There was nothing but pain. Jane's chest hurt, her head hurt, her arms and legs hurt. As her senses returned, she noticed the outside world. The room still reeked of excrement. Water dripped from stone making a rhythmic ping, ping, ping. Something scuttled over the stone.

She uncurled her body and rolled onto her back. The hide she lay on squelched, adding the dank sent of mould to the miasma of the room. She opened her eyes. Someone had smashed dozens of stalactites down leaving stone stumps scattered across the cavern ceiling. Time had softened their edges, but Jane could make out the wounds.

Memories of the day came flooding back. Turning into a girl, fighting an Ogre. She groaned and rolled over onto hands and knees.

A trail of blood, black in the sickly light, lead from near the stairway to the Ogre's bedroll. Her broom was several feet away. The magic candle stood where she had left it, still burning, and the keyring lay abandoned beside it.

Jane crawled to her broom and used it to leaver herself into a standing position. Her left foot throbbed when she put weight on it.

She cried out at the pain. Her vision darkened, and the room spun. Jane clenched her teeth and refused to sit back down. She rode out the vertigo, breathing deeply despite the stench, until everything stopped moving.

She could see the Ogre now, it lay curled up in a dark puddle of blood. Paul's slice hadn't been immediately fatal, but the monster wouldn't be getting up again.

She checked her character sheet. The good news was that she now had 33 experience points, the bad news was that she had a single point of Stamina, and no gold. "Paul?"

There was no answer. She shuffled across the room and drew back the leather curtain. It wasn't entirely dark in the passageway. The lichen glowed giving definition to the walls but leaving the stairs too dark to walk down. She cleared her throat and called again, louder "Paul?"

There was still no answer. She'd need the candle to search further. I'll take the keys, she thought. She collected the candle and the keys. All the while watching the Ogre. It remained dead, which was good as Jane was in no shape for another round, the stairs where hard enough.

Her injured left foot meant she had to ease her way down one step at a time. The broom made a serviceable crutch but walking down stairs was still far more complicated than normal. At the foot of the stairs she tried again. "Hello? Paul, where are you."

The gaping darkness on her left swallowed the words, only to return a faint echo. Paul didn't answer. There was only one conclusion, he left her. That no-good son of an innkeeper took her coin and left her for dead. Some friend he turned out to be, she thought, wiping tears from her eyes. "If I ever get out of here, I'll kill him."

Anger steadied her step. She marched onwards, back the way they had come, past the spot where she had found the mudcaps, at least Paul hadn't stolen them as well. Several of the Purple globes had burst. He must have gone too close. She smiled at that. "The itching must be driving him crazy."

She reached the intersection where someone, possibly the ogre, had broken into the main dungeon. She turned left, they'd argued about that, Paul would have wondered at random, but Jane wasn't that careless, just keep going left, left and home.

* * *

"I should have gone right to retrace my steps, but I went left and stumbled into your bar." Jane said, thumping her empty flagon on the bar top. " It's good I suppose. I wouldn't have made it past the broken bridge."

"That's quite the tale, if I weren't here with you, I wouldn't believe it." Grom said, then scratched his beard. "I wonder, what would keep an Ogre away."

"What do you mean?" Jane asked.

"Your home is half a day's walk from here?"

"Less," Jane said, "we didn't start at the crack of dawn."

"An Ogre lived here all this time and never bothered your town. Ogres are not that smart. It's the kind of thing an adventurer would poke her nose into," Grom said.

YOU HAVE BEEN OFFERED A QUEST. SOMETHING SINISTER IN LAMBFORD. ACCEPT?

Jane accepted the quest, then looked at Grom. "You're a quest giver?"

"I'm a barkeep aren’t I, quest giving comes with the job." Grom frowned, he looked serious for the first time since they had met. Then, everything about Grom faded. The red leached right out of his braids, and the kegs of mead behind him were translucent and glowing a ghostly blue.

Jane jumped up from her stool. As she backed up, she passed straight through another one. "Grom, what is happening?"

"The moon is setting and with that I must leave. you see when I said I learned to make moon mead from the Alin, I wasn't being honest."

"I don't Understand" Jane said, waving her arms at the disappearing furniture.

"Well, I may have stolen that recipe, and the Alin don't take too kindly to theft. The moon mead is sacred. When they caught up with me they slit my throat and dumped my body in the black river. But don't worry Lass, the moon means you no harm in sending me, just the opposite. How does your foot feel?"

Jane pressed down with her left foot, when it didn't hurt she put her whole weight on it. "It's better, how?"

"Now you know why the Alin guard their moon mead so fiercely." he said. " Goodbye Jane Greenway."

"Thank you for the mead Grom, for listening and for keeping me safe."

"It was a pleasure Lass, make sure you find the chest." He smiled again, raising his hand in fair well. Jane blinked, when her eyes opened she saw an empty cave. The bar was gone as were the kegs, and Grom himself. Instead there was an uneven rock floor sloping towards a fast-flowing stream of dark water.

It was the river they had heard earlier, its passage looked clear upstream. Downstream was another matter. Masonry blocks formed a broken crescent across the cave, the water tumbling over the stones.

She squatted on the river bank to wash her hands and face. A proper bath would have been nice. But a bath needed a safe place, especially if she was to investigate certain changes. The river did not look big enough to be the Alf, but even then, this was not a safe place and the water was freezing.

She shook out her hands and turned back towards the dungeon. Unlike the rest of the cavern the hubward wall was dressed stone. There were two doors. The one on the right stood open, revealing a damp stone corridor. The one on the left was closed. With a smile on her face Jane opened it and, broom in hand, stepped through. When she caught her former friend, there would be a reckoning.

The next room was square, with two doors, on opposite walls. The centre of the room had been raised slightly. An iron-bound chest filled the platform, it was bolted to the stone. Other than that, the room was unremarkable.

"Easy as pie." Jane said as she crouched in front of the chest. She set the candle down beside her knee. It lit the area well enough. Her broom went on the right side, in easy reach. The keys jingled as she sorted them in her hands, dismissing the cell keys and trying the next one after that.

The key slipped in but wouldn't turn. She flipped to the next one. This time the lock turned smoothly until the mechanism clicked. At the same instant the floor Jane was kneeling on gave way with a much louder thump.

Her right hand met wood, and she grabbed on, coming to an abrupt stop that jarred the joints in her arm. The candle continued to fall, tumbling over and over to land sideways at the bottom of the pit. It came free of its holder and rolled away, the flame flickering as melted wax pooled about the wick.

Her arm burned, reminding Jane that she had more pressing issues. She shifted to a two-handed grip, then pulled herself up, her feet skidding off the pit walls.

The broom stayed firm, not so much as rocking as she climbed. Good broom, Jane thought as she swung her body. On the third swing her feet found the other edge of the pit and she hooked her heels over. Then it was a case of edging sideways until she could clamber back onto solid stone. "Lousy trapped dungeon."

At least the chest was still open. She approached it from the side this time, taking care to stand on two separate flagstones. There was gold! Lots and lots of gold, a silver ring and a matching tiara decorated with a yellowish stone. She scooped up the coins into the sack she'd brought.

The tiara was shaped about a sunstone larger than Jane's thumb. Dull silver metal curled up and back from the stone, to form two cat ears. When worn the tiara would sit high on the head, with the cat ears sticking up and the stone almost at the hairline. Cat ears? Someone had a twisted sense of fashion, but it was the stone that mattered. She could work with that though it would mean wearing a tiara.

Jane looked at the puddle of wax where a feeble flame still flickered. To hell with it, she'd wear the tiara, cat ears be damned. She brushed her hair back and slipped it on. "I'm a witch wearing a tiara, someone got a problem with that? I'll turn you into something nasty?"

It fit her head the combs pushing her hair back and away from the face. Now for the spell. She focused, the life force flowed through her. With a mental command she disrupted the stream, channelling just a trickle into the stone. Her breathing and pulse slowed. She said the word. "SUN".

The stone glowed, illuminating the room like a tiny sun. It was so bright she had to close her eyes. She willed the light to dim to tolerable levels then opened her eyes again. "Perfect, Now I have light and free hands!"

Only the ring remained. Compared to the tiara it looked plain. A silver band without a stone or inscription. But, there was something about it, the moment she touched it magic reached out to her.

The magic promised strength and vitality. She opened one eye again and brought the ring up to catch the light. The surface was smooth and unmarked inside and out. What if it was a trap? She could store it for now and show it to Druid Starskie. He would know something about magic rings. But what if he declared it too dangerous for a young one and wanted to keep it.

"Grom told me to find the chest." She said, still looking at the magic ring. She put it on her right index finger. For a moment its glow intensified, strands of power uncurled and wove into her own core of life force. Her stamina grew, making her more alive. Jane pulled up her character sheet.


Jane Greenway, Human Witch (F)
Skill: 6/6 Stamina: 7/12+2 Luck: 7/9 Magic: 4/4
Age: 15 Social class: 4 experience: 34
Talent: focus (broomstick)
Special Skills: Awareness 1, Armour 1, Climb 2, Staves 2
Languages: common 4, goblin 1
Lore: World 1, Forest 2, Herb 2, Religion 1
Magic Skills: Sorcery 2, Second Sight 1
Equipment: Wood witch's Broomstick (focus, staff, ZEN), Ring of Stamina +2, Sunstone Tiara
Provisions: 0 Coin: 107gp 0sp


By the gods, over a hundred gold. If Paul was here, he'd want half the gold and the ring too. Well too bad for him. That's what he got for robbing friends, she thought.

Jane tied the sack of coins to her belt rope. it was heavy, but it was the only way to keep both hands free for staff fighting. She opened the next door and walked through.

Another square room, this time in place of a chest the center of the room was covered with sixty four glowing tiles. They made a square two feet to a side and alternated so that each white tile only touched blue tiles.

She regarded the pattern for a while, scratching her head in thought. What if it was another trap? Who would be dumb enough to step on it. Jane circled the glowing square and moved on to the next door.

It opened into a catacomb. The room was two yards wide and ten yards long. Shelves, filled with human bones, ran the entire length of both walls. The skulls left her in no doubt that they were human bones. She counted at least twenty, each resting on a neat pile of bones of all shapes and sizes. Someone had labelled every pile though she could not decipher the script.

She was halfway down the row when she felt a flare of magic behind her. When she turned she saw bones falling from one shelf. As they fell they arrange themselves, forming feet, then legs, and a pelvis. Piece by piece a skeleton assembled until it came to a head. Red light flared from its empty eye sockets and it clanked its jaws in a mockery of speech.

Jane slipped into her fighter’s stance, this would suck, and she didn't think a fireball would do much against a skeleton. She needed to kick its bony ass the old-fashioned way, with a big stick. She willed her experience points into staff fighting. Moments later the gods recognised her request.

STAFF SKILL INCREASED TO 3.

The skeleton grabbed a leg bone from another pile and swung it like a club.

Jane dismissed the notification and blocked the skeleton's attack, then countered, spinning inwards and thrusting with the other end of the staff.

The impact jarred her arms and shoulders, travelling through her to her back foot. She grunted with effort. They exchanged blow after blow the sound of bone on wood filling the room. The skeleton was both fast and strong. Its next hit landed, striking Jane's ribs with a loud thwack, certain to leave a bruise.

She commanded the sunstone to grow brighter until the crypt was as bright as a summer’s day. The skeleton shivered and backed away from the light.

Jane followed, thrusting her staff at its left shoulder joint. "don't like that, do you bony?"

The joint came apart with surprising ease. Arm bones, now separated from whatever animated the monster, fell apart. The skeleton clanked its teeth. Without a left arm its balance was off. Its next swing missed. The exchange after that saw it thump Jane's ribs again, in the same place as last time.

Got to buy armour she thought, first thing when I get home. Mr Skinner might have something in my size, he's always peddling bits of armour to passing adventurers.

Another strike from the skeleton broke her train of thought. She got her staff up at the last moment to block, then countered with a strike to the knee, leaving the skeleton hopping on one foot. After that, it was just a matter of striking joints until the skeleton was nothing but a head clacking its jaws.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Jane said, kicking the skull. It bounced off the wall and came to rest under one of the long shelves. That's when she saw the spell sheet.

On the Wall beside the door was a framed leather parchment. It bore a trident and eel design, just like the cursed book. Several other glyphs where inked just below the crest. They looked like the same script used to label the shelves. Each glyph a nest of interlocking swirls far more complex than a single letter. Why write a spell on parchment? Why not carve it into the stone? Surely it would last longer that way.

She touched it. The leather was smooth and well cured. But the ink was curious, instead of being drawn on the surface it was inside the leather. A tattoo! Jane looked at the piles of bones and shivered. Had this been done on someone while they were alive?

Up close Jane could see the magic flowing from the parchment and into the door frame. She focused on it until her head ached but could glean no further insight into what it did. A seal to keep the water out? It was an idea after all the catacomb was bone dry.

She returned to the room with the glowing squares and opened the final door. After walking down a short passage, she returned to the room where their first fight had taken place. The place stank of dead goblin. She rushed through it and returned to the well. Overhead, oak leaves danced against a bright blue and sunlit sky. Paul had taken the rope.

With a muttered curse she entered her casting trance. Remembering the unlocking spell, she took the time to centre, breathing in and out. She felt the flow of her life force, augmented by the ring, and intoned the spell. "ZEN!"

Jane mounted her broom and floated up. Raised voices echoed down from the clearing. She willed the sunstone to stop glowing, ending the spell and rose to within an inch of the Well mouth.

"I don't care how dangerous it is." a familiar voice yelled. It was her father. "I'm not leaving my son's body in some forsaken dungeon."

He looked agitated, waving his arms about as he talked, and his hair and beard where unbrushed. He wasn't alone, she recognised the muscled form of Mr Brewster, who looked huge beside her father's lean strength. The third member of the rescue party was George in his novice’s robes. He stood under the old oak, in the same place Paul had sat yesterday, watching as the older men argued.

Even from the distance Jane could see her father's anguish, the drooped shoulders and the red eyes. He cared for her, he cared for her even if he berated everything she did as not good enough.

"Dad, I'm alive, I'm alive." she yelled rising her broom clear of the Well. She willed herself to her father. The broom complied in its own sweet time, floating across the intervening space at a lazy pace.

"John, my son" Her father said tackling her off the broom. He crushed her in a hug, speaking into her shoulder. Then his body stiffened, and he released her. His gazed moved from the broom to the Tiara still on her head. "By the gods, what have you done to yourself you fool boy?"

Jane looked from her father, to his companions. Mr Brewster had a grim look on his face, and George was staring, his mouth open in shock. Neither grime nor clothing could hide her transformation. "Dad, I can explain."