starting to come together. The yard itself was to be circled with lavenders, the vegetables being planted in the elevated garden boxes.

Damien was exploring the unveiled unknown of the yard, cutting down any straggling vines with his shovel. 

Sarmenti was lounging on the porch, plucking little tunes on his lute. The jester was always one to busk, but these songs felt… different. They were cheerfully soothing, like the stave of the tune invisibly wafted through the air. Like how the party felt when the maestro fended off the Siren's song. It appears that the musician’s glance beyond the veil gave him a potent weapon against cognitive ailments, distilled within his songs.

Alhazred helped Bigby cultivate the garden boxes. Well, Bigby did most of the work. Alhazred carried the biologist's tools, intently listening to Bigby’s lessons on the subject. 

“Are you sure the tubers will grow in these contained plots?” Alhazred asked.

“The potatoes?” Bigby replied, as he tilled the soil with his claws. “I've seen these spuds take root on a cabinet shelf, they'll be fine. Once these are grown, we could make a hotpot! You should try it, you missed out on a lot of good food over in the desert.”

The occultist chuckles. “Have I now? Well I've yet to find a good curry in the tavern. And your lack of rice is simply depressing.”

“Rice needs a riverbed to grow, and it's hard to find an oasis out here.” Bigby pondered. “I could probably say the same about your homeland and wheat!”

“It's not as abundant as it is here, but we still have it.” Alhazred retorts. “I love the bread rolls here, I truly do, but what does this village have against flatbreads?! These ‘crackers’ make miserable soup compliments. They immediately get soggy and fall into mush, how is that better??”

“Sounds like we'll just have to make our own sometime.” Bigby chortles.

Sarmenti's songs abruptly stop with a soggy KA-PWANG! Before Alhazred can ask the jester what happened, the occultist is hit with a stream of water.

“Nothing's bit me yet, but I found the hose!” Damien announced, he being the gleeful culprit. 

Maryam watches from her office window as Bigby falls prey to the flagellant’s shenanigans. She listened to these dead men walking laugh, and try to turn the hose onto the only dry member left. She knows they were hired to be disposable. She doesn't need to be reminded again. But after all they've seen, no madness has claimed them. They've only grown closer. Brighter.

The Hamlet needs more hopeful people like them… wouldn't you agree, uncle?

•¤•

Alhazred was studying at his desk, mulling over multiple things. Bigby had wandered in with one of his toxicology textbooks, reading in Alhazred’s bed instead of his own. The parallel research was quiet, but pleasant. 

However, the occultist is beginning to feel an emotion he did not miss. Dread. Word of his studies landed on his lady's ears, and now she knows of the Heart of Darkness. The heart of her ancestors sin. He was ordered to report on any useful findings to her. To prepare. She was planning to send them to cull a God. The more he learns, the more he doubts his party's abilities. Can such a thing be killed in the first place?

“...Honey, you're sweating.” Bigby sits upright, focusing on his partner.

Alhazred blinks. Right, some emotions triggered physical tells past facial expressions. A nervous sweat had begun on his brow, and the changeling was quick to smell it.

“Is it too hot for you? I can open the window-” Bigby begins, swinging his legs over the side of the occultist’s bed.

“No no, it's alright.” Alhazred stops him with a sigh, putting down his pen. “...Bigby, what if this was a mistake?”

“Us...?” Bigby assumed weakly. 

“No. Having you in my life was never a mistake, don't you ever think that.” Alhazred insisted, moving from his desk to sit next to his fellow scholar. The occultist looks to the floor. “...Although… at times I wish we met under different circumstances.”

“Heh, yeah…” Bigby rubs the back of his neck. “Could you imagine what it would be like if we were students together?”

Alhazred scoffs. “Oh good lord, you don't want that. I was obnoxiously prideful then. …And perhaps I still am.”

“This is about your patron… isn't it?” Bigby puts a hand on the warlock's shoulder. 

The horror's parting words ring in Alhazred’s ears for the hundredth time.

WE WILL ALL DIE HERE!

The edges of his mind were horrifically silent. He only had a tingling feeling that his patron was here… somewhere. “The Shambler. Yes. I fear… I fear that the Estate will be my grave. Our grave, and it's my fault.” 

Alhazred’s grip tightened on his pants, his hands in his lap. “I thought the Shambler was the most powerful thing among the monsters here, but it isn't. I thought I was invincible for surviving a mistake, only to make one even more grave. The Heart of Darkness, she already… I can't hear my patron anymore. I don't even know what happened to it. When we saw it in the ruins, it was begging for its life. This isn't just a Dungeon Heart, it's the heart of everything. And I don't… we can't…”

Al screws his eyes shut, tears stinging them. “...I was a fool for underestimating these damned lands, and my pride has doomed us all.”

“Alhazred! Honey, look at me.” Bigby straddled Al’s lap, moving the occultist’s hands into his own. “Whatever happens, I'll be happy to spend it with you. Even if we fail, we'll at least go out trying. If I had the chance to go back in time… remember everything, and go to the moment I decided to sneak onto that stagecoach. If I had the choice of going to the Hamlet knowing everything it entails, or walking away… I'd still hop onto that stagecoach in a heartbeat.”

Bigby held Alhazred’s face, the occultist’s hands drifting to the scout's hips. “Yeah, this place is scary. Yeah, I hate the cove, and every other dungeon we've been in. Yeah, being a monster in a village of mercenaries isn't ideal. But good Gods, do the positives outweigh that. I have a bed, my humanity, friends, and most of all, you!” The changeling smiles, wiping Alhazred’s tears from his eyes. They were a rich magenta, like plum wine. “I wouldn't trade you for the world.”

Words fail the occultist. When he was an emotional whirlwind, Bigby always brought him to the eye of the storm. Everything was simultaneously too much and not enough. 

“I love you.” Alhazred chokes out, before yanking Bigby into a kiss.

After a surprised flinch, Bigby’s hands move to the small of Alhazred’s back. Al's hand held Bigby’s hair, his other arm wrapped around his partner's back to pull them as close as possible. Chest to chest, the kiss was passionate. Needy, leaving both parties gasping for air when it's broken. 

“I don't want to lose you.” Alhazred rasped.

“You won't.” His lover assured. 

•¤•

Sarmenti tended to wake up before anyone else, since he didn't need nearly as much sleep. His legs propped up on the dining table, the fool flipped through the morning paper, the Hamlet Harold.

Beachside kingdom claimed by leprosy… Crimson Curse bearers still rising in number… top ten mosquito repellents… Kvarotz relics found in archeological dig… blah blah blah, where's the gossip? Where's the funny pages?

Damien's yawn announced his presence in the kitchen, joining the jester.

“Mornin’ meat head.” Sarmenti greeted, setting the newspaper aside. 

“...Morning…” The flagellant replied, still groggy. He reaches for his vinegar bottle to dress his wounds.

The fool leaned back in his chair. “I'll get going on breakfast once the lovebirds are up. I was thinking of ham sandwiches.” Sarmenti hasn't been able to eat for years now. It's not like he needs to, and he doesn't miss it. But there's a certain kind of… participation that he lacks over shared meals. But making the meals fills the void just fine.

Damien tended to his wounds silently for a while. The vinegar soaked rag gliding over new pock marks on his forearm. “...For someone looking for death, you fight valiantly.”

“Eeeeeeh.” Sarmenti states awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm picky. Some random weapon isn't gonna kill me, I've tried. It needs to be something stronger. And my death is exactly that: my death. I'm not taking anybody down with me, or leaving my killer to go after others when they're done with me. …Besides, I wanna see this whole 'Foolish Horrors’ thing through to the end.”

“Does it have to end?” Damien pleaded, turning to the fool. “Menti, you… you're…” The flagellant struggles for words.

“Aw c'mon Dee, everything ends eventually.” The jester replied in a bitter-sweet tone. “I know that immortality is seen as this big gift, but I'm just… so… tired. There's not much left to cling to, y'know? Not that I had much in life past my ego to keep me going. I'll try not to leave behind a mess for you guys to clean up, promise.”

The dam breaks, Damien rushes over to hug Sarmenti. “BUT I'LL MISS YOU!!” The flagellant sobs, his many eyes producing a torrential downpour of tears.

“EUGH!” Sarmenti cackled, trying to make light of the situation. “Let go of me, you smell like pickled pig's feet!”

“You've been such a good leader, and my best friend, and you're fun to be around!” Damien blubbered. “I'll miss your songs, and your nicknames, and your bells, and your laughter, and your jabs in the ribs you give me when I'm dumb!”

“H-hey… c'mon Dee, you're soaking my leotard…” Sarmenti said awkwardly, his arms wrapping around the flagellant. He can feel the other's tears on his shoulder. 

“Who's gonna heckle the old lord with me?” Damien continues, sorrowful. “Who’s gonna pace a groove into my floor while ranting about minor slights? Who will plot mischiefs with me? Who will make everyone laugh, no matter how bleak things seem?”

“...Damien…” Sarmenti said, unable to reply. After spending so much time as a dead fool walking, Sarmenti never thought he'd leave such an impact. All he's ever had is his tools and clothes on his back. He didn't think he'd be leaving anything behind. He thought he'd fade into obscurity, to be forgotten as soon as he left. To think he left an impact by just… being here…

“C'mon man, you say that like I'll be gone by tomorrow morning.” The fool pats Damien's head. “I said I wanted to see this guild through, yeah? I doubt that our lady has any shortage of work for us yet. We've still got a long road ahead.”

The flagellant sniffles. “Promise?” He pulls away, face soaked from a sheet of tears. 

Sarmenti offers his pinkie finger. “Pinkie promise. That's how you know I mean it, this is the last pinkie I've got!”

A weak chuckle bubbles up from Damien as they interlock digits. 

Sarmenti lightly thwaps Damien's face with a napkin. “Now quit using my leotard as a tissue, I have to do my laundry again because of you.” The fool teased. 

The two missing party members enter, seeing Damien wiping his face and Sarmenti's soggy shoulder. 

“...Is everything alright in here?” Alhazred asked, holding Bigby's hand. 

“We're alright. Just had a chat.” Sarmenti answered.

As Damien sets the napkin aside, Bigby’s ear twitches. 

“...Is that…?” Bigby lets go of Alhazred, opening a nearby window that faces the village. Faintly, they could hear the ringing of a bell and shouting in the town square. “It is! It's a village announcement!”

“Isn't it a tad early for that?” Alhazred joined his partner by the window. 

“Yeah, these are usually done in the afternoon…” Damien scratched his head.

“Right, something's up.” Sarmenti declared, rising from his seat. “We better check it out.”

Rushing down the winding cobble path, the party joins the growing crowd in the town center. Tugging on his raised hood, Bigby doesn't like what he sees. 

Ishmael, holding a lit torch. Two crusaders held a battered milkmaid, who had streaks of white in her hair and blood on her chin. Behind them, an unlit steak.

“...He wouldn't.” Alhazred whispers to his friends.

“He would.” Damien confirmed gruffly.

“He absolutely would.” Sarmenti scowled.

Bigby stays silent, eyes locked on the fanatic. It was inevitable that Ishmael would find someone to burn eventually. Find someone to make an example out of. A morbid performance to tell anyone sympathetic that they're next. 

And the crowd would cheer.

He's seen this again, and again, and again. It doesn't matter who you are. Who you were. The moment you're different in a way the crowd doesn't understand, they don't bother to learn. They mark you as wrong and treat you as such. 

“Right, that should be everyone.” The town crier says, nodding to Ishmael as he steps aside. 

The fanatic takes center stage. “This village is one that is protected by The Holy Light. The Light has sent me here, because darkness has come to test your faith! I have sworn to purge the Crimson Curse from the earth…” He turns to the captured woman. “...And there will be no exceptions."

It isn't fair. Bigby wants to do something, but his feet don't move. He can tell the others feel the same. They're ‘other’, like that poor woman. If they reveal that by saving her, they'll get chased out of town at best. An unintentional stalemate. 

Bigby can't stand to watch this anymore. He leaves the crowd, and his party, trying not to make a scene. His ears were beginning to ring. Alhazred quickly notices his partner's disappearance, hating that Bigby is familiar with this torture. But what can they do? All four of them have dealt with angry mobs in the past, and intervening would surely cause another. 

“Give her here.” Ishmael ordered the crusaders. He lifted the milkmaid by the collar of her dress. She struggled with what little strength she had. “Your kind are not welcome here, demon.” The fanatic lowered his torch, lighting the steak.

The woman's pleas pierce through Bigby’s tinnitus. “N-no! Please! I was so hungry! It's cattle blood! My own cattle! Please, I never thought a bug bite could do this! I don't want this!”

Bigby halted in his tracks, screwing his eyes shut. Damn it, it's not fucking fair! His own close calls come to mind. The confusion and terror he felt when the brand seared his skull. He isn't normal. He isn't human. …But he isn't alone, either. Maybe… damn it, he can't just stand there when he can HELP!

The milkmaid is tackled out of the Fanatic's grasp, Bigby’s hood falling in the tumble. The abomination now stands between the Saint and the damsel. 

“...You.” Ishmael seethed, looking upon the other's branded scalp.

“Can you walk?” Bigby asked the milkmaid, who was wobbling onto her feet.

“I… I-I think so, yes.” She replied. 

“Good. Get to-” Bigby is interrupted by Ishmael‘s mallet. He raises a forearm to block it, the muscles transforming into his other half’s. “GET TO THE SANITARIUM! RUN!” The changeling ordered. 

The crowd clamored as the milkmaid fled, and the abomination parried Ishmael‘s swing. The fanatic stumbled backwards, but quickly grounded himself. “Beastly coward! You dare challenge a warrior of Light?!”

“Hot damn, I guess we're really doing this!” Sarmenti muttered under his breath. He then looks to his compatriots. “C'mon boys!”

The remainder of Bigby’s party rushes ahead of the crowd, shocked murmurs rippling through the audience. 

“Actually, WE dare!” Sarmenti declared, pointing his sickle to Ishmael. “Our lady's guild, The Foolish Horrors, call BULLSHIT my good sir!”

And that is why Bigby trusts his teammates. A smile worms onto his face for a fleeting moment, vanishing when dodging another mallet swing. 

“BLASPHEMERS, ALL OF YOU!” Ishmael roars. He points to the fool and his cohorts, turning to the two crusaders. “Seize them!” He ordered, the man's fiery gaze then landing on Bigby. “The abomination is mine.”

The crowd watches as a fight breaks out, gasping at near misses. Bigby continues to dodge mallet swings, not wanting to transform or publicly punch a man of Light. But since he has people's attention, he tries to use reason.

“The Crimson Curse isn't damnation, it's an illness!” Bigby pleaded. “An illness can be cured, and nobody needs to die! Nobody sought out their curses, they're the result of accidents and tragedies! The curse starts as a mere bug bite, for fuck’s sake!”

Ishmael‘s mallet shatters a cobble with a whiffed swing. “BLASPHEMY! You are damned! The Light sees you for your sins, and made your outsides match the insides!”

“Who are you to be judge, jury, and executioner!?” The abomination growled.

The two crusaders were occupied with the rest of Bigby’s guild. Sarmenti ran circles around the two, herding them closer together. Damien then crept up from behind, knocking the knights’ heads together. Now unconscious, Alhazred ties up the crusaders with the rope originally meant for the maiden. 

“We need to put out that fire!” Damien said. 

“Hm…” Sarmenti looked around, spotting the glint of a glass bottle in the Fanatic's robes. “Good thing our buddy carries holy water on him!”

The jester leaps forward, cutting the bottle free while the Saint is occupied fighting the abomination. “Yoink!”

Immediately noticing the loss of weight at his hip, Ishmael‘s focus snaps onto the fool. “DROP THAT, YOU IMP!”

Sarmenti skipped out of the Fanatic's grasp, giggling. “Woo, look how fancy! Only the best bottles for that sweet Light juice!”

The bottle had a red seal, carrying a ribbon with writing in small handwriting. Its clasp was clad in gold.

“Wait, let me see that.” Alhazred said, rushing to the jester. He takes the bottle, reading its ribbon. 

“THAT DOESN'T BELONG IN YOUR HANDS, HERETIC SCUM!” Ishmael barked, taking a swing towards the occultist. Damien intervenes, catching the mallet. He snaps the weapon in his grasp, throwing the pieces aside as he stands between the Saint and his friends.

“Woo, somebody's angry! I'm guessing this isn't just water then.” Sarmenti taunted Ishmael.

“...You bastard.” Alhazred muttered, before holding the bottle above his head. “YOU LYING BASTARD! This is the Crimson Cure! You were meant to deliver this to a blighted village YEARS AGO! The very command is on the vessel, and you IGNORED IT! HID WHAT COULD SAVE COUNTLESS LIVES, FOR WHAT!? MINDLESS SLAUGHTER!?”

The audience gasped, their gaze growing wrathful as it focused on Ishmael. 

The fanatic grit his teeth. “Don't- DON'T YOU GET IT!? THEY'RE NEVER THE SAME AFTER THE CURSE! IT'S ONLY COSMETIC! THEY'RE SINNERS, AND THEY DESERVE TO- …to…”

The rage brewing within Bigby made the beast impossible to hide. How dare he? How dare he harm people he could have helped!? Bigby growled as he shifted into his other form, Ishmael‘s confidence fading as the changeling towered over him.

Bigby roared furiously at Ishmael, making the fanatic scramble and flee. The crowd follows after the sinner, throwing rocks and insults.

Shifting back to his human form, the biologist had not a moment to lose. Taking the cure from Alhazred, Bigby rushed to the sanitarium.

•¤•

The cure was finally in its rightful hands, and doctors were figuring out how to reverse engineer the concoction. Bigby sighed heavily as he walked out of the sanitarium’s doors. He spots his guild catching up with him.

“BIGS!” Sarmenti makes it to the scout first. “What's the situation?”

“The cure works, and they're going to make more if they can.” Bigby said.

Alhazred joined the two, panting. “Thank the stars… I was worried that vial was all there was…”

Finally, Damien tackle-hugs the changeling. “Great job!!”

Bigby yelps, chuckling lightly. “What'd I do?”

Damien pulls back, his hands on Bigby’s shoulders. “You stood up to Ishmael is what you did!”

What Bigby had done finally sinks in. The scout pales. “...Oh dear gods.”

“Uh oh.” Damien said, knowing that face.

“WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?” Bigby bursts into a panic. “I fought Ishmael, I-I shape-shifted in front of the ENTIRE HAMLET!!!” He runs his hands through his hair, horns beginning to poke out of his scalp. “Oh gods oh gods oh gods- I outed myself and you all joined me! We need to- we need to run, while they're occupied with Ishmael!”

Damien lets go of Bigby, stepping aside. Sarmenti pushes the panicked changeling into Alhazred’s arms, who was already moving to comfort his partner. 

“Shhhhh, it's okay starlight.” Alhazred hugged his beloved. “It's alright.”

“IT'S NOT ALRIGHT!” Bigby cried. “THEY KNOW WHO I AM!”

“And who you are is a man who risked his life for a stranger.” Alhazred emphasized. “We'll be okay.”

Bigby stammered, before hiding his face in the scholar's chest. His horns returned beneath his skin with a stressed groan. 

“It'll probably be a while before the villagers are done with Ishmael…” Damien ponders. 

Sarmenti waves his hand dismissively. “I say whatever happens can be Maryam's problem. C'mon, let's head back and have breakfast.”

“It's almost afternoon though?” Damien tilted his head. 

“Okay, fine, brunch.” Sarmenti corrected himself. 

Alhazred pulled up Bigby’s hood, kissing the changeling's forehead as he did. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there.” The occultist whispered.

Before Bigby can reply, his stomach growls. With that, he relents to shelve his anxieties. “...You said you were making sandwiches, right? Can mine have extra ham?”

•¤•

Maryam really hates those Foolish Horrors sometimes. When they aren't making themselves useful, they're making a scene in the Hamlet. And giving her tortured amounts of newfound work. She leans back in her chair, pinching her temples. At least this solves the fanatic problem...

She then sits up, hearing a knock at her window. A bloated sycophant mosquito flies off, leaving a regal envelope on her windowsill. 

An invitation from the Crimson Court.