The Archipelagon stood as a testament to, if nothing else, the sheer wealth of nobility. Neither an archipelago, nor a paragon of anything besides opulence, it nonetheless stood proud as the most ostentatious structure for a thousand miles in any direction.

A shrine to Abadar, geometrically perfect, a hexagon wall around a circular temple. At a glance, Sandra could not identify the material it’d been made of–or perhaps, coated in. It seemed the whole structure had been painted a perfect, pearly white.

“I don’t get it,” Quinn said, setting down Tarja for a moment and scratching his chin as they came over a ridge, into view of the Archipelagon.

“What don’t you get?” Tarja asked, shaky on her feet. As bad as her dexterity drain had grown, she had been having trouble walking and even standing, but she could wobble for a bit on her own when Quinn needed a break from carrying her. “It’s a temple.”

Quinn shrugged. “Well, for the ‘God of walls and ditches’, I expected…I don’t know.”

“More ditches?” Hadrian chuckled, stretching his back. “Less walking?”

“The owner said he’d give an audience to anyone who makes a pilgrimage to see the place,” Sandra said. “Pilgrimage means walking. As for the ditches…Eh. Abadar rules over other stuff. More to the point, all the real temples–sorry, all of the tithe-funded temples restrict access to their inner sanctums, and none of us are priests. So we’re going to play the game just long enough to have this chat.”

“Pilgrims can have horses,” Hadrian said, kneeling to rub at the back of his legs, through a layer of latex. “My calves are killing me.”

Sandra shook her head. Hadrian was just venting, they all knew why they were here.

They’d drawn the attention of the gods, and all of them wanted to know what was going on. Priests could sometimes be persuaded to relay messages, but in this case, they needed a divine chat, and the nearest likely candidate was here. The Archipelagon. A structure built and funded by a politician-slash-businesswoman with far, far too much money on her hands.

After a bit of soul searching, Sandra had proposed they needed more information. They’d been playing catch-up and fighting blind for too long. Making guesses and running fetch-quests to patch over the last mistake.

The time had come to find a god and get some answers.

“Let’s rest a minute,” Quinn said. “I need a little break.”

Hadrian exhaled sharply through his nostrils, not quite a laugh. “Really?”

Quinn almost let his request die, then straightened and shook his head. “Yeah, really. I’m tired. I need a break, or for someone else to carry Tarja.”

Blinking, Hadrian said, “Oh, I–sorry. I’m just so used to you being Muscle Man, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn said, moving to the edge of the road and sitting down. “It’s not so much the weight as the awkwardness–I’m as strong as ever, but it’s hard to hold a good grip and keep balance when she’s twice my size, and I’ve got to take twice as many steps as the rest of you.”

“I–” Tarja said, a little pink. “I could walk on my own for a bit.”

Sandra blushed sympathetically. Even though it allowed Tarja to bypass the dexterity drain she’d been cursed with, the side effect was humiliating: If Tarja wanted to walk, she had to choose to wet herself. Even with the option to put on a diaper beneath her cursed onesie, it was almost worse than simply having her potty training erased.

“If you’re okay with that,” Sandra said.

Tarja’s arms straightened, hands tightening into balls, and her blush deepened bright red. Nobody commented on the process, just waiting until the changeling relaxed, no longer wobbly or unstable in the slightest.

“Let’s get a move-on then,” Sandra said, offering a hand to Quinn. He was remarkably light in his reduced form, and she added with a chuckle, “I could carry you for a bit, if you want.”

He took the comment as intended: As a lighthearted joke disguising a genuine offer for help. Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m alright. Thanks.”

The remaining mile to the Archipeligon went quickly. Ivory gates loomed, a large key embossed in stark relief, ensuring nobody with even a passing knowledge of religion or the arcane could miss the purpose of this temple.

The four of them staggered up, dusty, dirty, riddled with magical curses that rendered each almost as laughable as the next–save for Sandra, who’d been purged of her curses and stood almost back at her normal self. Almost.

With a shudder, the gates opened, slow and imposing. Sandra could make out the faint glow of a magical mechanism beneath them, turning the cogs that moved the huge alabaster-white gates.

As the gates open, a short, slender halfling woman outfitted in a tailored suit of crimson and pale green fabric, raised her hands up to her sides in a gesture of greeting.

Sandra knelt, and taking her lead, the others did as well. “Archbanker Blackdown.”

“Please,” Praye Blackdown said, spreading her arms genially. “I’m merely a humble servant of Abadar, I’ve got no claim to the title of Archbanker.”

“This is your temple, isn’t it?” Tarja asked, glancing up at her.

“I built it with the wealth I’ve earned under Abadar’s grace, but I’m no cleric,” Blackdown explained. “Come in, I received your message, and we’ve much to discuss. Will you be changing into supplicant’s clothes now that you’re off the road?”

Sandra looked over the party. Hadrian didn’t have anything on over his latex bodysuit–as he’d explained, it was hot and stifling enough without adding extra layers. Tarja’s onesie was covered by her normal travel clothes and armor, and the bulge of her diaper was mostly hidden unless one knew what to look for. Quinn had stayed armored on the road–meaning he had on his pink, ruffled dress full of petticoats. And finally, Sandra had worn her typical armor, with the addition of the tail she’d acquired in the dream realm, and…

It didn’t particularly matter. “We didn’t bring any supplicant’s clothes, unless you have something for us to change into,” she said. “This is, generally, what we wear when working.”

Blackdown’s smirk carried subtle condescension, but she didn’t comment on it aloud. “Well, come in.”

They approached through the huge gate, so tall that the whole party could have stood on each other’s shoulders and not reached the top, and the enormous doors crept closed behind them.

“Explain to me why you’re here,” Praye Blackdown instructed, as they walked across a wide, sandy courtyard separating the outer walls from the inner structure, a boxy white temple made of the same matter as the walls. Crates and carts full of trade goods were stacked out in the courtyard, and off to the right Sandra saw stables being worked by experienced animal handlers. This wasn’t just a temple, then, but a place of business as well.

Or, perhaps, the business conducted was a part of the temple’s nature. The god of Merchants would have a place for mercantilism to be conducted in his home, it only made sense.

“What do you need to know?” Sandra asked. “We explained as much as we could in the letter we sent ahead.”

“I know what I need to know,” Praye countered. “I want to hear your pitch. Sell it to me.”

“Oh.” Sandra started. “Well, we’re here because we need to speak with the gods, or at least one of them, to figure out if they’re willing to help us–”

“I’m sorry,” Praye said, as a smaller door to the inner temple opened up, pushed by an unseen bit of magic. “Were my instructions unclear? Tell me where I lost you.”

“You wanted me to explain why we’re here, right?” Sandra asked, following her inside. Within the doors, she paused, stiffening as she looked around.

The interior was all pearly white, same as the exterior, lit by gilded sconces shedding magical light, but had the layout of a place of business–with space for secretaries and middle management to do bookkeeping.

“I told you to sell it to me,” Praye Blackdown explained. “I don’t care what you want, unless it offers some benefit for me.”

“Ah–” Sandra said, distracted, trying to repitch the idea in her mind as they were led deeper into the temple, past the desks and filing cabinets. “Well, if things go well, we could stop the Wizard of Paraphilia, and stopping him is good for everyone. Yourself included.”

“Hmm,” Blackdown considered, leading them finally to a side hallway. “Work on it, and do better when we speak tonight. For now, your lodging can be here–I strongly advise you to make use of the showers at the end of the hall, but the beds and rooms are yours to rest in.”

Off guard by the sudden dismissal, Sandra didn’t know what to say until Praye Blackdown was already five steps away. “Why tonight?”

“Because I prefer to conduct business over supper,” Blackdown explained. “I’ll have a servant come fetch you when dinner is ready.”

And with that, she left, dismissing the party and the conversation without another thought.

“I don’t like her,” Hadrian said, quietly, as they walked into the lodging–little more than a barracks, albeit one with fine silk sheets and pillowy blankets on down mattresses.

“The gods want to speak to us,” Quinn said. “Does it really matter that we didn’t bring the right robes, or whatever?”

“Be polite,” Sandra warned. “She still has the right to refuse us entry to the inner sanctum, and without access, we can’t talk to Abadar.”

“I can play politics,” Hadrian promised. “But I’m not going to hold my tongue when she’s not even around to hear me.”

Tarja collapsed onto one of the beds, her legs buckling out from under her as they entered–her curse reinstated in full force once again. “What’s our backup plan if we aren’t allowed in?”

“We don’t really have one,” Sandra admitted. “It’s this, or we find another religious site not overseen by a priesthood, or else one of us will need to be inducted as a cleric somewhere so we can access a real holy site. Both of those options could take months or years, so I really don’t want to screw this up.”

“Serendipity is looking into the possibility of talking to Calistria at an orgy,” Hadrian added. “But it’d need to be…intense, for there to be a chance that it works.”

“Like I said,” Sandra repeated. “I really don’t want to screw this up. We just need Praye to let us into the inner sanctum, then we’ll be home free.”

“Well, in the meantime,” Hadrian said, rubbing at the back of his legs, “I’m not going to say no to some rest and a shower. My calves are killing me.”

Sandra nodded, gesturing with her head towards the bathroom. “Good call. Anyone mind if I go first?”

At the lack of objections, she ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door and taking a breath.

She was filthy from traveling. Heat meant sweat, and sweat and dust had caked her in a fine film of grime, but more than that she needed a change.

Checking her trousers, she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had leaked, the wet spot around the leg gathers was barely noticeable, almost certainly overlooked by Praye and the party. She needed to get better about that.

Though she’d been freed of the cursed diaper and clothing, that freedom hadn’t been perfect. Though no longer trapped in a diaper, her potty training hadn’t returned, and a private conversation with a Calistrian healer had confirmed her fears–she’d need to work to get that control back the old fashioned way.

And, another hiccup–she no longer had a magical, self-cleaning diaper. She’d had to learn to change herself, and more importantly, to check her diaper regularly to make sure she wouldn’t leak.

By the wet crescent-moon shapes on the inside of her pants, that diligence needed work. She’d almost considered putting the cursed diaper back on, since she was stuck with the incontinence anyways, but disregarded the idea as impulsive. It might take a while, but her potty training would return, with practice and diligence.

For now, she stripped herself naked and stepped into the shower. Her tail still hung between her legs–the counterspell designed to undo the Wizard’s curses had been fine tuned and specific to a certain frequency of magic, and any efforts to undo dream magic would need to be just as specific on an entirely different frequency.

Still, she’d almost grown not to mind it. Unlike the humiliating curses from the Wizard, this felt almost more like…a gift, perhaps, if not one she’d have asked for. There was no malice behind it.

Cleansing herself with hot water and fancy soap, Sandra dried herself off with a towel, then went about cleaning her clothes up with judicious prestidigitation. She’d found that the cantrip couldn’t quite clean a diaper while she wore it, but rinsed off and wrung out, the magic refreshed it to like-new. The leak stains vanished from her pants, and the dust melted off her clothes, leaving her clean and as professional as she could manage.

It’d be good enough for Abadar, she expected–he’d already taken an interest in her activities. She just hoped it’d be good enough for Praye Blackdown as well.

Returning to the room, she let Tarja go with Quinn to take the next turn in the bathroom, and for her free time she went with a nap for herself. Hadrian was right, the trip had been exhausting, and a little rest would do her good.

“Sandra?” Quinn asked, nudging her arm.

She sat up, surprised. “Huh?” She didn’t recall falling asleep, but she hadn’t heard Quinn or Tarja return, so she knew she must have dozed off. “Is it time for supper?”

“No, but you were twitching,” Quinn said. “A nightmare, I’d guess.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Sandra said, though she still felt a prickle of adrenaline, as though she’d been wary of a fight about to break out.

The party had gotten ‘cleaned up’ as it were; similarly washing away the dirt and grime, cleaning up their clothes. Quinn at least looked less frilly, having removed his armor in exchange for simple traveling clothes, though he was still as busty as he was short. Tarja’s onesie was concealed, though the slight bulge of her diaper was not, and there was little Hadrian could do about his latex bodysuit save for wearing a fetching jacket overtop of it.

Sandra stood and stretched, as much to untangle her muscles as her mind. She felt nervous for no reason she could pin down, save for the apparent nightmare she couldn’t recall.

While she did that, a knock came at the door. Hadrian answered it, and a servant in a nicely tailored suit cleared his throat. “I’ve been sent to show you to the dining hall.”

“Alright,” Sandra said, steeling herself for their greatest challenge yet: an awkward dinner. “Let’s do this.”

…

Dinner was served at a table of comical proportions. Long enough to seat thirty people, barely wide enough for one person to sit at either end, in a marble hall of equally grandiose design.

Sandra briefly considered taking the bait and sitting at the far end, across from Praye Blackdown, but shouting through their conversation felt ill-advised, so she instead sat on Praye’s righthand side.

Another complication presented itself: Praye had built this dining hall with her own body type in mind, and nobody else’s. The chairs were awkwardly short, with a table to match, and uncomfortably narrow, so that Sandra’s thighs were pressed up against the armrests.

Quinn was right at home in his shrunken down body, but the rest of them sat awkwardly, legs bumping up against the underside of the table across from Tarja. Hadrian, unable to bend his legs quite far enough, just pulled the chair away and sat on the ground.

Well-dressed servants poured wine into delicate glass flutes, while the first course, some kind of brothy soup, was laid out.

“Did you work on your pitch while you rested?” Praye inquired, swirling her wine.

“I gave it some thought,” Sandra said. It wasn’t totally a lie–she had considered it, at least. “The gods have already expressed interest in speaking with us. We know they’re watching. Were you to deny us access, you’d be risking the ire of several powerful deities.”

Nodding, Praye’s lips played up in a slight smile. “That’s better, I suppose. But have you considered the alternative?”

“What alternative?” Sandra asked, knees bumping against the bottom of the table as she tried to shift to get comfortable.

“That, should you insult the gods with your presence, I could draw their ire for allowing you into my sanctum,” Praye explained. “So what assurances do I have that you’re going to perform well?”

Sandra seethed, and she heard Hadrian’s latex clothes squeak as he shifted in annoyance. Before he could say anything cutting, she said, “We’ve gone up against the Wizard before and bloodied his nose, and come away from it alive and whole. He’s pursued us and been held off. Our information about his magic is greater than anything anyone else in the realm has learned. Who else do you know that can make such a claim?”

Praye’s smile never quite reached her eyes, but she nodded. “Tell me of your pilgrimage.”

As servants brought out the main course–roasted meat in an expensive-smelling sauce–Sandra fought back frustration. Though she couldn’t prove it, she knew in her belly that Praye had already decided what she would do, and this whole conversation was a show for her entertainment.

“We walked here, on foot, as per your request,” she explained. “As we already established, we don’t have any other robes or fancy clothing.”

“Have you thought about where you might acquire such clothing?” Praye asked, tilting her head.

Quinn made a small sound.

Dammit.

“Something to add?” Praye Blackdown asked.

“Where would we?” Quinn said, bluntly. “Unless you’re offering to give us some.”

“Certainly not,” Praye said. “Though, if you’d be interested in buying robes from me, that could be arranged.”

“Sa–” Hadrian started. Sandra bumped him with her leg.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Sandra insisted, drawing the conversation to a rather harsh conclusion before anyone else could blow it. “We just need to use your sanctum. Please. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this test, but the gods have already shown that they’re interested in us. We’ve shown we can handle it. Give us leave, or don’t, but don’t bar us because we can’t play word games as well as you.”

Praye tilted her head back in a slight nod. “As you wish, then.”

Getting to her feet, Blackdown strode across the room, down the length of the table, and out the far door.

That left the four of them alone, for a moment, uncertain where to go.

“So, what happened to ‘be polite’?” Hadrian asked.

Tarja chimed in, “Sandra, that was brash, you have to admit.”

“She wasn’t going to let us win in the verbal sparring,” Sandra said. “I wanted to end the bout on our terms. And besides, we know Abadar wants to speak to us.”

“Do you? Or was that an assumption made on incomplete information?”

The voice that interjected was deep, and not particularly bothered, but also carried with it a sharp edge. It made Sandra think of her father, except that the subtleties in the tone were far deeper than any mortal.

She looked down the length of the table. Fifty feet down at the far end, in the seat across from where Praye had been, sat a handsome man who appeared to be in his fifties, dressed in robes and armor of crimson and deep brass.

Sandra faced him. “Lord Abadar.”

“Sandra Cassidy,” Abadar replied. Though some forty feet down the table, his voice carried clearly. “You asked for this audience. Speak your piece.”

Sandra didn’t allow herself to gawk, and cut simply and directly to the point. “We need something to allow us to defeat the wizard. He plans to make a new school of magic–and you know those plans could wreak havoc on the realms of mortals and gods alike if nobody stops him, and it’s clear you have a plan for us, so let’s lay it out. Hadrian can tell you what he’s learned of the wizard’s magic, and we can tell you everything we know about his tactics. What do you want us to do, and what can you give us?”

He nodded his head. “And the reason you’re asking this of me?”

“Because…” Sandra started. “Well, simply, because we could. And we couldn’t get to anyone else easily.”

“Do you know the impact on trade and business that a new school of magic would cause?” Abadar asked.

Sandra didn’t, precisely, but she took a guess. “It’d throw things into chaos.”

“In what way?” Abadar inquired. “Specifically.”

“I suppose–” Sandra started.

“I’m not going to help you,” Abadar said, simply. “But, as a courtesy to my peers who would see you succeed, I will explain why.”

Sandra swallowed. “Why did you–”

“I did not request this conversation,” Abadar said. “We took note of your activities because you are acting against powerful forces, but notice is not the same as approval. Let me be clear, Sandra: Your goals are not in question here. Your ability to carry out those goals is.”

“That’s why we need power,” Hadrian cut in. “Something you–or any god–can give us to even the scales. Surely–”

His pacifier plopped into place between his lips, cutting him off. Abadar’s eyes narrowed. “You will allow me to speak.”

“Did you–” Sandra started, glancing between Hadrian and Abadar. “You can control his curse?”

He nodded slightly, approving of the question. “In a fashion. Magic is the lifeblood of all divinity. It shapes us, and in turn we control it. Now, may I continue?”

Sandra kept quiet. She understood the implied, ‘If you interrupt again, I won’t be so polite.’

“You’ve only persisted this long due to a stroke of cosmic luck.” Abadar continued flatly. “You’ve shown cleverness, and tenacity, but cleverness and tenacity are not the only traits one needs when up against the wizard. Do you know why you’ve managed to survive against him so far?”

“Why?” Sandra asked, vocalizing the hypothetical.

“Because you’ve caught him by surprise, and you’re not worth his time.” Abadar let that statement hang in the air for a beat before he continued, speaking like a student to a child. “The Wizard of Paraphilia has amassed great power, and wrapped himself in defensive magic the likes of which you could hardly fathom. He is not incapable of destroying you, you’ve only found yourself in a position of being just strong enough that it’d be an inconvenience for him to do so. And were I to give you power–a boon, so you might go face him directly–he would suddenly find that inconvenience worth it.”

“So get us more boons,” Sandra said. “So we can stop him for good. His power isn’t infinite.”

“You are not the only mortal champions in the world,” Abadar countered. “Were it in my interest to face strength with raw strength, and simply overpower the wizard, I’d pick a paragon whose strength already rivals the wizard’s. That isn’t in my interest. The more power we bring into the mortal realm, the more we stir up trouble–we want the wizard defeated, yes, but not if his defeat brings forth greater danger.”

“Hey now,” Quinn said. “We’ve kicked him where the sun don’t shine once before, we can catch him by surprise again. You’re acting like you’d have to bring in the full power of your divine strength to stop him for–”

“Mmm,” Abadar raised a hand, and Quinn simply fell silent. “Please remember that my presence here is a courtesy. Waste my time again, and I will not hesitate to give up that courtesy.”

“May I ask a question?” Tarja asked, quietly.

He nodded. “You may.”

“Would you?” she asked, quietly.

It took Sandra a moment to jump back a few moments and recognize what Tarja was asking, but Abadar answered immediately. “It would take more power than I could bring into the plane without fracturing it beyond recognition. The wizard has found ways to tap into primordial powers, the powers he needs to enact his plans, and matching force with force has ceased to be an option. Though we might lend you much strength, it will take more than strength to beat him.”

Sandra exhaled. “So what do you want from us?”

“Nothing. You’re not the champions I’ve chosen,” Abadar explained. “We are watching, but that is all–we have observed your quests, and your failures, and the way you operate, and we are simply unimpressed.”

He let a moment pass, for an objection. Sandra didn’t answer; He was going to explain regardless of what she said.

“You have had only one moment of triumph over the wizard, and then only fleeting,” Abadar explained. “Your first meeting with traps he had left behind, you were soundly humiliated. Your second, you could hardly protect your charge from his curses. Every moment of your lives has been spent cleaning up from him, scraping by to undo a little of his damage. Only once, with careful preparation and clever trickery, were you able to face him as peers and get away, but that cost you more dearly than any other encounter, before or since.

“To put it simply and plainly, you do not have the focus, the clarity, the presence and planning to be entrusted with our power. You are reactive. Your ability to handle threats as they arise is impressive given your inexperience, but that is all that it is–handling threats as they arise, taking your lumps, limping along weaker than before. Even now, before me, you are demonstrating your inability to think ahead past your next fight.” He let his words end for a moment, staring quietly at her.

“I don’t understand,” Sandra said, when it seemed that he was leaving an opening to reply without incurring his wrath. “What did we miss?”

“My favored supplicant tried to aid you,” he explained. “To give you guidance. She wouldn’t simply tell you the best way to speak to me, what I expect of any who demand my presence so brashly, but she tried. You ignored her.”

He stood up from the seat, and though he only stood at the height of an above-average human, his presence grew imatterially, until he took up all the space in the room with the weight of his words. “You though yourselves so important that you could demand an audience with me, in hastily washed traveler’s garb. You brought no offering. You ignored her suggestions. You burned a relic from my domain–in case you thought I didn’t know about your abuse of the ledger you stole. You presumed to know what I would do, and never once considered that I might give an answer you didn’t want to hear.”

Sandra had no response, or no good one. She shook her head. “So what are you going to do about the Wizard? Pick another group of champions?”

“That,” he said sharply, and the anger in his tone shone clear. “Is none of your concern. Step carefully, Sandra Cassidy, and should you demand an audience with me again, first know that my courtesy has met its limits.”

With a gout of golden fire, he vanished, leaving the room empty.

Quinn gasped as his voice returned to him, the powers of speech restored with Abadar’s departure. Hadrian, less lucky, needed Sandra’s help to remove his pacifier.

Even able to speak, though, the four of them had little to say.

Tarja spoke up first, sighing as she said it. “We’re done.”

“I’m sorry,” Sandra shook her head. “This is my fault. I should have known.”

“No,” Tarja said, shaking her head. “We’re done. We’ve been told as much by the greatest authority we could ask. The fight isn’t ours anymore.”

“But you’re still cursed,” Sandra said. “We haven’t fixed anything.”

“Honestly.” Hadrian spoke tentatively, feeling out the words as he said them. “That’s…that’s fine. Someone else will sort out the wizard. We’ll get the curses removed eventually. There’s got to be a substitute for the ledger out there somewhere, some way to get all this dealt with. We can get back to our lives.”

“I’d be fine with that,” Quinn added. “Hell, most of what was done to me, the wizard isn’t even at fault. I don’t have to wear the dress armor, and he didn’t make me this size. Curses are a part of the job. They’ll get fixed sometime or another.”

Sandra slumped back in her chair, uncertain.

She’d failed, but her party was okay. They were safe.

And maybe they were right–maybe their normal lives could be returned to, maybe they could let someone else deal with the existential problems while they went back to more mundane quest work.

She smiled. Maybe they were right. “Well, it’s worth a shot.”