"Huh. Do the bear and all his buddies count as undead?"

"No, regrettably, they're positive energy spirits. Superficially similar to an outside observer, but alignment-neutral and far trickier to deal with."

"Irksome." She turns into a moose because it occurs to her and she has Shapechange and WHY NOT.

Safiya laughs. "You've taken to being a shapeshifter quite enthusiastically."

"It's my new favorite spell!"

The prison's pretty easy to locate; it's one of the only buildings in the city with its doors open, and there is, as promised, a gibbet out front.

"What a charming piece of local flavor."

"Least it's unoccupied."

"I suppose you're right. Small mercies."

Inside the prison, at the front desk, is another masked witch, this one even older than Sheva Whitefeather. "As you have disturbed the spirits," she mutters, "you now disturb me. For what reason are you here, outlander?"

"I was told I could try recruiting from the prison population and they'd get amnesty if they volunteered."

The witch's mouth twists further. "Very well. Be warned: of the three in this cage, two you need not fear, but around the third... be on your guard, or he may drink the dreams from your very soul."

There are, notably, only two prisoners in the literal cages lining the walls; there is a door, towards the back of the room, covered in scrawled runes that pulse with abjuration magic.

"Scary one's the one with the royal suite over there?"

      The witch nods.

Safiya's already halfway across the room, examining the runes of warding around the enclosed room where the third prisoner is kept. "Abjuration... obviously. But not of the obvious sort. Halfway between a Dimensional Anchor and a Mind Blank. And... hmm." She doesn't elaborate in front of the witch.

Belmarniss will check it out real quick out of professional curiosity but then she'll turn and make the pitch to the nonscary two. "Hey," she says. "I'm Belmarniss. A bear god is mad at me and gonna show up and try to wreck my shit. If you wanna stand next to me and help out with that I am told you will be pardoned for your crimes. This is probably not exactly the most appealing rescue fantasy but it's what I've got, do either of you want in?"

The runes are drawn in a shaky hand - the witch doesn't seem to have the kind of finesse she might once have had with a piece of chalk. There does indeed seem to be something between a Dimensional Anchor and a Mind Blank incorporated into it - it seems to forbid travel into dreams, rather than travel between planes or the reading of thoughts.

"No hand will I raise against spirits," says the first prisoner, a massive purple fellow. "Their reach and their memories are long."

"What he said," adds the halfling in the other cage laconically. "Hey, good luck though."

"Thanks. I didn't exactly wake up this morning thinking 'hey, you know what sounds like fun, raising my hand against spirits' but they reportedly have it in for me, is all. Do you know what the deal is behind door number three?" She gestures.

"Warden's scared shitless of the guy," says the laconic halfling. "He just looked like some blue humanoid to me. Kind of a prettyboy."

Purple guy snorts. "He should not have been born."

"Huh, apparently Grozek here is a font of information. Grozek, what's the guy's deal?"

"He is hag-born like me," Grozek says, "but his face is fair, and that means he is the get of a sinner. I may be cursed by my mother's blood, but he is an abomination. And he walks in dream, like our mothers. The mule should not run like the horse."

"I haven't interacted with hags much, can you go into more detail about the dream thing?"

"The Slumbering Coven see all that is dreamed in this land and take it and keep it safe in their bosom. They hoard a trove of knowledge greater than any library, greater than any archmage. The abomination wanders through dreams as well, but he seeks only to amuse himself." Grozek spits.

"Uh-huh. Is it like, reasonably safe to open the door and meet the guy, the door looks like it's trying to do some serious work there."

"As long as you do not sleep," Grozek grunts.

"I have been known to occasionally sleep, do you mean as long as I don't do it with the door open?"

The halfling snickers. Grozek sighs. "Yes, I meant sleeping around the dreamwalker."

She sighs and heads for the scary door. Opens it.

A blue humanoid is sitting cross-legged on a pile of furs, and raises his eyebrows as she enters. "Ah, the closed book overcomes her fears and confronts the reader. I won't peek between your pages, don't worry, your cover is intriguing enough."

"Thanks, that's super considerate. Do you also spookily know what I'm here for?"