Location: The Alchemical Slums, Mystara.
Mission Objective: Regroup. Decontaminate. Survive the Timer.
Curse Status: [SCARRED AUTHORITY FIGURES] | 3 Days, 6 Hours Remaining.
The retreat from the Blushing Lotus Bathhouse was chaotic, humiliating, and extremely wet.
Kaelen marched through the neon-lit back alleys of Mystara with the rigid posture of a soldier heading toward execution. Water dripped from his hair, his tunic, and the edges of his armor. Every step produced a wet squelch from his boots.
He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the cobblestones.
Looking up was too dangerous.
There might be a scarred crossing guard.
Or an injured street warden.
Or some elderly woman with a commanding voice.
Kaelen wasn't taking chances.
Behind him, Elara struggled to wring the water from her cloak while muttering into her notebook.
"The steam was thick, but the tension was thicker..."
She grimaced.
"No. Too cliché."
She scratched it out.
"The water was cold, but his heart..."
Another pause.
"Ugh. Barnaby is going to destroy me in the reviews."
"Silence on the comms, Bard."
Kaelen shivered.
"We need a safehouse. Ignis, pursuit status."
The War Golem's heavy footsteps echoed through the narrow alley.
"Campus security is currently searching the northern quad."
His blue runes flickered.
"My internal coolant reserves are at forty percent."
Kaelen glanced at him.
"Understood."
"If you attempt to seduce another law enforcement officer, I will be forced to use the backup tank."
A pause.
"It is filled with stagnant swamp water."
Kaelen grimaced.
"Noted."
Faelan walked beside them, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of glowing straw.
"You people are a disaster."
He shook his head.
"You've been in the magic capital for two hours and you're already wanted by the Head Curator and the Bastion Inquisition."
He looked around the alley.
"Where exactly do we go from here?"
Before Kaelen could answer, the wooden door of an apothecary beside them exploded outward.
BOOM!
A thick cloud of violently pink smoke rolled into the alley.
It smelled like sulfur, crushed rose petals, and something that reminded Kaelen unpleasantly of perfume.
"Ambush!"
Kaelen's combat instincts took over.
His greatsword, Diplomacy, flashed into his hand.
He stepped in front of Elara and Oat.
"Shield formation! Identify targets!"
A figure stumbled through the smoke.
It was an old man.
He was frail, hunched, and coughing violently while waving a pair of soot-stained goggles in front of his face. His leather apron was scorched, his robes were covered in acid burns, and the ends of his wild white hair were still smoking.
"Commander!"
The old man shook a half-melted beaker at Kaelen.
"There you are!"
He coughed again.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to synthesize a chemical suppressant in a city that only sells love potions?!"
Kaelen lowered his sword.
His shoulders sagged with relief.
"Varen."
Varen, the kingdom's most perpetually stressed senior alchemist, wiped soot from his face.
"Yes, Varen!"
He pointed accusingly at Kaelen.
"I leave you people alone for two days to resupply in the Weald, and what do I find when I return?"
He pulled a crumpled wanted poster from his robes.
"You!"
The poster depicted Kaelen in a disturbingly romantic pose.
Varen stared at it.
"Whoever drew this has some serious psychological problems."
Elara immediately reached for it.
"Can I keep that?"
"No!"
Varen snatched it away.
"Absolutely not."
Kaelen ignored them.
"We experienced complications."
He glanced down at his soaked clothing.
"Where have you been, Chief Medical Officer?"
"Trying to save your life!"
Varen's voice cracked.
"When we entered the Whispering Weald, I discovered we were completely out of liquid nitrogen for the Golem's hose. So I had to detour to a goblin merchant."
He waved his arms dramatically.
"I hitchhiked on a turnip cart just to reach Mystara ahead of you."
Faelan raised an eyebrow.
"A turnip cart?"
"Don't judge me."
Varen pointed toward the city.
"And when I finally arrive, every apothecary is sold out of saltpeter!"
He looked personally offended by the concept.
"Do you know what they're using it for?"
Nobody answered.
"'Sparkling passion fireworks.'"
Kaelen closed his eyes.
Varen threw the melted beaker into a nearby trash can.
"I tried brewing a pill that temporarily paralyzes the central nervous system."
Kaelen opened one eye.
"That sounds medically questionable."
"It was supposed to stop the flirting!"
Varen shouted.
"But the local water supply is contaminated with pheromones!"
He threw his hands into the air.
"The entire laboratory exploded!"
Brother Oat approached the distraught alchemist.
He gently patted Varen on the head.
Then he offered him a purple berry.
Varen stared at it.
"Is this a hallucinogen?"
Oat smiled.
Varen sighed.
"You know what? I don't care anymore."
He ate it.
Kaelen watched him chew.
"We appreciate your logistical efforts."
His teeth chattered.
"But we've reached a tactical dead end."
He glanced toward the distant academy towers.
"The Grand Archives are compromised."
Varen's expression darkened.
"Vespera?"
Kaelen nodded reluctantly.
"She falls within my current targeting parameters."
Varen's eyes widened.
"You hit on Vespera?"
Kaelen said nothing.
"The Iron Maiden of Mystara?"
Still nothing.
"Kaelen, she has legal authorization to turn people into frogs!"
"It was a close-quarters engagement."
Kaelen folded his arms.
"I deployed an aggressive flirtation maneuver."
Ignis spoke from behind him.
"I performed tactical extraction."
Varen stared at all of them.
"I don't even want to know."
"We need another source of information," Elara said.
"Preferably somewhere without a librarian who can turn people into frogs."
Varen stopped chewing.
He slowly reached into his scorched robes and produced a crumpled, faintly glowing pamphlet.
"As it happens..."
He adjusted his glasses.
"While attempting to purchase illegal sedatives on the black market, I heard a rumor."
Kaelen's attention sharpened.
"There is another archive in Mystara."
He unfolded the pamphlet.
"It isn't officially recognized by the Academy. It's an underground repository."
Varen tapped the paper.
"They call it the Dusty Tome."
Kaelen narrowed his eyes.
"Who runs it?"
"An information broker known as The Sloth."
Varen squinted at the pamphlet.
"Apparently, they haven't left their basement in three years."
Kaelen's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"They hate authority."
Even better.
"They hate the military."
Excellent.
"And they refuse to wear anything except a bathrobe."
Kaelen exhaled.
Finally.
A safe target.
"Do they have combat experience?"
"None."
"Scars?"
"None."
"Authority?"
"Absolutely not."
Kaelen released a long, relieved breath.
"A bathrobe. No scars. No authority."
He nodded.
"It sounds like the safest tactical zone on the continent."
He pointed at the pamphlet.
"Where is this Dusty Tome?"
Faelan stepped closer.
"That's the problem."
He folded his arms.
"The entrance shifts. According to my contacts, it's hidden somewhere in the city's undercity labyrinth."
"How long?"
"At least three days."
Kaelen glanced at his HUD.
[SCARRED AUTHORITY FIGURES] | 3 Days, 5 Hours, 45 Minutes Remaining.
He immediately made his decision.
"Then we go to ground."
Everyone looked at him.
"While this criteria is active, I am a liability. I cannot risk another encounter with an academy guard, inquisitor, or anyone who looks remotely capable of arresting me."
He pointed toward Varen.
"Find us a bunker."
Then toward the others.
"Absolute radio silence."
Kaelen's voice hardened.
"We wait until the timer expires. Once the system selects a new criteria, we move."
Faelan nodded.
"Sounds reasonable."
And so began the longest seventy-two hours of Kaelen's life.
Tactical Hibernation
Varen found them an abandoned root cellar beneath a defunct potion brewery.
It smelled like mold, damp wood, and failed transmutations.
For three days, the Crisis Management Team lived like a military unit trapped under siege.
Kaelen spent most of his time in the darkest corner of the cellar performing one-fingered push-ups.
He refused to look at anyone.
He barely spoke.
Every few minutes, he checked his heart rate.
If it climbed above fifty, he stopped whatever he was doing and began meditating.
Elara sat beside a flickering candle and used the forced downtime to write six new chapters of her romance novel.
Every so often, she would glance toward Kaelen.
"Commander?"
Silence.
"How would you describe the scent of weaponized masculine dominance?"
Kaelen continued doing push-ups.
Elara nodded thoughtfully.
"I'll take that as 'smoky.'"
Brother Oat spent the seventy-two hours carving an incredibly detailed wooden duck.
He also occasionally forced Kaelen to eat protein-rich tubers.
Kaelen never asked where he found them.
Ignis stood guard at the cellar entrance.
His water cannon remained fully pressurized and aimed directly at Kaelen.
When Elara asked why, Ignis answered simply.
"If the Commander hallucinates an authority figure in the walls, immediate intervention will be required."
Faelan was the only member allowed outside.
Every evening, he disappeared into the city.
Every morning, he returned covered in sewer muck and increasingly irritated.
"Nothing."
Day one.
"Still nothing."
Day two.
"Found three false entrances, two cursed toilets, and a cult worshipping a sentient filing cabinet."
Day three.
Finally, just before dawn on the fourth day, the cellar door flew open.
Faelan stumbled inside, covered in grime.
"I found it."
Kaelen stopped halfway through a push-up.
Sweat dripped from his chin.
Faelan leaned against the doorway, trying to catch his breath.
"Section Four of the undercity. Old aqueducts."
He pointed behind himself.
"There's a fake brick wall. Behind it is the entrance."
Kaelen slowly lowered himself to the floor.
"The Sloth?"
Faelan nodded.
"She's there."
Kaelen checked his HUD.
The timer was almost finished.
"Timing."
"Ten seconds!"
Varen shouted.
He stared anxiously at a pocket watch synchronized to Kaelen's original curse reading.
Kaelen closed his eyes.
The familiar bell rang inside his skull.
Louder than ever.
The pink HUD illuminated the darkness behind his eyelids.
[ SYSTEM ALERT: WEEKLY CRITERIA TIMER EXPIRED ]
[ PURGING PREVIOUS PARAMETERS... ]
[ ANALYZING NEW ENVIRONMENT... ]
Kaelen stood.
His hand moved toward Diplomacy.
"Ignis."
The Golem raised his water cannon.
"Safety off."
"Already done."
Kaelen took a breath.
"Brace for impact."
The system flickered.
[ PROCESSING... ]
[ PROCESSING... ]
Then the final notification appeared.
[ NEW CRITERIA LOCKED: "DEPRESSED SHUT-INS" ]
Silence.
Kaelen stared at the message.
Then he exhaled.
It was the deepest, most relieved sigh anyone in the cellar had ever heard.
The tension finally drained from his shoulders.
The pink tint faded.
The HUD settled into its usual dormant state.
Elara slowly lowered her notebook.
"Status?"
Kaelen turned toward them.
For the first time in days, there was something resembling a genuine smile on his scarred face.
"Threat averted."
He looked at the notification again.
"The new criteria is [DEPRESSED SHUT-INS]."
He straightened.
"Individuals who refuse to leave their dwellings, lack ambition, and shun society."
A confident nod.
"This is highly advantageous."
He looked around.
"We are in a city filled with ambitious magical scholars. The demographic of depressed shut-ins in Mystara should be practically nonexistent."
Varen collapsed against a barrel.
"Thank the forge."
He clutched his chest.
"I don't have to watch you seduce a lamppost this week."
Kaelen immediately began putting his armor back on.
"Suit up."
The team started gathering their equipment.
"We have a clear path to the target."
He looked toward Faelan.
"Lead us to the Dusty Tome."
Kaelen locked his gauntlets into place.
"We interrogate this Sloth and find out how to delete the Demon Queen's glitch."
Faelan nodded.
He turned toward the cellar entrance.
His hand touched the doorframe.
Then he stopped.
Very slowly, he looked back.
"Commander."
His voice was completely flat.
"Repeat the exact wording of the new criteria."
Kaelen frowned.
"[DEPRESSED SHUT-INS]."
He finished securing his armor.
"Individuals who refuse to leave their dwellings, lack ambition, and shun society."
He looked at Faelan.
"Why?"
Elara gasped.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
Varen's pocket watch slipped from his fingers.
It hit the stone floor.
Crack.
Ignis slowly raised his water cannon.
The barrel pointed directly at Kaelen's face.
Kaelen looked around.
"What?"
Faelan rubbed his temples.
"Because, Commander..."
He took a long breath.
"We are currently on our way to interrogate an information broker named The Sloth."
Kaelen's expression began to change.
"A woman."
Faelan continued.
"Who has not left her basement in three years."
Kaelen's face went pale.
"She wears nothing but a bathrobe."
The water cannon remained aimed at his head.
"And she hates the outside world."
Silence filled the root cellar.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Kaelen stared at Faelan.
The color slowly drained from his battle-hardened face.
Somewhere deep inside his mind, the pink HUD began pulsing.
Once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat.
Kaelen swallowed.
He looked toward the cellar exit.
Then at Ignis's hose.
Then back at Faelan.
"Tactical assessment."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"My life is over."
The HUD chimed.
[ TARGET ACQUIRED ]
Kaelen closed his eyes.
'Of course.'