Under the fallen trunk, the camp settles into a hush. Leaves knit a low wall around the shelter, and the root-choked clearing beyond stays still.
Rosemary kneels over the supplies, sorting shells, cord, and scraps of food into careful piles. She keeps glancing up, as if order itself might keep the forest polite.
Stella Nabokov
Well. This is cozier than a beach panic, at least.
Stella idly taps her tambourine against her knee, then lets the jingles whisper once before she stills them. Her long blonde hair spills across the leaf litter like a banner she has forgotten to fold.
Kazeki
We have cover, dry ground, and no screaming beasts. I count that as luck.
Yama sits near the shelter mouth, broad shoulders relaxed for the first time since the beach. He watches the clearing, then the others, steady as a guardstone.
Rosemary
If we are staying here, I can make a better inventory. We should know exactly what we have.
The little camp breathes easier. For a moment, the forest outside is only trees, and the four of them have room to talk.
✓ Quest Accepted
Learn how to get home
“Ask if anyone has her of the Hag Suzanne.”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +0)
Young Dave.
Has anyone heard of a hag named Suzanne?
The question hangs in the shelter like a thrown pebble. Rosemary looks up first, brows pinched in thought.
Rosemary
Suzanne... no, not from any of the books I know. But hags do turn up in folk tales under different names.
Stella Nabokov
Suzanne sounds exactly like the sort of name a spiteful swamp crone would choose for herself.
Kazeki
If you seek one hag, ask what she is known to do. Names travel, deeds last longer.
Yama
If this Suzanne has wronged you, we should remember her shape, her habits, any trail she leaves.
Rosemary finally smiles, small but real, and reaches across the sorted supplies to nudge a bundle toward Young Dave. The forest stays distant, the old screech only a memory in the leaves.
Rosemary
Help me sort these, and tell us everything you remember. Between the five of us, we may know more than we think.
“Help Rosemary sort while explaining that I'm from a different world and Suzanne sent me here as punishment for not having spare change to give her.”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +0)
Young Dave. starts sorting by feel, sliding damp leaves from a knot of cord and setting aside a cracked tin cup. His big sword rests close by while Rosemary works beside him, patient and quick.
Young Dave.
I am from another world. Suzanne sent me here because I would not give her spare change.
The bundle stills in Rosemary’s hands. Stella’s fingers pause on the tambourine rim, and Kazeki looks up as if weighing a map that just changed shape.
Rosemary
Another world... that explains more than I expected, and less than I need.
Kazeki
A curse over coin, then. Petty magic can still carry far, if it has spite behind it.
Yama
If this hag cast you out, then she is part of your road home. We should learn what kind of road she makes.
Stella Nabokov
Well. That is the most miserable travel story I have heard today, and I have met poets in rainstorms.
Rosemary passes him the sorted pile again, but her smile is thinner now, thoughtful instead of easy. The camp remains quiet, though the word hag settles over the supplies like a cold draft.
Rosemary
Then we sort, we remember, and we look for a way that is yours, not hers. Tell me exactly what Suzanne looked like.
“Describe a massive gray skinned woman with thin hair and hook like teeth covered in pustules.”
FAILURE (Good Reasoning, rolled -3)
“Describe a massive gray skinned woman with thin hair and hook like teeth covered in pustules.”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +1)
Rosemary leans in over the supplies, waiting. The camp goes very still, as if even the roots are listening.
Young Dave.
Massive gray skin. Thin hair. Hook teeth. Pustules all over.
As Young Dave. describes her, the others picture it with him. Rosemary’s face tightens, not with fear, but with recognition of a real shape in the world.
Rosemary
Gray skin and hooked teeth... that sounds like old hag-craft. The pustules matter, too, marks like that are often named in stories for a reason.
Kazeki
Thin hair, ugly mouth, body marked by blight. Yes, that is a face men remember after surviving it.
Yama
Then we are not chasing a rumor. We are naming an enemy.
Stella Nabokov
Charming. I was hoping for a more flattering portrait, but this will do for identification.
Rosemary sets one hand on the sorted pile and the other near Young Dave., steadying the small circle around him. The party’s attention holds together, but the question of Suzanne now feels sharper, more exact.
“Suggest we find a library or something so we can look up more information.”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +2)
Young Dave.
Maybe we should look for a library, or somewhere with books. If Suzanne is real, somebody has written about her.
Rosemary
A sensible lead. A proper library could have local histories, bestiaries, folk remedies, even maps.
Kazeki
Then we stop guessing at tracks in the dirt and start asking the world’s records.
Stella Nabokov
Books, secrets, and a hag with pustules. Honestly, that sounds more promising than most roads.
Yama
If a library exists near here, we go with care. Knowledge can guide us, but it can also draw attention.
Rosemary straightens, already imagining shelves and ledgers instead of roots and leaves. The circle loosens by a breath, not breaking, but opening into purpose.
Beyond the shelter, the forest gives one far-off screech, and the memory of that fleeing dog hangs in the quiet like a warning. No one laughs at the plan now.
✓ Quest Accepted
Find a library
“Suggest that after breakfast we head back to the beach and find a stream or road, since one of those should lead back to civilization.”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled -1)
Young Dave.
After breakfast, we head back to the beach. From there, we look for a stream or a road. One of those should lead back to civilization.
Rosemary nods at once, already folding the plan into order. Yama lowers his watchful stance a little, and Kazeki gives one sharp, approving grunt.
Rosemary
A shoreline gives us bearings, and water or a road gives us a thread. That is sound.
Stella Nabokov
Good. I was starting to feel married to these roots.
Kazeki
We move before the forest decides to speak again.
Young Dave. shifts the big sword aside and the supply bundle slides closer to his knee, jostling a pouch loose. Rosemary catches it before it hits the dirt, but a few berries spill anyway.
The group gathers them together in the same motion, hands brushing over the same small loss, and the tight circle feels less like waiting and more like a crew. Beyond the shelter, another faint screech threads through the trees, and this time nobody looks at one another to ask what it means.