The old woman turned and smiled. 
   "Yes," Swoon replied, her heavy Caribbean accent shrouded in mystery. She allowed her answer to linger in the air amongst the burning bark and incense. Her audience fidgeted in their seats.
   Slowly, Swoon surveyed the three men in front of her. They were adventurers, all chiseled by innumerable battles and conquests. They, like most of their occupation that visited her home, had the faint must of metal about them.               Capable.
   Her twisted grin widened. Her cadence slowed. “The item that ya seek is in Polam, land of the Crypt Keeper. It would be wise to reconsider your quest." 
   Her crooked nose wiggled ever so slightly. It always did so when she was excited, ever since she was a young oracle learning her craft. She subdued her enthusiastic heart with practiced breaths as the men pondered their futures in her quaint chambers. The Crypt Keeper had lived only in legend until recently. Some bumbling fool had disturbed its rest in search of gold and paid with his life. 
   It was only a matter of time before every inhabitant of the tiny island of Polam was slaughtered, only to be raised as some form of creature forced into servitude.  
   One of the men stood. His long, black hair draped over thick, dark leather armor. His skin was a smooth shade of cocoa, and the bulges poking from his long sleeves proved his strength. A fine physical specimen indeed.
   “Tell us more about this Crypt Keeper,” he said, his deep voice snapping Swoon from her thoughts. 
   “What would ya like to know?”
   “Everything.”
   “Then a trade. I provide ya with the information you seek. Ya provide me with information I seek.”
   “What information?”
   Swoon’s lips curled on the corners. “Your name.”
   The man hesitated, his eyes slits as he tried to look past Swoon’s intentions. Silence took hold of the room before he relented.
   “Anwar.”
   “Anwar. Very Well.” Swoon reached into her pockets and mumbled. When she opened her hand, a pile of gold and silver sand pulsed as if breathing, purring like a sleeping manticore.
   A wave of Swoon’s other hand brought new energy to the sands, and they swirled above her palm.
   “The Crypt Keeper.” The sands danced, taking shape and solidifying into a towering figure resting on a throne built from the remains of a royal coffin. 
   Swoon paused, allowing the room to study the image. Darkness shrouded the Crypt Keeper's eye sockets, his skin the color of bone and ash. A tarnished crown - rusted gold adorned in lusterless jewels and needlepoint spikes - sat on wisps of decaying hair. Black armor wrapped itself around the Undead King akin to death itself. 
   Moments passed before she continued. “It’s been said that his wish is to rest. To be left alone. Rumor has it that the Unholy Tyrant himself sent messages written in blood to all nations. They didn’t listen. Sought the glory and gold of his tomb. —”
   The shimmering sands lost form then shifted once more into a new image - a king amongst his court, recoiling in the presence of the prince's severed head. 
   “— So he began sending gifts instead. Armies sent to Polam have either been erased from this world or returned to their lands as horrid creatures with a taste for flesh. Echelon as you knew it is gone.”
   Anwar froze. “Gone? The Mecca — destroyed?”
   Swoon nodded as the sands shifted again, showing a massive city in ruin and decay. It was overrun with hideous monsters with countless legs and large pincers, flying and scurrying about for food that no longer existed.
   Anwar clenched his fists, a look of uncertainty crossing his neutral facial features. Swoon had seen it before. It was the look that every inquirer of the Scarlet Shard eventually wore; as if pondering whether the massive gem's otherworldly powers and immeasurable worth were worth the plunge into certain death. Perhaps it wasn’t death they feared, Swoon reasoned. The Crypt Keeper held power over things far worse. 
   "We'll go,” Anwar said, snapping Swoon from her thoughts. His two companions perked up, brought back to reality from their own realms of uncertainty. 
   "Otis.” Anwar gestured towards the fair-skinned, slender man with thin features. "Take Mathias and get the necessary provisions. Find the healer we saved on the way here. She’ll be needed." 
   Otis gathered himself and rose to his feet. He donned a heavy, crimson armor that caused him to resemble a stick puncturing an apple. Still, he wore it comfortably. There was an easy confidence about him with a noticeable undercurrent of dangerousness. 
   Since the group entered her home, Otis had yet to remove his hand from the scimitar on his hip, constantly fondling its gleaming gold hilt. Swoon noticed. 
   "So," Otis responded, preparing to leave. "Grab the goods, prep for the trip, find Emora. Got it. Anything else we need?" 
   Anwar considered the possibilities before responding. "No. Proceed quickly. We’ll leave in the morning as soon as dawn breaks." 
   "All right, then. Come on, Mathias. You heard the man." 
   The sitting hulk next to Otis spat and cursed in the same breath. Mathias stood to his full height, his bald head nearly touching the ceiling. While Swoon had admired Anwar's build, Mathias' sheer girth and size intimidated her. She could only imagine what kind of destruction this dark-skinned titan could do with the obsidian maul strapped on his back. 
   "We just got here!" Mathias complained. "Good grief, man. You work us like slaves." 
   Anwar chuckled. "Yet, you also complain when we rest for too long. You're not an easy man to please outside of battle." 
   "Perhaps." Mathias shrugged as he began to follow Otis out the door. "What did this healer look like? All I remember are those red boots."
   "Her name is Emora."
   "I'll remember her name if she survives the voyage." 
   Otis and Mathias exited the hut, leaving Anwar alone with Swoon.
   It wasn't until the door closed behind the two men that Anwar spoke again. “Old woman, how many others have come to you in search of the Scarlet Shard?" 
   Swoon cocked her head. This Anwar is a peculiar one. “Seventeen parties have come to me. Four decided against pursuing the gem in this very room." 
   "What happened to the remaining adventurers?"  
   "Of the thirteen,” Swoon said, returning the sands to her robe and grabbing her old, brittle journal from a nearby table. She flipped through its contents until she found the page she needed. "Seven were lost on the treacherous waters of the Great Ocean. Two were eaten by the Sea Beast. Three parties died in battles with monstrous hordes on the beaches of Polam.”
   Swoon slammed the book closed, her eyes darting to meet Anwar’s. “And one very unfortunate group fell at the hands of the Crypt Keeper himself." 
   The information washed over Anwar, his mind placing the pieces to a math equation Swoon couldn’t see. Abruptly, Anwar's inquisitive nature was replaced by a darker, more confrontational demeanor. He leaned forward, his stare as sharp as his blade. "How do you know all this?" 
   It was Swoon’s turn to hesitate. Have I said too much? "Each party I send out, I watch from a distance. I follow their quest. I wish to see one successful, So far, I only see death. Perhaps ya will be the first?" 
   She could see Anwar analyzing her statements, scourging them for any trace of fallacy. She held her breath.
   “Indeed we will be," Anwar said, easing back to neutral after the tense exchange. "Perhaps you can chart a path for us. The less resistance we face, the more likely we'll still be at full strength by the time we get to the Crypt Keeper." 
   Swoon smiled. "Indeed. Wiser than ya look, I see.” 
   For the next hour, Swoon helped Anwar plan his voyage. They focused on minimizing the danger of the open sea. The Sea Beast would be a wild card, but one that would only be avoided with luck. Satisfied,     Anwar rolled up the parchment and left, thanking the old woman for her assistance. 
   Swoon stood in silence for a moment, staring at the door of her home. Without a doubt, Anwar had been the most impressive man that entered her threshold. He possessed a physical build and charisma that was matched by his mind and intuition. His comrades showed no hesitation in following his command, despite the dangers of the mission ahead. She was sure that he - and he alone - would be successful. Her search was complete.
   Swoon sighed and trudged towards her personal chambers. She stretched as she felt her teeth and bones strengthen and straighten out. "About time," she grumbled as her false accent faded. 
   The bags and wrinkles in her skin began to contract and smooth themselves out. The rugged corns that sat on ragged and used feet disappeared into young, vibrant toes. She waltzed by a gathering of small mirrors, her eyes on a much bigger prize. They weren’t big enough to feature her entire visage, and she wanted to see it all. 
   She approached the extravagant wall-length mirror at the room’s center and posed, turning about to appreciate the various angles. The saggy, hunched torso morphed into a well-toned frame even the most beautiful princesses and queens would envy. Gray, thin hair was pushed from her scalp by a full head of thick locs. The burgundy and brown twists reached her back, perfectly complementing her flawless bronze complexion. 
   Swoon smiled at her appearance, impressed by her reflection. The polymorph spell was one of her favorites - a personal specialty - but it was her natural form that she loved the most. Many over the centuries had longed to court her; a lucky few were given the chance. She was stunning, and she knew it. More importantly, life had long taught her how to exploit that advantage. Her looks had gotten her out of - and in some cases, into - a fair share of trouble.
   After another glance, Swoon replaced her shoddy attire with an elegant silver dress lined with burgundy and white trim. She pinned her thick mane back into a high bun. A simple, magical wave of her hand caused her usually difficult locs to bend at her will like an obedient cobra does a confident snake charmer. 
   Swoon sighed and grabbed a nearby concoction she prepared earlier, a bottle bubbling with a thick, olive green beverage. She wiped away the growing foam and pinched her nose. Bottoms Up. She downed it whole and gagged. The taste would never grow on her, regardless of what the Good Mother said. At least it was quick, she reasoned as she popped a small candy into her mouth to chase away the filmy aftertaste. Speaking of…
   She bit into her thumb and drew blood. Grimacing, Swoon scribbled arcane text on the mirror with her injured finger before cleaning and healing the wound. 
   The glass breathed as if it had life before shattering into nothingness. A portal appeared between the mirror's frame, bathing the room in a blueish hue. Swoon bowed her head as a soft, piercing voice filled the room. The Good Mother.      “Speak." 
   The voice was all too familiar to her, yet it still sent shivers through Swoon every time she heard it. Calm yourself. You have good news to share. 
   “It is as you said, Good Mother,” Swoon said, careful to remove all arrogance and hubris from her tone. She couldn't afford to anger the Good Mother. Not again. "I have found the one that will challenge the Crypt Keeper. He is Anwar from the kingdom Osalon, and once the Crypt Keeper takes over his mind —“
   “Mind your words, daughter. Lest I seal your tongue.” 
   Swoon swallowed hard. 
   “Forgive me, Good Mother. Once Lord Grevis takes over the host’s mind and body, he will be resurrected. I assure you, having your husband in this form will most certainly please you. Your plan for the destruction of this world is coming to fruition."
   "Very good, my daughter." The Good Mother’s voice held so much power, even in satisfaction. Swoon shuddered to think of what weight it held in wrath. "Are you prepared to finish your mission?"
   Swoon dared a smile. She could feel the new polymorph potion starting to take effect. Her skin tone began to darken and redden.  
   "Yes, Good Mother.” 
   Swoon’s transformation neared completion as her hair began to change color. Her features thickened and rounded, taking on a younger, more innocent look. 
   “If this Anwar is as you say, are you certain he will be deceived?”
   Swoon's height compressed, her curvy figure diminishing ever so slightly. She glanced at the smaller side mirrors she ignored earlier, just enough to steal a glimpse. Perfection.
   "Anwar seemed to have his suspicions about me as the Oracle.” She lifted her head as the portal centralized into the masked face of the Good Mother. Swoon looked younger, like a woman in her very early twenties. She appeared almost helpless, her round eyes carrying a damsel-in-distress aura about them. 
   Her robes squeezed and tightened around Swoon's new frame and took on a look of their own. When it was done, silver dulled into a grey blouse with a red and white pattern. Flexible pants - a darker grey that gave space for movement - tucked themselves into shiny boots.
   Red boots.
   The young woman turned back to the Good Mother and smiled. 
   “But as Emora, he won't suspect a thing."