“I’m just saying, I think you should forgive her,” Hadrian conjured a ball of roiling thunder and launched it at the bandits. “She already apologized, like, ten times.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Sandra called her cursed knife into her hand, flinging it at a nearby bandit who’d been cocky enough to wear a cape. Her knife pinned the cape to a tree, and she winced as a small cut opened on her arm. Right, trees are a living creature.

Hadrian shrugged, sidestepping an arrow and taking a little bottle out of his component pouch. He sprinkled a drop of something on Sandra, and her wounds began to close up, albeit slowly. “She’s your friend. She’s sorry. What’s complicated about it?”

A particularly beefy bandit with a greataxe lunged at the both of them, swinging his weapon ferociously. Sandra ducked back and Hadrian caught the attack on his mage armor, leaving room for Sandra to sidestep around the bandit and slice an umbral knife through the tendons on the back of his legs. The single attack wounded him critically, right in the sweet spot, and he went down with a spray of blood and scream of rage.

Sandra wiped off her face, scanning the battlefield. “It’s a matter of trust. She put us all at risk when she lied.”

There were a baker’s dozen bandits in total. Or, well, there had been, four of them were already down. Quinn was directly engaging with three, while Tarja loosed arrows from a vantage point in a tree, chipping away at their opponents with relative impunity.

One of the bandits, wielding a fairly impressive glinting sword, called, “Get the book and run!”

“Oooh.” Sandra smacked her forehead in realization. “They’re here for the ledger!”

She ducked an attack and stabbed a bandit in the armpit, then jumped five feet back to get closer to their pack horse.

Raising her voice, she called over to Quinn, “I told you to watch what you said at that pub!”

Whirling, Quinn’s lacey dress spun and flounced as he brought his hammer down. The attack struck so hard that it carried one bandit into the next and knocked both to the ground. “Sorry!”

“Just keep it in mind next time!”

Three black darts appeared in the air at Hadrian’s call, magic missiles that launched themselves with fervor at a nearby bandit. “See what I mean? Quinn made a mistake that put us at risk too, but you’re forgiving him!”

“It’s different.” Sandra called her cursed knife back to her hand, unpinning the bandit whose cape she’d skewered just in time for Tarja’s arrows to make a pincushion out of him.

Sandra could clock the bandit leader instantly from the magical glow on his gear. She waved her hand at the ground beneath him, a bit of innate magic turning the terrain slick and precarious, buying a window for Quinn to storm up behind him and lay down a beating with his hammer.

Let’s not let Quinn have all the fun, she thought, running in to take advantage of the leader’s precarious position. He tried–and failed–to split his attention between two targets, missing her feint and giving Sandra the opening to drive her dagger through a particularly tender area.

Only a handful of bandits remained, and they looked rather wary now that the bulk of their team had been taken out.

Sandra watched them all, doing a count in her head. Three standing, nine down… weren’t there thirteen of you a minute ago?

“Runner!” Hadrian called, pointing as one of the bandits sprinted away from the pack horse, a heavy book in tow. He’d slipped in and grabbed the ledger while they were busy with the rest of the combat.

Sneaky rat, Sandra thought.

“Got him!” Tarja called, aiming and loosing her arrows, two shots back-to-back.

The bandit went down, book tumbling from his grasp.

At that, the rest of the bandits fled. The battle was complete.

* * * Level Up * * *

“Mind grabbing that?” Sandra asked Quinn, pointing to the ledger. He nodded, jogging over to retrieve the book.

“Man, I don’t know what it is, but I’m feeling good,” Hadrian said, stretching out his arms. “Did that fight feel too easy to you?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure,” Sandra nodded. She felt it too, the sense that her practice, training, and most of all her experience had finally paid off in a big way. She just felt stronger than she had that morning. “I’d never say a fight was too easy, but it certainly wasn’t a challenge.”

“Anyways.” Hadrian looked at Sandra, waiting for her to make eye contact. “You can’t stay mad at Tarja forever. It’s bad for the party.”

“Don’t.” Sandra shook her head. “It’s not going to be forever, but I need time.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

Walking back with the ledger, Quinn called out, “I think this fight calls for a celebration!”

“It was just some bandits,” Sandra said. “Nothing too dangerous.”

“Nonsense. It was a momentous battle! We slayed the evil doers and saved the dusty old book! Tonight, we feast!”

“You want to feast every night,” Tarja smirked, putting aside her bow.

Quinn gave a toothy grin. “Well tonight we’ve got an excuse. Feasting is on me!”

Sandra paused before assenting. They could use the morale boost. “Tonight, we feast.”

While Hadrian checked everyone’s injuries and applied a little healing where he could, Sandra inspected the bodies of the bandits. Most held little of value, and nothing at all by way of identification. The leader was thoroughly dead, but he had had a journal along with his glimmering magical sword and a fancy, though mundane, ring. She happily lifted all three from him.

Most of the bandits were still breathing, albeit in bad shape. Once their weapons were confiscated, Sandra helped stabilize them all so they wouldn’t bleed out on the road.

“Suppose the city guard comes out this far?” Hadrian asked.

“Maybe, maybe not, but I think they’ve learned their lessons,” Sandra replied, looking at the barely-conscious bandits.

One of them had the wherewithal to string a few words together, mixed in with some coughs and painful wheezing. “Bunch of… diapered freaks!”

“Freaks who kicked your ass without even trying,” Sandra pointed out. “Trust me, you don’t want to find out what we do to enemies that actually annoy us.”

“We should get moving, in case they’ve got more friends,” Tarja said.

Hadrian opened his mouth, and from his expression Sandra knew what he was about to say. ‘If more show up, we’ll trounce them like we did the first group’. Catching Sandra’s eyes, though, he course corrected mid-sentence. “If more… I mean, Tarja has a good point.”

Sandra sighed. Tarja was right, but Sandra didn’t need Hadrian to play friendship matchmaker. “City’s not far, and we’ve got quests to turn in. Let’s start walking.”

They rolled into town like heroes, though their absurd costumes rendered them heroes of a comedy. Sandra’s visibly bulging diaper poked out from her clothes, Hadrian had stopped bothering to hide his latex and heels, and Quinn wore his dress without shame. Tarja was the only one able to cover up her cursed apparel, but she was arguably the most cursed one in the party.

Sandra told the city guards about the bandits they’d encountered. After establishing her guild credentials, she gave the guardsman the journal she’d found, directions up the path to where they’d had their fight, and an estimate of how many had gotten away.

That done, they were let through the gate without trouble.

Their next stop was the Calistrian temple, to unload the ledger. The evening’s holy debauchery had yet to start; stripping poles were still being cleaned and the all-you-can-eat-buffet in the corner was still just a series of empty metal trays over tea warmers. Janet was out and directing the placement of torches to light the shows.

“Can someone get Janet the ledger and go over the details of the mission with her while I go find Gwyndomere and–”

“I’ll do it!” Hadrian volunteered.

“Right, sure,” Sandra said. “Everyone else, just kill some time, I’ve got to go see a man about a curse.”

Hadrian rushed off to go talk to Janet–or, since she was in her skimpy dancing costume, it was probably appropriate to call her by Serendipity–and Sandra walked back to the high priest’s rectory, rapping on the door.

“Come in!” he called, his voice a low, sultry melody.

Sandra opened the door. The priest was sitting at an ornate wooden desk, leaning over a series of scrolls with an intent expression. He had a side window open, so that the sound of the street market outside could drift in as background noise to his work. Looking up at Sandra, he smiled.

“How went your quest?” Gwyndomere asked.

“We found what we were searching for,” Sandra replied, walking up and taking a seat across from him. “Nobody was seriously hurt or cursed any more than we already were. All told, it was a win.”

“No one was physically hurt,” he said.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gwyndomere leaned forward, his expression restrained. “I’ve known you and yours for only a few fleeting moments, but even I can see the rifts forming. Your party is cracking.”

“That wasn’t because of the quest.” Sandra balled a hand into a fist, looking off to the side. “It would have happened no matter what we did.”

“Still. Take care, that you don’t break apart completely and… ah. Very good.”

Sandra blinked. “Excuse me?”

He ignored her for a moment, scooting his chair back and looking in the space beneath his desk where Sandra couldn’t see. “You’re improving, but don’t overuse your tongue. Restraint goes as far as inhibition.”

A priest of Calistra clambered out, wiping his mouth on his holy robes before bowing, first to Gwyndomere, then to Sandra. He mumbled, “Thank you.”

Sandra blinked. “I… was he…”

“A student in the art of fellatio,” Gwyndomere explained, as the priest hurried out of his rectory. “But never mind that. I am once again in need of your services, if we are to cure your cursed compatriot. With the ledger, we have one end of the spectrum of sensation; the epitome of profound boredom. Now we need the other end of that spectrum.”

That was good. Sandra liked talking about business, it was something she could focus on that didn’t feel confusing or out of her depth. “Tell me.”

…

“Another fetch quest?” Hadrian groaned, but beneath his complaint he was grinning. It was hard to be upset when they were flush with gold.

“I think that calls for another round!” Quinn added, cheerfully holding up his mug to signal the barmaid.

“It’s not really a fetch quest,” Sandra said. “I mean, we’re literally fetching something, but the High Priest made it sound like the hard part will be carrying it back, not just getting to it.”

“I’m glad for the work,” Hadrian said, “But why send us again? Surely he could have sent another party to do this while we were busy getting the ledger.”

“We’re uniquely situated to carry the relic on account of, well…” Sandra paused, glancing up as the tall, busty barmaid came by their table. “Pardon, could we get some of whatever you’ve got roasting over that fire? Our barbarian is hungry.”

The barmaid glanced at Quinn, who was as tall and busty as her, though the maid had longer hair. “Sure thing. And, dear,” she leaned in to Sandra, speaking quietly. “Your unmentionables are showing.”

Sandra glanced back at the waistband of her diaper, which was unmistakable peeking over the top of her pants. “I know, it’s a curse,” she explained, sighing. “But thanks for telling me.” At least it had self-cleaned before they came in to feast, she didn’t particularly want the barmaid telling her that she needed a change.

“Tsk,” the barmaid said, standing up straight. “What’s the plane coming to these days? When I was an adventurer, you just had to deal with good, old-fashioned dismemberment and torture. None of this extended humiliation. World’s gone mad, I tell you.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Quinn said.

“You’ll drink to anything,” Tarja pointed out, holding her own drink in both hands so that her trembling fingers wouldn’t cause it to spill.

“Anyways,” Sandra said. “He was vague on the details, but it sounds like we’re, eh… already afflicted in such a way that it will limit what the relic can do.”

“So it’s a sex thing,” Quinn said.

“Yeah. It’s a sex thing. We’ll be getting the exact properties of the artefact in two days time.”

Hadrian tilted his head. “Why then?”

“Because he told me two day’s time.” Sandra shrugged. “I didn’t press the subject. What I do know is that we’ll need to leave town again, to head up to a temple and cross into another realm.”

“Plane of order again?” Hadrian asked.

“No,” Sandra said. “It’s not even a proper plane, it’s too small. I couldn’t pronounce the name, it was in Celestial, but it’s a zone of… well, sex stuff.”

Quinn snorted. Everyone glanced at him, and he clarified, “It’s an erogenous zone.”

The whole table groaned.

…

Part of Sandra was tempted to use their two days to find another small quest. Surely there had to be something profitable to do around town while they waited, but when she brought this up to the party, Quinn only said, “Don’t call me Shirley.”

So, they took a break. They deserved it, anyways, after everything they’d been through, and it gave time for shopping.

With the coin from the last quest weighing down her pockets, Sandra went out to market. It was perhaps a bit conceited, but she wanted a new outfit. Her current clothes revealed her diapers a little too much, and it was time to fix that.

Her search, it seemed, was in vain. A dozen merchant stalls and twice as many outfits, and each of them proved capable of wardrobe malfunctions. Skirts grew too short to hide her diaper, and dresses seemed to constantly catch the wind, billowing up in her face. Pants slid down to expose the waistband, bodysuits shrunk until the outline of her diaper was plainly visible, and cloaks would always hang back without concealing anything.

She finally gave up after trying a toga, which simply slipped off her shoulder as she walked about the merchant’s tent, testing its fit. The other customers all gawked at her, nearly-naked, damp diaper sagging, and she retreated to the changing room in humiliated defeat.

Leather armor and a visible waistband would have to do.

Once that avenue was explored and dismissed, she turned her focus to practical matters. She had the party’s purse as well as her own cash to spend, and plenty of gear to pick up. Party rations were running low, and she had some ideas of how to equip herself as well.

There were shops aplenty with magical gear, but she went first to a market square a bit to the north of the city. It was well guarded; guild merchants paid for protection so they could sell their wares openly without fear of thieves, and so customers could rest easy knowing the only person who’d dip into their coin purse was the merchant they bought from.

A bard had taken up by the fountain in the square, wandering with a lute around his neck and a song in his throat. An inverted hat floated around his ankles, darting out to take coins from passing shoppers. When they paid, he sang them a complimentary couplet, weaving it perfectly into his song.

Sandra listened for a minute, but she’d heard better, and she didn’t see a reason to waste a copper coin on a compliment. She moved on, inspecting a cart of magical apparel. A pair of leather boots caught her eye, and the faint aura of transmutation over them caught her interest.

“The boots,” she asked. “Striding and Springing?”

“Ah, good eye,” the cart merchant said. “With these, you’ll be quick as a monk.”

“Monks can be pretty quick,” she said. “May I?”

With confidence that the city guards would stop any theft, the shopkeeper nodded. “Help yourself.”

She took them from the shelf, using a nearby stool to unlace her current boots so she could try the new ones on. While she did, a hat floated over to her, bumping against her leg.

“A coin, from the pretty elf?” the bard called. “Let me sing your praise, m’lady.”

“I’ve got no coin for you,” she replied. “I worked for this money, and I need to spend it practically, not on songs.”

The bard tsk’ed. “But you listened. Surely you can spare a copper piece for my trouble?”

She rolled her eyes at him, tying the laces on the first boot.

The hat bobbed away, but the bard struck a loud chord, calling out, “A song, then! For the elf with the callous heart!”

Sandra shut her eyes and set her jaw. Of course. Complements for those who pay, mockery for those who don’t. And given the crinkling waistband protruding from her pants, she knew just what the mockery was going to be about.

She ignored him and resumed trying on the boots, while his song started up, particularly loud.

“A show of hands, then, who all could tell she was an adventurer just by the smell?” he called. That got chuckles, and when the bard broke into verse, it had more listeners than any of his previous works. Nobody wanted to be a bard’s target, but watching someone else get eviscerated bought him a rapt audience.

The tune was jaunty and upbeat, the sort of thing that could get a whole tavern singing along if the patrons had enough liquor to lubricate their voices. “Long live Sandra the heartless, a near-escape failure’s her greatest success! Scoffing and spitting is what she does best, her cleverest plans, a hunch and a guess, but still in the guild she lingers!”

Sandra scowled and shot him a glare, but the lyrics surprised her. The insults were…not totally off base, but were oddly toothless. When she’d seen bards grow vengeful in the past, they cut with wit like a razor, but he had only a dagger.

“Your song sucks,” she called, standing straight and testing the boots with a gentle hop. She felt light as air, a spring in her step that quickened her pace.

“Ah, you think of your mother!” he called back. A cheap joke, but the crowd laughed as he rolled into the second verse. “Her party’s a lot of miserable fools, her only true skill’s using friends as her tools, her confidants hate her, they think that she’s cruel, they think her as thick as an ogrekin’s drool, but still in her party, they linger!”

Okay, that was too far. Insult her, that was fine, but insult her party and she couldn’t let it stand.

“This is what passes for comedy these days?” she demanded, marching up to him with perhaps a bit more haste than she’d intended. She told herself it was the boots, not her anger. “A stock verse? Where’s the wit in that?”

“Stock?” he asked, tilting his head innocently, strumming the chorus out and speaking in a light rhythm. The song hadn’t ended, it was only in reprieve. “You wound me, but I suppose that’s to be expected from Sandra the Heartless.”

“I’ve heard better cold readings from a two bit fortune teller,” she snapped.

“Why,” he said, “What makes you think I haven’t tailored my insults just for you?”

“Because, you haven’t mentioned my diaper!” she snapped.

Everyone watching, which by now seemed to be the entire courtyard, stared. Then the laughter started.

The bard flashed her a devilish grin. “Witless as I’d hoped,” he whispered for her ears only, before raising his voice. “If you insist! Long live Sandra the heartless! She’s not potty trained and of that she’ll attest! Filling her trousers is what she does best. She’ll only change when her diapers are messed, but still, the smell, it lingers!”

Sandra flushed bright red, feeling the utter fool; she’d fallen right into his trap. Just commenting on her diaper might have gotten him some cheap laughs, but baiting her into shouting it out for all to hear first–that made his punchlines hit all the harder.

She whirled and started to march away, but the boots still needed to be paid for. She had to trudge back to the cart and count out payment, all the while the bard repeated the chorus, convincing the crowd to sing along with ‘filling her trousers is what she does best’. The boots paid for, she set her shoulders and trudged out of the courtyard, hiding how red her cheeks had become.

The jokes about her diaper brought up her most self-conscious thoughts, but the embarrassment faded quickly. This was the wizard’s doing, if only indirectly, setting her up for humiliation.

No, what ate away at Sandra long after the blush was gone from her cheeks was the second verse. The one about her party. It’d been tailored to rankle her, and it had worked because she feared he was right.

They didn’t trust her, and with good reason. Whether the bard had known, or whether his song had been a guess, the shoe fit her perfectly.

She kept trudging, head down, until she couldn’t hear the market anymore. She’d gone from one courtyard to another, though this one was populated with food and creature comforts, everything from fresh fruit to pastries to roasted meat spinning over spits.

Sandra was so caught up in her brooding that she almost didn’t notice Quinn until he stepped right up in front of her.

“Sandra!” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. He wasn’t in his armored dress, instead wearing trousers and a loose travelling shirt that almost hid his breasts. “Turkey?”

He offered her a turkey leg that was clutched in his left hand–of course, he’d bought two, though the other was gnawed almost to the bone.

She shook her head. “Weren’t you with Hadrian?”

“He had business at the temple,” Quinn said. “Something about Janet.”

Sandra considered the time. Janet–Serendipity–would be on stage right about now. At least he’s having a better afternoon than me, she thought.

“You’re in a foul mood,” Quinn commented. “Do you need–”

“NO!” Sandra snapped. “I don’t need a diaper change, and I’d appreciate if people stopped bringing it up.”

“Someone to talk to.” Quinn finished.

“Oh.” She looked away, and nearly turned him down, but she couldn’t quite say no.

“Here.” Quinn offered her the turkey leg. “Find a place to sit. I’ll be back.”

“I’m not taking your food,” Sandra said. “You paid for it.”

“Hunger makes all moods worse,” Quinn recited. It sounded like old orcish wisdom.

She took it, and looked around for a bench. Indecisively, she took a bite of the turkey leg once she’d sat down.

It was good. Crispy skin, tender flesh…she did feel a bit better with some food in her belly.

Quinn returned a minute later with two wooden tankards of ale, foaming over the rim. He passed one to her. “Drink.”

“Quinn, you don’t need to mother m–”

“Drink. Food in your belly, ale in your heart, then we talk.”

She took the tankard and sipped, foam bubbling on her lip like a mustache.

“You’re upset about Tarja,” Quinn said. “That she lied to you. I understand how you feel.”

“It’s not that,” Sandra looked away. “I…I mean, I am. But it’s more why she lied.”

Quinn nodded. “You take on too much guilt. It’s not your fault she was cursed.”

“Maybe.” Sandra looked down at her reflection in the ale. “But it is my fault that she didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s–”

“Yeah, I know. I know I’m playing the fool, that my thoughts are ridiculous. I’m still having them,” she said. “I’m not strong enough, not smart enough, for her to trust me. Tarja didn’t say anything because she thought I couldn’t take it. She thought I couldn’t deal with the stress of knowing she was struggling. And…”

She trailed off. Quinn listened, patiently.

“And if I say it’s no problem, that she’s forgiven, then I admit she was right.”

Sandra drained the rest of the tankard and set it aside.

“Sandra,” Quinn said.

“I know. I already said it, I’m being ridiculous.”

“No. Well, yes, but–no.” He shook his head. “You’re missing the point of forgiving her.”

“Sure,” Sandra shrugged.

“Did you know I had six sisters?” Quinn asked.

She was taken off guard by the non sequitur. “No.”

“All older than me. I think my mum wished I was a girl, so she’d have a complete set.” He chuckled, glancing down. “They taught me to fight. You can imagine–one boy with six older sisters, I had trouble keeping up. We wrestled, we roughhoused, it’s probably why I was such a quick study in the army.”

“Where are you going with this?” Sandra asked.

“When I was fourteen, one of my sisters stabbed me in the chest with a pitchfork. Almost died. We’d been playing at being knights in the barn, and, well…yeah. She stabbed me in the chest. With a pitchfork.”

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not a bard, alright?” he shrugged. “I didn’t talk to her for a week. She kept insisting it was my own fault, since any blind idiot could have blocked, she didn’t really mean to hit me. And I thought she was right.”

Sandra looked up at him. “So what’d you do?”

“She had this boy she was sweet on, brought him back to the barn for a roll in the hay. I tossed a beehive in there and shut the door.” He chuckled. “I swear, you’ve never heard a scream like when someone’s been stung on his–”

“Is your story going somewhere?” Sandra asked. “I’m not siccing bees on Tarja.”

“Oh. Yeah, please don’t.” Quinn shook his head. “Especially since I’d be the guy in that…never mind. My point is, I wasn’t mad because of what she’d done, I was mad because what it said about me. I didn’t handle it well. Before then, we’d been best friends, but after, we hated each other for years. Don’t repeat my mistake.”

“I’m not ready to put this behind me,” Sandra said.

“Then don’t, but don’t let your friendship die. Tarja made a mistake, but she’s not your enemy.” He paused. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

“And tell her about that time you got a guy’s dick stung?” Sandra asked. “No thanks. I’ll talk with her.”

“Good!” He clapped her on the back and pulled Sandra into a hug. “See? Food, ale, talk. It works.”

“Uh-huh.” Sandra choked for air and pushed out of the hug. She got to her feet, only now noticing the bundle tied to Quinn’s back. “What’s that?”

“Swapped out my hammer for something a bit more…ranged,” he grinned. “I’ve got more shopping to do. See you back at the tavern?”

“See you there.”

…

She beat everyone back to the tavern, waiting for Tarja. The ranger came in only a little while later, legs shaking.

I wonder how much longer she’ll be able to walk? Sandra thought.

Standing from her seat, Sandra walked over to her party member. Her friend. “Tarja.”

“Sandra,” Tarja said, surprised. “Did you hear something about the mission?”

“No.” Sandra pointed to the table. “Take a seat.”

“What’s–”

“Just take a seat, please,” Sandra sighed.

Tarja walked over, sitting down opposite the tankard Sandra had ordered.

Sandra sat, and slid the beer to her. “I got this for you.”

“You’re not thirsty?”

“I already had one.” Sandra avoided eye contact. “I’m not going to forgive you today.”

Tarja winced, as though she’d been struck. “Please, Sandra. I don’t know what you want.”

“One week.” She looked up at Tarja. “That’s what I want. In one week, we will forget this ever happened. Wipe it from the ledger. Okay?”

The ranger opened her mouth, shut it. Frowned. “Why one week?”

“I did the math in my head,” Sandra said. “A week from now, you won’t be able to walk. In a week, you wouldn’t have been able to keep hiding this from me, even if I was totally blind to the signs.”

Tarja took a drink. “Do you think the Calistrians will be able to fix it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll figure something out.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to the party.”

Sandra looked her in the eye. “Never. Maybe we’ll need to care for you, but you’ll never be a burden.”

Tarja smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Sandra got to her feet. “No need. It’s just how it is. You’re my friend.”