Professional Ceremorphocism

We had just barely entered the camp when a scream tore through the clearing—sharp, agonized, and loud enough to stop us in our tracks.

Lae'zel moved before I could blink, blade drawn. Karlach sprinted forward, fire in her steps, a low growl curling from her throat. Shadowheart didn’t hesitate; flame bloomed in her hand as she turned toward the sound.

Right by the fire, Wyll was lying completely still on a makeshift wooden bench. Hunched over him was a man dressed in extravagant blue and purple robes. A lute was slung across his back, and a too-wide smile sat beneath his curled moustache. The midday sun gleamed off the feather in his cap as he raised what looked like a surgical ice pick and, with somewhat precision, tapped it against Wyll’s temple. He gave a convulsive jerk as the pick made contact.

Lae’zel growled. “Interrogation.”

Karlach’s nostrils flared. “He’s killing him!”

Shadowheart stepped forward, fire swirling. “I’m going to melt that idiot.”

“STOP!” I shouted.

Not at the bard. At them.

They froze, tension crackling in the air.

“That... is my teacher.”

A beat of silence.

“Explain,” Lae'zel snapped.

“Seriously?!” Karlach gasped.

“Unbelievable,” Shadowheart muttered.

The man—none other than Volothamp Geddarm, or Volo—looked up with a dazzling smile and swept a hand dramatically through the air like he was ending a performance.

“My dear pupil! I was just about to complete a most noble procedure.”

Karlach stepped forward, fists clenched. “What the hells are you doing to him?”

“Ah! Gratitude! That’s what brought me,” Volo beamed, spinning the pick like a prop. “Fresh off the road and brimming with inspiration, I followed the trail to your charming little camp. Imagine my delight when I stumbled upon none other than the Blade of Frontiers himself!”

He gestured to Wyll on the bench. “Charming lad. Very noble. Told me all about your daring efforts to delay ceremorphosis in your companions.”

I glanced at the others. Shadowheart blushed. Lae’zel looked insulted.

“So naturally,” Volo continued, puffing his chest, “when he offered himself as a volunteer, I leapt at the opportunity to perform a complete extraction.”

“You... volunteered him?” Karlach muttered.

“Oh no, no! He was most enthusiastic,” Volo said quickly. “We discussed everything—his hopes, his fears, even his favorite battle stance. The man wouldn't stop talking. He even helped me clear the workbench!”

I glanced at Wyll’s face and immediately regretted it. He was ****, breathing steady, but the damage was done. It was bad—but it could’ve been a lot worse.

Volo sighed and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “The parasite has proved... elusive. It shifted at the crucial moment. Deepened its position. Quite stubborn, really.”

He looked at the campfire, then back to us. “I fear it has receded too far for my instruments to reach. A shame. But!”

With a flourish, he pulled out a small stone orb embedded with faint, glowing runes.

“Worry not! I have replaced the useless old organ with this splendid artifact—a relic from my travels! It grants the bearer the ability to perceive the invisible. Creatures, traps, magic signatures. Quite the handy trinket!”

He adjusted the fitted patch across Wyll’s temple with pride. “A vast improvement, truly.”

I exhaled slowly. That eye. That item. I remembered it—detecting invisibility, seeing hidden enemies. A great buff, no doubt. Nice to have, but in no way need-to-have. In the game, it was rough enough to watch. Seeing it in person? Even worse. Watching it happen to Wyll? That was... complicated.

“Guess he took one for the team,” I muttered.

Karlach glanced at me. “Honestly? Looks kinda cool.”

Lae’zel nodded. “A functional enhancement. He will be more effective.”

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes at Wyll. “He trusted a bard to do brain surgery?” Then she looked at me, smirking. “You already see what others don’t. And let’s be honest—you’re cuter without it.” She finished with a wink.

Wyll stirred with a groan. “Tav...? Gods, what happened?”

Before I could answer, Volo clapped his hands and backed away quickly.

“Oh, splendid! You’re conscious. Well! This has been most illuminating. But alas, I must take my leave. Pressing engagements, further travels, books to write! Toodlidoo!”

And with that, he vanished over the ridge, his colorful robes fluttering behind him.

Wyll sat up slowly, touching the side of his face with care.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quiet and sincere. “I thought he could help. I really did.”

I gave him a faint smile. “Honestly? You spared me the decision. I couldn’t have gone throught it myself.”

He nodded, gaze distant. “Then I promise to use this power for good.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. That was somehow worse.

Around us, the camp settled once more. Shadowheart stepped up to Wyll and muttered something under her breath, resting two fingers lightly against his temple. A quiet pulse of magic flowed from her touch, healing what damage remained with precise care.

Karlach knelt beside him, handed him the canteen, then gave him a wink. “Next time, maybe don’t trust a man in tights with your brain.”

Lae’zel turned on her heel and walked back to her spot at the edge of camp. She drew her blade and faced a training dummy crudely shaped like a Mindflayer. Without hesitation, she brought the flat of her sword down on its bulbous head with a satisfying thud.

"Cursed Ghaik filth.."

Just another afternoon in our little madhouse.