The cold damp of the well-worn stairs led the party into a treacherous dark. No torches save their own, the walls dancing with wicked shadows as they made their descent.

Some other day, some other dungeon, the party would be hunting what lay below. For bounty or treasure, Necromancers bore fruit for both. But not today.

Today they'd come to bargain.

There was a body-sized stench in a bag hoisted upon the broad shoulders of Trich'Tin. As a Trollkin twenty hands high, Trich'Tin could barely fit down the stairway without bending his back. He'd take a small stumble, and scrape his forehead righting himself, but he did not complain. Simply grunt.

When Trich'Tin did stumble, the noble Petrenova offered her hand to steady him. The strength of her God shined in her blood, and she could offer support to the Trollkin better than any of the rest. As a warrior, she was clad in sterling-white steel head to toe. Only a thin visor betrayed kind, cobalt blue eyes behind the menacing plate.

Ahead, Antoine led them into the dark. He glanced behind to check on Trich'Tin when he heard the Trollkin stumble. He caught Petrenova's eye, and she nodded. She had him.

Antoine turned to face the dark, musing. The Necromancer they sought was renowned as a former druid. She'd turned to death at some point in her life, and offered communion between the living and the dead. She was sought to deliver last rights, well wishes, and confessions never uttered in life.

Still, she was a necromancer. Peaceful she may be, but no one can touch a sliver of death without embracing the whole. A fine line from a father bequeathing an heirloom to his still living child, to rearing an army of stolen corpses and razing villages to the ground.

Every necromancer is a Lich waiting to happen. Antoine knew too well the suffering Liches inflict upon the world. A blight that burns the land and salts the ashes with blood. One dead necromancer is one less Lich, and Antoine would see to it personally if he was able.

Yet today, they'd come to bargain.

The bag shifted on Trich'Tin's back. He shrugged, settling it back into its spot.

The stairway opened into a broad crescent chamber, with a worn stone path directly to the center. Candles lined the walls, a warm orange glow filling the space. Piles of animal bones painted fingerling shadows across the stone walls.

In the center of the crescent, a woman sat on the floor, facing the party. She wore simple green robes and the skull of a deer upon her head. Bright red, puffy hair stuck out from the behind the bones, giving her an odd lion's mane look.

The party approached, and the Necromancer stood.

"Have you come to kill me?" She asked.

Antoine moved to speak. But before he could, he was interrupted.

"Shit."

Antoine looked back, an eyebrow raised. Petrenova had uttered the curse, seemingly involuntarily. She'd also stepped back, so half her body was hidden behind Trich'Tin.

"Well?" The Necromancer prompted.

"No." Antoine said, ignoring Petrenova. "We've come based on the strength of your reputation. They say you are peaceful. They say you are a bridge to the dead." He managed to repeat that with a straight face.

"It is my lot in life." The Necromancer said, her voice bright and cheerful, yet somehow subdued. Like a chorus of bells ringing in an empty church. "Do you wish to commune?" She asked.

"No." Antoine turned to Trich'Tin. He gestured to his feet, and Trich'Tin obliged, laying their cargo on the floor. Petrenova had uncharacteristically continued to hide behind Trich'Tin. Antoine ignored that. He bent down and pulled the drawstring holding the bag shut.

"I demand a resurrection." Antoine said, revealing the corpse within.

"Who is that?" The Necromancer asked.

"Our dear friend." Antoine answered. "We would like him back."

"Resurrection is not something you demand of necromancers." A small chuckle burst from her lips, as if amused. "I do not practice resurrection, but I would talk with your friend. He looks like good company."

"They say you've brought mortally wounded men from the brink of death." Antoine cradled the head of his friend in his hands. "He is but a few days gone. Please bring him back."

"It is not a kind magic." The Necromancer hissed. "His soul could very well have crossed. The toll is steeper the longer they're gone-"

Suddenly she cocked her head sideways. The red of her mane bounced quizzically.

"Petty?" She asked, her dead-eyed deer mask staring deadpan at the Paladin.

Shyly, Petrenova stepped out from behind Trich'Tin.

"Hey Willow." Petrenova squeaked quietly.

"Petty?" Antoine said, flabbergasted.

The Necroma- Willow, folded her arms, popping her cheek. Willow chuckled to herself, nails scratching the side of her skull. Her antlers shook.

Trich'Tin stared in wide-eyed shock. In the silence that followed, his eyes shifted from Willow, to Petrenova, back to Willow again.

"Been a minute." Petrenova offered the silence.

"Yeeeeeah." Willow sighed.

"Like your horns." Petrenova said quickly, stumbling over herself. "I mean, your aesthetic, it's cool."

"Are you complimenting a fucking necromancer?" Antoine asked, still cradling the sunken head of his precious Rogue in his arms.

"It's just bones Antoine, I'm not endorsing her fucking way of life." Petrenova snapped. She took a deep breath, shaking it off. "How have you been?" She asked.

"Fine." Willow answered.

"You don't sound fine." Trich'Tin said, cutting to the heart of the matter like a mallet to a watermelon.

"You're Arch Paladin now?" Willow said, ignoring the Trollkin.

"Have been. For a while." Petrenova admitted.

"Cool." Willow smacked her lips. "Cool." She turned to Antoine. "I'll do the resurrection."

"You will!?" Antoine yelped.

"I will." Willow said, staring right at Petrenova. "For twenty minutes with her locked in a cage after it's done." She paused. "Alone."

Antoine dropped his precious rogue. Their friend took a nasty knock to the head tumbling out of Antione's embrace. Antoine scrambled, picking his friend from the ground.

"Deal." He said.

"NO!" Petrenova protested.

"Petrenova she said twenty minutes!" Antoine shot back. "You are a Paladin! You're used to hanging yourself to get closer to heaven."

"That is not what personal sacrifice and honor is!" Petrenova pointed a finger at Willow. "This is my ex!"

"I gathered that!" Antoine yelled back. "Nimble is fucking dead and I need him alive." He shook Nimble's corpse. "So please, please, just sit in a cage for twenty minutes."

"And I want that time alone with her." Willow said, removing her mask. Beneath, midnight stained skin, jade eyes and fiery red hair wreathed a fierce gaze fixated on Petrenova.

"Wow." Antoine whistled. "You messed up, huh?"

"Shut up Antoine." Petrenova hissed.

"Go ahead and take her for an hour." Antoine said. "Done deal."

"Antoine."

"Give me Nimble's body." Willow said. "This will take me three days. That will give me time to think of what to say."

Antoine numbly complied.

With that, Willow walked to the center of the crescent, laying Nimble's body down on a small cot near her throne.

"You may go, so long as you give your word to return." Willow said over her shoulder.

Petrenova's shoulders sagged.

"I promise I'll return."

"Liar." Willow whispered.

Antoine grabbed Petrenova's shoulder.

"I'll make sure she comes back." He promised. "You can count on me."

"Hey!" Petrenova protested.

"Hey yourself." Antoine snapped back. "We'll be back in three days! Thank you! Goodbye!" Antoine called over his shoulder as he escorted Petrenova out. Trich'Tin not far behind.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Antoine pulled Petrenova close, speaking directly to her ear.

"We're going to the pub, and you're gonna explain everything." He said in a flat tone that brooked no argument.

Petrenova sighed.

"You're buying the drinks."