A new friend

The amulet’s glow pulses faintly as you venture deeper into the crypt, its light revealing ancient carvings of forgotten gods and crumbling pillars draped in cobwebs. The air grows colder, and a faint hum of magic prickles against your skin. Shadowheart holds the amulet aloft, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“This way,” she says, gesturing toward a sealed stone door at the far end of the chamber. The door is etched with faded runes, and a rusted iron lock bars your path. Lae’zel steps forward, her sword raised, but you hold up a hand.

“Wait. Let’s try the amulet.”

Shadowheart nods, pressing the glowing artifact into a recess in the door. The runes flare to life, and the stone grinds open, revealing a hidden chamber beyond. Inside, the walls are lined with dusty sarcophagi, and at the center of the room sits a single, ornate coffin—its lid slightly ajar.

Before you can take another step, a voice echoes from the shadows, dry and rasping like parchment. “Thou hast disturbed mine slumber. Yet… thou art not mere grave-robbers. Curious.”

A skeletal figure emerges from the darkness, draped in tattered robes that seem to shift and shimmer unnaturally. His hollow eye sockets glow with a faint blue light, and his bony fingers clutch a gnarled staff.

Lae’zel snarls, raising her sword. “What foul undead abomination is this?”

The figure tilts his skull, unperturbed. “I am Withers, keeper of this crypt. And thou… thou art touched by the parasite. A most intriguing predicament.”

Shadowheart tenses, her hand drifting to her dagger. “You know about the tadpoles?”

“Indeed,” Withers intones, his voice echoing with grim amusement. “The illithid’s kiss is a burden few bear for long. Yet thou seekest a cure. A futile endeavor… for now.”

You step forward, your curiosity overriding your caution. “Can you help us?”

Withers’ skeletal jaw creaks into something resembling a smile. “Help? Nay. But I may offer… services. For a trifling fee, I can return the fallen to life. Or alter the threads of fate that bind thee to thy chosen path.”

Lae’zel scoffs. “You speak in riddles, corpse. What use are your 'services' to us?”

“All mortals meet their end,” Withers replies, his tone infuriatingly calm. “But for thee, **** need not be permanent. And should thou wish to reshape thy skills, thy very essence… I can unravel and reweave it.”

Shadowheart narrows her eyes. “You’re a necromancer.”

“A custodian of equilibrium,” Withers corrects, his staff tapping the ground with a hollow *clack*. “Life, ****, rebirth—such forces are mine to… mediate.”

You cross your arms, skeptical. “Why offer this to us?”

The blue light in his sockets flares. “Thou art entangled in a tapestry of great import. The Absolute’s rise, the illithid’s scheming… and that artifact thou carry.” His gaze flicks to Shadowheart’s pack. “I would see how this thread unravels.”

A cold silence falls over the chamber. Shadowheart’s hand tightens around her pack, but she says nothing.

Finally, you break the tension. “So, you’ll follow us? Just like that?”

“For now,” Withers says, his robes billowing as he steps fully into the light. “My interests align with thine. And ****… is patient.”

Lae’zel grumbles, sheathing her sword. “A skeleton as an ally. How… quaint.”

Withers ignores her, turning to you. “When thou art ready to cheat ****—or thy own nature—seek me. But remember: all things have their price.”

With that, he dissolves into a swirl of shadows, leaving the crypt colder and heavier with unspoken truths.

Shadowheart shivers. “I don’t trust him.”

“Nor I,” Lae’zel adds. “But if he proves useful, we will endure his presence.”

You glance at the empty space where Withers stood, the amulet’s glow dimming in your hand. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got bigger problems than a chatty skeleton.”

As you leave the crypt, the weight of Withers’ words lingers. The road ahead is darker than ever—but at least now, you’re not entirely alone.

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