The Blame

The casket creaked open with a long, groaning sound that echoed through the grotto. The sickly green light from Mayrina’s wand washed across the room, casting warped shadows against the roots and stone. The smell hit next—rot, damp cloth, and something older, fouler. Then came movement. The corpse inside twitched, fingers jerking like a marionette on tangled strings.

Mayrina’s sob turned into a half-laugh, half-scream. “Connor?” she whispered, stumbling forward. “Connor, is that you?”

The thing that had once been her husband lifted its head. Its skin was gray and slack, eyes dull and empty. A low groan escaped its throat, wet and guttural. It turned toward her—not tenderly or lovingly, but with the hollow patience of a puppet awaiting its master's pull.

Mayrina recoiled, tears streaming down her face. “No… no, this isn’t him!”

Ethel clapped her clawed hands together, delighted. “Oh, but it is, dearie! Fresh as the day he died, give or take a few maggots.” Her laughter filled the grotto, shrill and triumphant. “Ain’t he beautiful?”

Mayrina spun on me, voice trembling with fury. “You did this!” she screamed. “You and your stupid ritual! You ruined him!”

I opened my mouth, but the words refused to come. Of all the things I could be blamed for, that part was entirely on Ethel, who snickered in the background at the absurdity of it all, basking in the chaos like a cat before a fire.

Mayrina’s sobs turned sharp and broken. She grabbed the wand again, brandishing it at me. “I’ll kill you for this!"

It took me a moment to register the seriousness behind her threat. I lifted my hands, ready to unleash a pair of trusty eldritch blasts—but Ethel’s voice cut through the tension before I could react.

“Temper girl, temper. He'll spoil that pretty face of yours if you keep waving that stick around.”

Mayrina's grip tightened until her knuckles whitened, and she screamed vile curses at me, words so venomous they barely sounded human. Her voice cracked with rage before she fled for the tunnel, her cries echoing behind her. The zombie followed in uneven steps, moaning as it lurched after her into the dark.

Silence hung heavy. Only the sound of Ethel’s breathless laughter filled the void.

Then I felt it.

The ground trembled. The roots along the grotto walls pulsed once, then again, harder. A deep, resonant groan rolled through the chamber—the sound of the Grove itself crying out.

Ethel’s laughter stopped.

Kagha—still frozen by the spell—let out a strangled sound, her body shaking against invisible restraints. The serpent at her feet was hushed and still. Above us, I could feel it—the Idol of Sylvanus. Its thrumming heartbeat had stuttered, faltered, then gone still.

“Oh, petal…” Ethel whispered, her voice trembling now with awe. “You really did it. You broke the balance.”

The vines along the walls began to twist and blacken, their leaves curling in on themselves. The sacred light of the Grove dimmed, replaced by shadows that seemed to breathe. I felt a pull at my chest—a pulse of power, dark and enticing.

Ethel turned to me with the creepiest grin she'd given me so far—a look of kinship, as we both had just committed the same unspeakable sin. “You make Auntie proud.”

I felt sick.

She shifted toward the exit, her tone light and mocking. “It was fun, truly, but I’ve got kids to catch, petal—so many little feet to chase,” she crooned, glancing back over her shoulder with a wicked smile. Without a headdruid and the likely chaos above, there was no one capable to protect the tiefling children; she was already making good on our bargain, and she knew it. At least she thought so.

"Wait," I called, forcing my voice steady. She paused, one hip jutting, and looked back over her shoulder with bored interest. "As a token of goodwill—since you’ve been so… helpful—I’ll share some information. An army of goblins will attack tomorrow."

She scoffed aloud. "Goblins? You’ve got me trembling in my boots, dearest. What—are they led by a particularly sharp stick?"

"A drow leads them," I said.

Ethel’s mouth flattened; the amusement drained. "A real threat, then," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "Then I have even less time, you toad,” she hissed, her grin tightening before she looked toward the tunnel."

I seized the moment. "Listen closely, hag. Help us in defending the Grove against the Goblins tomorrow—until then don’t harm anyone. Hows that sound?"

She turned, one eyebrow arched in that mocking way of hers. “Is that all? Why waste your breath on this dump? Didn’t you just spend the morning ruining it?”

“Changing it,” I said flatly.

She snorted. “Pfft! Changing it, he says. And what’s in it for me, hmm?”

“You can have him back,” I replied, nodding toward the petrified dwarf. The offer was small, but by the way she had spoken about him in her cave, I knew he was one of her favorite trophies. Her grin widened, eyes gleaming like lanterns in the dark.

She barked a laugh deep from her belly. "The dwarf? Fine. Fine. I’ll help—this once. But don't you say Auntie's never nice, you hear?" She shouldered her bundle and began to amble toward the tunnel, cackling as she went.

As I watched her leave the room, the spell holding Kagha broke. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, her hands trembling. When she looked up at me, her eyes were wide, wild. “You tricked me!” she rasped. “Used me as a pawn. You’ve doomed us all.”

Before I could answer, she lunged—weak and disoriented, but furious. I grabbed her wrists tightly, pressing my weight down until she sank to her knees, her strength faltering beneath mine. The motion was instinctive, clean, and cruel. She fell against me, breath ragged.

"You brought a hag into the sanctum," she choked, her voice breaking. "You’ve shattered the cycle—there’s nothing left! They will banish me. I can’t feel the land anymore… it’s gone. Everything I was—gone."

For a moment, I thought she’d strike again. Then something broke in her eyes. Her rage melted into despair, her body trembling as if something inside her had finally given out.

“Please…” she whispered. “I can’t be nothing. Not again.”

This was getting dark—even for me.