Denner Fabellian coughed, sending shockwaves of pain crashing through his entire body. The muscles in his chest and arms tightened, his body involuntarily bent over at the waist, and he had to shut his eyes tightly against the agony. The pain was so intense that the Delver couldn’t even scream. Denner had no idea how long he stood there convulsing in pain, nor did he have any idea how he managed to remain standing. Most of the time, he didn’t manage it. Eventually, the pain dulled, although it did not go away. It never went away. Denner had no illusions about that. He was dying, and he could never forget it.

Denner was standing in a small grove of trees that served as some sort of public park in the walled city of Wurzelberg. He had only been on Dammerdall for perhaps an hour or so, but his Delver instincts were telling him that the answer to his cure might lie on this plane. Denner shook his head. Each day, his search felt increasingly hopeless. He was a Delver, and could find nearly anything in existence. If he knew what to look for, that is. Ever since his time in the Amphiseum with Fisco Vane, he had learned he could expand on that ability and search for things more vague and ill-defined, but when he did, his Delver’s sense was equally vague. There was a possible answer on Dammerdall, but until he knew more about it, even Denner Fabellian couldn’t find it.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the grove, catching Denner’s brown hair, which he had allowed to grow longer than he liked to of late. The change made Denner realize his eyes were still closed. He was in danger of collapsing right there on the grass. He was exhausted. Ever since contracting this maddening poison on Anissem, Denner never slept well. His mind was always on other things, and his dreams were always nightmares, but even without those troubles, the pain always returned, sharply, and woke him. It was misery, and it was getting worse.

Shaking his head against the ceaseless, inescapable memories, Denner moved off into the city proper. It was early afternoon, but he needed to find a place to sleep, and cities this large always had inns. Denner was not a wealthy man, but he had accumulated a small collection of precious metals over his travels that most planes would accept in place of their local currency. And if not, Denner always had his illusions, although he preferred not to deceive people if he could avoid it, particularly when they were guaranteed to have the keys to the room he would be sleeping in that night.

Less than ten minutes of walking brought Denner to a place called the Vorbau Gasthaus, a large and well-kept inn overlooking one of Wurzelberg’s main streets. His left arm was convulsing slightly, but the pain was still manageable, so the Delver decided to try to secure lodging as quickly as he could before another attack from the poison in his veins. He sighed, and walked through the front door into a pleasantly decorated lobby. Several patrons of the inn sat around a spacious seating area, speaking softly to one another. No one seemed to note Denner’s entrance except for a tall, thin man standing behind a desk that looked carved out of the wall. Denner walked up to him and forced a smile.

“I would like a room, please.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said through a thin smile. “The Vorbau Gasthaus has some of the finest rooms in Wurzelberg.” He paused, looking Denner up and down, his eyes reacting to the Delver’s simple blue tunic and his disheveled hair. “Of course, the Vorbau Gasthaus caters to only the finest personages. May I see your Reputation, please?”

Denner furrowed his brow. “My what?”

The man behind the desk eyed Denner coldly. “Your Reputation, sir. The Vorbau Gasthaus proudly endorses the Heilkunde House, and so their Letters of Reputation are preferred, but we will of course honor Letters of the Nebel House or the Allein League, provided your Reputation is sufficient.”

Denner shook his head. “Look, I’m from out of town. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just need a room. I can pay you in gold.”

The man behind the desk scoffed. “Sir, if you are suggesting that I accept payment from you with no proof of your Reputation, then you are either mad, or intentionally insulting. Either way, I shall have to ask you to leave if you will not provide your Letter of Reputation.”

The other patrons of the inn were beginning to take an interest in the conversation, and Denner could feel their eyes on him, even as he rolled his own. “I just want a room,” the Delver insisted. “I don’t have any sort of Letter of Reputation, but…”

“A Rep-Runner!” One of the patrons shouted, and angry murmurs broke out among them.

The man behind the desk turned to one side. “Bruno!” He turned back to glare at Denner as a large man walked up to the desk, standing beside Denner. “Bruno, this man has no Letter. Please escort him out of the Vorbau Gasthaus in the manner he deserves.” The man behind the desk narrowed his eyes at Denner. “No Runners allowed. I suggest you return to the slums and the gutters, where you belong.”

Before Denner could protest, Bruno grabbed him by the arm, which he wrenched behind the Delver’s back. With his other hand, Bruno grabbed Denner’s tunic at the shoulder, and hauled him roughly to, and through, the door. From there, he tossed him down to the dusty street, where the moving crowd stopped to watch the spectacle. As Denner hit the ground, the poison flared up again, and Denner began to cough and convulse in massive fits of pain. Bruno only scoffed.

“Damn Rep-Runners! Keep your sickness out of here!”

There was a mixture of noises from the crowd, some gasping in shock, some laughing with indignation, and one or two murmuring sympathies. As Bruno turned around to step back inside the Vorbau Gasthaus, a woman’s voice rang out through the street.

“How dare you treat a sick man like that!”

Bruno turned back around, and Denner managed to look up to see a tall woman with a stern face and dark red hair standing over him. She was wearing some sort of hardened leather armor with a long sword hanging from her belt. As Bruno stepped forward to address her, three other figures stepped from the crowd to join her, a tall, muscular man with short blond hair and armor similar to the woman’s, a tall, thin man wearing some sort of dark trousers and a richly embroidered shirt of blue, and a short, heavy-set man dressed in a sort of monastic robe. It was this man who spoke next, as Bruno had apparently thought better of it.

“It is the holy duty of all members of the Church to tend to the sick. St. Heilica will surely give her blessing on all those who aid her children.”

Bruno shrugged. “Her blessing won’t mean much if you catch Blue Fever from this rat.”

At this comment, nearly everyone in the crowd shrank back from Denner, everyone except the red-haired woman and the heavy-set man. Both of these two looked at Denner with questioning eyes, and although he wasn’t sure, he thought they were both holding their breath.

“I’m not sick,” Denner managed through his pain. “I was poisoned.”

Both the woman and the man relaxed. The robed man brought both of his arms up, his hands clenched in fists, and held together just below his chest. He bowed his head and spoke, his voice soft. “May St. Grimhilda bless and protect you.”

Bruno shrugged. “You people do what you want. If you want to mess with a Nought, it’s your business.” He turned around and opened the door to the inn before glancing back. “Provided you conduct it somewhere else.”

The large man disappeared back into the Vorbau Gasthaus, and the gathered crowd began to disperse, leaving only Denner and the four strangers. They looked at one another with uncertain glances before huddling into a circle a short distance from Denner. His pain had largely subsided now, and he listened to their conversation as well as he could above the din of those traversing the street.

“…can’t just… him here,” the redheaded woman was saying.

The man in robes said something Denner could not understand, but the man in the embroidered shirt shook his head.

“Things…enough already. I say…and set out…” The rest of the man’s words were covered up by a passing carriage. Once it was gone, Denner heard the woman speaking again.

“…couldn’t hurt to…him to…ist, could it?”

The fourth man, the armored one, spoke, his deeper voice carrying over the noise. “It’s another half a day, Selda.”

The robed man shrugged. “True…is a half day…spent, if…favor.”

The woman, Selda, nodded. “…agree with Waldron.”

The armored man shook his head at the woman, but said, “Fine,” his voice still carrying.

The woman smiled. “Thank you, Garin. Then…in agreement…right, Falke?” She looked expectantly at the tall man in the blue shirt. He seemed to look from one of his companions to the next before finally slumping his shoulders and nodding. The woman smiled again, and moved over to Denner, who had been so busy trying to hear the conversation that he hadn’t yet bothered to stand up.

“We’ve decided to give you some help, stranger,” the woman said with a serious expression. “If you’ve truly been poisoned, you’ll need it.”

Denner nodded, and even before he could stand, the armored man, Garin, and the robed man, apparently Waldron, moved over to haul him to his feet. As he was dusting himself off, Garin caught his attention with his hard, blue eyes. “Is what he said true? Are you a Nought?”

Denner stared back for a minute, and then shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t even know what that means, to be honest.”

All four of the strangers exchanged confused and suspicious glances. “Saints!” The other man, Falke, exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He turned to walk away, giving Selda a pointed glance as he did.

The red-haired woman stepped closer to Denner and spoke only just loudly enough to be heard over the street. “Look. We’ll help you get to an alchemists, because it’s the right thing to do. But after that, you’re on your own.” She paused, looking around. “And I suggest you get to a Rep Bank fast.”

Denner, not knowing what to say, simply nodded. He was not having a particularly good day, and he doubted it was going to get better soon. This was a strange plane, and clearly he had broken some rule that he had no way of knowing. The only benefit he could see was that, despite everything else, this woman was being kind to him, and while not the unassailable beauty that some of his recent acquaintances had been, she did have an undeniable loveliness about her. Denner tried to flash his most charming smile at her, an effect that was ruined by another sudden burst of pain throughout his body. Garin and Waldron quickly grabbed hold of his arms, keeping him from falling over.

“I think perhaps we had best get going,” Waldron said, concern in his voice. “St. Grimhilda may bless the poisoned, but even her mercy has its limits.”

Selda nodded in agreement, then called out to Falke, who had moved a short distance away. “Falke! We need your eyes.”

The tall man looked back at her and, reluctantly, rejoined them. “The Nought needs an antidote,” he said, a certain measure of disdain echoing behind his words. “We’d best get to the guilds’ court.”

“Can you find an alchemist there who knows poisons?” Selda asked him.

The man nodded. “I know my alchemy. They’ll display their knowledges on their signs.” He paused to glare at Denner. “Whether we can find one who will treat a Nought is another matter.”

“Let me worry about that,” Selda said. “Lead on.”

Falke nodded, and the five of them started off through the streets of Wurzelberg. The city was large and sprawling, with wide cobblestone streets and tall, half-timbered buildings. The crowd continued to shuffle past them as Denner and the four strangers pushed onward, apparently toward the guilds’ court. The Delver was reluctant to trust them, but he had little choice, and he knew it. Dammerdall had rules that Denner did not yet understand, and they seemed to preclude him from the ordinary exchanges he could count on in different planes. Until he knew more about what sort of a place he had found, Denner was forced to accept whatever help people were willing to offer him.

It took nearly an hour of pushing and shuffling through the crowds and the busy streets before they came to the guilds’ court. When they did, Denner’s heart sank even further. Though a bit less crowded than the main streets, the guilds’ court was massive, stretching over a dozen city blocks. Shops, townhouses and guild halls were interspersed seemingly randomly, with little to distinguish them from one another except for faded wooden signs hanging from posts above the doors. Each sign, however, bore pictures and symbols rather than letters and words, and Denner found it impossible to decipher their meanings.

Fortunately, Falke seemed to have no such problem. He confidently led the others down one side of the court, passing one grouping of buildings after another. The other three strangers followed absently behind their companion, apparently equally at ease with their surroundings. Denner, of course, could only follow along and pretend he knew what was going on. Finally, after they had crossed about two-thirds of the length of the guilds’ court, Falke slowed, taking longer to look at each hanging sign than he had before. Denner could only guess that these signs denoted the alchemists.

After nearly a quarter hour of carefully examining the signs, Falke settled on one that satisfied him. He turned around to address the others, looking primarily to Selda. “Here we are.”

Selda looked up at the sign, but shook her head. “Have you been here before?”

Falke shook his head. “No,” he admitted with a shrug, then pointed at the sign. “But this one claims decent skill, and works with poisons. So it’s good enough for a Nought.”

Denner was beginning to dislike that term, whatever it meant, but he was too busy studying the sign to pay particular attention to the insult. In the center of the sign, there was a drawing of an alembic in blue, faded from years of wear. Along the side of the sign, numerous smaller drawings appeared, including a vial, a pestle and mortal, a snake’s head, a flower, and a laurel wreath. Each one no doubt represented some different skill or service provided within the shop, and while Denner could guess at the poison symbol, the others eluded him. While Denner was considering them, Falke entered the alchemist’s shop, and the others followed, dragging Denner along.

The air inside the shop was thick with strange and exotic odors, few of which Denner could identify. He had never been much for alchemy on other planes, but one or two of the chemicals he seemed were similar enough to others he had encountered for his flawless memory to pick them out. The others, however, mingled and combined into an almost overwhelming scent. Selda, Waldron and Garin had a similar reaction to the sensation, but Falke seemed unfazed. Instead, the tall man walked up to the counter, looked around, and spotted a small set of metallic chimes and a small striker. Falke nodded, picked up the striker, and lightly sounded the chimes.

The song produced by the chimes was surprisingly sweet, and the sound rang through the shop like the alchemical scents did. Several long moments passed, and nothing happened. While they waited, Selda leaned close to Denner and whispered in his ear. “Alchemists tend to be eccentric, and vain. Watch what you say.”

Denner nodded, and was about to reply when the curtain separating the front of the shop with the back was thrown open, and a short man with a long white beard stepped out. His head was held back so far he was practically staring at the ceiling. He wore a long blue robe and a cloth cap that fell over his right ear. His skin was pale and wrinkled, but he moved lightly, apparently not yet slowed by his age. His mouth was drawn in tight as he glared at the customers.

“You have entered the shop of Cyrryc Adda!” He threw his arms wide dramatically as he spoke. Then, after a pause, he lowered both his hands and his head. “Feel privileged.”

Falke smiled as warmly as he could manage. “Greetings, Master Alchemist. Thank you for pausing in your work and agreeing to speak with us.”

The old man scoffed. “I have agreed to nothing.” Even as he spoke, though, he approached the counter. “As you say, I am in the middle of some very important experiments that you would not understand. I have answered the chime on a whim, and I shall dismiss you just as quickly if you do not state your business!”

Selda stepped forward. “We were hoping…”

Falke cut her off with a subtle hand gesture behind his back, and the redheaded woman quickly, though reluctantly, stopped.

“What’s that!” The alchemist said, his voice rising.

“Master Alchemist,” Falke started again with a bow of his head. “My colleague was overwhelmed by your obvious genius. Her curiosity at your great work is shared by all of us. Truly, would you tell us more of your experiment?”

The alchemist harrumphed, and then shook his head. “It would be a waste of my time! The likes of you cannot possibly understand the complexities of surium! The organic potential of ratarthi ignalia! The true, inner secrets of miner’s mud! State your business, whelps, or begone!”

Falke smiled a genuine smile. “You are, of course, correct. We could not possibly understand. My apologies.” Without another word, Falke turned toward the door to leave.

Selda, confused, spoke. “Falke, wait!” Then she turned back toward the old man. “Please, sir, we have come because this man has been poisoned, and he needs a cure. Can you help him?”

The old man looked Denner over carefully, stroking his long white beard as he did. Finally, the man clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No. I cannot help him, nor will I! You have been troublesome enough! Find some other alchemist to bother!”

“Of course he can’t help him,” Falke said with a wry smile. “This man is no alchemist.”

The old man drew back sharply, his eyes bulging. “Why, how dare you insult me! For those words, I should visit upon you all manner of horrors, you insolent fool! Why, with my potions, I could reduce you in size to that of a dwarf or worse! I could burn your stomach from the inside out! Perhaps I will remove that smile of yours by turning you into a toad!”

At this final threat, Falke actually laughed. “You couldn’t turn a toad into a stew, you doddering charlatan. Ratathi ignalia? Anyone with even a passing knowledge of alchemy would see right through that!”

The old man glared for a long moment at Falke, but then, surprisingly, broke into a wide grin. When he spoke, his voice was lower and calmer, with a more honest tone to it. “I fear you underestimate the ignorance in the world, my clever friend. Most are fooled. But you are right, I am no alchemist. Nor am I Cyrryc Adda.”

Selda stared at him, displeasure written all over her face. “So you lied to us?”

The old man laughed slightly. “Of course not. I never once claimed to be Master Adda. I am employed by him to see to the customers, to limit his distractions. Few have ever discerned the truth as your clever friend here has.”

Selda exhaled sharply. “Fine. Look, if you’re not Cyrryc Adda, will you please ask him if he will help this man? He’s dying.”

Once again, the bearded man considered. “Master Adda is an expert on poisons, but he rarely sees the customers. I doubt he would be willing to…”

“Please ask,” Selda pressed. “This man is a Nought, and he is unlikely to get help anywhere else.”

The man’s eyebrows raised at this. “A Nought, you say? Now that is interesting. This shop, of course, only deals with the most respected of personages.”

Denner slumped his shoulders, and moved to walk out of the shop, but the man stopped him.

“However,” he said, “it does occur to me that now you five good people know a secret about this shop and Master Adda, a secret that could, perhaps, damage his unblemished Reputation. I think perhaps I should ask his opinion. Please wait here.”

Without waiting for a response, the old man disappeared back behind the curtain. For a long time, the others stood in awkward silence, taking turns staring at one another and at the strange amalgam of alchemical supplies and potions that haphazardly littered the shop. There was no place to sit, and no one wanted to risk leaning against one of the displays for fear of the potentially dangerous potions displayed there. Finally, with an annoyed groan, Garin broke the silence.

“This is taking too long, Selda. We said we would get him to an alchemist, and we have. Let’s get going.”

The red-haired woman shook her head. “We promised we would get him to an alchemist that would help him. We don’t know if we’re there yet.”

“We don’t know if one exists!” Falke said. “I agree with Garin. We banded together to improve our Rep, remember? To become famous, to become heroes. We’re not going to do any of that associating with Noughts.”

“Dealing with Noughts may be looked down upon by the general populace,” Waldron said, “but the Church commands that we help those in need, and the poisoned are in need, whether they are Nought or not.”

Falke scoffed. “And is the Church of the Holy Catharsis going to repair our own damaged Rep if we’re seen with one?”

“If we appealed them, yes!” Waldron retorted. “The Bishop of Wurzelberg is, after all, the steward of the Cathedral of the Entryway. And do they not honor St. Grimhilda within their ranks?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Falke countered. “I studied practical matters at University. Things that might actually keep us alive once we leave the city.”

“Which we can’t do until we leave this shop,” Garin pointed out again.

Selda sighed. “Look, we made a promise, and no one, Reputed or Nought, will hold us against keeping it. After we’re done here, we’ll head out, like we planned.”

“It’s already approaching evening, Selda,” Falke reminded her. “We wouldn’t get far from the city before nightfall, and I would just as soon sleep in a bed one more night than in a bedroll within sight of the city walls.”

“So we lost another day,” grumbled Garin.

“Doing a good deed,” Waldron reminded him.

“Early tomorrow, then,” Selda said, glaring slightly at Garin and Falke. “We’ll be done with him by then, and we will have no more distractions. Then we earn our Rep, and claim our fame.”

Denner looked from one to another, thinking how strange it was to be standing their while they all talked about him as if he were absent. In some ways, listening to their conversation reminded him a bit of the Shorecerers back on Sula. Denner shuddered at the thought. He found himself reflecting briefly on the inaccuracy of human perception. When he had travelled to Carghora and met Dmana, he had thought it was the worst that things could get. When he ventured from there back home to Sula and been imprisoned by the Shorecerers, that had been even worse. And then, everything he had seen and experienced on Arbagoth and beyond had told Denner that he had finally found the limit of what he could take. But now that Syl’s poison was eating away at his veins, he could only wonder how much worse things could get.

At that moment, the old man returned, smiling. “I have spoken to Cyrryc Adda, and he has agreed to see this man. Unfortunately, he insists on seeing him alone, as he cannot abide more than one customer at a time.”

The other four glanced at each other before all but Selda broke into grins. Falke actually laughed. “That suits us perfectly! We were leaving anyway.”

Garin and Falke started for the door, and with another gesture like he gave before, Waldron followed them. Selda glanced briefly at the old man, and then looked at Denner. “Good luck, stranger,” she said, then patted him gently on the shoulder and nodded in the direction of the door. “Sorry about them. But seriously, after you’re done here, get to a Rep Bank. Things will be much easier for you.”

Denner nodded. “Thank you.”

Selda smiled, turned away, and disappeared out the door to rejoin her friends. A moment later, the old man cleared his throat to get the Delver’s attention, and moved the curtain aside, indicating for Denner to go through. Denner sighed. He knew he had nothing to lose, but he was not terribly inclined to lose it. Still, this was a better lead than he had had yet, and his Delver senses were telling him that something he was looking for did, in fact, lie beyond. Reluctantly, Denner walked around the counter and walked past the old man into the back.

Just beyond the curtain was a large workroom, nearly as large as the front of the shop. There were three different work tables, all littered with alchemical components, apparatuses and potions, as well as several large books and numerous notes. Cluttered though it was, it was also devoid of life. As Denner was scanning the empty room, the old man pushed past him and walked over to a far stone wall. Blocking the movement of his hands with his own body, the old man seemed to touch a series of stones, and after a moment, a section of the wall slid almost completely silently away. The old man looked back at Denner, smiled, and walked through.

On the other side of the secret door, a stone ramp eased its way downward, below ground level. The ramp turned in on itself in an endless coil, descending lower and lower with every step the Delver took. The air was no less pungent here than it had been in the shop above, and in fact the air here seemed even thicker with the products of alchemy. It was also growing colder as they moved on, and Denner shivered more than once. After going down much further than Denner had expected, they came to a large wooden door framed and crossed with black metal. The old man moved ahead of Denner once again, opened the door, and ushered the Delver inside, closing the door behind him. The old man did not enter the room with him.

The room was large, but exceedingly dark. There was a single candle burning in a sconce to Denner’s left as he entered, and a lantern hanging from a metallic pole straight ahead of him, but there was no other light there. Most of the room was cast in shadows. Denner shrugged, and walked forward to the lantern. As he approached, he noticed a single chair beneath it, padded and upholstered in a deep crimson shade. It was clear that his mysterious host wished for him to sit down, and while he would have ordinarily simply left, he knew the poison was getting worse, and if this was the risk he needed to take, then he had no choice.

The moment he sat down, he heard a voice cut through the darkness. “I am told you are a Nought.”

Denner shook his head. There was something in that voice he didn’t like, but he wasn’t entirely sure what yet. “That’s what they tell me, too. I still don’t really know what that means, except that people don’t seem to want to deal with me.”

There was a long silence. “What do you want here?”

“I was poisoned,” Denner said simply. “I need a cure, if there is one.”

“I know a great deal about…” the voice paused for a few seconds, “the matter,” he concluded.

Denner nodded. “Are you Cyrryc Adda?”

“Ye…” the voice began, then suddenly stopped. “Indeed, I am,” he finished.

Denner waited for Cyrryc to continue, and when he didn’t, Denner shrugged. “So, will you help me?”

There was another long silence in the darkness. “I will try, provided you…”

Again, the voice stopped, and Denner prodded him on. “What do you need from me?”

“Three…” another pause “…criteria…” and another “do I need from you.”

Denner, deeply confused, nodded his head. “Look, I’ll do what I can to get you what you need. I just need help with this.”

“I will need to draw blood, in order to…” he stopped, and made no indication of continuing.

“To study it?” Denner asked.

“Indeed,” Cyrryc continued from the shadows. “Then, I require a favor. I need you to obtain for me a creature. A deadly creature. Will you?”

Denner sighed. He knew this was not going to be easy. But at least he knew he could track any creature alive, provided he knew enough about it to trigger his Delver senses. Actually capturing it, though, was another matter. “Yes, I’ll try, if that’s what it takes. What creature is it?”

“In good time,” Cyrryc answered, then paused. “Third, I need to know how you became a Nought.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know what that means!” Denner said, exacerbated. “All anyone wants to talk about since I came into this city is Nought this and Reputation that. Whatever it means, it wasn’t like that where I’m from.”

“Everywhere in Dammerdall…” Cyrryc paused, then rephrased. “Nothing can be done in Dammerdall with Reputation.”

“I’m learning that,” Denner grumbled.

“Were you not born within Dammerdall?”

“No,” Denner said, seeing an opening. “I was born far away from here.”

“How far?” Cyrryc Adda asked, a strange inflection in his voice.

“Farther than you can imagine,” Denner said.

“Doubtful,” Cyrryc said. There was another long silence, and the Delver could feel eyes on him in the darkness. “What do you give for your name?”

Denner’s brow furrowed at the odd phrasing. “Denner. Denner Fabellian.”

“Very well. Denner Fabellian. Enough with the game. Tell me truly, are you a ‘walker, Denner?”

Denner’s head shot over in the direction the voice was coming from, his eyes widening. “How do you know about planeswalkers?”

“The way you do.” Denner could sense movement in the shadows as Cyrryc Adda began moving toward him. “I, too, have journeyed the planes.” Cyrryc held the final “s” in planes into an elongated, sibilant hiss as he slithered out of the shadows and moved in front of Denner. The snake was about five foot tall from the floor to the top of his head, although it was difficult to tell how much more of him spread out behind him. He was covered in a pattern of black and green scales, and wore an oddly cut blue robe that flared at the neck as if to mimic the hood of a cobra. His snout was upturned slightly and came almost to a point. The Delver stiffened slightly in a primal reaction, but he had known a few snakefolk before, and overcame his initial reaction quickly.

“I’m guessing that there are no snakefolk on Dammerdall, then?”

The snake smiled. “None but me, which you can imagine causes some difficulties.” As he spoke, his forked tongue darted out of his mouth and he held every “s” in a hiss.

“So why did you come here?” Denner asked.

Cyrryc Adda slithered lower and moved just a bit toward Denner’s side. “I am an alchemist, and an expert of poisons, venoms, and toxins. I seek to become the greatest expert on them in the Multiverse.”

Denner nodded. “I suppose that makes sense for a snakefolk.”

Cyrryc reeled back as though struck, but he composed himself quickly. “That, Denner Fabellian, is one of life’s great ironies. I have met many of my kind who know the predatory glory of venom rushing through their veins!” He stopped, throwing his two, sinewy arms in the air. “But sadly, I was not blessed with such gifts. My race has no venom. Which is why I must be satisfied with that of others.”

“Is that why you were willing to see me, then? Because you’re a planeswalker, I mean?”

The snake nodded, looking wistfully off into the shadows. “When my assistant told me a poisoned Nought wished to see me, I knew there was a chance. You see, I have studied nearly all of the poisons of Dammerdall indirectly from their victims, but if you were, as I suspected, a planeswalker, your poison may have come from…elsewhere.” Cyrryc paused, turning his head meaningfully back toward the Delver. “Was I correct?”

Denner nodded. “Yes. I was hit by a spell in a duel with…” Denner stopped, seeing the smirking faces of Syl and Chardis in his pristine memory. “With a powerful planeswalker.”

“A magical poison, you say? This could prove interesting. But I am on Dammerdall for a reason, and I do require a favor for a favor.”

“The deadly creature,” Denner said. “What sort of a creature is it?”

Cyrryc Adda smiled. “A poisonous one, of course. Tell me, Denner Fabellian, have you ever heard tales of the dreaded tatzelwurm?”

Denner quickly scanned his memory, but he had never encountered the word before. “No. But if they’re unique to Dammerdall, I wouldn’t have. I’ve only been here for a few hours.”

Cyrryc shook his head, his odd robe bouncing a bit as he did. “In the vastness of the Multiverse, I doubt they are unique. But they are more common here than any plane I have been to.”

“What are they?”

“Lizards,” the snake said, hissing throughout. “Longer than a man, with a tail like a whip, jaws like a great cat, and two forearms strong enough to pull its bulk straight up trees.”

Denner looked over his host momentarily, realizing that a long, reptilian, two-limbed creature was not too dissimilar to what Denner was seeing himself. Cyrryc Adda, apparently realizing the connection, hissed.

“All the more reason I cannot reveal myself to the people of this plane, yes?” Denner felt Cyrryc held the “s” a bit longer than he needed to, but said nothing. Cyrryc Adda continued. “Few have ever survived an encounter with a tatzelwurm, and none have ever survived their poison for more than a few days. I wish to study this poison directly, but to do that, I need a living tatzelwurm delivered to this shop.”

“How can I do that? Even if I could subdue something like that, how can I possibly get it through a town like this unnoticed?”

“Unnoticed?” Cyrryc said with a laugh. “Who said anything about unnoticed? Catch it, chain it down to a wagon, and cart it straight to my door! You know nothing about Reputation on Dammerdall, so let me just assure you that such a thing would do wonders for the fame of all involved.”

This thought gave Denner an idea. He could do nothing on his own without a Reputation on Dammerdall, and it was anybody’s guess how he could go about getting it. But Denner cast his memory back to the conversation Selda, Falke, Garin and Waldron had had earlier. They said themselves that they were out to improve their own reputation, and here was the perfect opportunity to do so. He knew they wouldn’t be happy to see him again, but they were his best option for capturing one of these tatzelwurms, and maybe, with the promise of fame, they would acquiesce.

Denner glanced up at Cyrryc Adda, who was staring back expectantly. “Alright. I’ll do it. And then you’ll see about an antidote to my poison, right?”

Cyrryc nodded. “I can make no promises, particularly with a magical poison. But I will study it while you are gone, and see what I can do.”

Denner nodded. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Cyrryc moved away briefly into the shadows, and came back a few moments later, holding something long and sharp in his hands. “This is the fang of the so-called vampire cobra of the plane of Pythdon. No true vampirism, of course, but the creature does suck its victim’s blood as it injects its venom. Such a weak venom, too!” He held up the fang to show Denner. It was thin, but longer than Denner’s index finger. “I suppose it doesn’t need strong venom, though. It’s nearly large enough to fill this room.”

As he moved toward Denner, the Delver felt his left arm convulse. Cyrryc, misunderstanding the action, attempted to calm him. “Do not worry, the venom is long drained. This is simply a way to draw out some blood without wounding you. It will hurt a bit, but…”

“It’s not that,” Denner said as the pain shot through him again. “It’s the poison!” He managed through clenched teeth. Then the pain took hold completely, worse than anything Denner had felt yet. Cyrryc Adda pounced sideways as the Delver fell out of the chair, his muscles locking up and his veins flaring. Denner withstood the pain for as long as he could until he could stand it no longer, and he finally blacked out, the pain hidden by blissful unconsciousness.

By the time Denner came to, Cyrryc Adda and his assistant had made all of the preparations. They had seen to obtaining a serviceable wagon that should have been able to transport a live tatzelwurm, as well as purchased two horses to pull it. Although Denner did not pretend to know the markets of Dammerdall in general or Wurzelberg specifically, he suspected that the alchemist had gone to considerable expense in acquiring them. Apparently, this hunt for a tatzelwurm was of particular importance to Cyrryc Adda.

While Denner had been out, the snake had also apparently drawn the blood he needed to begin studying the Delver’s poison. There was a large bandage around Denner’s left elbow that was stained red just at the crook. Denner decided he was glad he had not been conscious for the procedure. His arm was stiff, but not truly sore, and so he didn’t think he would have any trouble with it in the coming days. It was the dead of night when he finally left the alchemist’s shop, and the guilds’ court was all but abandoned. On Cyrric Adda’s recommendation, Denner did not attempt to stay in the city that night, but instead left Wurzelberg by its main gate and slept just beyond the walls, waiting until the morning.

He did not have to wait long after the sun rose. As the city gates opened, Denner moved into a position where he would clearly be seen by anyone leaving the city. He was not concerned that he would miss the four adventurers, because he was a Delver. He knew precisely where they were, and even now he could sense them coming in his direction. He was more concerned that they would either get lost in the crowd or actively avoid him, and then outdistance him on the road. It was going to be hard enough to convince them to help him again, but he knew it would take him far too long to catch up with them if they got past him.

Just over half an hour later, he sensed them coming through the gate, and a few moments later, he saw them riding in his direction. Selda rode in the front, with Falke and Waldron behind her, and Garin bringing up the rear. Denner did his best to hide his face until they were close, but then waved them over as they drew near. He could tell that they were reluctant, but at Selda’s urging, they finally rode over. Denner could see the rage building on Garin’s face and the annoyance on Falke’s, but he ignored it. He didn’t have much time to make his pitch, and he had to make it count.

“What are you doing here?” Selda asked.

“I wanted to thank you all for helping me yesterday,” Denner lied.

“You already did that,” Selda reminded him. “At the alchemist’s. Remember? Was he able to cure you?”

“Not yet,” Denner said, looking away. “He wants a favor first. He needs me to collect something for him, and then he’ll see what he can do.”

“Well, best of luck with that,” Garin broke in suddenly. “It’s nothing to do with us, and we’ve wasted enough of our time on you already.”

“That’s what I mean,” Denner said. “I want to thank you by giving you what you’re looking for.”

“What we’re looking for is precisely what you lack, Nought,” Falke said with a slight smirk. “You’re no help to us.”

“I’m sorry,” Selda said, “but he’s right. We’re trying to build our Reputation, not ruin it. We helped you yesterday because it was the right thing to do, but we are under no obligation to help you further. Waldron?”

“Quite right,” the heavy-set man agreed. “Church doctrine impels immediate help, but not the sort of assistance you are looking for.”

“Out of the way, Nought,” Garin said angrily.

Denner nodded. “And how do you propose to gain this Reputation?”

Selda shrugged. “Bandits litter the roads and the wilderness. We’ll cut them down.”

“Nobles and Guildsmen are always looking for help with some matter or another,” Falke added. “I’m sure we’ll find some.”

“There is always the Church, as well,” Waldron said. “The Saints know, there are always good deeds waiting in the hands of the Clergy.”

“What about being the first people in the history of Dammerdall to capture a living tatzelwurm?” Denner asked them.

For a moment, all four of them looked at one another in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Selda asked.

“That’s what Cyrryc Adda wants from me,” Denner said. “He’ll help me if I can get him a live tatzelwurm. And I want you to help me. Imagine what that would do to your reputation!”

“Saints, man!” Falke exclaimed. “Are you mad as well as Nought? Even if we could find a tatzelwurm, which could take months or longer, what makes you think any of us could survive it?”

“As for finding it,” Denner said grinning, “don’t worry about that. I can find anything. I’m a mage, and that is part of my magic.”

“Magic!” Waldron shrieked. “Saints protect us! Begone from us, demon-kin!” The robed man looked around, then broke into a broad grin as he saw a trio of horsemen riding down the road, clad in white armor and wearing veiled helms. “Paladins of the Veil! The Saints are truly with us today. Knights!”

He started to raise his voice, but Falke held up his hands quickly to calm the portly man down. “Waldron, I’ve known you for years, so you know how serious I am. If you do not let those Paladins pass, I’ll put a crossbow bolt through your heart, do you hear me?”

Everyone, particularly Waldron, stared at Falke in surprise. For a long time, no one said anything, and they all watched in silence as the Paladins rode past them, nodding curtly to the five of them in response to what they assumed had been an enthusiastic greeting. When they were safely inside the city, Waldron turned to Falke. “Why did you not allow me to enlist their aid in disposing of this foul creature?”

Falke grinned. “First of all, if he is a foul creature, then we should destroy him ourselves. How will it help our Reputation if we go crying to the Paladins every time we encounter evil?”

“What do you mean, ‘if he is a foul creature’?” Waldron asked, shocked. “Has he not admitted to using magic?”

“Yes,” Falke said. “And does the Church of the Holy Catharsis not honor holy magic, as well as condemn witchcraft? Is there not a Patron Saint of Magic, after all?”

Waldron bowed his head and placed his fists together just below his chest. “St. Theodora, Patron of Holy Magic, yes.” He whispered a quick prayer, and then looked up to glare at Falke. “I thought you said you did not study the Saints at your University.”

Falke grinned wider. “I said I only studied useful matters. Clearly, that little bit of knowledge was useful to us.”

“But how do we know that his magic is good or evil?” Waldron pressed.

“Doesn’t he want to use it to lead us to a tatzelwurm?” Selda asked. “And you must agree that those vile creatures must be evil.”

Waldron reluctantly nodded, conceding the point. Garin, however, was not convinced. “What about Falke’s other point? How do we survive?”

Everyone looked at Denner, who shrugged. “I know some magic that might help, illusions and things, but mostly, I’m relying on you for that.”

The four adventurers started to mumble amongst themselves, but Denner quickly silenced them. “If you’re not afraid to wander off into the wilderness to confront bandits, the same wilderness where tatzelwurms live, by the way, why should you be afraid to go after one directly? And if I can lead you more or less right to one, you do not waste your time looking around aimlessly. Right?”

Selda nodded her agreement, and one by one, the others joined in. Waldron was the last one to agree, and as he did, he spoke, keeping his voice low. “Very well, Nought. But I swear to the Saints, if you attempt to trick us, I will bring down their righteous fury on you.”

Denner nodded. “Remember, I’m doing this because I need a cure to live. I really can’t afford the risk of trying to trick you, now can I?”

The four adventurers exchanged glances for several long moments before the three men settled their gaze on the red-headed Selda. She seemed to consider the matter before glaring at Denner. “Alright. We’re in. But you remember two things. First, we have no intention of dying for you. If things get ugly, Garin, Falke, Waldron and I turn around and ride away. Second, I’m in charge here, not you. Got it?”

The Delver smiled. “I’m a guide, not a leader. As long as you help me capture that thing, and agree to bring it back to Cyrryc Adda, that’s all I need.”

Selda nodded her agreement. “Fine. Which way?”

Denner had spent much of the morning trying to get some idea of where to find a tatzelwurm. His Delver sense had picked up on several just from the description the snakefolk alchemist had given him, but it was always easier for him to find specific, unique items or people than it was one specimen of an entire species. Eventually, though, through the pain of his poison and the distraction of so many targets, Denner had managed to narrow his senses to the closest one. Without a word, the Delver pointed south, toward the mountains.

Selda frowned. Wurzelberg sat at the northern edge of the Iberstal Mountains, one of the largest ranges within Dammerdall. It also sat on the bank of the Serpent River, which flowed out of the Iberstal on its way far northward to the sea. The direction Denner had pointed led upward toward the peaks along the river’s edge, a difficult passage, especially with a cumbersome wagon to navigate. The Iberstal Mountains were a dangerous and treacherous place, and grew progressively more so the further away a traveler got from Wurzelberg. Selda knew this was not going to be easy.

“Fine,” she said, then forced a smile. “Falke and I will take the front. You stay in the middle with the wagon, and Waldron and Garin will take the rear. There may be bandits up there, and they might mistake us for merchants, so you’ll be safer in the middle.”

Denner nodded, and after a few minutes of preparations, the party took off, heading along the Serpent River up into the mountains. They travelled for hours in almost total silence, with only Garin and Waldron exchanging occasional words that they apparently assumed Denner couldn’t hear. The Delver didn’t care. Waldron clearly disapproved of the entire situation, and Garin wasn’t any happier with things, but both of them had acquiesced to Selda, clearly the leader of this pack of adventurers. Denner merely concentrated on steering the wagon and Delving their way toward the tatzelwurm, which he could still sense higher up into the mountains.

The river was wide and fast-moving, and on this side of Wurzelberg, there were no bridges to span its width. There was also no road running along the river this far south, because few people travelled up into the Iberstal apart from hunters, adventurers, and bandits. The Iberstal Range was a wilderness unto itself, home to wolves, boars, bears, and, according to the Delver, tatzelwurms. Denner had never had much love for rocky or forested terrains, but even he had to admit to a certain appreciation for the rustic, unspoiled beauty of the area. As they continued to push upriver, the trees became more and more common, and crept closer to the bank of the river. The path grew steeper and rockier, and progress started to slow down.

About two hours after midday, Denner called forward to Selda and directed them away from the river and onto a narrow natural path into the woods. Denner had no idea how long the path would run, or how long they would be able to drive the wagon through it, but he knew the tatzelwurm was somewhere in that direction. The other adventurers, particularly Waldron, grumbled at the change and commented on the foolishness of leaving the river, but Selda took Denner’s suggestion, and they continued upward into the forested slopes of the Iberstal Mountains.

They pushed onward until just before nightfall, when they came to a small clearing. The wagon could barely make it through the trees into the opening, and no other exit seemed to be large enough to allow the wagon to pass. Denner assured them that they were coming close to the tatzelwurm, although they were still perhaps a few hours away from it. After a brief discussion, Selda decided that they should make camp, and in the morning, they would continue on foot. This declaration drew even more complaints from Waldron, who stomped out in frustration on the excuse of gathering firewood. The rest of them set about making camp and preparing for the night.

Only a few minutes after they made camp, Denner suffered another attack, although mercifully less severe than the one he had endured at Cyrryc Adda’s shop. The others stared at Denner’s writhing form with a mixture of sympathy, confusion and horror. Denner shut his eyes tight and rocked back and forth on the ground, feeling the sheer, piercing pain throughout every inch of his body. Although the pain did not cause the Delver to pass out as it had before, the attack seemed to last longer before it finally subsided. The others continue to stare at Denner for several minutes after he had recovered, and so eventually the Delver simply crawled into the wagon and tried to sleep, neither eating with nor speaking with the others.

Denner’s pain and persistent nightmares woke him from his sleep a few hours later. It was dark outside of the wagon, with only the glow of a mostly full moon and the dying embers of the campfire to light the clearing. Denner forced himself to get up and look around camp, trying to find one of the water skins to quench his thirst. His Delver senses led him to one immediately, although he moved slowly and carefully to avoid tripping over the bedrolls and sleeping bodies of his reluctant companions. As he reached for the water skin, however, Denner heard a low growl. He froze, looking upward with nothing but his eyes. For a moment he saw nothing, but then, he noticed the glint in the darkness of hungry, inhuman eyes.

Wolves.

Denner quickly glanced around, but in the low light it was impossible to know how many were there, staring at him. But he knew there were several, and he knew they were close. Denner quickly sought out Selda, who was sleeping a short distance away from where he was standing. Moving as quickly as he could to avoid spurring the wolves into action, the Delver eased his way over to the red-haired woman, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. The instant he did, Selda was moving, spinning away, grabbing Denner’s wrist, and drawing a dagger.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She hissed angrily.

Denner gulped, and then nodded toward the edge of camp. “Wolves!” he whispered back.

Selda moved to a crouch, refusing to let go of Denner’s arm. She scanned the darkness, shaking her head as she saw nothing. She was just about to turn on the Delver again when the clouds above parted just enough to cast moonlight on the closest of the beasts, just a few yards away. Selda’s eyes bulged.

“Everyone up!” she yelled suddenly. “Wolves!”

The other three adventurers were awake instantly, although both Waldron and Falke were slow to react. Garin, on the other hand, rolled right out of his bedroll and next to the smoldering fire. The wolves around the camp were growling now, and Denner could hear howls in the darkness, but Garin quickly worked the embers back into a full fire. Waldron and Falke were up and armed now, and Selda had stepped in front of Denner, her dagger replaced with her sword, which she held out and ready, but the wolves were not making a move to attack. After the fire was burning again, Garin grabbed the longest sticks he could find and lit the tips to serve as temporary torches, handing one to each of the others.

It took nearly half an hour, but from a combination of the fire in the center of the clearing, and the armed adventurers wielding torches, the wolves eventually backed away and faded into the night, looking for easier prey elsewhere. Garin looked around at the others and nodded.

“They won’t be back, at least not tonight. But we should probably post a watch from now on.”

Selda nodded. “I’ll take the first one myself. Thank you, Garin.” She turned to Denner as the other three men returned to their bedrolls. “And thank you.”

Denner nodded, rubbing his wrist. “It was lucky I woke up when I did. But I don’t think you needed to try to break my hand.”

Selda smiled at him. “Don’t tell me that hurt,” she teased. “Besides, you came this close to getting my dagger in your ribs, so I wouldn’t complain.”

The Delver switched to rubbing his side instead. “Point taken,” he said.

“You’d better try to get some sleep,” Selda said, indicating back toward the wagon. “We’ll want to get moving close to dawn.”

Denner nodded, and without another word returned to the wagon and tried to fall asleep again. The pain throughout his body was still there, but for the first time in quite a while, Denner fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning began with a long discussion of what to do with the horses. The plan, originally, had been to leave them in the clearing with the wagon and proceed on to find the tatzelwurm, but after the wolves had shown such an interest in the camp, that seemed like a poor idea. They would not necessarily need horses to return to Wurzelberg themselves, but if they were successful in finding the vile lizard, they would at least need horses to pull the wagon. And if things went poorly in the encounter, they might need the horses to speed their escape. And so, although progress would be a bit slower through the uneven trees of the forest, they decided to bring all six horses with them.

It was nearly noon when Denner’s senses led them to a natural pool that seemed to be created from the run-off of a nearby mountain stream. Denner warned the others that the tatzelwurm was close, and Selda decided they should stop and make their final preparations before encountering the creature. The pool was backed on one side by a sheer cliff wall that extended ten or fifteen feet upward, and was overgrown with twisted roots from trees growing above. The party tied their horses’ reins to the sturdiest of these roots and then set about their preparations. Selda and Garin checked and sharpened their weapons, while Falke inventoried his potions. Waldron shot suspicious glances at Denner before moving over to the pool to refill his water skin, muttering something about evil as he went.

Suddenly, Denner’s senses flared. The tatzelwurm was close, and coming closer quickly. Before fully realizing what he was doing, Denner was running toward the pool. He caught up to Waldron just before the heavy-set man reached the edge of the water, grabbing his robes from behind and pulling him backwards with all of his strength. In the very same instant, a horrible reptilian shape erupted out of the water, its face scaled, yet almost feline in its features. The tatzelwurm’s fanged jaws clamped shut right where Waldron’s head had been, and would have been, if not for Denner. The creature issued an angry and frustrated hiss, and then struck at Denner with its massively long and whip-like tail, catching him in the ribs and knocking him several feet through the air.

On its two muscular forelimbs, the tatzelwurm pulled itself completely out of the water and surveyed its prey. Selda and Garin were moving almost immediately, putting themselves between the frightening lizard and the fallen forms of Waldron and Denner. The creature hissed at the armed opponents, and pushed itself backwards slightly, allowing the tip of its tail to dangle in the water. Falke, seeing an opportunity, quickly scanned through his carefully organized pack and found the potion he was looking for, a pale blue and gelatinous liquid. He smiled as he pulled the stopper.

“Keep it distracted!” Falke yelled to Selda and Garin as he threw the potion through the air and into the pool of water behind the tatzelwurm. The lizard made a feigning strike at Selda, but did not move out of the water, which was beginning to change. After only a few short seconds, the water began to freeze over, as if the water, and only the water, was suddenly in the middle of a deep winter. When the freeze reached the edge of the pool, the tip of the tatzelwurm’s tail was trapped within the ice.

The vile creature emitted a horrible, indescribable sound of rage as it realized it was stuck. Moving itself back and forth with its forelimbs, and digging into the dirt with its claws, the tatzelwurm tried to free itself. From the corners of its mouth, the creature was drooling its venomous saliva, and both Garin and Selda were still trying to keep their distance from it, knowing the deadly beast was far from incapacitated. Selda glanced over at her companion and nodded.

“Remember, Garin, we need it alive. But alive doesn’t have to mean uninjured.”

Garin nodded. “I was hoping you would say that.”

As one, they both moved in on the trapped tatzelwurm, which was watching them with the look of a cornered snake. They had to be careful. The tatzelwurms, while not encountered frequently on the roads of Dammerdall, where known well enough to be feared, and for good reason. They were unnaturally strong and quick, disturbingly agile, and more poisonous than anything on the plane. These creatures were impossibly dangerous, and wild animals always tended to be even more dangerous when cornered.

The two adventurers moved in slowly, Garin on the right and Selda on the left. The tatzelwurm paced a short distance one direction and then the other as it watched them approach, pushing and pulling its bulk with its forearms. Selda kept her sword out in front of her, jabbing in slightly but not actually attempting to strike the beast. Garin, on the other hand, was fighting with a large club, which he held slung over his right shoulder as he eased toward the tatzelwurm with his left side forward, ready to strike. The two adventurers proceeded carefully, but occasionally glanced at one another, silently forming a plan between the two of them.

Then, suddenly, they struck. Selda lunged inward, trying to stab the tatzelwurm at the joint where its forelimb met its body. The lizard twisted away immediately, snapping at Selda with its feline jaws. She pulled away, anticipating the attack, while at the same moment, Garin brought his club down. Garin’s strike missed the creature’s skull, but caught its left forelimb, glancing off the joint. The tatzelwurm hissed in fury, and in that instant, its tail broke from the ice in a shower of frozen shards. The tail whipped at Garin’s exposed right arm, knocking him back and forcing him to drop his club. The tatzelwurm, finally free, pounced on Selda instantly, pinning her underneath its massive frame.

Before it could clamp its venomous jaws down on her neck, Denner was there, his body moving more on instinct than anything else. Using all of his weight, Denner charged shoulder first into the lizard’s injured left limb. The surprise of the attack caused the creature to lose its balance and it rolled off of Selda, and Denner fell hard on top of her. Without stopping to think, Denner hooked one arm around her body and invoked his levitation spell, and the two sprang into the air, just out of the reach of the tatzelwurm.

“Let me go!” Selda yelled.

Denner looked over at her. “I was trying to help you!”

“I know,” she said, looking down. “I’m trying to help us, too! Let me go!”

Denner didn’t know what she meant, but he had learned over the years to leave decisions in battle to those who were used to them, and so he let her go, allowing the red-haired woman to drop. The tatzelwurm had already turned its focus to Garin, injured and unarmed, and Waldron, who had recovered from his surprise and drawn a mace as his only weapon. Selda, however, fell directly on the lizard’s back, bringing the hilt of her sword down hard on the creature’s skull. The tatzelwurm reeled in pain and surprise, and tried to toss Selda off of its back, but she managed to hook one arm around its neck and hold on.

As Selda was wrestling with the stunned creature, Garin and Waldron moved in. Waldron tried to strike the tatzelwurm across the head, but it was writhing too much to make a strike, especially with Selda so close. Garin regained his club, but his right arm was hurt, and so he tried to wield it with both hands to compensate, which damaged his accuracy, as well. As they were trying to decide how best to strike the beast, it finally succeeded in throwing Selda off, who rolled into the cliff wall. Both Garin and Waldron struck then, and while both attacks found the tatzelwurm’s head, neither found its mark truly, and the creature still moved, although its movements were sporadic and uncoordinated. Then, moving at a sprint, Falke ran into the fray, a vial in his right hand. He ran straight for the tatzelwurm’s head and threw the bottle hard into the ground, right in front of the lizard’s snout. The vial exploded in a puff of black smoke, which the creature could not avoid inhaling. It staggered around for a few seconds more before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

For several moments after the battle, the five adventurers merely stared at the creature they had bested, barely daring to believe it had been real. Once they were sure it was out, they set to work on the wounds. Mercifully, these were not as bad as they might have been. Garin’s arm had taken the worst of it, but he still had the full range of motion, and he would likely be perfectly fine in a few days. Falke and Waldron had both gotten through the battle unscathed, and Selda’s wounds were only superficial. Denner had received a cut in his side which was seeping through his tunic, but his ribs were not broken, and they were able to patch the wound well enough for him to travel.

None of them, not even Falke, had any idea how long the tatzelwurm would be unconscious. The potion he had used would usually knock a full-grown man out for days, but it was impossible to guess at the constitution of a tatzelwurm. Therefore, all five adventurers worked as quickly as they could to restrain the beast. Using their best ropes, they bound the creature’s forelimbs, even tying the long tail into the knots. Using leather bindings and rope, they fashioned as strong a muzzle as they could, all while Waldron led them in prayers to the Seventy-Seven Saints that the restraints would be enough.

Once they were finished, they tied the creature to four of the horses so that they could pull it through the forest and back to the clearing. The horses, not surprisingly, were nervous around the deadly predator, but eventually Selda and Falke were able to calm them down. Dragging the tatzelwurm through the forest was almost as frightening as fighting the creature, and every subtle twitch the sleeping beast gave made the adventurers reach for their weapons. It was an hour to nightfall when they reached the clearing, and well after dark by the time they finished hauling the lizard up into the wagon.

Selda then decided it would be safer in the long run to push on back toward Wurzelberg rather than camp for the night. Between the wolves stalking the area and the danger of the tatzelwurm waking up, she decided that navigating the narrow path in the dark was the better option. Garin quickly built a fire, and he, Falke and Waldron set to the task of making longer-burning torches than those they had thrown together the night before. They made as many of them as they could, knowing that they would need to change them out often if they wanted any light to move by. Selda and Denner prepared the horses, reining two of them to the wagon again. After everything was finally ready, they lit four of the torches and fixed them to the wagon, then doused the campfire and headed back toward the river.

The journey back to Wurzelberg was long and stressful, and took considerably longer than the trip to the clearing. They quickly found it difficult to move in the night, especially while the moon was obscured by the clouds. Eventually, they broke from the tree cover and rejoined the river, which made the process a bit easier, although not much. Once, as dawn was breaking, the tatzelwurm started to awaken, reflexively testing the ropes that bound it. Before it could muscle itself free, Falke directed the rest of the party away, and administered another dose of his potion, which put the tatzelwurm to sleep once again. They continued to move slowly, but had no further problems until they reached the great gates of the city of Wurzelberg.

Even before they were through the gates, word was spreading throughout the city that adventurers had captured a live tatzelwurm. The streets were chaotic with the throngs of people either trying to see the vile creature or trying to run in fear of it. At first, Selda herself tried to direct their path, trying to convince people to move out of the way, but eventually, she was forced to give up when the city guard arrived to help. Once they had gotten the curious and excited crowd to calm down, Selda briefly explained to the guards where they were going and, for the good of the public, the guards decided to escort them.

There was a massive crowd of people gathered in front of Cyrryc Adda’s alchemy shop when the guards and the adventurers arrived. As they did, the old, bearded man posing as Cyrryc emerged from his shop, along with four large, muscular men. The man walked up to Selda and smiled warmly, handing her a letter.

“Ah, I see you were successful, and much more quickly than I could have expected. Thank you, brave adventurers!”

As Selda was about to answer, the tatzelwurm started to thrash around, although its binds were still holding. The crowd gasped in sudden fear and the guards prepared themselves to fight, but the old man laughed, and reached into his sleeve, producing a small, white cloth. Moving exceedingly carefully, he placed the cloth against the snout of the tatzelwurm, and after just a few seconds, the creature stopped moving. The old man smiled, withdrew the cloth, and turned to the four men behind him.

“Please claim the creature, and bring it into the lab.” He turned back and spoke to the crowd as a whole. “I assure you, good people, that adequate containment has been arranged for this beast.” He turned toward the guards as he continued. “There is no danger to the people of Wurzelberg.”

The guards nodded, satisfied. The old man stepped closer to Selda as the crowd began to disperse. “Well done,” he said. “I must admit, I was surprised to hear you had taken the Nought’s offer.”

Selda looked back at Denner and smiled. “I wasn’t exactly expecting it myself.”

The bearded man nodded, now speaking in little more than a whisper. “In light of this, Cyrryc Adda has written a letter of recognition, attesting your roles in this great endeavor. The Reputation Banks will no doubt be very interested in it.”

Selda grinned. “That was the plan,” she said, looking briefly at Garin, Falke, and Waldron, before her gaze settled on Denner. When she continued, her voice was a whisper to match the old man’s. “What about him?”

The old man smiled. “He had a deal with Cyrryc Adda. We will take care of him, if we are able.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“I know you did this for the Reputation,” the man said, “but keep the wagon and the horses as additional payment. You and your friends have earned them well.”

Selda smiled. “Thank you.” She said nothing else, but moved over to the others as the tatzelwurm disappeared into the alchemist’s shop, now no longer their problem. “Well, we did it! Garin, Waldron, Falke, great work.” She held up the letter. “This is a fantastic start, and with the money we’ll get from selling this wagon and these horses, we can get some better equipment before we head out again. Why don’t you three see what you can buy and sell, and I’ll meet you at the Rep bank?”

Garin and Falke nodded, and started moving away. Waldron hesitated, and then finally looked over at Denner. “I’m…I’m sorry I did not have faith in you. You saved my life, and by the Saints, I owe you more than thanks for that.”

Denner smiled. “You’re welcome. And thanks for helping me, too.”

Waldron smiled, paused for a few seconds, and then moved off to join Garin and Falke, who were preparing to lead the wagon away. When they were alone, Selda turned to Denner, smiling widely. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, then held up the letter the old man had given her. “This is a year’s worth of bandit-killing, you know. You should be a part of this. If the Rep bankers see this, you could shed that ‘Nought’ label.” She paused, looking away from him. “You could come with us. I think Waldron would approve now, and I know Falke would.” She looked back at him. “I know I would.”

Denner smiled sadly at her. It was a tempting offer, but it was also a fatal one. Right now, Cyrryc Adda was his only chance, the only hope he had to heal. “I want to,” Denner said, shaking his head. “But I need to find a cure first. Maybe if this works, if Adda can help me, I’ll come looking for you again.”

“Do you think you will?”

Denner wasn’t sure how to answer her. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll find you.”

She smiled at him for a long moment, then finally turned away and rode off to her fame. Denner smiled, then looked at the door of the alchemy shop. Selda and the others had gotten what they wanted out of this little adventure. It was time for Denner to get what he wanted. Denner entered the shop to see the old man waiting for him.

“Are you ready, Mr. Fabellian?”

“I am,” Denner said. “What about Cyrryc Adda? Is he ready to help me?”

“That, I cannot say,” the old man admitted. “But he has been studying your poison ceaselessly since you left. I suggest we go ask him.”

Denner nodded, and again the old man and the Delver made their way into the back room. This time, the secret door was already open, undoubtedly to allow the men to bring the tatzelwurm down to Cyrryc Adda’s workshop. After a short trip down the winding stone ramp and through the metal-bound wooden door, Denner found himself back in the large room. Unlike the first time he had visited there, the room was now well-lit, with torches blazing in sconces all around the walls. It was massive and circular, and contained several large cages, although the only one occupied contained the tatzelwurm Denner and the adventurers had obtained.

Cyrryc Adda was standing, if so he could be described, at the door to the cage, admiring his new acquisition. With the room lit, Denner could see that the snake must have been at least ten feet long or more, but otherwise, nothing had changed since Denner’s last visit. He still wore his strange, dark blue robe that billowed like a cobra’s hood, his two arms sliding through sleeves to allow him to manipulate objects. As Denner entered the room, Cyrryc turned to look at him, his reptilian face set in a grin.

“Ah, Denner! Welcome, and thank you!” He turned around and away from the tatzelwurm, slithering with his lower half as he moved with an odd, swaying motion. He was not moving toward Denner, but rather toward the crimson chair in the center of the room. As he moved, he indicated toward the chair, and Denner took the motion to mean he wished Denner to once again sit.

As Denner reached it, Cyrryc Adda indicated back toward the tatzelwurm. “I will need time to study it, of course, but I think you have brought me an excellent specimen.” As he had during their first meeting, Cyrryc emphasized each “s” sound with an elongated hiss. “There seems to be some damage to the skull and forelimb, and this one may not be entirely grown yet, but still, an admirable effort, and an impressive feat, especially so quickly!”

Denner nodded as he sat down. “Thanks. Have you had time to analyze my blood yet? Do you know of a cure to my poison?”

“Hmm?” Cyrryc asked, distracted. “Oh, your blood! Of course!” The snake turned back toward Denner, gently tapping a small vial of red-black liquid on the table next to him. “I have been working with it since you left. Fascinating, truly. I admit I have never seen anything like it.”

Denner exhaled. He had suspected as much. Syl struck him as the kind who would rather create her own, unique, deadly poison rather than use someone else’s. “Did you learn anything about it?”

The snake nodded. “Not as much as I would like, but enough. It seems to be an amalgam of several poisons and venoms, ingeniously mixed together to create similar, but different, effects. That’s why you aren’t dead yet. Whoever created this poison sacrificed deadliness for fortitude. Even if someone could isolate which poisons comprise it, administering each antidote or antivenom individually would do nothing. Rather, you would need one antidote, perfectly balanced, distilled from the rest, to cure you.”

Denner frowned. “That’s not good news.”

“No,” Cyrryc agreed happily. “And it gets worse. The poison is further comingling within you. Pretty soon, the individual components will fuse completely, and it will be impossible to determine which poisons and venoms were used, and therefore which cures would be effective.”

Denner paled. “How much time do I have?”

“No idea,” the snake laughed. “But don’t worry,” he said, patting the blood sample again. “This combining process seems to be a result of circulation, so this sample is safe. And from it, I’ll be able to draw each component, and reproduce the original poisons.”

“And you can create antidotes from that?”

Cyrryc Adda shrugged, or at least made a motion that might have passed as a shrug for a human. “No way to know.”

Denner shook his head. “But do you think you can help me?”

The snake raised one hand to his jaw, stroking it like a human strokes his chin. “I think so. There is, at least, one thing I can do for you.”

Cyrryc snapped, and suddenly three of the muscled men were surrounding Denner, one on each side holding rough leather straps down across his arms and the third behind him with a leather strap around his neck, all three holding him in place. Denner tried to struggle, but the man behind him pulled back hard, choking him. Cyrryc Adda smiled a crooked, serpentine grin.

“I can’t cure you,” Cyrryc said as he drew a vial and another vampire cobra fang. “Well, I won’t, really. But I can certainly inject you with a much quicker poison. Your suffering will be great, but brief. Isn’t that better?”

The snake laughed, but Denner couldn’t answer. As Cyrryc moved closer, Denner realized that he had only one chance. Thinking back to the road two days earlier, Denner conjured an illusion, and everyone in the room panicked as three Paladins of the Veil burst into the massive room, screaming, in Waldron’s voice, “Begone from us, demon-kin!”

Cyrryc Adda turned to slither away, while the three men holding Denner released him, charging over to face the illusionary knights. Denner dove for the blood sample, but Cyrryc Adda was too quick, grabbing it out of the Delver’s reach.

“Clever,” Cyrryc said, lunging for him.

Denner rolled backwards and ran, his illusions already beginning to lose it strength. Cyrryc followed him, but carefully, while the alchemist’s guards were trying to figure out what was happening. Denner knew he was lost. All he needed to survive, though, was just a few, precious seconds to planeswalk away. All he needed was a distraction.

Then, Denner saw the tatzelwurm cage. The creature was awake now. Whatever drug the old man had used to calm it apparently wore off much quicker than Falke’s potion. The lizard had also been untied, so that Cyrryc Adda could study it properly. Denner briefly wondered if Waldron’s religion had a patron saint of luck, because if it did, he would have to return to Dammerdall to thank that saint. Just before Cyrryc Adda and the guards reached Denner, Denner reached the cage, and opened it.

With a furious hiss, the tatzelwurm launched itself at the nearest moving thing, sinking its venomous jaws deep into one of the guards’ arms. With a single wipe of its tail, he knocked the other two from their feet, and then turned its predatory gaze on Cyrryc Adda, who was trying to back away. Denner stared after the man, but when he saw him slip the blood sample into his robe, Denner knew he had to get away. There was nothing more he could do here. With a broken and defeated sigh, Denner Fabellian planeswalked away from Dammerdall, no closer to a cure, but ever closer to death.