"And you, quite reasonably, put the safety of your team first. Okay. What happened to the body?"

"Bodies. His men didn't think he was Suggested, they were still following orders--stashed them in the temple of Desna's basement."

"As good a place as any, right now. We'll see how things turn out later." SIGH. "Thanks for telling me." 

"Y'welcome." 

And now time to go find the Storyteller!

"Greetings, Lusilla," he says when she gets near. 

"Hi! I found...two things, in the vicinity of where Terendelev was murdered." More like three, but she's reasonably confident that Dànpiàn is not the thing he was getting vibes about. "Uh, only one of them is a...physical object, though." 

"May I examine it?"

"Of course!" 

She produces the stone dagger. 

"Ah," he murmurs, reaching out for it. "Even from here I can feel strange energies emanating from this object."

And his fingers close over the knife.

Hunger. My many legs bring me into the lair, to my mother's feasting hall. Her swollen body overfilled with food is so huge that I have to look at it with all of my eyes at once. On top is her scrawny little head with a long beak that is always yearning for more food. 

Mother greets me with a placid screech. Stupid, greedy wretch, whose only achievement is my birth. A creeping, wingless creature. It's your fault I have no wings--a symbol of greatness, a birthright I should have received from my mighty father. Mother points me to a crowd of whimpering subjects, suggesting I fortify myself with their pathetic flesh. Not today! I summon my spawn and they fly to me, enveloping me in a teeming cloud. 

Like dark buzzing wings, they unfold behind my back and lift me up. Mother has always been stronger, but she did not expect this. I dive on her and rip her limp, bloated body with my claws. Ichor splatters, the bone spurs on my heels sink into her flesh. I clench her pitiful, tiny head and tear it off along with the shreds of meat. Victory! I am the strongest! I am the son of my winged father!

"Appalling...stories like that are the hardest ones to keep with me." 

"...That didn't seem to have anything to do with the Wardstone. Does that mean it was the other thing that was important?"

The Storyteller opens his mouth to answer, but--

Even looking at the Wardstone is difficult. Despite the corruption nesting within it, it still has an aura of strength. Your fingers clench the stone hilt so tight it hurts. A little spot on the flawless surface of the Wardstone draws your attention. It looks like a butterfly. Corruption in the guise of something utterly harmless. But it will grow. You swing and stab the butterfly with the knife as hard as you can. Your fingers cramp painfully. A howl invades your ears. Light. White light everywhere.

The Storyteller gasps, releasing the knife. He all but collapses back into his chair, fright etched upon his wrinkled face. 

"What...what was that? That was not the past! That was...something yet to happen! Something that might happen, rather--a possible road to the future. In one possible future, this item will help you to cleanse the Wardstone--or destroy it, the vision wasn't entirely clear--"

He stands up from his chair. "Never before has anything like this happened to me. But how...I am no prophet...is this another riddle from the past that has caught up to me? I must find out. Seeing stories that have already happened is one thing, but seeing stories that are yet to happen...I don't know why this is happening now, but there is one thing I'm sure of--this is not a coincidence. This is a sign of coming changes. Great changes."

"Before, when I shared your vision at the library, you said that had never happened before either. ...And I did also see what you saw, just now, with the knife. Both times. So...if new things keep happening around me, specifically..." 

It seems more than a little presumptuous to declare yourself the central hero, on finding out you live in a story now. But--gosh, that does kind of seem to be the implication? Or, like, a main hero, anyway. That--feels less like a bad place for her thoughts to go. ...And she does need to remember that some stories are tragedies; being a main character doesn't mean she can get away with doing anything stupid. 

"Yes...yes, I feel this is not a coincidence. Who are you, and why have our paths crossed? Only a few days ago, I would never have imagined any of this!" 

She grasps his hand. 

"I'm Lusilla," she says firmly. "I like singing, and bonecarving, and things that smell nice, and stories. I don't want anyone to get hurt, ever. I have a mom and a big brother. I know who I am. It's what I am, that's the mystery."

Chuckle. "Yes...yes, indeed. There are many who would envy the surety you possess." 

"Well, I don't know that the not wanting anyone to get hurt part will help with that, but I recommend it anyway!"

"Heh. Perhaps, perhaps." 

"...While we're here, d'you want to take a look at anything else?" 

"Certainly. What else have you found of significance?"

"We actually found Yaniel's sword, Radiance, in an underground--literally--nest of Baphomet cultists, but Seelah has it right now." Obviously. Lusilla doesn't do swords. "But there's a couple of other things--the place where you sent us to find the stone knife was where Terendelev died, after all--I found one of her scales. Maybe it could tell us where the demons took her body?" 

"I suspect it will not be so straightforward, but we might as well try..." he reaches out for the scale Lusilla is proffering.