"Huh. ...Asmodeus is also one of the Evil ones, right?"

"Yes, Lawful Evil."

So, better than the demons, but probably still not the sort of person you want in your tribe. He nods.

"Hate to interrupt the theology-club meeting, but I'm still feeling pretty stabbed. Any chance you could hit me with some more of that healing?"

Blai holds out his hand.

Woljif takes off his glove and gives Blai his hand.

"It works through gloves," Blai mentions, but he takes Woljif's hand and burns the other Bless for a Cure.

"Thanks, chief."

"Of course." And if nobody else needs it they can move on towards their destination.

Just past the central square, there's a knife with an ornate pommel and a blade of purple-tinged crystal. The air around it shimmers, and the buildings on the far side of it seem to waver.

Well, that looks like a souvenir and Blai will detour to bag it.

As he touches it, his vision splits into three, overlaid atop each other but somehow perfectly comprehensible despite this.

An aeon descends to the material plane. A transgression is about to happen here, a violation of the cosmic laws that keep the planes in balance. It has been tasked with stopping this. Through the aeon's eyes, every demon's presence at the festival in Kenabres is impermissible, not because of the slaughter they wrought (seen through these eyes, it barely seems relevant; of course if a babau puts a spear through someone's chest, the predictable consequence is that that person will die) but because of their contravention of the laws that govern the planes. Deskari's presence brings a sense of utter wrongness, a gash cut through a canvas, a scream in the middle of a symphony. 

It is the aeon's task to stop it.

But Deskari swings his scythe, and just as it claims Terendelev, so too does it claim the aeon. The fragments of its soul linger, and it is those fragments that now grant Blai a tiny piece of its sight.

An aeon looks through Blai's eyes. There are demons in that building, and there should not be. But more importantly, there is a crystal on the ground, in the shape of a knife, and that transgression is as uncomfortable as Deskari's presence at the festival. Insofar as the aeon can be said to have human emotions, it wants to purge this knife from existence, send it back from whence it came.

On the edges of Blai's vision, there is something extraplanar about Seelah, and likewise about Woljif, but those presences bring no discomfort to the aeon, for in both cases they are bound by the laws that govern such matters. But there is a quality about Blai that it finds uncomfortable, woven into his soul, one which the aeon has never before seen and does not recognize.

An aeon dissipates, its task done. The wound in the world is healed, the countless transgressions of both sides in this war are eradicated, and everything is within its rightful place.

The visions fade, leaving only the fragments of the aeon's soul. They are already beginning to disperse, but there is a place in his soul that could hold one, that could retain some tiny fraction of the aeon's power, permitting it to lie dormant until it can carry out its purpose.

He... admires this thing but does not really want it in his soul? He has enough unclear things going on in his soul and that one time they were fighting and making that more complicated sounds foolish. Especially if it already finds him discomfiting! Also this thing is so manifestly obviously A Souvenir that he doesn't want to mess with it in case that makes it less useful to the Storyteller!

He puts it in the bag.

"I believe this may suit the Storyteller," he announces to his party, "and that we should not detour unnecessarily in bringing it back."

"Does that mean we're heading back now, or is that just a fancy way of saying we don't have time for a bunch of extra errands?"

"We are heading back now, but will probably venture out again afterwards. ...possibly with a break for lunch."

"If you're hungry, I bet I could catch something to eat on the way back!"

"Civilized people don't eat vermin."

"It doesn't have to be a rat! I think I saw a squirrel while we were walking over here."

"It is at present more defensible to spend money on food than time on preparing a squirrel. Let alone enough squirrels for the lot of us." Back to Defender's Heart.

Giant bugs! Extremely angry schir! Bandits! (The bandits flee as soon as they see the party.)

And eventually: the Defender's Heart.

The schir is worth a Divine Favor to put down faster before it can summon more demons. He decides against chasing the bandits and they run too fast for him to get in more than a half-sentence of verbal shame. Bugs is bugs.

Is the Storyteller in immediate evidence?

He's sitting by one of the windows, telling a story to a pair of tiefling children.

How apropos. Is he nearly at "and then they served the Prince of Devils ever after" the end?

Not really, but when he hears Blai's footsteps he tries to find a good stopping point.

"...and if you wish to learn what became of her after that, you may find me this evening."

 "Awwwwww."

"It's okay, Mister V said he'd show us how the forge worked!"

"Improbably, I have perhaps stumbled across something suitable," says Blai, holding his bag open for the Storyteller.